Du Rose Sons

by Bowes, K T

  “Of course I missed you.” Hana kissed the strong brown forearm and a rush of gratitude caused a waver in her voice, “But did you miss me?”

  “Always.” Tama’s face was bristly as he planted a kiss on her cheek. He came around the front of the bench and sat down next to her, fixing his long arm around her shoulder. Hana cuddled into the young man and closed her eyes. “Why are you sad?” Tama asked, resting his cheek on her head.

  “How do you know I am?” Hana asked with a sigh.

  “I can just tell,” Tama replied, sounding wise for his twenty years. “And Toby texted me and told me to get my ass home because it had all turned to shit.”

  “Oh. Lovely. So my emotional and mental state is what the stockmen talk about over morning tea is it?” It came out with more sarcasm than Hana intended. It was wasted on her adopted son.

  “Sure is. It’s headline stuff. What is the gorgeous Mrs Du Rose wearing today? Will it be jeans and a sunhat and nothing else, or will it be a flower print dress with matching shoes?”

  Hana shook her head. Tama oozed Du Rose ego and confidence through every pore. She adored him. She laid her head against his arm and wished all her problems could breeze out as easily as this upbeat young man had breezed in. “Why are you back?” she tried to keep suspicion out of her voice but Tama knew her too well.

  “No, I haven’t been fired or chucked out. I’m doing good actually. I passed my first lot of exams and I’ve even been allowed to play with real fires.” He became serious. “Na, it’s mid-course break and I wanted to spend some time with you and Loge and catch up with Lucy in Hamilton. I wanted to see if it was ok to invite her here. She’s got a few days leave and then I can see you all at once.”

  “Of course it’s ok,” Hana said immediately. Then she remembered all Logan’s gear piled in the spare bedroom and cringed.

  “Ok, so are you gonna tell me what the story is, or do I have to tickle it out of you?” Tama asked, releasing Hana’s shoulders. He leaned forward with his forearms on his knees and looked back at her. His dark hair was shorter than usual and tidy, but his grey eyes peered sideways at her, narrowed and insistent; just like always.

  “Just ask Toby,” Hana said rudely and Tama smirked, lifting one side of his mouth like Logan did.

  “Tickle it is then.” He sat up abruptly and Hana shrieked as Tama’s sharp fingers dug into her ribs and forced their way into her armpits.

  “Stop, stop,” she begged, pushing at his hands and failing miserably. The fireman easily overpowered her until she was a blithering wreck, unable to control even her own dribble which leaked unattractively between her lips and onto the floor. “I give in!” she cried.

  “Too slow,” Tama lowered his probing fingers to her waist where he knew she was most sensitive. He tried to squeeze and then stopped unexpectedly. His hands strayed to Hana’s rounded abdomen and he lifted his head and looked her straight in the eyes. “Geez, Ma. Have you been at the pies or what?”

  Hana’s body went from rigid and afraid of his reaction, to indignant and offended. “You just called me fat! You shouldn’t do that to a woman, don’t you know that?” She was huffy and cross but enraged when Tama pulled her sweatshirt apart like an eager peep show punter and tried to lift her tee shirt. It felt obscene in the public garden.

  “I wanna see!” he insisted and Hana slapped his fingers.

  “Do you really?” she asked him, pushing his hands away. “What do you think that will look like, just as Logan walks around the corner? Or even better, your mate Toby. Wouldn’t that be a story for smoko break? Did you hear the latest...?”

  “Ok, ok.” Tama released Hana but turned sideways on the bench. “So how about you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Hana sulked and he laughed at her, just like he always did. It was infuriating. Tama reached for her hands clasped firmly in her lap and Hana jumped.

  “I won’t tickle you,” Tama said softly. “But I do know what a pregnancy looks like, Ma. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Hana inhaled, slowly and deeply. But when she exhaled, a hideous, pent-up sob escaped. She clapped her hand over it but it was followed by fifteen minutes of crying on the shoulder of a young man who felt more like blood to her, than her own son.

  Tama held her and occasionally kissed Hana on the side of her sweaty temple. Her hair was frizzled and stuck to her face and she knew her eyes must resemble something stolen from a frog. Whenever she thought she might have got a hold of herself, more emotion would take her by surprise. Tama’s shirt was soaked and stuck to his chest but his hands were gentle, rubbing her back and stroking her hair. Hana told him everything and when she finally sat up, looking a mess, she felt exhausted but strangely better.

  “So what’s this kid look like?” Tama asked her. “Do you think he’s Logan’s?”

  “I don’t know.” Devastation washed over Hana. “He’s definitely a Du Rose. Everything about him screams of you lot apparently. He’s actually not the problem. It’s his mother who makes my life an absolute misery. She’s out to get Logan back and I feel like I just pale into insignificance next to her perfect make-up and expensive hairdo. It’s like Troll meets Barbie.”

  “That’s your problem, not hers,” Tama said sagely and Hana stared at him, hurt. “Well it is,” he justified himself. “If you let people put you down and make you feel nothing, then that’s your fault. It’s not Logan’s and it probably isn’t hers.”

  Hana sulked, knitting her brows and folding her arms. Tama laughed. “Oh, crikey. Phoenix does that. Now I know where she’s learned it.”

  Hana slapped his thigh and hurt her hand. “Have you been working out or something? Your legs are like tree trunks.”

  “I have to. I need to carry heavy equipment and people, sometimes both at the same time. They didn’t pick me because I had spindly arms and legs and couldn’t carry more than two sheets of paper at any one time, did they?”

  “You’re still mouthy,” Hana said crossly and Tama shrugged.

  “Ah well. Not everything can change at once,” he concluded. “So, have you asked Logan about hitting Flick?”

  “What’s the point?” Hana asked. “What can I do to change it even if I know? Logan will somehow justify it and Bobby won’t tell me the truth anyway. I’ll end up the loser, just like I always do.”

  “So Flick didn’t admit Logan did it?”

  “Of course he didn’t!” Hana grew crosser, raising her voice in irritation. “Logan’s his employer. What would he have to gain by telling me that my husband hit him for helping me get to a hospital scan? Nobody else cared that he was keeping me prisoner and holding my daughter to ransom to keep me here?”

  Tama raised his eyebrows at the drama in the tale. “Flick would have quite a lot to gain actually.” He turned towards Hana and moved in closer to her. “Look, all the other lads respect you, right? You’re Mrs Du Rose and that gives you an entitlement. But they respect you even more because of who you are. You’ve changed Logan, you’ve seen off Caroline and they all know that you’ve thumped Kane and Michael Du Rose for having a go at Logan. Gossip goes round this place like a...virus.”

  “You were going to say ‘bushfire’ weren’t you?” Hana looked cute as she peeked up at Tama from under her eyelashes and he smiled sadly.

  “Yeah, I was. But in view of Poppa Reuben’s house burning down, I figured it probably wasn’t appropriate.”

  Hana nodded and Tama continued, “But everyone knows you can ride Sacha and she’s only ever let Logan before. And you gave birth to a baby in the bush all by yourself. You’ve got mana and they all know it.”

  “This is all very...nice.” Hana wiped her nose on her sleeve. “But where are you going with it?”

  “Flick’s different. He doesn’t just respect you, Ma, he’s in love with you. He hangs on your every word, he’ll do anything to get to see you and it’s really obvious. It’s gonna get him into real trouble. He’s got his head in the clouds if he thinks you’d run off w
ith some blonde drover, when you’ve got Logan.”

  Hana’s head whipped round. “What?”

  “Yeah, I know. Maybe you didn’t realise, but he’s got it bad. Logan must be aware of it and you know what he’s like...”

  “No, what did you call him?”

  “Flick?”

  “No, you called him the blonde drover. Why?”

  Tama pulled a face and shook his head. “He’s blonde, Ma. I don’t know who started it but last time I was home, the other guys referred to him as that.”

  “David Allen’s blonde. Do they call him that?”

  “No. You’re missing the point, Ma.”

  “Which is?” Hana grew frustrated.

  “Which is, that I would give him a slap if he was in love with my wife and not doing an awful lot to hide the fact!”

  “Oh.” Hana inhaled and ran her hands over her eyes. Most of her mascara was on Tama’s shirt and she knew she looked like a panda.

  “So don’t be so hard on him, Ma. You’re smarter than this.”

  Hana nodded. “I just hate violence.”

  “Fine then. I’ll just ask him to leave. That will solve the problem.”

  Hana’s face creased in dismay. She rounded on the young man. “But he has nowhere to go. The cops would pick him up straight away and lock him up for all that stuff a few years ago. That would be cruel!”

  “They would lock him up for menacing you, Ma. He stalked and harassed you for a year. You went into hiding and he terrified you. Don’t you forget that!”

  Hana hung her head and sighed. Confusion tormented her as she tried to blend the old Flick, with the Bobby she knew now.

  “Do you have feelings for him?” Tama asked softly and Hana cringed.

  “I knew I could rely on him when I needed help. But I don’t love him, no. I love his company and how he makes me feel around him.” She thought about Bobby offering to get her and Phoenix out if she ever needed it. His support made her feel strong and safe against Logan’s irrational and unbending might. She shook her head, knowing she had abused the man’s affections and guilt stormed into her heart and took up residence.

  “Ma, listen to me. Logan’s never hit someone who wasn’t asking for it. And he and Flick have come to blows before and they’re pretty evenly matched. Logan could throw him out in a heartbeat but he hasn’t. Maybe Flick just needed the line drawing for him. It’s over now. That’s how it works out here. Leave him alone and worry about your own problems. You’re having another baby, your marriage has got more holes in it than a Swiss cheese and there’s a woman getting her claws into your husband. So why are you worrying about some blonde drover who’s got ideas about the boss’ wife. Come on, Ma. Get a grip.”

  Hana looked sideways at the gorgeous, dark haired young man next to her. She scooted close to him and put her arms around his neck, wondering when he had grown from the troublesome, randy teenager into this wise adult. She kissed him on the cheek and sat back down. “You’re right,” she conceded.

  “Tama!” the screech was shrill and urgent. He and Hana whipped round to see Phoenix struggling against Leslie’s grasp. The old lady held onto the toddler with an iron grip and the child showed her status as Logan’s daughter, refusing to be contained.

  “Wait!” Leslie told her firmly and Alfred scooped the child up and carried her towards the bench. He hated the rose garden and stopped just outside the arched entryway, memories of his dead wife creating hard edges to his face.

  “Somebody wants to see her favourite person,” he chortled and attempted to smile at Hana. The expression failed to reach his eyes and she smiled back, resisting the urge to run to him and embrace his twisted body in solidarity. Phoenix’s legs were running before her feet hit the ground and by the time her body contacted Tama’s legs, she was in tears, overcome with emotions too big to deal with. It made Hana want to cry again, the simplicity of the little girl’s love for the Du Rose male, as she fixed her spindly arms around his neck and drooped down his chest, holding on as though she would never let go. It was always like this when he arrived and much, much worse when he left.

  “Hey Wiri,” Tama said kindly to Nev’s boy as he marched across the gravel. Tama ruffled the four-year-olds hair under his large hand as the boy smiled up at him and put both arms round one of Tama’s thighs.

  “You ok?” Alfred said to Hana and she nodded. He eyed her puffy face doubtfully and grimaced. His own wife’s foibles were enough for him to deal with. “Oh,” he turned. “The missus said please can you take the kids to the kitchen for some food. She’s going to change her shoes. They been killin’ her feet all day, stupid pointy things. Then come up to the flat for a visit. Yeah?”

  Hana smiled and nodded. “Thanks for taking Phoe. I bet she loved it.”

  Alfred nodded, stuffed his gnarled hands into his pockets and strode away.

  “Oh, damn!” Tama looked at Hana. “I need to talk to him about something. Will you be ok on your own for a bit?”

  “Yeah,” Hana nodded and with difficulty, peeled her daughter from the young man’s neck. “Come on, baby. How about we go and make some special food for Tama in the kitchen?”

  It took some persuasion but finally Phoenix let go, only satisfied when Hana put a sandwich on the table between her plate and Wiremu’s for Tama, which she guarded with her life. Hana settled the children on cushions on the dining chairs. They looked cute, reaching up for their food with only their eyes peeking over the table. She grabbed ready-made sandwiches from the chiller and bags of potato chips. When she returned to the dining table, Logan stood in the corner of the room, shooting searching looks at his wife through brooding eyes. Not wanting to reopen her wounds, Hana went back to the empty kitchen and found some custard which she heated for the little ones, leaving her husband to sulk and watch over them in her absence.

  Chapter 21

  “Oh no! Oh no! Mummy! Daddy’s beedins,” Phoenix cried out as blood dripped in a relentless torrent from Logan’s nose. The little girl continued picking the filling out of her sandwich, while Neville’s son watched wide-eyed and nervous. Logan sat on a dining chair and leaned forward. It was pointless trying to stop the flow so he concentrated on containing it in one place on the wooden floor. Hana abandoned the children’s steaming bowls of custard in the kitchen and appeared with a towel, hastily snatched from the counter and a roll of industrial catering paper. Hana folded the towel carefully and pressed it with gentle fingers underneath her husband’s nose. Then she tore off a length of the blue roll and laid it on the floor over the red puddle. Instantly it grabbed the blood like a sponge, saturated in seconds.

  Logan swore as the flow continued over the towel and dripped onto Hana’s wrist as she mopped at the puddle. Hana wiped at the spatter, smearing more than she removed. “Sorry,” Logan put his fingers over the mark on her skin and tried to rub the red stain away. He held the towel one-handed, his grey eyes watching Hana intently over the fold. His fingers moved to hers and he covered Hana’s hand, holding it firmly and not letting go. It made it impossible for her to stand up again.

  “Logan, let go,” she said quietly and his grip tightened. “Logan!” she repeated, aware of the children behind her at the table.

  “Daddy!” Phoenix called and Logan’s eyes flicked upwards to his daughter. He rolled his eyes. “Daddy, do dis!” she squeaked and Wiremu next to her let out a peal of laughter.

  “No, Phoe,” Logan shook his head and the blood sprayed as he coughed. Hana rested on her knees and twisted her body to look at her daughter. Phoenix beamed up at her parents, having demonstrated her helpful suggestion. Two bread crusts dangled from her nostrils and Wiremu laughed until the tears ran from his eyes.

  “Do dis, Daddy,” Phoenix said again and shook her head to make her unusual wadding shake. She grinned at the four year old next to her, who looked in pain with his extreme mirth. His laughter was like the tinkle of bells and Phoenix revelled in his attention.

  “Phoe, take it out!” Hana said fi
rmly and the little girl pulled both crusts out with a pop. “Logan let go!” Hana tugged at her hand as Phoenix looked in confusion at the one and a half crusts in her fingers.

  “Oh, no!” she wailed and held her trophies in the air.

  Logan released his wife’s hand and watched as Hana attempted to prise the bread from her daughter’s left nostril. “Don’t do that again!” Hana told her. She ventured near enough to her husband to snatch up a length of the blue roll and held it under her daughter’s nose. “Blow!” she told the child. There was the sound of snorting as Phoenix expelled the bread from her nose. Her face was completely hidden in the giant tissue and Wiremu creased in half with a groan of pain as his stomach complained at his belly laughter.

  “Look,” Phoenix said with childish bemusement. “Crumbs comed out my nose. Look Wiri, I maked a sammich in my nose ‘oles.”

  Wiremu laughed so hard that he fell off the dining chair onto the floor and then threw his lunch up on the wooden boards. Phoenix popped out of her tissue and looked to her right, perplexed at her companion’s disappearance. “Where Wiri gone?” she demanded.

  Into the scene of domestic bliss walked Sylvia, her high platform heels tapping on the boards. Hana rolled her eyes and shook her head in irritation as the woman sneered at the child on the floor bawking up his food. “Oh dear,” she said condescendingly and then spotted Logan bleeding into the towel. “Oh my!” she shrieked and looked accusingly at Hana. “What did you do to him?” She hurried over to Hana’s husband and leaned over him. “Poor baby,” she crooned and patted him on the top of his head as though he were the four year old and not Wiremu. Hana sighed and rubbed the boy on his back as he finished being sick.

  “Never mind,” she said kindly, reaching for the blue roll again. Hana wiped Wiri’s face and helped him blow his nose, ignoring the woman currently fawning over her husband. But her heart twisted in her chest and made her want to scream. I can’t do this, her brain lectured her, further damaging her commitment to her marriage vows and making her want to run.