“Painkillers,” Hana said, handing tablets to the teenager. “It might help.”
“Thanks.” Tama took the white pills and clasped the glass of water. “You’re awesome, Ma.” He laid down on the sofa and flicked through TV channels, alternating between loud pop music and cartoons.
Logan got underway with report writing, putting all his concentration into a neat, left handed slant. Phoenix went to sleep and Hana rattled around bored. Mindful of her promise to James, she muttered something about visiting a random wife in the staff accommodation and disappeared before either of the men could question her further.
Hana found her tennis partner already on the courts with his ball delivery machine. She let herself in through the gate and borrowed the spare racquet, conveniently lying next to the man’s bag. Without speaking a word, the players whacked balls at each other with speed and abandon until they were both breathless and worn out. The tennis player welcomed Hana’s presence with regular smiles as she made him duck and dive to return her volleys and she revelled in the familiar, physical exertion. Her muscles remembered the stance and demands on their flexibility, responding keenly, if a little rusty. The sparring finished before nine o’clock as before and Hana jogged around the court, fetching rogue balls and waiting while her partner locked up.
Hana stroked her finger across the name, ‘Lachlan’ written on the racquet case as she zipped it up, fighting to remember anyone of that name. She remembered one Lachlan from school, but his hair was a sandy red and he wasn’t as nice to look at as her partner. It seemed ridiculous to ask his name at this late stage, especially as he’d known hers from the start, so Hana tried to make conversation that might give her clues. “So, you remember me on the tennis circuit,” she said matter-of-factly, caressing the expensive racquet cover. “Did you go to the Hamilton club?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” His blonde hair whipped up in the icy breeze and he smiled. “I loved watching you play; you have a natural grace and your backhand is dynamite.”
His compliment distracted Hana and she felt herself blush in the glow from the floodlights. “It was dynamite,” she said sadly. “Now it’s more like - rusty undischarged landmine.”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. Hana started in shock as his hand snaked gently around the back of her neck and he caressed her skin with strong fingers. She opened her mouth to protest but he covered her lips with an index finger smelling of tennis balls and rubber grips. “Sshh,” he whispered. “You’re a demon on the court, Hana Johal and a goddess off it. Leave me with my fantasies.”
Hana swallowed and he let her go, pushing the moment no further as if knowing she’d refuse. Hana clutched the racquet case and he took it from her, laying it on the back seat of the car, his fingers brushing hers in the action. Tasting the air for danger and reaching into her surroundings, Hana felt only peace and confusion. “Come again?” the man asked, his jaw angular and handsome as his blue eyes bore into hers.
She nodded with slowness born of doubt and pointed back towards the floodlights, remembering the real reason she came. “The lights are still on.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” The tennis player strode towards the darkened shed, jangling a set of keys in his hands. He sorted through them until he found the right one. Hana stuck close behind and watched as he drew the creaky door open, peering into the blackness inside. The model plane perched on an old desk in a dank corner. “That’s where it is!” she said, pretending to sound surprised. “My nephew’s plane came over here last week and he couldn’t find it. He’s been really upset.”
“Where?” he asked, peering into the gloom.
Hana turned a devastating smile in his direction. “There,” she replied, pointing a finger to direct his gaze. The tennis player ignored her raised hand, staring at her instead as though drinking in her beauty. Hana felt momentarily powerful and exploited the man’s adoration, tossing her hair and testing her latent skill to reel him in. He seemed stunned, fixated on Hana’s flushed complexion and windswept red locks and then he stepped back, allowing her into the shed.
“Help yourself,” he said with a wobble in his voice.
Hana walked up the steps and into the metal container before her common sense kicked in. She chided herself for her own stupidity at having willingly trapped herself, wondering if she learned nothing from her experience with Laval and his stalking. She felt her heart rate hike and the familiar pounding in her ears. Her hand shook as she snatched up the plane in her right hand, finding it heavier than she expected.
Hana swallowed and walked towards the open door with purpose, expecting at any minute to find her exit barred. “Thanks,” she said, her voice breathy and hollow.
“No problem,” the tennis player said with a smile, standing back to let her pass and closing the door behind her after flicking off the switch for the floodlights.
The area plunged into an eerie darkness as Hana bid him a shaky goodnight and jogged home, hearing the huge floods audibly click until they were almost as black as the night, leaving a slight, discernible glimmer as they cooled. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” Hana admonished herself, finding her lungs protesting as she reached her front door. The plane in her hand seemed ridiculously insignificant compared to what it might have cost her, had the tennis player been a different kind of man. Hana heard his car start up and caught sight of it passing the end of her road, a nondescript colour and model in the darkness.
When her heart rate returned to almost normal, Hana knocked on the door. Logan opened it and studied his wife, concern in his eyes at her dishevelled appearance. He stood back to let her in, touching her lightly on the back. “Have you been running?” he asked, suspicion etched into his chiselled face.
“It’s just a bit dark and scary out there,” Hana replied truthfully. “It made me want to run home.” Her hair was damp around her head and her cheeks pink and cold and she sensed Logan didn’t believe her. “Look what I found,” she said holding the plane aloft.
Tama looked up from his cramped position on the sofa, losing interest when he saw Hana didn’t possess the remote control to make it fly.
“Where did you find that?” Logan’s eyes narrowed and Hana gulped and shrugged.
“Just out there,” she said, sticking as close to the truth as possible, knowing Logan would smell a lie at thirty paces. Logan took the plane from her hand and peered at it as Hana bent to remove her trainers.
“Did you know it was missing?” he asked, his grey eyes boring into the side of Hana’s face. “Your mate, James has been bugging me about a plane he lost a while ago.”
“I just found it by chance,” Hana said, trying to sound innocent and engrossing herself with her knotted laces.
“So what’s this all over it?” her husband replied, looking at her with a gaze which felt as though it left a physical wound.
“I’ve no idea.” Hana peered at the greenery stuck in the plane’s wings, relaxing with relief at being able to align with truth again. “I didn’t see that in the dark.” She reached out to poke at a fluttery leaf and Logan lifted it above her head, his eyes flashing.
“Don’t touch it,” he said, his voice hard. “You don’t know what it is.”
Hana shrugged and wrinkled her nose. “Well, it won’t be poisonous, will it?” she scoffed. “Not in New Zealand.”
“Did you know you can die from touching cow parsley?” Tama chimed, looking pleased with himself. “It’s part of the hog weed family and contains a natural toxin that kills some people. It might be that.”
Hana shook her head and smirked at Logan, seeking his unanimity in mocking the teenager. He didn’t join in, eyeing her sideways as though she represented a risky filly who nobody else had managed to break. “Please can you give it back to James tomorrow?” she asked setting her expression to neutral.
Logan cocked his head and his eyes flashed. Guilt made Hana exasperated. “You said he’s been bugging you for it, Logan, so please will you give it back?”
“Ok.” He raised it above his head as Hana took another swipe for it. “I said I’d deal with it, Hana. Bloody hell, I’ll put it down here so just leave it alone.” He laid it underneath the table by his boots, out of the way in the cramped unit.
“Thanks.” Hana feigned normality and yawned. “I think I’ll go for a shower and then bed. Phoe keeps waking at four and it’s playing havoc with me at the moment.”
“Ok.” Logan softened and leaned in for a kiss, stroking Hana’s ruffled fringe away from her forehead. “I’ll be down later.”
As he heard the bathroom door click behind his wife, Logan turned to his nephew as the teenager sprawled on the sofa in his plastic wrap shroud. “I’m not going mad am I?” he asked. “That’s hash on that plane, isn’t it?”
Tama nodded with certainty and went back to watching the TV programme taking his mind off the pain in his ribs. “What’s my wife up to now?” Logan mused to himself and Tama shrugged, not caring.