“I’m spending a few nights with friends,” Tama informed her, biting his lip and furrowing his brow.
“Why?” Hana’s face looked troubled at the thought of her only ally disappearing.
Tama rolled his eyes. “Because living with you and Uncle Logan is like being in a mine field, Ma. He’s not talking to you and you’re not talking to him. It’s stupid.”
“But I told you what he did!” Hana said. “I came back to find him sprawled on the sofa with my friend; what would you do?”
“No, Ma.” Tama shook his head. “The story gets worse every time you tell it. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were sabotaging your own happiness. Logan kept telling you he didn’t want to help her out with her stupid problems but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I thought she was my friend,” Hana sulked.
“No-one’s your friend, Ma,” Tama said, sadness in his eyes and his shoulders slumped. He hefted his bag over his shoulder and reached out a hand to stroke her red curls. “All we’ve got is family, babe. Don’t you know that yet?”
A car honked in the lane and Tama left with a wave. “I don’t even have family,” Hana muttered to herself. She imagined herself crawling back to Bodie. “Hey, son. You were right; my husband’s a jerk.” Hana shook her head, choosing loneliness instead.
Bodie stayed away from his mother and Izzie never returned her call. Logan remained distinctly absent; always busy over at St Bart’s, leaving Hana isolated and lonely. She rang the rest home and asked if she could visit Father Sinbad, yearning for the sound of his voice. Matron answered. “Hello, Hana,” she said, sounding jovial. “He’s not back from his holiday yet.”
“But it’s been two weeks,” Hana said with surprise. “He only goes for a week.”
“Usually,” Matron replied. “The Catholic charity paid for ten days this year at another rest home in Russell just for a change of scenery for him.”
“That was kind of them; he always loves going somewhere new and meeting other priests.”
“Yes, he does.” Matron’s tone became serious. “He took a funny turn so they’ve kept him there for a bit longer. It’s caused a problem for me because the lovely chap we’ve got in exchange really wants to go home now.”
“Oh, dear. If you’re talking to Father Sinbad, please give him my love, won’t you?” Hana said. “Tell him I’ll visit as soon as he’s home and I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“It won’t be,” Matron promised. “He’ll go on forever.”
Hana avoided contact with her next door neighbour, hoping Amanda got the message without them needing to have a messy confrontational showdown.
Seeing her loneliness, Pastor Allen persuaded Hana to attend a Thursday mother and toddler group at church, but she found it compounded her isolation. Most of the women were in their twenties and Hana found no common ground, apart from the chubby babies each had on their hip. The women were related to one another or part of such a tight little friendship group, they didn’t need Hana. The first meeting was a lonely, soul destroying experience, driving Hana deeper into herself and wrecking her confidence.
Escaping to the car while the other yummy mummies sang nursery rhymes, more for their own benefit than their drooling offspring, Hana started the engine and suffered a small crisis. “I don’t know where to go,” she told her smiling daughter. “Everywhere sucks!” Hana brushed away a tear from her cheek and bit her lip to distract her.
She listed her options on her fingers, finding none satisfactory. There was the empty Culver’s Cottage, requiring work to open up and light a fire whilst juggling her baby. Or there was her scintillating life at the school site where the excitement was damn near killing her. Robert and Elaine, happy now they’d found Hana and mended their relationship, had headed off to see more of New Zealand than just Hamilton. Hana resented the days spent away from her, realising time was precious and she wanted more than they could give. She selfishly wanted twenty-six years of quality time squashed into the short few weeks before they left for England.
Hana pulled up to the intersection with the main road, sitting on the white line without indicating. “Where should I go, Phoe?” she asked her daughter. “Where do you fancy?”
Phoenix yawned and closed her eyes, leaving Hana to make the decision. “Fine,” she said turning the car north. “But don’t blame me.” She cut across country until she met the junction with State Highway 1 and then headed towards Auckland. “I might not like my husband much at the moment, but I dislike myself more,” she said to the sleeping child. Hana recognised she needed time to think and not worry, to get away from a former life which pulled and snagged at her like barbed wire. She was wise enough to see temptation in the sweet man with the tennis racquets, knowing she felt companionship with him in a dangerous way. The sensation of the strings pounding the tennis ball was exhilarating and Hana knew her reaction to Logan afterwards had channelled the pent up emotions released by the game. Hana saw how easy it was for Anka to bed the willing Tama, bored and stagnant in her own life and attracted by the excitement of his. The blonde man was sweet and kind and Hana sensed he had a vacancy for good company.
“What am I doing?” Hana groaned, making the turn towards Rangiriri. “I’ve just left my husband at the mercy of Amanda and her desperate DIY requirements. Tama’s not even there to protect him.” She tossed her red hair in defiance and decided if her marriage was in that much danger, it wasn’t worth hanging around to watch it unravel. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the gentle touch of the tennis player on her shoulder and guilt pricked at her. Logan would kill him. Yet somehow her husband believed it was ok to cuddle up on the sofa with the next door neighbour.
Hana arrived at the hotel at afternoon teatime, the bell sounding as she pitched in the front door carrying the car seat and change bag.
“Hey, Mrs Du Rose,” the receptionist called. “Would you like help with your bags?”
Hana gave the woman a watery smile and looked at her belongings. It was then she realised she had nothing else with her and her face crumpled. The receptionist buzzed the kitchen for Leslie, dismayed by the level of Hana’s upset and the Māori housekeeper waddled along the corridor at warp speed, seizing Hana in such a genuine embrace it left her bones rattling and her tears falling freely. “It’s all gone wrong,” Hana wailed and Leslie patted her back and waved away the other staff who came to watch.
The renewed contact with Robert reminded Hana of what she’d lost and she missed her mother with an unremitting ache. Leslie’s maternal embrace was a painful proxy for Judith’s absence and seemed to make Hana’s hysteria worse. “Let’s get you upstairs and out of the way of pryin’ eyes,” Leslie whispered, sensing the atmosphere of gossip descending. She took the car seat and change bag, letting Hana regain her dignity and leading the way up the spiral staircase to Logan’s childhood room. Leslie pressed the numbers for access and pushed the door open.
As the door clicked behind them, Hana realised she didn’t want to be there either; in the centre of more Du Rose territory. “I can’t stay,” she sobbed, while Leslie sat the car seat on the rug and returned for the child’s distraught mother.
“Whatever’s wrong, child?” the old woman asked softly, stroking Hana’s arm with gentle brown fingers.
Hana began wailing like a five-year-old. “I’ve got no friends; I’m so lonely. Logan hates me.”
Leslie sat on the bed with Hana enfolded in her comely arms and let her sob. It felt to Hana like mere minutes but it was actually forty-five of them. Three-quarters of an hour of sobbing, sniffing, nose blowing and then sitting with tears coursing silently down her face. If it gained credit as an Olympic sport, Hana Du Rose was a silver medal winner at crying. Leslie’s uniform blouse was saturated with salt water and Hana felt cowed by exhaustion. As soon as she thought she might be ok to let go of the housekeeper, some other sad thought assailed her brain; her poor mother, her poor father or her even poorer brother and she started crying again. “I’m sorry,” Hana managed to say eventually. “You have other places to be. It’s ok if you need to go.”
Leslie shook her head. “Na, Miss. Youse more important. You doesn’t have to tell me if youse don’t wanna though. Leslie’s happy just to be with you.” She stroked Hana’s hair and let her sniff into her damp shoulder.
“I’m so sick of myself,” Hana declared. “What must you think of me?”
Leslie smiled and pushed Hana’s fringe back from her face with a crinkled olive palm. “I think youse heartsick, honey,” she whispered.
Hana nodded and fetched a toilet roll from the ensuite, blowing into wads of it as the tears converted themselves into rivers of snot instead. “That’s a good word for it,” she admitted. “Heartsick. Yeah, that’s how I feel.”
Leslie fetched clean sheets and pillowcases from the laundry downstairs and helped Hana make the bed. “Will Mr Logan be arriving?” she dared to ask and Hana put her hand over her face and degenerated once again into waterworks, aiming for a gold medal in something of a sprint finish.
“It’s early days,” Leslie whispered, holding her tightly. “I left my poor Kiwi so many times that first year he looked surprised when I finally turned up for good. I think he’d forgot who I was.” Leslie smiled. “There’s been a lot to deal with, kōtiro. Give yourself a break.”
Phoenix woke up and added to the din, discovering her stomach empty and feeling shocked and astounded at Hana’s audacity for leaving it so. Despite having guests in the hotel and dinner to organise, Leslie disappeared with the baby, delighting in playing nursemaid and stuffing her full of pureed mashed potato, beef and vegetables. The housekeeper sat at the dining table through the archway like the queen, squawking orders to her workforce and enjoying the legitimate sit-down.
Hana raided the drawers and wardrobe in the bedroom, discovering enough clothing to last her and the baby a short while. She unearthed a packet of nappies she left there last time. They were too small, but she found a roll of tape to seal the child into them temporarily. The sleep suits were on the short side and Hana pulled a face, tears threatening at the scent of defeat. “No,” she decided. “It’s not the end of the world. I’ll cut the feet out and Phoenix can look like a beatnik baby for a few days.” She sat on the bed to fold the suits into a manageable pile but got no further.
The dreadful hitch in her chest from crying had exhausted her and Hana fell asleep sitting up, eventually face planting onto the mattress. Downstairs, her daughter thoroughly enjoyed the taste of Logan’s beef herd, stuffed to brimming with the mash. Leslie sent a kitchen girl upstairs to let Hana know her baby needed milk, not surprised when the girl returned alone. “I peeped through the door and saw Mrs Du Rose flat on her face and snoring.” The girl smirked and looked to the other housemaids for solidarity.
Leslie grimaced. “There’s nothing funny about it and if I find you spreading gossip, there’ll be trouble.” She eyeballed the young woman who wiped the smirk from her lips. “She’s family,” Leslie reminded the women collectively, jabbing an index finger towards each of their faces. “And don’t you forget it.”
Leslie broke out a brand new feeder cup, ran it through the kitchen steriliser and warmed up cow’s milk, spending the next half an hour laughing at the baby’s ingenious way of drinking. “She’s a bright little cookie,” she said to the women as Phoenix waved the cup in the air for the hundredth time, showering everyone nearby with warm milk. The little girl laughed and sucked at the lip, gasping as too much shot into her mouth, surprising her. Then with a giggle, she repeated the whole process again.
“I don’t think you’re meant to give them cow’s milk until they’re two, Aunty,” one of the kitchen girls warned.
The old lady shrugged. “It didn’t do my tamariki any harm. Besides which, Mrs Du Rose isn’t well so it’ll have to do.”
The girls raised their eyebrows at each other. Leslie was an amazing housekeeper even when Miriam Du Rose was alive, running the hotel in her absence when the missus took to her bed with depression. But they all gossiped behind Leslie’s back when she was out of earshot.
“She’s making free with that family now. She wouldn’t have dared when Miriam Du Rose was alive.”
“Mr Alfred moved into the bunkhouse extension with Jack so Leslie could have his apartment upstairs, but I heard he was seen leaving it early in the morning by a house maid.”
“Jack?”
“No! Alfred Du Rose!”
“No way! You don’t think that ‘im and ‘er are...”
“Eugh! That’s disgusting. His wife’s not six months dead.”
“Yeah, but then he had a miserable existence with her loving his brother and all.”
“And didn’t Leslie and ‘im have a bit of a fling many years ago? Wasn’t there doubt about her youngest daughter being a Du Rose?”
“With Rueben Du Rose?”
“Alfred! Are you deaf?”
“No, shush! Mentioning that’ll get you into big trouble. Miriam heard about it and threw a candlestick at Alfred’s head; do you remember that?”
“It might be why Leslie’s bossier now; because ‘im and ‘er are...”
“Well, she’s certainly got a spring in her step.”
“Maybe someone should tell Mrs Hana about her.”
“Na, she looked real sick. I think she’s got other things to worry about.”
“Yeah, like keeping Logan Du Rose happy. Reckon I should offer to help her out? I could keep him busy for half an hour.”
“Better than the old man, aye?”
“Hell yeah! Logan could keep going all night. We could take turns!”
“I don’t think Alfred’s got it in him. Mind you, if he’s seeing to Leslie, maybe he has.”
There was a peel of laughter as the kitchen girls waggled their eyebrows at each other. They pulled faces to show they were trying not to think about the old couple going at it above their heads in the attic flat.
The chirping of Hana’s phone woke her. She groaned and rolled onto her back. “Shut up,” she grumbled, putting her fingers in her ears to ignore it long enough to go back to sleep. Realisation made her sit up with a start, remembering her phone’s inbuilt GPS tracker. Hana staggered around the room in her dozy state, hunting for the source of the noise. When she found it lurking in the side pocket of the change bag she resisted the urge to throw it across the room. Her fingers struggled with the power button and she turned it off and hurled herself backwards onto the bed. “I’ve got Phoe and nobody else matters,” she decided in her self-pitying state. “The rest of you can get stuffed.”
Hana snuggled under the sheets and reached for slumber again, knowing inwardly it was too late. Worries about Izzie and her father pervaded her peace and she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Turning the phone on, Hana saw two missed calls from Logan and a text from ‘Aarsehole’. Wondering what Mark wanted and thinking she ought to rename him, she looked at his message. It was short and sweet. ‘Just got out of surgery and on my way back in. Loved talking the other night. I’ve missed my sister. X’
Hana sighed with gratitude. At least someone cared about her for herself and not what she could provide. It was a strange irony that her tumultuous relationship with Mark was the one adding value to her life. Hana held the phone in her hand, tempted to ring her husband and reassure him Phoenix was ok.
Self-preservation stopped her. He might follow her in a desire to get the upper hand and Hana knew she needed a break from everyone in Hamilton, including Logan. She sent a nice text back to her brother and then stared at her contacts list, wondering whether to rename them all. Hana giggled like a child, entertaining herself deciding on alternative names. Anka could be ‘Tart,’ Tama could be ‘Stud,’ Mark could be himself and then change Logan to ‘Aarsehole.’ “I could have so much fun,” Hana mused. “But what if I forget who’s who? I can’t ring someone and say, ‘Oh sorry, I thought you were ‘Git’ but actually you’re just ‘Stupid,’ not with my memory.”
Relenting, she sent a short text to her husband, hoping he’d noticed she was missing but figuring the two calls were because he needed something. ‘Hope your finger’s ok now. Phoenix is fine. Need space.’ Then she turned the phone off and stuffed it into the pocket of the bag, promising herself she wouldn’t look at it again until she was ready to go home. Whenever that was.
Hana was starving and went in search of her baby and some dinner. She stumbled downstairs, staggering through the kitchen door and forgetting the room had changed.
“Through there, miss,” a waitress said, pointing to the archway where the wall had been knocked through. Hana went into the new dining room, finding Leslie cuddling a very bloated Phoenix and reading a magazine. The baby’s belly looked like it could explode and she was fast asleep. “I’m so sorry,” Hana whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” She sank into a chair next to the housekeeper and ran her hands over her face, feeling her eyes bulging under her fingers. “I’ve got a frog-face haven’t I?” she grumbled and Leslie chuckled.
“Better out than in.”
“Dad used to say that about farts.” Hana winced. She gazed around the room. “This looks good,” she said, waving her arm.
“All your idea, miss,” Leslie said, nodding her approval. The old doorway from the corridor had been reopened and a fire door added. As Hana watched, it opened gently.
Bobby stepped in quietly. He looked different from the man who hounded Hana the previous year. He’d grown a bushy beard and his blonde hair was long. If the cops came looking for ‘Flick’, they wouldn’t find him. Hana smiled at him, trying to forget her puffy, unattractive eyes. “Hey, Bobby,” she said.
He smiled back and nodded to Leslie, eyeing the old woman sideways. “Hello, miss, I heard you were back.”
Hana’s face fell. “Oh.” She wondered if he’d heard her crying or if someone informed him she’d run away from her husband. The stock man’s loyalty to Logan would trump any friendship she’d forged with him. Hana put her head down and turned her face away, thinking of an excuse to leave the room.
The sound of a loud band struck up in the ballroom, making the sleeping baby jump and shoot her arms out wide like a parachutist. “That’s so cute,” Leslie cackled. “I love how they do that.”
Hana made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sad chuckle.
“Can I talk to you, miss?” Bobby asked, hovering by the door and waiting for her to answer.
Hana took a fortifying breath and turned towards him, giving him a look of encouragement. “Of course, you can, Bobby. How can I help you?”
“I wondered if you wanted to go up to the new place, miss?” he asked, referring to the house Logan was building for his family at the top of the mountain. Hana sent a dart of fear towards Leslie, wondering if she’d live long enough to move in or if Logan would kill her out of frustration before the builders finished. She didn’t want to be rude and nodded without commitment. Bobby’s face lit up in a beam. “Awesome, miss,” he declared with a grin of pleasure. “We’ll set off after breakfast tomorrow. I’ll come around the front for you at nine. Then you can see how far we’ve got and let me know if you want to make any changes. Will Mr Logan be coming?”
Hana shook her head and Bobby looked momentarily disappointed. He shrugged. “Never mind. You’ll be living there so your opinion’s just as good.” He headed out the door smiling happily back at her. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Hana groaned and laid her forehead on the dining table, seeing at close range the wear and tear from years and years of use.
“I’ll keep this little girl tomorrow,” Leslie offered. “I’m off all day, so you take some time for yourself.”
“But what about feeds and stuff?” Hana asked, looking for an excuse to get out of the trip.
Leslie snorted. “This little piggy scoffed a whole bowl of solids and a feeder cup of warm cow’s milk. She’s gonna be fine with Aunty Leslie looking after her.”
“Traitor,” Hana groaned. “There’s no point me looking when I won’t be living in it.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?” Leslie furrowed her brow and peered at Hana over her spectacles. “You haven’t actually left Mr Logan, have you?”
“I don’t know,” Hana breathed, confusion in her eyes. “I couldn’t go on like that, living in a shoe box with him not talking to me.”
“Doesn’t sound like Mr Logan,” Leslie commented. “He’s the shout and yell type normally.”
“Yeah, he’s done a bit of that too,” Hana said, feeling tears smart the backs of her eyes again. “Then he just went quiet. I think I’m a big disappointment to him so I know I won’t be living in that house. There’s no point me even going up there.”
Leslie squeezed her shoulder. “Things will work out for youse both,” she predicted with a smile. “It’s never as bad as it seems, miss. You have a ride up the mountain with Flick tomorrow and let the sunshine kiss you.”
Hana smiled and relented. “At least I can go up on the quad bike if Bobby’s taking me,” she said, sounding relieved as she recalled the breakneck horse rides Logan had taken her on up there.
“There’re tracks now,” Leslie informed her, “where they sent the trucks up with wood and stuff. But I’d wear riding gear in case. The boys taught Bobby to ride and he loves every opportunity to get his handsome butt in the saddle.”
Hana groaned again. She skipped food, deafened by the band bursting a gasket for the wedding guests in the ballroom and took her baby upstairs. Leslie took pity on her and arrived upstairs with hot soup and bread. She found Hana wandering around the bedroom looking lost, balancing the comatose child on one arm. “I haven’t got the travel cot,” Hana said, looking defeated. “And she’s too big for the drawer now. I don’t know what to do with her. She can’t sleep in the bed because she can roll.”
Leslie put the tray on the dressing table and returned five minutes later with a folded travel cot belonging to the hotel. Hana balanced the baby in one arm and ate standing up. Leslie set the cot up with sheets and blankets and Hana surrendered her child. “She feels heavier. What did you feed her?”
Leslie laughed and tapped her nose. Then she smiled and gave Hana a hug. “Settle down for the night and get a good rest.” She took the tray and opened the room next door to allow Hana to raid her sister-in-law’s closet for riding clothes. “I use Liza’s clothes more than she does,” Hana joked and Leslie laughed.
She fell asleep watching re-runs of English comedy programmes she hadn’t seen for years and woke up, still fully dressed to the sound of Phoenix blowing straight through her nappy, vest and baby suit. It took an hour to sort the child out, resorting to bathing her in the bathroom sink. Hana silently cursed Aunty Leslie’s beef and vegetables and not once either. “Far out child! You smell like a sewer pipe!”
The baby had extremely bad gas after the pebble-dashing of her undies, but suffered no other ill effects.
Hana dressed her daughter in a footless sleep suit which she doctored with nail scissors by the light of the bedside lamp. “You look like the spawn of Barney Rubble,” Hana yawned as she tried to give her a breastfeed. Phoenix managed a little but pulled a face after a while and fell asleep. Hana laid her in the cot, hoping and praying she didn’t get another wake up call like that again. Without pyjamas, she found a tee shirt of Logan’s in a drawer and slipped it over her naked body. Sorely tempted to check her phone again, Hana resisted, knowing whatever messages it showed possessed the potential to deny her a peaceful night’s sleep. She conceded if the baby woke her up with another cement truck delivery, she’d permit herself to check, figuring she’d be up a good long while in that case anyway.