Hana Du Rose

by K T Bowes

  Her rejection of dinner meant Logan ate alone in the kitchen. Hana saw his loneliness and watched the chasm between them widen. She didn’t trust him. She’d tried and failed.

  Logan found an old portable television and set it up on the dressing table. “The aerial cable is flaky,” he muttered, reaching to plug it into the socket. “I’ve taped it sideways, but we’ll need to buy another. I think the wire inside is dodgy.”

  Switching to a news channel, Logan stood back to admire his handiwork. The fuzzy picture settled and he nodded with satisfaction. “Can I get into bed with you?” he asked, reaching up to touch his shirt buttons. Hana shrugged. Logan shed his clothing and climbed into bed, snuggling close to her back. His warmth infused her with comfort and the ice in her heart thawed a little. “I’m sorry you’re sick,” he sighed. “I missed you today.”

  “Are you angry I went to work?” she asked, rolling onto her back.

  Logan’s hair swished against the pillow as he answered. “No, Hana, I’m upset you didn’t tell me.”

  Hana snorted and closed her eyes, striving for sleep to rid her of the nausea. “Then you know how I feel,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The damp night air felt bracing and the frost made the tips of the grass slippery underfoot. Logan stood on the steps of the roof garden, his gaze towards the bush. He shivered despite his warm clothing and took careful steps on the greasy wood.

  A flashlight caught his eye, moving down the side of the paddock at a steady pace. Logan cursed the frost beneath his boots as his balance let him down on the top step. He clattered against the bannister rail and glanced up at the house, fearful of disturbing Hana. Admitting defeat, he jumped down the final steps and landed on the grass with a muted thud.

  The flashlight beam jerked forward as its owner slipped. Logan clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip to stop himself laughing. Faint curses reached his ears and he shook his head as the light bobbed with the effort it took the man to gain purchase in the dirt and get upright. The light continued its journey downwards and Logan met it at the back fence. “Screw you, Logan Du Rose!” an angry voice hissed. “This is the last time I’m doing this.”

  “You’ll do as I say.” Logan growled out the command and the light flicked off. The men met on either side of the fence like farmers discussing the weather. The other man didn’t remove his camouflage hood and Logan’s frustration showed in his tone. “Stay until after next weekend.”

  “No! Toby’s over it too. We’re done.”

  Logan’s right arm whipped across the fence and the other man coughed against the choke hold on his collar. “I pay you to do as I say!” Logan enunciated each word and the other man winced.

  “Fine, boss!” he spat. “Whatever you say. But we’re gone after that and you can shove your cash up your ass. I quit.”

  Logan’s push sent the man sprawling into the grass and he grunted with the impact. “Tell Toby you just talked him out of a job, dude,” Logan hissed with a sneer. “I’m sure he’ll thank you heaps.” He turned and strode up the back steps, not glancing behind as he heard the man pull himself upright. Shaking his head, he closed the rear door and locked it with a silent click.

  He banged his cast against the wall and waited to see if Hana responded to the dull thud. Hearing nothing, he ventured further into the inky darkness of Culver’s Cottage. Logan left his boots in the garage and stripped off in front of the fire. The orange flames warmed his skin enough for him to return to his marital bed. He folded his clothes and left them on the bedroom chair, fumbling his way to the bed in the darkness. Hana stirred as he climbed into bed. “Logan?”

  Her voice sounded strained and he heard the residual fear from her nightmare leaking into his psyche. “I’m here, babe,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I know you don’t really want me,” she said louder, her voice rising to a sob. “It’s because of the baby, isn’t it?”

  Logan ached at the pain in her heart and hated her late husband with a passion. “He never deserved you, Hana,” he whispered, pulling her into his chest. “I love you and I love our baby. It’s not the same, sweetheart. We’re not the same.”

  “Logan?” She sounded more together the second time, as though sleep relinquished its hold on her. “Did you go somewhere? Why do you leave me?”

  “No, babe.” He stretched the truth as far as he dared. “I checked something out the back and it’s all fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Hana struggled to sit up and Logan held onto her.

  “I’m positive.” He pushed her face into his downy chest and stroked her back. “Go to sleep.”

  Within minutes, Hana’s breathing slowed and her body slumped in his arms. Logan sighed and cuddled her close while striving for his own slumber. It proved harder each night to relax after he checked in with his spies. As a younger man, he brushed off such exploits but age crept up on him and hampered his coping mechanism. He breathed in Hana’s scent and centred himself in her presence.

  As Logan stirred and stretched the next morning, Hana drove into the school car park. Despite the early hour, another car sat in her space. Bodie’s car struggled to maneuver in the small car park and Hana grew fed up with its restricted turning circle. The female art teacher stood and watched her perform a twelve-point turn. “That’s it!” Hana slammed her palms on the steering wheel. “I need my own car back.” The spiky bottom of the driver’s door caught her on the shin as she closed it and her temper flared again.

  In the office, Hana examined her laddered tights. She found a dribble of clear nail polish at the bottom of her desk drawer and dabbed it over the hole to prevent a bigger run. Hauling her skirt further down provided small comfort as the ladder popped into view like a glaring white lamp in a sea of black stocking. Blood seeped from the cut on her shin.

  Hana worked hard and Sheila left her alone. Pete stepped over and around her with extreme care, treating her as he might a venomous snake. Hana worked straight through morning tea and lunch, crouching over her computer screen or kneeling next to the paper mountain on the floor.

  The boys reentered the common room after lunch, bringing with them a hubbub of noise and food smells. Hana excused herself in search of the bathroom and a strong cup of tea. At the washbasin, she ran her hand under the tap and wet her lips, realising tea might make her sick again. The dark lowlights of her hair shone against the blonde streaks, mingling with shades of chestnut beneath the glare of the ancient strip light. A cough came from the end stall and Hana cringed as the toes of Ethel Bowman’s sensible shoes showed under the door. Hana fumbled to gather her keys from next to the tap and make a run for it, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hand made a frenzied grab for the door handle as Ethel’s voice rang out behind her. “Mrs Du Rose.”

  Hana turned and her eyes widened at the state of Ethel. A ready, fake smile slipped from her lips. Ethel’s lank hair looked unkempt and straggly, framing her face like ivy around a brick. The absence of her usual coiffed perm made her look diminished and Hana kept all thought of wigs away from the speaking triggers in her brain. The un-ironed tent dress hung from Ethel’s shoulders like a funeral shroud, betraying the loss of enormous poundage in weight. Gangly and spare, she seemed lost beneath the floral fabric and all that remained of her famous triple chins was a tell-tale flap of skin. She sounded like a Jane Austen character, uttering, “I am undone, my dear. Thoroughly undone.”

  Hana’s arm ached, frozen between her waist and the door handle. She looked at it in surprise, seeing her fingers making a half-salute. She recalled it to her side. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Another flush sounded into the small space and Ethel jumped in fright. Humiliation and dismay crossed her expression. Ethel bowed her head and washed her hands with meticulous care as the other woman left. Then she turned to Hana. “Will you make time to speak with me?”

  “Of course.” All sense of betrayal fled at the sight of Ethel’s
misery and Hana’s kind nature prevailed. “I’m due a break and the staffroom should be empty now. Why don’t we grab a cup of tea each and chat?”

  To Hana’s chagrin, she discovered Ethel’s preference for coffee and prayed she didn’t perform a spectacular up-chuck at the smell. Choosing a strong and smelly peppermint herbal tea, Hana seated herself opposite Ethel near the balcony. She prayed for grace and a strong stomach.

  Ethel took a loud slurp of her coffee and leaned across the table. Hana tensed and tried not to breathe in sync with her. “I didn’t know,” Ethel whispered. “You must believe me.” She sniffed and delved into her sleeve for a tissue. “I thought he wanted me, but he didn’t.” She lowered her voice to a nasal whine so the nearby sports teachers couldn’t hear. The group of muscular men continued their loud meeting. “I met him at a Christmas tea dance. My sister encouraged me to go and Michael seemed so attentive and genuine. I liked him and he lavished me with attention, which I haven’t had much of.”

  “You met him around Christmas?” Hana asked as Ethel took another slurp of her drink. Hana released the question and then held her breath, dreading a waft of coffee sated air.

  “You want them?” Chris Carter jerked his head towards an untouched plate of biscuits between the women. His sporty companions rolled their eyes, knowing Ethel could eat a packet in one sitting.

  “No.” Ethel’s blunt reply silenced them all.

  “Not for me.” Hana shoved the plate towards him and he stalked across the distance between the tables to collect his prize.

  “You Du Rose’s wife?” Chris pushed his groin nearer the edge of the table and Hana moved backwards.

  “We’re busy!” Ethel snapped, giving him the death-stare. “Go away!” She waited until he’d reached his colleagues before turning her attention back to Hana. “Odious little poser,” she hissed. “Avoid him at all cost.”

  Hana nodded, agreeing with Ethel’s assessment for once. She turned the conversation back to Laval. “You called him Michael?” she asked. “And you met him around Christmas?”

  “Yes. At a tea dance. He called at my house on New Year’s Eve and took me out. Nobody ever did that before. I felt like I’d won the lottery.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Instead, I lost everything.”

  Hana’s face fell and her lips turned down. “No. Not everything.”

  Ethel reached out and touched Hana’s hand. Her wrinkled fingers shook and she struggled to keep her voice level. “Your son told me your story and I need to apologise. I’ve been the author of some of your distress through my naivety. It seemed like harmless chit-chat between lovers when his aim was actually to get to you. I believe I’m what’s known as collateral damage, Hana. An easy pick.”

  “But how?” Hana put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. “How could he take everything?”

  Ethel shrugged. “One small loan after another from a foolish old woman. He furnished me with contracts from lawyers who don’t exist and showed photographs of a business he doesn’t own. Once I’d parted with the first few sums, it seemed foolish to write off the possibility of getting them back. I should have cut my losses and walked away, but I didn’t. I gambled on having at least some of it returned and only lost more instead.” Ethel swallowed. “I took out a mortgage on my little villa and now own part of a large debt on a South African mining company I’ve never heard of. Your son is investigating with the other man.” Ethel’s pained smile flicked across her face and she patted Hana’s hand again. “You raised a great man, dear. He must make you very proud.”

  “I didn’t think Bodie could deal with it.” Hana frowned. “He’s with the road cops.”

  Ethel blinked back tears. “Yes, he arrived in a car with another man. I didn’t like the detective.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “He treated me like the foolish old woman I am, but your son didn’t. I shall be forever grateful for that small mercy.”

  “What will you do?” Hana’s voice sounded like a squeak.

  “Sell my house and retire.” Ethel inhaled and stared around the staffroom. “It’s given me time to rethink my life. My sister invited me to live with her in Tauranga. She suffers from Parkinson’s and I can care for her in our dotage.”

  “But what about the school?” Hana’s brow knitted in concern. “What about the boys?”

  Ethel’s rheumy eyes settled on Hana’s face and she gave her a sad smile. “I’ve spent far too long worshipping at the altar of this school,” she said. “They’ll point at my face on staff photographs and struggle to remember my name one day. Be careful where you put your time and energy, Hana. Put it into things that last, like family and legacy. Build your house on rock, dear, not sand like I’ve done.”

  Hana made sorry noises to hide her loss of words. Ethel’s emptiness radiated across the table and into her soul. Logan’s image floated across her inner vision and Hana ached to feel his arms around her.

  Ethel snorted, distracting her. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to lose weight.” She looked down at her empty dress and grinned. “So, every cloud has a silver lining.

  Hana forced a smile on her lips, trying to see anything aside from a lost retirement fund. Ethel leaned closer and breathed coffee fumes into Hana’s face. “I’m sorry for spying on you. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Hana nodded. “Yes. Of course I can.”

  Ethel rolled her eyes. “You see, dear, I always admired you. I liked the idea of him knowing you. I hoped we might become friends and wanted to impress you.”

  “Me?” Hana raised her voice in surprise.

  Ethel nodded. “Yes, dear. Suffering your great loss and carrying on, bringing up those beautiful children by yourself. You always looked so serene and together. Then finding that gorgeous husband of yours. I envied you and wanted a little happiness for myself. I’m a silly old woman!”

  Hana’s frown grew deeper and she shook her head. “I’m none of those things, Mrs Bowman.” She rose and bent to kiss Ethel’s cheek, feeling the nausea bite at the scent of coffee. Ethel’s shock radiated outwards in an arc which silenced the sports teachers at the next table. “You are precious,” Hana whispered. “And fearfully and wonderfully made.”

  Ethel’s eyes filled with tears as she recognised the words of Psalm 139. It seemed woefully inadequate to Hana, but all she could offer right then.

  As the bell sounded for the home time, Hana left the table and bent to put her mug in the dishwasher. Forgetting the peppermint tea, she upended it and groaned as green liquid splattered down the side of a nearby cupboard. She dampened a cloth and bent to wipe up the mess, smelling coffee dregs and floor disinfectant.

  The grip on Hana’s sickness loosened and she breathed through pursed lips. Shouting came to her ears as faintness vied for attention and sent blood pounding through her eardrums. “Not now,” Hana hissed, begging her body to behave.

  “You shouldn’t be here!” Sheila’s voice raised to a screech as the argument entered the staffroom. The hum of male voices halted and one lone speaker uttered a curse. Hana recognised Chris Carter’s voice.

  “Somebody get Angus!” Sheila shouted and Hana heard chairs scraping back against the carpet. She forced herself upwards and inhaled.

  Caroline yanked her arm free of Sheila’s grasp and took a run at Hana. Only the counter between them kept her safe from the onslaught. “Where’s Logan?” she demanded. “I need to see him.”

  Hana backed away, feeling the cool steel of the draining board through her blouse. Her lips moved but nothing came out. The nothingness stole her legs out from under her and she hit the floor like a dead weight. The last thing she remembered was the way Caroline ran a hand across her own stomach.

  Hana woke up in the school’s sickbay, the nurse standing in front of her. “Steady on!” She held a bucket under Hana’s nose and rubbed a gentle hand across her back. “Feel better?”

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she nodded and sat up. The nothingness thr
eatened and she panicked and closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you pregnant, Hana?” The nurse lowered her voice and Hana opened her eyes to shoot a nervous look at the door. “It’s okay. I threw all the boys out and Boris is standing guard outside. He carried you downstairs.”

  Hana blew out through pursed lips and nodded. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  The nurse rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I won’t. How far along are you?”

  “I don’t know.” Hana’s chin wobbled with the effort of not crying. “I could be one week pregnant or five.”

  “When was your last period due?” The nurse sat on the bed next to her.

  Hana swallowed and shrugged. “I don’t know that either. I used to mark it on a calendar but I lost it when I moved house. They’re sketchy at best nowadays. I thought it might be the menopause.”

  The nurse nodded. “I can imagine. Your first scan will tell you the approximate age. Make an appointment with your doctor.”

  “Okay.” Hana exhaled. “Can I go now?”

  “Not yet. Your colour is very pale and your pulse slow. Lay back and relax and we’ll see how you are after a rest.”

  Despite the breeze from a window near her head, Hana smelled boy-feet and sweat. Her stomach churned in warning and she lifted her blouse to cover her nose. The nurse handed her cool water and she sipped it with care, keeping her nose covered. The water slopped over her hand as Hana jumped in fright. Caroline’s voice screeched outside the door. “Let me see her! She needs to know!”

  A scuffle sounded outside the door as clothing and bodies shifted against the wood. The nurse whipped it open and Boris and Caroline fell through the gap. “What the hell is happening?” the nurse bellowed and Boris pinked to the tips of his ears. Caroline broke free of his grip and Sheila hung to the back of the other woman’s sweater, stretching it into a thin line.

  “Leave her alone!” she pleaded, her shoes slithering across the smooth tiles. Hana squeezed her eyes closed as hysteria threatened to reveal the funny side. Caroline pulled until she stood in front of Hana, hands on hips and towering over her.