"Damn you, Gabriel Heron!" I snatched up another hand-woven rug and whacked it against the side of the board and batten cottage as hard as possible. The bastard hadn't returned my call, or texts. He might be on his way, stuck in early Christmas traffic, or still be on his boat, out of range. More likely the phone was off, a trick to avoid calls when it suited him. Gabe reckoned he needed his downtime when not working.

"You promised," I muttered under my breath, though with not quite the same passion. It hadn't really been a promise, more of a possibility that he'd join me for a couple of days before my family arrived at the secluded cottage in the Coromandel bush.

"I'll do my best, Reyna," he'd said, before distracting me with another kiss – his usual ploy when he didn't want to commit.

I draped the rug next to its colourful siblings basking in the summer sunshine on the porch and breathed deeply. It was good to be back in the snug, bush-surrounded house where I had grown up. Volt and Aundra's handicrafts and improvements remained evident many years after their death in a fiery car crash. After my parents' accident, I'd tried to live here, but it had been impossible to do so and continue with my studies in another part of the country.

Post-graduation, I had been successful in getting a position at a primary school in Hamilton, teaching year two. Then four years later, married and with a baby, I had transferred to a school in the western suburbs of Auckland. Through hard work and sacrifice, Craig and I managed to keep the cottage as a holiday home to enjoy with our young children – Faith, and later Connor – when we could escape work commitments. Even after Craig had died in yet another dreadful car accident when the children were teenagers, I had managed to hold onto the property for their sake.

Colleagues expressed envy that I had a bach, somewhere to leave the bustle of work and city and chill out. But I would rather have had my parents. Now that I was a mother, and a grandmother, I often felt a pang that Aundra and Volt were not there to share the joy, and offer support and advice. I missed Craig too, and the dreams we'd shared.

"No sad-sack thoughts." I spoke aloud. "You needn't dwell on could-have-beens. There's plenty to look forward to. Even if that blasted man doesn't turn up."

That was true. It was the end of another successful term, and next year there would be a new batch of children to guide and teach. My career was rewarding; each day a different challenge or celebration could appear without warning. I had a fun group of colleagues to work with and a supportive principal who knew how to encourage her team and get the best from us.

I was also looking forward to my adult children arriving in a few days, with their spouses and families. We were going to spend Christmas together in the Coromandel cottage. My eldest Faith, a teacher like me, with her gentle giant Niko and their three children, often came for long weekends, but Connor, his wife Madeline, and their six-year-old twins, Asher and Alexander, were less frequent visitors.

I'd warned Connor – several times – about taking up with that young hussy, but like most red-blooded young men, he'd been led by a certain part of male anatomy, and ignored his mother's sensible advice.

Madeline had been determined to have him, and no wonder. Connor was a catch with his Celtic good looks – gingery hair, smiling blue eyes, clear skin and a well-put-together body, so similar to his late father. Of the dozens of young women who had lusted after my son it had to be that one who got her claws into him. Hopefully, the boys would take after Connor, not their mother.

Thoughts of my grandchildren brought a smile. How blessed I was. I resolutely put the thought of Connor and Maddy's impending departure to Brisbane out of my mind. Perhaps quality family time would encourage them to reconsider.

Stepping back into the cottage, I mentally listed the tasks to be completed before the family arrived on Christmas Eve, five days away. There was a mountain of food preparation – the ham, turkey, vegetables, chocolate mousse, jellies, and salads. Linen to be rewashed, duvets to be aired, beds made-up and vacuumed under, windows washed inside and out, cobwebs and their makers swept away. It was surprising how the little blighters could work so diligently in-between my visits to the cottage.

I chuckled thinking of Maddy's shriek when she had walked into a fine web I'd missed in front of the wardrobe door. I'd nearly slapped her to stop her ridiculous hysterics. That was the last time she had agreed to bring her precious boys to the wild edge of nowhere, as she called our bach. I was grateful Connor had convinced her to come again, even if it was because they planned to leave the country.

I wanted to find a small pine for the kids to bring back to the cottage for a Christmas tree. They would have fun with the box of decorations stored away somewhere. Volt and Aundra had made most of the gaily painted wooden shapes; none were anything like the artificial baubles on display these days. When I was young we hadn't celebrated Christmas. It was when I read the novels that came with home-school tasks that I learnt about Christmas and the traditions associated with it.

Smiling, I recalled how at only eight, I'd argued with Volt, insisting we must have a Christmas tree. He'd appeared bemused, but eventually humoured me. The box of original decorations that my father made for that first tree multiplied during the remainder of my childhood. Volt had scratched his head over the nativity scene I demanded. My father had always been the font of all knowledge, and I'd been confused to discover there were things he didn't know. Aundra came to the rescue. After looking through my books she created small felt figures to go in the wooden barn Volt finally built. I wondered where the nativity scene was now. Later, I'd climb up into the attic and see if it was there.

Continuing the cleaning, my thoughts focused on my parents. Items that they had crafted with love and skill brought back memories tinged with sadness. Every article was a precious reminder of the love and life we had shared for such a short time, here in this isolated cottage.

I remembered the deep violet-blue of Volt's eyes focused on a piece of wood, while he measured, cut, and assembled, then sanded and polished, with reverent precision. Now it was my turn to care for the chairs, tables, lamp-stands, bookshelves; we had needed more shelves over the years as my appetite for reading increased. Then there were the rugs and blankets that Aundra had woven, her odd-shaped pottery, and her fantastical paintings that hung in every room; images of a weird and extraordinary country that had existed in her daydreams and fantasy.

I paused to gaze at one of my favourite paintings. It had hung in the same place above the dining table since I was a small child; I couldn't recall it not being there. It depicted a lush countryside where the verdant growth of fictional trees and plants my mother's imagination had created seemed to tremble beneath a purple sky. Clouds, like day-old bruises, half-hid a shadowy, elliptical object – a purple oval, with a golden sphere in its centre. Amongst the vegetation below, implausible creatures gambolled and played together. The animal I'd stared most at as a child was partially hidden behind a bush hung with yellowed egg-shaped fruit; I presumed they were fruit. Aundra never really answered my questions about her paintings, instead suggesting they could be whatever I wanted them to be. The creature looked like a little horse, or maybe a donkey; a very shabby, shaggy donkey. Its golden eyes followed me around the room or watched me eat my meals. I sometimes fancied it was laughing at me. Once I mentioned to Aundra that it should get a haircut. She'd laughed like it was a great joke.

Volt had glanced up from a sketch of some object he was intending to make, and told Aundra she should change the topic of her paintings. They'd stared long and hard at each other. That was the closest I'd ever seen my parents come to a disagreement on any issue. They were the most annoyingly united parents that a child could be blessed with.

Now my eyes wandered to the stack of gifts on the polished table, waiting for me to wrap and label, ready to place under the tree I was yet to find. What would my parents have thought of this heap of purchased gifts? There was not one that I had made. Aundra had always expressed horror at the thought of buying something she could have crafted. It was Volt, on our infrequent excursions to Thames or Hamilton, whose eyes became dreamy as he inspected electronic or mechanical gadgets.

"You don't need it," Aundra would say, her voice uncharacteristically sharp, and Volt would turn away reluctantly. He did have his way with the solar power though, and I'm sure that Aundra appreciated it, even when she muttered under her breath about its extravagance.

I refolded the old, but useable, patchwork throws for the beds, and slipped feather pillows back into their hand-sewn covers. Faith loved them, and the woven blankets. One day they would be hers. I couldn't see Maddy wanting such things in her home.

Eating lunch – a salad sandwich and a cup of freshly brewed coffee – I reviewed the gifts. Maddy and Connor should be happy with the Fair-Trade coffee and set of fine china cups. I knew Faith and Niko would like their similar gift, though theirs were hand-thrown pottery from a craft market. The children were a different matter. Lissa at fifteen was becoming a handful. Niko and Faith would need to keep an eye on that one. She was far too pretty for her own good. After much worrying, I'd taken a colleague's advice and bought my only granddaughter vouchers for a manicure and pedicure, and added a money-card for her to buy some clothing. She loved dressing up. Her younger brothers were easy; a new basketball and a t-shirt from his favourite team for Jamie, and as for that rascal Isaia, I'd got him a meccano set. That should keep his fingers out of mischief for a while. For the twins I'd selected Lego collections – different ones but compatible, so hopefully there would be smiles all round on Christmas morning.

I glanced at the lumpy canvas bag I'd dragged into the lounge from the under-stairs cupboard. The older boys would enjoy sleeping in the tent, though I doubted Maddy would allow her two to sleep outside where wild creatures might lurk. She was yet to be convinced that the New Zealand bush was safe. She was mad to want to return to Australia where the wildlife was much more dangerous. Though, knowing her, they would live in a city, well away from natural threats.

I left my plate and cup in the sink, and made sure three bottles of white wine were in the fridge. It would be nicely chilled before dinner. I decided to wrap the pile of gifts.

With the last piece of tape attached and the final tag written, I sat back satisfied. They would look lovely under the tree. It was too soon to cut one down, but a walk in the cool bush to look for a likely specimen sounded perfect. Any excuse – really – to check out the paths that Volt had slashed from the bush so many years ago, and revisit childhood haunts.

My cellphone was almost flat, and no message yet from Gabe. That man! His indecisiveness was irritating. I'd informed him on numerous occasions that I would appreciate knowing his plans in advance. With his infectious laugh he'd shrugged those wide shoulders he knew I loved to snuggle up to, and said he was a free spirit who needed spontaneity. Then he had the audacity to propose marriage again. As if I could live with his here-and-there lifestyle as a sales rep for a multi-national company. I'd told him that, but I didn't mention the other reason; the minor detail that my children, and their spouses, knew nothing about him. I kept certain parts of my life to myself. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them. They most certainly did not need to know their sensible mother had a lover nearly ten years her junior.

Gabe had grinned. "I'll just keep asking until you say yes," he'd said, then given me a kiss not easily forgotten. There were some things he could do exceptionally well. I hoped he would arrive this evening, and not be too late or tired for fun. Gabriel Heron had proved more than once that life after fifty needn't be staid. Even if he hadn't quite got to fifty himself.

I sat my phone on the recharge plate, and checked the solar power unit was generating well; the batteries would be at peak soon. I'd do the vacuuming when I returned from my walk.

Changed into jeans and a loose cotton shirt – a favourite made from colourful batik – I glanced in the hall mirror. Not bad for a just-turned fifty-six-year-old. My hair was still mostly blonde, pulled back today into a sensible ponytail. My figure had remained trim over the years. I turned to look over my shoulder. My butt was pert and filled the blue jeans perfectly. I grinned, hoping again that Gabe would be here tonight. He'd be happy to help take the jeans off. He was gifted like that.

With that tantalising thought, I poured the last of the coffee into a travel mug, snapped the lid on, and pulled the door shut. There was no need to lock; I'd be just a few minutes away, and nobody ever came up here. When Volt and Aundra had moved in, the cottage and one neighbour were the only dwellings at the end of the long, dirt road that wound inland, through thick bush. In those days, we were an hour away by car from the small township of Coromandel.

Volt had owned the same vehicle as long as I could remember, a dusty blue 1963 Ford Console for transporting art works and to purchase supplies that my parents couldn't produce in their large garden. We always had honey from the bees Volt kept, and fresh seafood from his frequent fishing expeditions. He'd tow his small runabout down to the wharf at Coromandel and go out into the estuary.

My parents had been travelling to visit me in Hamilton when they were involved in the accident that took their lives. I'd pestered to stop home-schooling, and for the final three years of my childhood education I had stayed with arty friends of my parents, Melody and Cyprus Quadross, so I could attend Hamilton College. I had gone on to university from there. I suspected Volt may have fallen asleep briefly, allowing the car to veer off the road and hit a tree. It had been a single vehicle incident and, apart from the wet weather conditions, the police had no other explanation for the tragedy.

My spirits drooped, recalling those sad days. I needed to change the direction of my thoughts if I was to be ready for Gabe and his playfulness. I considered returning to the cottage to swap the coffee for chardonnay, but decided the chilled wine would be more enjoyable after a walk.

The air in the bush was cool; cicadas rubbed their back legs, serenading me, as I pushed my way through the ferns, manuka and other natives. Volt had tried to teach me their names, but I'd preferred to play than pay attention. The last time Gabe had been here for a romantic weekend, he'd discovered a thin notebook slipped into a larger book on New Zealand flora and fauna. Volt's precise notes and sketches of leaves, flowers and tree formations filled every page. With misty eyes, I realised Dad had learnt the names of trees and plants even as he'd been trying to teach me. I'd planned to decipher the odd writing we'd noticed in the back of the book, taking it home to the small brick-and-tile unit in New Lynn that I'd bought eight years previously. It didn't have the feeling of a real home, not like the cottage, or the large house where Craig and I had expected to live for the rest of our lives. As for the notebook, I had no idea where it was. Come to think of it, I'd not seen it again.

I shook my head. This was not good. Look for a pine tree, and stop pining for the past. I grinned at the poor pun and took a sip of coffee.

The path was barely visible; I often trimmed branches to keep the track open. It needed a decent haircut. That would be a useful activity to keep Connor, Niko and the kids busy, while Faith and I had a serious discussion with Maddy. We would tell her it wouldn't do Connor, or the boys, any good to take them away from their family. I carefully ignored the fact that Maddy's parents were already installed in Brisbane and her dad had promised Connor a job in the company he had opened there.

Concentrate! The path was steep, so I drank the last of my coffee and left the travel-mug in the middle of the path to collect on my return. Using the overhanging branches for support, I slid down the bank. It looked like parts of the track had broken away in a spring storm. I'd warn the boys about that and hoped it wouldn't be tricky climbing back up. I reached the bottom of the gully; a small stream rattled over loose stones and a fantail cheekily checked me out, warning me away from its territory.

"Don't worry. I'm not after your bugs," I said, laughing. "You're welcome to them."

Walking beside the stream, the peaceful murmur of the bush and the sound of water smoothing away the rough edges of boulders, I began to relax. The piece of jade I wore around my neck came from here. When I was nine, Volt had brought me to this place. Sounding serious, he'd told me to remember a particular spot. Then, maybe sensing my lack of interest, we'd looked for gold in the stream. Volt never missed a thing, and had been the one to spot the piece of greenstone, partially buried in the gritty river sand. He'd told me that it must have been dropped by a previous owner, many years before, as greenstone, or pounamu, was not found in these rivers.

On my next birthday, when I was ten, he presented it to me, polished to an almost translucent emerald, fine silver wire wrapped around it and a plaited leather thong to tie around my neck. The leather had eventually worn thin, and I'd had the pounamu put on a silver chain. Its weight against my chest-bone was a constant memory of the first man I had loved. The gold wedding ring I had since added to the chain was a reminder of the second.

The fantail dived across my path again, chittering excitedly.

"Okay. Okay! I'm getting out of your way," I told the tiny bird.

Leaving the stream, I pushed deeper into the bush. The further I went under the trees the cooler it was. The rustling and singing of cicadas were like ten thousand legs clapping in unison. I was glad I didn't have to choreograph them. Underneath my feet, scattered over the uneven ground, were dry brittle pinecones and sharp, pointed branches that had fallen from above. Some had missiles of open pinecones still attached. Maybe a hard hat would have been a good idea. I was getting closer to the wilding pines. Volt used to deal with them, explaining that if they weren't removed when young they would eventually take over the forest and displace the native vegetation. I didn't need to walk far; already small pines were sprouting up among the larger, more established, indigenous plants. One of these would be perfect. I'd ask Connor and Niko to destroy the other seedlings while they were at it.

Pleased that I had solved one problem, and found tasks for my men-folk, I wandered further through the bush. I was sure this was near the spot Volt had brought me, that day we had found the greenstone. What had he said? It was something about remembering this place, something about my needing it one day. The child me had paid little attention to his strange comment.

I sat and leaned against a thick trunk. If I had Volt's notebook I might have been able to identify it. The tree felt like it had been here for eons, and if the wilding pines didn't smother it, it should be here for a few more.

Once I'd had a rest I would make my way back to the cottage, and open the chardonnay. Damn Gabe. Right now I couldn't care if he turned up or not. The Coromandel bush had worked its magic again. I'd sit on the porch, enjoy a drink, and listen to the trees growing.

Sunshine filtered through the leafy canopy above. The rhythmic music of cicadas lulled me into the edges of a daze. I must have fallen asleep, because I jerked awake with the sound of silence creating an empty space in the forest.

My skin and every nerve tingled. The thumping of my heart pounded a staccato that resonated behind my eyes. All my senses were heightened. Something was not right.