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bridesmaid?’
    ‘That’s a promise.’ Serenity kissed her, and got into the car. She must not cry. She had loved this town. She had loved John in spite of what she had said to Barbie. Inside she was grieving for him, the way she still grieved for her mother and she was leaving them both behind. And to be losing Barbie too . . . and Robbie. She would have no one to call her own.
    ‘Be happy, Serenity.’ Barbie put her hand through the open window.
    ‘Don’t go dreaming of a big strong handsome husband for me, Barbie. I don’t like handsome men, too conceited, and those strong silent types put me right off altogether. Goodbye, love.’
    She moved the car into gear and pressed the accelerator. She was proud that she hadn’t cried. She hadn't cried at the cemetery either—some things were too deep for tears. She felt numb and without emotion.
    She and her mother were two of a kind—both had messed up their lives in the early stages. Well, her mother had pulled out of it and made something beautiful of her life. Serenity would do the same. But her mother had had a baby to love, and she had nothing to help her start building again. And her mother had had real faith in God, that everything worked together for good, and Serenity didn’t even have that to help her. She would just pattern herself on her mother’s life and maybe some day it would amount to something. Her mother had lived for others, never wanting much for herself. Perhaps that was the answer.
    She put her foot down harder and the car surged forward, heading for Wellington and the ferry. She wondered what the compulsion was to go to the place where her mother was born, and why the urgency to get there. Was it some sort of pilgrimage, that once completed would set her free to start again? Serenity really hoped so. She didn’t want to live in this limbo-land of nothingness for too long, she might atrophy, waste away and become seared.
    On the third day, Serenity rose early from another sleepless night. She should have taken those sleeping pills Robbie had prescribed for her, but she would tonight. It had been late when she drove into the tiny township, and she had been glad to have a meal and book a room at the one hotel. She walked out in the early morning air and felt refreshed by the cool wind which swept down from the bush-clad hills, bringing the tangy smell of bush with it. There was only a butcher’s shop and general store and a few houses that she could see, and the village was perched on the edge of a mighty bluff from which she could glimpse the river glinting through wisps of fog. She had her breakfast and paid her hotel bill, threw her overnight bag in the boot, and got behind the driver's wheel.
    She really should have packed the wedding dress in a case. It annoyed her every time she saw it, but it would have taken too much effort to fold it properly. She seemed to have no energy at all, except to drive, and even that wasn’t a pleasure. She had not even been aware of the scenery, just miles and miles of native bush, deep gorges, and wild rivers. And now she was heading further inland. What would she do when she got there? Just drive past?. . . or make some excuse and go into the Station, perhaps pretend she was out of petrol? She would think about that later.
    The road was winding and narrow, taking Serenity past isolated farms, then native bush again; beautiful as the sun filtered down through the thick leaves and the moss glowed like emerald velvet on the heavy limbs and trunks of the trees.
    Heavy morning mist blocked most of her view of the high alps, but she knew they were there. All the way down the South Island they had been on her left-hand side, magnificent and dominating, and now she was driving directly towards them. She was so very tired, and she knew it was foolish to keep driving, but there seemed to be very little traffic on the road. It bothered her, this compulsion to keep driving. The patches of sharp brilliant sunlight,