Du Rose Sons

by Bowes, K T

  Hana ran a shaking hand over her face. She’d been down this road far too often. It led to nowhere but a shredded glass path with barbed wire handrails.

  “Let’s get you settled, then you might know what you wanna do.” Leslie’s face was full of compassion and Hana was grateful for her presence.

  Hana decided to lay claim to the master bedroom. She wasn’t going to be able to keep her blood pressure down if her night on the sofa was anything to go by. She and Leslie spent the afternoon moving Logan’s things out and the busyness of the activity stemmed the pain at what Hana was actually doing. They took the drawers through one by one and then Leslie carried the cupboards. The little family had moved into the house three months ago, returning from Europe and greeting their new life with enthusiasm and hope. The two spare bedrooms remained empty of furniture and Hana put Logan in the room furthest from hers. She told herself she didn’t care if he had to sleep on the floor, but inwardly worried she was simply driving him further into the other woman’s arms. “The bedroom door’s got a lock on it,” she told Leslie, “so I’ll be safe. But I don’t want Phoenix out there on her own. I want to move the cot in with me.”

  “I think you’re taking things a bit far,” the old lady chided her. “He’s not going to hurt you or my moko. He wouldn’t!”

  Hana shrugged and insisted. The wooden cot was purpose built so that the sides could be taken off and allow it to convert into a small single bed. It was too heavy and Leslie couldn’t lift it on her own. She went into the hallway with her cell phone and made a call. Hana realised her phone was probably in one of the carrier bags Leslie had bought up from the hotel. The battery would be flat for sure by now and she didn’t know if the phone mast had been fixed. Staying at the house and unable to summon help suddenly seemed like a foolish idea.

  Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the front door and Leslie dropped her pillowcase and waddled off to open it. “That’ll be Flick,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Pardon?” Hana carried on changing the sheets on the king size four poster bed, resisting the disgusting urge to sniff them for evidence of the blonde woman’s perfume. When she turned abruptly at a noise in the doorway, Robert Dressler leaned against the wooden frame watching her. He had removed his boots, revealing a hole in his sock and his jeans were covered in some kind of engine oil. His mousy fringe hung in his eyes, his rampant beard shaved back to designer stubble. His blue eyes studied Hana as she fiddled with the edge of the duvet, trying to fit the awkward poppers together to close it. His pink lips curled back in a half smile and he winked at Hana lazily.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Bobby,” she warned the man, resisting the urge to cry under his kindness. Hana heard him sniff and couldn’t help herself, glancing in his direction only to find him stood at her elbow. His hands were coarse and rough as he snagged the duvet cover and tugged it free from her fingers. Then he took her in his arms and bent his tall body around her, shielding her from the world for just a moment.

  “You don’t need my pity,” he whispered into her hair, “you’re better than that.”

  Hana cried softly into the tough fabric of his shirt, not understanding anymore why tears appeared without warning. Bobby held her and Hana felt his love flowing into her bones. Once, it was his mission to harm her and he had been good at it, wreaking an awful kind of havoc into her life without caring. His penance now was to love her from a distance and watch her trying to make a life with her husband. That was his self-imposed punishment. Hana sighed, no longer having the energy to take responsibility for another’s suffering. “Just say the word and I’ll drop the bastard over a cliff,” he muttered into her curls, kissing the side of her head.

  Hana laughed and he swore, “I’m not soddin’ joking.”

  For some reason it seemed inappropriately funny and Hana struggled to hold in her mirth. It felt good to laugh. Gently she extracted herself from his grasp, not wanting to unfairly lead him on. The man was besotted and stayed at the farm because of her. A fugitive, he was in hiding from the cops but that was old news. Hana’s policeman-son had told his mother Flick was of little interest nowadays, his warrant a long way down on the list of police priorities. They were overworked and underpaid. If he got picked up, it would be pure bad luck.

  Hana sat down on the bed and looked around her. The room looked oddly strange with only one bedside cabinet and tallboy. It seemed unbalanced; like her marriage. Leslie clattered away down the hall, sliding the drawers back into place in Logan’s new room. Bobby sat his backside down on the expensive sheets after running a hand over the seat of his jeans to ensure they were clean. “Not too bad,” he said, inspecting his hand. Hana smiled at him.

  “You set out to kill me and yet you’re the only person who’s made me smile in days. Twice.”

  “It’s my sparkling personality. Besides, I’m done making you cry.”

  The moment felt intense and Hana felt his gaze fixed on her, wanting more than she was able to give. Hana bit her lip. “Please would you be able to help Leslie carry Phoe’s stuff in here...before...”

  “Before he gets home?” Bobby finished the sentence for her, reaching across and taking her fingers in his. His hands were warm and infused Hana with a sense of comfort and well-being. She tasted danger in the back of her throat. “Why did you come back up here?” his voice was low and husky.

  “I have nowhere else to go.” Hana’s admission invoked a stab of pain. “I have high blood pressure in a high risk pregnancy. I’m not allowed to fly to see Izzie, Bodie will enjoy my misery far too much and I don’t have the energy to run around looking for alternatives right now.”

  “Fair enough.” He caressed her fingers softly. Then he let go as the sound of Leslie clumping down the hallway reached their ears. “Just tell me where you want stuff.”

  Sweating and swearing, Leslie and Bobby hefted the heavy wooden cot down the hallway and got it stuck in the bedroom door. Hana laughed at them until she cried and almost peed her pants. It was too wide for the bend just before the master bedroom and couldn’t be turned on its side owing to the rails. They were forced to back down the hallway with Phoenix sat in the cot like an Indian princess committing suttee. Leslie kicked it as they put it back where they started. Phoenix scaled the cot sides like a monkey, rendering them pointless.

  “Tama taught her to do that,” Hana sighed. “Idiot boy.”

  “Want me to take it apart?” Bobby asked and Hana wondered whether he meant with a screw driver or his fists. The latter looked probable.

  “No, thanks. She can just sleep with me,” Hana said, feeling apologetic. “Look, we’ll be fine. You both go back now.”

  Darkness shrouded them as Leslie hugged Hana on the front porch. Bobby chased his cowboy boots around the floor for a moment and then pressed his lips to Hana’s forehead with revealing tenderness. Leslie’s face was comical as it registered shock and then understanding. Hana knew where the old woman’s brain ran with it, but was too exhausted to reassure her.

  They left Hana to her torturous thoughts and went their respective ways with hearts separately laden with misgiving.

  “Hana?” Logan’s voice sounded hopeful as he came into the kitchen and found her sat in the light from the open microwave, picking at the crust on a frozen steak pie. It seemed like a good idea but her appetite left her as soon as it emerged from the microwave, wrinkled and sweaty instead of crusty and lush. “Hana, can we talk? Please?” Logan sounded desperate and Hana battled with a sense of victory, that somehow things hadn’t all gone his way.

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t want to speak to you. Stay away from me.” She made the mistake of looking at him, seeing his inner agony and feeling it attack her resolve. It made her harder than she needed to be. “Just think of me as a...flatmate really. We just share airspace until I’m well enough to get the hell out of here. Then we can talk through a solicitor.”

  Logan looked at her in confusion. “But I’ve done nothing wrong. I
haven’t been unfaithful, I haven’t...”

  “Well you certainly looked it! Strutting around your property with Cosmopolitan Barbie on your arm, snogging your face off at every opportunity. Am I meant to be ok with that or something? I mean, she’s in the bedroom we usually use so what am I supposed to think?”

  “You’re not leaving me and you are definitely not taking Phoe!” Logan’s voice had an edge of steel and Hana cringed visibly.

  “You can’t stop me.”

  Logan’s voice was cold and hard, “I can and I will. If you hate me that much and feel you really have to go, then go.” Hana turned to look at him, sensing the rising threat. “But once you set foot off this property, you forfeit all rights to our daughter for good. You will never see her again.”

  Hana felt sickness rise into her gullet and the baby pushed awkwardly into her back. Fear and dread snaked wicked fingers over her heart at the thought of losing her daughter. Tama’s mother, Aroha, was never permitted back to claim her son and it destroyed her life. And his. Tama didn’t understand how going against the Du Roses, had been impossible for the teenage girl two decades ago.

  Hana scraped the wasted pie angrily into the dustbin and clanged her crockery into the dishwasher with shaking fingers. Opening the fridge to retrieve milk for a cup of tea she spotted the dinner she made for Logan a lifetime ago, to celebrate their new baby. The few small bites of pie continued to curdle in her guts and rage added itself to the gnawing ache in her stomach. “Oh, guess what?” she started, seizing hold of the platters and thumping them onto the centre island. She stripped off the plastic wrap, seeing how the beautifully cooked food had crinkled at the edges in the days since. “Here’s that gorgeous meal I cooked you to celebrate our new child. I wish you’d seen it, it was perfect. Look,” she held up the steak, dripping marinade onto the counter. “Miriam’s special recipe from out of my head. Just for you. She would be so proud of you, Logan. Such a credit to her aren’t you? An adulterer like your mother and a bully like your real father. I bet they’re counting down the days until you join them. In Hell!”

  In anger Hana flung the steak at her husband, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he put his arm up to prevent the accurate shot from hitting him in the face. The marinade smeared down his sleeve and the steak fell to the floor with a splat.

  “Don’t forget to eat your veggies,” Hana said in a sing-song voice and threw the platter at him. It was a skilled underarm shot that flew like a slow Frisbee. Logan managed to catch the plate with his excellent reactions but the veggies stayed airborne, flying off the fairground ride and smashing into his body. Orange pumpkin and red kumara mixed with yellow grease and slipped down his shirt, landing unceremoniously on the tiled floor. Hana wanted to add the perfectly beaten mashed potato to the casserole on her husband but resisted. He looked like a pressure cooker about to blow a valve.

  “I’d probably throw that shirt away,” Hana said, injecting an eerie calm into her voice. “You shouldn’t find that too hard to do. You’re better at throwing things away than I ever gave you credit for.”

  She left the room with catwalk precision and dignity, denying Logan his retort and leaving him with a mess that would offend his neat-freak tendency enough to allow her to get to sleep. But not everything was destined to go Hana’s way. She had put Phoenix to bed in the four poster in the master bedroom but once down there, Hana was alarmed to find her gone. The little girl had climbed out and taken herself back to where she felt she belonged, scaling the cot sides and putting herself to bed.

  Denied her final victory, Hana was unable to shut and lock the bedroom door like she planned. Instead she was forced to leave it ajar in case Phoenix needed her. She lay down on the familiar mattress, relieved at the scent of freshly laundered sheets. She heard Logan come and stand outside the door, seeing his outline in the light from the hallway. He stood there for a long while and eventually Hana fell asleep, too tired to cry or even think straight.

  Chapter 10

  Hana always hated arguing with Logan. He was stubborn and resolute once he made his mind up and it was like disputing with a power pole. It drove Hana into displaying unreasonably childish behaviour out of sheer frustration and that in turn, made her angry with herself. His words came back to her in the darkness, “Once you set foot off this property, you forfeit all rights to our daughter for good. You will never see her again.”

  It was the sense of futility washing over her as she lay in the elegant four poster bed alone, that disturbed the woman’s sleep. It carried her into dreams in which she was powerless to change any of the terrifying circumstances embodied in the mortifying illusions. Believing her daughter was lost without trace in a strangely familiar English seaside town, the poor woman sat up in bed, her heart pounding like a jack-hammer in her breast. Her nightdress stuck uncomfortably to Hana’s body, the sweat cooling as she pulled the fabric away from her clammy skin. Her hair was damp and twisted through her clothes and once freed from inside the collar, it hung lankly down her back to the waist.

  Pushing back the restrictive duvet, Hana climbed out of bed feeling the chill air on her bare feet and legs. Logan’s side of the bed was cold and empty and his absence exacerbated the brick lodged in her chest. Hana wondered if he was on the sofa or down at the hotel with his other woman. A sob caught in Hana’s throat as the hopelessness of her situation hit home again. Already on the verge of tears it was the catalyst to send her plunging over the edge into despair and she shuffled around the end of the bed in the darkness, seeking the comfort of the ensuite and copious amounts of toilet paper.

  The overhead light was harsh and revealed to Hana a sad, tired face peering back at her in the mirror. She used the toilet and then sat on the closed seat trying not to look at her reflection, avoiding the obvious wrinkles in her pale skin or the puffy eyes from where she had spent the last three nights crying herself to sleep. Hana slumped on the hard plastic seat and rubbed her eyes, feeling the pummelling of little feet under the skin of her blossoming bump. She blew her nose on a wad of tissue, trying to contain the miserable howl that threatened to escape from deep inside her breast and wake up the mountain. Hana’s insides felt empty, the emotions of her awful dream resonating in real life and her own powerlessness creating monsters in her imagination.

  It felt as though Hana sat in the ensuite and cried for hours. She was exhausted and drained by the time the tears abated enough for her to move her aching body off its ungainly perch. Her legs tingled from inactivity and her baby did somersaults like a professional kick boxer, objecting violently to the constricted position. Hana’s breath hitched in her lungs and she was light headed, her blood pressure dangerously spiked from her angst. With sobs still occasionally escaping with involuntary shudders, Hana padded down the long hallway to the kitchen in search of a cup of hot tea to calm her down and help with the evasive good night’s sleep.

  The darkness through the glass of the front door looked black and forbidding, reminding Hana of her isolation and enhancing her sense of despair. She pottered around filling the kettle and fetching her favourite mug, trying not to clank and disturb Logan if he was even there. The frequent convulsing of her recovering lungs caused her to spill the milk, the spasm coming at the wrong moment and Hana sighed in frustration. She turned to reach for the dishcloth, working by the light of the halogen spotlight over the hob and jumped in fright as she found Logan standing quietly behind her, leaning his boxer short clad backside on the centre island.

  Their eyes locked and another redundant sob hitched in Hana’s chest, making her appear like a small, vulnerable child that has cried itself into a tizz. “Hana,” Logan’s voice was soft, caressing and addictive, washing over his wife’s psyche like a balm. Frozen on the spot, her body betrayed her with another shuddering breath and Logan risked a step towards her.

  Hana smelled the aftermath of his shower in the large family bathroom down the hall, the masculine scent filling her nostrils with pleasant memories. The black tattoo on
his upper arm cast a dark shadow over his skin, twisting and turning as it wound his genealogy over his flesh, Hana’s own name acting as the italic border at the bottom of his bicep. Soft, downy skin called to her, tantalising her with the knowledge of how it felt under her fingers and Hana sensed the baby still, as a familiar feeling pushed down from her navel. Loving Logan Du Rose was like riding on a swing far too high with her eyes closed, sick-making and exhilarating. “I hate you!” Her voice sounded childish and petulant.

  Logan took another step towards her, manipulating and winning her over like he did the fillies in the arena, where he free lunged them before bending them to his will. “No you don’t.” His breath caressed Hana’s cheek as he dipped his head and kissed her neck. His fingers slipped underneath the shirt and slid gently up her flesh, coaxing and controlling. In that moment, Hana knew it wasn’t a cup of tea which would soothe her aching soul. Logan’s fingers were gentle and full of promise as they travelled slowly across her rounded belly and Hana tensed as they moved into the waistband of her embarrassingly tatty, comfort underwear. Logan was skilled and persuasive and Hana’s resolve fell like a line of dominoes, cascading into her finely balanced good sense and self-respect and knocking them all to the ground. As Logan lay on top of her in the huge bed, his grey eyes locked on hers with a frightening intensity, Hana knew it was a big mistake. She tried to use thoughts of the blonde Englishwoman and her thieving lips on Logan’s cheek, to still her increasing sense of passion but it was futile. Her body shuddered under her husband’s touch and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.