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  “Yes, if someone reads to me I understand and remember it completely.”

  “So, maybe I’m not thick after all?” Sandy was smiling as she spoke.

  “Maybe not. I guess I will have to better my skills when reading aloud.”

  Joanne read to Sandy if they were studying at the same time. She borrowed a dictaphone from her father’s law firm and voice recorded notes for future reference. The foundation of their friendship had been laid.

  Well after graduation, Joanne actively lobbied both the school they were attending and the Department of Education in an effort to have dyslexia formally recognised. She tirelessly campaigned for assistance to be provided for students diagnosed with the learning disability and campaigned to have a program formulated to recognize at risk children as early as possible.

  Finally, in 2007, Joanne celebrated New Zealand’s recognition of dyslexia.

  It came far too late to help Sandy.

  Joanne and Sandy were almost opposites. They were as different in the way they looked as they were in their personalities. Apart from the oxygen they breathed there seemed little to bind this unlikely pair in friendship. In many ways they never fully understood each other, they really never had to. Their differences balanced out to bond them in a sister-like friendship.

  Sandy took it as a personal challenge to teach Joanne to laugh at herself, to relax and socialise, to enjoy small animals and understand things didn’t always have to exist for any particular logical reason.

  Joanne had never really known anyone as outrageous as Sandy and through her friendship she made friends with the young people that had once teased her relentlessly, she learnt to enjoy a normal social life, she became more spontaneous and lost some of her once rigid inhibitions.

  She sneaked out of the dorms to visit nightclubs on Auckland’s busy Queen Street and eat fatty burgers at the iconic White Lady.

  It was a sunny Friday afternoon in the last term of their final year in college when things fell apart for Sandy.

  Joanne rushed to gather up her books glancing nervously at her watch. She was already running late and Sandy would be waiting. They had organized to meet after tutor group and the normally punctual Joanne was flustered by her uncharacteristic lack of time management.

  Joanne rounded the edge of the building but abruptly stopped and slipped back behind the concrete unnoticed. The school principal looked flustered and angry his hand was firmly placed on Sandy’s elbow as he accompanied her out of the school grounds. Her grim-faced parents followed, their heads bent in shame.

  Sandy had been caught smoking marijuana. She had been expelled without question.

  Through sheer perseverance and hard work Sandy had been achieving grades that were adequate enough to enable her to graduate. No small feat when she struggled with a system she wasn’t set up to succeed in.

  To be expelled in the final few weeks of her struggle seemed grossly unfair.

  Sandy faced the world of adult responsibility with limited education, a record showing drug abuse and reading and writing difficulties. The only thing that was in her favour that day was her age. She was now old enough to live independently and she had no intention of returning to the confines of her strict and religious family.

  Sandy toyed with the idea of sleeping on a park bench but that had about as much appeal as returning home.

  In the interview conducted by the school to formalise her expulsion Sandy had only spoken briefly to her parents.

  They were understandably furious and predictably unsupportive.

  Her mother had made wild accusation about Joanne’s negative influence and involvement in their daughter’s life of drugs.

  The principal had listened patiently and Sandy had sat in silence.

  As soon as the meeting was concluded she shook her head and walked out without a word. She was escorted by the red-faced principal and her parents, who walked silently behind her, hunching down under their burden of shame.

  At the gate Sandy had focused ahead and had kept walking. Her mother’s demanding voice had faded with every step she took.

  It was early Saturday morning. Sandy chewed on her nails and mulled over her sudden change of circumstances. She had come to the conclusion her interests and experience had been limited to frequent sex, mild drugs and the consumption of large quantities of wine.

  She excluded the first two possibilities as a dangerous and illegal way to earn a living. At least in the short term the third option would have to provide the answer.

  Sandy had confidence in her artistic ability, but that could not provide an immediate income. She was also realistic enough to know she would have to be established before it would be a reliable career. She had no doubt her work would be recognised one day in the future and this would allow her to succeed in the area she enjoyed.

  In the meantime there were more pressing considerations such as a dry place to sleep and something warm to eat.

  Sandy began working her way down Queen Street, knocking on the doors of bars, restaurants and nightclubs. She had no option, she had to find a job, and she had to find it today.

  By the Saturday evening her feet were swollen and her head ached with the dull pain of rejection and endless questioning. What experience have you had? Have you got any references? Have you got any criminal convictions?

  She sat forlorn on a stool in a trendy wine bar. The curved high gloss bench reflected harsh lighting into her aching eyes. Bottles lined the walls like soldiers and empty ashtrays piled up ready for cleaning. Hell, she felt like a cigarette. Her thoughts were interrupted by the middle-aged manager that had been observing her from behind his thick glasses.

  “So, young lady, you have no references, there is no one I can ring to confirm you will not steal from the till and you have no experience. Why, then, do you suggest I should employ you?”

  “Because I need a job,” she said simply.

  He looked up and considered the desperate face in front of him. Instinct told him he had her lifeline in his hand.

  “Can you start tomorrow?”

  “You will start on minimum wage and with a month long trial period,” he added, just before his words were muffled by Sandy’s unexpected embrace.

  Within a day she was employed and within two days she was the proud new tenant of a one-bedroom flea pit flat on the notorious ‘K’ Road.

  Joanne had been very close to ruining her future in any legal field. Even being implicated in drug involvement would have made it difficult for her to be accepted into any university.

  Her recent priorities had been more focused on her social life than her upcoming exams. Luckily, her grades remained impressive, despite her lessened dedication to study.

  Five weeks later, Joanne graduated from college with honours.

  Joanne moved into a small, rented flat. It was tidy and clean, although the view was limited by the dark brick wall of the neighbouring apartment block. It was situated within walking distance of the university campus, several lush green inner city parks and the wine bar.

  Her new flat had been home for only two days. Just enough time to unpack and create order when Sandy knocked on the door unannounced. She trailed two huge exploding bags that poured piles of mess in her wake. Her broad smile promised chaos, hangovers, sleepless nights and morning greetings from strange men. Sandy had arrived and would disrupt Joanne’s world of structure and study for the next few years.

  Sandy’s recollections were suddenly interrupted by the harsh cracking of the speaker above.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We will soon begin our descent into Auckland city. Would you please ensure your tray table is tucked away, your belongings are either in the over-head lockers or stored under the seat in front of you.”

  The bored voice of the stewardess droned on. The infant sitting in the aisle seat omitted a high-pitched cry as the cabin pressure altered and his ears failed to adjust.

  “Sometimes life really sucks.”

  Sandy smi
led at the tiny beet-red face which had now contorted in rage. If only Sandy had known how much this statement would soon apply to her.

  Chapter 10

  “Joanne”

  Just before her twenty third birthday Joanne graduated from the University of Auckland. She had specialised in family law and achieved honours despite the constant disruption of her chaotic flatmate.

  In theory, her future should have been assured. Unfortunately, the reality was proving quite different.

  Hundreds of young students attended the same graduation. All of them were hoping to be absorbed into an employment market already saturated with specialised highly educated professionals.

  Despite graduating as one of the year’s top students, Joanne’s applications joined the pile of other applications accumulating on various desks waiting to be scanned by overwhelmed potential employers.

  Family connections and the position held by her father could provide an easy and logical opportunity for employment or introduction. However tempting this was, and however persuasive his arguments, Joanne knew that any assistance he gave would be detrimental to their already distant and strained relationship.

  Joanne was bright, personable, intelligent and articulate. Joanne was also becoming desperate. After years of disciplined study the reality of unemployment was unthinkable.

  Joanne persevered for several months. She fought to stay positive despite the constant reports of a nationwide employment crises and failing financial markets. Eventually, she approached her father in the hope of getting advice or contacts.

  Father and daughter sat uncomfortably on opposite sides of the huge ornate rosewood dining table. They were stiff and formal, searching for safe conversation, strangers playing with tasteless food served on boring shiny white plates. Abruptly, he put down his knife and folk with a clatter, he looked at Joanne with a stern frown that drew his eyebrows into a single bushy line.

  “For years you have studied to obtain a degree in law, family law to be precise, Joanne. You are not helping convey a professional image by presenting yourself like this.”

  He made an elaborate gesture with his hands that would be more suitable for a dramatic court appearance than to emphasize a point to his daughter.

  The housemaid excused herself from the room.

  Joanne breathed deeply preparing for the conversation that she knew would follow.

  “How do you expect to be taken seriously? How do you expect to gain employment in any professional field if you don’t dye and cut that hair of yours?”

  He continued not waiting for a response.

  “It is appropriate for your mother to be long and blonde; she works in the fashion industry. She can afford to look like a brainless doll. You need to be a sensible and mature dyed brown or black. Short neat hair and tailored clothes would be more suitable. You will be stereotyped looking like you do.”

  Joanne studied her long fingers, now folded tensely on her lap. He had neglected to even acknowledge her mother held a high-pressured executive position in an internationally-based cosmetic company.

  There really was no answer in reply to his statement. Protesting would be a waste of time. Asking for assistance would be a similar waste of time.

  Joanne cleared the untouched meal from the table before politely excusing herself. She bent over and kissed her father’s leathery cheek smiling as he shrunk automatically away under the unfamiliar pressure of her affection.

  For many of the young graduate’s romantic relationships or strong family ties held them to the city. Commitment kept them submitting resumes for the limited available legal positions or eventually applying for employment in alternative fields.

  Apart from Sandy, and a handful of university friends, there was little to keep Joanne in Auckland and nothing that was important enough to force her to continue knocking on endless closed doors.

  Joanne had the advantage of freedom and flexibility but she did not have the advantage of a personality blessed with patience or the ability to put years of study on hold.

  She stopped applying for positions in city practices and started to scan the papers and agencies in smaller towns throughout New Zealand. With a few years practical work experience she knew there would be opportunities to relocate in the future.

  There were several attractive positions available in the North Island. However, the most appealing was with a small practice situated in the city of Nelson. They advertised primarily for a junior-graduating lawyer with strong conveyancing skills and a specialised interest in the area of family law.

  Nelson was in the South Island and, although further away than Joanne had ever considered, it did offer valuable experience and an opportunity to step into the specialised field of family law. The area was renowned for its long days of sunny weather, expanses of unspoilt white beaches, quality vineyards and its close proximity to some of the most unspoilt and famous walking tracks in New Zealand.

  Unlike the applications she had submitted in Auckland, a positive and encouraging response was delivered within two weeks.

  Six days later she sat opposite Patrick O’Donnell and Kelvin Wade, two of the middle-aged senior partners responsible for conducting her formal interview.

  Patrick was straight forward, sincere and efficient. His eyes met hers steadily and he invited her to question or comment throughout the interview. Joanne knew instinctively he had vast knowledge and expertise to offer and that he would be generous in doing so if she proved her worth within the firm.

  In contrast, Joanne was instantly wary of Kelvin Wade. He watched her from beneath impossibly thick brows that clung above shallow shifty eyes and licked his dried and chapped lips suggestively. There was a strange sour odour that permeated from his yellowing saggy body and he spat beads of saliva with every word he uttered.

  Joanne focused her mind carefully on the employment opportunity in an effort to mask her dislike of this revolting man. Kelvin Wade, to some degree, held the key to her career in his nicotine-stained hand.

  Joanne waited a further agonising two weeks before she was officially notified of her successful appointment to the Nelson law firm.

  Their brief letter requested she make arrangements to relocate and take up the position of junior solicitor as soon as possible. As if an afterthought, they offered any assistance that she may require to locate accommodation or organize travel.

  Joanne woke early the next morning to the shrill wailing of a siren that penetrated cruelly through her first miserable experience of a hangover.

  Sandy had insisted on celebrating Joanne’s appointment with boxes of wood-fired pizza washed down by numerous bottles of cheap white wine.

  A strangely diverse group of her friends had materialized from nowhere to join in the celebration. Joanne only knew a few by name and some she had never met. Fuelled by alcohol they had shed their clothes and immersed themselves in the cool waters of Auckland’s waterfront. Embarrassing, vague memories of wet lean bodies invaded Joanne’s mind as she staggered out to the sundrenched lounge, holding her temples and trying to focus without causing more pain to her throbbing head. She gulped down a large glass of cold water before becoming uncomfortably aware of a strange man watching her from a position on the grubby floor.

  “You sure looked much better last night,” he laughed.

  “In fact you looked much, much better.”

  The grin spread as he watched the uncomfortable doubt spread across the pale elegant face.

  Joanne glanced down at the grubby, unflattering tee-shirt hanging like a sack from her shoulders. It disguised her curves, curves she hoped had not been revealed to this gloating overly familiar and rancid-smelling stranger.

  She turned her icy stare towards the offensive man and battled to remember exactly what had occurred, and how embarrassed she now deserved to feel. A fuzzy blur brought little clarity to her memory leaving Joanne no option but to summon as much dignity as she could and stalk back to the safety of her room. There were some things about flat
ting with Sandy she was not going to miss.

  Joanne’s life packed neatly into two medium-sized suitcases. How could you arrive at your mid-twenties and accumulate so little? Sadly, she thought about how little impact her time on this planet had had on others, how few meaningful relationships she had actually formed and how insignificant the two tidy little bags made her feel.

  She had flown down to Nelson a week earlier to locate accommodation and purchase an economical and reliable small car. Joanne had taken over a tenancy on a tiny and slightly drab flat that was close to the centre of the city and within a short walk of her office.

  It was never going to feel like a permanent home, but it was clean and the weekly rental was reasonable. It would give her a base until she was established financially and felt secure in her new position.

  Those first few months of living in Nelson were among the loneliest and most isolating times of Joanne’s life. Apart from the long, regular telephone calls she had with Sandy there was little opportunity for social contact outside office hours.

  On a professional level she had established herself quickly as a respected young legal advisor. Joanne’s methodical and efficient mannerism exuded confidence and impressed both her clients and colleagues.

  On a personal level she made few friends outside the firm. It soon became habit to take her clients folders home, working until she was tired enough to fall into a fitful sleep. She missed the wine bar, her small, established group of friends and, particularly, the irresponsible Sandy and the feeling of freedom, youth and energy that always surrounded her.

  Joanne had instinctively disliked Kelvin Wade from their very first introduction. Dislike soon grew into loathing. He stood far too close whenever the opportunity was presented, he brushed against her, smiling and apologising without sincerity, he invaded her personal space with his foul breath and the stench of sour sweat which he unsuccessfully tried to mask with strong musky cologne.