by Bowes, K T
“Yeah, maybe don’t go there,” Hana replied, wincing.
“Anyway, the other night was fantastic...” Still too much, Hana thought, feeling embarrassed but Amy was oblivious. “Now I don’t know where I stand. And when Jas started crying for Logan again last night, I thought Bo would blow a gasket. Sometimes he goes to this dark place and I can’t follow him there. It’s horrid. Maybe it’d be best if we stayed friends for Jas but left it at that.”
The thought obviously caused her more misery than relief because Amy’s tears flowed relentlessly. “What if I’m pregnant again? What will I do?”
Hana stood and put her arms around Amy, pulling her tightly into her. “It’ll be ok,” she whispered, “it will be ok.”
By the time Amy left for work at half past ten, she looked better. A fresh application of makeup and a good chat with Hana turned her back into the capable policewoman. She climbed into her beaten up old vehicle and went to work to face her new boss, along with all the other reluctant cops in her group. Her period was two days late and Hana convinced her it might be stress.
Jas snored on the sofa in the living room and Hana covered him with a throw she found on the back of a battered armchair. She wandered around tidying up, putting things away where she thought they might live, finding a heap of dirty washing on the floor of the laundry. Hana stuffed it into the machine and set it off, remembering the second hand sleep suits at the last minute and dragging them from the change bag. She shoved them into the whites wash reasoning at least if they were clean and ironed, Logan wouldn’t know they were second hand.
Settling herself in the kitchen, Hana retrieved the wool and needles from the pram and cast on a line of knitting, beginning the little jacket. She knitted for an hour but neither of the children stirred so she raided the pantry and fridge, putting together a shepherd’s pie for lunch for the boys, guessing she’d leave as soon as Bodie arrived. The sky outside remained a clear, beautiful blue after the mist although the cold breeze never lifted.
“Holidays at the end of next week,” she whispered to herself, allowing the thought of escaping the staff unit to cheer her heart. She hoped they would go home to Culver’s Cottage or back up to the hotel and looked forward to it as she mashed the potatoes. Hana put a tiny bowl of food aside for her baby, squishing it hard with a fork to make it extra mushy and hoping she wasn’t half way through feeding her when Bodie arrived. Amy wasn’t due home until six o’clock and Hana hoped she wasn’t stuck there until then, not knowing if that was worse than being trapped in the kitchen with her son’s obvious, glowering anger.
Phoenix woke up at midday and enjoyed her mother’s cooking. “Try to keep it in your mouth, Phoe,” Hana complained as the child poked it in and out with her tongue. She sat in Jas’ booster chair, wedged against the table. There was an awkward moment as Phoenix sneezed with a mouthful of brown stuff. “Thanks,” Hana groaned as she picked the bits out of her fringe. Phoenix ate the lot and Hana praised her. “You’re so different to Izzie and Bo,” she said. “They were picky and difficult, but you’re just like your daddy. I think you’ll be tall, like him.”
The child’s eyes widened with excitement as she searched the room for her father, disappointed when he didn’t appear.
Hana relented and fed Phoenix a chocolate pudding. The baby ate half and then did a giant burp which shook the kitchen. Then she refused to eat anymore. Hana changed her nappy on the kitchen table and felt glad that the householders couldn’t see her. “Let’s not tell Aunty Amy,” she told her daughter, feeling guilty at making such a small person complicit when she couldn’t even speak. “I think this table’s had enough action for a while.”
Hana unloaded the washing machine one handed, balancing her baby on her hip. Phoenix seemed interested, watching intently, her grey eyes missing nothing. Hana kissed her on the side of her head and she smiled and made her own little kissing sounds. “Now, how do I hang it all on the line and hold you?” Hana pondered, seeing how overgrown and dank the back garden looked. Broken shards of pottery littered the concrete and the scrubby grass was mud and weeds.
In a feat of organisation and diplomacy which would have impressed the United Nations, Hana pushed the pram to the laundry and bumped it down the steps still holding the baby, then she put the heavy basket into the pram, tipping it by accident so half the contents needed putting back in. Leaving the back door open in case Jas called, Hana pushed the pram to the washing line and swapped the basket of clothes for the baby. “That was complicated,” she told her daughter as she strapped her in. “I’m getting too old for this.” The effort made her feel exhausted and Hana clutched at a momentary pain beneath her ribs. She pegged the washing on the line, hanging the fresh-smelling baby clothes nearest to the house to aid her getaway when Bodie returned.
When she turned around talking to Phoenix in a baby voice, she found her son watching her from the open doorway; his face unreadable. Hana snatched the little sleep suits down and turned, biting her lip. Bodie shook his head, taking them from her and hanging them back on the line. He put his arms around her and she didn’t know whether to feel afraid or relieved. He said nothing as he bumped the pram up the back steps into the house, but he unclipped his sister and cuddled her to him for the very first time, letting her play with the buttons on his work shirt until she tried to pull them into her mouth.
“I thought you might be hungry.” Hana dished up a plate of food and warming it in the microwave. Bodie picked at it for a while without enjoyment. Hana hovered, not daring to start a conversation which might escalate and leave her swiping the baby suits off the washing line in a hurry. Bodie kept Phoenix on his knee and she opened and shut her mouth like a little bird as he fed her his mashed potato. “She’ll explode,” Hana said, her voice sounding jarring and loud in the eerie silence.
“Sorry,” Bodie replied, pushing the plate away.
With no further hope of more lunch and already topped up by a breastfeed, Phoenix popped her thumb in her mouth, leaned back against her brother’s chest and dozed. Bodie cuddled her, looking pensive and exuding misery.
“I should check on Jas and then go,” Hana said. She walked to the lounge and peered at the little boy asleep on the sofa. Soft snores meant he was fine, just suffering from lack of sleep and a drug induced peace. “He’s still zonked out. Amy gave him some pills from the hospital so keep an eye on him...” She stopped herself telling her son how to look after his own child. “There’s more pie if he’s hungry when he wakes up,” Hana said, trying to keep her voice light. She retrieved the suits off the line. They were damp but no longer wet. She folded them and shoved them under the pram inside the bag and rammed her knitting into the change bag, pushing the stitches up the needles and stabbing them into the ball of wool to stop them escaping. Then she wrestled a struggling baby into her coat and woolly hat and laid her in the pram. Bodie watched his mother preparing to leave, without comment. Hana got as far as the kitchen door.
“Mum,” Bodie said, his voice barely a whisper.
Hana turned and faced him, her beautiful Indian son wrestling with conscience and rage. “Yes?”
“I don’t know what to do about anything.”
“I don’t have any answers, Bodie.” He pouted and looked disappointed as though having expected Hana to bail him out of his worries. Something in her snapped. “And just for the record, I wasn’t pregnant when I married Logan; just in love.” She bit her lip, knowing the next sentence would sound cruel but needed to be said. “Bo, I need to tell you something. I thought my father was dead, but he isn’t; he’s here in Hamilton but only for a few more weeks. I’m telling you so you can see him, if you want to.”
“What?” Bodie looked confused and Hana put her hand up, asking him not to interrupt. “He’s gone travelling and will be back on Friday. He’d like to see you. He married my aunt and...it’s complicated.” She shut up and considered her words without her own personal wrangling. “He’s a good man, Bo. You’ll like him. We had a m
isunderstanding many years ago and I haven’t seen him since before you were born. Between us we’ve wasted a quarter of a century thinking badly of each other and yet missing each other. My brother, Mark’s here too; he works at the hospital. I didn’t know, but he repaired this.” Hana pulled her sleeve up to reveal the mess of scarring on her wrist. “It’s up to you anyway; let me know what you decide.”
“Is this about you and me?” Bodie pursed his lips and stared at Hana. “Is this an allegory about kids who fall out with their parents? Are you warning me what will happen if I don’t play nice and pretend everything’s ok?”
Hana shook her head. “No, son; my father’s genuinely in town. Your relationship with me is separate. I don’t know what to do about us, sweetheart. You’ve pushed me beyond what’s reasonable this time and I don’t know how to be around you anymore. I accepted Amy but you can’t seem to accept my husband. We’ve gone round in circles with this until I’m tired of it. You make your own decisions. Please tell Jas I was here and that I love him.”
Hana bumped the pram down the front steps and went back to the unit, feeling sick about the whole conversation. A heaviness pervaded her movements and made her heart feel as though it was lodged in her stomach.
Bodie sat where Amy had hours earlier, his forehead in the same spot on the table. He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach, not understanding how a dead man could suddenly reappear in New Zealand. “I can’t cope with all this crap,” he complained to the empty kitchen. He’d genuinely been called back to work that morning by an angry Odering. “What the hell were you thinking, man?” The detective yelled. “I asked you to collate the information from the house to house enquiries before you left yesterday.”
“I didn’t think it was that urgent and I needed to take care of my son,” Bodie replied. “He broke his arm yesterday morning.”
“So that’s why you were late in?” Odering bawled and Bodie nodded, feeling like a schoolboy. “Job first, Johal!” Odering snapped.
“What, and end up like you?” Bodie replied, losing his temper. “Just let me go back to the job I signed on for and get yourself another sidekick!”
Odering shouted for a good ten minutes without drawing a breath. It was impressive as was the shade of purple his cheeks went. Bodie fixed his eyes on the wall and ignored him, hoping Odering lost his ‘acting’ inspector status and became his equal again. Then he’d give him a slap he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
To compound matters, Jas had kicked off on his return from hospital, wanting Logan. Bodie saw the red mist coming down over his eyeballs at his son’s rejection of him for the tall Māori. He knew he was channelling his anger into a dangerous hatred of Logan and the problem was pure jealousy. He deliberately ignored Amy’s frantic texts that morning, including the one which said in capital letters, ‘YOU’RE AN ARSEHOLE, I MISSED MY PERIOD AND I HATE YOU.’
After finishing Odering’s urgent paperwork, he headed straight for the rest home and the comforting old priest, Father Sinbad. Amy was already angry at him so Bodie chose avoidance as a reasonable tactic under stress. Father Sinbad was a steadying influence on him as usual, listening and not judging. Bodie told him everything, even the bit about the sex on the kitchen table. He fancied he saw a flicker of amusement in the priest’s face, but couldn’t be sure. The old Irishman prayed for him in Latin with his hand on the young man’s head and it made Bodie want to cry. He stared at the chequered blanket lying on the useless legs, watching as unshed tears blurred the navy blues and reds into a colourless mess. Then the old man hauled himself forwards and kissed Bodie on the forehead with paternal tenderness. “I don’t know what to do,” Bodie whispered.
“Forgive yourself,” Father Sinbad whispered back. “Abba Father heard you say sorry da first time. You don’t have to keep saying it and punishing dat lovely girl of yourn. Hair shirts and birching are for fools who don’t understand de power of forgiveness and grace. And dey are darn itchy, believe me! There’s no need. Accept your wrongs and move on.” The strong Irish accent was comforting and soft. “You know in yer heart dat it’s not de Māori’s fault. He’s someone to blame for what you’re feelin’. Let it go, young one, let it go.”
A paroxysm of coughing sent Bodie to fetch a nurse. She fitted an oxygen mask over the old priest’s face and asked him to leave. Bodie felt frightened then. “I didn’t ask him about his holiday,” Bodie said, his face ashen.
The matron soothed him. “Don’t worry, his holiday wasn’t great. He’s had a few coughing fits lately; he’ll be fine. Go home and I’ll ring you if there’s a problem.” She patted Bodie’s shoulder, remembering the small dark skinned boy who visited the priest for service points while still at school. The old man had no visitors and it was a match of unforeseeable success. The priest often talked Bodie and Hana, although he never shared their secrets, which was a relief for the matron as it meant he didn’t share hers either.
Bodie sat at the kitchen table and groaned with misery, ruing the terrible mess he’d made of his fresh start in Hamilton.
Hana wandered back to the unit as Phoenix shuffled around and then slept. She thought she might dry the sleep suits on the towel rail in the bathroom but wondered if she’d have the energy to do more than crawl in the front door. Tama’s car was back at the unit and when Hana got in, she found Logan there too. “I’m glad you’re home early,” she said, feeling relief at the sight of his capable hands pulling the pram up the steps.
“Night duty, babe,” he said apologetically. “Did you forget? I’m just doing some marking in my free period before I go over.”
Hana nodded and tried not to look so upset, holding on to the thought of her knitting. “How’s the marking going?” she asked and Logan shook his head.
“Hopeless, Tama keeps making me laugh.”
Tama snorted and Hana looked from one to the other, feeling exasperated. Logan stroked his daughter’s forehead and sat back at the table. “Oh, no, listen to this one,” he said to an eager Tama, including Hana in his audience. “Question: Which way do Muslims face when praying?”
“Ooh, I know this one,” Tama said. “East towards Mecca.” He looked pleased with himself until Logan shook his head and read the boy’s answer.
“Answer: F...f....f.”
Hana looked at her husband, a quizzical look on her face. Logan only stuttered when he was nervous and he didn’t seem unduly troubled.
“Frontwards!” he exclaimed. “Muslims face frontwards.” The men dissolved into hysterics. “Question: Talk about a bible character and their achievements. This kid’s written, ‘Moses went up on Mount Cyanide to get the Ten Commandments. He died before he ever reached Canada.’ I shouldn’t have taken this class,” Logan wept, “I can’t teach Year 9 Religious Studies; it’s killing me!”
Hana pushed the pram into the baby’s bedroom so Phoenix could continue sleeping without the men waking her. She went into her own bedroom and hung her jacket in the wardrobe, grateful for the warm air from the heat pump which made the unit more bearable than Amy’s place. Hana swapped her boots for her slipper-socks and padded into the bathroom, turning the towel rail on and hanging the damp suits over it to dry.
Logan found her in the bedroom and laid on the bed, tapping his chest in invitation.
“I’ll get mascara on your expensive shirt,” Hana said, her brow knitting in frustration.
“Don’t care,” Logan replied and held his arms out to her. “What’s the matter, babe? Where did you go? I thought you’d run away again.” He nuzzled his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of shampoo and the strange aroma of Shepherd’s Pie.
Hana shook her head and snuggled closer. “No, I’m still here.”
“So why don’t you sound happy about it?” Logan asked. “You didn’t pick up your phone. I texted to tell you I was home but then the boy turned up.”
Hana sighed, “Sorry, I turned it on silent so it didn’t wake the children. Amy called me in a panic. Jas broke his arm yesterday and cou
ldn’t go to school and she had to go to work. So I babysat him until Bo got home.”
“How was it?” Logan asked, determined to stay out of her relationship with her children but trying to show support and kindness.
“I honestly don’t know,” she replied. “He didn’t want me to go at first, but then didn’t talk. So I don’t know; I guess it’s just the same as it was last week.”
“How’s the little guy?” Logan asked, his soft spot for Jas obvious.
“He was asleep. Apparently he’d been up since yesterday so Amy gave him pills from the hospital. He seemed fine but slept on the sofa the whole time. She thought he could go back to school tomorrow, but he didn’t look well enough. Who knows? Little boys are resilient. He could be crawling the walls by tomorrow, or I could get another call.”
Hana sounded wistful and Logan bit his lip. “Sorry I’m doing so many lates,” he sighed. “I hate the tiny single beds in the staff bedrooms. I get in my sleeping bag and sit in the restroom on the sofa. The beds aren’t long enough and smell disgusting. I’d rather be here with you.”
Logan kissed his wife with regret before leaving, taking his marking with him. Hana laid on the bed thinking and her husband’s space was quickly filled by Tama, who slipped next to her and lay there, looking intense. Hana reached out and stroked his face. “I missed you,” she said. “Where did you go?”
“On a date,” he replied, his eyes shining and Hana groaned with dread. “No, it’s fine this time, she’s only a couple of years older than me and so hot. She’s the same as you.”
“Do you mean she’s got orange hair or that she’s knackered?” Hana asked, yawning and turning onto her back.
“No, Ma! Christian. She goes to church and everything.”
Hana wondered fleetingly what everything was as she stared at the flickering spots on the ceiling. “Who is she?” She tried to sound interested, remembering Tama’s infatuation with Anka and the utter misery it caused.