"If you were any sort of mother, this wouldn’t have happened!"

Even with her head under the pillow, Suzy heard Dad clearly.

"How dare you! It's all your fault!" Mum's words were accompanied with a crash of smashing china; likely one of the rose-patterned cups that had been a wedding present. The last seventeen years had seen many of the fragile tea-set pieces broken.

"Suzanne probably led him on. That sort of thing happens every day." 

Dad's cruel comment stung. Suzy tugged the pillow tighter. Over the last two weeks she'd heard every variation of her parents' argument, some accusations even to her face. Most nights after the children were sent to their rooms, Mum and Dad blamed each other as they rehashed what they knew. No one cared how she felt. She'd be sixteen soon, and had never been more miserable. 1971 was supposed to be the year when her life really started. 

A grumble came from the depths of the second bed in the dim room. 

Suzy dragged the pillow from her face to take a breath of fuggy air. "What?"

"I wish they'd shut up." Her younger sister, Maree, pushed the blankets away from her body and became a pale figure in the middle of the bed. "Now I want to pee."

"Don't let them see you," Suzy warned.

"I'm not as stupid as you. I wouldn't have told anyone. It's your fault that they're shouting again." Still mumbling, the pyjama-clad girl cracked the door open. The argument sounded louder, even though the lounge door was shut. When Maree returned, she continued grumbling. "Why don't you just leave? That's what I'd do. Go and live with Ryan and his parents."

"We broke up. Be quiet. I want to sleep."

Mum had begun crying – a long, wailing sob. Soon Dad would hug her, say sorry, and then the lights would go off and the house finally be silent. 

Suzy refused to go to school again the next day. Maree and Billy went off in a huff because they didn't have the same influence over their mother.

"You always get what you want 'cause you're the eldest," Billy snapped, grabbing his bag from where he'd dropped it on the kitchen floor the night before. 

The three panes left in the backdoor rattled in their frames when it slammed behind him. Even the unpainted ply in the bottom square wobbled against the bent nails holding it in place. 

Lingering over his weetbix, Jacob knew something was wrong, but didn't know what. Suzy gave her six-year-old brother a hug and promised to read him a story after school.

The next day – Wednesday – Suzy was almost tempted to put her uniform on. There was a class trip to the Auckland Museum; she loved looking at the old-fashioned street on the top floor and the clothes people used to wear. But the memory of cruel comments from her so-called-friend Jillian, kept her at home. That was when Suzy decided school was over for her. Mum didn't bother arguing, and Dad hadn't really taken in what she had meant.

So she was home on Friday morning, singing along with the words to Knock Three Times on Radio Hauraki, sweeping the kitchen floor and doing a general tidy-up, when Auntie Ellen arrived in her groovy blue car. Like Suzy's mum, Auntie Ellen was taller than her, but unlike Mum, she invariably had a twinkle in her blue eyes and a ready smile. She always dressed nicely; she didn't wear miniskirts like Mum, but somehow managed to look trendy. Today Auntie wore cream trousers, slightly flared, a matching jacket, and underneath it, a funky black, orange and yellow stripped jersey. Her fair curly hair looked like she'd seen a hairdresser recently; what a comparison to Mum!

Suzy surreptitiously eyed both women while they sat at the table, the metal teapot in its stained woollen cover between them. They were supposed to be driving up to Helensville to visit their mother – Suzy's Gran – and help her sort out some financial stuff. But Suzy knew Mum well. She wasn't planning to go.

"I've had a bad head all morning. Nothing's budged it." Mum had shadows around her eyes, and her hair, while dark and curly, looked like it should have been washed yesterday. She rubbed nicotine-stained fingers across her temples and gave a tired-sounding sigh. She wore a pale green blouse of some gauzy fabric – there was an old stain near its collar – and a narrow check skirt that was – in Suzy's opinion – way too short for a mother of four. She didn't care to see so much of Mum's legs, especially as she wore no pantyhose.

"I'm sorry," Mum continued. "I know I said I'd go, but I can't face a long drive today." She rubbed at her head again and winced.

The headache could be real. Sometimes Suzy had doubts. There'd been another long, loud argument last night, so perhaps Mum was tired. Dad had drunk more than usual, starting during dinner. He'd even offered Suzy a glass of red wine from his ever-present half-gallon jar. 

"She's a woman now," he'd slurred, when Mum tried to intervene. 

Suzy had taken the glass, angry at his comment and with Mum for worrying more about the wine than her daughter's reputation. But she hadn't liked the tart, pungent taste and left more than half in the tumbler. Billy had swooped on it when the table was being cleared and downed it in two long gulps. Stupid fool. 

"I'll go with you," Suzy heard herself say. 

"But you're unwell," Auntie Ellen said. "Isn't that why you're not at school?"

"I've left," Suzy said, another unplanned comment surprising her.

Mum's eyes were like daggers across the dining table, but she said nothing. 

"Oh, well then." Auntie's voice became breezy. "If you can't come, Joan, then I'll welcome Suzanne's company. It’s a long drive by myself."

While Auntie Ellen used the bathroom, Mum leant towards Suzy. "Don't you go blabbing about our dirty laundry," she hissed. "Nothing to do with her."

The first thing Suzy noticed in Auntie's car was the absence of ice-block sticks, empty chippy packets and overflowing ashtrays. It even smelt clean.

"A Toyota," Auntie Ellen said in response to Suzy's question. "Easy to drive and handles well. Have you got your licence yet?"

Dad had given Suzy three driving lessons in the family's cumbersome Austin A70 and was supposed to be paying for her test as a birthday present. But Suzy needed cushions to see over the bonnet and had to stretch her legs to reach the stiff pedals. That, combined with Dad's increasing irritation every time she crunched the gears, had paused lessons. Ryan had promised to teach her in his Ford Prefect. That wasn't going to happen now. 

When she explained all this, Auntie Ellen said, "too bad," but didn't offer a lesson – not surprising, considering she lived on the other side of Auckland. 

They passed orchards and rows of vineyards covered in white filmy cloth, and then paddocks with grazing animals – cows, sheep and even the occasional goat tied to a fenceline. The road to Helensville was familiar, but it had been months since Suzy had visited Gran. The house on the hill had felt forlorn since Granddad died.

"Is everything okay at home?" 

The unexpected question startled Suzy out of her reverie. "Um … sure."

"I'm not being nosy, just concerned."

With Auntie's quick smile, a lump appeared in Suzy's throat; for one moment she almost said something Mum didn't want repeated. She swallowed the words and smiled back. "Mum gets those horrid headaches. I hope she has a rest today."

"It's such a shame. I hoped she would come with me."

Casting her thoughts furiously, Suzy hit upon a solution. "How's Meredith doing? And her little boy? How old is he now?"

Auntie Ellen's face broke into a smile, worry banished. For the next dozen miles or so, stories of her wee grandson filled the space. It gave Suzy time to relax and even pretend that nothing bad had happened. 

"Of course, your other cousin, Neale, has got a girlfriend. Sweet young thing, but a little naïve. Your Uncle Ray and I hope it doesn't come to anything more serious."

"What do you mean, naïve?"

Auntie Ellen glanced at her. "To me, it means someone who shows a lack of wisdom or good judgement. I guess lacking much life experience. Perhaps over time she will work out."

Suzy wasn't too bothered by her cousin's new girlfriend, but Auntie's words struck a chord. Had she been naïve? She'd thought that Dad's ex-apprentice wouldn't be interested in her, not that way. He was ancient, well over twenty. And he knew she had a boyfriend. She'd believed the story that he wanted someone to show him the changes that had occurred in Auckland while he'd been in Australia. Dad had talked her into it. Yes. Naïve was the perfect description for her. Never again. 

Determined to keep the conversation away from herself, Suzy spoke into the next pause. "I really like your jacket." 

"This thing?" Auntie Ellen lifted one hand from the steering wheel and straightened the jacket's collar. "I made it years ago. It's lasting well. Belgium linen."

"You made it?" Suzy's own attempts at sewing on Mum's old Singer had resulted in wearable clothing – but nothing turned out remotely that professional.

"And the slacks," Auntie added, her hand patting a linen-clad thigh. "But that's what I do. I work for a garment factory. I took today off especially, because Uncle Ray has a busy weekend planned for us."

"I didn't know that you did sewing." Suzy was beginning to realise there was much she was ignorant of. She smoothed the green slinky fabric of her dress. It had been tricky to sew but she loved the baby-doll pattern. There was wonky puckering down one side; hopefully Auntie wouldn't notice.

"Look, there's Helensville." Auntie Ellen pointed towards a distant hill that had just become visible. "Nearly there. Mother will be delighted to see you."

The wooden house perched on a steep hillside above the quaint township of Helensville never changed from one visit to the next – apart from the absence of Granddad.

Pots of succulents stood on shelves either side of the covered entrance, along with the peg-basket. They ducked under a tea-towel flapping on the string line and pushed open the door. 

"Mother! We're here!" Auntie Ellen called cheerily. 

Suzy followed her aunt through the tiny entranceway that doubled as a storeroom for boots, old newspapers and jars of preserves. It always smelt of shoe polish. The kitchen wasn't much bigger; two steps and they were through and in the living room – the hub of the house.

They found Gran at her usual spot, sitting at the head of the long table, writing materials spread out across it. Gran had over a hundred penfriends around the world and spent hours corresponding with them. 

Suzy kissed Gran's soft, plump cheek and then moved so Auntie Ellen could hug her mother.

The large room, lit mainly from one sash window at its further end, was dominated by the cloth-covered wooden table. At one side was a well-used fireplace; the smoke-darkened bricks testament to cold nights warmed by flames. On the other side of the table a padded wood-framed couch ran along the wall, under a multi-paned window that provided a dimly lit view of the storeroom. To the best of Suzy's knowledge that window had never been opened. Behind Gran a dark-panelled cabinet held the good china and next to that was Gran's treadle sewing machine. Apart from the chairs around the table and the couch, the only other seating were two lumpy armchairs placed either side of the sash window. Between them was a spindly-legged table laden with Gran's collection of potted African violets stretching towards the light. The roller blind above them was partially lowered to prevent sunshine burning their fragile leaves.

Alongside Gran's sewing machine was the door to Granddad's bedroom – it was shut. He'd been in the first war and got shot in once place, then gassed in another, so he'd always needed to sleep with a window wide open. Mum said he'd even had to sleep on the veranda when he struggled to breathe.

The best thing about the living room was the many gifts from Gran's penfriends. Dolls in national costumes, tea-towels pinned on the wall and the backs of doors, gleaming ornate teaspoons, miniatures, and postcards depicting famous landmarks dominated the space. Suzy always enjoyed spending part of every visit getting reacquainted with the fascinating range. Her favourite doll was Mary Queen of Scots. The dainty doll in black velvet gave no hint of the tragedy that had befallen her namesake – a sad story Granddad had once told Suzy.

Gran called her to help set the table – creamy china with a blue-green line around the fluted edge, yellowed bone-handled knives and heavy silver forks.

Auntie Ellen carried in a dish that she'd brought from home – a type of pie.

"It’s quiche," Auntie explained. "It's easy. I'll give you the recipe later."

Once most of the quiche, salad from Gran's garden, and bread and butter had been appreciated, Suzy offered to do the dishes. The tiny white enamelled sink in the poky kitchen made her feel as though she was working in a doll's house – kind of fun. It was actually nice doing dishes without her brothers and sister fighting over who had dried the most or trying to sneak away before the job was done. 

When she returned to the other room Gran and Auntie Ellen were deep in conversation, so she asked if she could go down the hall to the veranda.

"Don't let the door slam, dear," Gran said. "The wind is picking up something strong."

The wide hall that ran down the centre of the house had two rooms off it with the door to the veranda at the far end. Suzy peeked in Gran's room; the high single bed faced the door. A white candlewick bedspread was neatly spread across it, hanging down each side. A ceramic chamber pot peeked out from the tasselled edge. The other room was known as the front room but only used as a spare bedroom. Suzy had stayed often when she was younger– sleeping in one of two single wire-wove beds. Granddad's collection of poetry and other complicated books were kept in there also. A battered wooden table near the window was used for jigsaw puzzles or drawing on those visits. 

The covered veranda had trellis wrapped around either end, giving it a hint of seclusion. Under Suzy's shoes the wooden boards felt even more uneven than last time she'd been, while the faded paint on the handrail was peeling off in thick layers. She leaned on the railing – it moved slightly under her weight – and gazed down the hill, to where the road divided at an intersection. To the left – the way they had come – was the township of Helensville. To the right it went past the cinema – closed for good now – a milk-bar, then the railway station and the wharf. The rubbish dump was at the end of the road.

Beyond those, the winding Kaipara Harbour meandered back and forth through low, scrubby bushes. Suzy had a faint memory of Granddad explaining they were mangroves and the harbour was one of the largest in the world, but it just looked like a muddy river to her. The tide was out so the ribbon of water glinting in the afternoon sun had wide banks of shiny mud on either side. 

Gran had been right about the wind. Suzy's long brown hair, which she'd left loose today, whipped around her head. The thin fabric of her dress did nothing to protect her from the breeze. She decided to return inside.

The conversation was still going on and appeared to have grown serious. Gran was dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.

"Be a love and make a pot of tea," Auntie Ellen said to Suzy while patting Gran's hand. 

"I don't know how to turn on the gas," Suzy said, wishing she was more useful. 

After Auntie had lit the gas on the stove top with a long match and filled the kettle, she left Suzy to put the other tea things together on a tray. She had to ask Auntie to come back to turn the gas off once the kettle began to whistle but took note of what she did. 

Placing the tray on the table, she was relieved to see Gran had stopped crying. "Shall I pour?"

"Let it brew a moment, dear," Gran said. 

Suzy perched on one of the hard chairs at the table and tried not to look curious. But Auntie must have noticed.

"Your mother and I are concerned about Gran living alone. We think it would be best if she sold the house and moved closer to us."

Suzy doubted Mum would visit Gran more often if she lived closer, but she understood the reasoning. 

"It’s a bit of an upheaval," Gran said. "But I suppose it has to happen sometime. I'll be sad to leave this home. Bert and I were so happy here. Janice Wallace across the road is very good, but I can't be depending on her all the time."

"What sort of help do you need?" Suzy thought Gran looked well for her age – whatever that was.

"Some days the walk up the hill from the village is a wee challenge," Gran admitted. "But the exercise has kept me going over the years. And the washing can be a problem. Janice does the sheets for me."

Suzy knew Gran did most of her washing by hand in the grey stone tubs in the bathroom. She'd helped feed clothes through the wringer often enough. 

"Would you like me to stay for a few weeks, until you decide what to do?" Suzy hadn't meant to say that; the words just popped out by themselves. But when she heard them spoken aloud, they sounded like a perfect idea.