by Bowes, K T
Exhaustion made Hana’s brain slow to filter the words which tumbled from her mouth. They were cruel and not her usual, gentle nature. She advanced towards Caroline’s lithe shape, uncontrollable anger flashing in her glittering green eyes. “What’s the matter now? Do you have another pregnancy to pass off as Logan’s?”
Hana kept moving towards her, exuding rage and enjoying the satisfaction of watching her nemesis back away. “Or do you need money and thought you might try to cheat him out of a bit more?” Hana took another step, aware of her baby sleeping between them in her pram. The lioness instinct to protect her young rose like a red haze in front of her eyes. “He hates you, Caroline, hates your guts! I’m glad you jilted him at the altar because if you hadn’t, he’d never have met me.”
Hana stepped again, anger fuelling her movements, watching the woman who made her life a misery in her game to win Logan finally move backwards and almost trip down the steps to the path. “You’re missing out, Caroline,” Hana spat. “He’s awesome and he’s all mine. I’m Mrs Du Rose now, so get lost!”
Safely away from the baby and out of Hana’s pitiful domain, Caroline hovered on the path outside. Hana slammed the open door hard, causing the frame to shake and the timber unit to shudder. Phoenix’s tiny arms splayed wide in a fear reaction and she opened her tired little mouth to let out a pathetic wail. The dam broke and Hana slid down the door to the stained floor, sobbing as though her heart would break.
An hour later and an overwrought Hana consoled her child with a feed, loaded her and the endless baby paraphernalia into her vehicle and headed home. She cried for ages after Caroline left, wracking great sobs which left her numb and empty. As her six week old baby girl suckled, guilt overwhelmed Hana for taunting Caroline with her failed pregnancy. The kind part of Hana’s nature knew it was a low blow. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she sniffed to her oblivious daughter, “even though she tried to pass the baby off as Logan’s. I still shouldn’t have been so cruel.” The tired and miserable part of her reasoned Caroline asked for it, but Hana’s lip curled in disgust at herself.
Self-reproach was the deciding factor which drove Hana out to Ngaruawahia, to her house in the mountains. With every kilometre passed, the tension in her shoulders ebbed away. Phoenix slept in the car seat so full of milk, it dribbled from the side of her pursed lips. Hana turned off State Highway 1, passing the impressive Turangawaewae House and crossing over the Waipa Bridge. Once on Hakarimata Road, relief flooded her as she enjoyed the familiar sight of the mountainous New Zealand bush on her left and the Mighty Waikato River on her right. “I’m home,” she sighed with happiness.
Hana activated the gates and they rolled obediently aside so she could savour the kilometre and a half driveway through beautiful native bush, feeling her sanity return. At the crest of the hill, the oddly named Culver’s Cottage smiled down on her, fresh and renovated, exactly as they left it only a few months ago.
It seemed like years since Hana had been home. Like the return to Narnia, to Cair Paravel, she sat for a moment looking over her kingdom, enjoying the peace, the altitude and the freedom from other people.
Phoenix stayed sleeping while Hana bumped the car seat down on the porch and used her keys to unlock the house and turn off the burglar alarm. The baby snored in the hall and Hana went round opening curtains and revelling in the space and cleanliness of her home. “We should never have left, I should never have agreed to it,” she complained to the empty rooms. “I need to learn to be stronger.”
It was a sunny, late February day and light poured into the rooms from every angle. Hana left the curtains open while she showered and donned clean clothes. There were no rowdy teenage boys around to either accidentally disturb her peace or privacy with their antics and it was heaven.
Phoenix slept while Hana carried her down to the kitchen to make a pot of tea in her favourite brown teapot. It all looked so clean and fresh after the dingy unit. There was nothing much in the fridge so she drank her tea black, ignoring the only disappointment so far. From a loaf of bread in the downstairs freezer, Hana separated one of the frozen pieces with a knife. She lost a crust in the process, but it toasted fine. With no margarine, Hana made up for it with an extra layer of jam.
“Oh no!” The telephone in the hall gave a little chirp, the forerunner to a full blown ring and Hana rushed out to it. She dropped the handset and retrieved it before disconnecting. Looking back towards the kitchen in panic, she saw her baby lying peacefully in the car seat on the rimu floor and wanting her to stay that way, Hana bent down and unplugged the connection. She thrust her hands in her pockets for her cell phone, remembering she left it on the seventies style coffee table at the unit.
Hana sighed, exhaustion washing over her again. Phoenix grumbled in the car seat and her mother lifted her out, snuggling her into her body. The baby seemed brighter at home, sensing her mother’s altered mood. Her eyes darted around with curiosity, studying the shapes and tones without focus. “Pooh, bugle bum,” Hana cooed, getting a whiff of something unpleasant. “Let’s sort you out.”
Hana lay her daughter in the master bedroom, on the four poster bed Logan purchased before their wedding. She changed the dirty nappy, washing the squirmy little body and rebuilding the connexion damaged by tiredness.
The injection site on the olive leg had lost most of the awful redness and was no longer hot to the touch. Hana dressed her daughter in clean clothes and gave her another dose of baby-paracetamol, which she fed through a small plastic syringe. “You like that?” Hana asked in a baby voice.
Phoenix contorted her cute features, making Hana laugh with the combined sucking and licking she performed at the end of the syringe. Listening to the tinkling sound of her own mirth, Hana realised she had found nothing worth laughing about since they moved into the staff house. Chastened by the image of the zombie she’d become, she snuggled her daughter closer, whispering apologies for her awful behaviour as the baby turn her face against Hana’s cheek to make sucking noises. “Gosh, hungry again? You’re a little piggie,” Hana told the child with a smile. The baby squeaked and gurgled in answer.
Hana settled in the four poster bed and laid her child next to her. Phoenix fed as much as she wanted and Hana pulled a light blanket over them both, her body aching as she allowed herself to relax. She woke up in a panic three hours later, relieved to hear the baby snuffling and hiccoughing next to her. Phoenix kicked her legs in the sleep suit and waved her uncoordinated arms around as though trying to fly, but she didn’t cry.
Hana checked her daughter’s nappy, offered the other breast and nodded off to sleep again with her arm tucked around her baby’s head. She twitched as she dreamed of Logan’s mother running into the fire to be with his birth father, while her husband of forty-five years watched as though bored. Tears ran into her hair as the horror played like a nightly movie, robbing her of energy and understanding on a continuous loop.
Chapter 3
Hana woke again and fed the dozing baby, keen to prolong their peace as long as possible. When she slept again, Caroline’s influence snaked its destructive fingers into her slumber, causing her heart rate to increase. In her dream she faced the spiteful woman in the hallway of the tiny unit and the other woman gripped a wailing Phoenix in manicured fingers. “She’s mine!” Caroline screamed, “She’s Logan’s and that makes her mine!”
Hana woke with a start, grateful for the small body snuggled into hers. With a shaking hand she pulled back the blanket and checked her baby, smiling at the soft face asleep in the crook of her arm. Phoenix looked peaceful for a change and relief washed over Hana. She lay back and waited for her heart beat to slow.
Phoenix stayed asleep as Hana moved, snoring in contentment like her father. Six hours of sleep had replaced some of Hana’s sanity and although her hair stuck up like a banshee’s, her mood was better.
The sound of the front door shutting with its familiar click set Hana’s heart pounding. Her eyes widened in fear at last year�
�s horrors not yet buried in her history and as footsteps came quietly along the hallway, creaking familiar boards, Hana’s only thought was to protect Phoenix.
Her husband’s face peered around the doorframe and Hana heard the exaggerated exhale as her breath escaped. Fear radiated from her eyes and Logan winced. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Hana glanced down at the peaceful baby and jabbed her head towards the hallway at the same time as putting a finger over her lips. She followed Logan on trembling legs, still shocked by the sudden withdrawal of adrenaline. Outside, her husband drew her into his chest, stroking her hair away from her forehead and kissing her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I grew worried.”
Hana sighed, smelling motorbike oil and the warmth of the sunshine on his leather jacket. She allowed him to lead her down to the kitchen where he flicked on the kettle. “Why did you unplug the phone, babe? It freaked me out.”
Hana shook her head, at once irritated. “Oh, that might be because I’d been up with a crying baby for twenty-four hours straight and just got her to sleep. Sorry for the inconvenience!”
Logan swore, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I figured that when I saw you this morning. I should have come with you.” He shook his head in contrition, his grey eyes sincere. “I’ve got trapped into something I can’t get out of and I didn’t mean to make you feel second best. It wasn’t my intention and I’m sorry,” he said again. “This mess should be over soon when the new guy arrives.”
The kettle boiled in an otherwise silent room as Hana’s irritation took hold. Logan’s presence brought the outside world back in and with it, the memory of Caroline’s visit. Hana sulked while Logan filled the pot and laid it on a trivet on the table but his visit to the fridge proved fruitless. “Crap,” he muttered, “no milk.”
Hana sighed, “Yeah. There’s nothing here.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she could snatch it away and Logan saw.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed and pulled Hana to her feet. “Here, sit on my knee.” He snuggled her into his chest and stroked away the woodenness in her spine. “Cuddle me,” he rebuked, forcing her spine to bend so he could hold her, wrapping her in his powerful embrace. Hana shut her eyes and pressed her face into her husband’s collarbone, enjoying his scent for real, instead of through his abandoned clothing back at the staff house.
“This is a disaster, isn’t it?” Logan whispered, sensing Hana relax in his arms and give a single, halting nod. “It was too much, too soon. I got suckered by Angus and I should’ve told him no. I needed something to take my mind off...” His voice trailed away and Hana’s heart flooded with relief.
“Thank goodness!” she exclaimed into his jacket, misunderstanding. “I can’t cope with that awful little house. I spend my life terrified the baby will get sick, or one of us. Those units aren’t fit for animals; there’s no wonder nobody wants to work at the boarding house. Just hand it over and go back to being head of the English department. Angus can find another fool.”
It was good being home and enlivened Hana. “Logan, it’s been hard these last six weeks. It all seems a big mess, but it isn’t, not with me and Phoe. We belong to you and we’re going nowhere. Distract yourself with us.” Hana punctuated her sentence with a slow kiss to his neck, excited when he held his breath. She feigned shyness as she saw the grey eyes darken with desire. “You’ve got us, Logan,” she whispered, her warm breath brushing his temple. With her green eyes flashing, she took charge, kissing Logan’s full lips until they were both breathless, the tip of her tongue touching his in a tantalising dance.
“I love you, wahine,” Logan’s voice sounded ragged and breathless and he stood up in one fluid motion. Hana giggled as Logan’s taut stomach muscles pressed against her side and he carried her slender body into the living room and laid her on the rose red rug.
Logan was a gentle and attentive lover. He made an art form out of undressing his wife and Hana recaptured something of her pre-pregnancy confidence under his gentle, solicitous touch. It was delicious being so unhurried, the peace of the house enfolding them as they reconnected and healed each other through mutual tenderness. Logan kissed the soft skin on Hana’s neck, shifting her curled red hair and enjoying it cascading through his fingers. His lips were warm against Hana’s as she parted hers to admit his questing tongue.
They lay tangled together under a blanket Logan pulled over them, tired but satisfied. Hana put her arms behind her and lay back, admiring her husband’s muscular, olive body as he reached to grab a cushion for her head. “I love it here,” she breathed. “This house is amazing; I’ve missed the peace and quiet.”
Logan turned onto his side, leaning up on his elbow to look at her. He took a strand of long red hair in fingers scarred and damaged by cuts that took longer to heal for him, twisting and turning the amber tresses to catch the light. Hana reached out and touched his chest, parting his open shirt to run her fingers over the rugged welt on his abdomen. She traced it, sensing his eyes fixed on her face but afraid to look. His silence told her enough.
Dread slipped its horrid fingers around her heart and Hana shut her eyes. Logan pulled her face towards him and kissed her with tenderness, his teeth nibbling her lower lip and his grey eyes sultry as he eased her underneath him. Hana burst into noisy tears. “Hey, hey,” Logan soothed, holding her. His lips offered no reassurance. “Women don’t normally cry when I kiss them,” he joked but his strained humour was wasted and his forehead creased in concern.
The sound of Phoenix squeaking in their bedroom broke the moment and sent both parents running. The child lay on their bed, kicking little arms and legs as though attempting a swimming competition in which she was the only hilarious participant. With coos and squeals, she blew raspberries, smiling and laughing at something unseen. She was captivating and Logan and Hana sat for a while in silence watching her. Hana gulped back ready tears and dried her face on the blanket.
“Euwgh!” she said, wrinkling her nose at the scent of the nappy. “Did you do a special one for Daddy? Clever girl.”
She threw the change bag at Logan, giving him a victorious smile as she escaped to the bathroom, using the distraction to collect herself. Once inside, Hana’s resolve crumbled. “I can’t go back,” she sobbed into the tissue, muffling the sound of her misery. “It’s killing me. I’m single parenting again with him working all the time.”
The past twenty-four hours were absolute hell. The familiar isolation which gripped her soul made her believe she was losing her mind. Hana experienced a wave of shame for considering leaving her baby crying in the pram outside St Bart’s.
Hana wrestled with her options. She could make a stand and refuse to go back to the school, reclaiming her life again and taking control. But the spectre of Caroline rose from the ashes of Hana’s confidence at that suggestion. She shuddered, knowing if she even appeared to have left her husband alone and vulnerable, Caroline wouldn’t hesitate to wheedle her way back into Logan’s life. Hana’s words to Caroline were true; Logan couldn’t bear her near him, but it was a risk she didn’t want to take.
“Get away from me!” Logan hissed at Caroline during his parents’ funeral. She approached him on the marae as other whānau members milled around offering their condolences. Understandably devastated at the loss of her foster father, she sought comfort and consolation from a familiar source, finding none. Logan’s reaction was one of visible revulsion at her touch on his arm, moving away and searching out his wife and three-day-old baby amongst the mourners. His grey eyes flashed in misery as he went through the traditional death rites, bearing the farcical tangihanga only for the sake of decency.
“Not long now,” Hana had whispered to her broken husband, earthing the negativity in his soul and offering solidarity. “It’ll all be over soon.”
The wider family had observed Logan’s English wife with interest and gossiped, but Logan’s shock was palpable. To lose a mother in a house fire was tragic, but to watch her ent
er the inferno to join a man with whom she shared a forty year affair; that was the catastrophe.
The whole whānau knew Reuben Du Rose was Logan’s father. It was the family’s best kept secret. Hana remembered the sounds of the funeral and the smell of the smoked taro unearthed from the hangi and shuddered. The feast should have brought the family together over a shared meal at the end of the funeral, restoring noa and normality after the burial. Logan made a pretence of eating the smoked chicken and vegetables and chatting to the marae elders. He kept his agony within but Hana found him throwing up later, retching into the toilet unable to communicate his desolation.
Hana Du Rose sat in the bathroom of her 1900s villa and listened to the sound of her husband playing with his daughter. His peace was fragile and she mentally traced the lines of his tattoo as it wound around his upper arm. Her heart ached for the whakapapa it portrayed, his precious French Du Rose lineage intertwined with Māori. It was wrong and there was nothing he could do. The forty year lie wrapped around his shoulder and upper arm in black indelible ink, mocking Logan every time he looked in the mirror.
Hana sighed. They hadn’t talked yet; not in six weeks. Nor had they talked about the gnawing ache which came into Logan’s eyes when he spoke his mother’s name. The misery and depression colouring Miriam’s life and staining her nature, was because she married the wrong brother.
Hana washed the tears from her face in the sink. In the mirror, she saw a shock of long, messy red hair spread over her shoulders and swollen green eyes, puffy from crying. “Not attractive, Hana,” she chastised herself, reminded of Caroline’s polished nails and perfect makeup. She didn’t have what it took to go back to the school site, so she prayed for divine grace and courage to uphold her husband and nurse him through his wounds. Then Hana dried her face roughly on a towel. “Make a good decision for once, you idiot,” she bemoaned herself. “You’re blessed and not everything is about you! You lost one husband and this is your second chance.” She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing the fleeting face of her Indian husband for a second and drawing back in shock. “No!” she said. “I’m going forward, not back. I have Logan and Phoe now.”