and further away from her. He'd hoped, at first, that Dad would come back. He'd missed his father, and Janey had been confused about the strange man who had come to live with them. For a time she used to ask Mum when Dad was coming back. As time went by, she stopped asking, not because she had forgotten him, but because she began to understand that Mum didn't want to be reminded of him. If Uncle Pera had been older, maybe Hema would have grown to like him. But he was much younger than Dad had been, and even younger than Mum. Somehow, Hema had the feeling that this was wrong. He couldn't trust this man, and he felt that some day, he would leave Mum too. Yet, he made Mum happy and that was all that mattered. Better not to think of a day when Uncle Pera might leave. As long as Mum was happy, he would be happy for her sake. But Hema knew that even Mum was afraid that one day Uncle Pera might leave her. He saw it in her eyes and the little nervous things she did. He laughter, when Uncle Pera was home, seemed twice as loud as it should have been; her attempts at being casual, remained simply, attempts. Uncle Pera could twist their mother around his young finger if he wanted to, and he knew it. His was a silent kind of arrogance, making no demands, confident in the knowledge that these had already been anticipated by his woman, their mother. His first frown when Janey had wanted to be held by her mother, set the pattern for her later attitude toward them. When Janey went to her mother the second time, Mum pushed her away. And Janey learned when Uncle Pera was around, that she was not wanted, that she should make no demands on her mother. Uncle Pera's silence at the dinner table one night, also changed a routine they'd been accustomed to. They began to have dinner before he came home, and would be watching television when he had dinner. Afterward, when he and Mum came to watch, Hema would only be aware of their mother's anxious glances in their direction. Sometimes, they'd be allowed to stay. Other times, Hema would understand his mother's pleading silence. Then he would take Janey by the hand and they would go to bed. The happiest times for the two children were in the mornings after Uncle Pera had gone to work and Mum was getting them ready for school. In the mornings, their mother always kissed them. If she had been a stronger woman, she would have been able to make Uncle Pera understand that her children also meant much to her. But she was not a strong woman, nor was she independent. Her life began to revolve more around this new man, circling away from Hema and Janey. Uncle Pera seemed not to remember that this woman had children; he would tell her to come out with him and she would go. ‘Look after your sister,’ she would tell Hema. They were often left alone at night. Uncle Pera liked to go out. Although Hema was often hurt, he would think of his mother and see her looking at him, pleading with him to understand. Even when their father had been home, Hema had known that he must look after Janey. When Uncle Pera came to stay, things were no different except that looking after his sister became less of a duty and more something to cling to and never let go. Mum had Uncle Pera. They only had each other. And they grew to understand this on those long, dark nights when they were left alone together; that lighted windows were not for them. ‘Can I have a rest now?’ Janey looked up at her brother. ‘My feet are sore, Hema.’ They had come down Taranaki Street and were almost at Manners Sereet, where the pigeon park was. ‘Okay,’ Hema answered. ‘We'll just go across the road and sit on one of those chairs over there, ay?’ Janey nodded. Together, they walked to the pedestrian crossing and waited at the lights. A lot of other people were waiting there too. The road was busy with traffic. ‘Don't you let go of my hand,’ Hema said. Janey held it tighter. The lights changed, and the “Cross Now” signal buzzed. Hema waited just a second, letting the other people