“Anahera’s sister died?” Hana’s jaw gaped open. “Wiri’s aunty?”
Logan nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Mac’s head lolled backwards and he sucked on his thumb with tiny noises. “Yeah. Pania was older than us. Michael got sweet on her for a while before we went to boarding school. We came home for the holidays and she’d gone loco; running around with the farm boys and pregnant at sixteen. My ma wouldn’t let us near her; said she was out of bounds.”
Hana snorted. “Yeah. I’ve seen out of bounds to your brother. Isn’t that what turns it into a challenge?”
Logan grimaced. “Half-brother.” He spat the words with venom, the correction aimed more at the unfairness of life than at Hana. “Yeah, he had a go. Of course he did. Every menstruating female within a ten kilometre radius was fair game to his ego; he wasn’t fussy.”
“Why ten kilometres?” Hana contemplated the riddle without success.
“He only owned this old bicycle.” Logan’s lips quirked into a sad smile. “He always said a round trip under twenty was worthwhile, but over and it better be fantastic.”
“He’s such an ass!” Hana commented, her brain already working. “Could he be the mysterious other man?”
“I don’t know Hana.” Logan patted his son’s bottom through the towel. “Can we get a nappy on this kid before he does something I’ll regret? I want you to leave this alone. I’ll deal with Linc.” His brow furrowed. “And bloody Asher.”
Hana exhaled and leaned back against the bath. “That was easy. All the times I kept things from you because I expected you to kick off. I never realised how reasonable you could be.” She rubbed her neck and frowned. Logan stroked his son’s little toes as they peeked from the towel, his brow knitted in concentration. Hana watched his jaw work through the skin and her heart sank. “Well played, Logan. You almost fooled me.”
“I’m good.” He kept his tone light but the smile he offered Hana failed to reach his eyes. “Let’s get these kids to bed shall we?”
“Don’t do it, Logan. Please.”
He snuffed out a laugh and stood, giving her a look she knew well. “What? I’m just gonna put a nappy on my boy.” He left her sitting on the floor of the bathroom and she heard him chatting to the other children as they pounded upstairs. Phoenix burst through the doorway, already peeling herself out of her dress.
“Zip, Mama?” she asked, turning around so Hana could slide the fastener free. The happy girl stripped naked in seconds and bounced on the spot while Hana started the shower running.
“In you get.” Hana lifted her over the side of the bath and smiled as her daughter stood under the deluge, her pretty face tilted upwards to meet the spray. “You’re like your father,” Hana whispered. “You face life head on.”
“Head on?” Phoenix called, spitting out the water which strayed into her mouth. “I got head on.” She patted her damp curls with a small hand and Hana smiled.
“Yeah, so you do. Come on missy. Hurry up and soap yourself so Wiri can come in.”
“I don’t need a shower; I’m clean.” Wiri pushed through the doorway with his pyjama bottoms over his head. Phoenix pealed with laughter and covered herself with shower gel. She looked like a foamy snowman until she rinsed off and then she raised her arms to Hana.
“Look, Wiri. Wiri look at me.” Phoenix pulled funny faces and wiggled her legs through the bottom of the towel Hana swaddled her in.
“Get in the shower, Wiri. I left it running. You stink.” Hana jerked her head towards the stream of water.
“Stink!” Phoenix repeated and giggled. “Stink.”
“That’s man smell.” Wiri whipped the pants off his head and his hair stuck up in a static haze. “I like it.”
Hana pointed towards the shower curtain. Water pounded the bottom of the iron bath like a drum roll. “I don’t. Get in there and have a proper wash, your feet are black.”
“No peeping then.” Wiri pouted. “No girls allowed. Only Nonie.”
“Charming!” Leslie waddled through the door and glared at Wiri. “I’m a girl.”
He rolled his eyes and hopped over the side of the bath. “Maybe once,” he muttered. “But now you’re just Nonie.”
Phoenix buried her nose in the towel and yawned. “I got kindy morrow?” she asked and Hana shook her head.
“No, baby. You get to stay home with me and Mac and Nonie.”
“Papa’s at work?” Phoenix sounded disappointed, used to him popping home for meals, starting before dawn and finishing at tea time. She screwed her nose up in disgust at the new regime.
“You’ve got me.” Hana ignored the twinge of sadness as the daddy’s girl regarded her with the signature grey Du Rose eyes.
“Okay.” She made it sound second best.
“How’d it go at the hospital?” Leslie slapped Wiri’s bum as he waggled it at her through the shower curtain.
“You don’t miss anything, do you?” Hana frowned as Leslie smirked. She relented, seeing the kind intention behind the old woman’s nosiness. “Not good. Mac’s deaf. Now they just need to find out how deaf and whether it can be fixed.” Hana sighed.
“Logan put my mokopuna in his cot before he went out.”
“Went out?” Hana froze. “Went out where?”
“Didn’t say.” Leslie leaned over the side of the bath and passed shower gel to the small boy dancing behind the curtain. “Youse meant to be washing tamaiti. Use the soap!”
“Don’t call me ‘boy’,” Wiri replied in a sing-song voice. “I’m Wiremumu.”
“Moo moo.” Phoenix screwed up her eyes and rested her face on Hana’s shoulder. “Moo moo.”
Hana left the steamy bathroom and helped her daughter dress, buttoning her pyjama shirt and settling her into bed. The room felt cool so she switched on the heater in the corner, leaving it to fill the cavernous classroom with its warmth. “Nonie read it?” Phoenix waved the picture book in front of her face and Hana nodded.
“Okay. Kiss.” She pressed her lips against the perfect cheek and ruffled her daughter’s damp hair. “Love you, baby. I’ll tell Nonie.”
Wiri pouted when Hana asked Leslie to read and put up a protest. “She doesn’t do the voices!”
“Her name is Nonie, not she. And aren’t you lucky to have a choice of people to read to you?”
“Suppose so.” Wiri stood on the bath mat wrapped in a towel and held his arms out to Hana. “I love you.”
The smile lit her face from the inside. “I love you too, Wiri.”
“Will I live with you forever?”
Her heart sank. “I don’t have control over that, sweetheart. But whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”
“Does my real ma not love me?”
“She does, but she’s ill. I tried to see her today to ask if you could visit but she was busy. I’ll try again though.”
Wiri smiled, his grey eyes trusting. “Fanks. I do want to see her.”
“I know.” Hana stroked his hair and stood up. “Hop into bed before Phoe falls asleep. Otherwise nobody will get a story.” She kissed his soft cheek and went to check on her son.
Mac slept with his arms above his head, his breathing steady and tiny chest rising and falling to a rhythmic beat. “Beautiful boy,” Hana whispered and stroked the warm forehead.
Downstairs, she hugged the diary written by Phoenix Du Rose and let her fingers run over the clasp which held it closed. The lounge felt warm and soporific with Caleb dozing on the sofa. He turned the television down as she entered. “Hey, Hana. I’m sorry about before. You’ve been kind and I took advantage. I shouldn’t have brought drugs into your home or listened to Asher. As soon as I get this second cast off I’ll be gone. Logan doesn’t know where my dad is; I asked him. Said he put him on a flight to England and never heard from him again.”
Hana sighed and sat down in a nearby armchair. She cradled the soft leather of the book in her fingers and nodded. “Logan wouldn’t keep a man from knowing his father. A whole family kept him away from his.”
“He’s gone to sort out Asher.” Caleb chewed his lower lip. “I told him where I think the house is. Will he get hurt?”
“Logan?” Hana shrugged. “Probably. The hemophilia makes him bruise and bleed, so yes, if there’s physical contact, he’ll get hurt.”
“I meant Asher.” Caleb nibbled on his fingernails, his body language stiff with anxiety. “I don’t know where that bag went but Asher said he’d send the guys round to find it. He’s already taken the money; he showed me over a hundred dollars. He promised them. They don’t like missing out, not people like them.” He stared at her sideways with a curious sly smile on his lips and Hana shifted in her chair with discomfort.
“Logan will be back soon.” She opened the book and stroked her finger down the yellowed pages, seeking reassurance and wisdom from a woman she no longer liked. In sleeping with her own brother and producing Reuben Du Rose, the kuikui set in motion a disaster which took three decades before her heirs repeated it and seven more before it detonated.
“Good book? It looks old.”
“It is.” Hana ran her finger down the list of cattle prices and earnings, finding nothing to satisfy her soul. “And disappointing.” She snapped it closed and huffed in annoyance as one of the pages bent. Opening the book again, she tugged at the page and found it thicker than expected, realising as she turned it over that she held a black-and-white photograph in her fingers. Three men smiled up at her and she peered closer to see their faces. Age spots dotted the surface and it held the pinkish hue peculiar to 1970s printing ink. One man held a shot gun slung across his shoulder and his hand rested on the shoulders of a light haired boy. The flared jeans they both wore looked incongruous against the tight fitting shirts and wide collars. The tall, imposing man in the centre rested his hand on the head of the dark boy in front of him. Hana’s heart clenched as she recognised Reuben Du Rose and guessed the dark, gangly boy would be Neville. The third man carried a baby wrapped in a blanket, his face beaming in an open smile. Alfred Du Rose looked handsome once, slighter than his brother but no less defined. “Wow!” Hana breathed out the word and Caleb looked across at her. She held up the photo for him to see.
“That’s neat; three old dudes and their kids.”
Hana nodded and pointed at the baby. “It’s Logan. This was taken before the family imploded. I don’t know who the other man is though.”
“It’s on the back.” Caleb jerked his head towards the photo. He leaned across. “Look. It’s in pencil near the top corner. If you move your fingers, you’ll see.”
Hana turned the photograph over and peered at the slanted writing in the top right corner. “Can you read it?” She handed it over and Caleb took it with exaggerated care. He bent forwards and back to catch the light and read the faded words in a faltering sentence. “Alfie and Logan.” He tipped the fragile paper and squinted. “Ru-something and Karl? No, Kane. That bit’s too faded.” Caleb handed the photo back. “That other one is Haines but I can’t read the kid’s name.”
“Lincoln.” Hana wrinkled her nose. “Lincoln Haines. Of course it is. The boys stayed friends after the family divided but I don’t know what happened to Lincoln’s father. He must’ve trodden a tightrope trying to please both sides; I’m not sure I’d bother.”
“Me neither.” Caleb turned the television back up and the conversation ended. Leslie joined them and Hana retreated into her thoughts. The kid leather of the diary felt soft under her fingers and she stroked it without thinking, pondering mysteries she couldn’t seem to solve.
“Leslie?” she said and the old woman looked across at her, peeling herself away from the English soap opera which she and Caleb stared at goggle-eyed. “How close was Lincoln to Logan and Reuben’s boys?”
Leslie shrugged. “Pretty close although Linc’s more Liza’s age I think. He kept very tight with Kane too until he married the doctor-woman. She didn’t like Reuben’s boys but he’s always defended his friendship with Nev. They were real bad boys when they were younger. They roped Logan in and Miriam tried everything to keep them apart. I’m sure Linc was there when Kane split Logan open with a machete.”
Hana winced and her brow furrowed in remembrance of the awful tale. She steered the conversation away from it, knowing Logan’s version included his older brother Barry’s complicity. It made her sick to think of it. “How many deaths have there been in the township during the last ten years? Can you remember?”
“Youse lookin’ for a superbug, kōtiro?” Leslie snorted and Hana shook her head.
“How many?”
Leslie harrumphed as the credits rolled for her programme and she glared at Hana. “Now look what you made me do.” She held up her hand and counted on her fingers. “Miriam, Reuben, him whose name makes you go loco.” A pudgy hand yanked her glasses down her nose and she raised an eyebrow at Hana. “My hoa tāne, may Atua bless his lazy, gambling soul.”
Caleb snorted. “Nice. I hope my wife doesn’t talk about me like that.”
Leslie leaned over the arm of her chair. “Little shits like youse don’t get wives, tamaiti. Decent wahine look for men who can feed and clothe them, not wandering vagrants who bring drugs into other people’s homes.”
Caleb blanched and Hana didn’t defend him. His apology failed to negate the current threat to her children or to her. She touched her neck and felt the soreness abating, her mind turning to the whereabouts of her husband.
He still hadn’t returned by the time Leslie shuffled up the stairs to bed and Caleb left soon after on his crutches. Hana heard a peculiar rustling in the hallway and laid the book on the sofa, sticking her head through the doorway and feeling the cool night air in the hall. “What are you doing?”
Caleb bent over the dustbin bag by the front door, sifting through the rubbish in the dim light of a lamp. Hana remembered the lie about the potatoes Lincoln peeled and bit her lip. “Just checking something,” he said, his voice hushed. “I thought the weed came back.”
“The drugs? Why would it come back?”
“I dunno!” Caleb exclaimed and his eyes darted up the darkened stairs. “I wondered if the old lady played a trick on me.”
“Wait!” Hana jabbed her finger at the black rubbish sack. “You put the drugs in a dustbin bag?”
“Yeah. They wouldn’t fit in my diamante suitcase.”
Hana narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get smart with me. You’re in enough trouble.” She chewed her lip in thought but the fragment of memory eluded her as headlights spun onto the drive. “Logan!” She flung the door open before he even descended from the ute, her eyes grazing his body for injury.