A Friend in Paradise Read online

  A Friend in

  Paradise

  Des Hunt

  About A Friend in Paradise

  When Robbie Walker’s father dies of cancer, he takes out his anger on anyone near. In the hope of saving what remains of their family, Robbie’s mother sends him off to spend the summer holidays on Uncle Jim’s farm where his father grew up. There, in a hidden valley that his father once called Paradise, Robbie discovers a new friend — a creature thought extinct for more than a hundred years. But others also visit Paradise: wildlife thieves whose only interest is to get rich through this new animal.

  Soon Robbie is caught up in a dangerous adventure that takes him to the sulphur-encrusted steam fields of White Island volcano — a place where death is always close at hand. Robbie must use all his knowledge, courage and wit to save his new friend ... and also himself.

  About Des Hunt

  After more than forty years working in education, Des Hunt is now a full-time writer living on New Zealand's beautiful Coromandel Peninsula. Since the 1970s he has shared his fascination with science and technology through textbooks, electronic devices, and computer programs. More recently he has turned to fiction as a way of interesting youngsters in the world that surrounds them. A Friend in Paradise, was his first book, published in 2002.

  Three of his books have been finalists in the New Zealand Post Children’s Book Awards, One in the LIANZA Awards. Seven have been listed as Storylines Notable Books.

  For more visit www.deshunt.com

  Books by Des Hunt

  Fiction

  A Friend in Paradise Harper Collins

  The Moa Cave Harper Collins

  Frog Whistle Mine Harper Collins

  Where Cuckoos Call Harper Collins

  Shadows in the Ice Harper Collins

  The Tooth Harper Collins

  Whale Pot Bay Harper Collins

  The Secret of Jelly Mountain Scholastic

  Cry of the Taniwha Harper Collins

  The Crocodile Nest Harper Collins

  The Peco Incident Harper Collins

  Cody’s Unexpected Catch Harper Collins

  Steel Pelicans Harper Collins

  Crown Park Oceanbooks

  Phantom of Terawhiti Harper Collins

  Nonfiction

  The Naughty Kid’s Book of Nature

  Harper Collins — Illustrated by Scott Tulloch

  Physics 2000 Longman Paul

  Beyond 2000 Longman Paul

  Copyright

  Des Hunt asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work under the terms of Section 96 of the Copyright Act of 1994 (New Zealand.) All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  © Des Hunt 2002

  This e-book edition, revised and re-edited:

  © Des Hunt 2013

  978-1-927215-34-0

  Cover image Copyright Vibe Images, 2013

  Used under license from Shutterstock.com

  Chapter 1

  Auckland domestic airport was as crowded as any other day of the year, yet the feeling was different. There were still a few lone businessmen and women anxiously checking their watches, but mostly there were small groups dressed in colourful holiday clothes. There was also a holiday mood: loud voices with lots of laughter and people bouncing around happily. Except for a few — the ones who had greeted the New Year with a bit too much enthusiasm. They quietly nursed their heads, not even smiling when the others laughed, moving as little as possible. They seemed to want to be somewhere else.

  Robbie Walker could have been mistaken for one of them. He stood beside his mother in the check-in queue, staring at the back of the fat lady in front. Every now and again he’d shuffle forward with the queue, but otherwise there was little sign of life. His mother carried the bag and the ticket.

  The check-in man looked at the ticket and then down at Robbie. “Off to Whakatane, are we?” he said, with the voice of someone who’s paid to be cheerful.

  Robbie ignored him.

  Wendy — his mother — answered instead. “Further than that, almost all the way to East Cape. He’s going to stay on his uncle’s farm. Aren’t you Robbie?”

  Again Robbie remained silent.

  “That should be great this time of year,” said the man as he put the tag on Robbie’s bag. “Boarding through gate twelve in half an hour. Have a nice trip.” Already his cheerful smile was for the next passenger.

  * * *

  They went out onto the observation deck to join Robbie’s two sisters, who were plane spotting. Robbie slumped on a seat facing the terminal. Wendy stood by the girls. “Half an hour more,” she said to herself. “Just another half hour and he’ll be gone.”

  It had been a tough Christmas for Wendy. She’d been warned it would be. The first Christmas without her husband was always going to be hard. Yet she’d coped with the empty space in the bed beside her at night, despite more than a few tears, and the girls had mostly been helpful and thoughtful. It was her son who had caused all the problems. He rarely spoke and when he did, it would have been better if he hadn’t. His normal quick humour had developed into a vicious, biting, hurtful tongue.

  He hadn’t bought any presents and had to be forced to open the ones he received. There had been no thanks. She knew he must be hurting inside, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. He was slowly killing what was left of the family. She could only hope four weeks of absence would change things for the better.

  “Oh please, God,” she whispered, “make something happen. Bring me back my son.”

  Just before boarding she took him into the bookstore to buy something to read on the plane. Robbie hardly looked at the shelves before saying there was nothing he wanted. In the end, she chose two magazines that looked like the sort of thing he might read. Then, on an impulse, she bought him a small digital camera. It was a cheap one, but good enough to have a zoom lens. In the past, he was always saying he wanted one.

  “It’ll be great for taking birds, Robbie,” she said.

  Robbie’s only response was to put it in his bag.

  When the plane finally took off Wendy felt a wave of relief, which was quickly followed by guilt. She turned and walked away, wondering what sort of holiday he would have. No doubt she’d hear if anything went wrong. When it came to Robbie, these days it seemed as if that was all she did.

  Chapter 2

  The flight over the Bay of Plenty should have fascinated Robbie. He had a double seat to himself and a great view of the huge sweeping bay and its many small volcanic islands. Six months before he would have enjoyed it. Instead, he looked out the window without really seeing anything.

  It was only when the hostess pointed to the smoking cone of White Island that he showed any life at all. At the beginning of last year he’d done a project on New Zealand’s only constantly active volcano. He wondered what it would be like to see it in real life. His interest grew enough to unpack the camera. It was easy enough to use and he soon had it focussed on the island through the porthole. The view was nowhere near as clear as he’d hoped. He took a photo anyway, wishing the plane would go closer so he could get a better shot.

  Soon after, a voice asked passengers to prepare for landing at Whakatane airport. Robbie was disappointed — they’d been as close to the volcano as they were going to get.

  The approach path ran parallel to the beach He could see straight down to the surf and watched as two tiny black figures on boards caught a wave that seemed to stretch across the bay. An orange windsock showed the start of the runway and grass rushed by the wind
ow. Robbie caught a glimpse of some black and white birds taking flight. They seemed far too close to be safe — they’d be hit if they didn’t move out of the way. Suddenly the engines roared and the nose of the plane jerked upwards. People gasped. The cabin lights dimmed, and warning lights flashed. A child at the back, started screaming. Robbie tightened his grip on the armrests until his knuckles were white.

  It was all over before it really started. Soon the plane was climbing gently away from the airport. A calm, pleasant voice came over the speaker.

  “Sorry about that. A flock of birds moved across the runway. It’ll be clear soon. We’ll circle round and make a new approach shortly. In the meantime you can admire a much closer view of White Island than we normally give our passengers.”

  The plane looped back almost directly over the island. Robbie had a clear view of steam rising from a huge crater. For a moment he imagined he was looking into hell. What a great place to visit, he thought as he took another photo, this one much clearer than the first.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later they were walking down the gangway Anxious families were waiting nearby, held back by a flimsy wire fence. Robbie followed the others to the gate. He had no idea who to look for, as he’d never met his uncle. He scanned the crowd, not knowing what to expect, suddenly worried he’d be left there without anyone. Then one face stood out from all the others. For a moment he thought it was his father, and was about to call out, recovering just in time. There was no way it could be his father, but it could be his father’s brother. He was looking at his uncle.

  “Welcome to the Bay of Plenty Robbie,” said an uncomfortably familiar voice. “I’m Jim. I have to say that was one hell of an entry.”

  The likeness to his father was both striking and alarming — the thinness, the long, kindly face and the baldness. But when he bent over, offering his hand in a formal greeting, the differences showed. This man was taller and older; his face far more weather-beaten than Robbie’s father’s had ever been. His hand was hard and lumpy, not soft and smooth like his dad’s. Yet the eyes were the same — friendly and caring.

  “Yeah. It was almost a bird strike.”

  “So I heard. It’s been a big issue around here. They’ve been arguing about it for months. Civil aviation want to shoot them, but the local greenies keep stopping them.”

  “What sort of birds are they?”

  His uncle blinked. It didn’t matter to him what sort of bird it was. “I don’t know. I think somebody said they were plovers or something like that. They make a hell of a lot of noise, I know that much.”

  Robbie recalled the flash of black and white. “Probably Australian spur-winged plovers,” he said. “They’re very common here now.”

  The man laughed, a deep, rumbly sound. “Aussies, eh? Well, that explains all the noise.” Then he looked at the boy strangely. “But how do you know all that?”

  Robbie regretted showing off his knowledge. “I just know a bit about nature and stuff.”

  “Well, you’ll find plenty of that around the farm. C’mon, we’d better get going.”

  * * *

  The trip from Whakatane was slow and difficult, with the beaches and roads choked with campervans, caravans, trailers, boats and backpackers.

  “This is the worst time of the year around here,” grumbled his uncle. “Seems like everyone in the country wants to be here. Ever since the start of the new millennium everybody has to be the first in the world to see the sunrise each New Year.” Then he laughed. “I doubt they saw much this morning. It was pouring with rain when I got up.”

  After they passed through Opotiki the traffic got worse. On one part of the road they had to queue to get round a rocky bluff where the road reduced to a single lane. Out to sea, White Island was plainly visible in the setting sun. The clouds of steam from the island were tinged with orange as they drifted to the east.

  Robbie pointed to it and asked, “You ever been there?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Very dangerous!” Jim looked over to Robbie. “I s’pose someone who’s interested in nature and stuff like that would want to go there?”

  “Yeah. I might.”

  “I’ll see what we can do. Something could be arranged.” He was about to say something else when the van in front moved off and he had to work on the tricky move around the bluff.

  The rest of the trip was in silence. Robbie liked it that way. He looked out the window, taking in little, but thinking a lot. Every minute or so his gaze would go to the smoking volcano on the horizon, until it became too dark to see. Even then he kept looking, expecting to see a glow or something. All he could see, however, were the lights of boats, dotted over a black sea.

  Chapter 3

  The first night was bad. Their late dinner had been awkward. Jim talked about the farm, the district, fishing, anything, except the reason for Robbie’s visit. Robbie answered his questions, but without saying anything that might show his true thoughts. Later, he lay trying to sleep without thinking about anything — an impossible combination. It was broken by the call of a morepork. “Ninox novaeseelandiae,” he whispered. It was one of the few scientific names he knew — he remembered it because of the Latin form of “New Zealand”.

  Then he remembered the last time he’d heard a morepork. It had been the September school holidays. He and his father had gone camping in the Coromandel Ranges. It’d been a magic time — fishing, tramping, cooking, but mostly just being together. Then on the last night, in the darkness, as they listened to the sounds of the, bush, his father told him about the cancer. They had both cried, rocking backwards and forwards in each other’s arms.

  Now he cried by himself — great body-wrenching sobs that wouldn’t end. They went on and on. At one stage a light shone under the door and he could sense someone listening. It could only be Jim. For a few moments he managed to stop crying, until after the light went out. Then the morepork’s mournful call brought another surge of memories and the crying returned.

  Eventually he was done, exhausted. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. That had been his first tears since the night in the bush.

  * * *

  The room was filled with light when he woke to a bright, cloudless day with heaps of promise. He felt good. For the first time in months he wanted to get out of bed. Although the still-wet pillow was a reminder of the crying, somehow it wasn’t a painful reminder. He felt as if something had changed.

  Robbie scanned the horizon for White Island. It was there, framed by two large trees, as if the house had been positioned just for that view. There seemed to be more activity than when he arrived. Steam clouds towered over the volcano, drifting only slightly in the nearly still air. As he looked, an extra-large puff spewed out, hiding it from view for a while. He smiled to himself. If there was a decent eruption, he’d have one of the best views.

  Then his heart missed a beat. He recognized the scene. His father had drawn it for him. Robbie had thought it was just some imagined place — now he knew it was real. He suddenly understood that the room he had just slept in was his father’s old room. Strangely, instead of feeling sad again, he felt good about it. He was finding out things about his father’s childhood. Somehow, it made him seem closer.

  Jim was already having breakfast when Robbie went down to the kitchen. Again, the likeness to his father caught him and he almost went up and touched him. Instead he sat down and pulled up a plate.

  “There’s sausages and bacon in the oven.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I could make porridge. Do you like porridge?”

  Robbie shook his head. “No. I don’t eat pig shit.”

  Jim gave him a stare and was about to say something when he clamped his mouth shut. Instead he got up and served a helping of sausages and bacon. “Here, get some of that into you.”

  Robbie was regretting the “pig shit” comment — it had come out of habit. He picked at the b
acon, trying a small bit. It tasted good. Instantly he realized he was hungry That was something else he hadn’t felt for a while.

  The meal was mostly spent in silence. All the unspoken things were hanging over them again. At one stage the phone rang with a funny combination of rings. Jim simply ignored it. After a while it stopped.

  “What was that?”

  “That was Noel Richardson’s ring, two shorts and a long. The Morse code for U.” He smiled at Robbie. “None of your fancy city stuff out here. We’re still on a party line. Three of us share this one, and we’ve each got a different ring. TotalCom call it a Multiplexed Rural Network, but it’s still just a fancied-up party line. They say we’re one of the last in the country and they’ll do something about it soon. They’ve been saying that for twenty years. It’ll never happen. Why would they change it? They make more money out of mobile phones than they do out of land lines.”

  “What’s your ring?”

  “Short, long, short. The letter R.”

  A while later the phone gave a brief tinkle. “There. That’s him off the line now.” Then came a long combination of clicks. “That’s somebody making a call. Probably Richardson. Nobody else can get on because of him.” Jim stood up. “C’mon, better get these dishes done and start doing some work.”

  Robbie had already noted how tidy the place was. The previous night they’d done the dishes before going to bed. Now it was the same. The dishes had to be done before they got to work. Jim might live by himself, but he didn’t live like a slob.