Du Rose Family Ties

by Bowes, K T

  Hana rubbed shower gel into her hands and soaped him up where he sat, tickling him and enjoying the return of the happy infant. “All better now?” She smiled into his face and he flashed the teeth again, the gums still red and sore but no longer distressing him. Hana set the nozzle to a slow drizzle and cupped her hands, spreading the liquid over the soap to clean her son. “Let’s not tell Daddy his te rongoa Māori stuff worked, hey? He’ll look smug and we don’t want that.” She tapped the end of her nose with her finger and Mac turned his face and gave a pitiful wail, his gaze fixed on the plump breasts in his eye line. Hana shook her head. “Bedtime and emergencies,” she said, forming the words he couldn’t hear. “I’m reclaiming them!”

  Mac kicked and grizzled as Hana wrapped him in a towel and pinned him against her. Her hair hung limply down her back like cold rope and she shivered in the cool air outside the bathroom. Eating sounds came from the kitchen downstairs and Hana skittered along the corridor to the bedroom, opting to cling onto the mummified child harder than her own towel. In the bedroom she thrust a nappy onto the baby before he peed and gave in, settling him with a conciliatory breast feed to satiate him before she got dressed.

  A knock on the door heralded Leslie, looking like she had slept little. “Logan’s feedin’ the other tamariki. I’ve made some toast fingers for this tamaiti tāne if you want me to take him.”

  Mac spotted Leslie, craning his neck and straining to sit up using his stomach muscles. His arms and legs flailed with excitement at her presence and his lips blew out grunts of exertion. Leslie held her arms out and he squealed a high pitched noise. “Will I give him a beaker of milk?” she asked, lifting the child over her shoulder. Mac gave a hearty burp and she patted his back and eyed Hana as the other woman struggled into her jeans while still damp. “Too late, I see. Ah well, the Du Rose men do like their titi.” She turned away and Hana gasped, her cheeks flushing red.

  “Leslie! Don’t be vulgar!”

  “Nothing vulgar about nipples, kōtiro. We’ve all got them.”

  Hana put her hands over her ears. “It’s too early for this conversation.”

  Leslie grinned. “And you’re too English.”

  “Probably. Please tell Logan I’ll be down before he leaves.” Hana sighed with relief as the door clicked closed behind Leslie. The woman called a spade ‘a spade’ and Hana shuddered, preferring to call it a ‘digging thing’ whilst working up to the truth. Sometimes the testosterone haze which hung over the Du Rose males made Hana uncomfortable and their easy Māori ways and openness of speech left little to the imagination. Tama could be baldly explicit, often finding Hana’s fingers clamped over his mouth. Alfred was the worst, hiding little of his relationship with his seventy-year-old wife. Only Logan behaved with any degree of privacy, making his alpha image even stronger for those desperate to test his prowess.

  “What’re you thinking?” Logan’s hand on her shoulder sent the blush from Hana’s chest to her fine boned neck and she twisted the sweater in her fingers.

  “You.” Her eyes narrowed and she turned, pressing her breasts against Logan’s crisp white shirt. She ran a tentative finger up the line of buttons and he groaned. He wrapped his arms around her and his thumb traced the line of her lacy bra.

  “You pick your moments, wahine,” he complained, resting his soft lips against hers.

  Hana let her hands roam over the expensive fabric of his grey trousers, feeling the neat backside beneath its folds. Cursory exploration further revealed a straining at the seams near the front and she sighed with satisfaction. “Leslie mentioned Du Rose men and nipples and then there you were,” Hana whispered. “Like an apparition of pure...”

  Logan’s lips closed over hers, severing her sentence. “Pure school teacher,” he reminded her with a raised eyebrow. Clearing his throat with a wince, he adjusted his trousers. “Pure respectability.”

  “If you say so.” Hana stroked her breasts through the material and taunted her husband with deliberate intent. A thought occurred to her and she stopped and jabbed an index finger in his direction. “Stay away from those horny women in the social sciences department. They were definitely headed your way before you asked me out. I wouldn’t put it past them not to care about the wedding ring on your finger.” Hana narrowed her green eyes to slits. “Don’t go near their staff room or you’ll come out divorced.”

  Logan put his head back and laughed. “Okay, Mrs Du Rose. Whatever you say. Is there anyone else’s character you’d like to malign before I go to work?”

  She shook her head, pretty face screwed into a scowl. “I can’t think of any right now.”

  Logan shoved a dark tie around his neck and knotted it with deft fingers. “Good. Then have a great day. I wished Wiri and Phoe good luck at their new school and kindy. Leslie said she’d ride shotgun in case of trouble.” Logan flung his jacket over his muscular shoulders, shrouding the multi-millionaire farmer in expensive Italian cloth and looking even less like the average high school teacher. “I’d best meet my new boss and pretend to look interested in the staff briefing.”

  “You met her the other day.” Hana shrugged the sweater over her bra and pulled it down to her hips.

  “Yeah, today I get to meet the new head of department.”

  Hana pushed her feet into socks. “Won’t it be weird; going back as a teacher when you used to be a head of faculty?”

  “Not really.” Logan lifted her chin for one last kiss. “I’m not staying. As long as my classes run like I want them to I don’t care about school politics. I’ll get the hours to satisfy the teacher registration rules and go home. Easy.”

  “What about Caleb? Do you still want him out?” Hana tensed as Logan’s brow furrowed and he thought for a moment in silence.

  His steady gaze made her quail and a flicker of enjoyment crossed his face. Then he shrugged. “He’s your guest so that makes him your problem, Hana. If you want him out, I’ll back you. Otherwise, you deal with him.” He gave a wink as he left the room and Hana sat on the bed feeling colder, less safe and as though he’d taken some precious life force with him and left her in the shade.

  Chapter 31

  Different

  “I’ll drive.” Leslie held out her hand for the ute keys and settled herself in the driver’s seat while Hana secured Mac’s car seat. “You tell me where to go.”

  Hana sank into the passenger side and closed the door, already exhausted from dealing with the other two. She waved a tired hand at Caleb who stood on the front porch resting on his crutches. “Have a good day,” he called to the children in the back seat and Phoe waved with enthusiasm. Wiri stuck his tongue out and Hana reached behind her and tapped his leg.

  “I saw that! Don’t be so rude.”

  “We don’t like that big boy,” Wiri replied, dropping his bottom lip.

  “I like that big boy.” Phoenix leaned forward in her car seat and stretched around Mac so she could look at her cousin. “I like that big boy.”

  “But I don’t,” he repeated. “He’s a bad boy.”

  “What makes you say that?” Hana turned in her seat to face the angry, grey eyes. Wiri scowled and opened his mouth.

  “He won’t find his stuff again. Serves him right for making me carry it in from Nonie’s car.”

  “Which way do you want me to turn?” Leslie’s voice screeched like nails on a blackboard, panicked by the excessive Hamilton traffic.

  “Right,” Hana said, staring at her mother-in-law. “No need to yell at me. I was happy to drive!”

  “I don’t like that boy,” Wiri began again and Leslie snapped at him.

  “Hush, Wiremu Du Rose! Tō waha!”

  “Don’t tell him to shut up!” Hana sat up in her seat. “What’s with you today?”

  “Aua atu rā.”

  Hana looked around at Wiri and raised her shoulders in question. He pouted. “She said never mind.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t feel like going to a new school anymore. I want to go for cuppa teas instead.�
��

  “After school,” Hana said, reaching her hand out to him. “Be a good boy at school today and we’ll go for coffee afterwards and you can tell us all about it.”

  Wiri leaned forward and grasped her fingers. Mac grumbled in his throat and caught hold of her sleeve, hauling Hana’s arm towards him and opening his mouth. Phoenix gave a fake, pitiful cry. “Cuddle me too,” she protested.

  “He wants to eat your hand,” Wiri said, watching Mac reeling in Hana’s sleeve. “He’s got a bogey on his cheek. It’s brown.”

  “It’s toast.” Leslie squinted in the rear view mirror at the baby in the centre of the back seat. “I missed it with the wipe.”

  “Turn left up here.” Hana peered through the windscreen. “The school’s next door to the kindy. Whoever thought that up is a genius.”

  “Developers. Gotta love ‘em,” Leslie snarled, pushing the ute through the other school traffic and grimacing as the neat family vehicles bowed to the might of the hefty farm truck’s nudge bars and the mud clogged in its wheels.

  “I’ll drive home,” Hana remarked as Leslie snatched a parking space in the car park, as another mother indicated possession with the orange blinker at the front of her tiny car. Leslie grumbled and plopped from the driver’s seat with a curse.

  “It’s bloody freezin’ down ‘ere. Hamilton sucks!”

  “Hamilton sucks!” Wiri repeated and Hana put her hand over his open mouth.

  “Don’t say things like that to the people who like it here,” she whispered in his ear. “You want to make friends today otherwise it’ll be a very long term.”

  “I just won’t go then.” Wiri stuck his chin in the air and Hana’s heart quailed.

  “You chose to come with us,” she said, bending down on her haunches to look the child in the eyes. “You could’ve stayed at your old school back in Rangiriri. Now you’ve chosen and you can either go home and back to that school, or you can stay here and treat it like an adventure. But you’re not misbehaving here with the intention of going home whenever you feel like it. Do you understand?”

  Wiri nodded. “I’ll be good.”

  “I’ll be good too.” Phoenix held Leslie’s hand and hopped about on the pavement. “Wiri be good, yeah?” Reaching out she grabbed his fingers in a firm grip and hopped again, her thin arms spread like a washing line. “You stayin’ wiv Phoe Phoe, yeah?” She asked the question and nodded to herself, judge and jury. “Not go home by self?”

  Wiri gave a reluctant smile and put his arm around the toddler with latent possessiveness. “I’m bein’ wiv you,” he said, his grey eyes sincere. His other hand plucked at his sweatshirt which sported a cartoon character. “But I look stupid in my mufti clothes.”

  “Then let’s get some uniform for you.” Hana smiled and held out her hand, investing her energy into the suffering boy and leaving Leslie to trail behind carrying Mac. Phoenix maintained her death grip on Wiri’s other hand. He stopped just inside the front doors, halting like a stubborn horse with anxiety in his face.

  “What if you buy me uniform and I don’t like it? What if everybody hates me and wants to kill me? What if they all do tarukino all day and I don’t wanna?”

  “Do what?” Hana stopped and peered at the child’s anxious face.

  “Cannabis. He’s just rambling!” Leslie spat, pushing Wiri on with her stomach. Mac made a swipe for a handful of black curls and she pulled him upright in the nick of time. “Stop it, tāne. He kutukutu ahi.”

  “What’s nonsense?” A male voice boomed and a tall Polynesian man approached them. He shared Logan’s height but not his muscular build and he’d scraped straight, dark hair back into a ponytail behind his collar. Kind brown eyes stared down at the reluctant Wiri. “Is this my new student? I’m Mr Rōpata.” He pronounced his words with Māori vowel sounds.

  After a moment of hesitation, Wiri let out a sigh. “You’re brown,” he said. “Fank goodness for that.”

  Hana swallowed in a moment of horror until the tall man let out a deep laugh. “Māori blood and bones, man. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out a large paw and Wiri’s tiny fingers disappeared inside.

  “I need a uniform,” Wiri said, tugging at his sweater. “I’ve got my old school shorts on but I need clothes like them.” He pointed at a group of children moving past, his grey eyes missing nothing when they put their small heads together and whispered about him behind their hands.

  “And that’s why I’m standing here waiting for you.” Mr Rōpata winked at Hana and took Wiri’s hand, leading them towards the reception. In seconds Wiri wore the correct maroon sweatshirt and grey uniform shorts. Hana clutched the relevant sports kit in her hands. Wiri looked ready to embark on his new adventure and Hana felt grateful to the man who’d made such an effort to immerse the frightened child into this new chapter.

  The receptionist’s sing song voice chirped out the amount for Hana to pay for uniform and school fees and she jumped and dragged her credit card from the front pocket of her jeans. She handed it across the counter and then crouched down to look into Wiri’s face. “You good now, baby?” she asked. He nodded and Hana pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Have a great day and we’ll go for afternoon tea when I pick you up. How’s that? You can tell us how it went.”

  Wiri nodded and let go of his teacher’s hand to wrap his arms around her neck. “Promise you’ll come for me yourself?” he whispered and Hana nodded.

  “Promise.”

  Wiri let go and she stood, feeling emotional. The lack of blood tie seemed to make no difference and Logan’s comment about sending him back rang hollow in her brain. It couldn’t happen; she’d invested too much love in the boy already. Mr Rōpata caught Wiri’s hand and gave her a smile. “Thank you for your phone call last week, Mrs Du Rose. It’s helpful to understand the background issues.”

  Hana swallowed and glanced down at the back of Wiri’s dark curls, feeling like a betrayer. She’d stumbled through her account of the five-year-old’s tortured situation, explaining the reasons why Logan’s half-nephew lived as their son and called them Ma and Pa. She knew the teacher had heard worse but cringed against the unusualness of their circumstances. Glancing at her green eyed son, she imagined giving him up, the thought causing her chest to clench in agony. “Thank you,” she said. Lifting the backpack from her arm she handed it over. “Wiri’s snack and lunch is in there. I’ll name his sports kit and he can have it tomorrow.”

  Mr Rōpata nodded and accepted the bag in his spare paw. “We don’t do sport on Mondays so that will be fine. Is it Wiri or Wiremu? Which do you prefer?”

  Wiri shrugged. “People I love call me Wiri. You can call me Wiri but everyone else can call me Wiremu Neville Lincoln Du Rose.”

  Mr Rōpata threw his head back and laughed. “They might struggle with that my little tangata whakahangareka.”

  Phoenix heard the Māori words and pouted, tugging on Leslie’s skirt. “I don’t like clowns!” she insisted, staring at Wiri’s teacher in alarm. “I don’t like clowns!”

  Hana spun and picked her up, struggling to hide her surprise. She hadn’t looked at the birth certificate in the file on the counter, just adding it to the pile of documents required to register Wiri at the school. The list of names left her reeling and Leslie reached across to accept the pale Manila folder from the receptionist’s fingers. Mac lurched for it and Leslie held it at arm’s length. “Bye Wiri.” Hana waved to the little boy and he kissed his palm and blew it, involving a whole lot of spit. Then he wiped his palm on his new shorts with a look of distaste and walked through the door with his teacher.

  “He spit in my eye!” Phoenix complained and wiped her face on Hana’s shoulder.

  “One down, one to go,” Leslie commented, turning and heading for the main door.

  Hana watched the disconsolate slump of Leslie’s shoulders and wondered what ailed the elderly woman. Her patience seemed more frayed than usual and her temper boiled close to the surface. “Just shoot me,” Hana whispered under her br
eath and Phoenix let out an exaggerated hiss.

  “No! Naughty!” she complained and Hana realised her mistake. Too late. “Papa won’t shoot you.” Phoenix tipped so she could look beyond Hana’s red curls and peer into her face. “Poppa Alfie won’t shoot you.” Her diatribe continued through the front door and onto the pavement, changing as she thought of people who’d rather like to shoot her mother. “Toby might shoot you. No. Yes. No. Will can do it.” Her grey eyes grew round like saucers at the thought of the stroppy museum curator. “I ask him?”

  “No thanks love, I’m good.”

  Phoenix smiled and pointed at the sign for her new playschool. “Kindy?”

  “Yep.” Hana kept her tone matter-of-fact. “Lovely kindy.”

  “I don’t wanna go kindy.” Phoenix looked anxious and a low keening sound came from her throat. “I go home wiv Macky.”

  “It’s until afternoon tea time, just like your other kindy, Phoe,” Hana persisted. “Then I’ll come find you and look at the toys you’ve played with. I think Mac would love to see them.”

  “See them.” Phoenix repeated the words around her thumb sucking, a whine in her voice. “Toys.”

  “Ooh, look at the climbing frame, moko!” Leslie turned with a smile on her face and pointed through the railings at the wooden fort in the middle of a playing area. Children swarmed all over it and Phoenix popped the thumb from her mouth.

  “I don’t like them kids,” she said, forming a snap judgement of the crowd of undersized people.