Erin said good-bye to her host family and followed Marama outside.
Marama opened her car door. “These are Roa and Hank.”
Hank, again. “Hey,” Erin said.
“Kia Ora!” Hank said.
“I called shotgun,” Roa said.
“Because the git was totally pissed last night,” Marama said.
Roa pulled his glasses over his eyes. “I fink I’m still pissed.”
“Everyone buckled?” Marama asked. Cranking up the music, she pulled out of the driveway.
Hank sang along to music Erin hadn’t heard before. His voice was surprisingly soulful.
“Can we turn it down a bit?” Roa asked.
“Hungover is no way to go through life,” Marama said as she took a turn much faster than necessary.
“Careful,” Roa said. “With involuntary vomit spews all your secrets.”
Marama said, “Shut it.”
A few kilometers from the house, Christchurch’s flat edges gave way to brown hills, which Marama promised would be green soon enough. She drove like a demon, speeding between and around mountains as they gained elevation. Around bends, through switchbacks, and over bridges, the narrow road was a nauseating carnival ride over rivers.
Marama and Roa bickered about music, and Hank leaned between the front seats to interject his preferences before they settled on a playlist.
Erin pictured herself plummeting to hell between a gulch’s trees. “Too close!” she shouted, leaning into the middle of the car when Marama was right at the edge of the road.
“Sorry, mate,” Marama said. “Forgot you’re not kiwi.”
To her credit, Marama slowed a bit and moved closer to the middle of the road. “I’ve done this all my life.”
Erin said, “I haven’t.”
“Are you scared of heights?”
“I’m not. It’s the journey to the chasm below that terrifies me.”
“I promise to be careful with you. I’ve done this heaps of times. If it were snowing, we might have an issue, but this is perfect driving weather.”
Erin said, “Snow isn’t that hard. You just have to become one with the car. Feel whether you have traction and you’re fine.”
Marama laughed. “Last month, the entire city shut down on account of two centimeters of snow.”
“Skied Coronet over the hols,” Roa said. “You been, mate?”
“That’s the one where I went arse over tit on day one,” Hank said. “Haven’t been since.”
“Next winter, you and me.”
“And?” Marama said.
“Aye, come along,” Hank said.
Erin tried to ignore the constant stream of conversation between these three. She pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger, trying desperately to distract herself from the acid creeping up her throat.
Were kiwis immune to the rocking?
Another switchback, followed by a dip in the road, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I need to stop.”
“Nowhere to stop,” Hank said. From between his feet, he withdrew a Hokey Pokey container. “Use this if you need to spew.”
Marama slowed a bit. A very little bit.
Hank rolled down his window. “Crack your window. Focus on the horizon. Stare at the thing furthest from us. It helps.”
Had anything remained on the horizon more than seven seconds, his advice may have helped. Defeated, she opened the empty ice cream container and counted.
Marama drove on as Erin spewed toast, jam, and coffee. She’d liked it better going down.
Hank rubbed her shoulder before securing the lid of the ice cream container. Without tearing his eyes from the horizon, he presented a second, empty ice cream container.
Marama said, “We keep empty punnets in the car for just such occasions. How you feeling, Hank?”
“Sweet as.”
“How much longer?” Erin asked.
“Not long now,” Marama said.
Erin focused on gray shrubbery in the distance. As they drew nearer, she shifted her gaze to a peak in the distance. When they passed the shrubbery, she realized it was actually hundreds and hundreds of sheep.
Five minutes after the sheep, she used a second ice cream punnet.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Marama turned into a pebbly parking lot across a green valley from a huge herd of cattle. They were surrounded by mountains when Marama stopped at last.
“There we go.” Hank pointed toward a hill cluttered with rocks and pebbles. It looked as if a medieval castle was trapped inside the hill, desperately trying to emerge.
The hill was winning.
“They’re limestone. Best playground we’ve got!” Hank said.
Erin recognized Castle Hill from Good-Time Girl’s feed but couldn’t remember when she’d posted it.
“Have a bit of water.” Roa handed Erin a water bottle with the words ALL BLACKS on it.
She swished a mouthful and spat into the dirt beside their car. Erin threw out her punnets but the scent lingered. She dreaded another drive through the mountains.
“You protected?” Marama asked.
Erin wasn’t sure.
“Slip, slop, slap, wrap?”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” Erin said.
Marama tugged her shirt sleeve. “Slip on a shirt. Slop on some lotion.” She handed Erin sunblock and tugged on her own hat. “Slap on a hat. Wrap your eyes with glasses. Basic sun safety.”
Erin slopped on sunblock, pulled on Felicity’s hat, and joined everyone else at the trunk.
Marama handed her two bags. “Provisions.”
Hank said, “What are you, a 38? 39?”
Again, she had no idea.
“Your feet?”
“Oh. Sometimes 39. Sometimes 40.”
Hank pulled out several pairs of tiny shoes. “My whole family climbs. We have just about any size you could need.”
None of Hank’s shoes looked remotely close to an eight and a half. He stuffed five pairs into a giant bag, slammed the trunk closed, and started walking. Marama and Hank each carried enormous sponge mats, folded in half and strapped onto their backs. Everyone but Erin stored their keys on metal rings attached to their belt loops. Hank also used one for his water bottle.
On their way up the well-trodden path, Hank pointed out recent climbing spots and Erin realized the pebbles she’d seen from the car were half her height. She compared the rocks near the path to others scattered around the hill. Some could be taller than she.
This could be fun.
Marama chose a steep path on the left and kept trekking. “You okay, Erin?”
“I’m fine.” Erin said a silent thank-you to Pippa; hiking in flip-flops would have been murderous. Her thighs already ached.
Boulders, many of which were twice Erin’s height,
