“I can’t believe this,” Aroha sobbed. “How could I make this mistake again?” She clutched her stomach and bent herself double in the armchair. “I’m so stupid.”
“Don’t say that,” Hana soothed. “It’s not good for the baby to get so upset.” Poor Aroha continued to cry. Michael had portrayed himself as the debonair doctor and then descended into the egotistical male stereotype and his girlfriend reeled from the shock. “I thought he was different to Kane,” she howled. “But they’re all the bloody same!”
“No, they aren’t,” Hana asserted, rocking the pram to keep Phoenix asleep. “Logan isn’t.”
“He was going to hit Logan!” Aroha sniffed. “That wasn’t just inappropriate, it was unfair!”
Hana watched the distraught woman rock herself and mustered the energy to behave with compassion. Tiredness dragged at her feet as she fought to control the situation. Logan splashed around in the shower, washing the blood from his face and torso and Hana smiled in all the right places. Aroha lost everything in her flight from Kane, not only her baby son but her sanity and self-respect. “I’m done with all of them,” she declared. “It’s over!” Remembering her unborn child, Aroha sobbed at the cruel twist of fate which left her in exactly the same mess as two decades previously.
Hana checked on Logan, finding him naked and his clothes partly rinsed out in the shower tray. “You ok?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He nodded, stuffing cotton wool into his nostrils.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Hana sighed and he raised his eyebrows in a half grin.
“Do you realise that you say that every time?”
Hana closed the door and leaned against it, watching her husband’s reflection in the mirror.
“Stop checking me out,” he said, turning so she could enjoy the full effect.
“Can if I want to,” Hana leered, drawing a snort from him. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“We?” Logan gave her a cynical look and Hana groaned.
“Fine, me then. What am I gonna do?”
Logan grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “What the hell happened?” he asked. “One minute I’m blinded by blood and the next, you’re threatening Michael having thrown cake all over the table.”
Hana gave the cotton wool walrus tusks a curious look, smiling indulgently but offering no explanation. Logan rolled his eyes. “I need my clothes; is she planning on staying in there all day?”
“Don’t be mean,” Hana sighed, pulling the door open.
Aroha saw Logan’s muscular body partly clad in his towel and rose to leave. She wiped her hand across her eyes. “I should leave; I’m sorry. Do you think a taxi would come this far out?”
Hana shook her head. “I don’t think so. How far do you need to go?”
“Auckland.” Aroha bit her lip.
Logan stood in the doorway, drying his hair on a hand towel. “Stay here tonight,” he said, his voice authoritative but unthreatening. “I’ll get someone to drive you home tomorrow.”
Hana nodded. “That’s a great idea. Logan, do you know the keypad number for Barry’s old room?”
He recalled it instantly; his mathematical brain impressing Hana and producing a smile of approval. She led Aroha down the hall, installing her in the spacious bedroom of a boy who died young. Barry Du Rose slipped into death as violently as he had lived his life, his organs shutting down one by one as he bled out inexplicably.
“It’s a beautiful room,” Aroha sniffed and Hana agreed. “Shame Barry Du Rose was such an arsehole.”
“Oh.” Hana’s lips parted in amusement. “I didn’t know him.”
“But you’ve heard, right?” Aroha said, pulling open the drapes to reveal a room decorated in a classical theme. “I bet they’re all too superstitious to use it,” Aroha sniffed. She admired the pretty pale green colours with contrasting cream duvet cover and curtains. “At least I know Michael will stay away.” Another round of tears sprang from her eyes.
“Think of your baby,” Hana told her. She made Aroha a drink and settled her on the bed before excusing herself to return to her husband.
In the hallway outside she ran into Michael. “Don’t touch me!” Hana snapped, distaste evident in her face. He put his hands up as though to defend himself and apologised.
“Please, I’m sorry; I don’t know what came over me. You know I’m not like that. Can I see Logan and explain?”
“No way!” Hana exclaimed. “You aren’t coming near my husband! Luckily for you, he didn’t see your ridiculous behaviour. Why don’t you devote your time to Aroha, who’s now terrified of you, stupid little man!”
Michael groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I saw ‘Tama’ written on his arm next to your baby and it hurt.”
“What’s your problem?” Hana raged. “You’re like a spoiled brat who wants everything Logan has; it’s pathetic.”
“But Tama’s my son!” Michael put his hands on his hips and towered over Hana. She saw the beginnings of bruising on his throat and forehead and took a step forward, seeing his cowardly demeanour return.
“And you gave him nothing!” she bit. “Logan loves Tama and always showed him a father’s love. He belongs to us now so get over it. You just can’t bear Logan to take something else you believe is yours. Do everyone a favour and grow up, Michael. You make me sick with your juvenile rivalry. Just go home!”
“You can’t make me,” Michael spat and Hana’s green eyes flashed with the force of the dare.
“Can’t I?” A wicked smile touched her lips as she accepted the dare. “I can call any of the stock men and they’ll throw you out of here without asking why. Is that what you want?” Hana reached into her pocket for her mobile phone and Michael took a step back.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Hana unlocked the screen and he relented with surprising speed.
“Don’t! Please, don’t.”
Hana turned and stalked back to her bedroom, hearing Michael knocking on Barry’s old bedroom door. She let herself into the room and leaned against the door with a sigh, dreading dinner time with a passion.
“Trouble?” Logan asked and Hana shook her head.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Logan pointed at his clean jeans and then wrinkled his nose. “I’m trying to pluck up the courage to put on a clean tee shirt.” The walrus tusks still dangled from his nose, streaked with bright red blood.
“Maybe not yet,” Hana said. “Wait awhile.”
“You look knackered.” Logan held his arms out to her and she nestled into his chest, feeling the soft black down against her cheek.
“I’m regretting bringing my father here,” she muttered. “I should have guessed some disaster would befall us; it usually does.”
“It’s just a nosebleed,” her husband reassured her, misunderstanding. “I think I lost pints with that one, I feel lightheaded.”
“You need a hot, sugary drink.” Hana flicked the kettle on to boil again and reached into the cabinet for a mug. Logan appeared behind her, putting his arms around her and pulling her backwards into his chest.
“What really happened?” he asked again, as she knew he would.
Hana sighed. “If I said you’d be better off not knowing, would you trust me and leave it alone?”
Logan put his head back and looked at the ceiling without answering. He felt under his nose to check the bleeding had stopped and sighed with relief when it had. Hana kept contact with him, managing to make him sugary coffee with his left arm laid heavily around her shoulder. She handed it to him, looking for an answer. Logan took the drink and then bowed his head regally. “Ok,” he said slowly, staring into her green eyes. “I’m always asking you to trust me, so I guess it’s fair.” He smiled and withdrew the cotton wool sausages from his nose, flicking them into the dustbin.
Hana’s body slumped as she felt the tension pass. Logan Du Rose stared at his beautiful, redheaded wife - certain he saw her slender fingers hold the edge of a cake plate violently to his brother’s throat. He ran his thumb over her jaw line and behind her ear, watching her eyes close and her eyelashes flutter against her cheek. “You’re gorgeous when you’re mad,” he whispered, slipping his other hand beneath her blouse and walking his fingers over her flesh, teasing her senses. Hana felt his lips brush hers and sensed her defenses weaken. Logan’s grey eyes carried a hint of humour and his perfect teeth gripped his bottom lip lightly. “You’re a powerful woman, Mrs Du Rose,” he said with a smirk, “and I find that extremely sexy.” He pushed his fingers into her bra, savouring the heaviness of her breast against his flesh.
“Good,” Hana replied coyly. “But you’re dripping blood on the floor.”
They ate dinner in the formal dining room with the other hotel guests, avoiding the flash point of the private dining room. A subdued Aroha sat with Michael at a table for two near the door and Hana squeezed her shoulder as she passed. Robert was in his element, strutting through the dining room like a rooster and pulling out the ladies’ chairs with a flourish. Leslie looked after Phoenix in her upstairs apartment so Hana had the evening off to play footsie with her husband under the table.
Logan looked dark under the eyes and the bridge of his nose swelled painfully from the broken blood vessels inside. His voice sounded like he had a cold and she squeezed his thigh under the table. None of the staff mentioned the blood bath in the family dining room or the scattered cake and Hana avoided their questioning gaze.
Robert and Elaine dressed for dinner, looking sweet in their formal evening wear. They chose from the menu like excited children and Hana found it endearing. “Ooh, let’s have the salmon, Lainey.” Robert clapped his hands together like a boy.
Hana felt choked that in a few short days they’d be gone, flying home to Blighty and a world she struggled to relate to. Logan chatted easily, explaining his plan for Reuben and Miriam’s memorial garden.
“So, you didn’t know he was your father until after he died?” Robert asked, his tone sad.
Logan nodded. “Yep. I was the product of a forty year affair. Must be some kind of record.”
“Aye, son,” Robert said, not fooled by Logan’s bravado. “That’s tragic on so many levels. You must be hurtin’ in that big heart o’ yourn.”
Logan studied his plate and Hana watched her husband battle the familiar inward struggle. She reached a hand under the table and stroked his thigh again. Logan’s fingers clasped hers and he swallowed, struggling more with Robert calling him son, than the loss of his whakapapa. It plucked at hidden strings and unbound something inside his heart.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Elaine whispered, her eyes damp with tears. Hana felt a flush of affection for her aunt as their identical green eyes met.
“Thanks,” Logan said, keen to move the conversation on. “The site we’ll visit tomorrow is where Reuben’s house used to be before the fire. The area’s still quite charred. I bought it from my half-brother as they couldn’t face building on the same ground; too many bad memories.”
“I love the maze idea,” Robert said, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s my clever Hana. We can plan it out together later if you like?”
“Yes, thanks Dad.” Hana felt grateful. It seemed an ironic tribute for a couple whose lives took such unfortunate twists and turns, going nowhere in the end.
“I’m excited about the centre of the maze,” Elaine said, laying her cutlery down. “There’s so many things we could do. The centre is such an important place because it’s the prize for making it through and finding it.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Hana said. “I never thought about it like that.”
“The idea of a peaceful, gravelled area, with perhaps a bench seat and fountain would offer visitors the opportunity to sit and reflect. Maybe there could be a memorial stone or something appropriate?”
Robert cleared his throat, sounding nervous and directing his question towards Logan. “Perhaps you’d allow me as a former clergyman to say a blessing over the area, before you begin your revival of it?”
Hana’s eyes flashed with pleasure at her father’s thoughtfulness. She struggled not to jump up with excitement and clap her hands. Logan nodded with little hesitation. “That’d be great, yes please.” He looked relieved as though asking God into the site would expunge the devastation of its past.
“The Māori kaumatua visited even before the fire investigators vacated,” Hana said, pushing her plate away. “He banished the spirit of death and the tapu, returning it to a state of noa, or normality for the family.”
Logan smiled at her understanding of his customs, his grey eyes appreciative. It was a kind thing the old man did, trudging through the ash and stench of burnt electrics and melted rubber on Christmas Eve. He was a gentle Māori named Arama, whose mana oozed from him in waves. Hana met him afterwards, receiving his hongi whilst painfully aware her nagging backache was finding a pattern and bite. He looked into her eyes deeply and smiled.
“Be well, tamāhine,” he breathed and Hana wondered if he knew what she struggled to hide. Phoenix was born a few hours later in the midst of the tragedy.
The family parted outside the lift as Hana took her husband’s hand. “Let’s go up to Leslie’s apartment and get Phoe,” she said.
He pressed his lips against hers. “And miss the opportunity to spend half an hour with my wife alone?” he whispered, sounding sultry. He pushed her giggling along the corridor and into their bedroom.
“I need to get Phoe soon,” Hana pleaded, wincing as Logan toyed with her full breasts.
“When are these gonna be all mine?” he grumbled, shifting his body over hers.
“You got me pregnant!” Hana exclaimed. “I didn’t do it by myself.”
“Ah, but I’m not totally sure what causes it. I think I need to get more practice in until I’m sure.” Logan laughed, the slow rumble vibrating through Hana’s chest wall.
“You’re bad,” she giggled, her words silenced by her husband’s lips.
Ages later she pushed Logan away. “No more, Mr Du Rose. I’m getting my daughter and you’re coming with me. Leslie has a habit of keeping me talking and I’m tired. I need my bed.”
“You’re in bed,” Logan said, his voice sultry.
Hana ran her palms over his muscular back, feeling the bones in his spine through her fingers. “Yeah, that’s an awesome idea. Thanks, babe. I’ll just wait here while you go up to the apartment. Don’t be long.” Hana pushed him off her and rolled onto her side, snuggling into her pillow.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Logan groaned. “Fine! I’ll come with you.”
Logan’s feet were bare as they climbed the stairs to Leslie’s refurbished apartment. The walls were a riot of gentle pastel colours interspersed with feature walls. The predominant shade was a soft mauve with white woodwork and ceilings, transforming the space from its former shabby chic to peaceful and comforting. Hana saw Logan ball his fists and regretted forcing him to accompany her. She knew he missed his mother with a tangible ache and visiting her former home wouldn’t help. “Sorry,” she whispered and he shrugged.
“It’s just bricks, Hana. I know she’s gone.”
Leslie greeted Hana with hugs and kisses, eyeing Logan with deference and a nod of acknowledgement. “She ate well, my mokopuna.” Leslie indicated the sleeping baby in the pram by the fireplace and Hana’s eyes widened. Phoenix’s stomach protruded from the blankets like a Father Christmas doll.
A movement in an adjoining room caught Hana’s eye and she put her hand over her mouth to disguise the ready smirk. She glanced at her husband, feeling his body stiffen against hers. Alfred Du Rose strolled through the apartment in a pair of pyjamas and a dressing gown. He looked as though he still lived there and Hana wondered if he was lost.
Logan gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Yeah, his grief lasted a long time,” he hissed under his breath.
Hana nudged him in the ribs as Leslie bent down over the pram, straightening Phoenix’s blankets and stroking the soft pink cheek. Logan closed his eyes and ground his jaw, frowning as though pondering a massive problem. Hana sensed many emotions radiate from his unhappy core; embarrassment, anger and sadness. She reached for Logan’s hand, entwining her fingers through his and feeling a flush of pleasure as he accepted the lifeline.
“Hana,” Alfred said, his olive skin flushing red with embarrassment. “I didn’t know...oh, never mind.” He pulled his brown dressing gown more tightly around his waist and shifted on unsteady feet. His arm flailed towards Leslie as though in explanation but she refused to catch his eye.
Logan nodded to the man who parented him for forty years and it was a different greeting to the fond hongi and firm embrace of a year ago. Hana felt bereft for them both, wondering where the rot began and which man cultivated it first. She looked at Leslie and winced involuntarily, regretting that the older woman saw.
Leslie smiled and winked as though trying to communicate something to her, woman to woman. Then her brown eyes settled on her embarrassed lover. “Have you let that bath water out this time, Alfred Du Rose?” she demanded.
He nodded. “Aye, sorry about last time.” He ran his hands through damp greying hair and looked unsure of himself. Leslie jerked her head towards Logan.
“There’s more than just Hana here!” she said, speaking to the old man like a child.
“Ah, yep.” Alfred moved slowly toward Logan and offered his hand to shake. “Good day, son.”
Logan looked at the hand and then back at Alfred. It was a small offering, but he figured it was better than nothing. He accepted the proffered, arthritic fingers, shaking them and whipping a false smile onto his face. Hana ached for him so badly, she had to turn away to fiddle with the pram to hide her misery. “Thanks for looking after Phoe,” she whispered to Leslie. “It was nice to be able to sit with Dad for an hour.”
“Dinner’s late finishing,” Leslie smirked and Hana shot a frightened look over her shoulder. She turned back in time to see Leslie’s veiled grin. “But I don’t mind, ye know. I love that girl like she’s my own.”
Hana swallowed. “I know. I appreciate it so much. If I could just shake this tiredness, it would be easier.”
“No matter. This old woman is here to help.” Leslie enfolded her in a warm embrace which contrasted starkly with the formality of the men.
“Night,” Hana whispered and Leslie ran the backs of her fingers down Hana’s cheek.
“Night kōtiro.”
They made their exit politely, trying not to make too much noise descending the wooden stairs. Back in their bedroom, Phoenix transferred from the pram to the travel cot without stirring. Hana swaddled her up, putting rolled up towels behind and in front of her to prevent her rolling onto her face. “Do you think Leslie drugs her?” Hana asked, staring at the comatose child. “She’s overdue a feed.” She ran a tentative finger over her swollen breast and saw Logan look at her with a sparkle in his eyes.
“What, so they can get a quick one in?” His tone was facetious.
Hana wrinkled her nose, trying to assess the level of Logan’s distress. “We think they’re appalling and Tama thinks we are. It must be the curse of the generations,” Hana sighed. “I’m sorry though. I know it bothers you.”
“My nose hurts,” Logan complained, trying to distract her and pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
“Enough to stop you discussing anything important?” Hana said with a smirk, slipping her blouse over her head. She peered down at her breasts as they fought to escape her bra. “I don’t know if I can sleep with these.”
“I can definitely sleep with them,” Logan breathed, cupping them gently from behind and nibbling the soft skin of Hana’s neck. The moment was ruined by the first of Phoenix’s horrible wet farts and they dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.
“Boil up with pork and kumara,” Logan sniggered, sniffing the air and covering his nose and mouth. “Leslie feeds her until she’s got no choice but to sleep it off.”
Hana shook her head. “I can’t get rid of the image of Alfred in his paisley jim-jams and Leslie in a granny nightie, frolicking around above our heads.”
“No! Don’t create those images!” Logan groaned, collapsing onto the bad backwards.
Bright and early the next morning, Logan drove Hana, Robert and Elaine up to the site of Rueben’s old house. “This is a trusty old vehicle,” Robert commented, patting the side of Jack’s red Jeep.
“It’s older than me, I think,” Logan joked. “It rattles a lot, but it’s better now the new road is almost finished. We could only get as far as the bunkhouse before using a quad bike, but this road will take us right to the top of the mountain and the site for the new house.”
“It sounds amazing, eh Hana?” Robert clapped his hands in glee.
“I hope Phoenix is ok,” Hana worried, remembering the disgusted look on her daughter’s face as she handed her over to Leslie again.
“The housekeeper seems to adore her,” Elaine reassured, patting Hana’s hand in the back seat.
“Yes, she does,” Hana said, realising Leslie was the nearest thing to a doting grandmother Phoenix had.
The charred scent had left the area months since but the singed shrubbery around Reuben’s old property still told a tale beneath its vigorous new growth. Weeds and grass had sprung up in the charred soil, cynically thriving in the charcoal remnants. “Shall we pray first?” Robert asked, heartened by Logan’s nod as he put the handbrake on.
Hana’s father prayed over the area and anointed the four corner posts marking the proposed maze site. The gathered group stood with bowed heads as the once-holy man blessed the site and asked for God’s peace and grace to descend on it, touching anyone who worked or visited there in the future. “Amen,” his deep, Scots accent intoned.
Hana eyed the tiny vial of oil between his fingers, her childhood memories stirred by the sight of something so familiar. Her gaze strayed to the steep bank behind her and she saw herself, heavily pregnant, slipping towards the fire site as she followed her sister-in-law, Liza. Hana recalled the flames, vibrant and treacherous against the night sky and Miriam’s hair as she rushed into them, trailing out behind her as it ignited. Hana pushed her fingers either side of the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes and Logan saw. “What’s wrong, babe,” he asked, cradling her in his strong arms.
“How can you bear it here?” Hana hissed. “I can’t stop myself being transported back to that awful night. How can you stand here so calmly, making plans?”
Logan shrugged. “It’s part of the process, Hana. I’m a ‘fixer’ who lives to improve and enhance my surroundings and this is just another place to be fixed.”
Robert smiled and patted Logan’s shoulder in approval, smiling at his daughter with indulgence. “Your husband’s right, hen,” he whispered.
So Hana went along with it, trying not to look at the bank and focussing on Elaine’s suggestions for suitable hedging. “Whatever you choose will take time to grow, possibly years, but it’ll need to find the bush conditions favourable.” Elaine waved her arms in animation and her Irish accent sounded more pronounced as she listed possible shrubs and bushes. Robert caught Hana staring at the rugged bank again and put his arm around her, looking at her with a question in his eyes.
Haltingly his daughter described her frightening descent and even more precarious climb back up the sharp, crumbling cliff. “Alfred helped me,” she admitted, tears brimming beneath her eyelids. “He watched his wife commit suicide and then he walked me home. It feels surreal now.” Hana wiped her eyes and sniffed.
“So what hold does the bank have over you?” Robert asked, taking Hana’s hand in his. He led her to the bottom of the sharp incline and turned her to face him. “Is it just memories or is there something else?”
Hana stared at the craggy earth with narrowed green eyes. “Just memories, I think. But there’s so much more, Dad. Logan’s birth father lived here and he never knew. So much evil went on in this place and I can feel it.” Hana wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She lowered her voice. “I can’t show Logan how much I hate it; he’s trying so hard.”
Robert nodded and stroked Hana’s cheek. He took the oil from his pocket and removed the lid, dabbing his finger across the neck. He pressed a cross gently over her forehead. “May the peace of Christ be with you in this place, precious daughter,” he breathed, his deep voice resonating in the air above Hana. Then he turned and flicked oil onto the bank. “I rebuke you, spirits of pain, depression and death in the name of Jesus Christ. Go! You are not welcome here.”
Hana remembered what an awesome man of God her father was and regretted the awful memory which replaced the image of his great kindness. “Thanks, Dad,” she sighed, pressing her face into his chest.
Robert smiled, closed his eyes and held his daughter for real instead of just in his head, relishing the preciousness of the moment and not realising how much it would haunt his nightmares in the days to come.