Logan strode across the field towards St Bart’s, the morning frost heavy underfoot. The aeroplane dangled from his hand in a plastic bag, the bits of vivid green leaf absent from its fiberglass body. The Māori shook his head, narrowing his eyes at the time it took to separate the greenery from the plane and flush it down the toilet.
“What are you doing?” Tama had asked, staring over his shoulder as Logan sponged the plane’s surface with a wet cloth after midnight.
“It was covered in marijuana, idiot!” Logan bit. “Do you think I should’ve just rolled it into a joint and offered Bodie some?”
“Ah, probably not,” Tama replied. “Reckon Supercop’s got it in for both of us lately.”
“No kidding,” Logan breathed. He climbed into bed in the early hours having cleared the house, including Hana’s trainers and clothing of drugs.
“Want breakfast?” Hana asked as she wandered into the lounge and nudged her house guest with her toe.
“Na,” Tama sighed. “Don’t feel so good.”
“Oh, that’s worrying. Logan gone?” Hana yawned and stretched and the teenager nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Did he take the plane for James?” she asked, casting her eyes around looking for it.
“Yeah.”
Hana sighed. “Are you going to say anything other than yeah or na today?”
“Na.”
Tama stayed in his sleeping bag and remained uncommunicative. He couldn’t explain why the last inking session caused him more agony than all the others put together, but something to do with the wording disappearing into his boxer shorts and heading for his groin served as a clue. Hana did a load of washing, asking him to hang it on the line for her when it finished. Then she bundled up the baby and put her into the pram, walking into town with the clothes for the op shop and an idea she might visit the pharmacy and get something to help the suffering teenager.
The first pharmacist was unsympathetic when she told him about Tama’s tattoo and she left empty handed. “If the tattoo artist isn’t licenced, there’s all sorts of risks; hepatitis, HIV and various other dangers associated with tattoos.” The woman refused to sell Hana anything to help, insisting, “Get him to a doctor as quickly as possible.”
After the op shop visit, Hana walked to Hamilton East and found a much nicer response. She came away with anti-bacterial cream and stronger painkillers. The Asian man spoke with kindness and understanding, agreeing with Logan’s treatment of the area. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’d suggest he does. Apply this cream four times a day and repeat the dressing twice a day. Your husband’s right. It mustn’t dry out or form a scab.” He rolled up his sleeve and showed Hana a beautiful eagle which wrapped around his forearm.
“That’s amazing!” she breathed, admiring the realism of the image. “Did it hurt?”
The pharmacist shrugged and laughed. “I wouldn’t admit it. He’ll be fine. Look out for symptoms such as fever or weeping from the tattoo and general unwellness. Otherwise, he’ll just be sore for a few days and probably complain a lot.”
Strolling along Grey Street, Hana enjoyed window shopping without being tempted to go inside. The sound of her name being called made her stop and look around her.
“Hana! Over here!” Hana’s heart sank as she recognised Vik’s old friend and Anka’s ex-husband, calling to her from a parked car.
“Hi,” Hana said, only half committed to the conversation. Their last talk hadn’t been pleasant. “I’m just on my way somewhere,” she lied. “And I’m sure you’ve got work to do.”
Ivan gazed at her over the tops of his brown eyes, sensing Hana’s reluctance. He opened the car door and unwound himself from the driver’s seat, standing almost as tall as Logan. “I work for the council, Hana. You know how it works.”
Hana bit her lip and smiled. Ivan worked for the council in a managerial role, working in some capacity with the elected city councillors. Anka had regaled her friend with hilarious stories over the years of the things the great and good of Hamilton got up to. “I’m was waiting for a colleague to turn up to visit a shop owner on the block, but he’s just rung in sick. Would you like to go for coffee?”
“No, thanks. I have to go.” Hana backed away, seeing the sadness cross Ivan’s face.
“Please,” he said, reaching for her arm. “I’d like you to stay and hear my apology.”
And so Hana found herself sitting in the same cafe she met with Ivan’s wife some months ago, deciding the place must be cursed with a spirit of awkward conversations. Hana wedged the pram between two tables and checked Phoenix was still asleep, contemplating waking her and using her as an excuse to escape. They chatted about general matters until Ivan asked if she’d seen Anka lately.
“Not since February,” Hana answered, trying hard not to conjure up the vision of Tama’s backside working its muscular way back into its boxer shorts, or Anka sitting on Hana’s new sofa with her breasts spilling from her bra. Tama often referred to the lounge rug as the rectangle of passion, just to tease Hana.
Eventually, Ivan turned the conversation to his phone argument with Hana, over a year ago.
“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” he said. “You weren’t to blame and I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”
“It was an unbelievably difficult time for everyone,” Hana muttered, desperate to change the conversation. “It wasn’t a good time for me anyway but Anka’s affair with Tama made it worse.”
“Well,” Ivan said, “with you knowing how it felt, you were the last person I should have fought with.”
“What are you talking about?” Hana asked, something nasty seeping into her consciousness and wrapping itself around her heart.
Ivan swore and clamped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry, nothing. I meant nothing by it.”
Hana stared him down, making him squirm using a tactic learned from watching Logan operate. She never removed her green eyes from his face and in the end, he cracked. “I meant with Vik having the affair before he died,” Ivan said, feeling guilty as he watched the healthy pink colour drain from the pretty redhead’s face. “Sorry, Hana; I forgot you didn’t know. Please, forget I said anything.”
“You knew?” Hana said, her voice a husky whisper. “How?”
Ivan stirred his coffee, having opened a can of worms he wasn’t equipped to deal with. He waited a long moment before answering the crushed woman opposite him. “I met Vik the afternoon before he died. He was upset. We bumped into each other and he told me everything; that he’d met someone else and been seeing her for a long while, a year I think it was. He planned to tell you that day because he...” Ivan took a deep breath. “He was leaving with her, Hana. They had tickets booked for somewhere else, to go and sit it out for a while until you’d calmed down and then he planned to move in with her. I can’t remember her name.”
Hana’s mind drifted back to that same day, over nine years previously. She was unwell, thinking it was a virus that wouldn’t go away. Vik left for work and Hana called in sick after realising she wasn’t well enough to go into school. She went back to bed feeling dreadful after sending Bodie and Izzie off on the bus. Waking up mid-morning she found her husband standing over her with an odd look on his face. Rushing to the toilet she was violently ill, shaking and shivering and knowing something was badly wrong. Vik drove her to the doctors and they diagnosed a kidney infection and tried to send her to hospital. She refused, accepting antibiotics and going home. She felt absolutely dreadful, coping with the shivers and sweats that went with the illness and the overwhelming back pain. Vik disappeared in the afternoon, promising Hana he’d return. He picked the children up from school and bought take-away for tea. Hana couldn’t eat, going to bed early and having a fitful night.
The next day she felt slightly better but still not well enough to go to work, trying to sleep it off in the empty house. The frantic knocking mid-afternoon disturbed her and drove her to answer the front door to the two police officers, bearing the kind of news which had the power to destroy the hearer.
Ivan looked at her fearfully. “I said, he didn’t leave you, Hana. So it was ok. He must have loved you and decided to stay.”
Hana looked at him and he could see the shock in her face. Her coffee grew cold on the table and the baby snuffled in her pram. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “I forgot you didn’t know.”
“I knew,” Hana whispered.
Ivan looked relieved. “Thank goodness for that!” he gushed. “We all watched you for ages, wondering what to do. But it seemed you were oblivious, so we decided not to say anything.”
“Who’s we?” Hana asked with more courage than she felt.
Ivan realised instantly he’d gaffed again. Only the look on his face this time was unrepentant and cruel. Hana gritted her teeth and asked him again, “Who knew?”
“Me, Anka and the pastor. Pastor Ben, who left to go on mission in Vanuatu before Allen came.”
Hana felt like someone who’d had a dreadful prank played on them, a prank that everyone else would find funny, except her. The fact Anka had known about her husband’s infidelity hit her like a slap, rendering the safe years of their friendship – the pre Tama years – nothing but a big fat fake.
Hana stood up slowly, retrieving the pram and struggling as she forgot to take off the brake. She backed out of the space and left the shop, leaving Vik’s old friend and ally to pay for the spilled coffee, gaily making its way across the table top and down onto the floor. She walked around in a daze, feeling stunned as her former life unravelled around her legs. Eventually, her wandering took her back to the unit, but she stood outside, not sure what to do next. A desire to see Logan drove her across the field to the boarding house, pushing the pram along the corridor to the office where her watch told her he might be at this time. She knocked on the door and opened it at his rough, “Come in,” feeling relieved to see him leaned over the computer in a standing position.
“Hey love,” he said, masking the inner wince he felt at her interruption. “It’s not a good time, babe. Can we talk later?”
“I saw Ivan, and he said...”
“Who’s Ivan?” Logan asked. Irritation crept into his voice.
“Anka’s husband and...” Hana tried to begin again and distaste crossed Logan’s face as he didn’t bother to hide his dislike for Hana’s former friend. He instinctively knew anything to do with her meant trouble.
“Hana, I’ve got something on right now. Could we talk about this later?” He gritted his teeth, under pressure but trying to be pleasant about it.
“They all knew, they all knew about Vik’s affair, they knew!” she wailed.
Logan swore, using a word he rarely let escape his lips. It was enough to stop Hana in her tracks. The pen from his hand shattered as it hit the wall opposite. “Not him again!” he bit. “Can he not stay dead just for one day? Far out, Hana, it’s over, long gone. Can’t you move on? I thought you were married to me now! Please, I need to deal with something here and then we can talk later.”
Hana backed away, feeling his temper oozing out across the room at her. Logan reached out for her, his eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Hana, but you sure pick your moments. The cops are crawling all over the boarding house, driving me mad wanting to interview the boys!” The phone rang and he snatched it up. “What?” Someone’s voice came out of the handset, sounding tinny and far away. “Look, I’m up to my eyeballs, Senior Sergeant Johal and I’m not your lackey. Pete’s currently playing tag team with me because the principal wants an adult to sit in on all the interviews. That’s in between teaching classes!” Bodie rang off and Logan sank into his chair, running his fingers through his hair. “Where the bloody hell are you, you stupid boy?” he muttered. He was tired, frustrated and fed up - currently trying to locate a student who wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He ran a hand over his eyes and squeezed the painful bridge of his nose as another headache fought for traction in his senses. “Geez, who am I looking for again?” he asked himself, trying to remember the surname of the boy he was running through the timetable system. When he looked up, Hana was gone.
She ran along the corridor, pushing the pram ahead of her and almost smashing it into Acting Detective Inspector Odering as he came in the front doors. He held the left-hand door open for her, looking at her curiously as she failed to acknowledge him or return his greeting. He drew the obvious conclusion that something was rattling her and catching sight of her husband through the open door of the office, smirked to himself. Hoping Mr Du Rose was already wound up, the detective sauntered to his lair to upset him a bit more.
Outside in the wintry sunshine, Hana still didn’t want to go back to the unit. She wanted to run far away but quelled the urge. Logan was fed up of flushing her out and she knew he would, even if it was only to say he was sorry. She stamped her foot angrily, recognising she wasn’t cross with her husband, but herself. He was right. He’d already told her he felt bombarded by her first husband’s influence on her life and she had disregarded his confession, dumping another lorry load onto his head. Hana felt like laying on the concrete and banging her own stupid head on the ground in the hope she might knock some sense into it. She bit back the surging, threatening feelings of betrayal and stamped over to the unit.
Inside, she gave Tama the cream and instructions from the nice pharmacist and grabbed her car keys. “Where are you going?” he demanded. “I’m bored now. Wait for me. I’ll do this and come with you.”
“I’m going to Culver’s Cottage,” Hana replied, feeling fractious and prickly. “And you’re not even dressed. I want to go now.” Hana refused to wait so the silly boy, clad only in his boxer shorts and sleeping bag, hopped out of the unit, down the steps and into the car, remaining ensconced in his bedding. He looked like a big blue caterpillar and it took him longer to get in the Honda than it did for Hana to transfer the sleeping baby into the vehicle. Despite his valiant efforts, Hana was uncommunicative for the journey up to Culver’s Cottage.
Up at the house, Tama slithered across the living room floor and lit a fire, trying not to use the flammable sleeping bag and himself as kindling. Once it roared happily, he settled on the rug on his stomach to enjoy the Sky TV channels Logan got installed over the summer. Hana hauled the car seat into the living room. “Watch Phoe for me please?”
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“Mind your own beeswax,” Hana replied. Tama turned back to watching a cartoon channel and she sighed. Then she got to work, rampaging around the house checking every room for evidence of her former husband in photographs or memorabilia. There weren’t many and none of him by himself. They were pictures of her children but as their father, Vik appeared in some of them; holding a baby Izzie or resting his hand on Bodie’s shoulder as he stood proudly wielding a soccer trophy. Hana had been trying to maintain continuity for her children, in her own way attempting not to trash the old as she brought in the new. But she acknowledged it as a massive fail. Bodie couldn’t and wouldn’t accept Logan and Izzie, who was entirely supportive, wasn’t there to see them anyway.
Downstairs in the garage, Hana found two small crate boxes and lumbered them upstairs, laying them on the kitchen table. She divided the photographs, sharing them out between her two children, handing responsibility to the next generation. Hana had photo albums stashed away which amply recounted her children’s growing up years with handwritten captions and those she kept for herself. There were only four and they sat safely on the bookshelf in the living room, at the bottom where they couldn’t offend anyone. Hana saw Izzie sometimes in Phoenix and she reserved the right get the albums out and compare occasionally. There were more surplus pictures and Hana spent an hour dividing them. She left the framed photos in their current state. Her children could keep them like that or take them out.
Hana fired up her old laptop, putting it on to charge as she used it. She located all their recent downloaded photos, including a much older selfie Logan transferred from his old phone before Hana threw it into the gully to stop his ex fiance pestering him. It was taken on their wedding day, standing outside Hamilton registry office in the sunshine. Hana’s green dress, which she borrowed from Anka, contrasted stunningly against her red hair and green eyes and Logan looked handsome. The excitement of their secret marriage shone through their eyes in the selfie, which contained part of Logan’s arm. Hana remembered how precious their first day and night were as Mr and Mrs Du Rose; untouched by anyone else.
Hana created an album on the laptop and added a selection of photographs; her and Phoenix, Logan and Phoenix and some of herself with her older children. She discovered a lovely one of Logan with Izzie’s three children balanced on top of him and added it to the file, reminded of his passion as he caught up with his pregnant, runaway wife. There was a picture of Logan and Jas sleeping on the sofa together, snuggled up with the tatty old Action Man peeking out from between them and looking fierce like a sentry. Hana downloaded them onto a USB stick.
“I’m nipping out; I won’t be long. There’s a packet of baby rice on the side in the kitchen if Phoe wakes and I’ve got my phone on me.” Hana sighed as Tama snored and she checked her daughter who slept in the car seat with her thumb in her mouth. “Bye, Mum,” she muttered to herself and left. Hana shot into Ngaruawahia to the pharmacy there, knowing they had photographic machines. Something which might have taken a child ten minutes, took Hana an hour. A complete techno-moron, she had several accidents and misprints before finally attracting the attention of an assistant who helped her print off the right size photographs and added attractive effects to the ones Hana pointed out. The girl was brilliant, softening the edges on the photo outside the registry office and making it look dreamy. “That was my secret wedding,” Hana admitted, biting her lip and looking coy.
“Right then,” the assistant exclaimed. “Sepia it is.” She aged the photo digitally, making it look like a romantic 1950s picture.
“Your husband’s gorgeous,” the girl gushed and Hana smiled, feeling proud for once instead of threatened. She wondered if the girl would still think that if she told her that her last conversation with him included a ‘b’ word, ‘f’ word and something that Hana couldn’t say, let alone spell, which may have been French. She paid for the photos and ventured next door to the $2 shop, spending another half an hour choosing from the cheap frames in the shop. Hana clanked through the frames, choosing ones that looked mock-antique and were the right size, struggling up to the till with her basket of wares, the bag of photos swinging from her right wrist.
Back at the house, she found Tama still on the floor, zoned out by the antics of Popeye and his Olives and to her surprise, Phoenix was wide awake next to him, swinging her legs in her car seat and watching the cartoon. Hana sighed, shaking her head in disbelief and laid her purchases on the kitchen table. She boiled the kettle and whipped up baby rice for Phoenix and a sandwich for her wounded soldier. Deciding to change her baby’s nappy before she fed her, Hana took her to the bedroom and made sure she was clean and decent. Phoenix became tetchy half way through the process, grizzling and fearing lunch wasn’t coming. She cheered up when Hana sat her on her knee and fed her, managing to keep the mess restricted to her face. Tama shuffled in and sat on a chair, his hair sticking up on end.
“You feeling better?” Hana asked and he nodded and tucked into his sandwich of just-about-defrosted-bread from the downstairs freezer and jam from the pantry. “Sorry,” she said, “there’s nothing fresh here.”
She realised what a waste the house was, sitting on its mountain waiting for the occasional runaway Hana to turn up. Tama looked curiously at the bags on the table but didn’t ask what they were. “Will you be ok to drive up to Auckland in a few days?” Hana said.
“About that, please can I borrow your car? I don’t know if the ute will make it up there without making me scared it’ll break down or cause me to be late.”
“Course you can,” Hana replied. “But don’t be silly in it because I’ll make sure the speeding tickets come back to you.”
Tama nodded, finishing his sandwich and raiding the pantry for biscuits and other instant crap. Then, kissing Phoenix on top of her head and receiving a gummy smile for his efforts, he disappeared back to the TV and a feature-length edition of ‘Rug Rats.’
After a breastfeed, Phoenix went into the living room with Tama, cuddling up with him on the sofa. When Hana checked on them later, they were both asleep with the child snuggled into his bare chest and her lower half stuffed down the sleeping bag. Hana took a photo of them on her phone, smiling at the sight of Tama sealed into plastic wrap like a food item.
Hana worked quickly, snipping up the photographs and slotting them into their new frames. Then she walked around the house, hanging them on the walls. It was good fun and felt releasing. She kept three back for the unit, stroking the glass of her favourite; a photo of Hana with Phoenix and Tama, taken by an obliging gardener at Hamilton Gardens recently. As Hana took down a picture over the fireplace and replaced it with the most expensive frame containing her and Logan’s wedding selfie, she disturbed the pair on the sofa.
Phoenix pushed her little face into Tama’s downy chest and sucked her thumb, trying to stay asleep, but he looked as though he’d been trapped in the same position for too long. “I’ll take her,” Hana whispered, swaddling her baby into her chest and giving her another breastfeed when she got stroppy. It gave Tama time to wake properly and stretch. “You need to get a shower so we can go back,” she told him. “No, leave that.” She pointed to the dressing as he dropped the sleeping bag and picked at the plastic. “It’ll stop the soap getting onto it and I can redo it before we leave.”
Tama nodded and padded to the shower, digging around in his bedroom drawers for clean clothes. He looked more human once he returned. The baby dozed back off in her car seat and Hana helped Tama rub the antibacterial, antiseptic cream into the bottom two lines of the waiata below his waistband. “Turn around and do your groin yourself,” she said, not willing to shove her fingers anywhere near the randy boy’s shorts. Hana held the cream and squeezed it out onto his finger while he used his other hand to keep his clothing away from it. He winced, but it didn’t seem as painful as before.
“I think it’s getting better, Ma. Thanks for getting all that stuff for me.”
“It’s soft skin down there, you idiot,” Hana said. “But it’s a beautiful piece of artwork. I love the font, how it’s all squirly whirly and delicate. Is that the song Logan sings for Phoenix about guarding your inheritance?”
Tama nodded and his next words made her sad. “I don’t have an inheritance. Kane doesn’t want me and nor does Michael. I have no direct genealogical link to you guys other than uncle and aunty and I didn’t feel I could get Logan’s name on me without looking desperate. I don’t own anything or anywhere so I thought I’d get the words of this old song tattooed on me. Our Maori heritage is descended from Hone Heke of the Ngā Puhi tribe, you know the chief who kept chopping the British flag pole down.” He sighed. “I’m not even registered on the Maori roll for elections. So this is all I’ve got.”
Hana reached up and put her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and wishing she could do something to take his pain away. “I’d love to adopt you,” she said quietly, “but I think you’re too old. For what it’s worth, we do think of you as ours.”
Tama nodded and kissed the top of Hana’s head. “I know, Ma,” he replied, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so loved. It makes me feel safe. Kind of...invincible.”
Hana shook her head, fearfully. “No, not invincible, love. Invincible Tama is a scary prospect and I don’t want to rescue you from any more stupid situations.”
He laughed and waved the roll of plastic wrap at her, accidentally poking her in the face. She slapped him on the arm and then rolled him into his unusual shroud. Hana couldn’t find any masking tape at the last minute so used a length of duct tape, which she ripped into small pieces instead. “Good job it’s not summer,” she said, trying to look on the bright side, “you’d bake in there.”
They tore themselves away and returned to Hamilton, arriving back on site an hour after the final bell sounded. Logan was at the unit but not in a better mood. He sat at the small table with a sheaf of reports in front of him and another heap on the floor. He kept muttering and scribbling through them with a red pen.
“I thought you did yours ages ago,” Hana said, picking up one he’d completely defaced with corrections.
“I did!” he snapped. “But as head of department I have to check everyone under me. Angus has made me do the accounting and French departments as their heads seem incapable of writing English.” He balled up a piece of A5 paper and threw it across the room, putting his head in his hands. “Phoenix could do better than these idiots! I don’t know how some of them teach when they can’t even write in full sentences.” He got up and retrieved the wadded up paper, unscrewing it and trying to flatten it on the table under a bunch of others.
Hana and Tama retreated to the safety of the bedroom with the baby, lying on the bed and chatting. Logan appeared an hour later, his hair sticking up on end and dark circles forming under his eyes. He laid across the bottom of the bed, shoving Tama’s feet out of his face.
Hana abandoned them after feeding Phoenix and went to the kitchen to rustle up dinner. She made a decently filling pasta dish and called them all to eat, shrugging at Logan’s papers strewn across the table. Two men and a baby slept soundly on the bed, lying like an abandoned game of Jenga.
Hana dished herself up pasta and sat at the table. Taking the red pen, she dug into her memory banks for her English degree and set to work with the red pen on the report drafts. By the time Logan and Tama stumbled to the lounge with Phoenix, Hana had completed the corrections and stacked them alphabetically by student surname and pinned together by department. She felt uncannily pleased with herself.
Phoenix ate the thick soup Hana warmed up from her cooking exertions, sitting in her high chair and not spilling a drop. The men slumped on the sofa eating out of bowls and not communicating. Both brooded and Hana felt the loaded testosterone whipping around the room. They polished off the huge dish of pasta and Logan loaded the dirties into the dishwasher. Hana cleaned her daughter up and breast fed her, mindful of the little teeth in her bottom gums. Phoenix was smiley and happy, wanting to do more noise making than drinking and Hana gave up. “You’re so gorgeous,” she whispered to her daughter, receiving a gummy smile.
When her cell phone bleeped at her from the table, Hana found a text from Jas. ‘Thanks Hanny and Poppa Logan for my new Action Man and outfit. I’m sending a photo.’ Clearly Amy was doing the texting. Another bleep heralded the photograph. A beaming Jas stood in Amy’s kitchen sporting a full size army uniform and waving a matching Action Man doll. Hana spotted the old doll’s feet hanging off the kitchen table in the background.
“Jas just sent a weird text,” she said, sounding confused. “I didn’t send him a gift.”
“He did.” Tama pointed his spoon at Logan and his uncle sighed.
“Thanks, big mouth.”
“Oh, sorry. Was it a secret?” Tama smirked, not looking sorry.
“Aw, did you really send Jas a present?” Hana asked, pushing the memory of her angry husband from her mind and replacing it with the kind, bashful man at the kitchen sink.
“I ordered it online,” Logan muttered.
Hana peered at the picture. Jas looked much better, his little blue cast sticking out of the camouflage jacket sleeve rigidly. She sent back a text to her grandson, telling him it was all Poppa’s work and not hers. He sent back a kiss which Hana tried to show Logan, but he was still grumpy and she gave up.
“I did something for you today,” Hana began, reaching for the bag containing the picture frames. Logan looked interested but the loud hammering on the front door heralded the arrival of her son in full uniform and Odering in civvies.
Logan let them in and Hana saw his patience hanging by a thread at the unexpected guests. Bodie was stiff and formal and Odering just plain aggravating. Tama shot off the sofa and went to Hana’s room to watch the portable TV balanced on the cupboard. “You’re working late,” Hana said politely to the cops, laying Phoenix under the baby gym and thinking yet again she should return it to Amanda.
“Is it witching hour already?” Logan commented sarcastically. The men hung around, taking up valuable space until Hana invited them to sit. Logan crashed around in the kitchen, washing up the pasta dish and pointedly ignoring the police officers. The presence of the men seemed to fill the tiny space. It was like an uncomfortable game of Sardines. Hana felt claustrophobic.
“We’re looking for a key, Mr Du Rose,” Odering began. “It’ll open a shed over by the tennis courts which we understand Mr Collins frequented.”
Logan leaned on the breakfast bar, drying his hands on a towel. “Why would I know where the key is?” he snapped. “It’s a school matter, not a St Bart’s issue. Take it up with Angus.”
“You were heard arguing with the deceased on the Thursday before his death. You wanted him to open the shed. What was that about?”
“Bloody hell!” Logan postured, his temper fraying by the second. “A student made a complaint about Collins to my deputy manager. He said Collins hid something of his in the shed and wouldn’t give it back. I wanted to see if he had it.”
“And did he?” Odering’s voice was like syrup. Bodie’s face was impassive as Hana watched.
“No idea,” shrugged Logan. “He told me to ‘bugger off,’ said he wasn’t opening the shed and I could do something to myself which I don’t think is physically possible, even if I was tempted. I left it and intended to speak to Angus the following Monday. I saw Collins on Friday and we spoke about something else and then the next time I saw him, he was doing a convincing impression of a mole.”
“Did you speak to Principal Blair?” Odering asked and Logan shook his head.
“Angus wasn’t at school that week because he was at a conference in Dunedin. The next time I saw him was at a social soccer match and no, it didn’t seem that important.”
“So, it went out of your head, did it? Until when?” Odering’s eyes widened like a wolf scenting blood.
“What?” Logan didn’t understand the question.
“What reminded you about the student’s property, Mr Du Rose? When did you think of it again?”
Logan paused, clearly trying to think on his feet. Hana sighed and closed her eyes, realising she’d put him in a difficult situation without meaning to. She decided to speak for herself and Logan widened his eyes the minute she opened her mouth, warning her with his expression to shut up. She ignored him, choosing truth as her only option, not understanding how very much she would be made to regret it.
“He was reminded about it when I showed him the object last night,” Hana said from her corner. All eyes turned to her. Logan threw the towel onto the counter and folded his arms, leaning back against the sink. He looked angry and Hana wouldn’t get eye contact with him. “I didn’t know Logan was aware of it being missing because we didn’t have a conversation about it before last night. The student came to me directly. I went to bed shortly after getting in and Logan returned it to James this morning.”
“Are we talking about the model aeroplane? Belonging to...” Odering consulted his pocket book with exaggerated movements, even though he knew the boy’s name from memory. “James Wong.” He fixed an acid stare on Hana and so did Bodie. The only thing missing was the interrogation lighting and thumb screws and Hana would feel the scene was complete.
“That’s right,” she answered, injecting deadly calm into her voice. “James came to me upset about it. It was a gift from home. His mother works hard to keep him at the school and it was a generous present.”
“We know all that,” Odering said rudely, “where was it found?”
“In the shed,” Hana said, hearing Logan’s sharp intake of breath.
“By you?” the detective snapped.
Hana nodded and cringed at the look of anger on Odering’s face. “And how did you get into the shed, when nobody else has been able to?” He spoke to her as though she was thick and it grated on Hana’s nerves.
“Oh, I’m sure if you’d really wanted to, you could have crow-barred the door or something,” she replied sweetly.
Odering stood up and strode over to Hana. He dwarfed her and she felt uncomfortable. She heard Logan’s socks pad across the laminate floor and knew his instinct for protecting her might lead to him finally smacking the detective. She sensed he’d wanted to for a long time and knew she needed to stop him getting into trouble for her. Hana pushed herself to a standing position, putting her hand on top of the pile of papers to stop them shifting in the movement of bodies. Odering stood back and Logan visibly relaxed. Bodie stayed on the sofa like an obedient little dog. “How did you get into the shed?” the detective asked her again through gritted teeth.
“The tennis man let me in,” she replied honestly. She had nothing to be worried about as long as she told the truth. Robert always promised her that. ‘Tell the truth, hen. There’s no fear in the truth.’
“The what?” It was incredible. All three men said the same words at exactly the same moment. Hana giggled.
“The tennis man. He comes every night to play on the courts. He has a key to the shed because he turns the floodlights on and off from inside, instead of going back to the main building.”
Odering whipped round and pointed an accusing finger at Bodie. “Who is this guy? If he comes every night why don’t I know about him?”
Bodie was on his feet looking silly. “Nobody’s ever mentioned him before!” he exclaimed, defending the investigation which had fallen on his shoulders. Hana looked at her son strangely.
“I thought you were a traffic cop,” she said and Bodie glared at her.
“When does he come?” Odering snapped at Hana. “The tennis player; when does he come?”
“Just evenings. I wander out there and he’s usually there. He said he comes most evenings. Angus knows about him because we have to turn the lights off around nine to avoid complaints from residents.”
“What residents?” Logan asked.
“The ones round the back of...” Hana’s face dropped. The courts were surrounded by gully, classrooms and sports pitches. She felt unnerved, wringing her hands and feeling the steady pulse beat increase in her chest.
“And why were you meeting this man at night?” Odering beaked at her, his nose pointy in his angry face. He didn’t like being caught on the back foot and blamed Hana.
“I wasn’t meeting him!” Hana sounded aghast, anger flaring in her eyes as she put her hands on her hips. “He was already there playing. I practiced against him, let him spar against me for variation. It’s boring against a delivery machine all the time.”
Odering swore and Hana grew frightened. Phoenix had stopped playing and lay on the rug, watching the tall men like a fragile ladybird in a dark forest.
“Why are you inferring things?” Hana cried, looking pointedly at Bodie, despite the fact he hadn’t spoken. “I know you’d love it if Logan divorced me. Well, he probably will now. He’s already sick of me! Now you’re making it sound like I’m doing something wrong!”
Before anyone could react, Hana rushed across to her daughter, scooping her up and taking her to the bedroom while the men faced each other. She put the baby on the bed with Tama and then backed towards the door.
“S’up?” he asked without taking his eyes off the TV. She shook her head. Nothing. Everything.
Grabbing her trainers from the wardrobe, Hana slipped them onto her feet. She felt shaken and upset. The whole day had been blighted and ruined from the off. She was a one-woman-disaster-area. Logan would believe she was having an affair; her best friend had spent nine years studying her deceitfully for signs she knew about Vik’s other woman and so had her pastor. Her pastor! Her son detested her and now she’d inadvertently walked into a whole heap of trouble without seeing it coming. No wonder Logan had wanted her to keep quiet.
Hana ran to the tennis courts, desperate to take her anger out on a round yellow ball, to hit it as though it was one of the men who seemed to think it was ok to dictate to and bully her into submission. Rounding the last corner, disappointment coursed through her veins like acid as she saw the darkness surrounding the courts. They looked cold and dead and Hana’s heart sank like a stone. She pressed herself against the fence, feeling sharp wire cutting into her fingers as she gripped it and rested her forehead against the unforgiving diamond shapes it made. She heard a noise, but it sounded like it belonged to someone else, a dreadful gasping cry like a trapped animal. The sound returned to her, echoing off the concrete and bouncing back amidst the hiss of the trees along the gully side of the courts. Hana turned and sank to the ground, her fleece ripping on the broken, spiteful ends of metal and her fingers cutting and tearing the same way as she forgot to let go.
Hana cried fit to bust, gulping in great breaths between the sobs and causing her lungs to panic and constrict. She wondered inwardly why she was so affected by the men rounding on her and knew it was guilt for having a secret rendezvous with a stranger. She liked the tennis player and enjoyed his company, but craved the physical challenge of meeting his powerful serves and returning them with something like her old fire. All the while Hana held the racquet in her hand, she was over a decade younger, full of that zest for life which came with confidence and success. She was good at something, outside of being a wife and mother. It was a private pleasure, something she could indulge herself in, but the men had been horrified, twisting and turning it, putting a slant on it which it didn’t deserve. They had ruined it and to make matters worse, the sanctuary of the tennis player wasn’t even there.
Hana sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She felt unbelievably sad, grief stricken but not understanding why such an emotion would rear its head again. I have so much to be grateful for! She chided herself roughly, so that guilt added itself to the mix and made her even more miserable. The only thing missing she decided, was a mirror so she could watch herself cry and prolong the draining but cleansing feeling for longer. She sniffed and snotted on her sleeve again, reasoning it didn’t matter. She felt and heard the rip down the back as she slid dramatically down the fence. Hana cried again, sad because it was one of her favourite fleeces.
The footsteps coming through the darkness were soft, discernible only by the grit under the sole of his boots. Logan folded himself in half and sat on the concrete next to Hana, leaning back against the fence and sighing. Hana wiped her sleeve across her face, putting more wet on than she took off. She changed sleeves and made a dreadful snorting noise trying to clean up her face. She felt Logan move next to her and suspected he was laughing.
“Go away!” Hana struggled to stand up, feeling stupid, but her husband seized her right wrist and pulled her back down, managing to get his arm around her. She fought against him pathetically, knowing it was futile but wanting to make a point. He kept a firm grip on her and kissed her once on the side of the head. Hana sighed, hating his power to make her feel better. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” she sniffed when the silence had eaten away at her nerves, “I was just playing tennis.”
Logan said nothing and Hana resisted the urge to babble aimlessly, knowing it was at those moments she seemed to get herself into the most trouble. When he removed his arm and shifted his weight on the concrete, she felt cut loose and it wasn’t a good sensation. Logan crossed his legs under him and leaned forward, sitting like a primary school child in assembly, incongruous with his six foot four inch height. “I never knew you were so good at tennis,” he said quietly. “Bodie said you and his dad used to scoop up a lot of the local awards. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hana shrugged petulantly. “What’s the point? It was another Hana in a whole other life.”
Logan’s heels dragged against the grit as he moved his feet. “We could have played. I’m not too bad, probably not as good as...Vik, but not completely uncoordinated.”
He was reaching out to her, offering an olive branch but Hana didn’t feel ready to take it yet. She exhaled and it came out more spitefully than she intended. “Don’t mention his name, Logan. Remember how angry it makes you.”
Logan sighed. “Yep, I deserved that. I’m sorry about before. What were you trying to tell me about Anka’s husband?”
“Get lost, Logan.” Hana heard him snuff and knew he was smiling. “I mean it!” she snapped. “Don’t mention Vik when you don’t want to hear it. He was a huge part of my life and I’ve spent all day trying to undo it. For you, Logan. For you! I wanted to show you the photos I made, but you weren’t interested. So now I’m not interested in you. Just go away.”
“Are you happy, Hana?” His question sounded sad.
“Yes!” she snapped, but it came out whiney and made her ashamed of herself.
“I realise it’s not what you bargained for, staying in a shoebox and playing ‘mummy’ again, but if you wanted to go back to work, there’s lots of options we can look at.” Logan was trying hard to regain ground with his fuming wife.
“I don’t know what I want,” Hana sighed. “How can you help me if I can’t help myself?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Logan said, turning towards her, “I could go part time if you want, so you can go back to work. Maihi would probably love the income for looking after Phoenix if there’s any overlap. I’d give up working at the boarding house and we could live back up at Culver’s Cottage. What do you think?”
Hana’s brow furrowed as she thought about what he offered. It was a massive jump from where they were and she didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know where I would work anymore,” she said sadly then. “I don’t know if I could be bothered to get another job. I’ve lost all my confidence. Too much has happened.”
“Actually, Angus asked if you’d be interested in a job on reception. Mrs-What’s-Her-Name retires at the end of this year and he thought it might be ideal for you. I told him you might not want full time again and he suggested mornings. He could get someone else to job share the afternoons if you were interested. I said I’d ask.”
Hana groaned. “I don’t know, Logan. I don’t know what to do!”
“It’s ok,” he said, reaching for her hand. “You don’t have to tell him right now.” He shifted next to her again, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against the fence. He put his arm around her and this time she didn’t push him away.
“I always thought you wanted to go back up to the hotel and run it yourself,” Hana said, surprised when he shrugged.
“Not yet. I’m not ready. I’ve run it at a distance for so many years I need a plan to ease myself back in if I’m staying for any length of time. I know I keep a tight rein on things, but you can’t turn up and displace all the management you’ve had in place, especially when it’s good management. The time will come, but not right now.”
Hana nodded, understanding. “I’d have to work with Amanda if I took the reception job.” She sounded regretful. Logan shook his head trying to catch up with her ability to flit about from subject to subject.
“Maybe not,” he said, his tone mysterious. “She’s actually not doing that well. Angus is frustrated with her. She’s rubbish at passing on messages and is completely disorganised. Angus said she’s worse than the last woman for gossiping. He can’t tell her anything. He has to wait until the other lady comes in the afternoon and get her to do all the confidential stuff because he can’t trust Amanda.”
“Yeah, he’s not the only one,” Hana mused, chiding herself for feeling smug about Amanda’s failure.
“Anyway,” Logan said, “a lot can happen in a few months. We might not even be here.”
“What...dead?” Hana said, horrified.
Logan laughed and it was a cheerful, welcome noise. “No, you egg! I was thinking about applying for a year’s leave and taking you travelling. You could show me where you grew up and went to uni. Then we could look around Europe for a while. It’ll be easier while Phoenix is still little because she won’t complain about the things we want to see. What do you think?”
“Gosh,” said Hana, surprised. “It sounds amazing!” They were both quiet for a moment as their thoughts ran unchecked. Then Hana said, “We could ride the Circle Line tube train and show Phoenix where we first met.”
Logan kissed her tenderly and smiled in the darkness, thinking how strange it would feel, but also how perfect. “Hana,” he whispered. “I need to sort something out with you.”
Hana heard the weight in his tone and knew he intended to broach something major. She stiffened, wondering which of her many issues he would raise first. Logan cleared his throat. “Could you work on not bringing up the word ‘divorce’ every time you think I’m dirty at you? It’ll make Phoenix feel insecure once she’s old enough to understand what you mean. To be honest, it doesn’t make me feel too great either.”
“Sorry,” Hana said instantly, feeling ashamed of herself at the obvious truth of her husband’s words.
“More than not saying it, I need you to stop thinking it either. I’ve got no intention of letting you get off that lightly. I’ll keep hold of you and make you suffer, not get rid of you, woman.”
Hana said nothing, hearing his assurances but not believing them. Logan sensed it. “Look, I understand in your first marriage you felt insecure and unworthy of Vik. But I’m not him, Hana. I didn’t marry you out of obligation or duty, I married you because you’re the only person I’ve ever loved or wanted. We can’t come back to this again; I don’t know how to help you anymore. You need to hear what I’m saying and believe me this time.”
Hana nodded against his shoulder and felt a curious feeling of relief, like sunshine on her skin. It was pleasant and edifying. “I worry...” she began and Logan interrupted her with a startling truth.
“Worrying’s a sin. The chaplain told the boys at the last chapel service. He said it wasn’t biblical – that if you’re worrying, it’s because you’re relying on the wrong person. See, I do listen.”
Hana felt slammed, closing her lips and knowing he was right. Without a suitable retort, for once she stayed silent.
“I suppose I shouldn’t promise not to divorce you though, should I?” Logan said and his voice sounded full of doubt. “If you were unhappy and wanted me to let you go, I would...I think. I’d hate us to be like Mum and Dad...Alfred. I often wonder if things would have been better if my grandmother acted differently and made Alfred let Miriam go. It would’ve been awful, but perhaps better for Mum. She was so unhappy and I never knew my father. Hindsight’s a funny thing isn’t it?” He sounded unbelievably sad and Hana’s heart ached for him.
“Ever since your mum and Reuben died,” she said, “I’ve thought a lot about the same thing. I think instead of worrying that Vik married me for the wrong reasons and spending too many years trying to make it up to him, I should have just called it quits, thanked him for trying to do the right thing and parted friends. At least then, I’d have access to back up when Bodie went ‘bush’ for days, or stayed out drinking and smoking dope with his dodgy mates. Vik might be even be alive today.”
Logan raised his eyebrows in the darkness, enjoying the thought of Supercop smoking dope but Hana hadn’t finished. “Logan, maybe the secret is to carry on being brutally honest, even when it hurts. I can’t imagine ever wanting to divorce you or be divorced by you, but if we get to that stage, instead of feeling trapped, maybe we can talk honestly and sort it out and change some stuff. Instead of receding into the pit of despair and then trying to crawl my way out, I should have been honest with Vik. He might have met me half way and I’ll never know that now. It strikes me that the similarity between my marriage and your mother’s is that we were both pretending we were happy and could make it right. But we couldn’t; the odds were stacked against us both. I don’t have to pretend with you, so maybe we got off to a better start but I am happy being married to you. My heart just needs to let my face know sometimes.”
Logan smiled and hugged her tightly into him, whispering, “Thank goodness for that! I do love you, Hana.”
He sat up, jiggling around underneath him with his hand. Hana wondered if he’d become invaded by one of the horrid night bugs that wandered around in the darkness. She watched the glow of his mobile phone as he retrieved it from his back pocket. “It’s Tama. It says ‘code red’,” he said, sounding bemused.
“That’s Phoenix,” Hana said knowledgeably. “It means she’s squalling and he can’t cope.”
Hana worked her way up the fence backwards and heard her fleece give another rip. Logan helped her unhook herself and then wrapped his arms around her, kissing her and holding her tight. They held hands walking back to the unit and Hana dreaded having to face Tama and possibly Bodie and Odering.
Logan unlocked the front door and sent Hana up the steps ahead of him, noticing her hesitation. “You’re all right. Supercop and Detective-Perfect left ages ago.” As he turned back to the street, Logan glimpsed light bobbing around the gully end of the school site. It was a fraction of a second of torch flash, so slight he wondered if he’d imagined it but gut instinct told him he hadn’t. “What now? Like I need any more drama tonight!”
“Pardon?” Hana asked, kicking her trainers off in the hallway.
“Nothing,” Logan said, his brow furrowed with concern as he contemplated going to investigate. He hovered on the doorstep, feeling torn between his responsibilities.
“Come in, babe. It’s freezing,” Hana called.
“Yep, in a minute.” Logan didn’t want to leave Hana right then, sensing it would undo her confidence in him. But he feared the St Bart’s boys might be on a night jaunt. They were ultimately his responsibility as manager and the adult in loco parentis. Logan shook his head and put his family first, not an easy thing to do when he felt something was wrong.
While Hana settled on the sofa with the not-too-impressed-Phoenix, Logan escaped to the bedroom and rang St Bart’s office. “Pete,” he whispered, “do a bed check and a head count. Now. Then ring me back.”