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We sit around the table and tuck into the feast. She’s done herself proud this year. The trays from the hangi contain chicken, lamb, pork, fish and some shellfish, potatoes, kumara or sweet potatoes, cabbage, pumpkin, and stuffing. Mum’s also prepared a big watercress salad and fried bread, and there are steamed puddings with custard for dessert.
There’s plenty of alcohol, and because it’s Christmas, Rangi, who’s the oldest, is allowed to have a beer. He drinks it—a little too quickly—and helps himself to another. Nobody else notices, but I frown as I finish my dessert. He returns to the table, and continues pushing his dinner around with his fork.
I’ve brought my guitar, and I strum Po Tapu—Silent Night, and Harikoa—Silver Bells, and then Te pukeko i te rakau ponga—A Pukeko in a Ponga Tree, which is our version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, the kids all joining in.
I manage to get all the way up to Five Big Fat Pigs before it all goes tits up.
“For God’s sake,” Philip says to Rangi, “what’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve been sucking a lemon.”
Still strumming, I glance at them. Rangi doesn’t reply—he just glares morosely at the table.
“I asked you a question,” Philip demands.
Rangi looks up, and his eyes meet mine. I give a small shake of my head. His chest heaves, and then he looks back at his father.
“Ellie’s pregnant,” he says.
I stop strumming. All the adults and the kids who know what it means stare at him. The toddlers look around at the rest of us, obviously sensing trouble brewing.
“What?” Philip thunders.
Rangi pushes his dinner away. “Her parents are making her have an abortion, so you don’t have to worry.”
Mum presses her fingers to her mouth.
Teariki frowns and says, “Rangi. That’s not an appropriate topic at the table.”
“Of course it’s not,” Rangi shouts. “We’re supposed to be celebrating the birth of Jesus, aren’t we? Not the murder of a baby.”
Rangi’s sister, nine-year-old Kaia, says, “What’s an abortion?”
Her mother, Hine, snaps, “Rangi! Not at the table!”
He’s upset, though, and he’s not about to behave just because his stepmother—who he’s always disliked—is demanding it. “We both want the baby,” he says. “Why should she have to get rid of it?”
“Because her parents obviously have more sense than she does,” Philip snaps. “You fucking idiot,” he says to his son, filling me with shame, because I said the same thing. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants, could you? I knew she was a slut.”
A heartbeat passes as everyone stares at everyone else with varying degrees of horror, and then Rangi springs for his father across the table. He lands on Philip and knocks his chair backward, and Philip’s feet shoot out, hitting the table. Glasses and plates of half-eaten food fly everywhere. The toddlers start crying, Kaia screams, and Mum yells, “Henry! Do something!”
I get to my feet, walk around the table, grab the back of Rangi’s tee, and haul him off his father.
“Stop it!” I snap as he struggles to get free. I frog march him over to a seat, push him down, and say, “Sit there.”
Teariki helps Philip up. Embarrassed and furious, he straightens his clothes and strides over to his son.
“How dare you hit me!” he yells.
“All right.” I position myself between them. “Easy, now.”
“Get out of my fucking way.” Philip pushes my chest, but although I’m younger than he is, I’m six inches taller and a whole lot heavier, so I don’t move.
“He’s upset, that’s all,” I say, holding Philip back with a hand on his chest. “Don’t make it worse.”
“Get your fucking hands off me.” He gives me a right hook that connects with my temple, making me see stars for a moment.
“You piece of shit!” I hit him back, and he stumbles and goes down.
“Enough!” Teariki yells. “I want everyone to calm down.”
