One Heartbeat

by Bowes, K T

  Hana found herself at Hamilton Gardens for the second time in two days; but it didn’t matter. The gardens were beautiful even in winter and the themed areas stunning all year round. New Zealand’s climate, whilst still moving through the winter months was conducive to most of the plants available in other parts of the world. The English varieties grew to disproportionate height and breadth compared to their counterparts on the other side of the world. Camellia bushes, small and compact in Britain functioned as hedging at Hamilton Gardens and young trees towered above the visitors like ancient oaks.

  Logan pushed Phoenix around in the pram, contorting himself so he didn’t bang his feet on the bar across the back wheels and folding himself in half to reach handle. He chatted to his daughter constantly, pointing at things she could neither see nor comprehend, but his smiling face kept her beaming and singing to herself in baby gibberish. Robert stole covert peeks at the baby when he thought nobody was looking. It hit a spot deep in Hana’s heart when she considered he’d been grandchild-less for a long time. Robert seemed sprightly for a man shortly out of radiotherapy, but Elaine struggled with the walking.

  Hana suggested a visit to the cafe and they settled themselves at a corner table where they could stash the pram without causing a bottleneck. Logan engaged in a heated discussion with Robert at the till, not letting the old man pay. Hana plonked herself in the corner and unhooked her undergarments so she could feed Phoenix. She felt self-conscious about feeding in front of her father and aunt, working hard to cover up and manage without making an exhibition of herself. But a testy, fractious baby would be far more embarrassing.

  Logan and Robert returned and Logan tactfully seated himself opposite Hana, so her father sat next to her. It meant Robert could only view her sideways and Hana felt grateful to her considerate husband for protecting her modesty while she fed his child. They chatted meaninglessly until the drinks arrived. Logan ordered sweet and savoury muffins to share and they dug in heartily after the chilly walk. “I saw Mark today,” Hana said softly, deciding to come clean about her meeting with her brother. Everyone looked at her and her husband smirked. Hana knew then he’d guessed.

  “How was he?” Elaine asked and there was an eagerness in her voice which caught Hana unawares.

  “Fine,” Hana replied. “He gave me his number.”

  There was something disquieting about how Elaine seized on the mention of Hana’s brother and a stolen glance at Logan returned a raised eyebrow.

  Elaine enquired about a toilet and Hana pointed at the door behind them. Elaine struggled up, disappearing inside. Hana used the moment to ask if she was ill.

  “She’s still jet lagged,” Robert answered, wiping muffin crumbs from his mouth with a handkerchief. “While she’s away, I need to explain something which I trust you’ll keep to yourself?” He turned in his seat to look Hana full in the face; his bushy, white eyebrows raised.

  “Ok,” she said, glancing sideways at Logan who tried to look politely interested, but wasn’t. Neither expected the bombshell which came. Robert commenced his important tale which left Hana feeling betrayed but wiser.

  “When Judith and I first married, we knew it was unlikely we’d ever have children. I had mumps as a teenager and believed fatherhood wasn’t possible. Elaine’s five years younger than Judith and when she was sixteen, she fell pregnant. It was a dreadful thing to be unmarried and in trouble. To make matters worse, the child’s father was Catholic and your grandparents were fiercely Protestant.”

  Logan raised his eyebrows in enquiry, himself a Catholic untouched by the Troubles in Northern Ireland. New Zealand’s remoteness forged a blissful ignorance of atrocities that rarely touched them. Hana watched Logan bury his question for the moment. “Your mother and I agreed to adopt Mark and bring him up as our own, which we did. He knew he was adopted, but not who his parents were. Ten years later, quite unexpectedly, you came along, Hana, our very own baby. We were delighted and although Mark never bonded with you, he was indifferent but not unkind.”

  Robert wiped his mouth with the handkerchief, dabbing with British propriety. “Mark never doubted our love for him, or our view of him as a tremendous blessing. We permitted Elaine to visit regularly to see Mark, but only as his aunt. As Elaine aged, childlessness made her feel the lack of her son and one day she chose to tell him she was his mother. It was around the time of your eighth birthday, Hana and my Jude was heartbroken. Mark suffered great confusion and I asked Elaine not to visit again. It’s one of my deepest regrets that we weren’t honest with you; I feel it would have saved you much agony.”

  Hana felt poleaxed and Logan sensed her distress. He reached for her hand across the table and she grabbed it, gripping his proffered lifeline in white knuckled fingers. But Robert hadn’t finished. “The day you arrived unexpectedly to inform us of your condition, Mark came to us for help, hoping we’d talk sense into his wife who’d made plans to leave. It was a dreadful meeting and absolutely futile. It was obvious many of Mark’s issues stemmed from his adoption and your mother and I felt crushed.”

  “We don’t need to go over it again,” Hana said, an edge of begging in her voice.

  Robert shook his head. “But Hana, our behaviour towards you that day has replayed in my mind and I know Mark’s too. Mark’s violence in particular, was the end of his marriage. His wife was appalled. Elaine and I met up again after Judith died, sharing Mark and his problems in common. In working together, we developed an affinity and became companions; two lonely, disillusioned people serving out our time in God’s waiting room. I realise it came as a shock for you and I’m sorry, Hana. But please don’t be too hard on her. She’s cared for me through my illness and it’s good to have someone to share life with as it draws to a close.”

  Hana shook her head and tried not to think of her father’s mortality, not after all the wasted years. She thought hard about her sentence for once before speaking it. “Your life choices are exactly that, Dada. I’m happy you have someone now and it’s not my place to judge. My children will have to get used to Logan being in my life and I’ll defend him against them because he’s earned the right. I’ll get used to it; I promise and I’ll be kind with Aunty Elaine.”

  Robert smiled, visibly grateful and Logan looked down at Hana’s hand firmly entwined with his.

  Chapter 10

  Hana returned to the unit feeling tired and out of sorts. The meeting with Mark seemed more difficult knowing he was her cousin and not her brother. She sympathised with Tama, rearranging his family to fit with his altered parentage.

  Mark had arrived first at the bar in Te Awa and Hana found him vastly altered from the angry young man she remembered. He was tamer as though life had knocked the corners off him. Hana arrived to a drink already ordered for her and the first thing Mark said regarded the dreadful note he wrote after her mother died. “I sent it out of pure spite and jealousy, Hana. There’s no excuse; I was a grown man and should have known better. It followed a lifetime of jealousy over you, wishing I could make Robert and Judith’s ‘real’ baby go away.” Mark lowered his eyes and avoided Hana’s gaze. “It coloured my view and you didn’t deserve the burden. It’s ironic but I look back on the angst of my youth and wish profoundly I hadn’t wasted my efforts on it. I’m the wrong side of fifty and I could use that time more wisely now.”

  Hana smiled and admitted, “You and me both. I’ve got twenty-six years to make up for.”

  They parted friends, cousins, brother and sister. It was awkward, like a badly fitting jigsaw puzzle, but at least they were both committed to sorting it out.

  Pulling up outside the staff units, Hana wanted to settle in front of the TV with Logan. Exhaustion tugged at the fringes of her psyche and her heart knotted at the realisation they could be disturbed by a drama over at the boarding house. She let herself in the front door and put her keys on the small dining table, turning to find Amanda sitting on the two seater sofa with her husband.

  Hana’s face registered shock and A
manda had the decency to look guilty. The air in the lounge crackled with electricity and Amanda’s cheeks looked flushed. Logan’s face was expressionless and Hana froze in the centre of the open plan space. “What’s going on?” she demanded, looking from one to another.

  “I couldn’t open my pickle jar,” Amanda said, a smirk lifting the corners of her lips. Her eyes glittered with mischief and dilated pupils revealed her intoxication.

  “Another one?” Hana said, a bite to her voice. Her gaze strayed to her husband and he focussed his attention on the TV. “I’m surprised you haven’t turned into a pickle.”

  Amanda shrieked with laughter and slapped Logan’s thigh with her palm. “Do I look like a pickle, darling?” she said to Logan and Hana saw him visibly wince. Grinding her teeth, Hana stomped to the hall cupboard, dumping her coat on a hanger and throwing it on the floor, knowing it would wind Logan up. Her heart pounded, filling her ears with the sound of blood and she felt jealousy course through her veins, green, nasty and vitriolic. She kicked herself for not stopping Amanda’s crush months ago, sensing the other woman’s loneliness and veiled lust when she eyed Tama and Logan. Hana pressed her forehead against the door frame and closed her eyes. Logan asked her for help last time Amanda requested his presence. There had been so many times lately. “Stupid idiot,” Hana chastised herself. “You’re too nice for your own good.”

  Hana’s brain screamed that there was nothing going on, but her heart recognised the possibility and it made her sick to her stomach. Inside her head an inner voice screamed, ‘You can’t live like this again.’

  Hana wondered fleetingly where Millie was as she checked on her baby. Phoenix was fast asleep in her cot, sucking her little thumb without a care in the world. Hana wished life could be as simple as having a full tummy and a soft bed. Hearing the rumble of voices down the hall, Hana stopped in the process of storming into the lounge and expelling Amanda. The other woman’s voice sounded seductive and drunk. “I love seeing your muscles through your tee shirt,” Amanda crooned. “Chris loved himself so there wasn’t room for anyone else to love him, but you’re different.”

  “God help me,” Hana begged. She’d missed the danger looming, ignoring the lighthouse as it warned that the rocks were sharp and could wreck everything.

  Hana slipped into the tiny laundry at the end of the unit, fingering the handle of Phoenix’s pram and considering leaving with her. “I can’t go in there,” she whispered to her eerie reflection in the window. “I feel too mixed up.” She thought about her sleeping baby and chastised her selfishness at thinking of dragging the child from her bed and taking her out into the cold night. “What can I do?” Hana panicked, hearing another volley of high pitched laughter from Amanda.

  Darkness enveloped the school site and Hana watched the flickering lights in the main building, wondering what was going on. On an impulse and regretting the absence of her coat, she slipped out of the laundry door, closing it quietly behind her. The sickness deepened as Amanda’s laugh cut through the silence of the night and Hana turned it on Logan. “Bloody men!” she hissed. “Bloody disloyal men!” She set off into the darkness, not knowing or caring where she would go.

  The main buildings were busy with night classes and the car parks full. Hana sauntered around, looking in ground floor windows at adults learning French, Spanish, cooking and other interesting activities. She wondered if her brain would turn to mush if she kept living her current existence and she watched for a long while at the window of a pottery class, yearning to feel the clay beneath her fingers.

  She wandered around until she arrived at the swimming pool. It was locked for the night and she stroked the wire fence, remembering her first kiss with Logan in the doorway of the changing rooms. Amanda’s devious smile filtered into her memory and Hana banished all good thoughts of her husband. “He could’ve asked her to leave,” she grumbled. “Unless he really does like her.” Hana gulped as the thought took hold and she stared at the freezing water, her heart clenching at the threat of another failed marriage. “I can’t do this again,” she panicked. “I can’t.”

  The deserted hockey turf was eerie, but the floodlights shone over the tennis courts. Hana walked towards the fenced courts, blinking in the bright lights after the darkness and isolation of everywhere else. One man played by himself, served tennis balls by a complicated machine which fired them at intervals. Hana counted seven seconds between balls. The man dealt with them competently, betraying his skill as an accomplished player. Hana stood and watched, fascinated by the pattern of movements he used in a steady rhythm, backhand, forehand and overhead, repeated over and over. The familiarity of the man’s tennis game filled her with a sense of comfort, her fingers itching to hold the racquet and feel its weight and balance.

  The player sensed someone watching and reaching in the pocket of his shorts, he felt for a remote control, ceasing the delivery machine’s relentless ball firing. “Hey,” he said, striding towards Hana with a smile on his face. Mid-thirties with white-blonde hair, the man possessed a sculpted physique and a kind, gentle face. He wasn’t devastatingly good looking in a Du Rose way, but a pleasant nature shone through the easy grin.

  “Hi,” Hana replied, biting her lip with awkwardness. “Your game is fluid; you play well.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his kiwi accent drawing out the syllable.

  The man linked his fingers through the chain fence and studied Hana’s face. She took a step back, feeling stupid.

  “Partner me?” he asked, drawing the bolt back on the gate. He opened it wide and indicated with his arm that Hana should come inside. Without knowing why, Hana obeyed and found herself inside the courts. It brought back happy memories. “Do you play?” he asked, pointing to another racquet over by his bag.

  “Not for a while,” Hana said sadly, shaking her head.

  “How come?” he asked and it was a strange question with myriad possible answers.

  Hana shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Lots of reasons.”

  He pressed her, desperate to know. “What was it? Injury, busyness, work commitments, family; the list is endless.”

  “My tennis partner died,” Hana said and it hit her as yet another thing Vik’s death robbed her of.

  “Oh, sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to pry; you look familiar. Did you play competition doubles a few years back?”

  Hana smiled and nodded slowly. “Ten years back actually. Mainly local, but a few area matches. We got rather good.”

  “You’re not Hana Johal are you?” the man asked, his smile deepening. “You and your husband were awesome.”

  Hana laughed. “No, we just enjoyed ourselves. It was fun and something we could do together. Vik was the serious one. I played to spend time with him.”

  The man laughed and trotted over to the spare racquet nesting in its protective cover, unzipping it and placing it ceremoniously into her hands. “Come on,” he said. “I’m bored with the machine. Play with me for a while.”

  Hana took the racquet and turned it over in her hands. It felt like an old friend, familiar and safe, welcoming her back in her time of need. Her companion urged her with a jerk of his head and Hana moved behind the back line. He served a fast ball without mercy and Hana returned it with a powerful backhand that made him run. He cheered and she smiled, enjoying doing something she loved. A far better player than her, he served and returned with consideration, not deliberately flooring her as he could have. Hana felt rusty, but they smashed away at the balls for another half an hour before her companion looked at his watch.

  “I told Mr Blair I’d lock up by nine. Otherwise we get complaints from the residents at the back of the school about the lights,” he called. He looked regretful as he walked over to the net to speak to Hana. “I’ve enjoyed myself. Don’t suppose you’d fancy a ‘come back’? I could use a good mixed doubles partner.”

  Hana shook her head, embarrassed by his compelling hero-worship-act. Making an excuse, she he
lped him retrieve the balls which had zinged around the court and returned them to the bucket on the machine. He released its stand and wheeled it over to the gate. Hana carried the racquets and his bag, trying to be helpful as he locked up the gate and shot the sprig from the padlock home. He smiled at her kindly and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here most evenings,” he said. “If you won’t come out of retirement for me, I’d still love a decent sparring partner.”

  Hana offered a non-committal smile and a shrug. The exercise made her feel hot and bothered and an ache developed in her soul. It was always that way when she came across some part of her former married life she had enjoyed and lost. It was as though handling the tennis racquet made her vulnerable, offering her heart up for yet more hurt. Yet it felt so good to whack the ball with abandon and exorcise her negative emotion. “I have a young baby,” she said, hearing her own breathlessness. “It’s hard to get time to myself.”

  Disappointment made his young face crease, but he nodded once in understanding. “Fair enough,” he conceded.

  “Where do you want this?” Hana asked, indicating the heavy bag.

  “Over here,” he replied. His car was parked by the shed which the grounds staff used to store equipment and the man unlocked the boot and hefted the ball machine inside.

  Hana opened the rear door and placed the two expensive racquets on the back seat. “They’re expensive racquets,” she said, closing the door. “That brand is awesome; I always hankered over one of those.” Her voice sounded wistful and embarrassed she focussed her attention on the car. It was of nondescript colour in the darkness and could have been black, red or blue under the flickering light of the stars.

  The man went over to the old shed and Hana heard him fighting with a rusty lock. He flicked a switch inside and the floodlights went off with a pop. Hana waited by the vehicle, wanting to leave but keen not to seem rude. It took a long while for the glow to disappear completely from the surface of the huge floodlights. “Thank you,” she said as he reappeared. “I had fun.”