“I’ll take you up to your room,” Logan said, smiling at Robert. “You must be tired.”
“I’ll take them, Mr Du Rose,” Leslie said, bustling forward. “Mr Michael’s old room?”
“Yeah.” Logan nodded. “Next to the lift.”
“Thank you, Logan,” Robert said appreciatively, taking Elaine’s arm. Her face channelled an unhealthy grey and her breathing sounded hoarse.
Hana sat in the family dining room next to the kitchen, feeding Phoenix and staring through the long sash windows onto the driveway. Cars buzzed in and out of the car park as guests arrived and departed, keeping the hotel staff busy and in employment.
Logan left to talk to Jack and Tama was around somewhere. Hana browsed the tourist magazine on the table as Phoenix fed herself to sleep. Every time Hana thought she could safely stand, the baby disturbed and suckled again. Hana flicked the page over to a review of Logan’s hotel and reread it. The photographs were stunning. ‘Definitely a five-star destination,’ the journalist had written. ‘Where natural beauty meets unequalled quality.’
There was a picture of a bush walk Logan’s men spent last summer putting in and the gravel path up to a stunning lookout over the valley. It was a good write up and had already drawn international visitors. The business was thriving and Hana felt a flicker of pleasure for her husband, coupled with jealousy at the journalist. Hana suspected she fancied Logan, reading between the lines and detecting the sense of awe and fascination with the imposing Māori. “Bad luck,” she sighed. “He’s taken.”
Hana looked up at the sound of footsteps on the gravel driveway, surprised to find herself looking into the face of a pretty Māori woman, smartly dressed and on her way to the hotel entrance. She looked familiar, smiling and waving at Hana, who couldn’t get her hand up in time to wave back. “I bet I looked a right idiot,” she commented to the dozing child, “gormless, sitting at the table goggling out of the window.”
She laid the baby over her thighs under cover of the table and fastened her bra, waiting for a minute. She dreaded nipping into the corridor and running into the pretty guest. It would be awkward, far too late to smile and wave. When the kitchen door opened, Hana assumed it was Leslie returning to prepare lunch and ignored it.
“It’s all different!” exclaimed a confused male voice and Hana turned, seeing Michael and the guest standing in confusion inside the kitchen door. She stood and laid Phoenix over her shoulder, walking through the new archway to greet her brother-in-law.
“Hello,” Hana said, leaning forward so Michael could kiss her on the cheek. His grey eyes smiled back at her and he waved his arm expansively.
“What’s going on?”
“The Health people didn’t like the family hanging around in the kitchen. It’s fair enough; trying to feed a hundred guests food prepared in sterile conditions with Alfred sitting at the table in his socks, covered in cow poo.”
Michael put his head back and laughed. It sounded so like Logan it was uncanny. “It looks good,” he said, looking around. “We popped back for the weekend. I knew it’d be ok.”
“It’s fine,” Hana said and then frowned. “Oh, dear. Logan put my father in your room because it was nearest the lift. We only arrived an hour ago.”
The facade of goodwill melted and Michael looked petulant. “Yes,” he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “They’ll have to move. Where’s Logan?”
“With Jack,” Hana replied, resisting the urge to slap the arrogant doctor’s face.
Without bothering to introduce Hana to his companion, Michael strode from the kitchen and Hana heard his heels click along the corridor. The atmosphere felt awkward and Hana’s plan to put the baby in the travel cot and chill out for a while seemed under threat. “Can I get you a drink or something to eat?” she asked politely as the woman looked around her.
“Can I have warm milk, please? It helps with the morning sickness.”
Hana started in surprise. “You’re pregnant?” she asked and the woman nodded. “Congratulations,” Hana said.
The woman seemed familiar but the look of distaste on her face betrayed her sickness. Hana led her through to the dining room table and offered her a seat. One-handed, she grabbed milk from the industrial chiller and heated it in the microwave. Phoenix disturbed in the chiller, wriggling against the cold as Hana replaced the milk but remained asleep.
“Here you go.” Hana took the hot milk to the visitor and looked out of the window while she sipped it. “How far on are you?” she asked, interested.
“Almost three months,” the woman replied, laying the mug on the table. “I was younger the first time around so this was a shock.”
Hana smiled. “There’s no reason it shouldn’t be fine.”
The woman smiled at Hana’s encouragement. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about. Do you have older children then?” she asked.
Hana nodded, but her face clouded at the thought of her antagonistic son. “Yes, I have a son who’s twenty-six and a daughter of twenty-five. Girls are definitely easier, well, I hope so anyway.” She kissed Phoenix on the side of her soft little face and prayed she turned out half as amenable as her gorgeous Isobel.
“I agree,” the woman shared, looking apprehensive. “My son’s been difficult. We haven’t spoken for years.” She looked sad and Hana felt sorry.
“Been there,” she replied wistfully.
There came the clamour of raised voices and the dining room door opened, admitting a harried looking Logan. Seconds later Michael appeared through the kitchen door, looking embarrassed by his error. “I’m not moving Hana’s parents,” Logan said, his teeth gritted and Michael stood with his hands on the back of the woman’s chair. Hana’s jaw dropped with the realisation they were together and she looked at them both with renewed interest.
“It’s my room,” Michael said stubbornly.
Hana gnawed her lip feeling guilty. “It’s ok,” she began but the warning flash of anger in Logan’s eyes silenced her. She looked away and patted her baby’s back, hoping one of them backed down. As the argument progressed, she realised with increasing certainty; it wasn’t going to happen.
Logan drew himself up to his full height and glared at his older brother. “Actually it’s my room, my house and my land. Hana’s family is my family. You’re welcome to visit, but in future a phone call is necessary. If I can pick up the phone and let Leslie know I’m coming back, I don’t think it’s too difficult for you to do the same. Barry’s old room is free and you’re welcome to it.”
“I don’t want Barry’s room! Geez mate, what’s wrong with you? I’ll have Liza’s!” Michael capitulated.
Hana opened her mouth to speak but Logan shot her another warning look and she closed it again. The grey of his eyes looked stormy and dark, an eruption of Du Rose fury very near the surface. “Liza’s room’s in use,” he growled, not mentioning Tama.
“Move someone!” Michael snapped. “I’m family!”
Hana gulped and widened her eyes at the stupidity of Michael’s assertion, considering his demotion from brother to half-brother. The irony wasn’t wasted on Logan. “Take Barry’s room.” Logan enunciated every word. “Or leave!”
Logan ignored the woman and Hana figured he was too busy with the argument to notice. But she intercepted an odd look cross her husband’s face as Logan glanced across at the woman who sipped her milk looking uncomfortable.
Hana sensed a hidden issue and felt sorry for the guest caught in the middle. She smiled reassuringly as she caught the woman’s eye and hoped the storm would pass; a futile hope as it turned out.
Michael glared at Logan. “When did you become such a...”
Logan interrupted him, holding up his hand. “Such a what, Michael? Such a businessman? That might be when I sunk my own money into saving this house and farm and you refused to buy in when I begged you. So don’t whine about not having your room kept free all year round half-brother!”
Hana was finally glad she’d learned to keep her big mouth shut, saving her from a serious blunder. She stared at Logan and cocked her head, unaware he’d begged his brother for financial help to save his family from bankruptcy. Glancing sideways at Michael’s companion, Hana recognised the heated blush of morning sickness and sympathised as the woman became paler by the second. She went into the kitchen and dragged the plastic dustbin through the archway into the dining room as the poor woman reeled and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Logan stared at Hana in bewilderment as she pulled it behind her one-handed, the black bin bag folded neatly over the top and her sleeping daughter lolling on her hip. His face was a mix of curiosity and confusion as Hana pulled the bin up next to the woman at the table just as she retched. “In here,” Hana said softly and she turned sharply, spotted the remains of the dining room’s scrambled egg breakfast at the bottom of the bin and threw up, adding a full cup of warm milk plus other splattered offerings.
The men stopped arguing and Logan wrinkled his face in distaste. Neither helped the women, scandalous as one of them was an emergency doctor. They both stared as Hana struggled to hold her baby in one hand and rub the woman’s back with the other. “Logan!” Hana snapped as Phoenix lolled backwards and the woman pushed her face into the bin and vomited again.
Logan swore and started as though slapped. “She’s pregnant?” he said in disgust as he hefted his daughter over his shoulder. “Bloody marvellous!”
Hana’s mouth opened in surprise at her husband’s cruelty and she shook her head in dismay, running into the kitchen to grab a glass and clattering at the sink.
“Drink this water,” she told the poor woman. “Sip it slowly to take the taste away. It’s miserable; I know.”
The olive skinned woman cried over the dustbin, her stomach doing cartwheels beneath her ribs. Michael watched with a look of misery on his face but it was Logan who occupied his attention, Logan and the tiny girl in his arms.
“Come on,” Hana said, realising the best place for her was bed. “You need to lie down.”
The woman rose with deliberate movements, head bowed as she struggled to keep it together. Hana led her from the dining room and into the corridor, barking back at Michael with authority, “Get rid of that bin bag in the skip and disinfect the dustbin. Quickly, before Leslie notices!”
He nodded and tore his gaze from Logan as Hana let the door close behind her, still holding the woman’s arm. She led her up the back, spiral staircase to the first floor, hoping she could remember which room once belonged to the late Du Rose Hana found the room but paused outside in dismay. “I don’t know the keypad code,” she said, her voice laced with disgust. “I’m an idiot!”
The woman leaned heavily against her and Hana felt her trembling through their joined fingers. “I’m sorry,” Hana breathed, babbling in her confusion. “All the private rooms have keypads but the guest suites have cards...”
“I feel faint,” the woman murmured and Hana panicked. She led her back along the corridor to the room she shared with Logan, opening the door and settling her in the comfy armchair by the ranch slider. Remembering the relief of fresh air after a bout of sickness, Hana pushed open the sliding doors which took up most of one wall, allowing the cool winter air to flood the room and put colour back into the woman’s cheeks.
She looked up at Hana with gratitude, her face pale and her deep brown eyes dull and listless. “They said you were lovely,” she mouthed, her voice a weak huff of air and words.
“Who did?” Hana asked, but the woman drew her legs underneath her and closed her eyes, concentrating on regaining control of her body.
“I’ll get you a peppermint tea,” Hana said. “That used to help me.” She sorted through the sachets by the kettle and steeped the bag in hot water, setting the mug carefully next to the woman’s chair. Then she closed the doors, feeling the room chill too much to be bearable. “Does that feel better?” she asked her guest.
A knock on the door was followed by numbers being punched into the keypad and Hana readied herself for Logan’s angry entrance. “Ma, you’ll never guess what...” Tama piled in beaming but the smile froze at the sight of the woman. He pointed towards Hana’s guest with accusation in his eyes. “What’s she doing here?” He baulked at Hana as though she’d stabbed him and his voice sounded pitiful. “Ma, why are you being nice to her?”
Hana took Tama’s arm and ushered him from the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her. “What have I done?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
“That’s her!” Tama hissed, balling his fists by his side. “That’s my mother.”
Hana clapped her hand over her mouth as devastation bit at her core, the betrayal reflected in Tama’s eyes. “Oh no!” she moaned. She lurched at the young man, fixing her arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“That’s fine then.” Relieved, he returned her embrace.
“Nobody tells me anything,” Hana grumbled. “What can I do? She’s been throwing up in the kitchen. Do you think I should ask her to leave the room or settle her somewhere else?” Hana balanced the nagging guilt against her loyalty to Tama. “I didn’t realise, sweetheart. Logan and Michael were squaring off downstairs and...”
“Michael’s here?” Tama’s face hardened and he backed away from Hana.
She saw it then like a neon signal on the wall opposite, flashing and glowing and condemning her for missing the signs. Hana sighed. “I’m so stupid! Logan’s rudeness makes sense if he was trying to get rid of Michael and his new girlfriend rather than upset you.” She closed her eyes and resisted banging her head against the wall. “I despair of myself and my interfering nature. Now I’ve made a bad situation worse.”
Tama stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “It’s ok. I get it.”
“Logan offered them Barry’s room,” Hana said feebly and Tama smirked.
“That’s good; Michael won’t stay there. Nobody ever stays there,” he said with relief in his voice.
Hana floundered. Logan hadn’t come to help, maybe wanting her to stew in her own juice and she gnawed on her bottom lip, wondering how to extricate herself from the dreadful, self-made disaster. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
Tama shrugged and walked away. Either he didn’t know or just didn’t care. It was still the same result – Hana was alone with her error. She let herself back into the bedroom, feeling unsure of herself. The woman stood on the balcony, leaning over the edge with her elbows on the balustrade. Even from behind, she looked sorry for herself. She spoke as Hana stood next to her, her voice laden with regret. “I told you. He hates me.”
A tear dripped off the end of her nose, landing somewhere in the gravel below. Hana resisted filling the airwaves with empty platitudes. It resonated deep inside her own heart, drawing echoes of her relationship with Bodie. “It feels like crap, doesn’t it?” she sympathised.
“Aroha,” the woman said, offering Hana her hand. “My name’s Aroha. You must be Logan’s wife. I heard you were different from the rest of them. Thanks for being so kind. I feel better now. I should get out of your way.”
Hana smiled, shaking hands and leaning against the balustrade. “I don’t know what else I can do now,” she said. “It’s only right that I stick by Tama. I made him a promise and try hard not to break them. If you go back to the kitchen, Michael will have sorted something out with Logan by now.”
“He didn’t think you’d be here,” Aroha said. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have come. Michael rarely gets a weekend off work and thought we’d be able to talk here.” She sighed heavily and ran her hand over her abdomen. “Your baby’s beautiful. You must think badly of me, leaving Tama. It always sounds awful in the telling, but at the time I didn’t know what to do for the best.”
Hana shook her head. “It’s not my place to judge, love. I’ve done things I’m not that proud of, for what seemed the best reasons at the time. I understand sometimes we don’t think we have a choice.”
A vision crept into Hana’s mind. She had expressed milk and sterilised bottles, walking out of the unit and leaving her eight week old baby with Tama. She attempted to bargain with a man who didn’t understand reason and almost not returned. “Yes,” she sighed. “I certainly understand bad choices first hand.”
Aroha studied the redhead, recognising the inner pain of conviction and knowing Hana understood. She felt a kinship which made her heart ache as it would remain unfulfilled. Tama would see to that. “Tama called you, ‘Ma’ which means he’s attached to you.”
Hana nodded slowly, not wanting to compound Aroha’s agony.
“I’m pleased,” the other woman said. “I’m glad he has someone. I’ve spent eighteen years regretting my decision to run from Kane, leaving Tama asleep in his cot. I was seventeen when I left. Kane would have killed me if I hadn’t. Michael was twenty-four and just finishing medical school. He should have known better, but he swept me off my feet. It was a childish mistake trying to pass Tama off as Kane’s. He beat me until I confessed and when I went back for my baby, Reuben refused to let me take him. He said it was my punishment, the same as his.” Aroha gulped and shook her head. “I should have guessed Kane would turn his wrath and spite on my beautiful little boy, twisting and tainting his lovely nature into something destructive and ugly.” She looked at Hana with hope in her dark eyes. “Maybe you can make a difference to him and I’m glad. I wish it could be me but it can’t.” Aroha gave her blessing even though it was like a knife cutting deep into her heart. She turned, smiling at Hana before letting herself out of the room.
Hana sank into the armchair, weighed down by Aroha’s regret and misery. She’d heard the woman’s story from Logan, but his dismissive recount hadn’t covered the awfulness of the situation. The Du Rose men were hard and unyielding. Few women survived for long in their world. Hana shut her eyes and prayed for Aroha and Tama. She trusted that God could see the bigger picture as she sighed and lay back in the chair, folding her legs beneath her. The energy to go back downstairs eluded her and Hana suspected she was in disgrace with Logan. She figured her baby would holler for her eventually, forcing him to find her. The cool breeze from the open ranch slider kissed her skin until it cooled and Hana hunkered down into the chair. “Just one minute more,” she promised herself.
Wet baby kisses slobbered over her cheek, dragging Hana from sleep. “Ugh!” She rubbed at her skin, feeling the baby’s dribble mingling with her own. She grimaced and rose from the chair, shoving her husband out of the way as she staggered towards the bathroom.
“I held her over your face to wake you up, but I didn’t expect her to lick you!” Logan apologised from the doorway. “I don’t think the kissing lessons are going as successfully as the waving lessons.”
Hana grunted and splashed cold water on her face. “Just leave me alone for a minute. I need to wake up.” She heard the snippiness in her voice and regretted it, clinging to the edge of the sink as the floor undulated beneath her.
“Are you ok?” Logan asked, his voice chastened and Hana nodded and curbed her irritation.
“Yeah. Afternoon sleeping makes me ratty. I only sat down for a minute.” Hana sighed and patted her face dry, alarmed by the grey faced woman in the mirror. She returned to the armchair, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn as she stared in disgust at her grizzling daughter. “What did you feed her?” Hana peered at the yellow crust around Phoenix’s rosebud lips and shook her head. “I don’t want that all over my bra.”
“It’s only rusk,” Logan argued as the baby cranked up her protest over the delay. “Sorry, I forgot to wipe her mouth. Shall I do it now?”
“Yes!” Hana sighed, sitting the baby up and grimacing as she thrashed around.
Logan fumbled with a baby wipe, putting it around the wriggling mouth and alarmed at how much came off. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve changed her nappy.”
Hana knew he sought absolution for his behaviour towards Tama’s sick mother and a mean part of her wanted to deny him. Knowing she was in the wrong for undermining him made her self-righteousness pointless.
Logan sighed as he attacked the baby’s mouth with another wipe, his eyebrows raised and his face close to Hana’s. “You’re the only person on the planet who makes me afraid,” he murmured. “I hate it when we fall out.”
Hana snorted. “I don’t scare you, idiot! I’m no match for your might.”
“No, but you can break me with one look,” he whispered.
Hana winced as the baby latched on to her breast and fed hungrily. Logan’s masculine scent intoxicated her and she felt her resolve weaken. “I’m an outsider,” she mused, surprising herself at the random sentence which conveyed her fractured status within the Du Roses. “I don’t fit into your history.”
Logan shook his head and squatted next to her, his forearms on her knees. “No, Hana. You don’t know our history. That’s different to not fitting in. There’s generations of us twisted together like supplejack vine. How can you expect to unravel it in a year?”
Hana nodded, accepting his truth and picturing the brown vine which spread through the bush. Vigorous and hardy, it wound its way around the native plants, thwarted by nothing. “Sorry about before,” she relented. “I made a right mess of everything as usual.”
To her surprise, Logan wrinkled his nose and smiled. He sat on the arm of the chair, pulling Hana’s head against his waist and stroking her hair. He sighed. “She’ll be right,” he said.
Hana tried not to roll her eyes in exasperation at the Kiwi man’s mantra. They said it casually about burst pipes, missing children, not enough toilet roll in desperate circumstances and situations beyond their control. ‘Kiwi ingenuity’ they called it, but Hana wanted to rename it, ‘Kiwi stupidity’ because it made light of some enormous problems. “I hate that expression,” she grumbled.
“Now you’ve admitted it, I’ll say it more to annoy you,” Logan replied and Hana heard the smile in his voice.
“I might have to kill you,” she jested.
Logan snorted. “Then be careful where you bury my body. I know about the English fetish for burying spouses under patios so make sure it’s a damn long one.”
The spectre of death hushed the room with its black shroud and took Hana’s breath away, unexpected and grim. She bit her lip to give herself something else to focus on. “Has Michael left?” she asked, patting the baby’s delicate back.
“Na, they’re both downstairs having afternoon tea with your father and Elaine.”
Hana groaned. “Fancy falling asleep in the day,” she complained. “What must they think of me? They drove all this way to see me and I’ve been up here all afternoon.”
“Yeah, nana-naps aren’t usually your thing.” Logan’s breath whooshed against Hana’s hair. “That’s why I left you. It might be the stress recently. We’ll have a quiet couple of weeks and do whatever you feel like.” Logan kissed the top of her head, enjoying her scent and stroked his baby’s cheek with his free hand. Phoenix popped out of her mother’s tee shirt and beamed.
“Use it or lose it, baby,” Hana grumbled, not wanting to muck around. Phoenix took the hint and fed efficiently, collapsing afterwards and snoring in Hana’s arms. “Did Michael tell you Aroha’s pregnant?” Hana asked.
“No!” he said, his voice dull. He passed no comment and Hana didn’t have the energy to press him for a verdict.
Logan carried the baby downstairs and put her in the pram, wheeling it along to the family dining room.
“Ah, my dear!” Robert stood as Hana walked in, kissing her on the cheek and patting the chair beside him. Elaine sat on his other side and smiled fondly at Hana. The elderly couple looked happy and rested after the journey to the hotel.
“I feel awful for falling asleep,” Hana apologised and they waved it off indulgently. Michael nodded from across the table and Aroha looked sick again. Hana reached inside her jeans pocket and pulled out sachets of peppermint tea, pushing them across to the other woman. Aroha looked grateful, splashing hot water from the urn over one of them and sipping slowly.
“This is so generous of you, Logan,” Robert said in his brogue accent, “are you sure we can’t contribute?”
Michael looked up in surprise from his huge slab of fruit cake and had the decency to look guilty, Logan’s earlier words ringing in his ears. It wasn’t the Du Rose family home anymore; it was his business.
Logan shook his head at Robert, finishing his mouthful of apple. He sat with his other arm resting casually across the back of Hana’s chair and his cowboy boot across the bar underneath. “Actually, I’d welcome your advice about something. Hana says you’re a keen gardener and I’m trying to make a memorial garden. I’d be grateful for your help.”
Michael stopped chewing and looked at Logan sideways. Hana couldn’t read all the emotions in his face but he channelled a curious mix of jealousy and anger. Miriam’s absence as both mother and hotel house manager had created a different dynamic. The hotel was Logan’s domain and Michael struggled with the new era.
“I’d be delighted, my dear boy,” Robert gushed. “And Elaine’s something of an expert on different shrubs and bedding plants. We’d love to help you.”
“That’s great. I’ll take you up to the site one day next week. We can use the Jeep now the new road’s in.” He laughed at Hana, who pulled a face. “I always make my wife ride up.”
Elaine looked suitably relieved she wouldn’t have to straddle a horse and Robert giggled like a schoolboy, covertly spotting the look which crossed her face. Hana felt grateful for his happiness, the pain of her mother’s loss subdued by recent events. The elderly couple excused themselves and tottered upstairs to find walking shoes in their luggage.
“I gave your dad a map of the shorter bush walks,” Logan said, brushing a curl from Hana’s cheek as she pushed a scone around her plate. His brow knitted and he narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to go with them?” he asked.
“They didn’t invite me,” she said, sounding sad.
“Just tag along,” Logan suggested and Hana shook her head.
“I’ll get my feet up while Phoe’s asleep.” She punctuated her sentence with a yawn. “A foot massage might be nice.”
Logan bit his lip and smirked. Hana widened her eyes in mock horror and he ran his finger lightly down the back of her neck, smiling at the shiver it induced. “Let’s go then,” he said, moderating his enthusiasm with a sideways glance at Michael.
As Logan stood up, red stuff erupted down his tee shirt. He put his hand up to his nose, squeezing with his fingers and putting his head down. “Oh, crap! Not again.”
Hana dragged Phoenix’s towelling square from under the pram, glad it was clean as she held it up to Logan’s face. “try to contain it in this,” she said, wincing at the blood spatters around his feet.
Michael watched with clinical interest but Aroha looked sick again. Hana turned her back on them to shield some of the gore. Logan’s tee shirt soaked up the blood so quickly, it stuck to his chest and he pulled it away from his skin with his free hand.
“Hold on a sec,” Hana said, shifting the scarlet square of towel beneath the flow. She smirked. “You look like an axe murderer.” She saw only her husband’s eyes over the towel and he rolled them in an exaggerated movement, tugging at his shirt.
“Noo ssherrt,” he tried to tell her, his speech impeded by the blood and subsequent swelling. He tugged again and blood sprayed over Hana’s arms.
“Ok, ok,” she soothed. “I’ve got the message, but there’s not much point now; it’s ruined.”
Logan muttered something unintelligible and tugged again. Hana pulled at the hem and extracted his arms one by one as he swapped hands holding the towel. Blood marked the wooden floor making a dreadful, sticky sound as their feet moved over it. Aroha moved back in her chair to avoid the red spray, giving her a great view of Logan’s impressively muscular torso and first-hand sighting of the dreadful scar which snaked its way up the side of his body. It was ugly and gnarled looking and Hana heard the other woman’s reaction as Aroha’s breath caught in her throat. Hana gritted her teeth, cursing the tactless reaction. A glance at Logan found him oblivious, his face pushed into the crimson towel.
Aroha put her hand up to her mouth and Hana moved to block her from view, knowing how self-conscious he was. Michael observed the scar with a surgeon’s eye, but his interest strayed towards the tattoo on Logan’s upper arm and shoulder. In blocking Aroha, Hana opened a clear line of sight for Michael. The tee shirt hung limply in Hana’s hand and she stroked Logan’s hair away from his eyes. “You ok?” she whispered and her husband nodded, squinting through one eye as the constant blood flow swelled his tortured blood vessels and induced a headache.
Hana eyed the pram and the route to the doorway which took her past Michael and she caught the smirk on his face as he read the lines of ruined genealogy on his half-brother’s skin. Hana’s eyes narrowed in dismay at the ugly grin of victory. He looked thrilled that Logan’s whakapapa was wrong and she bristled with anger and loyalty. She glared into his grey eyes and saw his expression alter, moving from amusement to rage in an instant.
At first, Hana couldn’t work out why and glanced at Logan in confusion. In beautiful, gothic font, the words, Hana – Phoenix – Tama Du Rose wrapped around Logan’s bulging bicep with a flourish. Michael’s eyes became gimlet hard and he stood, flexing his fists. Hana felt the danger descend over the room as rage filled Michael’s face. His jawline grew granite hard and Hana saw his teeth grind beneath the skin of his cheek. Logan wasn’t in any position to defend himself and Hana yanked on his arm with urgency. “Let’s get to the bathroom,” she hissed. “We need to move.”
Logan saw nothing, his head bowed and his face shrouded in the towel. He trusted Hana and moved forwards at her direction. Sweat beaded on Michael’s forehead as he stoked himself into a frenzy of jealousy and panic rose in Hana’s chest. She yanked on Logan’s wrist and the towel came away from his nose, pebbling the floor with droplets of blood. Hana eyed her pram on the opposite side of the table, conflicted between her baby and husband. If she got Logan safely to the door, she could go back for Phoenix. They shuffled around the table towards the door, Hana passing Michael first and keeping herself between him and Logan.
His face looked possessed as he drew back his fist, his face curled into a demonic snarl. Rage blinded him to the slender redhead between him and the half-brother who owned everything including his bastard son. Aroha cried out in fear. “Michael! No!”
Hana reacted, throwing the dregs from Aroha’s mint tea into Michael’s eyes and causing him to splutter and cough. She shoved Logan towards the doorway, dropped the empty mug on the table and seized the cake plate. She delivered a fantastic backhand into Michael’s face with brute force, amazed the plate remained intact. Michael grunted and covered his face with his hands in self-defence as Hana risked a second swing, hearing the dull thud as the robust china clanged against his knuckles.
“Hana?” Logan’s face channelled horror as the towel dripped onto the floor and his wife gulped and ran her hand over the floral design.
“I always loved this set,” she said and hefted it with a flourish. Logan watched in amazement as Hana wedged the edge of the plate against Michael’s throat and leaned in close. “Try that again and I’ll hurt you worse!” she hissed.
The pained look on Michael’s face spoke volumes but Hana hadn’t finished. Logan continued to produce a red waterfall and recovered his face with the towel, stifling a snort of hilarity. He heard Hana get up into Michael’s face and spit out the word, “Coward!” through gritted teeth.
Hana seized the pram handle on her way through and somehow acquired a sobbing Aroha. With pounding heart and shaking hands she guided her entourage towards the lift, leaving a bright red trail guaranteed to upset Leslie. In the bedroom she pushed Logan into the bathroom, parked Phoenix by the dresser and plonked Aroha back in the armchair by the window.
As her anger dissipated and her energy levels plummeted earthwards, Hana eyed the bed with a desperate gaze. “I’ll be bloody glad when today’s over,” she sighed.