One Heartbeat

by Bowes, K T

  “What are you talking about?” Hana asked, something nasty seeping into her consciousness and wrapping itself around her heart.

  Ivan swore and clamped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry, nothing. I meant nothing by it.”

  Hana stared him down, making him squirm using a tactic learned from watching Logan operate. She never removed her green eyes from his face and in the end, he cracked. “I meant with Vik having the affair before he died,” Ivan said, feeling guilty as he watched the healthy pink colour drain from the pretty redhead’s face. “Sorry, Hana; I forgot you didn’t know. Please, forget I said anything.”

  “You knew?” Hana said, her voice a husky whisper. “How?”

  Ivan stirred his coffee, having opened a can of worms he wasn’t equipped to deal with. He waited a long moment before answering the crushed woman opposite him. “I met Vik the afternoon before he died. He was upset. We bumped into each other and he told me everything; that he’d met someone else and been seeing her for a long while, a year I think it was. He planned to tell you that day because he...” Ivan took a deep breath. “He was leaving with her, Hana. They had tickets booked for somewhere else, to go and sit it out for a while until you’d calmed down and then he planned to move in with her. I can’t remember her name.”

  Hana’s mind drifted back to that same day, over nine years previously. She was unwell, thinking it was a virus that wouldn’t go away. Vik left for work and Hana called in sick after realising she wasn’t well enough to go into school. She went back to bed feeling dreadful after sending Bodie and Izzie off on the bus. Waking up mid-morning she found her husband standing over her with an odd look on his face. Rushing to the toilet she was violently ill, shaking and shivering and knowing something was badly wrong. Vik drove her to the doctors and they diagnosed a kidney infection and tried to send her to hospital. She refused, accepting antibiotics and going home. She felt absolutely dreadful, coping with the shivers and sweats that went with the illness and the overwhelming back pain. Vik disappeared in the afternoon, promising Hana he’d return. He picked the children up from school and bought take-away for tea. Hana couldn’t eat, going to bed early and having a fitful night.

  The next day she felt slightly better but still not well enough to go to work, trying to sleep it off in the empty house. The frantic knocking mid-afternoon disturbed her and drove her to answer the front door to the two police officers, bearing the kind of news which had the power to destroy the hearer.

  Ivan looked at her fearfully. “I said, he didn’t leave you, Hana. So it was ok. He must have loved you and decided to stay.”

  Hana looked at him and he could see the shock in her face. Her coffee grew cold on the table and the baby snuffled in her pram. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “I forgot you didn’t know.”

  “I knew,” Hana whispered.

  Ivan looked relieved. “Thank goodness for that!” he gushed. “We all watched you for ages, wondering what to do. But it seemed you were oblivious, so we decided not to say anything.”

  “Who’s we?” Hana asked with more courage than she felt.

  Ivan realised instantly he’d gaffed again. Only the look on his face this time was unrepentant and cruel. Hana gritted her teeth and asked him again, “Who knew?”

  “Me, Anka and the pastor. Pastor Ben, who left to go on mission in Vanuatu before Allen came.”

  Hana felt like someone who’d had a dreadful prank played on them, a prank that everyone else would find funny, except her. The fact Anka had known about her husband’s infidelity hit her like a slap, rendering the safe years of their friendship – the pre Tama years – nothing but a big fat fake.

  Hana stood up slowly, retrieving the pram and struggling as she forgot to take off the brake. She backed out of the space and left the shop, leaving Vik’s old friend and ally to pay for the spilled coffee, gaily making its way across the table top and down onto the floor. She walked around in a daze, feeling stunned as her former life unravelled around her legs. Eventually, her wandering took her back to the unit, but she stood outside, not sure what to do next. A desire to see Logan drove her across the field to the boarding house, pushing the pram along the corridor to the office where her watch told her he might be at this time. She knocked on the door and opened it at his rough, “Come in,” feeling relieved to see him leaned over the computer in a standing position.

  “Hey love,” he said, masking the inner wince he felt at her interruption. “It’s not a good time, babe. Can we talk later?”

  “I saw Ivan, and he said...”

  “Who’s Ivan?” Logan asked. Irritation crept into his voice.

  “Anka’s husband and...” Hana tried to begin again and distaste crossed Logan’s face as he didn’t bother to hide his dislike for Hana’s former friend. He instinctively knew anything to do with her meant trouble.

  “Hana, I’ve got something on right now. Could we talk about this later?” He gritted his teeth, under pressure but trying to be pleasant about it.

  “They all knew, they all knew about Vik’s affair, they knew!” she wailed.

  Logan swore, using a word he rarely let escape his lips. It was enough to stop Hana in her tracks. The pen from his hand shattered as it hit the wall opposite. “Not him again!” he bit. “Can he not stay dead just for one day? Far out, Hana, it’s over, long gone. Can’t you move on? I thought you were married to me now! Please, I need to deal with something here and then we can talk later.”

  Hana backed away, feeling his temper oozing out across the room at her. Logan reached out for her, his eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Hana, but you sure pick your moments. The cops are crawling all over the boarding house, driving me mad wanting to interview the boys!” The phone rang and he snatched it up. “What?” Someone’s voice came out of the handset, sounding tinny and far away. “Look, I’m up to my eyeballs, Senior Sergeant Johal and I’m not your lackey. Pete’s currently playing tag team with me because the principal wants an adult to sit in on all the interviews. That’s in between teaching classes!” Bodie rang off and Logan sank into his chair, running his fingers through his hair. “Where the bloody hell are you, you stupid boy?” he muttered. He was tired, frustrated and fed up - currently trying to locate a student who wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He ran a hand over his eyes and squeezed the painful bridge of his nose as another headache fought for traction in his senses. “Geez, who am I looking for again?” he asked himself, trying to remember the surname of the boy he was running through the timetable system. When he looked up, Hana was gone.

  She ran along the corridor, pushing the pram ahead of her and almost smashing it into Acting Detective Inspector Odering as he came in the front doors. He held the left-hand door open for her, looking at her curiously as she failed to acknowledge him or return his greeting. He drew the obvious conclusion that something was rattling her and catching sight of her husband through the open door of the office, smirked to himself. Hoping Mr Du Rose was already wound up, the detective sauntered to his lair to upset him a bit more.

  Outside in the wintry sunshine, Hana still didn’t want to go back to the unit. She wanted to run far away but quelled the urge. Logan was fed up of flushing her out and she knew he would, even if it was only to say he was sorry. She stamped her foot angrily, recognising she wasn’t cross with her husband, but herself. He was right. He’d already told her he felt bombarded by her first husband’s influence on her life and she had disregarded his confession, dumping another lorry load onto his head. Hana felt like laying on the concrete and banging her own stupid head on the ground in the hope she might knock some sense into it. She bit back the surging, threatening feelings of betrayal and stamped over to the unit.

  Inside, she gave Tama the cream and instructions from the nice pharmacist and grabbed her car keys. “Where are you going?” he demanded. “I’m bored now. Wait for me. I’ll do this and come with you.”

  “I’m going to Culver’s Cottage,” Hana replied, feeling fractious an
d prickly. “And you’re not even dressed. I want to go now.” Hana refused to wait so the silly boy, clad only in his boxer shorts and sleeping bag, hopped out of the unit, down the steps and into the car, remaining ensconced in his bedding. He looked like a big blue caterpillar and it took him longer to get in the Honda than it did for Hana to transfer the sleeping baby into the vehicle. Despite his valiant efforts, Hana was uncommunicative for the journey up to Culver’s Cottage.

  Up at the house, Tama slithered across the living room floor and lit a fire, trying not to use the flammable sleeping bag and himself as kindling. Once it roared happily, he settled on the rug on his stomach to enjoy the Sky TV channels Logan got installed over the summer. Hana hauled the car seat into the living room. “Watch Phoe for me please?”

  “What are you up to?” he asked.

  “Mind your own beeswax,” Hana replied. Tama turned back to watching a cartoon channel and she sighed. Then she got to work, rampaging around the house checking every room for evidence of her former husband in photographs or memorabilia. There weren’t many and none of him by himself. They were pictures of her children but as their father, Vik appeared in some of them; holding a baby Izzie or resting his hand on Bodie’s shoulder as he stood proudly wielding a soccer trophy. Hana had been trying to maintain continuity for her children, in her own way attempting not to trash the old as she brought in the new. But she acknowledged it as a massive fail. Bodie couldn’t and wouldn’t accept Logan and Izzie, who was entirely supportive, wasn’t there to see them anyway.

  Downstairs in the garage, Hana found two small crate boxes and lumbered them upstairs, laying them on the kitchen table. She divided the photographs, sharing them out between her two children, handing responsibility to the next generation. Hana had photo albums stashed away which amply recounted her children’s growing up years with handwritten captions and those she kept for herself. There were only four and they sat safely on the bookshelf in the living room, at the bottom where they couldn’t offend anyone. Hana saw Izzie sometimes in Phoenix and she reserved the right get the albums out and compare occasionally. There were more surplus pictures and Hana spent an hour dividing them. She left the framed photos in their current state. Her children could keep them like that or take them out.

  Hana fired up her old laptop, putting it on to charge as she used it. She located all their recent downloaded photos, including a much older selfie Logan transferred from his old phone before Hana threw it into the gully to stop his ex fiance pestering him. It was taken on their wedding day, standing outside Hamilton registry office in the sunshine. Hana’s green dress, which she borrowed from Anka, contrasted stunningly against her red hair and green eyes and Logan looked handsome. The excitement of their secret marriage shone through their eyes in the selfie, which contained part of Logan’s arm. Hana remembered how precious their first day and night were as Mr and Mrs Du Rose; untouched by anyone else.

  Hana created an album on the laptop and added a selection of photographs; her and Phoenix, Logan and Phoenix and some of herself with her older children. She discovered a lovely one of Logan with Izzie’s three children balanced on top of him and added it to the file, reminded of his passion as he caught up with his pregnant, runaway wife. There was a picture of Logan and Jas sleeping on the sofa together, snuggled up with the tatty old Action Man peeking out from between them and looking fierce like a sentry. Hana downloaded them onto a USB stick.

  “I’m nipping out; I won’t be long. There’s a packet of baby rice on the side in the kitchen if Phoe wakes and I’ve got my phone on me.” Hana sighed as Tama snored and she checked her daughter who slept in the car seat with her thumb in her mouth. “Bye, Mum,” she muttered to herself and left. Hana shot into Ngaruawahia to the pharmacy there, knowing they had photographic machines. Something which might have taken a child ten minutes, took Hana an hour. A complete techno-moron, she had several accidents and misprints before finally attracting the attention of an assistant who helped her print off the right size photographs and added attractive effects to the ones Hana pointed out. The girl was brilliant, softening the edges on the photo outside the registry office and making it look dreamy. “That was my secret wedding,” Hana admitted, biting her lip and looking coy.

  “Right then,” the assistant exclaimed. “Sepia it is.” She aged the photo digitally, making it look like a romantic 1950s picture.

  “Your husband’s gorgeous,” the girl gushed and Hana smiled, feeling proud for once instead of threatened. She wondered if the girl would still think that if she told her that her last conversation with him included a ‘b’ word, ‘f’ word and something that Hana couldn’t say, let alone spell, which may have been French. She paid for the photos and ventured next door to the $2 shop, spending another half an hour choosing from the cheap frames in the shop. Hana clanked through the frames, choosing ones that looked mock-antique and were the right size, struggling up to the till with her basket of wares, the bag of photos swinging from her right wrist.

  Back at the house, she found Tama still on the floor, zoned out by the antics of Popeye and his Olives and to her surprise, Phoenix was wide awake next to him, swinging her legs in her car seat and watching the cartoon. Hana sighed, shaking her head in disbelief and laid her purchases on the kitchen table. She boiled the kettle and whipped up baby rice for Phoenix and a sandwich for her wounded soldier. Deciding to change her baby’s nappy before she fed her, Hana took her to the bedroom and made sure she was clean and decent. Phoenix became tetchy half way through the process, grizzling and fearing lunch wasn’t coming. She cheered up when Hana sat her on her knee and fed her, managing to keep the mess restricted to her face. Tama shuffled in and sat on a chair, his hair sticking up on end.

  “You feeling better?” Hana asked and he nodded and tucked into his sandwich of just-about-defrosted-bread from the downstairs freezer and jam from the pantry. “Sorry,” she said, “there’s nothing fresh here.”

  She realised what a waste the house was, sitting on its mountain waiting for the occasional runaway Hana to turn up. Tama looked curiously at the bags on the table but didn’t ask what they were. “Will you be ok to drive up to Auckland in a few days?” Hana said.

  “About that, please can I borrow your car? I don’t know if the ute will make it up there without making me scared it’ll break down or cause me to be late.”

  “Course you can,” Hana replied. “But don’t be silly in it because I’ll make sure the speeding tickets come back to you.”

  Tama nodded, finishing his sandwich and raiding the pantry for biscuits and other instant crap. Then, kissing Phoenix on top of her head and receiving a gummy smile for his efforts, he disappeared back to the TV and a feature-length edition of ‘Rug Rats.’

  After a breastfeed, Phoenix went into the living room with Tama, cuddling up with him on the sofa. When Hana checked on them later, they were both asleep with the child snuggled into his bare chest and her lower half stuffed down the sleeping bag. Hana took a photo of them on her phone, smiling at the sight of Tama sealed into plastic wrap like a food item.

  Hana worked quickly, snipping up the photographs and slotting them into their new frames. Then she walked around the house, hanging them on the walls. It was good fun and felt releasing. She kept three back for the unit, stroking the glass of her favourite; a photo of Hana with Phoenix and Tama, taken by an obliging gardener at Hamilton Gardens recently. As Hana took down a picture over the fireplace and replaced it with the most expensive frame containing her and Logan’s wedding selfie, she disturbed the pair on the sofa.

  Phoenix pushed her little face into Tama’s downy chest and sucked her thumb, trying to stay asleep, but he looked as though he’d been trapped in the same position for too long. “I’ll take her,” Hana whispered, swaddling her baby into her chest and giving her another breastfeed when she got stroppy. It gave Tama time to wake properly and stretch. “You need to get a shower so we can go back,” she told him. “No, leave that.” She pointed to the dres
sing as he dropped the sleeping bag and picked at the plastic. “It’ll stop the soap getting onto it and I can redo it before we leave.”

  Tama nodded and padded to the shower, digging around in his bedroom drawers for clean clothes. He looked more human once he returned. The baby dozed back off in her car seat and Hana helped Tama rub the antibacterial, antiseptic cream into the bottom two lines of the waiata below his waistband. “Turn around and do your groin yourself,” she said, not willing to shove her fingers anywhere near the randy boy’s shorts. Hana held the cream and squeezed it out onto his finger while he used his other hand to keep his clothing away from it. He winced, but it didn’t seem as painful as before.

  “I think it’s getting better, Ma. Thanks for getting all that stuff for me.”

  “It’s soft skin down there, you idiot,” Hana said. “But it’s a beautiful piece of artwork. I love the font, how it’s all squirly whirly and delicate. Is that the song Logan sings for Phoenix about guarding your inheritance?”

  Tama nodded and his next words made her sad. “I don’t have an inheritance. Kane doesn’t want me and nor does Michael. I have no direct genealogical link to you guys other than uncle and aunty and I didn’t feel I could get Logan’s name on me without looking desperate. I don’t own anything or anywhere so I thought I’d get the words of this old song tattooed on me. Our Maori heritage is descended from Hone Heke of the Ngā Puhi tribe, you know the chief who kept chopping the British flag pole down.” He sighed. “I’m not even registered on the Maori roll for elections. So this is all I’ve got.”

  Hana reached up and put her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and wishing she could do something to take his pain away. “I’d love to adopt you,” she said quietly, “but I think you’re too old. For what it’s worth, we do think of you as ours.”

  Tama nodded and kissed the top of Hana’s head. “I know, Ma,” he replied, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so loved. It makes me feel safe. Kind of...invincible.”