One Heartbeat

by Bowes, K T

  “You’re amazing, Ma,” Tama said, hugging her into his damp armpit. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “We both love you, you know,” Hana said softly. “We want you to be fulfilled in whatever you do.” She felt Tama nod against her temple. “You’ll find a lovely girl one day and all Logan wanted was for you to have the skills to provide for her and your family. He meant well.”

  “He wanted me to take over the farm and hotel, didn’t he?” Tama asked and Hana cringed.

  “That’s between you and him, sweetheart.” She suspected Logan’s motivation in sending Tama to an agricultural college was exactly that, but didn’t want to trespass into the men’s complicated relationship. Generous as Logan’s designs might seem, the multi-millionaire hadn’t asked Tama what he wanted to do with his life and Hana shied away from being part of that belated conversation.

  “I’m waiting,” Tama said into Hana’s hair. His voice sounded wistful.

  “What?” She sat up, looking at him in confusion.

  “I’m waiting,” he repeated, “for the lovely girl youse mentioned. I’ve realised I haven’t met my soul mate yet. I’m gonna wait for a while. Uncle Logan made a big mistake settling for Caroline when he really wanted you. So I’m waiting, like Logan wished he did.”

  Hana stiffened at the mention of Caroline’s name but tried hard to focus on Tama’s words. “What’s brought this on?” she asked, liking the improvement but suspicious of its origins. Since his affair with Anka, Tama showed no morals regarding sexual encounters, as though he’d already stepped over the line once so might as well enjoy himself. “And what makes you think Logan wished he waited for me?”

  “Oh, crap!” Tama instantly withdrew from her, physically and emotionally.

  Hana watched him through a narrowed gaze as he winced and closed his eyes. “Tama, you have to tell me now you’ve started. Did Logan actually say that?”

  The teenager stood and dug around in his bag, searching for clean clothes and pointedly ignoring her.

  “Fine then!” Hana said with childish indignation, wondering inwardly why it mattered so much. “I’ll just ring Logan and ask him myself.” She stamped along the hallway and picked up the phone. Her brow furrowed as she tried to decide whether to ring Logan’s cell phone or the direct line to his office, knowing he’d be understandably cross at her foolish interruption. Hana chewed her lip in thought. Logan never discussed the girlfriends of his youth, not even Caroline, his ex fiance. He preferred to leave the past where it fell; behind him. Hana peered at the keypad and convinced herself it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She had Logan now, all to herself.

  Tama skidded from his bedroom in boxer shorts, one leg in his jeans as he hopped along the hallway, dealing with the other. He saw Hana with the phone in her hand and panicked. “Don’t, please don’t!” he begged, seizing the phone and holding it above his head so Hana reach it.

  She narrowed her eyes and slapped his chest in frustration. “Give it back!” she said through gritted teeth. Inwardly she relented; if her husband shared a confidence with his nephew, it was none of her business.

  Unaware of Hana’s thinking, Tama bottled. “It’s ok; I’ll tell you. Just don’t ring him. Please.”

  Hana tutted and strode into the kitchen, hoping their antics hadn’t woken Phoenix. She stood with her hands on her hips and observed the teenager as he put the phone back in its cradle and followed her. He zipped his trousers, eyeing her warily. “He didn’t say it outright,” Tama insisted, “but it’s exactly what he meant. He said, ‘I was young, but I knew then I loved her. I searched for her without success for years. Then last year, I moved to Hamilton and there she was.’ I heard it in his voice, like everything in between was a waste; he was on hold, settling for second best until he found you. I realised I’m doing the same thing, having meaningless one night stands just to dull the pain. So, I’ve decided I’ll wait for my soul mate.”

  Hana shook her head in surprise. “This is really different,” she said. “I’m proud of you.” Her green eyes narrowed and fixed on Tama’s bowed head, watching him fit his feet into socks with holes at the toes. “Who did you hear Logan say that to?” she asked.

  Tama groaned and rested his head on his forearms. “No!” he moaned sadly, “I didn’t want you to ask me that.”

  Hana’s curiosity was piqued and she grinned with mischief. “I decided I wasn’t bothered what Logan said, but you’ve got me interested now. So come on, give.”

  Tama sat and weighed his options while Hana sipped a glass of water and stared at his bowed head. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” He sounded a mixture of scared and angry and Hana sniggered, curiosity proving a relentless master.

  “Nope. You might as well tell me now because I’m not going to shut up about it.”

  “Logan should tell you himself,” Tama grumbled and Hana’s eyes lit with a sense of desperation.

  “You’re making it worse. Now I really want to know!” She sat in a kitchen chair and folded her arms, eyeballing the young man until he cracked.

  “He would have told you last night,” Tama whinged, “but the cops came and you seemed upset.”

  Hana sat up and swallowed. “So it’s something bad? He waited for me but now he doesn’t love me anymore, does he? He planned to tell me and then Odering and Bo showed up. Oh, no, what am I going to do?”

  “No! Stop, you’re making it worse!” Tama felt his loyalty stretch to breaking point, hammered to a fine line between Logan and Hana. “Uncle Logan won’t trust me again if I tell you and it’s taken months to earn his respect back. You’re just not getting it!” He sounded frustrated, his cheeks flushing and his fists balling by his sides.

  Tama grew up strong and good looking. Nobody else instilled confidence or self-worth into him so he manufactured it for himself, indulging his wants and desires at will. Logan’s mother, Miriam, was a stabilising factor in his young life, but her constant visits to Reuben made her example faulty. She drove her lover mad and damaged him just as Caroline tortured Logan and Kane, so Tama’s view of women became skewed.

  His dreadful experience with Anka confirmed what he already knew - that women were selfish and dangerous, taking what they wanted as long as it suited them, before dropping a man on his face in the dirt. Even the good men. Especially the good men. Tama learned to use and abuse and it served him well until he met Hana.

  “You’re different,” he blurted. “You’re fragile and gentle. You care about people’s feelings. You hit me around the head with your handbag because I hurt Logan, even though he can take care of himself. No woman’s ever shown me such loyalty. You’ve changed my life and I can’t settle for a quick shag behind the bins anymore with some random girl from a nightclub.” He waved his arms and shook his head to emphasise disgust at his former lovemaking choices.

  “Oh.” Hana swallowed, looking dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You make me want to tell you stuff,” Tama whispered. “But I owe Logan everything.”

  Hana nodded. “Then let’s forget it,” she said, forcing a smile onto her lips. “If Logan had a conversation about me, he’ll tell me if I’m meant to know.” Insecurity bit at her soul and she struggled to push it away. She was beautiful and honest and Tama felt a sudden rush of fealty mixed with gratitude.

  “It’s ok,” he said. “I’ll tell you who he was talking to, but Uncle Logan’s gonna kill me.”

  Chapter 6

  Hana’s father was a long way from Logan’s mind that morning; in fact, Robert McIntyre wasn’t even featuring. Because the head of English, who doubled as St Bartholomew’s temporary boarding house manager, was being yelled at by the horticulture teacher. The little man’s eyes popped and bulged in threat of an imminent heart attack, infuriated further by Logan’s apparent disinterest.

  Logan Du Rose had never smoked. The haemophilia did enough damage by default without him helping its cause, but right then he considered how nice it mi
ght feel to light up a cigarette, close his eyes and block out the yowling, nonsensical tirade besieging his ears. It was tedious and boring and made him late for his Year 9 English class. He had no doubt the little idiots were already running around the classroom and would need detentions, which he didn’t have time to supervise.

  “I’m sick of this!” the horticulture teacher screeched and Logan winced. At six feet four inches, Logan Du Rose dwarfed the little man bouncing before him, making the scene comical. But his shouting began to attract unwanted attention from two of the nearest classrooms and Logan’s patience snapped. He summed the annoying man up in one experienced glance, knowing with one well-aimed blow, he could kill or maim him and wondering which he should choose.

  “I didn’t do it!” Logan said instead, for the twentieth time through gritted teeth. “No, I don’t want it here, but I didn’t sabotage it and I’ve no idea who did! Get out of my damn face, man.” Logan turned to leave, his black cowboy boots making a clicking sound on the concrete. Fury made him look back, calling to the green fingered teacher, “Get this heap gone, once and for all or there’ll be consequences!”

  “No, it’s staying!” yelled the little man, posturing for a fight and then thinking better of it as Logan raised one dark eyebrow. The horticulture teacher put his spade carefully sharp end down, moderating his tone. “The boys need to learn about composting.” He waggled a skinny arm. “This is the best way to teach them. We dig a trench, we put the food scraps from the boarding house kitchens in and then we back-fill it and start again. It’s in the curriculum and I can’t see the problem!”

  “The problem is - as I have told you numerous times already - we back onto a gully. We’ve got a bloody rat problem and the council say it’s because you’re feeding them! It’s a health hazard!” Logan tried to keep his voice level. “I don’t know why you have to do it here!”

  “We have to do it next to the vegetable plot,” the man replied obstinately, “so that’s what we’re doing!”

  Logan shut his eyes and tried to think calm thoughts. He imagined Hana’s beautiful smile, his fingers running through her red hair, that space on the back of her neck where...no, that wasn’t working either. It made him up tight in a different way. Logan opened his eyes. The silly man was still there, only he had turned his attention to digging in the loamy soil, attempting to uncover the trench which someone over the weekend had filled. He pulled the dark earth back to where it came from and with it, potato peelings, carrot tops and other rotting food items. “It’s ruined!” he muttered to himself as food mixed with soil turned under his ministrations.

  Logan watched, transfixed as the tiny man wielded the spade with expert precision. Squashy food crap spewed from the hole with every turn of the spade, filling the air with a rotting stench. Exasperated, Logan shook his head and turned to leave, determined to let the principal sort it out.

  “Oh.” The horticulture teacher’s surprised squeak forced Logan to stop, eyebrows raised. He watched as the spade hit something more solid than mud and the soil jerked around, the metal tool’s sharp edge entangled in random foodstuff under the surface. Logan spied something pink like a slice of ham and glared at the other man. “If there’s meat in there, no wonder the rats are having a field day. You said it was veggies!”

  “It’s meant to be.” But as the spade wiggled free, the slice of ham came with it, only it wasn’t part of a pig but part of a man. The hand dragged free, pulling with it an arm wearing a black school tracksuit jacket, a torso and the side of a stiff, grey face. The compost heap had become a grave.

  “Get out of there. Now!” Logan shouted, making the astounded man jump as he stared down at the body. “Don’t touch anything else.” He took the shocked teacher’s arm and pulled him away from the soil, seeing him leave deep footprints in the crime scene. Logan stayed on the concrete, careful not to add his fibres to the mix. He propped the teacher against the wall of St Bart’s and struggling with his other hand, pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket..

  “I don’t feel so good,” the horticulture teacher spluttered as Logan stood with his large hand against the man’s chest. He sagged, forcing Logan to press harder one-handed.

  “Maybe send the cops and an ambulance,” Logan told the operator. “I think we might need both.”

  The horticulture teacher went a dreadful colour, resembling one of the juicy green iceberg lettuces in the vegetable plot nearby. As Logan ducked deftly out of the way, the little chap threw up all over the path, further contaminating the crime scene.

  “Nice one! You boffed on the evidence!” Logan said crossly. He’d seen lots of blood and injury in his forty one years on earth, usually his own. He lost the ‘squeamish gene’ the day his older brother split him open like a pig and his innards poured out. After that, other people’s injuries seemed boring. Logan leaned over the trench as far as he dared and peered at the partially covered body.

  “It’s a bloke. He’s wearing a school tracksuit top and what looks like black shorts.” Logan heard the teacher groan behind him. The wind gusted and the soil shifted under its influence, cracking and pouring off the body as though attempting to escape. Logan squinted, trying to see without touching. “Ah, look, that must be his head.” He pointed at the shorts and then the pink hand, moving his finger and jabbing at a covered spot furthest away. He heard the teacher retch and squatted, careful not to lean over the burial site. It wouldn’t take much for his own DNA to appear there and Logan didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to lock him up again, not after last year. “Oh ok. I can see his knees and his feet. Ah, yeah, that makes sense then.”

  The horticulture teacher spewed again, thankfully in the other direction. Logan heard it splash on the concrete like a waterfall. He focussed on the telltale, bright, orange shoe laces peeking through the soil, narrowing eyes bright with interest and shaking his head. “Poor bugger,” he mused.

  Logan stood up straight and planned his next move. The emergency operator wanted him to stay on the line, but he’d cut her off after she acknowledged the ambulance and cops had been dispatched. He dialled the boarding house office and within minutes, two prefects appeared in their distinctive striped blazers. “Right,” Logan said. “The interval bell will go in fifteen minutes so you stand there and you over there. Stop the boys coming this way.”

  Then he rang Angus Blair, principal and friend, at that moment enjoying a cup of tea and coveted piece of imported Scottish shortbread. His personal assistant answered the phone and Logan ignored Amanda’s flirtatious tone, which she turned on when she recognised his voice. “Just put me through to Angus,” he snapped.

  Seconds later, Angus’ broad Scots accent powered across the line. “Ah, Mr Du Rose, why’re you ringing me, boy? Didn’t I just see you at staff briefing?”

  Logan broke the bad news and Angus slumped in his chair with a sigh. “Bloody hell! Who is it? Do we know?” he asked.

  Logan gave a sharp intake of breath, unsure whether to voice his suspicion. “I’ve got a fair idea.”

  The horticulture teacher barfed again, creating a small flood of second hand coffee between his feet. Logan paused, wondering where the little man stored all that liquid. He needed to be careful and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “The player we were short of on Saturday.”

  “Is someone listening?” Angus asked.

  “Yep,” Logan replied, wincing as his colleague filled the pot holes in the concrete with the remains of a muffin and another coffee.

  “Ok, I know who was missing,” Angus said. He attended Saturday’s game, standing under a school umbrella with the administrative assistant from the student centre. Hana’s replacement was often out and about with the widower, making the school rumour mill work overtime. Angus sighed. “Perhaps someone inadvertently stepped on his crease.”

  Logan smirked into the phone, glad his employer couldn’t see his face. He heard the principal’s sudden intake of breath. “Sorry, that was disrespectful and crass; you kno
w I wouldn’t risk saying that to anyone else.”

  “Yup,” Logan answered, cupping his hand over the phone while the horticulture teacher retched some more.

  The sound of sirens rent the air as the cops piled in the front gate. Their promptness was wasted as they realised there was no access to the boarding house that way. Having disturbed the whole school, they backed out onto Maui Street with their sirens still blaring, drove to the roundabout and made the turns to the boarding house entrance three streets away in Fairview Downs. It was the most exciting thing to happen in Hamilton for weeks, judging by the response time and sheer numbers of personnel who arrived. As usual, Hana’s son was in the thick of it, although as an ex-student, he drove in the correct gate first time. He came around the corner and acknowledged his stepfather with an upward jerk of his head. “S’up?”

  “A stiff.” Logan pointed at the body being slowly uncovered in its shallow grave by the wind. The horticulture teacher let out a moan and puked again. Bodie jumped back just in time and Logan laughed. “Nice dodge, goalie. See, that’s where you’re going wrong.” He snorted again as Bodie gave him the ‘v’ sign. “Ooh officer!” Logan sounded scandalised. “That’s no way to treat a member of the public.”

  Bodie mouthed something obscene and Logan smirked. “How come you always turn up to this crap? Don’t they have any other cops in Hamilton?”

  Bodie pulled a face as the horticulture teacher glanced back over at the trench and then went in for the full projectile vomit, his stomach working its way back to breakfast time and hurling the partially digested contents of his cereal bowl far and wide. “Yeah, I heard everyone respond to the call, but I don’t know where they are.” He leaned over the trench. “Great!” he said without sympathy as the sick dribbled into it. “Forensics will be thrilled. Couldn’t you take him a bit further away?”