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The Thread That Binds Pt. 01

By: charlottebraddon



Chapter 1: 

The conductor tapped his baton. "A little less from the second bass, please." He glanced at Mark, and the boy gave a nervous smile. Mark had a rich deep bass baritone voice and a keen ear for music. But he did occasionally get carried away, especially on the strong choruses of the Negro spirituals. 

Mark liked Dr Wilson, his choir master. His inspirational teaching, and Mark's desire to be part of a choir that won the choral championships had been the main factors behind his decision to stay on at school for an extra year, though his mother didn't know that this was the reason. 

John Wilson raised his baton to start again from the top, and this time Mark made an effort to keep his voice down to mezzo forte, as the choir ran through the piece one more time. 

"Okay, that's enough for today. It's coming along well. Pack it in now." John Wilson lowered his baton, and there was a bustle as the choir members said their farewells, put on their coats and scarves and started out the door, some of them to walk or cycle home in the dark, but most of them to wait for their parents to pick them up. 

Mark waited in the shelter of the school wall, clenching himself to keep warm. A few Wellington East girls passed him, heads down, huddled in their scarves and jackets. In spite of the biting wind that made most of them scurry home as quickly as they could, a couple of them thought that the dark burly figure of Mark was worth slowing their pace and giving a flirtatious grin. 

Sorry girls, thought Mark. I'm taken. Mark heard the familiar purr of the late model BMW and walked out to meet his parents. 

"How did it go, Mark?" Mark's father Tasi greeted him as he climbed into the back. Mark gave a nod of greeting to his mother, sitting rigidly in the passenger seat. 

"Pretty good, dad. I reckon the school choral championship is in the bag." 

"That's great son. You'll do the Islands proud. We Samoans are always good for a sing-a-long. Eh, Marge." 

Mark's mother sniffed. "I'm certainly glad Mark is channelling his competitive energy into a more cultural pursuit this year. Certainly an improvement on boxing. I used to worry myself sick when he came home from those bouts with a split lip and black eye. I see far too many boxers in the trauma ward." 

"Oh, mum, those are boys who don't wear the right protective equipment. It's much safer now than in Muhammad Ali's day. Nowadays...," Mark began. 

"I know what you're going to say, Mark, but you don't have an educated opinion. As a doctor I have seen too many sporting injuries, and I abhor contact sports. I've said all I'm going to say." 

There was an uncomfortable silence as Tasi drove down Courtney Place looking for a place to park. 

"You looking forward to tonight, son?" he said eventually. "Should be a choice concert, eh?" 

Mark nodded assent, wishing his father would not try to talk like a teenager. 

Tasi drove into the covered carpark, which meant they would remain warm and dry as they walked to the Michael Fowler building, able to show off their evening finery. Mark was in his best school uniform, blazer and tie. Tasi was wearing a dark suit, and Marge was dressed in corporate attire with a brooch and string of pearls. As they approached the foyer of the concert hall, Tasi called out to a similarly dressed couple with a slim honey-blonde young woman walking behind them. 

"Gidday, Shona," said Mark to the young lady as the parents greeted each other. 

"Hello Mark." Shona stood on tiptoe and gave Mark a peck on the cheek. "Did you have a good day?" 

The two held hands and walked into the chamber where the musicians were tuning up. 

"I'm looking forward to this concert," said Shona, as a dark skinned attractive part Samoan woman took their ticket and showed them to their seat. Mark glanced at the woman a little more than protocol demanded, noting her name tag, 'Hinemoa,' and Shona gave a tutting noise. 

"That woman is closer to your mother's age," she said, as they took their seat. 

"Nicely preserved though." Mark smiled. "But don't worry, she's only an usher, I wouldn't fancy her." 

"Not like me, eh. A nice Palangi girl from an established family." Shona leaned against Mark's muscular body. Mark put his arms around her just as the opening notes of the Tchaikovsky violin concerto started. 

For the next hour the two never moved except to snuggle closer. Mark loved classical music, and the goose bump-inducing melody of the violin solo contrasted with the heat given off by Shona's warm flesh pressed next to him, to provide a novel sensation. 

Mark was squeezing Shona's waist, his hand resting just below her navel. Did he dare to lower it just a little? He gave his hand an experimental squirm during the lively third movement. Shona tensed. Maybe not just yet. Give it time. 

The final notes of the concerto died away, and the audience clapped while the conductor took a bow centre stage, sweeping his arms in a flamboyant manner than Mark thought inexcusably gay. Shona disentangled herself from Mark as they extracted themselves from their seats. 

"That was beautiful, Mark," she sighed. "What did you think?" 

Mark didn't reply. The music, haunting as always, made him shudder with delight. Added to that the warm girl next to him, and his feelings were too intense for words. 

The two met the parents in the foyer. The men were grasping handles of beer and the women glasses of wine. Shona didn't drink, but her mother offered to get her a soft drink. 

"And a beer for you, lad?" Tasi asked Mark, moving towards the bar. 

"No thanks, dad. I'd like to take a bit of fresh air. Do you want to come?" Mark turned to Shona. 

She nodded, slipping her hand into his. 

The wind pelted the young couple through their thin clothing as they stepped outside, like one of Mark's sparring partners. The two clung to each other face to face in a dark corner outside the building. Mark moved forward and touched Shona's lips. He was taken aback at the passion with which she returned his kiss, as though she wanted to swallow him. 

The two of them moved their mouths back and forward and then Mark's hand strayed up Shona's dress, encountering nothing more exciting than her tights. He inched his fingers up her behind, hooking them through the top of the tights, and then he was slipping them down through bare skin, cold and clammy on his hand. He gave an experimental squeeze, hoping they would warm up. 

"I'd like to go in," said Shona. "It's too cold." 

Mark extracted his hand with some difficulty, and the two of them walked back into the warmth. 

The same attractive usherette beckoned them in for the second half of the concert, and this time more deliberately, Mark let his gaze fall on her. Then he felt a pang of shame as Shona's lips tightened. The two of them returned to their seats where Mark, in a gesture of reconciliation, cuddled up to Shona again, as the orchestra took their places. 

"I like Shona," said Marge, as they drove back after the concert. "She comes from a solid Wellington family. The Hodges go way back." 

Mark sat in the back seat, still absorbed with the music in his head, and not wanting to disturb the mood. As the orchestra slowly built up volume in his mind, he recalled the soft touch of Shona's skin as he squeezed it. 

The next day Mark was absorbed with his school work. There were the mock exams coming up as well as the regional choral championships, and Mark's mother had been pushing him to improve his marks so he could get into medical school. The intense cramming after school, plus choir practice three times a week, put any thought of sex or romance out of his mind. Then on Friday evening, he called Shona to ask her to the pictures. 

"There's the latest Harry Potter movie, Shones. In 3-D, no less. Do you want to come along with me?" 

"That would be great Mark," Shona replied. "Afterwards we can go back to my place for supper. My folks will be out." 

The two of them met at the Reading food court before the movie began, both rather self-conscious. They had been to formal dances, church functions and of course concerts together, often in the company of their parents. Mark realised that this was their first 'date' in the conventional sense, and his less formal attire made him feel uncomfortable. 

"What are you having?" Mark and Shona had looked through the various foods on offer; Indian, Thai, Turkish, plus the inevitable McDonald's outlet, and settled on one offering solid kiwi fare. Fish, chips and sausages. 

Shona hesitated. "I'll have a fish and chips with one sausage. But let me pay." 

Mark opened his mouth to say something as the teenage boy came up to the counter to take Mark's order. Rather embarrassing; it was Wally, one of Mark's classmates from his year 12 class two years ago, who had dropped out of school. They were not particularly close friends, but Wally gave a flicker of recognition; which Mark ignored. 

"Two fish and chips, with a sausage, please mate." Mark passed over a fifty dollar note and waited for his change. 

"I said I would get it," Shona sounded more embarrassed than annoyed. 

"You get the next one, eh, Shones." Mark's dad had told him a gentleman always pays, and Mark wanted to do this right. But real life is a bit more complex. Mark realised that Palangi women saw things differently, and Wellington is not the Islands. 

The young couple sat at the crowded formica tables, raising their voices slightly to be heard among the hubbub, searching for topics. Last week's concert was good for five minutes conversation, but Mark found it difficult to put in words the way music made him feel. I'm a musician, not a writer, he thought. More interesting than conversation were Shona's tits, the shape of which he could see through her t-shirt and bra, firm and pointing. His mind started to explore their bra-less shape, and in his imagination his hands started to rub and fondle them. 

"I asked how the choral singing was getting on, Mark." Shona was talking to him. Mark wrenched his mind back from the imaginary naked Shona to the somewhat less interesting one sitting across from him. 

"Eh, what's that? Oh yes, the choir. Well Dr. Wilson the choir teacher is really good. He used to be assistant choir master for the Cambridge Boys' choir. He knows his stuff. And he's a good teacher too. Doesn't put on airs. So we have a good chance of acing the tournament." 

"You're lucky to have such a good teacher. I think our music teacher at school was tone deaf." 

The two teenagers sniggered. 

"I'm glad you've got into the choir," said Shona. "I didn't like you doing boxing." 

"Not you as well? What's wrong with boxing? It's a gentleman's sport." 

"Maybe in the times of the Marquis of Queensberry," Shona replied. "But so many brown boys seem to get into it to get out of poverty. It doesn't seem right somehow." 

"What do you know about being a brown boy?" snapped Mark. 

"I know I like Islander boys," said Shona. "They're really handsome." She reached across and took his hand. 

Mark stroked Shona's smooth fingers. 

"I think you're right," he said. "Boxing's a mug's game. We Islanders are too fond of hitting each other." 

The discussion on boxing and alternative ways of showcasing sporting prowess kept the conversation going until they had finished their meal. Mark even found Shona's contribution interesting and his mind didn't stray back to her bust more than what would be considered normal for a horny nineteen year old. 

The two of them wondered over to the ticket office, and here Mark was spared further embarrassing date manoeuvres over who would pay. His father had shouted him two tickets to any Reading show two weeks ago as a reward for getting selected for the choral championship. 

Mark had sat through thirty minutes of the film, totally absorbed in the music, special effects and Emma Watson's body, and even paying some attention to the plot, before he remembered he had a girlfriend beside him, and he had better start thinking about his obligations in that direction. 

The dim light showed Shona leaning forward, her mouth slightly open, her high cheek bones accentuated. Mark slipped his arm around her, sliding it around the arm rest, rather like a snake slithering past an obstacle. 

Shona leaned into him and continued to stare raptly at the screen. So far, so good. Time to be more adventurous. Mark squirmed round to get into position, and placed his right hand on Shona's right breast. He gave a little squeeze. 

Shona moved slightly, and Mark tensed, ready to move his hand if Shona made any attempt to move it for him. But she just snuggled closer, and rested her own hand on his thigh. Things are going well. Well enough that Mark wished he had been bolder and made a direct attack on the crotch instead of a flanking movement to the bust. 

Extricating his right hand to reposition it would cause too much disturbance, and force each of them to become aware of what they were doing. But then, like a good boxer, he could always lead with the left. Mark slipped his left hand on Shona's left thigh and made soft kneading motions. Shona leaned in even closer. 

A movement started in Mark's crotch. Shona must feel it. Her hand was very close. Mark edged his own hand closer to the fleshy divide between Shona's legs, and then gave a gasp. Shona was rhythmically stroking his cock through his jeans. He gave a groan and a wriggle, as his cock strained against his tight clothing, then he tensed and drew away when the man on his left tutted in annoyance. Shona left her hand resting on Mark's crotch, and Mark put his own hand over the top of it, disguising the situation somewhat. His right hand was still grasping Shona's boob. 

With the position rather cramped, foreplay was suspended until further notice. Mark distracted himself from the ache in his balls by paying attention to the movie. Both the teenagers shifted their hands slightly. 

When the theme music started for the end of the film, the two looked at each other, held hands then pushed as quickly as possible out of the row. 

"Who are you pushing?" growled a middle aged man with two children. 

"Sorry," Mark muttered. He waited until the man had guided the children out of the row, then the two of them rushed out of Readings, into the parking building, and into Mark's father's car. 

Shona clamped her mouth around Mark even before he had turned the keys, giving a howl as she bumped her elbow on the steering wheel. 

"Not here," panted Mark, his bulge clearly visible over his trousers and tight underpants. "Your place." 

Mark guided the car through the parking building, trying to ignore Shona who was kneading his crotch. She unzipped his fly and he felt her slender fingers explore underneath, searching for his naked cock, rasping on his pubic hairs. 

There was a squeal of brakes, as Mark just missed tailgating the car ahead. 

"Jeez, Shona, wait why can't you? Just about had an accident." 

"I can't wait, big boy. I'm just so horny." Shona pressed her head against Mark's shoulder and nuzzled him. 

As they drove through the less crowded suburban streets towards Roseneath, Shona renewed her attack on Mark's organ. Mark groaned and wriggled, and rested his hand on Shona's thigh, but dared not keep his eyes from the road. Shona positioned his hand in her crotch and started rubbing her thighs over it. 

The two of them rushed out of the car as soon as they had swept up the drive of the Hodge's stately house. Shona inserted the key in the lock, as Mark placed his hand up Shona's blouse, disappointed to feel a tightness where her boobs pressed against her bra. 

Mark moved his hands around to undo Shona's bra strap as she pushed open the door. Before the door had even closed properly they were rushing up the stairs to Shona's bedroom. Mark had never been into this girly sanctuary before and he vaguely took in the pastel shades of the walls, the matching bed covers, and the posters of young Hollywood actors on the wall before the two of them fell on the bed. 

"Do you have protection?" Shona whispered, just before Mark clamped his mouth on hers. 

"Woobn gwo ood mmm." 

Shona put her hands on Mark's chest and pushed him off her. 

"I think we can say that kissing and talking don't go together," she said. "I didn't catch that. I asked if you had protection." 

"Oh God, I forgot about that." Mark slapped himself on the face. How could he have been so careless? Of course, it was the gentleman's responsibility to provide condoms. But then, a gentleman wouldn't be doing what he was doing anyway. No matter how willing his partner was. And didn't condoms spoil the intimacy and spontaneity? What kind of a man-slut brings condoms along on a first date anyway. Only one who expects to score. Come to think of it, what sort of woman expects him to? 

A very hot one, his penis whispered to him. Stop thinking so much. 

"Let's just do it," said Mark. "It doesn't matter." Mark's throbbing cock was physically hurting, and his breathing was heavy and rasping. 

"Suppose I get pregnant?" 

Mark felt a flash of irritation. His girlfriend was a cock-teaser. Leading him on all the way through the movie, and now piking out. 

"I don't know," Mark raised his arms and gave an aggressive shrug. I'll pull out." 

"I don't think so," said Shona. "You may forget or mis-time it. Perhaps we should wait for another time." 

Okay for her to be so cool. She's not the one with a hard-on like an elephant. Mark knew he was being unreasonable, especially when Shona told him they could play around a bit if he wanted, just no penetration, but as he felt at present, his dick was bigger than his brain. 

"Forget it then," he growled. "I'll go home now." 

"Come on, big boy," said Shona, getting off the bed and walking over to him. "We can still have a good time. Come and feel my pussy. It's getting really wet. I know you want to." 

Conflicting emotions stirred within Mark. On the one hand all this talk of wet pussies was turning him on no end, on the other... 

On the other hand, Shona is a bitch. Probably frigid. If she was as horny as she makes out she wouldn't be so detached and clinical, or so concerned with the consequences. She doesn't trust me to pull out, that's what it is. But God, is she hot. Mark stared at his girlfriend, who had now slipped off her jeans and blouse and was standing in her bra and panties, legs slightly apart, one hand on her hips in a provocative pose. A thin line of black pubic hair could be seen outside her knickers, and the darker colour of her mound was visible inside them. As Mark watched, a wet stain started to spread on Shona's knickers. Shona slipped her hand under them, moved it round and started to groan, looking straight at Mark all the time. 

Mark felt a rushing surge in his groin area, and next thing he knew there was a wet patch on his jeans, and his face turned red with embarrassment. 

"What is it?" said Shona. "Come over here." She started to pull down her knickers. 

Mark realised that the bed was positioned in such a way that Shona would not have seen his wet patch. "I need to go," he muttered. "I'll see myself out." Without looking at Shona, he turned around quickly and ran out of the house. 

Chapter 2: 

Mark liked to sleep in on Sundays, the only day he didn't have school work, homework or choir practice. When his tousled head appeared at the foot of the stairs, his parents were sitting at the breakfast table. His father was reading the paper, and his mother a magazine. 

"Morning, Mark," said Tasi, looking up. 

"Morning," Mark headed to the kitchen and helped himself to eggs, bacon and orange juice, before sitting at the table next to his father. 


The Thread That Binds Pt. 02



Chapter 5: 

"Go on, open it." Shona passed the envelope to Mark. "It must be good news. Nobody uses snail mail any more except for special occasions." 

Mark and Shona were squashed together in Mark's single bed. Both sets of parents had gone away for the weekend, and the couple had taken advantage of their freedom with an all day sex session, finally falling to sleep, clutched in each others' embrace at midnight the previous night. 

Now the sun was streaming through the window from a clear sky, promising the first really warm day of summer. Mark had his hand resting on Shona's pussy, his favourite spot. Even when he was sated, his cock dangling like a desiccated earthworm, he could raise a groan or two by a little finger waggling. He massaged Shona's mound as he took the envelope with his other hand. Then he dragged his finger through the warm slit, causing Shona to wriggle and grimace, before taking it out, wet and glistening, and letting Shona suck the juices off it. 

Mark took the envelope and opened it. As he read, his smile broadened, and finally he gave a whoop. 

"I've got into medical school in Auckland!" He thrust the letter in front of Shona. Shona gave a squeal of delight as she read the letter, wrapping her legs around Mark's naked body. 

"Great news!" she said. "So what do you want to do to celebrate?" 

Shona rolled round on top of Mark, her breasts tickling his nipples, then sat down on his thighs, her wet pussy hairs grinding against his crotch. It was quite obvious what sort of celebration Shona had in mind. Mark felt himself getting hard again. He grabbed at Shona's well proportioned breasts, admiring her dusky body with its ample curves, tapering down to her long thighs. His mind drifted to thoughts of the plumper woman he had seen in church. 

"Mmm, nice," said Shona, adjusting Mark's rapidly thickening cock, and then easing herself down on it, giving little grunts of pleasure. Mark gasped and groaned, squeezing Shona's breasts as she squirmed on top of him, grinding into him, ensuring the build up of tension was gradual. Mark tried to move but Shona had him pinned down. He moaned and sighed, running his thumbs around Shona's nipple. 

Mark squirted his liquid, and gave a sigh of relieved pressure. So glad I persuaded Shona to go on the pill, he thought. Much better than fiddling round with condoms. 

Shona got up off Mark and the semen inside her trickled onto his leg, mixed in with her own vaginal juices. The sex smell wafted into the air. 

"Finish me off," said Shona, bending down in front of Mark, raising her backside, showing the moist pink opening underneath, a foamy mass of cum just visible inside it. Mark reached his hand between Shona's thighs and slipped his fingers inside. Shona groaned, wriggled, and returned her arse to the upright position. Mark grabbed it, knelt behind Shona and rammed in his own cock, only half stiff, but enough to excite Shona as he started thrusting hard. The bed creaked and groaned, almost as loud as Shona's own shrieks. 

Mark's cock started to sag again. He looked at Shona's behind, the muscles twitching, and imagined the plumper one of the girl in church. 

Shona gasped as Marks' penis swelled like a blossoming flower, and she almost fell off the bed with the strength of his thrusts. Then Shona shuddered, and more liquid dripped from her hole. 

The two naked bodies were soaked with sexual juices, which Shona spread around them by rubbing their bodies together. 

"That was wonderful," said Shona, as her long blonde hair nestled against Mark's armpit, their sweaty body odour mingling with the sexual juice smells. Mark held onto Shona, feeling relaxed and happy, knowing he had kept her contented for the next little while. 

Eventually Shona asked Mark what they wanted to do for the rest of the day. Mark tensed beside her. He had undergone three orgasms that morning, and four the previous night. Though he had a firm appreciation of Shona's soft body, at the same time he felt totally drained. Maybe Shona would just let him rest his hand on her pussy, and stroke gently. He started to shift his hand. 

"I don't mean just sex, Mark. Our relationship must have something more than that. What do you want to do today? How shall we celebrate your good news?" 

"We can go to church later," said Mark. That would fill up part of the day. 

"I thought maybe we could give church a miss for once," said Shona. "After all, this is the first time we have been able to spend the whole weekend together. We should take advantage of it." 

"So what do you want to do, Shones," asked Mark. 

"I don't know. I thought we could maybe go ice skating. Would you like that?" 

Mark was not a bad ice skater, and normally would have agreed readily enough, but somehow the thought of Shona accompanying him through the day, just the two of them, gave him a feeling of unease. He loved Shona well enough, but all day, with just his girlfriend seemed too much to cope with at the moment. After all, it's not as if they were married or anything. 

"I'd like to go to church," said Mark. "I know that's what my mum and dad would want." 

Shona laughed. "Bit hypocritical, isn't it. After what we've been doing." 

That thought had occurred to Mark as well, so it was with increasing irritation that he replied. "No I don't think so. Christians are not perfect, just forgiven. My folks would like me to go, and people will just talk about us if we're not there," 

"Yeah, that's true," said Shona. She got up, and started gathering up her clothes. "I'll have a shower. Do you want to come in with me?" The previous evening they had undressed each other in the bathroom, soaped their private parts, and with much thrashing, bruised elbows and grunting, had made love standing up in the shower, the warm water cascading down on them, the semen trickling out of Shona, to be washed down the plughole. A preliminary to their all night session. 

"No, no time," said Mark. "You go first, and I'll follow." 

Mark waited until he heard the shower water gushing before gathering his own clothes and towel. When Shona came out, now dressed for church, he slipped inside. As the warm water coursed down his body he thought of his relationship. They had been a couple for six months now, and while their relationship had been punctuated with a great many clandestine sex encounters like their first one in the church toilets, this was the first time they had been given the opportunity for a more open sex session, with both sets of parents away at the same time. 

Mark enjoyed the sex; Shona's body was always there for him, and her mouth work was like nothing he had ever experienced. But Shona liked him to go out with her to various places including walks up Mount Victoria and restaurants; places that forced them to be in close proximity and talk to each other without groping. 

Mark got out of the shower and the two of them climbed into Mark's parents' BMW for the drive to the church. The two of them greeted the ushers and were guided to an empty seat, Mark looking around for a familiar freckled face, as he had done for the last six months, but not finding it. 

Shona snuggled up beside him and started talking about his move to Auckland to medical school next year. "You'll have to keep in touch," she said. "I can visit you in Auckland. You can show me the sights." Mark replied in a distracted fashion to Shona's attempts at conversation until with some relief the singing-like noise of the first hymn gave him an excuse to concentrate on something else. 

Shona's parents would be returning in the afternoon, so after church, Mark dropped Shona back to her place, and then lay back on his bed, thinking of sex, until his own parents arrived. As predicted both were pleased for Mark. His mother hugged him, and his father shook his hand. 

"We will have to go out to celebrate," said Tasi. "This is a rare achievement. My son, the famous surgeon." 

"Our son, Tasi," put in Marge. "Where would you like to go? Shona and her family can come with us. We could go to somewhere really nice." 

Mark remembered the French restaurant he and Shona had seen on the way to Mount Victoria one warm spring weekend, and Shona had dragged him to the menu outside the door to see what was on offer. "Mmm, foie gras," she had said. "Decadent, but nice," 

"What's foie gras?" asked Mark. 

"Don't you know? Its goose liver. Prepared by force feeding the geese. Nowadays most places use duck liver, but this is a traditional restaurant and still uses geese. She pointed to the sign above the door. "L'oie means the goose." 

"It sounds gross," said Mark. "Can't be much fun for the goose, either." 

"Oh, it doesn't hurt them much," said Shona. My French teacher last year, M. Pascal, told me. He loves foie gras. He thinks Kiwis are heathen because they banned its production here." 

Mark gave a grimace. "What gives that arrogant frog the right to come here and criticise our country? Why doesn't he go back where he came from, if he doesn't like it?" 

Shona had grabbed onto Mark's arm and kissed his ear. "Don't be cross, darling," she said. "We should go out there one day. It's a new place." 

"Too expensive for us," said Mark, glancing at the prices on the menu. "It would take me more than a week working for my dad to pay for a meal there." 

"Maybe we could go on a special occasion," said Shona. 

Remembering this, Mark suggested l'oie to his parents. Tasi hummed and hawed, expensive French muck, what's wrong with good Samoan food, but Marge agreed readily. So on the following Friday, two BMW's pulled up outside l'oie in Mount Victoria. Both families could have walked, but not in the fashionable high heels the women were wearing. 

Mark's family were the first to walk up to the front door of the restaurant, tastefully decorated with container plants. Two well dressed woman and a middle aged man approached the family and handed out a leaflet. Marge shrunk away. She was always embarrassed by unplanned social encounters, even with the extremely polite and friendly Jehovah's Witnesses. They were far too passionate and ... intense for her taste. These people seemed to be promoting something with the same intensity as the Witnesses promoted everlasting life, and she shrank from them. 

"No, thank you," she said, scuttling into the restaurant. 

Tasi was less polite, angrily brushing aside the man, who had approached him with an ingratiating smile. "You coming, Mark?" he demanded, holding open the door for his son. 

Mark had been about to engage with the young woman handing out the leaflet. When he heard his father he grabbed a leaflet from her and hurried into the restaurant. 

A young man in evening dress with a French accent glided to their side and after checking their reservation, guided the family to their table overlooking the street. Mark could see the three leaflet wielders talking among themselves. He surreptitiously looked at the leaflet the young woman had given him, as the French-sounding waiter helped Marge into her seat and poured out water for her. 

The leaflet showed a picture of a goose, its neck extended and hugging a huge metal tube, while a woman dressed in peasant garb pushed a bright blue bulging bag down its gullet. It looked like the kind of contraption his mother sometimes used to force icing through an aperture onto a cake, only it was a living creature it was being forced into. The caption read "Don't buy foie gras," and underneath was a description of the foie gras industry in France, and summaries of scientific studies on goose suffering written by veterinarians. Mark stopped reading. He was hungry and didn't want to spoil his appetite. 

The waiter, who Mark had taken a dislike to, ushered in Shona and her parents. The four older adults immediately began talking about their days and work. Mark kissed Shona lightly on the cheek and brushed the waiter aside, moving Shona's chair for her himself. 

"I'm starving," said Shona. "I'm looking forward to this. Thank you, Mr and Mrs Wiseman, for inviting me. 

"That's quite all right, Shona," said Marge. "After all, you encouraged Mark with his studies and helped him with some of his homework, so you are quite entitled to share with his triumph." Shona looked down, remembering what really went on in some of those 'homework' sessions with Mark. 

"I'm having the foie gras," said Campbell. "I don't care what these layabouts think." He gazed with scorn at the protesters outside. The original three well-dressed distributors had been joined by four younger protesters; three young men, and a scantily dressed young woman. They were holding placards, "Say no to animal abuse," "L'oie abuses animals," and "honk if you like geese". 

"It's disgusting the way they are allowed to disturb decent folk," said Marge. "They should be removed." 

"Looks like someone else has the same idea," said Tasi, as a blue flashing light reflected itself in the window. A police officer had walked up to the group, and was arguing and gesticulating with the placard holders. Mark's heart missed a beat. The young lady, the one arguing most vociferously with the policeman, was the freckled woman from church. 

She was wearing short shorts and thigh length boots, accentuating her best features, and a loose T shirt with some slogan on it. She didn't seem to be wearing a bra. At least, when she turned around to gesture angrily at the restaurant, Mark clearly saw the outline of her nipples through her shirt. 

"Why don't they get jobs?" muttered Shona to Mark. Mark was too distracted to reply. 

The older, better dressed protesters had elbowed the placard wielders aside, and were now having a quiet conversation with the policeman, and a pleasant looking police woman who had joined him. The placard wielders positioned themselves outside each of the windows fronting the street, and held up their placards so they were visible to the customers inside. 

The three well-dressed protesters shook hands with the police officers, handed each officer a leaflet, and the officers walked away. Soon the blue flashing light was no longer reflected in the window, and the protesters with the leaflets went back to their post by the front door. 

"Well!" exclaimed Marge. "That's typical. The police do nothing. I'd have arrested the lot of them, and thrown them into the cells for a night. That will teach them to spoil our evening." 

"We can go somewhere else if you want, Marge," said Tasi. 

"No, Tasi, that's just what they want," said Marge. "I'm staying here, and what's more I'll be ordering the foie gras. Shona likes it too. What about you, Mark, it's your evening after all." 

Mark glanced out of the window. The girl from church was stationed outside it, placard held up for everyone in the restaurant to see, her nipples wiggling under her shirt as she breathed in and out. 

"I'd like to stay, dad," he said. "I won't have the foie gras though. It seems cruel." 

"Come on Mark, they're only geese. Foie gras tastes divine," said Campbell. "Have you ever tried it?" 

Mark shook his head. 

"Don't pressure him, dad," said Shona, laying her hand on Mark's knee. "You can have some of mine if you want to try it," she said to Mark. 

The waiter had come by and was taking orders. Mark never liked this part of eating out. His parents would always fluff around, order something, then ask the waiter if the mushrooms were really fresh, or how well cooked the steak would be, change their mind and argue, then change it again. Mark waited while they got on with it, watching the woman with the placard and giving Shona a grope under the table. 

Mark was just wondering whether he and Shona might have time for a quickie in the toilets, when his parents finished making their choices and the waiter turned to him and Shona. Mark skipped on the entree, but Shona ordered the foie gras. Mark read through the French menu, something that was a struggle for him, never having been taught a foreign language. 

Shona, who came near the top of her class in French last year, was pleased to translate for him, and the French-looking waiter also chimed in with helpful comments. Mark felt that these two linguistic experts were showing him up, especially after Shona started exchanging a few words in French with the waiter, who was gazing at Shona's cleavage rather more intently than his job description required. 

"You decide for me," Mark said eventually, and went back to staring at the placard-wielding freckled woman outside the window. She and the other three younger protesters had started chanting, an original chant to the tune of Pink Floyd's 'The wall'. 

We don't want no geese in cages 

We don't want no force fed birds 

No dark and painful Hell for poultry, 

Pascal leave those birds alone. 

Hey! Pascal! Leave those birds alone! 

The waiters started scurrying around, closing the windows near the street. "So sorry, Mesdames and Messieurs," one of them announced. As the windows closed, the chanting died to a murmur, and the heat started to climb. There was a faint hiss as the air conditioning was turned on, further drowning out the remnants of the chanting. The only noise from outside was the occasional honk of a car horn. Presumably from a driver who 'liked geese.' 

"Nous aimerions deux plaques de l'oie rôtie, avec des frites et légumes" said Shona. The waiter bowed and went back to the kitchen with the table's orders. The protester outside still moved her lips up and down, "Hey! Pascal! Leave those birds alone!" but no sound penetrated into the peaceful atmosphere of the restaurant. 

"Pascal. That's the name of my French teacher. I wonder if he is related to the chef," said Shona. Mark grunted. He wasn't really interested. 

"Let's have a toast, to Mark," said Tasi as the waiter poured wine into each glass. "Mark has been accepted to medical school in Auckland next year. To our son, the doctor." 

Mark looked down, embarrassed. 

"And let's not forget Shona," put in Marge. "An encouragement to my boy, and a delightful future daughter." This time is was Shona who stared downwards. Mark caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

"Speech, speech!" yelled Campbell, waving his glass. A few of the patrons looked around. 

"Keep your voice down, Campbell," whispered Paula. "You're starting to sound like those losers outside." 

The entrees arrived; Shona's little dab of foie gras on a home-made cracker with a single olive looking incongruously tiny on a large platter. Shona spread some of the creamy brown pate on her cracker and offered it to Mark. Mark shook his head. Shona took a bite and wriggled with pleasure. "Mmm, that is so good," she said. "You don't know what you're missing, Mark." 

When the mains arrived, Mark tucked into his own roast goose with enthusiasm. He was hungry now, and what with the trip to the restaurant and the waiting, he was eating a lot later than he normally did. The hot sun had gone down, and Mark noticed the girl outside had donned a fleecy hoodie. Her legs were now a deeper shade of pinky purple, taut and hard against the cold. Mark thought again about a quickie with Shona, but his stomach was clamouring louder than his dick. 

The roast goose wasn't bad, but the sauces were very heavy, and Mark would have just as soon have eaten boil up. As for the pommes frites, again not a bad taste, but when you came down to it a high price to pay for what were essentially just chips; the sort he could get from any takeaway. 

During the meal, Mark's parents, his girlfriend and her parents plied him with questions about his plans and prospects. What did he want to do after medical school? What speciality did he want to go in for? Mark had no ideas about the future, not having much enthusiasm for medicine, and instead steered the conversation towards Shona and her prospects in her first professional year at law school next March. 




The Thread That Binds Pt. 03



Chapter 9: 

Katy was also absorbed in creative matters that Christmas afternoon. In her case the project proposal she was writing for Gary, which distracted her mind from her own loneliness and self pity for having nowhere to go at Christmas. True Gary had invited her to a company Christmas party, but in reality the 'company' was just the two of them. It was a shame that she and Gary could not hold down jobs, and had to rely on each other. Ironic. The first time I actually get on with a boss and he's the one who gets fired. 

Polly was spending the day at the family of a friend she had met at pre-school. She will probably come back stinking of flesh, Katy thought, but then she had given up trying to keep her daughter vegan in a country swimming with animal products, with its entire economy based around killing. 

Gary's work on traffic flow was important. If his proposals were adopted by the regional council and recommended to the parliamentary Transport Committee, it could start a regional trend that might eventually mean the end to the hegemony of the motor car, with its concomitant pollution, noise and destruction of habitat to build more roads. Problem was firstly that although Gary was an engineering genius he couldn't write, and seemed incapable of explaining problems in a way that a non engineer could understand. 

The other problem was the way Gary had annoyed an opposition politician who had spoken out against his proposals. He had explained the details to Katy, but she was rather hazy on them, given that he had been thrusting himself inside her on the occasion, and Katy's mind had to juggle itself with the problems of staying upright, savouring her feelings and concentrating on the issue in hand. 

It seems that in a fit of temper, Gary had accused the politician of being a 'moronic petrol head'. That in itself, while not exactly erudite, would still be considered acceptable rhetoric in the cut and thrust of political debate. The problem was that he had then stated that Mr Teal's brain was 'completely addled from sniffing petrol fumes and other funny stuff.' Implying that someone was a drug addict was a more serious matter, and the politician had threatened to take him to court for slander. 

This was a couple of weeks ago, and of course nothing would happen now until after the Christmas and New Year break, but Gary had still been disconcerted. At one stage he had raved so much he had twice missed Katy's hole, leaving Katy unsatisfied. Mark was just so much better as a lover. 

Katy had spoken about Mark to her mother on Christmas morning. Told her how she was starting to be attracted to him, but he was so totally different from her nothing would work. "He has this snooty lawyer bitch clinging like a leech," she had said. 

Katy's mother knew better than to remonstrate with her daughter, or even to give advice. After Katy had told her of Gary and Kevin she had adjusted her features from shocked sin-detector to loving Christian mother, and told Katy she loved her and God loved her, and she would be praying for Katy and her situation. 

"Go back to a church, Katy," she said at last, finally gaining confidence to give advice after Katy had cried herself into a semi-catatonic state. "I know the Khandallah church was a disaster, but there are others around where you may feel at home." 

"Yeah, mum, I know. But all of them think it's okay to do what we want with animals. They say we have 'dominion' over them as if that excuses everything. I wonder what Jesus would think if he visited our battery hen farms, where hens are kept in semi darkness, cramped in cages, pecking each other in frustration. Or in a pig farm where the pigs are smeared in their own shit, can't move. Can't even turn around. Totally given up hope for living. Or the broiler chicken farm, twisted genetic freaks in constant pain. Or rodeos - or horse jump racing..." 

"I think you know what Jesus would think," interrupted Katy's mother. "There are some terrible things done to animals here in Myanmar as well, I can tell you. But I am concerned about your soul, Katy, and so is Jesus. You can do more for animals, or your friend Gary's environmental traffic models if you are spiritually at peace. Please think about it, and go back to church. You were always so on fire for the Lord at Sunday school." 

Katy pouted. She was thinking hard. Church represented at once all she desired and all she despised. She remembered the social camp fire sessions, the camaraderie centred around group singing of "let us come together," complete with actions, in the company of people she had loved at the time, though after the camp had ended she lost touch with them. 

At the same time, Katy remembered the sneers of the church elder when she had approached him to ask if the church could stop eating meat at the barbecues; or at least could make a vegetarian alternative available, on a separate hot plate. 

"Too much trouble," he had said. "God doesn't care about cows and pigs," he added with barely concealed scorn. And then of course there was the treatment meted out by the Khandallah church. Mark's church. The one he went to with the stuck up prig of a girlfriend he was going out with. 

"Look, I must go, Katy." Katy's mother broke into her thoughts. "I have to organise the Christmas lunch for the mission." 

"Which I suppose includes dead bird and dead pig," spat Katy. 

"It does actually. You can't expect change overnight. Missionaries are traditionally minded, and they want a traditional Christmas. Especially when they are so far from home." 

"Yeah, we all know what the missionaries' position is..." began Katy. Then, realising what she said, her mouth twitched, before she dissolved into a fit of giggles. 

Her mother stared blankly back at her. "Glad to see you can still laugh," she said. "Something has obviously amused you, though I can't see what. Anyway, must go. Call me again tomorrow will you?" 

When Katy's mother had got off the screen, Katy fell back on the couch and roared with laughter. Then she decided she had better get back to her work. Katy worked solidly for another hour, then took the bus out to the pub where she was meeting Gary for lunch. They spent a couple of hours eating, drinking and socialising, then Gary dropped Katy home. There was an awkward pause as he stood in the lounge. 

"I'm not up to it today, Gary," said Katy. "Another time, maybe." 

"What's the matter? You're not normally shy. I'm surprised any of your knickers still have the elastic on them, they go up and down so quickly." 

"Just not into it, Gary. Fuck off." 

"Okay, Katy, keep your hair on. So if I'm not up for any fun, I suppose I'll see you in the New Year." 

"What, are you going away?" Katy felt betrayed. She expected at least one other social misfit among her acquaintances. 

"Engineering conference in Christchurch. I'm flying out tomorrow. Have to present my proposals to transport engineers from Transit and regional councils. Should be fun - not." 

Gary turned around and walked around without giving Katy any further acknowledgement. 

Polly came back from her party as Katy was just settling down to her work again. As Katy had expected, the stench of dead animals emanated from her breath and every pore in her skin. Meat, fish, sausage on a stick - all the nursery food that hadn't changed since Katy was a girl. 

Katy bathed Polly - getting rid of some of the stink, and put out new clothes for her. She then sat down with her daughter in the lounge and started talking to her about her evening. 

"Why don't we eat meat at home?" asked Polly suddenly. 

Oh no, every time she goes out, Polly asks the same question. 

"Because we care about animals. Animals are our friends and I don't eat my friends." 

"Tammy's mother says you're a freak for not eating meat. I told her I don't eat meat at home either and she said that makes me a freak too. What's a freak, mummy? It doesn't sound very nice." 

Katy felt a pounding in her head. Why did she have to put up with this shit? 

"Its what ignorant people call anyone who is different from them," she said. "I wouldn't worry about it. You're not a freak, Polly, and nor am I." 

"And what's a slut?" 

This time, Katy gave a cry of annoyance. Polly burst into tears. Quickly Katy wrapped her daughter in a hug, cursing her lack of volume control. 

"Who's been telling you that word?" she said, when they had both calmed down. 

"Sam's uncle. He told Sam you were a slut, and an easy lay. But I don't know what he means." 

"It's another nasty word people use. Don't use it yourself will you? Would you like to watch one of the DVDs I gave you for Christmas? Then we can have some tea." 

"That would be nice, mummy," said Polly. She gave her mother a hug, then rushed to the DVD player. Katy had taught her how to use it recently, thinking of the times she may have to rely on the electronic baby sitter while she was busy with her professional or personal life. 

Katy thought about who might be spreading rumours about her. Unlikely to be Mark. Though Katy despised his middle class sense of entitlement she also knew he had a rigid sense of honour, and part of it was not to kiss and tell. Especially while he was two timing. 

And Katy doubted whether Gary would be telling any of his friends. For one thing, he hadn't any friends. So that just left... 

"Kevin!" she said aloud. "You evil hypocritical prick." She thought of the way Kevin liked to come in to stick his cock in her hole, tell Katy that he loved her and would cherish her, and all the time... 

"He just wanted me as his personal bonk-bag." 

Katy realised she had said this aloud as Polly looked around, momentarily distracted from Charlotte's web. "What is it, mummy?" she said. 

"Nothing sweetheart. Go back to your DVD." Katy grabbed her cell phone as Polly turned back to the screen. The next twenty minutes she spent on a vituperative message. Using all her narrative and literary talents to tell Kevin just exactly what she thought of him and what she would do if he ever stepped foot in her place again. 

Later in the evening she had tea with Polly. In deference to the special occasion she had made a nut loaf with lots of miso-based gravy and vegetables, and a fruit salad for dessert, with vegan ice-cream. 

"Merry Christmas, Polly," she said. Forcing a ho-ho-ho Christmas voice for her daughter. 

"Merry Christmas, mummy," said Polly, pulling the other end of the cracker her mother held out to her. 

Polly took herself off to bed, and Katy slumped in front of the TV, until her own bed time. She wondered what to do on Boxing Day. The Wellington vegetarian society were holding their yearly pot luck, but it was held in Island Bay, the buses and trains were sporadic on public holidays, and it would be difficult for Katy to get back. And anyway, she didn't feel like socialising. If it was across the street she might go, but dragging herself and Polly all the way to the other end of Wellington would be too much effort for too little reward. 

Katy put up with a couple of hours of banal Christmas cheer on television, then turned it off and went to bed. 

# 

It was the banging that woke her. Before the sun had even climbed the hill behind her house and squeezed its beams through the curtains, waking her early on the long summer mornings. Katy lay in bed, half asleep, groggily aware of the noise but not yet conscious enough to do anything about it until it had been going on for several minutes. 

Katy dragged herself out of bed, and noted the time. Seven thirty. Early for a holiday. Her wooziness was replaced by anger. Just who the fuck was banging at this time, waking her up, frightening her daughter. 

Katy took a moment to peer into Polly's room, and note the tousled hair motionless on the pillow. She paused to contemplate her beautiful blonde daughter in her vulnerable sleeping state, before an even louder bang roused her. 

Katy ran down the stairs dressed in the t-shirt and shorts she wore to bed, the smell of sleep still on her body, and flung the door open. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at, you..." she yelled, and then stopped when she saw who she was talking to. 

Katy took in the height, the bright blue uniforms, and the batons, radios and other dangling paraphernalia before her brain kicked in. 

"Police," she gasped. 

"That's right," the tall young policeman said to her. "We are here to investigate a complaint about a young woman called Katy, from this address." The police woman, almost as tall but aggressively feminine looking, stood at his side. 

Like most activists, Katy was not keen on cops. If she had been at a protest, like the one she recently attended outside l'oie, she would have known how to handle them. Expecting trouble as soon as she saw the car pull up with the flashing light, she would get into defensive mode and snarl at them, telling them very little. 

In her own home, half asleep, her breasts visible through her t-shirt, she felt at a distinct disadvantage, and did nothing but gape. The police officers seemed to sense they had the upper hand. 

"Mind if we come in?" the tall man asked, then, without waiting for a reply he walked into the lounge. Now at last Katy found her voice. "What do you want?" she said, hoping to sound belligerent but her voice came over more peevish than anything.  

"We have reports of text messages of a threatening nature. We would like to ask you a few questions if we may, young lady." The two police officers sat on the couch, ignoring the indentations, and waved Katy to a hard chair. 

Katy had sat down before she could properly register the impertinence of the officers calling her 'young lady' when they were only slightly older than Katy, or their imperiously ordering her where to sit in her house. 

Just then, there was another knock. This time it was the woman who spoke, probably sensing it was time for her to assert herself. "Don't answer it," she snapped. 

But Katy had recovered and was no longer inclined to do as she was told. She flung open the door, and Mark stepped through. He was dressed in a dark suit and wearing shades. Like a gangster on his way to a hit, she thought, but then relief flooded through her. Mark could be a witness for what would probably prove to be a very unpleasant confrontation. 

"What's going on?" said Mark. "Why are there police cars outside?" 

At that moment, of the officers opened the door to the lounge. The two officers stood in line in the doorway, notebooks in hand. 

"I thought I told you not to answer the door," said the police woman. Then she looked at Mark. "Who are you?" she said, but in a slightly less aggressive tone. 

"I'm a friend of Katy." Mark appeared wary of the police, and Katy remembered the last time he had been confronted with the forces of the law. 

"Ah, yes, I recognise you," said the male officer. "Our officers arrested you for assault and battery a month or so ago. Well, your fancy lawyer mate isn't here now, and your friend is in big trouble." He held up a cell phone. "Want to read the threatening message she sent to one Kevin Johnston?" 

"Not really, no," It seemed Mark was trying to be defiant, but rebellion against authority was not in his nature. He went up to Katy and put his arms around her. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll get Mr Hodge." 

"Don't use the phone," the officer spoke sharply, seeing what Mark was about to do. 

Mark hesitated before pressing the numbers, stared at Katy, then at both police officers in turn. They stared back. Mark shrugged and went on pressing numbers. The phone at the other end was answered. Mark put it on speaker phone. 

"Shones," he said. "Sorry to wake you up. But I need to talk to your old man. Urgently." 

"What's it about, Mark? Dad won't be awake. He got paralytic drunk last night. He'll be sleeping till twelve." 

"Its a legal problem. I'm at K... a friend's house, and there are some police about to arrest her. Your old man helped me when I was arrested. I hoped he could help me again now." 

"Even though we're no longer boyfriend and girlfriend?" Shona's voice, even through the distortions of the speaker phone sounded acerbic." 

"Jeez, Shones, can't you give this a rest? This is not about us." 

"All right, Mark. It's your girlfriend, isn't it? What's she alleged to have done?" 

"She sent some threatening..." began Mark. 

Shona interrupted. "Mark. That's hearsay. What you mean is she is alleged to have sent something threatening. Is that what you are trying to say?" 

Katy listened in to the conversation, impressed in spite of her animosity. The faces of the two police officers were arranged in the same features of grudging admiration. 

"Tell your friend to make no comment," said Shona. "Got that." 

"No comment, right," muttered Mark. 

"Another thing. Did your friend invite the police inside?" 

"No!" yelled Katy, loud enough for Shona to hear. 

"Then you need to ask them for a search warrant. If they can't produce one, you have every right to order them off the property. If they don't go, they're trespassing." 

Katy looked around at the police officers, ready to do as Shona suggested, only to find that they had pre-empted her. 

"We'll be off now," said the man. "But you haven't heard the last of this. Threatening grievous bodily harm is a criminal offence." 

The two cops walked out of the room and closed the door behind them. 

"You were great Shones. Is that what they teach you at law school?" said Mark. 

"To be honest I haven't started with any real law at school yet," said Shona. "Its all legal theory. I picked the practical stuff up from dad." 

"I'm sure Katy would like to thank you. Hang on, I'll pass the phone over to her." There was an awkward pause as Mark passed the phone to Katy. She shrank away, shaking her head. 

"Katy's still too upset by the whole affair to talk to you," said Mark. "But she's certainly grateful." 

Shona had hung up. Katy turned to Mark. "You're girlfriend was great," she said. "Too bad she's so stuck up." 

"Ex-girlfriend, Katy," replied Mark. 

"So what did you break up over? Wasn't me was it?" 

"Not at all," said Mark. Katy wondered why he couldn't admit he was attracted to her. 

"She's a d...". Mark paused. 

"A what?" asked Katy. 

"She's a ... uh... dedicated lawyer. That's why she doesn't want to go round with me. I'm too much of a distraction" 

"Really! I thought you were going to say something else. But your sex life is nothing to do with me. So why aren't you suited? You're both middle class yuppie types, wanting to make money. You with your medicine and her with her lawyering. What do you see in a drop out hippy-type like me. A solo mum. A slut." 

"Who called you that?" Mark's eyes narrowed. "I'll punch him silly." 

"Don't you think you've done enough punching on my behalf?" said Katy. "Next time the police may not be so accommodating. Even with your Mr Hodge to defend you." As she said the name, Katy thought she had heard it before somewhere. Perhaps Mark had mentioned him when he got Mark off the assault charge. 

"I don't want anyone to hurt you, Katy," he said, with such a sincere sounding tone that Katy burst into laughter. 

"Oh that is so rich. The strong alpha male, protecting his woman. I've been hurt a great deal. And it's not your fault and not something you can fix." 

"But this chap who called you a slut. That's just not..." 

"He's right though, isn't he. You said yourself you wished I wouldn't sleep around. I was mad last night when I found out he'd been spreading rumours about me. I sent him a text calling him every name I could think of. Which probably comes under the heading of allowed freedom of expression. But when I told him I would come round to his place, bite off his cock and ram it down his throat, he decided he would get the police involved." 




The Thread That Binds Pt. 04



Chapter 12: 

Tasi and Marge returned on New Year's Eve; in plenty of time to organise their traditional extended family celebrations. The rallies would be coming from Porirua and some even from Auckland. Marge was an influential matriarch within the Islander community and her New Year parties were famous. 

Mark had spent a delightful few days with Katy, going to the beach, Te Papa, shady parks and other Wellington attractions, but now he and Tasi had both been dragooned into assisting with the celebrations. Mark had been kept too busy peeling potatoes, washing vegetables, basting roasted meats and hanging decorations to do anything but think about her. 

Katy was also unavailable. Gary had returned from his conference and educational tour of traffic flow in Auckland, and was piling on the work, as she had explained to Mark. 

"Apparently Gary admitted he was over the top calling Terry Teal a petrol head and said he would write a public apology, but the politician's awful lawyer encouraged him to continue with the lawsuit. So Gary has to present a whole lot of papers to court justifying why he called him a petrol sniffer. All about how Terry's plans, if implemented would be a disaster for public transport, and I need to help him." 

Marge had asked Mark if there was anyone he had wanted to invite for the New Year festivities. Katy couldn't make it, and Mark was not that close to his school mates. Looking back, he now realised he had not made one single really good male friend. His best friends had been Natia, then Shona, and now Katy. 

"I can't think of anyone," he said. 

The guests started to arrive just as Mark and Tasi were taking a rest in the garden, beer in hand, discussing the latest cricket scores. Marge greeted the guests, Islander fashion, draping lei around the necks of the chiefly males and senior matriarchs - a custom that had started in Hawai'i but was now adopted in other Pacific islands. 

Shona's family arrived, in style, in a convoy of two cars. Campbell and Paula got out of the BMW, together with two rather severe looking middle aged men in suits, who Campbell introduced as senior partners in his firm. A second car pulled into the drive, and Shona and three other young women got out. Mark glanced at them, wondering which one of them might be Shona's new girlfriend. 

"Hi, Mark," said Shona, giving him a peck on the cheek. 

"Hi Shona." Mark recovered his composure, but couldn't help peering at the three girls, dressed in short summer skirts, who were gazing at Mark and giggling. 

"This is Casey, and Rachel, and Tricia," said Shona. "Associates from daddy's law firm. We're helping with a case. You see this politician is suing a seedy activist who was mean to him and daddy thinks we can win a large amount of money." 

"This activist is a real loser," said Tricia. "Just has no idea how to behave in public." 

Mark had not been listening. Campbell had often talked about his cases at the dinner table when Mark's family had been around there, not mentioning any names of course to avoid getting into trouble with the law society, but even so, Wellington was a small city, and it would not be hard for most people with even moderate skill on Google to find out who he was referring to. It appeared Shona had inherited his indiscreet attitude since she had started interning for him. 

Then something clicked in Mark's mind, and he found himself listening more intently. "What is this case about, exactly?" he said. 

"Well, this guy called my client a drug addict and my client wanted him to apologise. But daddy told him that he should take him to court instead. Daddy was really insistent. He told his client he would be a fool not to take this opportunity. The client was rather uncomfortable, said all he really wanted was an apology, but daddy could see a way at getting back at all those times he had been forced to wait in traffic while the buses whizzed past him on their dedicated lanes, and even cyclists overtook him. So he..." 

Shona's friend Tricia nudged her (maybe she's the girlfriend, thought Mark), and Shona snapped her mouth shut like a clam. 

"You won't tell anyone, Mark," she said. "It's supposed to be confidential." 

Mark felt a twisting in his guts. He knew who Shona's 'client' was, and he felt a tug of loyalty between his old and new girlfriend. 

Shona seemed to sense Mark's hesitation. "It's not as if you know who my client is" she said. 

"No, that's true," said Mark. "I don't know him... or her". That wasn't quite a lie. Shona hadn't given him the name. 

Shona seemed to relax, and the four teenagers walked into the house, where Marge greeted Shona and her friends effusively and introductions were made all round. 

The afternoon was spent in eating, drinking and carousing, and Mark joined in the games of twister with the others, noting how often Tricia seemed to position herself so she was rubbing on Mark's muscular torso. Perhaps she isn't the dyke after all, he thought. Mark chatted with Shona and her friends, quite surprised at how comfortable he was in his ex's presence. So many of his colleagues from school and choir had been through dramatic and awkward break ups, and had told anyone who would listen what bitches or slags their exes were and how they never wanted to see them again. 

As midnight approached and Tasi turned on the radio to hear the countdown to the new year, Mark excused himself from the circle of partygoers joining hands to sing Auld Lang Syne. He went into his bedroom and called Katy on his mobile. 

Katy answered it just as Mark heard cheers, stamping and shouts of "Happy New Year" from his parents and their friends and relatives. The voice was grumpy and gravelly. Mark did a double take. 

"What's wrong Katy?" he said. Then - "you weren't asleep, were you." 

"What the fuck else would I be doing at midnight, Mark. What did you call me for?" 

"I just wanted to wish you Happy New Year," said Mark. "I'm sorry to wake you up. I thought you would be partying like everyone else. I didn't mean..." 

"I'm not like everyone else, Mark, in case you haven't noticed. I'm me. I had a shitty New Years Eve. Polly got a tooth ache and I had to dodge all the crowds in town to get her to the emergency dentist, and he yanked one of her teeth. Said he would normally fill it, but she would be losing her baby teeth soon anyway. Polly hates needles and dentists and she was screaming. I was going to get her an ice-cream to calm her down, but of course the cold was too painful for her, then I bumped into this snooty bitch in the ice-cream place - Paris's mum, and she cut me dead - who the fuck does she think she is. 

"Her daughter will end up as shallow as her namesake. And then Gary was keeping me up all evening with this impending court case - and no I didn't drop my knickers for him, though he kept urging me to. So I'm not in any mood for partying. Sorry." 

Mark listened to his girlfriend rave on, wondering why she was so moody. So she had been woken up, but big deal. He and Shona had often woken each other up with clandestine calls, made when neither set of parents could hear, but he could not recall either of them being so grumpy or whiny. 

"Jeez, sorry, Katy, I didn't know. I've found something out about your friend's court case that could be interesting." Mark wanted to continue to the conversation. Even at its most petulant, he liked to hear Katy's voice. 

"Yeah, that's nice, but it can wait, okay. I'm going back to bed. Goodnight, Mark." 

"Goodnight Katy." 

Mark went back into the lounge where the young people were dancing, and the older people sitting around gossiping. Marge had her lap top open and was yelling on Skype to some of her relatives in Samoa. Campbell and Tasi were talking about rugby. 

As Mark entered the room, Shona's friend Tricia dragged him on to the dance floor and clung on to him. Tricia's body was not bad, firm where it should be firm and yielding where it should be yielding, and Mark knew that if he had wanted to they could disappear into the still warm night for a snog and a grope, but he didn't feel up to it. 

So much for her being a dyke. Shona was not showing any dyke-like tendencies, and in fact was openly flirting with one of Mark's male cousins. She definitely swung both ways. If Katy was up to it, a threesome may be a distinct possibility. Mark disappeared into the bathroom. 

# 

Mark had almost two months holiday between New Year's Day and the time when he had to go to Auckland for his medical studies. Marge had arranged for him to board with one of her Auckland cousins. "Save you getting in trouble in those student flats. I know what they're like. Full of sex and drugs." Now how would you know that, thought Mark. Have you done a survey? Or is it personal experience? 

Both Tasi and Marge had noticed that Mark and Shona were not spending much time together. Mark in fact only went out once with Shona in the next month, and that was in a group, where it had been Shona's friend Tricia who had invited him. 

"Shones and I are both busy. And I will soon be going to Auckland, maybe we need some space." Mark mumbled this to Marge when she next asked Mark about him and Shona, and Marge seemed to accept his explanation for now, though Mark knew he could not hold off telling her the truth forever. 

Mark told Katy what Shona had said about Campbell Hodge's firm dragooning the politician into filing a lawsuit against his own inclinations. Katy had been interested, but distracted. 

"Gary's in a sulk at the moment," she said. "It's 'cos I won't let him bonk me anymore. I'll let him know if I see him. It may be useful information, it may not. I don't really understand the law. It all seems rather childish to me." 

The Adventist Church had its first service of the New Year in mid-January, and when Mark picked up Katy and Polly in Johnsonville he was apprehensive about Katy's reception at the church, especially since she was dressed in very short shorts, that showed her shapely buttocks in sharp relief. 

Mark had no objection to Katy's short shorts, and let his feelings be known by pulling them down, bending her over her bed and ramming his cock inside her almost before she had got good and wet. But as Mark had pointed out, once he had discharged inside her and Katy had pulled them back up, the stickiness seeping into her knickers, such shorts may not be appropriate in church. 

"Nor's having quickie sex before the service," said Katy. "If they don't like it they can lump it." 

As it turned out, the church had been very accepting and welcoming, and the three of them decided they would go again the next week. This time, Mark restricted his erotic attentions to holding Katy's hand as they walked into the church. 

When Mark disappeared with Katy to the Seventh Day Adventist Church on the first Saturday, Marge started asking further questions, even though Mark made sure he also attended church on the Sunday with his family and the Hodges. 

It was after the second service that Marge confronted Mark. "So who are you going out with on Saturday," she said. "And why have you broken up with a nice girl like Shona? 

Nice girl? Nice girls don't do that sort of thing. Mark was still uncomfortable about Shona's revelations, but in loyalty to his ex he didn't say anything to Marge. 

"Don't know, mum. We just drifted apart. Shones isn't really interested in music." 

"Shona has very good taste in music," said Marge. "She goes to all the concerts." 

"Yeah, but its all snobbishness. She doesn't really understand them. I've been going out with someone else. Katy writes poetry, and I put it to music. She wrote a really funny piece about animals on a farm. I improvised a harmony, and we're going to sing it at a pub gig. Katy used to sing in a choir. Her voice isn't bad." 

Mark braced himself for a third degree grilling now he had finally mentioned Katy, but Marge appeared to be more interested in Mark's career than his love life. 

"I think you're making too much of this singing, Mark," she said. "It's fine for a hobby while you're at school. Keeps you out of mischief, helps you become disciplined and work together as a team, all that sort of thing. And certainly preferable to boxing. But you won't become rich from music. You will be at medical school in a couple of months, and you'll need to concentrate hard on your studies. A studious girl like Shona would be far better for you. I don't even know what Katy does for a living." 

Mark had only just left school and didn't know that the question 'what do you do?' was fairly standard during social discourse among the adult world. He was as fond of status as the next person, but wondered what the fuss was. 

"She's some sort of secretary/PA," he said. "She works for a traffic designer." 

Marge sniffed. "Well her prospects are not that great then. Shona could become a top lawyer. And you could become a respected physician or surgeon. I think you're making a grave mistake. What do you see in her?" 

What could Mark say? Katy was more cuddly and curvaceous than Shona. Not just because her body was a curvier shape, but her personality was also less bony and more yielding. Katy was down to earth, moody, and not always able to judge social situations, but she was kind and considerate to those weaker than her - her treatment of Polly and the animals both showed this, and unlike Shona and her father, did not delight in kicking someone when they were down. Just because they could do it through the law courts and not in a pub brawl, doesn't make that sort of behaviour acceptable, Mark realised. 

"Maybe I could ask Katy over for dinner one day, and you could judge for yourself." 

Mark regretted saying this as soon as the words left his mouth. How would his meat loving Islander parents react to Katy's veganism? More to the point, how would Katy react to them? Mark opened his mouth to rescind the invitation, but too late. 

"I think that's a great idea," said Marge. "Shall we say next Thursday?" 

Mark nodded dumbly. He would have his work cut out next week persuading Katy. 

# 

"You must be out of your fucking mind," was Katy's rejoinder, when Mark broached the subject to her the next day on the phone. "And what about Polly? I can't leave her here." 

Mark had got so used to Polly being around he had forgotten that she may be a major factor. 

"Polly can come too of course," he said. 

"Did you tell your folks that I've got a kid? Solo mothers are like child molesters among her sort." 

Mark felt a stabbing of anger. He tried to suppress it, knowing that if he spoke sharply to Katy their argument would escalate to Middle Eastern proportions in a very short time. 

"I don't know what you mean by 'her sort'," he said. "But isn't that just as judgemental as judging solo mothers? You saved Polly from being aborted. Isn't that a good thing? My parents are certainly opposed to abortion." 

"I notice they don't make any move to make things easier for single mothers who want to keep their kids though. Easier just to blame the women who are so desperate they kill their babies. My mum always spoke out against fundamentalist tossers in her church, whose noses were so high in the air they would drown in the rain." 

Mark swallowed hard, and tried again. "I would love it if you came, Katy," he said. "I would be proud to be seen with you." 

"Can't see why," Mark wondered why Katy was in such a belligerent mood. "I'm not pretty like your last girlfriend." 

Was she fishing for more compliments? If so, Mark had had enough. "All right, have it your own way. I'll tell my folks you're not coming." 

"Who says I'm not coming?" Mark rolled his eyes. Katy's contrariness was something he found hard to cope with. 

"We would like to see both of you next Thursday at 6pm. I will tell my folks you are vegan." Just then there was a howl from Polly, who had spilled the water for her paints. 

"Okay, Mark. Gotta go. See you Thursday." 

Mark put the phone down with some trepidation, looking round at the immaculate kitchen his mother kept, with the help of various exchange students from Samoa that she was supporting through their studies. What had he let himself in for? 

Chapter 13 

Katy cleaned up the mess as best she could, consoled Polly, gave her a cuddle and ran off to the kitchen with the empty glass. She remembered the adoption woman and her disdainful sniffing when she had first visited Katy at her home. Fortunately Katy's mother had been there to give moral support, or she would have either clammed up or lashed out, the way she always did when confronted with power. 

"Always let them know actions have consequences, Katy," the woman had said. "If they spill their juice, let them go thirsty for a while." 

Fuck you, pretentious creep, thought Katy as she passed another glass of water to Polly. They're children. Cut them some slack. 

Katy then thought about Mark's invitation, and a tight knot formed in her stomach. Her opinions of older people had been coloured by her recent work experiences, and Katy saw them as all self opinionated and full of themselves. She had only seen Mark's parents once, at the restaurant, but with their well tailored clothes and their strutting posture, they had not make a particularly good impression. They were also friends with the creepy lawyer and his snobbish daughter; another point against them. 

Katy spent the day before the dinner party shopping and baking, making a vegan carrot cake that she could take to Mark's place. She decided that the presence of Polly would be one more burden that she could not cope with, so she arranged with Sir Ron the physician to baby sit. 

On the day of the invitation, Katy pondered long and hard over what she should wear. Mark was no help at all. "Just be yourself, Katy," he had said. But which of her selves? Her domestic looking-after-Polly self; her activism self, her sex kitten self - in the end she decided on her emerging Christian self; the one she used to practice with her mother, before her dad left and her distraught mum became a missionary. 

So Katy ransacked her wardrobe, laying out clothes she had not worn for several years. Her tights were full of moth-holes. Not much point wearing those. Her long dress was frayed at the ends - and it was too hot anyway. Katy took out her polka dot summer dress that came to just below her knees. Or at least that was the theory. Her mother had bought it for her when she was still growing, and it now reached her thighs. 

But it would do, she thought. Then what about knickers? The matronly ones she put on at first were too tight. Katy took out a frilly pair that Ben had bought for her, and she had never worn, belonging to that period in the relationship when infatuation turns to ennui. 

Maybe there will be time for a spot of sex, she thought, rubbing her crotch at the thought of doing Mark in his parents' house. So I need knickers that can slip up and down easily. And a dress that turns him on. 

Katy laid out a light cardigan and a pair of sandals that looked suitably girly, and decided that clothes were sorted. 

Katy worked all day on Gary's papers. They were reaching an important stage in the negotiations with Terry Teal. Katy had met up with Gary in the New Year. He had tried to kiss her, but Katy had pushed him away. 

"I have a boyfriend now," she said. 

"What, a real one?" Gary seemed genuinely surprised. 

"No, a blow up one, you twat. Of course he's real, what did you expect?" 

"Oh, I don't know, I thought you were maybe..." 

Then Gary stopped himself, realising that Katy was staring at him. 

"Maybe what, you sad fuck?" 

"Nothing, Katy." Gary backed off as Katy advanced on him. 

"No, say it! I'm a slut. That's what you mean, isn't it. Though that didn't stop you getting your rocks off in Katy's slutty cunt." 




The Thread That Binds Pt. 04



Gary had backed out of the room, then turned around and slammed the door, probably remembering what had happened to Ben. Katy kicked at the wall, only succeeded in hurting her toe, howled and cursed, and then, as she calmed down, she realised Gary was right. She had been sleeping around to somehow get back at the snobby church people; the judgemental ushers, the waspish woman at WINZ, Paris's mother. But all the time they were living their lives without even knowing what she had been doing, and she was the one who got hurt. How stupid was that? 

Katy texted Gary. 'Have something to tell you re lawyer. Call me'. 

Gary had called back later, some trepidation showing in his voice. Katy told him what Mark had told her; the gossip he in turn had received from his ex. 

Gary was silent for a while. "You've done well, Katy," he said eventually. "So you're telling me Terry never wanted to continue with the suit and I should contact him privately and we can sort it out between us." 

"That's right. It's all the fault of those grasping lawyers. They're the real culprits. Sort of like the Mongrel Mob who egg on the pit bulls in the dog fights. The dogs don't want to fight at all." 

Gary made throat clearing noises. Then there was a long silence. Katy waited. After all, Gary was paying for the call. 

"Listen, Katy," he said eventually. "About this morning. I'm sorry..." 

"Oh, forget it, Gary. You're quite right. I was that kind of girl. And you took advantage. But no more. I'll work for you, but I won't bonk you. Okay?" 

"Okay." 

Gary had contacted a mediator - much cheaper than a lawyer. The mediator in turn contacted the politician. The three of them had talked together at a hotel cafeteria, and Terry had agreed to drop any legal action if Gary would send an apology, which his staff would look at first to check wording. What was even more satisfactory, Terry even agreed to look at Gary's public transport plans. Katy was being employed to put together both the briefing and the apology. 

So Katy absorbed herself in the creative problems of composition involved in the two different styles of writing, the emotional yet matter of fact apology, and the more rigid yet persuasive style for the briefing. She had a shower, prepared some food for Polly, got changed and waited for Mark, her heart fluttering. 

Ron the physician arrived at 6 o'clock, and Mark soon afterwards. He was dressed in a pair of cotton trousers with a shirt and shiny shoes, but Katy was relieved to see no jacket or tie. Obviously too hot. 

"You look great," he said, eyeing up Katy's full figure in the summer dress. Katy took his arm, and Mark escorted her to his car. 

Katy's heart was thumping as they drove to Mount Victoria, and when she got out of the car, handing her carefully made carrot cake to Mark, she was visibly shaking and had to lean on Mark. She could sense Mark's tenseness beside her. 

"What is it, Katy?" he whispered. 

"Let's get back. I so don't want to do this." 

Katy could see Mark's hesitation. Would Mark support her? Would he see her as someone more than just a new toy, with real tits and fanny, or would he just go along with whatever his family wants. 

Almost it seemed love won out. Mark shrugged and started to walk back to the car. Then he turned around again. "We can't let my family down," he said. "They're all expecting you. Natia's new boyfriend Reg is there as well. You'll like Reg. He's a bit of a greeny. Works for the Department of Conservation." 

Katy looked at Mark with disappointment. Though maybe she could see where he was coming from. He had after all known his family for a lot longer than he had known her. But then he had chosen her, hadn't he. He had no choice in who raised him. 

"All right, Mark," she said, very quietly. It was too late to escape with any dignity anyhow. Marge had spotted the two of them out of the window of the house, and had come sauntering up the drive to make a sortie. 

Marge walked right up to them. "You must be Katy," she said. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Dr Wiseman. Katy tensed. 

"In that case, I am Ms. Ariki," she said, vaguely registering Mark's groan. 

Marge pursed up her lips. "My dear girl, I am old enough to be your mother, and addressing you in such a formal manner would not be appropriate." 

Mark was squirming next to Katy, but she but took no heed. "Appropriate! You sound like those snotty boss ladies, who the f..." 

"Shall we go into the house?" Mark's interruption was well timed and diplomatic. He grabbed on to Katy and started walking. She had a choice to drag back like a recalcitrant toddler, or to walk with him. She chose the latter. Marge pursed her lips together, but said nothing. 

As they walked down the path, Tasi, dressed semi-formally like Mark in a tieless suit, walked up to meet them. He was smiling as he extended his hand. "You must be Katy," he said. "I'm Tasi, Mark's dad. My name means number one in Samoan." 

Katy heard Mark breathe out beside her. "Same in Maori," she said. "Tahi, rua, toru, wha." A banal conversation, thought Katy, but certainly preferable to Marge's disapproving glare. 

"Are you of Maori descent?" said Tasi. "Ariki is a Maori name." 

"Somewhere in my father's ancestry. But I don't want to talk about him." Katy scowled. Tasi's smile vanished, and he covered his embarrassment with a cough. 

Tasi gestured for Katy to go into the house. Katy grasped Mark's hand and the couple followed him, with Marge bringing up the rear. A pleasant looking young Samoan couple were sitting in the kitchen. They stood up as Katy moved into the room. 

"Hi, I'm Natia," said the woman. 

"And I'm Reg," the man added. 

Both of them put out their hands for Katy to shake. So far so good. A fine recovery from the initial set back. Katy had done Mark proud. But then Katy saw what was on the table. Pride of place was a huge glazed ham. There was a cold meat plate, a whole stir fried snapper, its pale fishy eyes seeming to gaze up at Katy, a beef lasagne and a pizza, dotted with generous portions of meat. 

Katy gazed at the boiled vegetables and realised she couldn't eat those either. They were swimming in butter, and the potatoes even had flecks of bacon in them. 

Marge sat down at the table and gestured to Mark and Katy. "Shall we start the meal? It's great to have Katy here, and perhaps Katy would like to say grace. I understand you were brought up in a Christian household, and your mother is a missionary in Myanmar." 

Katy stared at Mark. She was almost squirming on her seat. The sweat was pouring from her knickers, and staining her dress. The dress she had spent so long choosing, but which she now saw was too understated for the present company. In spite of the heat, both Marge and Natia were wearing dresses that almost reached the floor. 

Mark seemed to sense there was something wrong. "I'll say grace, mum," he said. Then before Marge could interrupt he bowed his head. "Lord we thank you for good fellowship and the chance for Katy to break bread with us..." 

As the rambling prayer continued, Katy stared at the table, hoping that somewhere there would be something she could eat. A salad, some bread, anything. A tight knot formed in her guts. Mark must have told Marge that Katy was vegan. So why had the bitch gone out of her way to humiliate her? 

Mark finished his prayer, everyone said 'Amen', and then Marge served out the plates. "Help yourself, everyone," she said. 

Katy sprang back out of her chair. The chair fell with a clatter, and the others looked round. "Have to go to the bathroom," she muttered. 

She hoped Mark would come with her, but Mark put his head down and twisted his hands in his lap. Fat use he was. 

Katy didn't need to go, but nevertheless she went into the toilet, sat on the bowl and started to think. There was no way she could eat anything on offer. The adult thing to do would be to go back to the dining room, say that she was a vegan and couldn't partake, apologise for any inconvenience, and walk out. 

Instead she looked around, like a hunted animal. The bathroom led to a hallway, and the hallway passed through the dining room on the way to both doors of the house. No escape that way. Katy peered into each of the four bedrooms in turn, starting with Mark's. The windows all had safety catches. The bathroom on the other hand had a window that opened fully, but it would be a tight squeeze. 

The window ledge was rough, and there were a few short nails protruding from it. Katy had no desire to tear her best summer dress, so she took it off, threw it through the window, and started climbing, dressed only in her bra and knickers and sandals. She had almost squeezed and grunted her amply proportioned body through the aperture, when Marge opened the door. Katy had forgotten to lock it in her haste. 

Marge stared straight at Katy, seemingly too surprised to say anything. Katy turned red. Her thin sexy knickers were not adequate to hide her bushy pubes, which were breaking out of the fabric. 

Katy gave an extra strong squirm, and propelled herself from the window to the lawn below, knocking over some flower pots and scattering earth on to her dress. Marge poked her head out the window. 

"What are you doing?" she demanded. 

Katy picked up her dress and flapped it to get rid of most of the soil. Something seemed to click in her brain. 

"What the fuck does it look like! I'm leaving. I don't want to see you or your revolting family ever again. You know I don't eat meat. You did it to humiliate me, you sadistic cow." 

Katy stepped into her dress. Marge yelled at Katy in a voice that matched her own. "You low life trollop. Get off my property. What Mark saw in you I don't know. I made a special effort to make lots of vegetables, and a fish dish, and this is how you repay me. You need professional help." 

Katy picked up a fallen flowerpot and hurled it at Marge's head sticking out of the window. Marge retracted her head in time, and the pot smashed inside somewhere. Katy turned and ran down the driveway, howling with rage and humiliation. In the background she heard Mark's voice and saw him running, but she paid no heed. 

There was a bus at the bottom of Courtney Place. Katy jumped on it, and the bus moved away as Mark rushed to the bus stop. Last time I have anything to do with you, you heartless creep, thought Katy, as the bus took her back to the station. 

# 

Katy stayed in bed the next morning, the covers pulled over her head. Polly snuggled up beside her. Katy put her arm around Polly, holding back her sobs for her daughter's sake. Katy's mobile rang several times; she ignored it. Around lunch time, when she heard the knocking at the door, she dragged herself from her bed, put on a dressing gown and flung it open. 

Mark was on the doorstep. He flinched as Katy glared at him. "What the fuck are you doing here. Why aren't you back with your ghastly family!" 

"I just had a flaming row with my ghastly family," said Mark. "They asked me what I saw in you, they called you a lot of names, and asked why I didn't stay with Shona. I said Shona was a dyke. Don't know why, it slipped out. Then they yelled at me for slagging her off." 

"So you only came to me because your girlfriend prefers other girls." 

Mark seemed to realise what he had just been saying, because he back tracked. "No, Katy. I loved you before I knew what Shona was. I know things haven't got off to a good start, but..." 

"That's understatement of the fucking century," said Katy. "Your family thinks I'm some sort of raving nutter. But they're the ones who humiliated me. Didn't you tell them I was vegan? Was this some sort of sick joke?" 

"I did tell them, Katy, honest I did, but why..." Mark hesitated. 

"Why what, Mark? I can see you're trying to justify something." 

"Why couldn't you have just eaten the fish? It wasn't as if it was poisoned or anything. Mum went down to the fish market that day and bought it fresh. She went to a lot of trouble. She just doesn't know about vegans. But she wasn't trying to humiliate you..." 

Mark's speech tailed off as he noticed Katy clench her fists. He backed off. She was just wild enough to have a go at Mark, even knowing he was a trained boxer. 

"You heartless monster! I haven't eaten dead animals for five years! Why doesn't your cloth eared mum listen instead of arrogantly bulldozing her way through everyone, and expecting them to be like her. I have never been so humiliated and hurt. Sir Ron is right. She's totally lacking in sensitivity!" 

It was Mark's turn to flare up. He grabbed at Katy's wrists, twisting them in a way that ensured she couldn't hit him. Katy kicked him in the groin. She could see both anger and surprise on his face, but mostly pain. Mark let go of Katy's wrists to grab his private parts; an instinctive gesture that even his boxing training couldn't save him from. 

Katy's white hot anger dissipated as she confronted her opponent. She needed a clear head. She had gained only a temporary reprieve; Mark was hurt but not out of the fight, and soon he would be attacking her again, rage providing extra incentive to really hurt her. 

Katy decided discretion would be the better part of valour. As Mark took his hands away from his groin, a look of pure venom on his face, Katy slammed the door into it, and quickly locked it. 

"Piss off, Mark, or I'm calling the cops," she yelled through the door as he hammered on it. It was not a strong door and Mark would be able to break it down quite easily with a bit of effort, but perhaps the threat of the police, for someone who had already been cautioned for one assault, would be enough to deter him. 

It was. After yelling a few names at Katy, calling her "fat slag", and telling her he "never wanted to see her again," he was off down the drive. Just before Katy heard Mark's car start up, there was another crash at her door. 

Once the car had disappeared down the road, Katy opened the door. The child restraint seat was lying at her feet. 

Chapter 14: 

"Good morning, Ms Hodge." The secretary smiled at Shona as she walked into the office her father had set aside for her. 

"Good morning, Tina." Shona smiled at her, inwardly revelling in a power differential that allowed her to call women her mother's age by their first name, while they were deferential to her. 

As she sat down at her desk, one of the partners knocked at the door and entered the office, to brief her on some pro bono work the company were letting her assist them with, and which would meet her requirements for her first professional year. Not her father; he was far too important to be concerning himself with the interns, even if one of them was his daughter. This one was a youngish man; nice looking, and dressed in a suit and tie. Quite tasty. Maybe I can inveigle him into asking me out, she thought. 

Shona had stayed friends with Mark, had comforted him through the disastrous break up with his girlfriend, but had refused his overtures to get back together again. 

"It won't work, Mark," she had said. "Your heart is still breaking for Katy, and she's more your type." 

"What do you mean, Shones?" he had said. "You're my type. Our parents all say so." 

"Perhaps our parents are wrong. There's something of the rebel in you that attracts you to girls like Katy. I don't know what you see in her myself, but obviously there is something between you. If you were married to me, I would want you to continue your medical studies and become a successful doctor, not mess around with this music stuff." 

"Mess around?! I like that! Music takes just as much dedication and self discipline as law, or medicine. You probably hear someone singing, like I did at the Carols by Candlelight last Christmas and think, oh how pretty, but anyone could do that, but you don't know the hours of practice and preparation that go into even a simple concert like that one." 

"Yeah, whatever, Mark. But unless you're Kiri Te Kanawa it doesn't pay the bills, does it? I want to make something of my life. But if you want to swap the secure life of a successful doctor for the precarious one of an itinerant musician, then best to do it with Katy as a companion than me." 

"In case you haven't noticed, Katy is not even talking to me anymore." 

"Well, boo, hoo. Get over it. You've lost your love. You won't be the last. Find someone else. Someone more like Katy. There's no shortage of half mad hippies floating around. But don't come looking to me for rebound bonking. I won't be used in that way." 

Mark had not spoken to Shona for over a week after than row, but now he was in Auckland studying medicine, the two had been in email contact and their discourse had been civil. If Mark settles down and completes the year, maybe we could get back together, thought Shona. But in the meantime there would be no harm in shopping around a bit. Shona gave a flirtatious smile to the young lawyer. 

It didn't seem to work. The partner frowned at her, seemingly quite aware of her intentions, and quite intent to disapprove. 

"I should point out that your father isn't very popular here, so don't expect any favouritism from the other partners," he said. 

"Why, what's wrong?" asked Shona. 

"Loose lips. Somehow he let it be known that Terry Teal would be satisfied with an apology from the defendant instead of litigation. The defendant found out, and the two of them sorted out their differences with a mediator, and then over a beer in a pub. We will never be a successful legal establishment if clients take the law into their own hands in this irresponsible manner." 

Shona's heart skipped a beat. Was it her who had precipitated her father's disgrace? She remembered talking about the case at the Wiseman's New Year party. Honesty compelled her to admit her indiscretion, especially if it was getting her father into trouble. On the other hand... 

The partner interrupted Shona's musing, seemingly aware of what she was thinking. "I am quite aware that you may have let slip some indiscretions yourself, which is why we are not entrusting you with any of our more important paying clients. In your case we are inclined to show leniency, since you are young and impressionable. Your father on the other hand has no excuse." 

Shona nodded her head. She disliked being told off, but on the other hand it was a relief to know she would not have to own up. Rather like the time she had smashed the window at school, and the teacher had threatened to keep the whole class on detention if the culprit didn't confess. Shona felt the same knot in her stomach when confronted by authority. 

The partner went on. "We understand our obligation to help with your training, which is why we are offering this pro bono case to you. It appears a group of activists got carried away during one of their protests, went beyond grounds of decent behaviour and started abusing staff and vandalising their property. One of them has come to us for defence, and the partners have decided to let you assist with the case. The client assaulted a police officer and disturbed the peace. 

"Naturally you are not experienced enough to appear in court. One of us will do that, but you will gain valuable experience by interviewing the candidate and preparing a defence. 

"Have a look through these," he said. "I will be back at 3 o'clock to discuss your defence." The partner threw down the documents and stood up to walk out. Shona felt a surge of irritation. 

"Has my client been convicted of any criminal offence?" she asked. 

The partner turned around. "Not yet," he said. "Why". 

Just that it is up to the jury or the judge to establish his or her guilt, and not your place to make premature judgements." 

The partner stared at her. Shona stared back. 




The Thread That Binds Pt. 04



"All right, Ms. Hodge, one to you. I stand corrected." The partner walked out of the door. 

# 

Shona spent the first few hours reading the background of the case. Activists had broken into several pig farms, in different parts of the country, and had filmed what they had described as 'atrocious conditions.' The footage had been sent to all three television networks, and for several days, families sitting down to their dinner of ham, pork or sausages had been exposed to pictures of dead and dying pigs, with rats running over their prostrate bodies, growths the size of mushrooms and prolapses like basketballs. 

The Ministry of Primary Industries had ordered an investigation and found that the pig farms were compliant with the law, something that showed, said activists, that the law itself is corrupt and requires changing. 

The industry were worried. 

For the first time, animal groups were working together, putting aside their ideological differences to concentrate on one issue they all agreed with; current meat production is inhumane and must stop. The industry were used to individual actions targeting meat production, the protests outside l'oie being just one in a series, but until now, financial losses to the industry had been minimal and temporary. 

However, the concerted media campaign had meant meat sales were starting to drop in supermarkets, and for the first time the decline continued even after the initial outrage over the footage had dissipated and people were getting on with their lives again. The industry were fighting back, not by demanding better standards of welfare from their own farmers, but by lobbying the government to enact stricter laws on break ins and become tougher on activists. To bring in something similar to the notorious 'ag-gag' laws being introduced in several US states. 

Though most of the furore had passed Shona by, ensconced as she was in her own world of exams and parties, she could understand the outrage of the meat industry when a group of rogue activists, her client among them, had vandalised the Ministry offices, ensuring that the flaws in the law protecting animals would be aired on television for yet one more day; another day that the public would be reminded not to eat meat. Enough time, said one industry representative, for several hundred good family men and women to lose their jobs in the freezing works and join the ranks of the unemployed. 

Shona examined the video footage of her client, filmed by a security camera. The footage was grainy, but Shona had no problem recognising the young woman concerned. It was Mark's ex, the one he had stood up for outside l'oie, the one he had preferred to Shona; plump, foul mouthed and completely feral. 

Shona watched with gathering anger as her prospective client was seen to glue the locks of the Ministry doors, then she and two companions set up some tripod contraption that meant nobody could get into the Ministry car park without knocking her off her perch and thereby injuring her, or worse. 

The glued locks were annoying, but didn't take that long to fix. Locksmiths fitted a new lock in half an hour. The tripods in front of the car park were more of a problem. 

Such was the reliance on cars as transport, that there was gridlock all the way up the Terrace to the motorway turn off, as Ministry staff tried to get to work. The Ministry was short staffed that day, and had to close early. There were complaints in the paper and questions raised in Parliament. 

How was it, the opposition asked, that a government Ministry could be brought to its knees in such a fashion by a group of layabouts and ageing hippies. The minority Eco Party asked a series of Parliamentary questions consisting of digs at animal welfare law and car dependency. As the leader of the party said in Parliament, when the law refuses to protect the least vulnerable, people will take it into their own hands. 

Shona had strong ideas on anyone taking the law into their own hands. Ideas that had oozed into her being from her father, without passing through the brain of either of them. She flinched as she watched the 'ageing hippies,' two older men, one with twisted looking hands, shouting encouragement to her client as she balanced on the tripod. 

Eventually, Shona's client was extracted from the tripod by the police, who had had to manipulate a cherry picker through arterial Wellington streets to bring her down safely, causing further economic disruption and traffic congestion in the central city. 

The man with the twisted hands was arrested as an accessory, but eventually charges were dropped and he was let go. When the police officer arresting him commented on the traffic congestion his friend had caused, he had yelled out "I don't give a fuck. If you'd listened to me before, you'd have a working public transport system and wouldn't be so reliant on private motor cars." 

Shona's client had been hit the hardest. The police and crown prosecutor seemed to sense she was poor and friendless, and had charged her with vandalism, disrupting a lawful business, and a number of other charges. Shona knew that the some of the lesser charges were likely to be dropped. Their function was simply to confuse, belittle and intimidate her client. 

More seriously, her client had been seen to push the police officer arresting her on the cherry picker, so a charge of assaulting a police officer had been added. This was the one that could potentially carry a jail term, and the one Shona decided she would need to concentrate on. 

Shona turned off the footage and sat motionless for several minutes. She had conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she despised what these activists stood for. Pushing the boundaries of the law, taking advantage of a lenient justice system in New Zealand that would often fail even to punish illegal protests, sneering at the system at the same time they exploited it. Just try those tricks in China or North Korea. This brain burp burst inside Shona's head, fermented by her father. 

Added to her general dislike was the particular. This was the girl who had embarrassed them all in church, had put Mark and her father to a great deal of trouble getting him off assault charges, and had finally driven a wedge between herself and Mark. The fact that the two of them had been drifting apart in any event, was beside the point. 

Later, as she had discovered at a dinner party at Mark's house, this same woman had embarrassed the whole family by stripping naked and assaulting Marge with a flowerpot. Definitely the sort to avoid. 

On the other hand, Shona was conscientious with her work, and competing with her father's teachings were the ideas she was starting to absorb from law school. Ideas of due process and fairness, the philosophy of innocent until proved guilty. Shona had no particular sympathy with the underdog, but a client was a different matter. 

So Shona poured through the police reports and scrutinised the footage again. She saw the police officer's mouth moving as he spoke to Shona, just before she shoved him. Maybe she could claim provocation. Shona's client was a single mum, and whatever her other failings, she seemed to be conscientious in looking after her daughter. A jail term would certainly not be beneficial for her little girl, and it would be unfair to punish the child for the crimes of the mother. Shona made some more notes, preparing her defence. 

The partner returned after lunch, and listened intently as Shona outlined the defence she intended to use, based on her findings. "You've done well," he said, the effect of the unexpected praise dampened slightly by the surprised tone in which he said it. 

"I will arrange for you to meet your client tomorrow to talk through your defence with her," the partner continued. "The deposition hearing is on Monday. It's a formality - they will almost certainly find a prima facie case, so you can handle that to get some practice. When it comes to the actual trial, we'll take over." 

Shona met Katy the next day at her office. Katy was accompanied by her daughter, and by one of the older hippies from the grainy footage, who she introduced as 'Sir Ron,' obviously some pet name. 

"Right, text me when you're ready, and we'll come and pick you up." said the older man. "Polly and me are off to the pantomime. You ready, Poll?" 

"Yes, please, Uncle Ron." The girl clasped the older man's hand and the two of them left Katy and Shona together. 

Shona had arranged her office to give maximum effect. The executive chair, the expansive desk, which she had cleared of papers to better show off its vastness, the expensive pen she used to take notes with, all designed to highlight the disparities of power between the two of them. You are coming to me as a supplicant, the interior design seemed to say, and I am condescending to help you out of my munificence. 

Katy however did not seem to be taking any of it in. She sat in the executive chair, staring at Shona, swivelling from side to side. 

"Er... do you mind. That's my chair," said Shona. 

"Oh sorry, I'll get another one." Katy had entered the empty office next door and raided the swivel chair before Shona could remonstrate, or point her to the shorter chair on the other side of the desk. 

"Thanks for seeing me," said Katy, hunched in her chair, hugging her knees and rocking from side to side. She was wearing a fleecy hoody over some shapeless bag-like top and faded jeans. Shona could not help wondering why Mark had found her so sexy. She didn't exude sex appeal. Sitting in Shona's office - for such she now considered it - she exuded nothing but a little girl lost. 

"That's quite okay, eh, Ms Ariki. Or may I call you Katy? 

Katy nodded. "Okay, Shona," she said. 

"You know who I am?" said Shona. 

"Yeah, I know who you are. I don't care. Both of us have finished with Mark. You're a good lawyer, I saw how you got the cops off my back." 

It was the first time anyone other than Mark had told Shona she was a good lawyer. Shona gave Katy a smile. Katy returned it, displaying a missing tooth. 

"Would you like a drink - tea or coffee?" said Shona, suddenly aware of her obligations as a host. 

Katy shook her head. "No. Let's get on with it." 

Shona was disconcerted with Katy's mood change. Her rudeness was as abrupt as her praise. 

Shona cleared her throat and looked at her notes. "The police officer is alleging you assaulted him in the execution of his duty. That is a serious charge, which..." 

"Fucking perv was feeling me up. I just told him to keep his hands to himself." 

Shona winced, wondering whether to tell Katy that her language was 'inappropriate'. In the end she made the wise decision to let it ride. Katy after all did not have the advantage of her upbringing. Talking of which... 

"What does your family think of this?" she asked. 

"Mum's being really supportive. Doesn't think much of animal rights, but says good on me for standing up for something I believe in." 

"And your father?" 

"Who gives a fuck what that lecherous sleaze thinks." 

There was an uncomfortable silence. Shona looked down at her notes. How could she get this taciturn woman to open up? For the first time Shona started to question her training. Why had she not been given more time to learn about difficult clients? After all, in legal practice more clients would be like Katy than like Terry Teal. Then she realised that this was her training. She would need to establish some sort of rapport. 

"So why did you think it necessary to take the law into your own hands?" 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth Shona realised she could have phrased that better. But it seemed to have the desired effect, and got the girl talking. 

"Cos the law lets scumbag farmers abuse animals. Not only lets them but encourages them. The filth feel us up or beat us up when we try to stop them. Why don't they stop the abuser instead? 'Cos the law protects those in power." 

"I really think..." 

Katy shouted over the top of Shona. "The law lets them keep pigs wallowing in their own shit. They don't like it any more than we do. Cramped together, driven mad with boredom and pain, screaming, biting the bars. Is that the sort of law you support? And not only the pigs. Chickens in cages, bones cracking with osteoporosis, meat chickens, sick obese babies for the table. If that's the law, then the law is not only an ass, but a shit smeared one. And not only that..." 

Shona let Katy carry on, raving about other ways the law protected the powerful and suppressed the weak. How the law allowed deep sea oil drilling, diversion of wild water ways, pollution of the land, sea and air, clear felled logging and wars in the Middle East. Then Katy's thoughts drifted closer to home. 

"And your church are a bunch of hypocrites. Going on about love and peace and turning me and Polly away when I was miserable and looking for comfort. Rich jerks who rail against abortion but don't give any help to single mothers. How hypocritical is that?" 

Shona was tempted to argue back. Match shout for shout. How single mothers are slutty whores who'll bonk anyone and then seem surprised when babies slip out of them. Vegans are radical people haters who arrogantly ram their ideas down everyone's throats, and think they are so superior. Shona held off her tirade, knowing that the client-lawyer relationship obliged her to listen rather than argue. Her lecturer had stressed this. 

"Remember, class," he had said. "Clients, especially criminal ones, are in trouble. That's why they are coming to us. That often means they are emotional and irrational. Criminal clients in particular have often messed up their own lives and are looking for someone to blame other than themselves. Just ignore any anti-lawyer rants they throw at you. Concentrate on the case, and how you can help them." 

Shona wanted to be a good lawyer more than she wanted to get her own back on the little slut sitting opposite her. She was glad she did, when Katy stopped her ranting and instead looked straight at Katy, her eyes wide, and spoke in a calmer voice. 

"Polly's not mine. Did you know?" 

Shona gave a start. No, she didn't know, and never would have guessed. Naturally she thought that Polly had slipped out of her mother's well-mauled private parts, as had all the other semi-feral babies and toddlers running around the streets of the less affluent suburbs in their disposable nappies. Shona stopped thinking of how she would defend the case, and clever put downs she could use to snub Katy. 

Instead Shona listened. Matching her gaze to the wide eyes in front of her, which soon glistened with tears as Katy described her relationship with the mad man; mostly gentle, sometimes brutal; the beating that hospitalised her and killed her unborn baby, the battle she had with depression, and her fight with the adoption agency to be considered an accepted member of society, fit to bring up children in this 'fucked up world'. 

Katy paused in her narrative, the tears now dripping from her eyes onto her lap. When Shona made no sign of interrupting, she continued. 

"My mum helped me a lot. So did Sir Ron. Otherwise I'd never have coped. Then mum buggered off to Myanmar. I can hardly blame her. Saving the souls of the heathen from the fires of Hell was her way of coping with the hurt that had happened to her. My dad beat her as well. But carefully of course. Nowhere the marks would show. She told me recently. She would cry very softly at night so as not to wake me in the next room." 

There was another embarrassed silence. Shona had to exercise her lips to prevent herself squirming or crying herself. "Sir Ron," she said. "Is that the elderly gentleman you who brought you here. Is that some sort of nick name?" 

"No, you pillock," said Katy. "I call him Sir Ron because that's his name. He's a consultant cardiologist; Mark's bitchy mum knows him. He made his mark on the medical world by his diet based cure for heart attack patients. He was knighted for it. Unfortunately, the jealous harpies and pricks you hang out with tore him to pieces. He had a nervous breakdown. So I had to help him, just when I needed help myself. Just when Ben was messing my head in with his sarcastic put downs, and I slept with another man who said I was beautiful, but he just wanted a quick fuck." 

Shona was about to reply, bring the topic around to Katy's case, when she went on. 

"I've been abused by every man I met. And most women. Ben was the same. All politically correct and proper, free Palestine, land rights for gay whales and all that. But he was as cruel as the rest of them in the end. Mocked my refusing to eat meat, saying I was not living in the real world where life eats life, continually patronising me because I don't have the advantage of his education. But I'm not thick. I'm helping Gary write his traffic reports and Sir Ron write about his diet. Both those men are geniuses in their own field but can't write to save their lives. Slutty Katy has to be their voice. What do you think of that, smug lawyer woman?" 

Shona opened her mouth again, but Katy had moved on. "And your ex, Mark. I thought he might be different, too. First time I saw him at church with you I thought he looked hot. You looked at me as though I was a dog turd, but he actually smiled at me. And then outside that restaurant, he was quite cute, defending my honour by thumping that brain dead yobbo." 

Shona found the opening she was looking for. "I don't condone violence," she said. "And speaking of which..." 

"Then you're very lucky," Katy interrupted. "Violence has obviously not been part of your life. As it has mine. As it has many of my neighbours where I live. Not a week goes by when I don't hear slaps and some woman or child screaming. Doesn't happen in your sheltered life I suppose. Your violence is more subtle. Persecution of men like Gary, just trying to make the world a better place. Building up slight disagreements into full scale battles, driving people into nervous breakdowns just so your company can make a few extra bucks. It's jerks like you who start wars, not victims of violence like me." 

Shona was stunned into silence at the revelation that Katy knew about her indiscretion over her politician client. So much so that she forgot to reply to her barbs, giving Katy the chance to continue with her tirade against Mark. 

"But in the end he was the same as the rest of them. Supporting his bitch of a mother over his girlfriend. She knew I couldn't eat anything on the table. She did it to spite me. And Mark. Just let her. Told me I was the one at fault for not eating her disgusting animal corpses." 

Katy broke off. Snot was trickling down her face, joining her tears in a soaking stain on her lap. Shona handed her a box of tissues. Katy blew her nose violently, then continued. 

"Why did you and Mark break off? I thought you two middle class respectable people would have had more in common. So what happened?" 

"I... We just weren't suited. It would have happened even if you hadn't come along." Shona had been in touch with Mark in Auckland. She knew he was concentrating on his medical studies, but was finding it increasingly hard. Not because he didn't have the brains, but because his interest in this particularly difficult subject was just not there. In his last email he had written two lines about his studies, and a whole page about his rehearsals for the Auckland University Singers and the repertoire they would be performing at the town hall. 

"So its not 'cos you're a dyke?" 

"Certainly not!" 

"No need to take that tone. I don't care if you're one or not. Mark seems to be up tight about it though. I suppose you and he both think you'll go straight to Hell if you so much look at another girl's fanny."