Hana returned to the unit feeling tired and out of sorts. The meeting with Mark seemed more difficult knowing he was her cousin and not her brother. She sympathised with Tama, rearranging his family to fit with his altered parentage.
Mark had arrived first at the bar in Te Awa and Hana found him vastly altered from the angry young man she remembered. He was tamer as though life had knocked the corners off him. Hana arrived to a drink already ordered for her and the first thing Mark said regarded the dreadful note he wrote after her mother died. “I sent it out of pure spite and jealousy, Hana. There’s no excuse; I was a grown man and should have known better. It followed a lifetime of jealousy over you, wishing I could make Robert and Judith’s ‘real’ baby go away.” Mark lowered his eyes and avoided Hana’s gaze. “It coloured my view and you didn’t deserve the burden. It’s ironic but I look back on the angst of my youth and wish profoundly I hadn’t wasted my efforts on it. I’m the wrong side of fifty and I could use that time more wisely now.”
Hana smiled and admitted, “You and me both. I’ve got twenty-six years to make up for.”
They parted friends, cousins, brother and sister. It was awkward, like a badly fitting jigsaw puzzle, but at least they were both committed to sorting it out.
Pulling up outside the staff units, Hana wanted to settle in front of the TV with Logan. Exhaustion tugged at the fringes of her psyche and her heart knotted at the realisation they could be disturbed by a drama over at the boarding house. She let herself in the front door and put her keys on the small dining table, turning to find Amanda sitting on the two seater sofa with her husband.
Hana’s face registered shock and Amanda had the decency to look guilty. The air in the lounge crackled with electricity and Amanda’s cheeks looked flushed. Logan’s face was expressionless and Hana froze in the centre of the open plan space. “What’s going on?” she demanded, looking from one to another.
“I couldn’t open my pickle jar,” Amanda said, a smirk lifting the corners of her lips. Her eyes glittered with mischief and dilated pupils revealed her intoxication.
“Another one?” Hana said, a bite to her voice. Her gaze strayed to her husband and he focussed his attention on the TV. “I’m surprised you haven’t turned into a pickle.”
Amanda shrieked with laughter and slapped Logan’s thigh with her palm. “Do I look like a pickle, darling?” she said to Logan and Hana saw him visibly wince. Grinding her teeth, Hana stomped to the hall cupboard, dumping her coat on a hanger and throwing it on the floor, knowing it would wind Logan up. Her heart pounded, filling her ears with the sound of blood and she felt jealousy course through her veins, green, nasty and vitriolic. She kicked herself for not stopping Amanda’s crush months ago, sensing the other woman’s loneliness and veiled lust when she eyed Tama and Logan. Hana pressed her forehead against the door frame and closed her eyes. Logan asked her for help last time Amanda requested his presence. There had been so many times lately. “Stupid idiot,” Hana chastised herself. “You’re too nice for your own good.”
Hana’s brain screamed that there was nothing going on, but her heart recognised the possibility and it made her sick to her stomach. Inside her head an inner voice screamed, ‘You can’t live like this again.’
Hana wondered fleetingly where Millie was as she checked on her baby. Phoenix was fast asleep in her cot, sucking her little thumb without a care in the world. Hana wished life could be as simple as having a full tummy and a soft bed. Hearing the rumble of voices down the hall, Hana stopped in the process of storming into the lounge and expelling Amanda. The other woman’s voice sounded seductive and drunk. “I love seeing your muscles through your tee shirt,” Amanda crooned. “Chris loved himself so there wasn’t room for anyone else to love him, but you’re different.”
“God help me,” Hana begged. She’d missed the danger looming, ignoring the lighthouse as it warned that the rocks were sharp and could wreck everything.
Hana slipped into the tiny laundry at the end of the unit, fingering the handle of Phoenix’s pram and considering leaving with her. “I can’t go in there,” she whispered to her eerie reflection in the window. “I feel too mixed up.” She thought about her sleeping baby and chastised her selfishness at thinking of dragging the child from her bed and taking her out into the cold night. “What can I do?” Hana panicked, hearing another volley of high pitched laughter from Amanda.
Darkness enveloped the school site and Hana watched the flickering lights in the main building, wondering what was going on. On an impulse and regretting the absence of her coat, she slipped out of the laundry door, closing it quietly behind her. The sickness deepened as Amanda’s laugh cut through the silence of the night and Hana turned it on Logan. “Bloody men!” she hissed. “Bloody disloyal men!” She set off into the darkness, not knowing or caring where she would go.
The main buildings were busy with night classes and the car parks full. Hana sauntered around, looking in ground floor windows at adults learning French, Spanish, cooking and other interesting activities. She wondered if her brain would turn to mush if she kept living her current existence and she watched for a long while at the window of a pottery class, yearning to feel the clay beneath her fingers.
She wandered around until she arrived at the swimming pool. It was locked for the night and she stroked the wire fence, remembering her first kiss with Logan in the doorway of the changing rooms. Amanda’s devious smile filtered into her memory and Hana banished all good thoughts of her husband. “He could’ve asked her to leave,” she grumbled. “Unless he really does like her.” Hana gulped as the thought took hold and she stared at the freezing water, her heart clenching at the threat of another failed marriage. “I can’t do this again,” she panicked. “I can’t.”
The deserted hockey turf was eerie, but the floodlights shone over the tennis courts. Hana walked towards the fenced courts, blinking in the bright lights after the darkness and isolation of everywhere else. One man played by himself, served tennis balls by a complicated machine which fired them at intervals. Hana counted seven seconds between balls. The man dealt with them competently, betraying his skill as an accomplished player. Hana stood and watched, fascinated by the pattern of movements he used in a steady rhythm, backhand, forehand and overhead, repeated over and over. The familiarity of the man’s tennis game filled her with a sense of comfort, her fingers itching to hold the racquet and feel its weight and balance.
The player sensed someone watching and reaching in the pocket of his shorts, he felt for a remote control, ceasing the delivery machine’s relentless ball firing. “Hey,” he said, striding towards Hana with a smile on his face. Mid-thirties with white-blonde hair, the man possessed a sculpted physique and a kind, gentle face. He wasn’t devastatingly good looking in a Du Rose way, but a pleasant nature shone through the easy grin.
“Hi,” Hana replied, biting her lip with awkwardness. “Your game is fluid; you play well.”
“Thanks,” he said, his kiwi accent drawing out the syllable.
The man linked his fingers through the chain fence and studied Hana’s face. She took a step back, feeling stupid.
“Partner me?” he asked, drawing the bolt back on the gate. He opened it wide and indicated with his arm that Hana should come inside. Without knowing why, Hana obeyed and found herself inside the courts. It brought back happy memories. “Do you play?” he asked, pointing to another racquet over by his bag.
“Not for a while,” Hana said sadly, shaking her head.
“How come?” he asked and it was a strange question with myriad possible answers.
Hana shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Lots of reasons.”
He pressed her, desperate to know. “What was it? Injury, busyness, work commitments, family; the list is endless.”
“My tennis partner died,” Hana said and it hit her as yet another thing Vik’s death robbed her of.
“Oh, sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to pry; you look familiar. Did you play competition doubles a few years back?”
Hana smiled and nodded slowly. “Ten years back actually. Mainly local, but a few area matches. We got rather good.”
“You’re not Hana Johal are you?” the man asked, his smile deepening. “You and your husband were awesome.”
Hana laughed. “No, we just enjoyed ourselves. It was fun and something we could do together. Vik was the serious one. I played to spend time with him.”
The man laughed and trotted over to the spare racquet nesting in its protective cover, unzipping it and placing it ceremoniously into her hands. “Come on,” he said. “I’m bored with the machine. Play with me for a while.”
Hana took the racquet and turned it over in her hands. It felt like an old friend, familiar and safe, welcoming her back in her time of need. Her companion urged her with a jerk of his head and Hana moved behind the back line. He served a fast ball without mercy and Hana returned it with a powerful backhand that made him run. He cheered and she smiled, enjoying doing something she loved. A far better player than her, he served and returned with consideration, not deliberately flooring her as he could have. Hana felt rusty, but they smashed away at the balls for another half an hour before her companion looked at his watch.
“I told Mr Blair I’d lock up by nine. Otherwise we get complaints from the residents at the back of the school about the lights,” he called. He looked regretful as he walked over to the net to speak to Hana. “I’ve enjoyed myself. Don’t suppose you’d fancy a ‘come back’? I could use a good mixed doubles partner.”
Hana shook her head, embarrassed by his compelling hero-worship-act. Making an excuse, she helped him retrieve the balls which had zinged around the court and returned them to the bucket on the machine. He released its stand and wheeled it over to the gate. Hana carried the racquets and his bag, trying to be helpful as he locked up the gate and shot the sprig from the padlock home. He smiled at her kindly and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here most evenings,” he said. “If you won’t come out of retirement for me, I’d still love a decent sparring partner.”
Hana offered a non-committal smile and a shrug. The exercise made her feel hot and bothered and an ache developed in her soul. It was always that way when she came across some part of her former married life she had enjoyed and lost. It was as though handling the tennis racquet made her vulnerable, offering her heart up for yet more hurt. Yet it felt so good to whack the ball with abandon and exorcise her negative emotion. “I have a young baby,” she said, hearing her own breathlessness. “It’s hard to get time to myself.”
Disappointment made his young face crease, but he nodded once in understanding. “Fair enough,” he conceded.
“Where do you want this?” Hana asked, indicating the heavy bag.
“Over here,” he replied. His car was parked by the shed which the grounds staff used to store equipment and the man unlocked the boot and hefted the ball machine inside.
Hana opened the rear door and placed the two expensive racquets on the back seat. “They’re expensive racquets,” she said, closing the door. “That brand is awesome; I always hankered over one of those.” Her voice sounded wistful and embarrassed she focussed her attention on the car. It was of nondescript colour in the darkness and could have been black, red or blue under the flickering light of the stars.
The man went over to the old shed and Hana heard him fighting with a rusty lock. He flicked a switch inside and the floodlights went off with a pop. Hana waited by the vehicle, wanting to leave but keen not to seem rude. It took a long while for the glow to disappear completely from the surface of the huge floodlights. “Thank you,” she said as he reappeared. “I had fun.”
He nodded and touched her shoulder again, his fingers making a gentle stroking movement. Without warning, he kissed her, his lips soft as they pressed over Hana’s. She gasped and took a step backwards, stumbling over the curb. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, catching her under her elbows. “I forgot how beautiful you were. You were my first major crush.”
Hana peered into his face, desperate to remember this intriguing male. Something familiar screamed out at her and she opened her mouth to ask him where they’d met. When he dipped his head to kiss her again, Hana obeyed her pounding heart and escaped, ducking under his arm and breaking into a run. She felt his eyes raking her outline in the darkness and sped back to the unit. Hana didn’t feel like going home but with nowhere else to go and Phoenix there, she had no choice.
Outside the semi-detached units which were hers and Amanda’s, Hana saw lights on in her friend’s. At least it meant that she’d left Logan alone. The thought of walking in on them kissing or worse made her feel ill. “He wouldn’t!” she told herself but the nagging thought pestered her psyche and convinced her otherwise.
Hana sighed and tried the laundry door, tripping over the step and landing on her knees. The door’s locked status meant her husband had been looking for her. Fantastic! She walked round to the front on leaden feet, finding that door also locked. Hana stamped her foot crossly. “He’s deliberately making me knock to get in,” she fumed, remembering her keys in the pocket of her coat in the hall cupboard. Feeling stubborn, she sat on the steps of the unit, not wanting to concede anything by knocking on the door and giving Logan more power than he already had over her. She sat for twenty minutes and decided that she might sleep there too. The stars were pretty overhead and reminded her of her baby’s birth underneath the Milky Way six months ago.
God had different ideas though, turning the thermostat down to below zero. Hana’s light pullover offered no help as she shivered on the door step, her foolish tantrum becoming more ridiculous as the minutes went by. She sneezed loudly, clapping her hand over her mouth but it was too late. She heard footsteps inside and Logan yanked the door open. Hana tumbled backwards into the hallway, catching herself at the last moment and banging her sore wrist on the door jamb. For a second the pain was excruciating, dulling to a faint throb as she got control. “Bloody hell!” she breathed, gripping either side of the scar to numb the ache.
Logan helped her up and led her inside, looking at her strangely. Hana recognised his scrutiny from the look he gave his mother when searching for signs of insanity. “Can you not?” she bit at him. It drove her mad, the way he examined her as he had his poor Bi-Polar mother, for signs she wasn’t medicating.
Hana pushed him rudely out of her way and clomped along the hallway with her trainers on, deliberately ignoring her own, shoes-off-at-the-door-of-this-tiny-shoebox rule. She stripped off her clothes in the bedroom, uncomfortable as the sweat from the tennis practice dried in the cold night air and made her skin tight and sticky. Her hair was mussed and fluffy and she stomped into the bathroom for a shower and hair wash.
Logan followed, looking both worried and confused. The bathroom was tiny and it irritated her, his proximity when she needed room to breathe and think. Logan sat on the edge of the bath, getting wet as his wife washed her hair behind the shower curtain.
“Amanda was waiting to see you,” Logan risked saying, hearing the snort of derision from behind the curtain.
“Whatever!” came Hana’s curt reply.
“But she was. She’s your friend, not mine.”
Hana gave a nasty laugh, prompting Logan to whip the curtain back and get a face full of water. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he spluttered.
Hana felt torn between wanting him to leave so she could calm down and wanting him to stay so she could argue. The latter desire won. “I don’t have friends, Logan. I can’t have friends around the Du Roses. Every time I get someone I can relate to, one of you screw it up for me. So, no she isn’t my friend. Not anymore!”
Logan wiped his face on the hand towel, looking bemused. His confusion lit the blue touch paper on Hana’s bomb. “Remember, my good friend of fifteen years, Anka? Tama’s affair with her ended that for me. And now, Amanda, friend of four months seems to have a thing for you. How would you feel, arriving home and discovering me cuddling up to a man on the sofa? You’d go loco and don’t bother denying it; you attacked a man for talking to me a few months ago. Double standards, Logan! So clearly, it’s not safe for me to have friends but that’s ok. I don’t need other people. I love being lonely and miserable and not having a soul in the world to share my hopes and fears with, in case they make a play for one of you boys. It’s wonderful. My life is awesome!”
“Hana!” Logan’s face looked ashen as he reached out for her, her words cutting into him like a blade. She stepped over the side of the bath and slapped his hands away, nearly breaking her neck on the slippery floor. Managing to retain some dignity, she shrouded herself in one towel and balled her hair into another. The thought of sleeping with wet hair made Hana even grumpier. It was the worst feeling in the world; apart from childbirth, a broken arm, a shard of glass sticking out of her vein, or being told her husband just died under a truck. Maybe wet hair wasn’t so bad.
Logan eyed Hana warily as she dried, her flesh pink and mottled by the heat. He ducked as she swung the towel to cover herself. He studied her through his stunning grey eyes, the long dark lashes swishing against his cheeks when he looked down.
“Please, stop staring at me,” Hana hissed with exasperation, “you make me feel like a zoo animal.”
“Well, you’re behaving like one,” he retorted, a veiled attempt at humour.
Hana spun round on the slippery floor and faced him. “Just stop it!” she shouted, raising her voice in the screechy pitch she hated. “Stop looking at me like you expect to see some kind of mental disorder! What will you do? Get me pills, send my children away....oh yeah sorry, you already did that!”
“Hey!” Logan got to his feet. The floor was soaked and his socks wet. As he reached out, he slipped and in trying to save himself, grabbed the metal towel rail on the wall. He swore as he pulled his hand away and blood dripped from a sliced index finger. He put it up to his mouth, trying to contain the flow.
“I’m sorry,” Hana said, her rage instantly abated. She looked shamefaced as he ran it under the cold tap but when she tried to help, he pulled his finger away and turned his back on her.
“Just leave me alone!” he said, his eyes as grey as an angry sea. He left Hana to tidy the bathroom, her heavy heart weighing her down every time she leaned forward.
She wiped up the blood and mopped the water off the floor, putting off her return to the bedroom and the argument. Finally readying herself to placate her husband, she opened the door but found no sign of Logan. He wasn’t in the unit.
Hana sat on the bed and cried, pressing her face into her palms and groaning from the pain of the heaviness in her chest. The cut to Logan’s finger and subsequent blood loss rendered the factor eight infusion futile, as it leaked from his body so soon.
Phoenix woke for a feed and Hana welcomed the distraction of the smiling little girl, who beamed as her mother lifted her from the cot despite the late hour. Hana tried not to torture herself with thoughts of Logan, imagining him seeking comfort next door with the voluptuous and eager Amanda. “I hate how he makes me feel insane,” she sobbed over her suckling child. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve caught it just by being married to a Du Rose.” She thought of Miriam, upsetting herself with her last memory of her mother-in-law, screaming and dodging her sons to get to the fire and what? Save Reuben, or be with him in death? Her face resembled a ghoulish mask of insanity and mania as she fled into the flames and died with her lover in his inferno.
Hana felt the heat and heard the rushing whoosh of the fire as she sat on the bed, alone in her sadness and feeding the child born a day later. She stroked the little girl’s delicate fingers and let her tears plop onto the baby suit. Phoenix only needed a top up and to say hello and Hana returned her to her cot with a full tummy and clean nappy.
Hana Du Rose didn’t like the woman who stared back from the bathroom mirror as she washed her hands. Logan wasn’t having an affair, even if Amanda wished he was. It was the threat of it which ate away at Hana’s security and probably always would, thanks to Vik and his secret mistress. She’d been oblivious to his late nights and early mornings and the jobs which took him away from home in their final year together. Sometimes she hated Vik for dying because it denied her justice, not finding out until the day after his funeral when his tearful girlfriend turned up at her home. Hana felt livid at Amanda and furious at Logan and even more aggrieved with herself. “You sent him round to hers,” she chastised the woman in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes peered back at her, dark circles under the vibrant green eyes. “He didn’t want to go, but you were so damn lonely and pleased to have friendship, you made him! Opening pickle jars, fixing light bulbs, bolting loft hatches.” Hana sneered at her reflected self. “You’re too bloody trusting, Hana Du Rose. When will you learn?”
Hana slapped moisturiser on her face and went to bed, grovelling around in her drawer for another novel. She fought the manic desire to rip it in two like a strong man ripping a telephone directory. Slender fingers stroked the cover and knew she wouldn’t do it. Hana willed Logan to come home so she could look at his finger and finish the argument. The issues floated in the air, still unaddressed. She wanted a chance to say the clever things she’d thought of.
She fell asleep, lying diagonally across the double bed so Logan’s return would wake her. But when she struggled from sleep the next morning, he wasn’t there and she’d given herself backache.