by Bowes, K T
“I dropped the children at school and kindy. Leslie’s gone to the supermarket.” Hana sank into a wing-backed chair next to the sofa. “Are you hungry?”
Caleb nodded. “The fridge is empty, but I found bread and a few biscuits.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Hana eyed him with curiosity. “What happened at the hotel?”
The atmosphere crackled with tension as the teenager licked his lips and searched for a ready lie. Hana scented deceit before it passed across his lips. “Just lonely after you left.” He widened his eyes to puppy-dog proportions and turned on the charm as easily as flicking a switch. Robert Dressler’s huge personality filled the room as Caleb exercised the genetic code with precision.
Bile rose into Hana’s throat as she realised she’d been played, accommodating a stranger into the Du Rose clan without regard for her own children. The gap in her life left by Tama ached like a wound and she’d filled it with Caleb; but something in his blue eyes drove a warning into her heart like an arrow. Her expression hardened. “Tell me the truth or leave now.” No smile accompanied the command to soften the delivery and Caleb’s mouth opened in an unattractive gape.
“I just did! Nobody came to see me after you left and it got boring.”
“So where does Asher fit into all this?” Hana’s green eyes lacked empathy and she watched the boy baulk at this new, combative side of her nature.
“We hung out a bit is all. He knew my dad and told me some stuff.”
Hana snorted with disdain. “Yeah, I bet he did. Most of it would be make believe too. Bobby didn’t waste his energy on Asher Du Rose and you’d do well to copy him. That kid’s on the road to nowhere and he won’t stop until he runs into a mirror and sees his own reflection. He’s lucky he’s not in prison.”
Caleb shrugged, keen to end the conversation. “I thought he seemed fine.”
“Well, he isn’t.” Hana drove her point home and rose from her seat. Caleb’s body language reminded her of Bodie during his rebellious years and the memory induced a deep bone tiredness which made it hard to move one foot in front of the other. “I’ll get some wood and light a fire,” she said with a sigh. “This house is freezing.”
“It’s better than the streets,” Caleb muttered, determined to invoke guilt seeing as he’d failed at sympathy. Hana chose to ignore the veiled threat within Caleb’s words and busied herself with finding kindling and logs in the shed to start a hearty blaze.
Leslie returned after two hours with enough food to feed the school population. Hana helped her unload the ute and put everything away before her son demanded attention via the baby monitor. “I’ll get him!” Leslie demanded as Hana moved towards the kitchen door. The old woman shifted her bulk around Caleb, who balanced on one leg in the doorway. Hana watched as a silent communication of dislike passed between them and she hefted the tin of peas in her hand and narrowed her eyes at the boy. “You need to tell me what you did,” she said, giving him another opportunity to come clean. “I’ll find out, anyway.”
“She doesn’t like me,” Caleb offered. “Thinks I’m a free-loader. She said my sort trail trouble like the smoke from a fart and she didn’t want to bring me here.”
“Well, that’s obvious,” Hana snorted. “She doesn’t want to be in the same room. The journey here must have been entertaining!”
Caleb wrinkled his nose. “Yeah.”
Hana moved into the living room, hearing Caleb’s crutches scrape across the floor behind her. She seized the poker and pushed it into the flames, watching as it stirred up the oxygen, causing the light display to turn a brighter shade of orange. “I wish Logan could see this fire,” she mused. “I always mess it up when he’s watching.”
“Have you talked to him about me?” Caleb shifted in his seat and chewed his bottom lip.
“I told him you’re Bobby’s son, yes.” Hana avoided his eyes and stirred the kindling again, sending up sparks and ash.
“Did you ask him where my dad is?” Hope filtered through his words and Hana suppressed her natural sense of compassion.
“No.”
“Why?” Caleb’s tone became urgent and demanding and Hana felt a familiar flicker of fear. Bodie’s antics caused the same clenching in her gut when he dumped his problems on her shoulders and panic assailed her rational thought.
She stood up straight, poker in hand and squared her shoulders. Her gaze on Caleb made him quail. “Because I told you to ask him yourself. I won’t act as your go-between to soften up my husband. If you want to know something; ask him.”
“He doesn’t like me.” The sulky teenager returned, anger replaced by self-pity. He sank into an armchair. “You said you’d help me.” Caleb’s bottom lip turned down and his eyes narrowed, peering out at her from beneath hooded lids.
The poker clattered against the tiled hearth, dislodging a log which hissed and sprayed orange sparks into the chimney. “I have helped you!” Hana raised her voice and put her hands on her hips. “How dare you!”
“You know I’m looking for my dad!” Caleb persisted, pushing himself back into a standing position and reaching for his crutches. He held his injured leg off the floor and wobbled as he bent forward. “It’s the only reason I’m here.”
“Nice!” Hana spat, shaking her head in disbelief. “The only reason you’re here is to heal. After that, I can’t help you.” She whirled from the room, clattering into Leslie outside the door.
“Hana!” Caleb yelled behind her and the old woman’s eyes widened.
“You’ve made a big mistake taking him in, kōtiro,” she hissed. “Youse need to get Logan to throw him out.”
“Just leave it!” Hana snapped, holding out her arms for Mac. In response to her barely concealed anger he turned his face away, burying his nose in Leslie’s neck. Hana dropped her hands, pain in her eyes.
“Let’s make morning tea.” Leslie’s head bobbled on her shoulders; food and sex her all time answers to life’s problems. “You hungry, moko?” She planted a kiss on Mac’s ear and set her battleship body on a course for the kitchen and the full to bursting fridge.
Hana leaned back against the wall and sighed, watching Leslie’s buttocks fight with each other beneath her skirt as she schlepped away. Caleb’s face appeared around the doorframe, his eyes dark and foreboding. Hana raised her index finger. “Pressure me again and we’re done,” she said, her voice dripping acid. “I will not go against my husband, not for you or anybody else.” She pushed away from the wall and navigated the crutch he’d placed at an awkward angle, a flicker in her breast sensing he’d done it on purpose to trip her. “There’s food in the kitchen,” she shot over her shoulder, avoiding his eyes but sensing his gaze on her back.
Chapter 33
Instinct
The heaviness on her chest made breathing a challenge and Hana roused herself from sleep with difficulty. Mac’s head filled the space between her neck and shoulder and her right arm ached from his dead weight. She groaned and opened her eyes, confronted by the sight of Leslie asleep in the chair opposite, the heat from the fire acting as valium in their blood. The old woman’s jaw hung open and her top set of false teeth readied themselves to eject as her tongue swelled back and forth like the tide. Chunky thighs were parted and her floral skirt rode up to expose a pair of old-fashioned, greying bloomers. As Hana squeezed her eyes tighter shut against the vision, Leslie snorted like a kune-kune piglet.
Mac stirred as Hana laid him on the sofa, piling cushions against his legs to keep him from rolling. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Pictures flashed across the TV screen but no sound emanated from the speakers. Hana cast around the room searching for Caleb and not finding him. A memory lingered in her mind of a clattering noise breaking into her sleep and she shook her head and tried to recall the exact sound. Crutches. Caleb’s crutches.
Every floorboard protested against her stealthy footsteps and Hana winced at the orchestra which betrayed her attempt to creep across the room. Shuffling and
then a click issued from the hallway and she followed the sound, curiosity driving her forward. Metal scraped across tile and the voice came from in front of the main door. “Bloody hell.”
Hana poked her head around the door frame and spied Caleb lying just beyond the abrasive front door mat. He prodded at the crutch nearest his right foot, succeeding only in driving it further away. “What happened?” Hana moved into the hallway and increased her pace, arriving next to him in seconds. “Did you fall?”
“Something like that. Thought I’d walk up and down to get some exercise but it didn’t work out. This bloody floor’s slippery.” Caleb accepted Hana’s outstretched hand and hauled himself to a sitting position. He turned his body away from the stairs and tried to kneel up on one knee, cursing as his broken leg stuck out behind him. “How do I do this?” he demanded. “How can I get up again?”
Hana stood behind him and hauled upwards, her hands fixed beneath his armpits. Caleb used his good leg to flex until he stood upright, towering over Hana. She ran an anxious hand across her eyes and glanced up at the back of his blonde head. Something about the incident felt wrong, but she banished it as fanciful and busied herself retrieving his crutches. “Where do you want to be?” Her fingers shook as she handed them over, instinct flashing a warning she didn’t understand.
“Just in the kitchen. That owd bitch won’t wanna wake up and see me staring at her.” He fixed his hands around the crutches and set off at a steady shuffle. Hana followed behind, glancing backwards at the spot in front of the door. The tiles stared back, offering no sheen of slipperiness to back up Caleb’s story.
“I’ve never slipped on that floor,” Hana said, keeping her tone even and without challenge. Her glance strayed to the single trainer on Caleb’s good foot and her confusion deepened.
“It’s this moon boot thing.” Caleb twisted towards her, his face open and conveying honesty through the bright blue eyes. “I’m still not used to it. I fell a couple of times at the motel.” He gnawed at his bottom lip. “It’s hard to get back up when you’re by yourself. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to be here.”
Hana nodded and allowed her face to relax into a smile. He needed her. He just said so. Her eyes strayed to the dark coloured plastic bag just inside his bedroom door. “What’s that?” she asked pointing and Caleb’s eyes widened.
“Those second hand clothes you got for me. I brought them here; I didn’t have a proper bag so the old man gave me a bin liner.”
Hana nodded and pushed it further into the room, moving it out of the way of the door. A tee shirt fell out onto the floorboards and she picked it up and placed it on top of the bag. “Go into the kitchen and I’ll find you something to eat. Leslie bought enough to feed an army.” She followed him along the hallway, sensing the unease coming off him in waves.
“There was another bag,” Caleb began. “I can’t find it.”
“That dumb ass friend of Logan’s is here.” Leslie stood in the lounge doorway and inspected her bottom plate of false teeth. She brushed off fluff as Hana looked away. “I can’t help it.” Her wrinkled face puckered into something a bloodhound might be proud of. “I fell asleep and they popped out onto the rug.”
“Rinse them under the tap.” Hana pushed her into the kitchen and leaning across her ran cold water into the sink. “What friend?”
“The weird one with the fat wife.” Leslie dumped her teeth into the sink and watched them jig beneath the flow of water. Her speech sounded muffled and peculiar.
“I’ll let him in before he bangs on the door and wakes Mac. Can you grab that salad out of the fridge for Caleb?” Hana headed for door. The apocalypse couldn’t wake her sleeping son but the excuse to escape the floating teeth seemed too good to be true.
“Heeeeeeyyyy! Have you missed me?” Peter North slammed his car door and the sickening sound of grating metal set Hana’s teeth on edge. The temporary paralysis as her body tensed made her too late to avoid the inevitable bear hug. Dandruff showered around them like snowflakes and Hana inhaled the scent of chip fat and Tweed; essence of deep-fried-old-lady and sweat.
“Sure have,” Hana lied, extracting herself from the spindly arms and taking a step back. “Congratulations on your wedding. Is Henrietta well?”
“Bouncing!” Pete exclaimed and Hana stifled a snort at the thought of Pete’s overlarge wife on her electrified trampoline. “She’s away at the moment for work. Have you got any left-overs?” He rubbed his stomach like a child and Hana nodded and jerked her head towards the kitchen.
“Hana, can you put this rubbish out? I don’t know where the outside bin is.” Leslie waddled forward with a dustbin liner and pushed it into Hana’s hand.
“I’ve shown you twice now!” Hana sounded exasperated and Leslie gave a sheepish grin and dodged Pete’s outstretched arms.
“Don’t touch me, loser!” she snapped and picked up speed on her return journey to the kitchen.
“I’ll just put this rubbish bag in the outside bin. Don’t wind her up; she has the use of kitchen knives,” Hana warned Pete. She carried the bag outside on the porch and stood for a moment inhaling the cold, fresh air. “I swear nobody else in this place possesses legs.”
“Cheers.” Pete took the steps into the house two at a time, tripping over the top one and splatting into the door post. Hana rolled her eyes and wondered whether to get the ambulance on speed dial. Seconds later, Leslie’s angry shout made her drop the lid of the wheelie bin with a crash and follow the sound of yelling.
“I’m not bloody Miriam!” Leslie yelled, her face puce and her lips drawn into a tight line. “You call me that every damn time and yet youse know I’m Alfie’s second wife! I swear you do it on purpose to annoy me.”
Pete seated himself at the table in expectation of food as though the raging woman would calm and feed him within the next few seconds.
“Just give him some lunch,” Hana sighed. “If you fill his mouth I find the talking stops for a little while.”
With a humph, Leslie pushed her face into the fridge and yanked out the remains of a sandwich Mac hadn’t finished earlier. Hana heard her baby gurgling from the living room and retrieved him from his nest on the sofa. His nappy smelled like a sewage works and she diverted to the bathroom, hoping nobody died in the meantime.
“How’s my mokopuna?” Leslie cooed as Hana delivered him, cleansed and joyful to the high chair at the table. The little boy’s quick eyes spotted the food from his vantage point and his enthusiasm hiked, wrists twirling and tiny fingers grabbing at air. “Youse love your cheese, don’t you moko?” Leslie winked at the baby, slicing the sandwich into chunky fingers.
Pete tapped the table in an annoying staccato beat and Leslie landed him a back hander as she crossed behind him to place the sandwich in front of Mac. Hana fixed a bib around the baby’s neck and he looked up at her and squeezed his eyes shut tight in acknowledgement.
“Cheese or ham?” Leslie snapped and hit Pete again on the way to the fridge.
“Both,” he replied, anticipation making his face pink. The old lady shook her head in irritation and slapped two pieces of bread on the bread board.
“Is it nice to see me?” Pete looked up at Hana like a child seeking approval. Her face softened and she nodded.
“It always is, love.” Hana sat next to her son and smiled across at her former colleague, jerking her head towards the other diner at the table. “This is Caleb. He’s staying with us for a while.” She avoided catching Caleb’s eye. “What’s new with you, Pete?”
Pete’s brow knitted and he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Henrietta can’t get pregnant. We’ve tried everything.” He looked hopefully towards Hana and his eyes drifted over Mac’s fluttering fingers as they pushed breadcrumbs into his teeny mouth. “I thought you might give me some tips.”
Hana opened her mouth as colour leached from her cheeks, wishing he’d asked her anything else but that. A snort from Leslie broke the awkward silence and Hana stared in horror at
the woman’s heaving shoulders as Leslie buttered bread with her back to the room. She closed her eyes as the old kuia whipped round. “Try teckin’ yer pants off!” she cackled and Hana cringed.
“I do!” Pete took her seriously and rose to his feet. His elasticated shorts dropped around his ankles to reveal spindly white legs and Hana clapped her hand over Mac’s eyes and closed her own.
“Pete!” she squealed. Mac battled her fingers as his world went dark and his sandwich disappeared.
Caleb swore and placed a hand over the salad he’d pushed between two slices of bread, as though the airborne essence of Peter North might contaminate it.
“I need you to look, please,” Pete pleaded and Hana opened her eyes at Leslie’s sharp intake of breath. The sports teacher stood with his hands on his hips, a tuft of belly hair rising above the waistband of his undies. “Henrietta says they’re too tight but they’re my favourites. She got me Batman ones which are bigger but I love Superman best. What do you think?”
Hana groaned and forced herself to look. Every part of Peter North spewed from the child sized underwear like a tube of toothpaste squeezed by a moron. There were bulges where there shouldn’t be and nothing in the expected places. He flattened his lips in a rueful smile at Hana’s look of confusion and pointed to the large, yellow ‘S’ on his crotch. “I’m a bit cold,” he announced. “It will come back out.”
“Youse wahine’s right!” Leslie grinned. “Them’s your problem. The little tadpoles can’t do their stuff if they’re in prison.”
“But these’re my favourite!” Pete groaned, clasping his groin with both hands although only one would’ve been sufficient.