“Reception is through there,” Lucy’s colleague said, indicating a set of double doors. “Thanks for your help, Mrs Du Rose.” She nodded and slipped through the access door disappearing from sight.
“Oh, crap!” Logan exhaled and added another swear word as Hana’s body felt heavy against his, her legs moving mechanically.
“What?” she asked, too tired to panic.
“We came in the cop car. How do they expect us to get home? Fantastic. They’ve had what they wanted and we get dumped outside, surplus to requirements.” Logan left Hana sitting on a grotty seat in the reception while he argued with the desk clerk.
“It’s not my job to call you a taxi, sir. I’m a police officer, not a hotel concierge.”
Logan opened his mouth to unleash a barrage of abuse, his fists balled on the counter.
“It’s ok; I’ve got it,” a familiar voice called to the clerk. Bodie appeared through the security door and Logan’s heart sank. Hana caught Logan’s eye and her look told him she didn’t care how she got back to her baby, as long as she got back. He considered asking the desk clerk for a phone directory and calling his own taxi, realising it would only delay Hana and push her beyond what her fragile coping mechanisms could deal with. There was no room for egotistical pettiness and Logan shrugged at his wife, looking sorry for himself. Offering her his hand, he hauled her out of the seat, noticing plasters on some of the cuts to her hands while others were open to the air. There seemed no logic to the medic’s choices as the open ones bled onto Logan’s fingers and he gritted his teeth, wanting so much better for his wife.
“Take this,” he whispered gently, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out the ever-present-clean-handkerchief. Hana looked at his hand in confusion. “You’re bleeding,” he said, jerking his head towards her hands.
“Thanks.” Hana took the handkerchief with a smile of gratitude, using it to mop at her weeping cuts and pulling a face as they stung.
“Car’s just here,” Bodie’s said, pointing to the front of the police station. Hana wondered fleetingly if the traffic wardens dared to ticket cops parked in the sixty-minute slots for too long.
Bodie started the engine and glanced in his rear view mirror. His passengers disconcerted him, having both opted to sit in the back of his smart BMW. He set off for the school site, pushing his way through the rush hour traffic. Nobody spoke. Hana stared through the window at the world passing by and Bodie saw in his rear view mirror how her husband watched her covertly When Hana turned and gave her husband a watery smile, his handsome face channelled a look of such utter love and affection it was as though Bodie saw him naked. Embarrassed, he turned his attention back to the traffic, doubting the comfortable dislike he’d shrouded himself in and wondering if he’d invented reasons to hate Logan Du Rose.
Bodie parked outside the unit and Logan opened Hana’s door for her, ever the gentleman. “Thanks,” he said politely as though in dismissal and Bodie felt a surge of anger that neither of them asked after his son’s broken arm.
“Jas is fine thanks,” he said with an edge of sarcasm and Hana looked back in surprise.
“Yes, I know. I spoke to him last night. Has something else happened?”
Bodie flushed red at his own foolishness, unaware of Hana’s conversation with Jas. She gave her son an odd look and he got the feeling she knew something else too. Logan ushered Hana up the steps and Bodie saw her bend to remove her plimsolls before progressing into the hallway. Logan’s dirty cowboy boots sat on the top step and he kicked another pair off his feet. Bodie watched as his step father turned and raised his eyebrow. “Are you coming or would you rather stand in the street pouting instead?”
Bodie hesitated, seeing himself as the problem in an eye watering moment of awful clarity. The conflict was self-made, deliberately misunderstanding everything so he could continue his one-man-pity-party. “Ok,” he replied. Bodie gritted his teeth and followed Logan into the unit, kicking his shoes off as he closed the door behind him.
Phoenix sat on the rug, her legs splayed to balance herself as she clutched a plastic yellow duck in tiny hands. She swayed precariously as her parents entered the room, bringing with them a bitter winter draught. The child beamed, squeezing her grey eyes shut in pleasure at the sight of her family. Tama sat on the sofa behind her, his feet either side of her bottom to keep her stable. Bodie saw a stranger on the other two seater sofa, dark hair running to grey and a pair of silver-rimmed glasses balanced on his nose. “Hana, sweetheart, how are you?” He rose as Hana emerged from the hallway, greeting her with a warm embrace. Bodie watched Logan with interest, wondering why he didn’t react to type.
“I’m making coffee,” Logan said instead, “anyone else want some?”
Hana pointed to her son, hovering in the doorway and directed her sentence at the stranger. “Mark, this is my son, Bodie.”
Mark stepped forward, letting go of his sister and offering his hand to the young man. Bodie recognised the clear green eyes and the puzzle fell into place. “You’re my uncle,” he said. “Mum’s brother?”
Mark nodded and they shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Bodie.”
Hana rubbed her sore neck and rolled her head around her shoulders as though it ached, an action not wasted on Logan. He went to her aid in seconds, making her sit next to Tama. “I’ll get you some tea now,” he said, showing all the hallmarks of devotion.
“Thanks, babe.” Hana leaned forward and touched Phoenix, who twisted her head around on her shoulders with a smile. The little girl leaned back and played ‘hidey boo’ in Tama’s trousers and the teenager ignored them as though it was usual.
Bodie felt jealousy rise in his chest and fought hard to push it away, battling his inner demons in a bid for peace. Logan poured steaming liquid into mugs on the breakfast bar, adding a jug of milk. “Coffee’s here and tea’s coming,” he said, waving his hand towards Bodie and his uncle. Phoenix slumped down between Tama’s feet and did a fake cry for attention when she saw her daddy bringing Hana a cup of tea.
Logan pulled a face at her and lifted her up. “Aren’t you getting enough love?” he cooed and kissed her downy forehead. She clipped onto his hip and held on using his shirt in one clamped fist. He cuddled her and the baby rested her head on his shoulder. It was so touching and incongruous against the image Bodie had of Logan, it tested his battle lines.
Logan pottered in the kitchen with his daughter resting her head against his shoulder and watching his every movement. He poked around in the freezer and popped food into a bowl one handed. As the microwave door opened, Bodie and Mark made it to the spare sofa with their drinks and plonked themselves down. Silence reigned horribly.
“Isn’t Dad back today?” Hana asked her brother, sounding exhausted.
“Meant to be,” he replied, eyeing her with astute medical assessment. “But they got caught up at an army museum on the way up and decided to find a motel. They’ll come back to Hamilton tomorrow instead. Mum finds the traveling tiring.”
Hana nodded, relieved they’d missed the drama. “Please can we not tell them what happened? I don’t think Dad needs the added worry at the moment.”
Bodie stirred with curiosity. “What’s wrong with your dad?” he asked Hana, but Mark answered.
“He’s had lung cancer. He finished radiotherapy and came here on holiday. My mother has a congenital heart condition. Her sister, your grandmother also had it.”
Bodie shook his head, confused. “I thought you were my mother’s brother, but you somehow had a different mother?” He raised his hand in the air in an action which looked more dismissive than he intended. “Don’t bother, it makes my head hurt. I need to get back to Amy and Jas.” He finished his coffee and stood, putting his mug on the side. Logan stirred something in a bowl and Phoenix watched him. She had one tiny hand around his back and the other near her face so she could suck her thumb.
Logan looked up as he heard the mug scrape against the surface and smiled, nodding at his stepson. “Thanks for the ride home.”
Bodie smiled back and waved at the room in general. “It’s fine, see you all later.”
“You off, Bo?” Hana asked and tried to get up.
“Far out, Ma!” Tama scoffed, putting both hands against her back to help her. He gave a shove and Hana giggled but there was little heart in it.
“Just wait,” she asked her son, reaching into a drawer beneath the dining table. Hana pulled out an A4 sized envelope, handing it to him and biting her lip nervously. “I’ve sorted more photos out for you,” she said. “And up at the house I’ve got pictures in frames and an album each for you and Izzie. I’ll get yours to you soon.”
Bodie took it and scrutinised Hana’s face, searching for signs of rejection in favour of her shiny new life. He saw none. The only thing his mother’s face contained was what Amy already told him – a woman trying to get on with the job of living and struggling to dovetail her old life into her new.
He thanked her and bent to kiss her on the cheek. “I hope you feel better tomorrow. I’ll be on site for most of the day tidying up, so I’ll pop in if that’s ok.”
Hana nodded. “You’re always welcome, Bo,” she said. “Logan’s on duty Saturday night and Sunday and I’m not looking forward to dealing with the long hours alone.” She smiled gratefully at her son and closed the door after him. As Mark got to his feet, Hana remembered his shift at work and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Mark, your job, I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t be daft, Hana. A colleague covered and he owed me anyway. I did his shifts when his kids caught chickenpox. I’m not leaving straight away. I wanted to check you out if you’ll let me. Something’s bothering me and I want to assuage my fears. Would you mind?” he said, turning towards Logan.
“What?” Logan fought his daughter, trying to stuff her wriggly body into the high chair. “Phoe! Please, you’re not getting your dinner until you stop squirming.” She grizzled and held her arms out to Hana. “Ooh, nice pumpkin,” Logan said, concentrating on the baby who sported a sad bottom lip. He wrinkled his nose at her. “You pout like your mother!” When he turned back, his wife and her brother had gone. He shrugged at Tama, a wasted action as the teenager ogled the television.
“Right, lie on the bed,” Mark said, plumping the pillows.
“Ooh, doctor,” Hana fawned. “My husband’s in the next room.”
“Idiot.” Mark frowned. He took her left wrist, trying to slot his fingers into the space over her artery to take her pulse.
“Ouch!” Hana complained at the pressure over her scar, pulling her hand instinctively away.
Mark turned her hand over, palm upwards so he could look carefully at the old wound. “Hmmn,” he said, sounding like an expensive plumber and making Hana smirk. “It shouldn’t hurt that much still. I wonder if there’s a shard of glass left in there. We felt sure we’d got it all, but it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility there was a tiny particle we missed. It’ll cause a sharp, gritty pain when pressed. Is that what it’s like?”
Hana nodded. “Yes. It takes me by surprise because if I leave it alone, it doesn’t hurt so I forget it’s there.”
“It may account for the infection afterwards as it’s a foreign body.” Mark turned her hand back over and laid it gently on the bed. “You were fortunate that night. An experienced paramedic got to you first, otherwise you could have bled out.”
Seeing Hana’s face drop and her mind stray back to that night, Mark distracted her, throwing his long body on the other side of the bed next to her. He took her right hand and repeated the exercise, getting no resistance this time. He pulled her arm across his stomach and pressed his fingers over the pulsing vein. “Your heart rate’s very low, Hana. Didn’t the doctor at the police station check you out?”
“Sort of. He didn’t check that kind of stuff. He was more interested in the bruises and making sure the biology teacher hadn’t...no, he didn’t check my pulse. It wasn’t a check-up like at the doctor’s.”
“Well, I want you to get one,” Mark said with authority. “Judith...Mum wasn’t much older than you when she died. This heart defect is hereditary so see your GP, please. I’ll come with you if you like, but they must do a proper check and I don’t have the right equipment here. It’s important.”
“Ok,” Hana said passively, yawning with no intention of playing hypochondriac for her brother’s benefit. “It’s just because I’m tired after today.”
“Don’t be a hero; your children need you,” Mark said, laying back against the pillows on Hana’s usual side of the bed. “Crikey, I could go to sleep now.”
“Know the feeling,” Hana replied. “But my daughter will appear for a feed soon and I need to sleep when I’m sure I can get right through to the morning. Otherwise, I’ll have nightmares after today.”
“Well, I’m not prescribing pills until after you’ve seen that GP,” Mark said stiffly and Hana wrinkled her nose.
“Spoilsport! Do you realise in the last eighteen months I’ve been chased, attacked, moved house, married, got pregnant and given birth in the middle of the bush. I’ve coped with a baby at my age, witnessed a house fire that killed two people, moved house again, been kidnapped, gained an extra adult child and been attacked again. It kind of takes its toll on the older body, you know.”
Mark turned on his side and looked at Hana with a smile on his face. “Who’d have thought it, my kid sister a regular Nancy Drew? You were always such a wimpy child.”
Hana laughed. “Gosh, show your age or what! The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, I used to get so scared watching that. Remember that time you sneaked into my room and terrified me witless after an episode of that? Dad came flying up the stairs and clipped you round the ear, big as you were!”
“I was mean to you, wasn’t I? I was so jealous. Pathetic really.” Mark laid on his back and looked at the freshly painted ceiling. “Something you couldn’t have known was; the day you arrived home with your boyfriend, so obviously pregnant, you looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen you. You reminded me so much of Judith when she carried you, with your red hair and blushing cheeks, so fragile. It accentuated how much a part of them you were and how much I wasn’t. I think it’s what fuelled my anger. My marriage was imploding before my face and the little family unit I created – my very own family, was dissolving. And there you were, so pretty in your tight yellow dress, like a vision of beauty with hope and life in front of you. My temper ran so hot it was exhilarating. I actually felt in control for a change, even though I was far from it. I’m so sorry, Hana,” he sighed.
Hana took his hand, threading her sore fingers through his, the plasters catching on his skin. “How about we start all over again,” she whispered. “Hi, my name’s Hana and I’m your little sister.”
Mark giggled revealing a cute dimple in his cheek. He was so much like Elaine, Hana found it extraordinary she’d never noticed. Her brother sat up and put his feet on the floor, standing up and looking out of the window. “I should go,” he said, stretching his arms high above his head and almost touching the ceiling. Hana sat up too and flexed her sore wrist. Her long hair flopped forward on her face looking mussed and untidy, adding to her wild prettiness.
“How can I get this sorted?” she asked, fed up of the continual discomfort but worried in case the cure was as traumatic as the injury. Mark stood over her, eyeing the long, red scar on Hana’s wrist thoughtfully.
“You’d need an ultrasound or x-ray, although glass is notoriously difficult to see in certain sorts of scan. It’s radiopaque, so a radiographer needs to decide how to find it. By the time I got to open the wound up properly, a larger chunk of glass had gone straight into the artery and partially blocked it, ironically fortunate. I suspect there’s a tiny splinter inside the vein and I wouldn’t want to muck around with it without doing some research. It was a terrible enough job trying to isolate and seal it in the first place. It could be a needle in a haystack. I’m not sure what to suggest because it won’t break down over time. Hopefully, it won’t move either.”
“You’re not making me feel any better,” Hana said, pulling her sleeve over the scar. “You must be a rubbish doctor. First you make a right mess of my wrist and then you fill me with doom and gloom. You’re a real shocker!” She laughed up at him and he shrugged.
“Sue me!”
When they emerged from the bedroom, Phoenix put her little head on one side and pulled a smiley, shy face with her mouth full of pudding. Tama was nowhere to be seen. “I sent him down the road for take-away food,” Logan said. “Stay Mark, he’ll get enough for everyone.”
Hana watched her husband spooning food into Phoenix’s face. She smiled as he opened and shut his own mouth in concentration and swallowed when she did. His tactic was business-like and calm and the child responded likewise. She didn’t mess around like she did with Tama although his status as a big kid didn’t help.
Mark accepted the extended hospitality and while Hana breast fed her daughter and picked at a plate of chips by her seat, the men sat at the dining table and scoffed a veritable feast. Logan watched his wife with an intensity almost painful to bear but ate little as Tama predicted. Mark wiped his mouth on a tissue and eyed the dark skinned man with respect. Logan left him in no doubt how much he adored Hana and their child with naked sincerity. It forced Mark to realise something; if he’d felt half as powerfully for his own wife all those years ago, things might have turned out differently.
As if reading his mind, Hana asked, “Do you see much of Carrie and the boys?”
Mark snorted with disdain and then regretted it as Logan shot him a dangerous look. “No. Sadly not. She remarried quickly enough to make me think she was already half way through the door before I noticed her dissatisfaction with me as a father and husband. I’ve no idea where she is and in the agony which followed our messy divorce, I also lost contact with my sons.” Mark’s brow furrowed and he pushed his plate away. “For years, money left my bank account and went into hers until the boys reached eighteen; then it ceased and with it, my last form of investment in their lives.” He sighed. “The boys will both be in their thirties now. I’ve often wondered what they decided to do with their lives. Meeting you again and managing to put things right has given me the confidence to contemplate trying to find them. I’d like them to know dad before...” He trailed off, not wanting to upset Hana and engrossed himself in his cold coffee.
Logan excused himself and made a pot of tea, taking a cup to Hana on the sofa. “Hey,” he said, sitting carefully next to her. His nosy daughter pushed up Hana’s tee shirt to give him an upside down smile. He laughed and stroked her forehead and Phoenix giggled. Hana sat her up so she could see her daddy, patting her on the back to release the air bubbles. Phoenix put her fists up to her eyes and rubbed, betraying her tiredness.
“Come here, kōtiro.” Logan held out his hands and she tipped forwards into them. Lying over his shoulder, Phoenix closed her eyes and began to fall asleep. “Hang on, baby,” he whispered. “Nappy change and cot and then you can go to the land of Nod.”
Hana watched her husband’s strong frame bear the fragile child down the hallway, oozing adoration from every pore.
“He really loves you guys, doesn’t he?” Mark commented, his voice low.
“Yup,” Tama interrupted. “There’s been a lot of people wished Logan Du Rose felt like that about them.”
“Were you one of them?” Mark asked and Hana winced, dreading the teenager’s reply.
“Hell yeah!” Tama wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’d do anything for that man’s approval but I never got it.”
“You never got it?” Mark’s eyes widened and he darted a glance towards Hana as she sipped her tea. She opened her mouth to defend her husband but Tama finished his point.
“No, I didn’t get it because I was trying to earn it and when that didn’t work, I did dumb stuff instead to get a reaction. Then Hana came along and just loved me for myself and when I realised what that felt like, I knew Logan always loved me, he just didn’t say the words. Uncle doesn’t give love easy, but when he does it’s worth it. I had it all the time but was too dumb to see.”
Mark’s nod was slow and heavy with understanding. “Then that’s what I need to do with my boys when I find them,” he said. “I must love them, whether they feel like receiving it or not.”
Mark left around nine o’clock and Hana crawled into bed shortly after, ignoring his good advice and taking a hefty sleeping tablet she found in the back of the bathroom cupboard. She peered at herself in the bathroom mirror, horrified by her white complexion and swallowed the tablet. “I don’t think it’s mine,” she told her reflection. “I think it’s a left-over from the previous occupant. Logan will have a fit.” She crawled into bed and slept, the white tablet doing its work.
Her husband checked the little pot at the back of the bathroom cupboard as he got ready for bed, counting the contents and smirking. It had belonged to the previous resident, but he played the long game, replacing the real sleeping tablets with ordinary painkillers earlier that evening. It was underhand but Hana possessed a worrying affinity with out-of-date prescriptions and other people’s medication, born of a complete lack of respect for drugs or chemicals. Logan hadn’t yet worked out whether it was ignorance, or a blatant disregard for consequences. He still hadn’t gotten over the time she’d taken ancient, dusty sleeping pills after a nasty scare before they were married. She greeted him bleary eyed the next day, getting half way to work before realising she still had her slippers on.
That night, Hana slept soundly under the influence of placebo painkillers and the firm belief she was successfully drugged.
Saturday dawned cold but bright and the soccer game between Waikato Presbyterian Old Boys and Staff and their counterparts in another local school, was not a fair fight. The opponents played dirty while the referee suffered a dreadful case of temporary blindness.
“This is ridiculous!” Bodie shouted as an opponent took his legs out from under him. “Are you bloody blind, ref?”
“It’s social soccer!” the man yelled back. “I’m doing my best. I’m not a FIFA referee!” He threw the whistle on the ground and stomped off the pitch in a temper.
Peter North limped around the sideline feigning a calf injury, hobbling backwards as his team thundered towards him. “Pete,” the goalkeeper cried, “referee the game, man. You don’t have to do any running.”
Logan shook his head and subbed himself off, standing next to Hana on the sidelines. “What kind of referee doesn’t have to run?” he demanded. “Idiots!”
“The Pete sort of referee?” Hana asked, pointing as Pete donned the second hand whistle and wiped it on his filthy tracksuit pants.
Logan groaned and heaved out a huge sigh. Pete was an even worse judge of fouls, standing in the middle of the centre circle with a pained look on his face, instead of blowing the whistle. At one point, he turned to the spectators with an oooh-that’s-gonna-hurt look on his face, while the players went crazy, screaming, “Ref, ref!” He blew the whistle with authority and made completely the wrong call.
When one of his own team yelled, “Why don’t you put on one of the opposition’s shirts, mate?” Pete threw his whistle down and followed the example of his predecessor.
“Oh what? Is he for real?” came the angry shouts behind him.
“I don’t really wanna go back on,” Logan grumbled as the coach performed frantic arm movements to get his attention.
“Well, why am I standing in the freezing cold like a fool then?” Hana protested. Her husband pulled a grouchy face and clomped over to the coach, running onto the pitch in a midfield position. He stuck his hand out at Hana and she wrinkled her nose.
Having stomped off the pitch, Pete headed home. By the time he reached his staff unit, the other team had reinstated the original referee, rendering Pete surplus to requirements. Hana was surprised to see him striding back towards the game with purpose and pushed the pram towards him. “Don’t take it to heart,” she said. “They step over that white line and become monsters.”
“Oh, I don’t care,” he said, looking cross. “I dropped my house key somewhere on the pitch and need to look for it.”
“Aren’t you gonna wait until the end of the game?” Hana asked, watching as he ignored her and strode away. Every time there was a substitution or delay of any kind, he swooped onto the field and searched for the contents of his pocket.
“Aarrrrgggh!” he screamed, flattened by the technology teacher who powered down the left side of the pitch with a goal scoring opportunity. Bodie stood over the jumble of limbs waving his arms in fury. Pete sat up looking concussed and wobbly and was propped up against someone’s rucksack on the sideline. Not satisfied with the damage he’d already done, he crawled back onto the pitch.
Tama played striker and when Pete blundered in front of him for the third time, peering at the ground like a hen searching for worms, Tama picked him up bodily and tipped him off the pitch. Hana laughed so hard she nearly wet herself.
The coach moved Logan into a defence position where he dwarfed the opposition players who shied away from his height. They scuffed the ball hopelessly wide as he ran at them without fear. Hence the ball stayed largely in the centre of the pitch, going back and forth and nowhere else, wearing a trench into Larry Collin’s sacred earth.
Bodie switched into goalkeeper mode, clapping his huge gloves together in the cold and looking bored. He disappeared into the bushes for a pee and nobody noticed except Hana. Out of pity, she pushed the pram around to talk to him. “I don’t think Manchester United will call anytime soon,” she said, standing behind the goal.
Bodie looked round and sniggered. “Probably not.” He eyed his mother from beneath his lashes. “You’re looking very thin, Mum. And pale.”
“It’s just the stress of the last week,” Hana bluffed, hiding her offence. “Something to do with living in a crime scene and having your long-lost father and brother turn up unexpectedly.”
Bodie opened his mouth to speak but at that moment Pete, who was searching the back line for his key, took a hit straight to the face by a loose ball. He went down like a lead weight, landing with his arms and legs stretched out either side of him like road-kill. He looked unconscious.
“Get an ambulance,” someone shouted. “But get him off the pitch first so we can carry on.”
“Can’t move him, don’t be stupid!” someone else rebuked.
Angus knelt next to his sports teacher, slapping the florid face with enthusiasm. His girlfriend Heather, looked horrified. “Ooh, that’s a bit hard, love,” she reprimanded.
“Just a few more taps,” Angus replied, clearly enjoying himself as he slapped Pete again.
The players tapped their feet impatiently on the grass as the referee went over to see if the body could be moved across the back line. “Is he unconscious?” he asked with concern.
“No!” Logan bellowed. “He isn’t!” Upon reaching his friend, Logan grabbed Pete’s nose in his fingers and gave it a sharp twist.
“Ow!” Pete squealed and the retraction of his knobbly legs freed up the white line for the game to continue as Logan used his foot to move the odious little man away. The whistle blew and the comedy sketch continued. Logan made some decent clearances from his half of the pitch, planting the ball at Tama’s feet with perfect aim. Tama’s opponent was not averse to repeated fouls involving the boy’s legs more than the ball and as he went down for the fourth time, the teenager lost patience.
“You go up front!” Tama shouted at Logan, stomping over and taking his place during a restart of play. Logan shrugged and jogged up to the other end, playing a forward. He stood next to his new opponent, looking down on him and smiling viciously while raising one eyebrow in expectation. The defender looked around at his team members for someone else to swap with, but they mercilessly avoided his eye. As the ball came towards him, Logan didn’t need to jump to contact it with his head and his opponent bounced off him like a rubber ball.
“Goal!” the team screamed, celebrating and dancing at the equaliser as the ball shot into the net. They ran to Logan, pounding his back with elation. The whistle blew for a foul and all hell broke loose.
“You fouled the defender!” the referee shouted, posturing and pointing his whistle at Logan.
“He bounced off my chest,” Logan replied, sounding hurt.
The referee shook his head. “Goal disallowed.”
From then on the game degenerated into a violent mud bath and the ball was no longer the primary focus. Had poor Larry Collins not already been in another life, he would have beamed himself there. He wouldn’t have stomached the complete desecration of his sacred turf as the players charged back and forth, chasing each other rather than the round, white object in the fray. Amidst it all, Logan put in a wonderful cross which found the science teacher’s head and the back of the goal. When the referee put the whistle to his lips to challenge it, angry Presbyterian Boys’ players surrounded him.
Logan jogged to see his wife and stepson in the goal mouth and Tama joined them. “This is a complete joke,” the teen complained and Logan shrugged.
“It’s just a good excuse for a run around for me,” he replied nonchalantly, squatting down to smile at his daughter. Swaddled up in her pram, Phoenix giggled and burbled baby talk. Her mud covered daddy kissed her on the nose as she beamed up at him.
“You alright, babe?” Logan asked Hana, whose body quivered under her clothing.
She nodded and pulled her coat around her. “Yeah, it’s just cold.”
“No, you’re just losing weight, Ma,” Tama said, still sulking about the goal.
“Shut up!” Logan told him, warning the boy with fiery grey eyes. Rising to his full height, Logan looked towards the knot of bodies around the referee whose head was level with the players’ shoulders. He inhaled as the whistle blew frantically from inside the circle. Logan shook his head. “I’m done here. It’s a farce.” He turned towards Bodie. “You played good, man. Wanna come back to ours for a shower? There’ll be a queue, but you’re welcome.”
Bodie’s face frowned with mistrust and he saw Hana roll her eyes in his peripheral vision. As she set off walking he nodded. “Thanks. It’ll save me time as I’m due on duty at two o’clock. Odering told me to wear mufti as we’re mainly clearing up here.”
“Promotion?” Logan asked, an odd look in his eye.
“Maybe.” Bodie looked at him with curiosity. “What’ve you heard?”
“Me?” Logan snorted and touched his chest. “From who?”
They caught up to Hana and she threw a comment over her shoulder. “You know the game’s not over, don’t you?”
“It is for us,” Tama said like a sulky child and the three players walked casually around the edge of the pitch, unnoticed by the arguing throng surrounding the referee.
While Hana created a sandwich mountain, the men showered and changed into clean clothes. First out of the bathroom, Tama buttered bread and grated cheese while Hana quizzed him about his interview. “I’m so sorry, love. Last night should have been about celebrating you and instead...” Her brow knitted and Tama looked at her with curiosity in his face.
“Are you upset or in pain?” he asked. “Because it looks like pain to me.” He placed the cheese grater on the counter and took Hana in his arms, pushing his face into her red hair and holding her tightly. “I love you, Ma,” he whispered. “You’d tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would, silly boy. I’m still shaken after yesterday is all.” She patted his back like she did the baby’s and Tama sniggered.
Bodie walked in and cleared his throat awkwardly, his face a badly veiled mask of jealousy. Tama ignored him, releasing Hana and resuming his grating. “I felt the interview went well at the time but I’m less confident after a night’s sleep. I keep going over my answers in my head and wishing I’d said different things.”
Hana smoothed a hand across his shoulders. “Sorry, I won’t make you go over it again then. You can’t change anything. But I bet you were amazing and they saw that. They wanted you anyway.”
Bodie sat on a sofa and put his socks on, listening to the conversation without interjecting. He nodded to Hana’s offer of coffee and she smiled and turned to pour some, whilst reassuring Tama and praying God would give the teenager a break. “Lucy was kind last night in the interview,” she whispered, seeing how his cheeks pinked under the olive hue and he looked away embarrassed. Hana nudged him with her elbow and when he smiled back at her, they laughed. “Tama’s got it bad,” she joked.
Bodie sat at the table and ate sandwiches with Tama. Phoenix joined them in her high chair and sucked on a strip of cheese.
“Is Logan cleaning the bathroom?” Hana asked and the men shrugged. “He’s been a long time,” she mused, realising no sound came from behind the closed door.
“He might be taking a dump,” Tama suggested and Hana tutted and shook her head.
“You coming for some lunch, Logan?” she asked, knocking on the bathroom door. When her husband opened it with a towel around his middle, he looked ashen and ruffled and Hana pushed her way through the gap and closed it behind her. “Logan, what’s wrong?”
He faltered and Hana watched Logan’s face as he floundered. She knew instinctively he was tempted to lie, to utter something that would placate her and soothe her worries whilst he internalised his own. “Truth, Logan,” she said, her voice soothing. “Don’t make something up.”
Logan looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “I keep thinking about yesterday and can’t get it out of my head. I’ve spent years searching for you and now I’ve found you, feel powerless to hold on tight enough. Every time I look up, someone else is trying to hurt you and I feel a failure.”
“You’re certainly not that!” Hana exclaimed. “You were there when I needed you.”
Logan shook his head. “I’ve operated in an emotionless world, controlled and cold for so long. My decisions were calculated and weighed against practical outcomes and there were very few surprises.” He ran his hands through dark, tumbling curls. “Then along comes Hana Du Rose and unleashes these feelings of insecurity which hurt so much. I’ve realised how inadequate I am; I can’t control anything or keep you safe. It’s a physical ache, this fear that at any point it could all be over. My happiness hangs by a fragile thread, blowing in the winds of fate.”
Logan’s honesty stunned Hana as he laid his soul uncharacteristically bare. She saw that nothing in the world scared Logan Du Rose but that one tiny detail - the things which made his life worth living were the ones he had no human way of keeping.
She stood in front of Logan with her hands on his strong chest, looking up with genuine concern. “I know, babe, believe me I know. I’m not Nancy Drew; I can’t laugh and shake it off while moving on to the next adventure in a week’s time. These things take their toll and leave an aftertaste that doesn’t disappear overnight.” Hana saw her own fears reflected in her husband’s eyes. “All I can do is keep giving you and my children into God’s care because He can see what I can’t. Life is fragile; Vik’s tragic death taught me that.” Hana ached for Logan, forced to agonise and worry without the ability to hand it over to a higher power and let it go. “It’s ok,” she said, resting her forehead against the downy, dark skin of his chest and feeling the dusting of hair move underneath her breath. She ran her hands up and around his shoulders and smiled as she felt her strong husband sigh. He started to kiss her, crushing her to him and Hana pushed him away giggling, knowing where it led. He smiled and the haunted look receded inside for the moment.
“You give me to God?” Logan asked, coiling a strand of red hair through his fingers.
Hana smiled. “Of course I do. Sometimes when I’m most vulnerable, I remember a memory verse my father taught me. ‘The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever.’ It’s from the book of Isaiah and I was six when I learned it. The Word represents Jesus. Yesterday as I ran from the biology teacher, I realised if Jesus, The Word really can stand forever, the best thing I could do was get a good, firm grip on Him and hold on for dear life.” Hana Du Rose looked at her husband through wise, green eyes. “Otherwise I’ll torture myself and go insane because I can’t do it in my own strength. None of it.”
She saw Logan bite the inside of his lower lip and knew she’d hit at the heart of his anxiety. He was like a superhero whose powers disappeared overnight and he’d leapt off a tall building, only to realise he could no longer fly. He’d reached the end of himself and had nowhere else to go. “Come and get some food,” she said gently, “our daughter’s sucking cheese and isn’t sure if she likes it. It’s hilarious, come and see.”
Logan nodded, his face filled with agony. “This is too hard,” he whispered, squeezing the bridge of his nose in scarred fingers. Hana pushed herself into his body and he crushed her in powerful arms. “I love you so much,” he whispered and his body trembled. “I don’t know what I’d do if...”
“Shh,” Hana told him. “It’d be awful but you would cope. It’s the most horrific experience but no less hideous because you imagined it a hundred times. I lived through it and so did my father and we survived, not always intact but we muddled through. Everything has a price, darling. The cost of me loving you and Phoe is opening myself up to the devastation which comes with loving and losing. But you know what? It’s worth it and I wouldn’t change anything just to spare myself misery.” Hana reached up and stroked her husband’s cheek. “It’s the choice we make, Loge.”
She released him, kissing the underside of his stubbly chin. Then she opened the door and walked away, knowing he needed to rationalise it for himself. Hana dug in the hall cupboard for her slippers, allowing the shoe rack the privilege of her words of wisdom. “Life is a private journey, walked out between a man and his maker.”