‘He never stopped trying. But your mother moved and stopped using the name Robertson. Your address wasn’t published and Dad had no clue where you were. He sent letters to your Gran but she wouldn’t say either. She took money from him though. He set up a trust fund for your education.’
‘He what?’
‘Did your grandmother pay for your schooling?’
‘Yes,’ Matt said. ‘All except my bachelor degree.’ He sat thinking about the implication of this knowledge. This changed everything. He had always assumed his Gran got the education money from Warren, but now he realised his father had tried to do the right thing.
‘And then he couldn’t even try to contact you again. His stroke saw to that.’
Matt sat bolt upright. ‘A stroke! How bad is it? Can he walk and talk?’
‘It was a right-hemisphere stroke. He’s alert and coherent but he has trouble walking and doing things as simple as tying his shoes. You also sometimes have to repeat yourself to him or tell him what he did yesterday. His short-term memory is shot, but he can remember everything from his past better than I can. He remembers you and will be so happy to see you. You’ll still get a chance to get to know your father, our dad. We can go and visit him in the care-home on Sunday if you’d like.’
Matt hesitated, only briefly. ‘Yes, I’d like that. The least I can do is give him a chance.’
‘Brilliant,’ Nadine said, pouring Matt a refill and smiling widely, ‘in the mean time, I’d love to finally get to know my brother.’
Matt grabbed a delicious looking chocolate biscuit from the tin Nadine had placed in the middle of the table. Comfort food. He leaned back into his chair, and wrapped his hand around the warm coffee mug.
‘Well, you can start by calling me Matt.’
Matt sat in the car looking across to the city from the top of Mount Victoria. The peaceful vista helped to slow down his rapid heartbeat. Still, five minutes after leaving Nadine’s house, his breathing and pulse hadn’t returned to normal. It was as if he had just run up the volcano, rather than come by car. The city glistened in the sunlight. The water in the boat-filled harbour was calm and green. The car windows were down and the fresh air that greeted his nostrils had a calming effect. A stroll was in order. Noticing the group of drinking youths nearby, Matt tried to remove the GPS from the window. They looked harmless enough, but this was Warren’s car. Better safe than sorry and all that. His efforts were fruitless. All Matt succeeded in doing was putting a big scratch on the device’s metal frame, beside the power button.
Sorry Warren, I was trying to help. He left the GPS where it was, stepped out of the car and carefully locked it.
Matt walked by a large Disappearing-Cannon, submerged in a concrete bunker beside the car-park. Red and white concrete mushrooms filled the small field behind it. They looked like an odd art installation, but Matt realised these could be the air vents of an underground bunker. It was the first time he had considered the preparations New Zealand must have made for threats like the Russians in the late 19th century, or the world wars in the last one. Amazing, the distances that war travels. It creates divides and crosses them too. He walked further across the hillside, passing by a harbour signal station, and eventually came to the edge of the volcano. He sat down on the roof of a concrete gunning bunker. As he gazed out at Rangitoto, the island that Warren had told him about, he compared the dormant volcano to the dormant relationship he had with his father. Who knew when either could spring back to life? His pocket started to vibrate and ring.
Matt jumped a little, the ringing phone having rudely interrupted his daydreams, and pulled the vibrating monster from his pocket. A quick glance at the screen told him that it wasn’t Warren or Julia. Is that Aimee’s number? It was someone in New Zealand. He could tell from the +64 that showed up on the display. He answered hesitantly.
‘Matthew Cameron.’
‘Hi Matt.’ There was a brief pause as if she was waiting for him to guess. ‘It’s Aimee.’
‘Oh… hi Aimee.’ Matt sat up and brushed the sand off his pants.
‘I thought I should give you a call to make sure you don’t forget me when you’re famous,’ Aimee said, laughing.
‘Pardon?’
‘You seem to be a bit of the talk in the town right now.’
‘What? I am? How so?’
‘Well, the kind of people who are interested in proving that the Celts were here before the Maori are definitely talking about you. It seems like word has got out that you and your friend have found some sort of Celtic site that has been taken over by the DCI. The conspiracists are running wild.’
‘I hope we aren’t causing any trouble.’
‘Not at all. I think everyone’s enjoying the situation. The conspiracists for obvious reasons. And the DCI are, of course, always interested in any advancement we can make to New Zealand history.’
Matt smiled. He didn’t really believe the DCI were interested in advancements at all anymore. Only cover-ups. ‘We?’ Matt asked.
‘We, you know, New Zealand.’
‘Ah right, of course, but I don’t know how much of an impact our finding these two coins will make,’ Matt said, attempting to plant Warren’s story firmly with Aimee.
‘Is it only two coins?’ she asked, sounding a little disappointed. ‘With all the work in the rumour-mill, I thought it might be more than that. Perhaps I could help out. I’d love to get away from my study, it’s so boring always doing the same thing. If you like, I could look into your find for you. Anything I can do to help is good with me.’
Matt though about her offer for a minute. On the one hand, he was slightly unsure of why she was so eager to help. Warren telling him to trust no one played over in his head. Until now, he had only discussed the true nature of his trip with Julia. On the other hand, Aimee seemed like a nice girl and Matt wanted the opportunity to get to know her better. Besides, her input and unbiased opinion would be a welcome addition. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘why don’t we meet up on Saturday? You could show me about a bit and then I’ll buy you lunch to say thanks.’
‘Sounds great to me.’
Matthew made arrangements to meet Aimee in front of the Britomart station at ten on Saturday morning and ended the call. As he sat on his army bunker, he watched yachts and ferries travelling to and from the city’s wharfs. His thoughts mirrored their organised chaos. Despite being nervous about meeting his father on Sunday, Matt looked forward to the weekend.
CHAPTER 16
Tuesday, June 1, 1526
We have struggled for the last few days, sailing under sunless skies in bitterly cold conditions. The whole crew, I include myself, have lost the joy we had felt after our successful navigation of the straits. We are approximately 157 leagues from Cape Deseado, where we left the straits behind us. Earlier today, a gale once again took hold of us and separated us from the rest of the fleet. The watch briefly spotted the pinnace Santiago in the far distance, but we have lost sight of her since. We are now alone in a lonely and cold ocean. Even the fine wines which I enjoy with the pilot and master in the evening are doing little to restore warmth to us. At least I have the companionship of these two men, who have become my friends. Without them, I fear this would be a spiralling journey into a personal hell. We pray we will meet with our fleet again soon.
Greg Scowen
The Spanish Helmet
Sunday, June 6, 1526
It is the fifth day since we have seen any of the rest of the fleet. I can only presume that they are either in front or behind us and that we will find each other again on our arrival at the Moluccas. Our instructions tell us that if we are to be separated from the fleet we should sail on to the Moluccas and await the others there. Accordingly, I have set a course for the Moluccas. On arrival there, we will wait one month for the others. If they do not arrive, we will assume them lost and continue home to Spain.