Just Between You an' Me by Witi Ihimaera This is absurd! Here I am tiptoeing around this small bed-sitter as if I'm a burglar; yet I pay the rent for this room. By rights I should be making as much noise as I wish to. I should put my shoes back on and not care if the floorboards creak when I walk over them, hang my coat in the wardrobe and not worry if the door squeaks, and boil the kettle for a cuppa without fearing the noises I'll make with clinking cup and saucer. It's raining outside and I'm dying for a cuppa to warm me up on this cold English afternoon. But instead, here I am, George Campbell from New Zealand, scarcely daring even to breathe, and wincing at every little noise I make. My toes are getting cold and my mouth dry and I would so very much like to walk round instead of sitting rigidly here in this most uncomfortable armchair. The trouble is that if I do move, Martha might hear. She thinks I'm out but I'm not; I'm in. Just five minutes ago, she was cleaning the first floor landing and saw me locking the door. —You goin' out then? she asked. —Yes Martha, I answered. See you later. She waved her dirty polishing rag at me and disappeared behind the banisters. I walked to the front door, opened it, saw what the weather was like—dirty washing water complete with rinso clouds—and changed my mind. I let the door shut and walked back to my room. And that was when I heard Martha talking to that Henderson chap on the next floor. —Between you an' me Mr 'enderson, she was saying, we shoulden' let all these foreigners into the country. Dir'y the lot of 'em. Dir'y! They come over ‘ere without a mind your leave and what do they do, eh? Tell me that! Just what, eh? I'll tell you Mr 'enderson, they stick at 'ome and just lay abaht, that's what! Take that boy on the groun' floor. Now 'ere's an example of what I'm saying in that dark fella. You know what 'e do? 'E lays abaht, that's what 'e do! You mark my words Mr 'enderson, 'e'll be goin' on the Social Securi'y next! Just like all them uvver West Indians! They shoulden' be let into the country. I mean it's not right, int it! We pay for 'em out of our taxes, Mr 'enderson. You mark my words: we pay for the 'ole lot of 'em … I was stunned. My ears were burning. I hadn't meant to listen. But Martha, whom I thought was my friend, saying such things about me! And to Henderson of all people! Why, it had only been this morning that Martha had confided the latest about Mr Henderson to me. —Just between you an' me, Mr Campbell, that Mr 'enderson is just dir'y an' 'is wife is just common. Common as dirt she is. If this was my 'ouse, I woulden let ‘er pass through the fron’ door, not on your Nelly! Martha and that Henderson had continued to talk. I'd put the key into the door and turned it. Had they heard? No … Then I'd softly crept into the bedsitter and closed the door behind me. Now, here I am sitting here, trying to be as quiet as a mouse. Me, in my own room, practically hiding from Martha! I suppose I'll have to admit it: George Campbell, you are a mouse! You're too timorous to let Martha know you've heard what she's said about you. Get up, man, and confront the woman! Tell her off, give her a good talking to, report her! After all, she's only a glorified charwoman, just a common cleaner. Are you going to let her get away with it? Listen to the Campbell blood calling to you. Can't you hear the bagpipes blowing? George Campbell, you're a sorry excuse for a man… I close my eyes and mourn to myself. And when I open them, I see a small pink face with sniffing nose and tiny whiskers staring back at me from the mirror. Yes, I am a mousey person. But after all, it really is my