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shook her head. ‘There’s another test in just over a week; the day we fly home. About noon, I heard someone say. People probably want to get their message across now.’
    She walked over to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘The main thing is that you’re OK. And
I’m
hungry! Let’s have lunch.’
    I’m hungry, too, Darryl realised. Wonder where my pineapple ended up?
    As they set off down the corridor, his mother smiled at him, and stroked the hair back off his forehead. Darryl pulled away, and she laughed. ‘Sorry, sorry. We’ll eat, and then we’ll go sight-seeing. Somewhere where the only signs being waved are ones for ice cream.’
    They ate big crusty sandwiches and sweet almond biscuits in a place just up the road from the hotel. So
that’s
what a
pâtisserie
sells, Darryl thought as they entered. It wasn’t the one they’d seen earlier, and he felt relieved that they hadn’t headed in that direction, even though the streets seemed back to normal. What had happened to those protestors the police had taken away? Were they in jail?
    Twice more, his mother asked him if he was OK. ‘I let you out of my sight for a few hours, and you’re mixed up in a riot. You’re as bad as your father!’
    They were both silent for a few minutes, then Mrs Davis asked: ‘Would you like to come along with me to tomorrow morning’s school? You don’t have to doanything: just sit at the back and pretend you don’t know me.’ As Darryl hesitated, his mum grinned. ‘It’s a boys’ high. Our own one back home wants to see if they can start up a few connections. Then I’ve got the girls’ high in the afternoon.’
    Darryl gave a half-nod. ‘All right.’ But now it was time for some sight-seeing.
    Fifteen minutes later, they were in one of the brightly painted buses, tooting its way out into the country.
    Coconut trees stretched in tall avenues, or curved high above the bus. A boy prodded three trotting black pigs out of their way. Jungle-covered hills rose on one side, and the sun sat high in a brilliant blue sky.
This
is what I came here for, thought Darryl.
    They got off the bus and followed a sandy track that curved towards a black cliff. The thump of breaking waves grew louder, and a sighing, whooshing noise came as well, like some huge sea-creature breathing.
    Rounding a corner, they stood staring at where waves flung themselves against a glistening wall of rock.
Whoosh!
Water shot from a gap higher up, like a hidden geyser.
Arahoho Blowhole
read the sign nearby.
    Darryl’s mother made him stand in front of the streaming cliff, and, while she took a photo, he prayednobody else would arrive and see him looking a dork.
    ‘What can you do on that other place we’re going to?’ he asked, as they strolled back towards the road.
    ‘Mangareva? I’m not sure. It’s really small. Very small and very far away. It’ll take us nearly six hours to fly there, remember.’ His mother walked on, sandals in hand, wiggling her toes in the gritty sand. ‘Actually, we’re lucky it’s even there.’
    As Darryl glanced at her, she said: ‘It was France’s first choice for a nuclear test site. They were going to move everyone away and start blowing the place to bits. Luckily, they decided on Mururoa instead. Not so lucky for Mururoa, I suppose.’
    ‘I’m really looking forward to Mangareva,’ his mum went on, while they ate in a different café that night – fish and rice with pineapple; ice cream with pineapple; a drink with … pineapple! ‘They’ve never sent anyone to a New Zealand school before. A lot of the families there live just by fishing, or basic farming. But the French government have given them money to make up for the tests, and they want some of their young people to find out what the world’s like.’
    ‘So they’re better off because of the bomb?’ Darryl felt surprised when his mother just nodded.
    ‘Yes – in some ways. But there has never been anything like this in the world before.