Extract: One Day a Taniwha, by Tīhema Baker

Hepa hasn't slept properly in four months. His newborn son, Wī, cries through the night. The bills keep coming. The pressure to hold everything together is closing in. Hepa tells himself to harden up. Be the pillar his family needs. The only place he feels in control is in his dreams. Since childhood he's been able to shape them, to bend the dream world to his will. Until something begins watching back. A presence with pāua-shell eyes starts appearing in his dreams, and then in waking life. In the shadows. In strangers' faces. Whispering to Hepa while he rocks Wī to sleep. It feels like living with a taniwha on his shoulder. Hepa can't tell where the nightmares end and the real world begins - and he's terrified of what he might do... .

Extracted with kind permission from One Day a Taniwha by Tīhema Baker, published by Moa Press, RRP $37.99

Could’ve just lain down on the floor and gone to sleep right there. Forget bone-tired – every cell in my body was screaming out for sleep. But I couldn’t afford to be late for mahi again.

So I watched Wī for a while instead. Funny how quickly that always changed – one minute I couldn’t wait to gap it, the next it was impossible to take my eyes off him. Everyone said he looked like me. I thought he looked more like Āniwa. He had the same eyes, intense like they were lasering through you. Had her dimples too, and her big lips, which made tiny sucking motions while he slept. I wondered if he was dreaming. Maybe that was all he got from me. Way too vivid dreams.

When I finally tore myself away, Āniwa caught me by the arm. Pulled me close for a deep, warm kiss. Whispered, ‘Sorry. About before. I’m just so tired.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Get some sleep while you can.’ 

And she did, before I’d finished the sentence.

At least the early start meant a decent shower. I crept by phone-light down to the bathroom, stuffed my boxers down into the washing basket, and turned the water as hot as I could handle. Stood under it until I felt awake enough to function. Changed into the work clothes I’d learned to put in the bathroom the night before for exactly this situation, and did what I could with my hair, which was weeks overdue for a clip. Didn’t bother with the beard.

Snuck into the kitchen to find the state of the fridge and pantry pretty dire. Hardly any milk, only one good slice of bread between two crusts. I left it for Āniwa.

Meant I had a few minutes before I needed to get on the road. Kitchen was a write-off – last night’s dishes scattered across the bench, the gunky remains of something we’d spilled now cemented to the cooktop. Couldn’t risk cleaning any of it because Wī’s cot was right on the other side of the kitchen wall. So I did my best with the dining room and lounge, and hoped that was enough.

Started the car and of course the petrol light came on. Probably another case of Āniwa rushing home while Wī melted down in the back. Put in twenty bucks of petrol and somehow the card still declined. Had to pay for it off my credit card. Transferred some more over to the joint account once I was back in the car.

Waikanae was a nice enough town, but not a lot of work there for an accountant. Not a lot of work for anyone – the place was like a giant retirement village for white people. Last census had the retiree population at 36.4%. Pākehā population at 90.9%. Oldest and whitest town on the Kāpiti Coast.

Luckily Paraparaumu – which was only slightly less white-washed but where all the jobs were – was only a ten-minute drive away. A nice quiet cruise along the old state highway. Except for one guy riding my arse the whole way. In a ute. Always a ute. With a trailer, I saw once he overtook me. Gave him a look as he went past. He ripped a finger back.

Part of me wished I was one of those people that drove into Wellington every day. Spending an hour or more in a crawling queue, listening to whatever bland, soulless sample of a classic hit the radio stations were churning out this week. No room to be overtaken by guys in utes, nothing else to do but ride it out. Space and time to think.

But then I’d remember that I’d never see Wī. Which was the whole reason I got the job at Council in the first place. Closer to home, to him. Even though I kind of never saw him anyway. Not awake and happy, at least.

So I made do, as usual. Slipped into the office the back way, where I could beeline for the kitchenette without bumping into anyone. Brewed a nuclear-grade plunger of coffee with just enough time to browse the Council’s daily media report before I started work. A couple of the morning’s major articles caught my eye: ‘Darren Stewart doubles down on Waitangi Tribunal disestablishment’ and ‘Health Status Report 2026 – Māori health targets still tracking behind Pākehā’.

Had no time to read them. With the familiar clink of too many bangles and necklaces, Robyn appeared at my desk before I’d had my first sip of coffee.

‘Moh-ray-na,’ she said, jingling her arm on the partition next to my desk.

Robyn was one of those Pākehā who had somehow cracked the hardest part of te reo Māori – rolling the r – but still couldn’t get the vowels right.

‘Mōrena.’ I always wondered what went on in their heads when they heard it said back to them properly.

‘Just checking in – how are things today?’

This was her routine. Poorly pronounced Māori greeting, ‘just checking in’ question I wasn’t sure she really cared about the answer to, followed by whatever it was she was here to ask me to do.

‘Good,’ I said, which was my own routine.

‘Good. Hey, Janet from Comms is late with her month-end accruals again, can you follow up?’

Fucken Janet. Every month. 

‘I’ll get on it.’

‘Great. Oh, and there’s a koh-har memo that I need you to review, please.’

‘Another one?’

‘Yeah, the Iwi Partnerships team are after two hundred and fifty bucks for a marae visit. Seems a bit much to me so just want to make sure it’s... you know.’

Not fraudulent, was what she meant.

‘Seems pretty standard to me,’ I told her. ‘I’m sure it’s in line with the koha policy I drafted. As always.’

‘Oh, yes, of course it will be. No, I’m not saying that. Not at all. But, you know.’ 

‘Yep.’

‘Fab. Oh, and one more thing. I’ll need you to redo the payroll journals.’

‘I thought Graham did those yesterday?’

‘He posted the wrong accounts. It’ll take too long if he fixes it.’ 

Fucken Graham.

Robyn smiled and jangled. ‘Thanks Hoe-hepa.’ 

Like I said. One of those days.

One Day a Taniwha by Tīhema Baker is in all good bookstores now.