Free Settlers' Creek by Carl Nixon

it by a head, but there wasnothing between him and another boy for second place.
    Mark searched Box out with his eyes. Box grinned, hadn’t stopped grinning since the starter’s gun went off, and gave him two thumbs up. Mark grinned back. One of the other runners shook his hand and then the results came up on the big electronic board at the far end of the stadium.
    Second: Mark Saxton. 47.25.
    Box had whooped. The people standing around him smiled and laughed. Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant. Second in the country for his age. And a personal best by almost half a second.
    That evening he’d taken Mark out for a late dinner. Nothing flash, just a good Thai place that someone had recommended to him. Neither of them was a great talker but the silences that occasionally hung between them during the meal weren’t awkward. Box had ordered them each a glass of beer and then, when the food was almost gone, another. The food had been good and he remembered that Mark had been hungry.
    Now, he tried to recall what they had talked about but nothing came to mind. He didn’t like not being able to remember. He should be able to. The race, certainly, they must have gone over that. But what else — job prospects, his friends? No, he couldn’t be sure.
    Box realised that Liz was standing in the doorway. He was still holding the blazer. He laid it down carefully on to the unmade bed.
    ‘Sorry, but I need to talk to you.’
    ‘It’s okay.’
    ‘I called Stephen.’
    Box was surprised. ‘When?’
    ‘Before you got back. About lunchtime.’
    ‘You could’ve waited to talk to me about it.’
    ‘He has a right to know, Box.’
    ‘He’s shown no interest in Mark’s life, absolutely none. Hasn’t seen him in, what, sixteen years?’
    ‘He still has a right.’
    Box frowned. Liz shook her head and looked down at the floor, then back up at his face. ‘Mark talked to me about maybe meeting up with him a couple of years ago.’
    ‘Nobody mentioned it to me.’
    ‘He thought it might upset you.’
    ‘And did he, meet him?’ Box wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear the answer.
    ‘I don’t think so. He just dropped the idea, stopped talking about it.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘This isn’t helpful.’
    ‘Okay, sorry. So what did Stephen have to say?’
    ‘The normal things I guess, that he was sorry. He said that he’d come to the funeral.’
    ‘How did he sound?’
    ‘Shocked, upset. What you’d expect. I had trouble finding him, he’s changed his name from Stephen to the Maori version — Tipene. And he’s not Sullivan any more, he’s using his middle name. Now he’s Tipene Pitama.’
    ‘I don’t care what he’s calling himself. Do you really want him to be involved?’
    Liz finally came into the room. She walked right up to him so that they were almost touching. ‘Don’t make this into some competition. There’s room in the church for whoever wants to be there. I told Stephen because he has a right. Whether he chooses to come is up to him.’
    ‘What exactly did you tell him?’
    ‘That Mark is dead.’
    ‘Did you say that his son had died?’
    ‘Come on, Box. What’s the point?’
    Box saw that he was hurting her but he kept on, couldn’t help himself in the face of the injustice of what she was saying.
    ‘Did you actually tell him that his son had died?’
    ‘Stephen was Mark’s father.’
    ‘Not in any way that counts.’
    ‘That’s your opinion.’
    ‘Yeah, it is.’
    ‘Don’t pick a fight, Box. Not today.’
    ‘I’m not picking a fight.’ But he knew damn well that he was, just couldn’t help himself.
    Liz shook her head in exasperation. ‘This is hard enough without you going all macho on me. Stephen might not even come to the funeral, but it’s the right thing to do to tell him. Box? You still with me?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘We need to hold it together. The two of us.’
    ‘I know.
    She stepped into him and slipped her hands between his arms and the sides of his ribs. She hugged him