by K T Bowes
“Did you know his brother died of haemophilia?” Hana asked and the doctor nodded.
“Yeah. I remember but it wasn’t related to surgery. He fell from a horse and sustained multiple bleeds. His mother tried to nurse him at home without medical help. It could never end well. There were other complications too.”
“So Logan doesn’t have to die from it?” Hana heard the wobble in her voice and an embarrassed flush crawled up her neck.
“Not at all,” the doctor replied. “I’m sure he manages it fine. The pharmacy should be open now. I’ll wait with him if you want to fetch the medication.”
Hana swallowed and her gaze strayed to the lounge. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Carlos scratched at an itch on his throat and gave a slow nod. “Logan Du Rose made my life at school bearable. Nobody touched me after he stood up for me.” He jerked his head towards the front door and then checked his expensive watch. “Go. I’ve got half an hour before I need to get back to the surgery.”
Hana ran to the lounge. She found Logan propped up against the sofa still clutching his stomach. “You don’t need to go to the hospital,” she said. “I’m driving to the pharmacy to get a prescription and then you’ll be okay.”
“You can’t go alone,” Logan rasped, groaning at another spasm.
“I’m fine.” Hana stood and looked down at her scruffy tee shirt and shorts. She’d worn them to bed and then wallpapered in them and blobs of glue dotted the left sleeve. Carlos appeared in the doorway and she kissed the top of Logan’s head, ran into the lobby and snatched up her bag and sweatshirt. Her boots looked ridiculous, but she grabbed the car keys and clattered down the porch steps. “I’ll be quick,” she shouted. The front door clicked shut behind her.
Hana flew along Hakarimata Road, making the journey into Ngaruawahia in less than five minutes. Sparse Sunday traffic afforded her an angled parking space in front of the pharmacy. The girl behind the counter took the prescription and her money before advising Hana about the twenty-minute wait. Hana groaned. “You should have said,” she grumbled. “I could’ve driven to Huntly. My husband’s at home with the doctor and they’re waiting for this medication.”
“Okay.” The girl smiled and tossed her long, brown hair. She walked away from the counter and left Hana standing there alone.
Twenty minutes passed with no sign of Logan’s prescription. Hana hopped from foot to foot and the tension around her grew. Staff worked in silence behind the partition, the sound of pills dropping into containers the only punctuation. Hana distracted herself using the testers on the makeup stand. She gave herself a makeover with foundation, lipstick and eyeshadow, feeling more human at the end of it. Whilst sampling the moisturisers and turning her hands into an oily mess, she noticed a rack of handbags near the window. A pale pink shoulder bag with large hyacinths dotted across the fabric captured her imagination. Hana wiped her hands on her shorts before counting the pockets and assessing the bag’s possible usefulness.
Sudden movements on the street outside made her jump. A little boy stared through the window, pressing his face against the glass and pointing at a brightly painted wooden truck in the display. The decorative beach scene advertised sun cream and the dump truck’s bed tipped sand onto the fake shore. Surfboards leaned at jaunty angles around a sea made from coloured foil. Hana waved to the child and he grinned and pointed at her as though she formed part of the display. As she savoured his innocent enthusiasm, the pharmacist called Logan’s name and Hana gave the boy a last wave.
She felt the presence of the black BMW before it slid into a parking space across the street. Hana froze with fear as the brake lights winked out and the passenger door opened. She squashed herself against the handbag rack and shrank away from the window.
“Logan Du Rose,” the pharmacist shouted, bringing Hana back to reality. She ran to the counter, reaching out to snatch the prescription.
“Thanks,” she blurted and skirted the shelves until she reached the door. A million thoughts ran through her head, alongside the knowledge she had nowhere left to run.
“I need to check the address,” the pharmacist called, walking around the counter towards her.
“Culver’s Cottage.” Hana glanced over her shoulder and fumbled for the door handle. No ready plan of escape formulated itself as she watched the blonde man step from the vehicle. He checked the street with casual interest. Her heart thudded like a mallet in her chest.
“Are you okay?” The pharmacist approached Hana as though she might be toxic.
Hana nodded and swallowed the panic enough to speak. “I need to get to my car,” she squeaked, clinging to the handle. The woman peered into the street and reacted to the terror in Hana’s eyes.
“Can I call someone for you?” she whispered.
Glancing back into the street, Hana saw the blonde man approach the cash point opposite and his hands moved as though he pushed a card into the slot. “Please don’t tell that man you saw me. He’ll hurt me.”
Hana wrenched the door open and ran. She flipped the hood of her sweatshirt up and over her hair, turning away from the road as she shoved her thumb over the key fob. Praying for divine help, Hana sobbed with relief as Bodie’s prized possession behaved as its expensive engineering dictated. The doors unlocked and Hana flung herself into the driver’s seat. She fumbled with the central locking button, desperate to lock the blonde man out. Emboldened by the tinted windows, Hana craned her head to look at the wide street.
A central reservation separated the two lanes, planted with a stunning floral display. Hana glanced towards the end of the street, spotting the no-right-turn sign. If she wanted to escape, she needed to travel left onto the main highway and find her way home through the back streets. Without the presence of the black car, she would have turned at the end of the street and travelled back on herself. The thought of driving past the blonde man and the BMW sent her pulse rate pounding in her ears. “Think, Hana, think!” She hit the steering wheel and caught her breath.
Dithering too long in the driver’s seat, she saw the blonde man finish at the cashpoint and walk towards the video store. He shoved his wallet into his back jeans pocket as he conversed for a moment with an elderly man on a bench outside. The old man shook his head and shrugged.
Hana covered her eyes and tried to think like Bodie. She formulated a plan to make him proud. Looking in the rear view mirror, she memorised the backwards registration number of the BMW. The Chinese man emerged and leaned against the driver’s door, straightening his crisp white shirt and looking around him. Hana searched for distinguishing features and spied a tattoo of a dragon on his right wrist. The blonde man returned from the video shop empty handed and jerked his head towards the pharmacy. Hana gulped.
She saw the permanent sneer on his face as he strode across the single lane with confidence. The pounding of her heart sent the blood whooshing through her eardrums until it obliterated all other sound. Her body vibrated from the frantic motion of her arteries, a rhythmic pulse so violent she forgot to breathe.
The blonde man paused on the centre island behind her, waiting for a vehicle to pass. He tapped his fingers against muscular thighs and took an irritated stance. An old woman struggled with the gears of a green utility vehicle causing a temporary delay. Hana jumped into action. Forcing her shaking fingers to work, she snatched Bodie’s sunglasses from the visor and clamped them over her eyes. They moved around on her face and she shoved the bridge over her nose. In the door cavity next to her seat, she seized a filthy drying rag. A bottle of interior polish fell back with a clunk. Hana pushed her distinctive auburn hair into the hood of the sweatshirt and scraped it back from her face. Then she tied the rag around her head like an old woman’s scarf. Her eyes became slits with the tightness of the cloth and Hana’s breath came in gasps. Her fingers shook tying the knot and she fumbled it twice. Checking her appearance in the mirror, she saw a land-girl from an English war documentary.
Bodie’s expensive car started first time. “Thank you!” Hana breathed. She whipped the gear stick into reverse and waited for the green ute to complete its fifty-two point reverse manoeuvre. Someone honked a horn in frustration and the blonde man’s gaze tracked towards an impatient people carrier. Spotting a gap, he left the centre island and made a run for it.
Acid rose into Hana’s throat as he jogged towards her, slipping between her car and the one next to it. Hana heard the moan of panic escape from her lungs and she leaned sideways as though searching for something in the passenger foot well.
The blonde man tapped his knuckles on the bonnet of Bodie’s car as he passed and Hana shoved a fist into her mouth to prevent the emerging scream. When she peered through the dark glasses, she saw him moving towards the door of the pharmacy. Flooring the gas, she reversed from the angled parking space and cranked the gear lever into drive. Her hands shook as she spun the wheel and her sweat-coated fingers almost lost control.
Hana’s driving ability deteriorated as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her wheels screeched against the road surface and she battled an overwhelming desire to flee without regard for other road users. She headed for the main road, keeping her eyes focussed on its promise of escape. The old utility vehicle lumbered along in front of her. A family stepped onto the pedestrian crossing and she fidgeted whilst willing them to walk faster. A mum and dad strolled across with two tiny children tottering next to them like ducklings, blindly following.
Shock hit Hana like a wave as inactivity frustrated her. Her legs turned to jelly and she couldn’t press the pedal as the ute moved away. The car lurched and sputtered as she forced her muscles to behave. A squeal of rubber sent her over the pedestrian crossing. The family stopped to stare at her and Hana’s rational mind screamed a warning. “Attention is exactly what you don’t need right now!” she exclaimed to herself.
On the main road south through Ngaruawahia, Hana lost her bearings. She’d never gotten around to exploring her new area and the wide, tree lined streets confused her. Roads branched off towards the mountain, bisected by a railway line which lumbered towards Hamilton. In desperation as her half an hour ticked past, Hana did the only thing she could think of. She followed the green ute in front of her.
It turned right. So did Hana. It reached a roundabout and took the fourth exit. Hana followed. The Waipa bridge sped beneath her and she experienced a rush of exultation as the sign for Hakarimata Road loomed to her right. It swung from its post by one fragile metal stem, like a drunk on its knees. The ute rumbled towards the quarry and Hana made the turn. As soon as she hit the higher speed limit, she floored Bodie’s car and pushed it around the bends toward home.
She checked her mirrors before turning into the driveway, staring at the road behind for the black car. Sunlight winked back at her from the empty road and Hana pressed the button to open the gate. She nudged her way through the opening without waiting for the motor to complete its circuit and another jab of the remote control set it closing behind her. The gate obeyed with a reluctant shudder.
The driveway seemed endless as Hana swept the car higher, desperate to escape anyone following her. Sliding to a halt at the top of the slope, she killed the engine. Sickness worked its way into her gullet and her lungs ached from holding her breath. She sat for a moment seeking her equilibrium before facing Logan and the doctor. The view of her face in the rear-view mirror sickened her further.
The dirty cloth slipped sideways over her left ear, streaked with dust and car muck. When she removed the sunglasses and fumbled them back over the visor, her face looked grey and aged without them. Freckles stood out like a star burst across her nose, the only colour in her face. Even her green eyes dulled with the strain of fright. With a sigh, Hana pulled the cloth from her hair, putting it back with the polish.
“What am I going to do?” she groaned, feeling the weight of the world rest heavy on her shoulders. “I can’t do this anymore.” Hana ran a hand over her eyes and wiped her fingers on her shorts.
“Mrs Du Rose?” Carlos tried the driver’s door handle and Hana started and deactivated the central locking. “What’s wrong?”
She licked her lips and forced out a smile. “Pharmacy kept me waiting.” Her hand shook as she retrieved Logan’s prescription from the passenger seat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long.”
“It’s fine.” The doctor’s brow knitted over his handsome face and he gave her a smile. “I need to explain some of the medication and then I’ll leave.”
Hana gulped air and nodded, forcing her feet into the gravel and willing herself to stand. “Thank you,” she squeaked.
Following Carlos up the porch steps, Hana glanced up at the lounge window. Logan stared back at her, his hair on end and his cheeks pink. He clutched his stomach with one white knuckled hand while the other rested on the windowsill. He communicated anxiety like a drum beat.
The doctor delayed his departure by administering an injection in Logan’s backside. By that time, he’d vomited. “I need to stop him throwing up,” Carlos said, scratching his head and replacing the syringe in a sharps’ box housed in his medical bag. “He’ll rip something.”
“I’m fine.” Logan propped himself up against the bath and Carlos released the blood pressure cuff.
“Always the hero, aye Logan?” The doctor smirked and Logan raised his top lip in a sneer. Carlos turned to Hana. “If this continues call an ambulance. If he won’t go with them, call the cops. There’s legislation to protect people from themselves.” He nudged Logan’s leg with the toe of his shoe. “Don’t give her any trouble, mate.”
Logan grunted and rested his forehead against his bent knees. The doctor smiled at Hana and shrugged. “We’re unlikely to meet again,” he said, holding out his hand. “I fly out to Africa in a few days. See if I can make a difference over there.”
Logan raised his head and managed a bleary-eyed nod. “Thanks Carlos. Have fun curing sick people.”
“I will.” The doctor winked at Hana and left. As Hana pressed the gate release and watched his sporty car kick up gravel behind it, she heard Logan vomiting again.
“This is ridiculous,” she groaned, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll call him back.”
“No!” Logan leaned over the sink and ran fresh water into his mouth. “I feel better.”
“You’re a liar!” Hana exclaimed, watching his shaking fingers probe the drawer for something. “Let me do it.” She retrieved a toothbrush and squeezed paste onto it. Logan’s fingers trembled as he took it.
Hana stayed close while he brushed his teeth and rinsed out his mouth. He took huge gulps of air to steady himself, his knuckles white against the basin. “I’m fine,” he persisted. “Let me sleep.”
“You do that!” Hana snapped. “I don’t suppose you want the medication I risked my safety to fetch from the pharmacy?”
Logan’s grey eyes tracked to her face and his narrowed gaze stilled her blood. “What do you mean?” His body tensed. “Did something happen?”
Hana backed away shaking her head. “No. Nothing. Get into bed, you look horrible.” She reached the doorway.
“You’ll come and talk to me?” Logan winced and gripped his stomach.
“Yes, I promise. I’ll bring hot water for your stomach. You might manage some of the tablets.”
Hana escaped to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. She fussed around fetching mugs and making tea for herself, adding it to a tray. Tensing at the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut, she slumped with relief as Logan’s footsteps shuffled towards the master bedroom.
After feeding the cat, Hana tidied the kitchen and then steeled herself to face her suspicious husband. The sun tried desperately to push its way through the clouds, bright shafts of sunlight speckling the kitchen table. Hana picked up the tray, squared her shoulders and set off for the bedroom.
Logan slept on his side, his face pushed into Hana’s pillow. He
lay on top of the covers and Hana put the tray on the bedside table. She felt his forehead, relieved at the coolness of his skin. His breathing sounded steady and a small snore escaped his pursed lips. Hana pulled a blanket over his bare feet, reluctant to swaddle him up after last time. She pulled the sheets back on his side of the bed so he could climb in if he wanted and kissed his temple. Logan stirred but didn’t wake.
Hana left his pills and water and removed the tray. The house seemed to thrum around her with the sudden silence. Boredom and loneliness hit her afresh and she took her tea onto the porch steps to drink.
Sunshine kissed the crown of her head and birdsong caused her to look upwards. A tui stared back at her from a native palm, cocking its head from side to side. It chortled and she smiled, squinting to look at his little white bow tie. The sun’s rays caught the bird’s feathers and colours leapt and twisted in the light, revealing an intense metallic blue. Her mind wandered back to the weeks following Vikram’s death, afraid at how easily she could put herself back in those awful moments. His loss stretched behind her, raw and painful. Logan’s illness and surgeries forced her to relive the powerlessness and terror the memory evoked. It proved the futility of relying on her own mortality. “Despite present appearances, God is in control.” She recited the words of Father Sinbad, who believed them enough to convince her of their truth during her darkest hours.
Hana sighed as calm descended over her soul and felt grateful at the answering of her prayers. The men would find her. She knew that with certainty. “I need to work out what they want from me,” she sighed.
She tipped the dregs of her tea over the side of the porch steps, wrinkling her nose at the weeds pushing upwards towards her. Growth sprouted forth from neglected flowerbeds, forcing its way into the gravel to take over the driveway.