The Paua Tower by Coral Atkinson Page A

had a shop. But how do you stop someone getting evicted? I didn’t think anyone could do that.’
    ‘We’ll manage. I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve.’
    ‘Like a magician.’
    ‘Wish I was.’ Vic pulled a face.
    ‘You will take care,’ said Stella.
    ‘Promise,’ said Vic, ‘but if the cops lock me up I’ll count on you visiting with a file hidden in a cake or something.’
    Stella looked horrified.
    ‘Don’t worry. Only a joke. If you’re sure it’s okay, I’ll pass you in the sewing machine.’
    Vic heaved the box onto the windowsill but he pushed too far and before Stella could grasp it properly the container fell heavily, smashing onto the wooden floor.
    The door opened, the light was switched on and Doug appeared in a pair of long-johns, wielding a hammer and scowling. Stella was overwhelmed by embarrassment. Bad enough to have Dad barging in wearing his underclothes, but he was obviously angry as well.
    ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Doug snapped. ‘Some of us are trying to sleep.’
    ‘Sorry, Dad, to wake you,’ said Stella, pulling her coat tightly around her.
    ‘Cowan?’ Doug caught sight of Vic at the window.
    ‘Evening, Mr Morgan.’ His voice sounded strangled.
    ‘What do you bloody think you’re doing, Cowan, sneaking in on my daughter at night? I’ve a good mind to march you straight down to the police station.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Vic faintly.
    ‘It’s not what you think, Dad,’ said Stella.
    ‘It’s like this, Mr Morgan,’ said Vic, putting his head through the open window. ‘Me and some mates are trying to stop an eviction. I brought round a sewing machine for Stella to look after so the bailiff doesn’t get it. I didn’t want to wake you all up, but I dropped it as I put it through the window.’
    ‘An eviction, eh?’ said Doug.
    ‘Mrs Thurlow, round in Horatio Street.’
    ‘Is this true?’ said Doug, turning to his daughter.
    ‘Yes,’ said Stella.
    Doug looked at the machine on the floor, spewing out of the broken box.
    ‘Get along, Cowan, and don’t come prowling round at night like this again. If you want to visit my family you’ll come indaytime and through the door. And you get straight to bed, Stella — straight to bed, mind.’
    Doug shut the window and pulled the curtains, then went through the house and opened the front door to watch Vic disappearing into the darkness. Doug didn’t like the thought of men after Stella, his lovely girl; doubted any of them would ever be good enough for her. He had to admit, though, that Cowan seemed a decent bloke, and if he was really trying to stop some poor devil being evicted, well, good on him.

    Word had got around: Vic and his cobbers had seen to it. Children dragging school bags over rough pavements knew, women making beds — hospital corners at the ends — knew, out-of-work men cleaning teeth with salt and fingers knew. They all knew. The unemployed were mobilising. Something was about to happen. Matauranga people might have bugger all, but they’d had enough.
    It was early morning on a smiling autumn day when Vic and the others arrived at Horatio Street. The bailiff and his men, who had got wind of trouble, were already there and a crowd had gathered — not just the men Vic had seen last night at the Anti-Eviction League meeting but others. Women too, holding babies, pushing prams.
    Mrs Thurlow was standing on the veranda, an aspidistra in a willow-patterned pot in one hand, a crying child in the other, and another toddler holding her apron. She was in her thirties but deep lines at her eyes and mouth made her look older. Her short brown hair was severely caught back with a kirby grip on either side of her tired face.
    A crowd of anti-eviction supporters were pressing up the wooden stairs into the house, while the bailiff’s men were carrying bits of furniture and dumping them on the pavement. Struggles had broken out. A man in a frayed cap carrying a fireside chair was punched against the