his hopes died as he sank back on his heels. ‘Oh … ‘ ‘Next train's tomorrow,’ the clerk said. He pushed the money back to Hema. ‘Anyway, you haven't got enough money here. Better tell your mother to come and get the ticket.’ He turned away from Hema. The queue moved forward. Hema shuffled back to Janey. He'd never thought to find out when the train left Wellington. ‘What happened, Hema?’ Janey asked. ‘The train's already gone,’ he answered. ‘What do we do now, then?’ Hema shrugged his shoulders slightly. ‘There's plenty of time; I'll think of something,’ he said. They sat together without speaking while the rush of people ebbed and flowed around them. Then Hema said: ‘Are you hungry?’ Janey gave him a guarded look. ‘How much money we got?’ ‘Enough.’ ‘Are you hungry too?’ Janey asked. ‘I'm not if you're not.’ ‘Yes, I'm a little hungry.’ Janey thought for a while. ‘Well, we'll get a pie, and you can have half and I can have half, because I'm not very hungry either,’ she said. ‘I only got a small stomach anyway.’ They went into the station cafeteria and bought a pie. Then they found an empty seat out on the platform, and Hema divided the pie as best he could. They ate silently. When they had finished, Hema asked his sister if she'd like the mince which had fallen into the paper bag. She said she didn't, but he made her have it. Afterward, the two children watched the units arriving and departing, arriving and departing, and the people rushing to and from the platforms. And there was one brief incandescent moment, when Janey reached up and whispered in her brother's ear. ‘I wouldn't have gone without you, anyway,’ she said. Mum had changed, withdrawing herself from Hema and Janey, and they grew closer to each other. Hema's friends became Janey's friends too, for she was always following him round. At school, he would be playing with his mates, and all of a sudden, Janey would be there. If she was alone, she would come and sit, watching him. Even if she was playing with her own friends, she would suddenly look up, alarmed, and search for him. If she could see him, she wasn't afraid. As long as he was somewhere, as long as he was there, that's all that mattered. Sometimes, Hema used to get angry with her, especially at night when they were alone and Mum and Uncle Pera had gone out. Janey would follow him from room to room, silent and watchful. ‘You're always following me!’ he would yell. ‘Stop it!’ And once, he'd hidden from her, and she'd looked everywhere, screaming out his name: ‘Hema! HEMA!’ She'd started to cry, and he'd gone to her and said: ‘Don't cry. I'm here.’ They were often left to themselves. Uncle Pera would whisper to Mum, and she would say it was still light outside so why didn't they go and play, or that Hema must have some homework to do so he should do it and take Janey with him into the bedroom, or she'd give them some money and tell them to go to the shop and buy something. Those were the moments, when their mother's motives were so transparent, that the children gew especially close because they were almost outcasts together. Hema would say, ‘Come on, Janey. You want an ice cream?’ And even if she didn't, she'd say ‘Yes’ because that's what Mum wanted. So they would leave the house and wander dismally down to the shop, and lick half-heartedly at their ice creams. On such walks, they would often look up at the other houses along the street and watch through lighted windows. But that only made them yearn for something they were almost afraid to name … But they knew what it was all the same, and it was Uncle Pera who had taken it away. Uncle Pera … He was the one to blame so Hema thought; and his thoughts grew, and finally, unleashed themselves.