by Bowes, K T
The table in general conceded their thanks to Pete for standing in, whilst expounding wildly on where Larry Collins could be. He was an enthusiastic member of the team usually, and it wasn’t his style to just not turn up.
“Maybe he’s somewhere on the school grounds measuring the height of the grass and yelling at everyone to get off it!” shouted a portly man with a streak of orange mud across the bridge of his nose. A physics teacher at the school, he did a superb impression of the groundsman, standing up at the table and yelling in his best Larry Collins voice, “Get off that crease!” Everybody laughed.
The young man, Tama, walked down and took the baby from Hana, cuddling her into his chest, gratified when she smiled up at him and made a gurgling noise. “Come on sis, let’s go have some fun away from the olds.” He went back to his seat and ate one-handed, letting her eat the ice-cream from his sundae when her mother wasn’t looking and chortling at the dreadful face she made against the coldness of the stuff in her mouth. Despite the faces, she waved her little arms and opened her mouth for more. Oblivious, Hana snuggled up to her handsome husband, cuddling into his armpit as he put his arm around her.
“You had a deodorant shower, Logan Du Rose,” she smiled up at him, scenting the strong maleness of him hidden under the haze of masculine perfume. A tattoo peeked out of the end of his sleeve, ending above his elbow with italic writing inscribed around the bottom like a lace fringe. He had mud on his face and neck, but leaned into the beautiful woman for a kiss. She pulled a face but gave it anyway.
“Trashed ‘em bro!” said a young man who looked as though he may be part-Indian, arriving late with a little tousled haired boy and a laden tray, slotting himself in next to the couple. They laughed and the little boy plonked himself down on the Māori man’s knee without being invited. He swung lime green soccer boots from side to side under the table on tiny feet.
“You played great, Poppa Logan,” the boy said, reaching up and kissing the underside of the man’s chin with a mouth bursting full of chips. “Daddy didn’t play so good though,” he looked accusingly at the younger man sideways. Small fingers stuffed another handful of chips between his lips despite the limited space. “You’re not s’posed to let goals in Daddy.”
Hana pulled a face and ran her hand over the younger man’s dark hair. “But Jas, he did keep hundreds of others out. He only let one in!” She smiled kindly at him with the doting expression of a parent.
“Yes, thank you, Mum. I’m glad someone appreciated my efforts!” he replied and winked at her.
Hana looked down the table, shaking her head as she saw Tama at the other end feeding the baby ice-cream. She exhaled and excused herself from the table, heading to the toilets near the back of the restaurant.
“Wait for me, Hanny!” The little boy hopped down off Logan’s knee and ran after her, grappling at his crotch and sliding on the tiny sprigs under his boots. She waited at the door and held her hand out to him. He skipped off with her easily, a spring in his step and a general happiness in his demeanour.
Logan sipped soda through a straw and glanced around the restaurant. His watchfulness was a lifelong habit, born of necessity. A couple in their late-seventies arrived, ordered and sat nearby, eating a muffin each and drinking coffee. Logan looked at them with interest. They bore all the hallmarks of tourists. Their clothes were European, not expensively cut, but different. The man was thin and distinguished looking, sitting comfortably as though crowded situations didn’t faze him at all. He was calm with a hidden authority which Logan silently recognised, as one leader to another. His grey hair ran to white in a gentle, orderly way. The woman with him was delicate boned and seemed more uptight. Immaculately dressed, with her dark hair pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head, she flapped and fidgeted in her seat waiting for their order. “Hana’s a long time,” he commented to the boy’s father.
“She’s got Jas with her,” he replied. “He’s probably exploring the soap, taps or even the hand dryer. He’s just so curious about everything.”
Logan looked across at his Indian stepson as Bodie demolished his food. He caught Logan looking at him and smiled as sauce dribbled down his chin. Logan sniggered and turned away, staring at the toilet door and looking forward to the sight of his gorgeous wife emerging, feeling the anticipation in his soul that her appearance always caused.
Hana was struggling in the toilet with Jas. He decided in the short delay in which he emerged from the cubicle first, to see if his Action Man would like a go in the hand dryer. Unfortunately, the powerful mechanism had not only blown the black mop of glued-on hair clean off, it had also somehow sucked it down into the filter. It was entirely futile. Hana’s delicate hands were too big and Jas’s too small to retrieve the fuzz, not to mention that every time they put their hands in, the machine set off on its programmed response to dry them, sucking the wig further in. “He doesn’t like being bald!” the child wailed and Hana fought her growing irritation.
“Look,” she hunkered down next to him. “Why don’t we get some help? The staff might know how to get the filter out.” She seriously feared that the machine may catch fire in the interim. The child capitulated with reluctance.
Hana saw Logan’s face light up, giving her a special smile that he kept only for her, but she fretted at the little boy’s latest antics. She looked across at her husband, rolling her eyes and trying not to betray her inner annoyance for the rest of the restaurant.
The sight hit her like a physical blow, taking her breath away and causing her to freeze on the spot. She saw alarm in Logan’s eyes as the colour drained from her face and her body refused to move. She stared transfixed as the realisation struck her repeatedly, over and over like a rolling vehicle. Logan was on his feet and half way across the tiled floor to her, as the tourist rose from his chair. “No,” Hana said in a whisper. “No.” Her brain wouldn’t believe her eyes, telling her that she was sorely mistaken. It’s just an illusion. But she knew deep down that it wasn’t. Her pretty face moved involuntarily as Hana tried to process the sight, her brain still drawing on reality even as it failed again. Jas tugged urgently at her hand, desperately trying to cover his doll’s embarrassingly bald head with his fingers.
“Please, Hanny!” But his grandmother didn’t seem to be moving and his poppa was coming towards them with a look of fright and confusion on his face. Jas looked up as Hana let go of his hand and ran shaking fingers over her face. The tourist was on his feet, struggling with the extra chairs around his table. His face was ashen and unreadable as he fixed on Hana.
It’s not real, she told herself, trying again to find her equilibrium as Logan reached her first. She gripped onto his hand as though her life depended on him to get her through the bizarre hallucination. Hana looked up into her husband’s eyes with such utter pain that he panicked. She couldn’t tell him what was wrong because it wasn’t really happening. She glanced around Logan at the approaching tourist again and shut her eyes. As she pushed past her bewildered husband, refusing to allow herself to go back twenty-six years in her head, Hana headed for the sanctuary of the opening doors and the fresh air outside. As they hissed closed behind her, she knew beyond any shadow of doubt that she had looked straight into the eyes of her dead father.
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Dear Reader,
If it were not for you, there would be no point me writing. It’s the thought of another’s enjoyment and their ability to lay aside their cares in the glorious pastime of reading; which keeps me striving.
I want you to lose yourself, to enter the worlds of others and be released from your own troubles, just for a time.
I hope this novel kept you turning the pages and if it has, I would be grateful if you could leave a review on the site where you usually purchase from. In the shifting sands of writing and publishing, reviews are the only way of building a reputation and reaching other readers.
Thank you for spending time with the Du Roses.
Yo
u can post your review by following the links HERE to your retailer.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K T Bowes has worked in education for more than a decade, both in New Zealand and the United Kingdom and has been writing since she could first hold a pencil. She is married with four beautiful children who are all now making their own way in the world. She lives in the North Island of New Zealand between the Hakarimata Ranges and the Waikato River with a mad cat and often a few crazy horses. She loves to ride but unfortunately keeps falling off and breaking bones so has gone back to road running instead. She can’t be seen pacing the streets of Ngaruawahia because she runs in the dark, convinced people will laugh. Often accompanied by one of her characters complaining about something, the author appears to have mental problems as she frequently answers back, which is another good reason for running under cover of darkness.
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OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:
The Hana Du Rose Mysteries
Logan Du Rose
About Hana - FREE HERE
Hana Du Rose
Du Rose Legacy
The New Du Rose Matriarch
One Heartbeat
The Du Rose Prophecy
Du Rose Sons
Du Rose Family Ties
The boxed set is available containing the first 4 novels HERE
Novels for teens/young adults:
Free from the Tracks -FREE HERE
Sophia’s Dilemma
A Trail of Lies – FREE to subscribers
Gone Phishing
UK based mystery/romances:
Artifact
Demons on Her Shoulder
The Calculated Risk Series, based in UK
The Actuary - FREE HERE
The Actuary’s Wife
The Actuary in Trouble
New Zealand Soccer Referee Series
All Saints
Small Town New Zealand Romance Series
Deleilah
Take a look at all K T Bowes’ novels HERE
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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author. This work is the intellectual property of the author writing as K T Bowes.