by K T Bowes
“He’s not staying here, Logan. Do you hear me?” His loaded silence should have frightened her but anger propelled her words. “He wrecked my small but significant honeymoon, ruined a friend’s marriage, destroyed our friendship, put you in the hospital and read my private messages. He’s a selfish little man and I want him off this property before I call the cops!”
“Cops?” Tama took a step back towards his car and his handsome face creased into a pout. “Uncle Logan, she can’t threaten me.”
Logan gritted his teeth. “Hana,” he said in a reasonable tone, “I live here too and he’s family.”
“Not mine!” she countered, her tone hard and unyielding. She slammed the envelope onto the hall cupboard and channeled determination through her balled fists. Every fibre of her being resisted Tama’s chaotic presence, reminding her of the isolation he brought with him last time. Hana’s coat parted to reveal the tiny baby bump and Logan’s pupils dilated. When she took a step towards him, he seemed mesmerized. “Send him away, Logan and if you don’t like it, go with him!”
The words hit the freezing air invading the lobby and bounced back at her. Logan blanched and Hana sensed she went too far. He swallowed and gave a sad nod of his head. “My name means nothing to you, does it?” He jerked his head towards the envelope and Hana followed his gaze. The power company addressed the bill to Mrs H Johal and she looked away, not wanting to hear the rest of Logan’s accusation.
“This is about a house guest,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not whose name appears on the bills.”
Logan shook his head. “It’s about more than that, wahine. I’m your tāne but you don’t respect me.”
“Are you just the lodger, Uncle?” Tama’s snort cut the air and Hana stiffened. He’d made it as far as the front steps and she turned and kicked the door closed in his face.
“I’m calling Bo,” she snapped, pulling her phone from her handbag as she headed towards her bedroom. “I’m done with this.”
She left Logan standing in the hallway, his angular jaw locked in a grimace. Her heart clenched in her chest as she walked away, not daring to look back at him. He’d leave because she offered him no reason to stay.
“You under the thumb, Uncle?” Tama’s snarky shout and subsequent guffaw of juvenile laughter sealed the deal. He railed more comments at the closed front door and Hana put her hands over her ears as her world tipped on its axis.
She heard the slam of the front door and edged to the bedroom window, watching a side view of the men. Cracking the frame open gave her audio. “Why’d you antagonise her?” Logan shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting for an answer.
Tama shrugged. “It’s fun seeing you whipped by a chick, bro’. But I got nowhere to stay so tell her to let me in.”
Logan removed one hand long enough to rub his left eye with the heel of his hand. “No. It’s her house.”
Tama’s head jerked back on his neck, an action of disgust. “What? You not a man anymore, Uncle? You a pussy?” Hana watched Logan’s jaw grind against his cheek and sensed the explosion rising in his chest. Tama pressed the detonation switch. “What do you see in her? Caroline’s got legs up to her neck. That chick’s a poisoned dwarf compared to her.”
Hana closed her eyes and backed away from the window. Tama’s comparison stung. Caroline’s influence hung over her like a dense fog and she couldn’t compete on any level. The woman even managed to get pregnant first. She sighed and sank onto the bed to remove her boots. Conjecture over Caroline’s paternity claims heightened her nausea and Hana put her head between her knees. Logan promised he didn’t father the child, but doubt trailed like a gossamer thread behind their marriage. Invisible, yet always there.
Hana heard a metallic clang and ignored it, changing into her pyjamas and hanging her clothes in the wardrobe. Her hand strayed to her belly and she rubbed it, gratified when the fluttering began. “Just you and me, kid,” she sighed. “Somehow I don’t think your daddy will stick around after that performance.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.” Logan’s voice made her jump and she turned to find him leaning against the doorframe. The gate alarm sounded from the lobby as Tama passed through the sensors. Hana swallowed, her face drawn and pale.
“Maybe I don’t then.”
“I sent Tama away.” Logan looked down and winced at a cut on his knuckle. “I might need your help with the Band Aids again.”
“You hit him?”
“Na, cut it open pushing him into his car.” He walked towards her, holding his hand aloft. Blood seeped into his palm. “I listened to you,” he said. “Eventually. Sorry. I don’t mean to put the whānau first, but they’ve filled a gap for so long it’s hard to break the habit.”
Hana nodded and gripped the bridge of her nose to stem the rising headache. The child did another lap of her womb and age crept over her like a warm blanket. “I don’t have the energy for this,” she whispered.
“I know.” Logan enfolded her with his good arm and kissed the top of her head. “I know.”
Hana’s realisation drove her to make changes throughout the following week. She filled in forms and visited the bank, changing all references to Mrs Hana Johal to Du Rose. Neither of them mention Tama again, but his existence haunted Hana like a curse.
On Thursday, she crept into the phone booth in the staffroom, waiting for the lunchtime rush to end. She phoned the doctor’s surgery and asked for her test results. A single answer held the power to end or increase her sleepless nights and galvanise or ruin her appetite.
The receptionist answered. “We only give results at two o’clock in the afternoon,” she snapped. “You should know by now.”
Hana swallowed. “I didn’t know. And I work in a school. It’s hard to get privacy, especially then. That’s right in the middle of lesson change. Please can I ring after four when everyone’s gone?”
“That’s too late,” the receptionist snapped. “Two o’clock only.” Hana stared into the handset as the line went dead. She groaned and rested her forehead against the glass.
She watched the clock for the next hour, growing more anxious as the hands seemed to slow to a tantalising snail’s pace. Pete disappeared for his post-lunch nap and Sheila found herself called into an emergency meeting with other heads of department. “It’s about the new chapel,” she grumbled. “I don’t know why they need me.”
“Will Logan be there?” Hana asked, watching Sheila gather up a new, expensive handbag and plaster lipstick over her teeth without looking.
“It’s all of us.” Sheila rolled her eyes and tossed her head. “I’m sure he’s got better things to do than discuss fundraising and planning permission. The building won’t go ahead. It’s Angus’ latest pipe dream and we get sucked in.” She slammed from the office amidst a haze of Chanel and Hana coughed and opened the window. Boy sweat wafted in and she closed it again with a thud.
Blessed with a few moments of privacy, Hana waited for the noise of lesson change to pass. At five minutes after the deadline, she phoned the doctor’s surgery from her office phone and found it engaged. It stayed that way for another twenty minutes as the population of Ngaruawahia and Huntly sought their results. “Stupid system!” Hana griped, banging her fist on the table after pressing the redial button. The receptionist answered.
“Oh, hi. I’m ringing for my test results.”
“Name.”
Hana paused. “Johal, but I need to change it to Du Rose.”
The receptionist sighed and Hana heard the click of her manicured nails on the keyboard as she spelled her name four times. “That’s all done for you,” the woman said.
“And my test results?” Hana held her breath and felt her heart rate reach thudding point.
“I can’t give you those over the phone. The midwife does it.”
Hana’s voice sounded croaky. “Why? Is there something wrong?”
“No,” the woman
spat. “Midwives give the pregnancy results. Ask her.” She hung up.
Enraged, Hana rang back again, stopping the receptionist mid welcome. She asked for her doctor.
She gasped when his voice came on the line, convinced the officious woman would guard his afternoon on the golf course instead of putting her through. Surprise made her stammer to explain the awful series of phone conversations with the receptionist. The doctor sighed and Hana heard the tick of his office clock in the silence. Not the golf course then. “She’s right. The midwife gives those results.” His fingers tapped as he checked his computer. “Ah, yes. Your pre-natal visit went somewhat downhill and I didn’t give you the information.”
“No.” Hana closed her eyes against the thudding in her head. “I just need those results. The not knowing is driving me mad.”
“My wife is one of our midwives. I’ll get her to call you. Would that be okay?”
“Yes, please.” Hana’s groan of relief sounded indecent and she pressed a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.” She ended the call and then fear worked its way back into her soul. She didn’t have the results and someone else still had control over her future.
Sheila returned in a temper, flinging herself into a chair and recounting the meeting word for word. “We sat there for an hour while a boring architect burbled on about a building which looks more suited to a new age commune. What is Angus thinking?”
“Is Logan free now?” Hana half-stood, desperate to seek her husband’s assurance. Acknowledging her need for his support felt like halving the problem.
Sheila shook her head. “He rushed off to supervise cross-country for the lower school.” She stood and turned back. “And he asked me to remind you he’s using his bike. There’s another bloody departmental meeting after school tonight.”
Hana groaned in misery and sank into her chair. She tried phoning him but he didn’t answer. Cross-country meant a trip into the gully and nobody in their right mind took their phone down there.
School finished for the day and Hana glanced at her watch. “I’m heading off,” she called to Sheila. “Don’t forget your meeting.” A grunted reply followed her through the door into the common room. She jumped as her phone rang and dumped her bag on a nearby desk to rummage through and find it. “Hey, Logan,” she answered, confused by the long pause on the other end.
“Oh, hi. My name is Emma and I’m a midwife,” a woman’s voice said. “I hear you’re desperate for some important test results.”
“Yes, I am.” Hana watched through the long windows as her husband rounded the top corner of the soccer field. Mud coated his legs and trainers and he chivvied up the runners at the back. A shower and change would make him late for the meeting. She turned away, listening to the gentle voice on the other end of the phone call.
“Let’s meet,” Emma suggested. “I’ve got your results here and we can have a proper talk about your pregnancy. I can be at your house in two hours as long as one of my women doesn’t go into labour.”
At home, Hana rattled around the house like a bag of nerves. She squeaked at the sound of the gate alarm and sized up the pretty Indian-looking woman speaking into the intercom.
Emma didn’t disappoint. “I’m sorry for all the drama,” she said. “The receptionist means well.” Hana smiled, keeping her doubts about that to herself. Refusing a drink, the midwife followed Hana into the lounge and took a seat. “Now, I know you haven’t signed with me, but I’m happy to do the initial meeting and you can decide afterwards.”
Hana raised a hand. “I don’t understand any of this process. My other children are twenty-five and twenty-six and I had them in England. Aren’t you just allocated to me?”
“No.” Emma smiled. “That’s not how it works.”
Hana grew desperate and her green eyes dulled in response to the panic in her chest. “You seem nice. Please can I just sign and have my results?”
Emma stood and joined her on the sofa. “Hey, it’s okay.” She reached for Hana’s hand and the human contact made her realise how lonely and insular she’d become.
“I don’t think I can do any of this.” Hana’s voice wobbled and Emma rubbed her fingers.
“Yes, you can,” she assured. “We’re women. We can do anything.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. Hana’s brow knitted and she closed her eyes against failure and guilt.
“You’re results are normal, Hana.” Emma’s gentle voice filtered into her locked up brain and she laid the envelope in Hana’s lap. “An amniocentesis and scan will confirm that, but your bloods raised no alarm bells.”
“Normal. All of them?” Hana’s chin wobbled as her brain grappled with the unexpected. “Are you sure these are mine?”
“Yeah.” Emma stroked an escaped curl behind Hana’s ear and kindness radiated out from her. “Can I check you and the baby over?”
Hana nodded, her head unsteady on her neck. She lay on the lounge rug while her new midwife measured her from groin to ribs and located her baby’s heartbeat with an ear funnel. “There it is,” she said with confidence. “Nice and strong.”
A rush of emotion squeezed tears from the corners of Hana’s eyes as she lay on the carpet. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. The midwife knelt next to her and pulled Hana’s shirt over her stomach. “How pregnant am I?” Hana asked.
“Very.” Emma offered her a hand and hauled her into a sitting position. “Thirteen or fourteen weeks. A scan will give more accuracy.” She sat on the sofa and made notes on her phone.
“I don’t want an amnio.” Hana pulled herself backwards onto the sofa and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Logan and I talked about it.”
“Fair enough.” Emma smiled. “You’re not twenty, Hana. I needn’t hand hold you. If you’d like me as your midwife, I think we’ll both enjoy it.”
Hana nodded and accepted the various leaflets and documents relating to her pregnancy and the midwife service. She pressed the gate release for Emma and allowed a bud of excitement to flourish in her chest.
“Logan, I need to speak to you.” She left him the voicemail when he didn’t answer. A glance at the clock told her he might still be in the meeting. “It’s good, not bad. Hurry home.”
An hour later, she rang Sheila. “What time did the meeting end?” she asked, anxiety filling her voice. “Logan isn’t home.”
“That’s weird.” Sheila yawned. “He left before me on that damn bike of his.” She paused. “Remember the rumours about Caroline Marsh?”
“No! He wouldn’t see her!” Hana snapped, wondering when the woman’s name would cease to plague her. “Thanks.” She hung up.
Half an hour later her phone rang. “Mum?” Bodie’s baritone seemed to fill the lobby where Hana paced.
“Is it Logan?” she demanded. “He didn’t come home. I know it’s only a couple of hours, but I’m worried.”
“He’s fine.” Bodie exhaled through his nose, creating a hissing sound. “He’s at Amy’s. They followed him. Enough is enough. You both need to consider witness protection.”
“What happened?” Hana’s fingers strayed to her belly.
“He led them on a bit of a chase and lost them at Claudelands. He hid the bike in Amy’s garden and rang me.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Hana squatted in the lobby with her back to the wall. “How is he?”
Bodie snorted. “Amy almost smashed him with her nightstick. Probably not his best move to creep around the side of her house after dark. Control tasked the night shift to look for a dark coloured Subaru and they chased a few sightings, but lost it.”
“What about Logan? Shall I drive down and fetch him?”
“No. I’m taking him to the Gordonton House to retrieve his truck. He’ll be at yours in about an hour. His phone died. He said to tell you.”
“Thank you.” Hana rang off but couldn’t settle. She shut all the curtains and sat in the lounge as television programs scrolled past her blank v
ision. Reaching for her former happiness gleaned little of its earlier buzz.
It seemed an age before the gate alarm sounded, followed by the roar of the truck labouring up the driveway. Despite the cold, she stood on the porch with her arms clasped around her, watching her exhausted husband step from the driver’s side. Fatigue drained the olive from his complexion and his rucksack hung limp in his hand. He looked incongruous, descending from an all-wheel-drive in motorbike leathers.
Hana held her arms out to him at the top of the steps and he wrapped himself around her, breathing in the scent of her hair in giant gulps. “Everything’s okay,” he whispered. “I promise.” Looking down at her bare feet, his brows narrowed. “Let’s go inside,” he said.
Hana shut the front door behind them, locking and bolting it with eager fingers. She waited for Logan to disgorge from his leathers. His tie looked adrift, his top button undone and his hair tousled. He’d aged since they kissed goodbye on the front steps and anxious lines crossed his forehead.
“Were you scared?” she asked, her eyes wide. “They terrify me.”
Logan shook his head and his nose wrinkled upwards in a sneer. “No. I contemplated stopping and having it out with them.” He shrugged. “A year ago that’s what I’d have done.” His gaze grazed her belly and he reached out a hand. “I’ve got more to lose now. I suspect they were armed. My phone died after lunch, otherwise I could have got myself some help.”
“From the cops?” Hana’s earnest face seemed to make Logan falter.
“Not quite,” he replied, his expression guarded. “We’ll talk about it another time, hey? I’m tired.”
At the look of pure alarm in Hana’s face, Logan coasted his fingers over her abdomen. “Who else can help you?” she asked in a whisper. “Who else is there?”
“Just people.” Logan snaked his arm around her neck and pressed her face into his shirt. “This feels nice.”
“What does?”
“Coming home to you and my baby. I’ve spent my life drifting and not caring about my own safety. Tonight felt different. I’m anchored.”