by K T Bowes
“Don’t have much choice in here. They wake you up all through the night fiddling around with something and then start the real rattling and crashing around 6am. I think they want me out. Thank goodness a male nurse turned up to shower me.” Logan wrinkled his nose. “There’s no privacy in here, I hate it.”
Hana gulped, guilt landing like a brick in her stomach. “I didn’t have a choice, Loge. It was bad. You’ve had major surgery. It’s not like I could have fixed it with a needle and thread! I did what I thought was right.”
“I know,” Logan conceded. “Apart from day clinics for minor stuff, I avoid these places.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Hana bent to undo the bag, trying not to see the internal pain in her husband’s eyes. “But I didn’t see any alternative.”
Perhaps a bed ridden, drugged up Logan might have been easier to handle than the hurt, angry man balling his fists next to her. “Hop back into bed,” Hana suggested. “You’re shivering.”
Logan’s face projected pure agony. He sat on the bed and tried to swing his legs around. As Hana struggled to work the pedal to raise the headboard, a nurse appeared with a plastic cup containing drugs. She pushed a different pedal to the one Hana wrestled with and the bed rose up with ease.
“Oh. Oops.” Hana felt her incompetence flare in the face of such efficiency. The nurse gave her a wry smile.
“It’s fine,” she said. “There’s an art to it.”
Logan looked pale and his skin reflected a grey sheen from the effort of walking to meet Hana. “I can’t believe I feel worse than before,” he complained to the nurse, finding no sympathy with that line of conversation.
“You’re lucky,” she informed him. “You should have got help sooner.”
Logan shrugged. “I want to go home,” he stated. The tilt of the nurse’s eyebrows told Hana it wasn’t the first time he’d asked.
“What did the surgeon say?” asked Hana, remembering the conversation with the Ngaruawahia doctor the night before.
Logan lay back against his pillows, pulled a face and sighed as though bored. “Told me how lucky I was. They removed my spleen and stopped the bleeding. He called me an idiot and said I should have told the truth when they cast my arm. Blah blah blah.”
“The doctor said you might have a couple of broken ribs,” ventured Hana. She tilted her head. “That’s meant to be really painful. How on earth did you cope all week in so much discomfort?”
“I’ve done worse.” Logan gritted his teeth and made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. For once Hana kept quiet, not wanting to argue with her stubborn husband.
Logan rang Angus on Hana’s mobile phone and she listened to the conversation. She heard him reassuring the principal. “Yeah, I probably won’t be in work tomorrow but I might be all right for Tuesday.”
Hana stood, shaking her head in disbelief. She gazed through the huge windows for a while, watching the world outside moving on, regardless of the agonies of people inside the hospital. The eighth floor window offered a spectacular view. To the west lay Hamilton Lake, shimmering and rippling in the steady breeze. A few brave and dedicated kayakers paddled on its surface like tiny, decorative figures on a cake. Hamilton city loomed out of the ground, the multi-storey buildings shaming their original counterparts. They crowded around like school children grouping together for a class photograph, the big kids pushing out the little ones.
Hana leaned her hands on a low windowsill and bent forward to see ground level. Pembroke Street seemed to head straight for the hospital, looking as though it went underneath. Hana knew it didn’t, but the perspective seemed convincing and she leaned further forward than she should. A loud bang echoed around the ward as her forehead hit the window. “Ouch!” she hissed.
She turned with deliberate slowness, assessing her level of embarrassment. An elderly man slept in the bed opposite Logan and next to him, another man listened to hospital radio through headphones.
Relieved, Hana turned towards her husband. Dismay flitted through her heart at the way he held his stomach, his eyes creased in laughter. “I hope that bloody hurts!” she mouthed to him, seeing him roll onto his side. Logan ended the call and lay back against his pillows, clutching his stomach and groaning.
“It wasn’t that funny,” Hana snapped. “I only bumped my head!”
Logan laughed harder, a painful hitch in his breathing. Hana curbed her annoyance, knitting her brows and glaring. “Oh, help.” Logan rubbed at his chest. “You crack me up.”
Hana slumped into the visitor’s chair with an indignant expression. “You’re behaving so rude,” she snapped.
Logan sat up with difficulty and Hana didn’t offer to help. He held her phone out towards her. “How long ago did you put Angus’ number in your phone?”
“Years ago. I think it was the day after Vik died. He came to see me. Why?” Hana glared at him.
Logan held the phone out to her so she could see the screen. Hana stared at the familiar contacts list and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Look,” Logan insisted. “Look at what’s missing.”
“Oh!” Hana’s frustration disappeared, replaced by embarrassment. “Well, it was extenuating circumstances.”
The small spelling error went unnoticed for almost nine years. Angus Blair was entered without the ‘g.’ In the grand scheme of things, it seemed minor, but in the face of a perfectionist English teacher with stitches in his abdomen, it proved vital.
“Argh, crap that hurt!” Logan slumped against his pillows, colour returning to his cheeks with the mirth.
“Serves you right!” Hana bit. “I didn’t come to be insulted.” She temporarily withdrew the sympathetic vote and ate the fruit salad Logan didn’t manage for breakfast. Everything seemed to come wrapped in some way and Hana struggled with plastic, foil and shrink-wrap.
“I worked in a hospital one summer,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “They left me to do everything myself one day when they got short staffed. I think they regretted it. I had to do everything; cook, clean, wash up, the whole job, all by myself. The food arrived frozen and I put it into a big steel regenerator to heat. It needed to reach seventy-nine degrees centigrade before I could serve it. Otherwise, the patients might get food poisoning.”
“A woman of many talents.” Logan’s lips quirked upwards, but he still clutched his stomach and pressed against the wounds to stave off pain.
“It was a dreadful day.” Hana chewed an awkward piece of pineapple. “I burned a whole pile of toast because the nursing staff flustered me. They said the geriatrics injured themselves on my boiled eggs and my porridge looked like tile grout. The cereal went okay although not much can go wrong with cereal.” Hana winced as her husband writhed in discomfort.
“Stop, woman! You’re doing this on purpose.” Logan clutched his guts and groaned, curling himself into a ball. At least he’d stopped demanding to go home.
Undeterred, Hana continued, “Once the ordeal of breakfast ended, I started getting ready for lunch. By the time the enormous steel shelving unit containing the frozen food arrived, I’d almost caught up, apart from the porridge saucepan which needed a few more hours soaking. The regenerator heated up and I started cooking the food. It’s not an easy task. I might have succeeded if it wasn’t for that one tray of mashed potato. It just wouldn’t heat. After half an hour of bombing it in the regenerator, I’d pushed the special thermometer into the mixture so often it resembled the surface of the moon. The nursing staff wouldn’t listen. They swooped on the kitchen like locusts and came back with empty trays and lorry loads of washing up. I’ve never been so glad to see the end of a day.”
“Please stop,” Logan wept. “It’s not even funny. It’s the way you’re telling it.” He breathed through pursed lips and straightened his legs with obvious pain.
“It wasn’t funny,” Hana said, hiding the fruit salad pot under the silver tureen. “The next day, my colleague came
back and demoted me to washing up and cleaning. I’ve never felt more relieved. The trouble is, the ward emptied overnight. I’m sure the geriatrics all died in the early hours from my poisonous mash.” Hana licked her lips, her expression serious. “For sure that’s the scariest job I’ve ever had. After I married Vik, I stuck to working in a bar while he looked after Bo.” She inspected a fingernail with forced interest. “I might be traumatised.”
Logan took more painkillers and added the missing letter into Angus’ name on Hana’s phone. She sat in a squashy armchair and watched him. “What did Angus say?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“He says you have to stay off work until the end of term.” Logan narrowed his eyes and handed her phone over.
“But why?” She sat up straighter. “You got hurt, not me.”
“He thinks it’s best.” Logan lay back on his pillows and watched Hana from beneath his lashes. “And so do I. He says you’ve taken no sick leave for years so he’s giving you two weeks off on full-pay.”
Hana shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. I’m busy at work. Sheila’s still away, Caroline’s gone and Pete doesn’t do anything. There’s nobody to run the office.”
Logan smirked. “Pete is the teacher in charge of careers and guidance counselling as of tomorrow. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“No. Way!” Hana moved skywards, jumping from her seat in consternation at the thought of Pete picking his nose over her keyboard. “He’ll shed skin and pie crumbs all over my chair!” she wailed. “No, it can’t happen!”
“It is happening.” Logan patted the space on the bed next to him. “Sit here.”
Hana popped onto the bed next to him, seeking comfort from physical contact. She started to protest again and he slipped his good arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips against her temple. “I can’t kiss you,” he said with regret. “I need to clean my teeth. All I can taste is antiseptic.”
“I brought your toothbrush and paste,” Hana said. “Want me to grab it?”
“In a minute.” Logan sniffed her familiar hair shampoo and sighed with contentment. “This is good. A week of marriage and now I can’t live without you.”
“Two weeks leave?” Hana mused and he nodded.
“Yep. Two whole weeks to take care of me.”
She snorted and pushed her face into his chest. A pipe moved beneath her hand and she jumped, remembering Logan’s delicate state. “What’s the real reason?” she asked, keeping her tone light.
Logan shrugged but Hana felt the tension in his body. “I told you.”
“No, you didn’t.” She sat up and narrowed her eyes. “There’s something else.” She cocked her head and watched his reaction. “I’ll find out, anyway.”
Logan sighed. “Someone trashed the Gordonton House.”
“What?” Hana clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no!”
“Yep. We’re sure now that someone in school is feeding information to the guys following you. Angus made sure you and I kept that address on the staff list and a couple of nights later, the place got done over.”
“Did they take anything?” Hana’s chin wobbled with emotion. “What made me put them at risk? I’m selfish.”
“No, you’re not.” Logan smoothed her arm with gentle fingers. “We didn’t imagine that would happen. The cops attended but found nothing of any use. It looks like whoever got in searched the place. They threw belongings everywhere and took some odd bits of cash left lying around. Henrietta’s room took the worst of it. They didn’t take laptops or electronics though.”
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Hana’s voice shook.
“Yep.” Logan resumed the soothing motion. “So you’re staying home with me for a while. You can play nursey.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled like an addict.
Bodie arrived with Amy and Jas to fetch Hana. Her face fell with disappointment at the position of the hands on the clock. “Already?” she complained. “That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair,” Jas replied, his gaze fixed on the array of pipes exiting Logan’s body.
“This is true.” Logan jerked his head in Bodie’s direction. “Do you have a moment spare to walk me to the bathroom?” he asked.
“Can I come?” Jas asked and Amy grabbed his arm.
“No. Stay with me.”
Logan heaved himself from the bed with difficulty and Bodie accompanied him along the corridor. “So,” said Bodie, clarifying things in his head, “Mum’s showing on the staff contact list as living at the Gordonton House and that’s where they searched next. That makes sense if it’s Ethel Bowman’s boyfriend.”
“Yeah,” replied Logan. “Angus acknowledges it’s someone at school. Nobody else gets access to that list. Someone needs to talk to Ethel Bowman.”
“Yep,” answered the younger man. “But it needs handling with care. Otherwise we’ll never catch him.”
They stood outside the toilet designated for patients and a nurse raised her eyebrows as she passed with a pile of sheets. Bodie inclined his head towards the door. “Do you need it then or not?”
Logan shrugged and rested his hand on the handle. “Now I’ve made all this effort to get here, I should.”
Bodie shook his head. “You sound like a girl. Get a move on.” He waited for him anyway.
Hana panicked when the bell sounded for the end of visiting hours. “The wards used to be open all the time,” she complained. Her eyes grew wide and glittered with unshed tears. “This is stupid.”
“Sick people need rest,” Bodie acknowledged. “When the public had access all day, heaps of belongings went missing. It’s better this way.”
“But what should I do?” Hana demanded. “They open again at half past four. I don’t know whether to go home and come back or hang around town.”
“Hey.” Logan reached for her fingers. “You don’t need to come back again today. Visit tomorrow.”
Hana’s jaw dropped open in horror. “No! I have to come back.” Her mind whirled with the realisation that this pattern would continue until Logan escaped the confines of the hospital.
Jas stuck close to Hana, wanting to hold her hand and stay close. He noticed her distress and became withdrawn. Logan ruffled his hair and gave him a forced smile. “Hey, mate. Can you take care of Hana for me?” he asked.
Jas nodded and squared his shoulders. “I will,” he promised.
Logan accepted Hana’s kiss and ran his thumb along her jaw. “Give yourself a break, babe,” he whispered. “Don’t come back again today. You look exhausted.”
Hana inhaled and gritted her teeth. “I’ll be back later,” she said, ignoring his attempt to release her from obligation. She pressed her lips against his forehead and closed her eyes. “I miss you so much,” she whispered.
Hana sat in the back of Bodie’s car with Jas, her eyes sparkling with tears as she stared through the window. The little boy leaned sideways on his booster seat. “Can I show you my soldiers?” he offered. “You’ll love my battlefield.”
“That’s a great idea,” Amy said, turning to smile her agreement. “Come back to our house, Hana.”
Bodie drove to Amy’s period villa in the suburb of Claudelands. She made a lunch of sandwiches and soup as Jas took Hana by the hand and introduced her to his plastic platoon. “This policeman-Action Man looks like Logan,” he informed her, nodding with approval. The house felt old and rickety, the wallpaper peeling away from battered walls. “This is my mummy’s house,” Jas informed her. “She buys it with her wages.”
“That’s awesome,” Hana replied, not sure what else to say.
“My room is baby colours.” Jas pouted and reached for a toy box full of Action Man figures. “I don’t much like it.” His fingers scrabbled inside the box. “Ah. Here he is!” He seized a male figure and hauled it from the box, detaching it from the arms and legs of all the others. “This one looks like Logan,” he said.
Hana grinned. “
It does a bit.” She giggled and fondled the olive skin, smoothing the dark wavy hair which stuck up in random places. “He’s even got a scar under his eye!” she exclaimed.
“Told ya,” Jas replied.
Action Man’s police uniform looked rumpled and very American. Hana pointed to a pink breast cancer support ribbon fixed to his chest. It took up most of the little man’s torso. “What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s his medal,” Jas replied, straight-faced. “He’s a crime fighter. Like my dad.”
Hana remembered Bodie and his Action Man adventures. “Your dad had the bungee-jumper,” Hana mused as she turned the doll over in her hands. “His grappling hook got caught on an old lady’s hat on the bus and whipped it off.”
Jas giggled, especially when Hana added how it also snagged her wig. “Then during a christening service for a friend’s baby, I noticed Daddy wailing during one of the hymns. I thought he might be singing, but then I saw the bungee jumper’s hook stuck on his thumb. It pinched his flesh and I managed to dislodge it before the end of the hymn.” Hana peered down at the little man in her hand. Action Man hadn’t changed much over the years.
“That’s so funny.” Jas beamed showing rows of tiny white teeth. “My dad’s a cool dude.”
Hana knelt on the floor, feeling her knees object as the blood pooled in her joints. Jas slid across and plonked himself in her lap, popping his thumb into his mouth. Hana put her arms around him, enjoying the little-boy-smell of washing powder and shower gel which lingered on him. She tried not to sneeze as his fluffy hair brushed against her face. A sudden pop heralded the thumb’s extraction and Jas turned to face her. Seriousness filled his eyes. “I’ve got your new name,” he announced.
Hana smiled outwardly, whilst acknowledging the cringe surfacing within. She gave him an encouraging squeeze and faked pleasure. “What is it?”