My cousin Julian came to stay with us for the first time in the August holidays. This struck me as somewhat unusual, right from the start, particularly since I hadn't even known I had a cousin of that name before that first time.

Julian.

It didn't sound like a cousin name. In fact I wasn't at first sure if Julian would be a boy or a girl. I never had this problem with any of my other relatives, it's pretty hard to get confused with a 'Frank', or with an 'Irene' and never with a 'Russell'.

No, a 'Julian' was something quite new...

Mum told me about it when we were feeding the calves in the rain, a messy business with gumboots and buckets of skim milk. Evening rain in August is always cold and blustery, forcing damp tendrils down your neck when you bend over to teach the very young ones how to drink from the buckets, and when they butt with such enthusiasm that all the contents splash over and into your already muddy gumboots the result is indescribable.

"Katie, we're having a visitor next week, for the holidays." She angled to block off an older calf intent on stealing a second meal. "I've told your Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Pierre that you and Julian will get along just fine."

I looked up in surprise but her head was down, concentrating on the two calves she was tending.

"Who's Julian?" I asked bluntly when it seemed she had nothing more to say. With parents it's best to get in right away to avoid any presuming on their part that they can blame back on you. The way she said my name tipped me off from the very beginning, for when things are ordinary and boringly normal it's always 'Cat', but when I want to go floundering or perhaps riding with a danger of overlapping a milking it would suddenly become 'Katherine' or 'Katie', when they wanted something done or else...

I felt my heart contract with foreboding. I had my own plans for the holidays.

"Julian is your first cousin, he's about a year younger than you. Do you remember your Aunt Dorothy, the one who's been living in Canada all these years? Well, she's coming back to live in Auckland and your father and I offered to take Julian while she finds a suitable place to live."

Now I had it! Uncle Pierre and Aunt Dorothy lived somewhere in the east of Canada, that was the full extent of my knowledge after seeing rare and exciting mail with Canadian stamps arrive from time to time. In truth I doubt if Mum knows where they were any more than I do. At least she never could tell me where it was on my school atlas, her finger would wander from the coast into the big lakes in the middle and back again and I would be put off with 'it's all French where they are, anyway'.

I thought about it as I carried more milk out to the racks. My age. No, a year younger, she'd said. Julian. I was trying to remember if a Julian had ever been mentioned before, and found a vague impression that someone had been mentioned. Since they were so far away and never sent me anything for Christmas I had tended to forget the details. Now I was paying for it.

I asked about it again later in the evening when we were washing up. Now that we have electricity that's always my job, but Mum always helped to dry and put everything away, just in case I drop things.

"Your father's going down on Sunday afternoon to meet the 'plane. You can go too, if you like, Cat."

That was outright bribery, I'd only seen the airport twice in my whole life, and never actually gone up in an aeroplane. It meant that Mum was avoiding my questions, which in turn meant that there was something to find out. What secret was hidden in the unexpected and sudden appearance of my unheard of and as yet sexless cousin?

Parents are funny, they think they can hide things that are plain to kids long before anything's said about them. Mine are no exception. I guess Dad thinks he can get away with it by puffing at his pipe behind his copy of last month's Weekly News but he doesn't fool me at all. If there's one thing he hates more than dishes it's explanations. I decided not to press my luck this time and accepted the bribe.

"How's Dad going down, then?" I asked after a moment's hesitation. We have only a tractor, and Kaitaia Airport is nearly thirty road miles south of Motutangi, where we live.

"He's borrowing Alex Crawford's car, it's all been arranged. Katie, Julian will be very tired after all the travelling, and of course we'll be total strangers to him. You must be nice, dear, try to make him feel at home. You can wear that new dress and your new school shoes."

Him. A boy! I looked at her in surprise, then remembered she'd said 'him' earlier, I just hadn't used my ears. I grimaced as the last part of what she said struck home. The dress! I hate dresses. I hate shoes too, but shoes you can take off, quietly and under chairs or desks, but dresses aren't like that. Mum always insisted I wear them though, saying that I have to get used to them now that I go to College, but I can't believe that girls have to wear them all the time!

"Awww, Mum...!" Never give up trying. One day I'll be old enough to ignore stupid rules like that.

"Katherine, if you're going in with your father you'll have to do as you're told, and that's final. It's time you stopped being a tomboy and practised being nice, like that Beverley Masters. Now there's a nice girl, and she's your age, too."

She looked disapprovingly at me and I knew she'd deliberately shifted the argument sideways, as usual, knowing that I'll rise hotly to the bait and defend my freedoms.

Not this time. I sniffed and took my anger out on the pot I was scrubbing. Beverley Masters! If my mother ever knew how nice she could be... My mind went back to this Julian business. How long was he going to be staying with us? All the holidays, or longer? Was he a city boy or had he lived in the country? A thousand questions boiled up in my mind, but I dared not voice them unless Mum and Dad interpreted it as intense interest.

I have to appear unconcerned at all times.

Later, as I listened to the squalls regularly thrashing the iron roof above my bedroom I thought about what it would mean to my own plans for the holidays. I'd been looking forward to going down the beach and to birdsnesting, not counting exploring over the Mount...

When Sunday rolled around I suffered the dress and the attempts to organise my short reddish-brown hair simply because outside was parked the Crawford's big green car and I was to be allowed to sit up front with Dad. Mum said she would stay at home to prepare things for our guest.

This made the trip twice as exciting. Seeing the road coming up towards you is so much better than looking out the side at a blur of browns and greens and greys that make your eyes ache when you try to look at them.

When we reached the airport there were at least a dozen other cars lined up on the gravel beside the tired old weatherboard terminal building. At least, that's what I thought the man said over the gargles in the loudspeaker calling outbound passengers in to have their baggage weighed.

When Dad took out his pipe and yesterday's newspaper I saw my chance.

"Dad, can I walk around?"

He looked at me in feigned surprise, his eyes showing the laughter absent from his face.

"Why not? I thought you'd have been off by now, Cat. See if you can spot the plane coming in. It should be over that way, that's downwind." He pointed with his pipe and I leaned over to peck him on his wind-roughened cheek before scrambling out the door. I ignored his directions, they're nearly always wrong, but Dad thinks himself an authority on airplanes ever since he saw the 'Southern Cross' land on Ninety Mile beach when he was a boy, and he constantly offers irrelevant information about them.

The families waiting for relatives or guests all waited in or beside their cars, their children beginning to emerge and spread themselves along the grassy bank just below the gravel carpark, close enough but all in separate groups like newly risen clumps of mushrooms... I recognised a few of them. There were the Velecic twins from Waiharara, not far south of us in Motutangi, and Matè Babich, a boy who used to live north of us until his parents sold their farm and moved into Kaitaia proper.

There's a lot of 'Dallies' in the north, they used to be gumdiggers but now most of them are farmers. Mum told me once the girls are promised in marriage right when they're babies, but I can't believe that.

If I was promised like that I'd make a heck of a fuss, and I told her so but she only smiled and said something to Dad I missed.

Matè recognised me as well and came over to where I stood.

"Hello, Katie. You expecting someone too?" His voice sounded surprised, for we almost never have visitors, and it gave me a pleasant tingle to stand before him in my best dress and gravely answer.

"Yes, my cousin's coming for the holidays. He lives in Canada." I didn't think it important to admit he'd be living in New Zealand from now on.

Matè's eyes widened.

"Canada! Wow, I never met anyone from Canada. Does he speak English?" I noticed he assumed it would be a boy right away, as if girls wouldn't be making such a journey. I felt a pang of anger, but smiled sweetly.

"Of course he does, better than you, I expect!" Matè's voice was burred with the Croatian he spoke at home with his parents and family, I used to make fun of him for it once but he'd never get upset at me, merely shrugging and smiling, reminding me that his mother didn't have any English at all.

When I'd asked him why not he explained that his mother grew up in a remote part of Yugoslavia... 'much wilder than the North we live in here,' he asserted with a fifteen year old's certainty... and had never needed to know English. She was learning, slowly, he said... Now he nodded without malice and turned to scan the sky for the millionth time.

"Who are you waiting for, then?" I finally blurted, flushing at my own clumsiness and feeling as if my ears were burning.

"It's Baba, my Grandmother. She comes to see how we live in this place. My father pays for the journey by ship, then by airplane. It cost a heap of money," he added complacently.

There wasn't much I could answer to that.

We were interrupted by excited cries from further along the bank, and when I turned I too could see what they were pointing at. Far off towards the blueness of the mountains was a silver speck that glinted in the morning sun as it turned to circle overhead.

We all watched, awestruck, as the big machine swept out to the east and turned one more time to come almost directly at us, black wheels abruptly appearing underneath the swept wings. Then it was a hammering demon flashing past and bouncing as it touched down only a few yards further up the runway, its tail quickly sagging groundwards until at last the whole machine shuddered to a stop.

Then it was turning, awkward and somehow tired now that it was out of its natural element, and once more the sound of engines reached us as it taxied back down the airfield towards us and did one final pirouette before spluttering into silence.

Quickly a rope barrier was placed in front of the aircraft. Dad had come down to stand with me by then, and as we watched steps were pushed up to where a door was opening in the side that faced us. Without further fuss people began to file out, a little unsteadily I thought, but still apparently able to work out which was the terminal building in spite of the great crowd of kids lining the path.

Everyone was trying to be the first to see their visitors or relatives as the case might be. I saw one enormous Maori woman with four or five children step forward to meet an equally large man whose smile was as wide as his hat. He went straight up to the woman and they solemnly touched noses before the kids began to pull him down. I couldn't help comparing that with the limp handshaking the Pakehas were doing and wondered what Dad would have done.

Not that he's likely to ever go on a plane to anywhere, it's far too expensive, he says. When he has to go to Auckland or Whangarei he goes by car over the winding Mangamuka Gorge road like just about everyone else.

I was beginning to wonder which was my cousin Julian. So far no boy anywhere near my age had appeared and I began to hope that something had gone wrong and he'd missed the flight, or perhaps he'd changed his mind at the last minute. Maybe he'd been too afraid to get aboard.

It was nothing personal, I didn't really wish him any ill, at least no more than any other relative. No, it was just that I began to have faint hopes of having my own holiday once more.

No such luck. He was last out and accompanied by the air hostess.

There was no mistaking him, he was skinny and wore enormous glasses that looked just awful and he had the look of a person who had trouble keeping out of his own way. I was to learn just how accurate this first impression was later... In one hand he clutched a small airline bag as if it were the only thing he had left in the world.

As he came closer I saw that he had brown hair and a big nose. He was a little taller than me, and I'm tall for my age, Mum reckons, but then he was a boy.

Dad stepped forward as the air hostess was about to pass us.

"Excuse me... are you Julian le Roux?"

They stopped and looked at us, and the boy nodded jerkily, his eyes large behind those glasses. Now that he was almost right next to me he smelt awfully of sick. Ha! He'd been airsick! Ugh! My nose wrinkled with a mixture of glee and disgust.

I never get sick.

"Are you Mr Martin?" The air hostess was dressed in a suit, I think you would have to call it, with a polka dot scarf and an unruffled air that impressed me. I've often thought of becoming an air hostess when I'm old enough, they get to see all sorts of interesting places.

"Yes, that's right." Dad's confirmation broke this new, exciting train of thought.

The woman looked relieved.

"Oh, good, I'll leave our traveller with you then. The bags should be available at the terminal shortly." She nodded and moved on, leaving Julian blinking owlishly at us.

There was a second of silence as we all waited for each other to speak, then finally Dad stuck his hand out.

"Julian, I'm your Uncle Fred, and this is your cousin Kate. You'll be seeing quite a lot of each other, I'm sure."

Julian hesitated, then managed to drop the bag as he freed his right hand to shake. Flushing, he stooped and fumbled for it, in the process stepping on one of the straps so that instead of picking it up he nearly fell over, stumbling forward and almost bumping into me. I stifled a giggle as he straightened at last and completed the handshake.

"Er... yes, excuse me... pleased to meet you."

His voice was a strange mixture and at first I thought it wasn't English, the accent was so heavy. It was as if he was speaking through his nose and pretending an American accent at the same time. I hid another snicker.

I didn't offer my hand. Girls aren't supposed to shake hands, Mum says, so I simply smiled at him. At least Dad hadn't used my family name in front of him.

"Did you have a good trip?" Dad asked.

"Oh, not really, I was sick right from the beginning. It was a very rough ride, especially the last part over the hills." Julian still looked pale but admitting to having been sick, I wouldn't have done that!

"That's unfortunate. You must be glad to be on the ground again then. I see the bags are nearly ready, why don't we go over and find yours? How many did you bring, Julian?"

We moved off and followed the crowd that swarmed around the two baggage trolleys like bees. I saw the big fat Maori man with a little girl on his shoulders and a toddler in each mighty arm, the older children tearing at the bags and finally struggling away with two big green ones.

Other people were more restrained but the pile reduced remarkably quickly even so, leaving a mere handful of bags for latecomers. One of these was a big green tartan suitcase with wheels. At least it used to have wheels, that much was plain, but now it leaned drunkenly on the two remaining which were naturally on opposite corners. This just had to be my cousin Julian's bag, and it was.

In a remarkably short time we were in the car and driving away down the corrugated road towards Awanui. I was on the back seat this time having reluctantly given up my prime position to the visitor who didn't even seem aware of the injustice.

There was a lot of talking, mostly by Dad who was asking about Julian's folks and how they were. Julian had little to say about them beyond the obvious that they were fine and yes they were in Auckland now and yes he was expected to write as often as possible, his mother had made him promise that.

Boring.

I wasn't really interested in an Aunt and Uncle I'd never met, even if they did come from far away. I was busy calculating how I could free myself from nursemaiding Julian and getting away to do the things I liked.

It didn't look good, I had to admit.

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