by Bowes, K T
“They’re all too small,” Tama wailed, flinging another one on the floor. His fingers reached into the drawer above.
“Don’t even think about it!” Hana snapped. “That’s my knicker drawer!” She slapped his hand and Tama pouted. Hana bundled up the baby clothes and folded them on the bed. “I meant to take these to the op shop when I went yesterday,” she said, touching the soft fabric and feeling maudlin. Phoenix burbled next to her and Hana blew a raspberry on her round, olive tummy. “You’re such a big girl,” she cooed, her kisses received with squeals of appreciation.
“That’s not a compliment,” Tama grumbled.
“I don’t put your sexual intonation on everything though, do I?” Hana replied with sarcasm, rubbing her wrist across her forehead and seeming surprised by the line of sweat. “I’m so unfit, it’s crazy. I did more walking than running.”
“How far did you get?” Tama flopped onto the bed crossways, watching the baby suck her little toes in between singing. He put his face too near and she made a lurch for his head, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling surprisingly hard. Tama squealed and tickled her under the arms, making her let go.
“Not very far,” Hana admitted. “I feel old.”
“You are old,” Tama replied unhelpfully and Hana slapped the back of his head. He ignored her, blowing raspberries on Phoenix’s tummy until she giggled, occupying her while Hana retrieved the new sleep suits from the towel rail in the bathroom. “Get a nappy on her please, Tama,” she said, pushing five suits into a drawer and holding up one with red cherries all over to admire. “I don’t want her to pee with excitement and soak her vest and hair like last time.”
“Ok,” he agreed. Hana swapped the cherries for teddy bears and turned to find the baby wearing a clean nappy and Tama prancing around the bed wearing his warlike face. He stuck his tongue out and Phoenix giggled fit to bust. She sounded like an air raid siren, the noise increasing in volume, holding and then winding down until Tama did the funny thing again.
“Please love, you need to stop doing that,” Hana whined, holding up the fluffy suit for his approval.
“But she loves it,” he said. “That’s cute.” He pointed at the suit and cavorted around the bed again, the baby’s eyes fixed on his antics.
“But next time Logan takes us to the marae and the pōwhiri begins, this child will be apoplectic in all the bits where you have to be quiet. Logan will be embarrassed. And if she wets herself like that during the haka, everyone will be offended.”
Tama stopped to concentrate and then grinned. “Yeah, but it’ll be so hilarious.” He bugged his eyes and stuck out his tongue and the baby’s face creased into hysterics. Hana slapped him on the backside and told him to get dressed. Phoenix tracked him out of the room with her eyes and then pulled a sad face. “Oh, stop it,” Hana told her, “it’s for your own good!”
Phoenix wasn’t impressed with Hana’s banishment of her entertainment and was uncooperative as her mother fitted tiny arms and legs into the cute little suit. Hana took her to the lounge for a feed, but already full of the breakfast rusk Logan fed her, she mucked around. “Tama, stop it!” Hana complained. “You’re distracting her.”
“I’m not,” he lied, popping behind the kitchen counter. Phoenix laughed and sicked up milk, thankfully onto the bib.
Over at the boarding house, Logan finally sat down with his reports, not looking forward to wading through them. He noticed with surprise they were back in departmental order, better still - in class order. A quick shuffle through showed they were not only in alphabetical order by student surname, but had also been corrected with a red pen in a gentle, slanting hand. Gratitude washed over him, appreciating the beautiful redhead who just saved him an hour’s work. He smiled and stroked the pages with tender fingers.
A knock on the door disturbed him and Logan ignored it, not bothering to examine the caller through the glass. The knock came again with more persistence and Logan stood and locked it, seeing Odering through the mirrored glass. “Piss off!” he shouted. “Go and mess with someone else; I don’t have the energy.”
“Open the bloody door, Du Rose!” Odering shouted, attracting attention from passing boys. Logan unlocked the office door and sat down, leaving the policeman to enter without invitation.
Logan shook his head. “I’ve had enough of you jokers for one day; I’m not in the mood, so go away.”
“Are we talking about Senior Sergeant Johal?” Odering asked softly. “Or me?” He pulled out a chair from the desk next to Logan’s and sat down. “I hope you got things sorted out with your wife last night.”
“Like you actually care!” Logan scoffed.
Odering leaned forward in the creaky seat. “You know something, Mr Du Rose. And I’d like you to share it.”
“Or else what?” Logan eyeballed him and the detective kept his cool, allowing himself to be observed by the piercing, grey eyes. Odering waited a few beats before answering. “Bodie Johal’s been recommended to me as a kind of ‘sidekick’ as I climb the greasy pole at HQ. I can take that recommendation or I can squash it. It’s up to you.”
Logan looked at the detective aghast, a smile breaking over his face. “The kid hates my guts,” he said in astonishment. “Why would you hand me his career on a plate? As my wife would say, ‘you’re barking’ and I’d agree with her.”
“Up to you, Mr Du Rose,” the cop said airily as though he didn’t care either way. “He saved your life last year jumping into that lake after you. If he hated you, he could have waited a few minutes so you drowned, but he didn’t. You decide, Logan. I’m offering you the power and I know that’s exactly how you like it; how you’ve always liked it.” Odering stood and wandered around the office, looking at the wonky pictures on the wall which Logan spent his life straightening. Year group photos smiled back at him, generations of boarding house boys doing other things with their lives decades later. Odering turned on his polished shoes and clicked over to the door, putting his hand on the handle and waiting. Logan’s hand brushed the pile of finished reports his wife had laboured over.
“Wait,” he said as Odering depressed the handle. The man froze in position, without turning around. “Does Bodie want this?”
Odering nodded his head, smiling to himself. “More than you have any idea, mate.” The detective’s voice was soft and lyrical.
Logan hesitated and cleared his throat. “I strongly recommend you take the drug dogs into the gully fairly quickly. It might have been moved, but I suspect there’s been significant activity down there recently. It’d be a great idea to bust that old shed open now too.” Logan turned back to his reports as Odering nodded his head once.
“The one by the tennis courts?”
“Yep.” Logan lowered his voice and told the Acting Detective Inspector in a clipped monotone, “If you double cross me on this, I’ll make your life impossible. You have no idea what kind of friends I have in high places; just so you understand me.” Logan picked up a pen, scribbling onto a blotter to make sure it worked.
The detective smiled broadly and his opponent heard it in his voice. “I think we understand each other perfectly, Logan. Haven’t we always?”
Odering left the boarding house smiling from ear to ear. He summoned Bodie and ordered him to break into the shed, using whatever it took. Then he called the dog squad and sent them into the gully.
Logan shook his head and thought about the Old Boys’ network. The old adage was true in New Zealand; it wasn’t what you knew, but who. Odering was two years older than Logan in school. He was one of the good guys but still broke Logan’s nose in a fight at the start of the younger boy’s fifth form year, after Michael bedded Odering’s younger sister. Michael possessed a terrible reputation, always staying out long after bedtime and getting other boys to cover for him. Karl Odering arranged a fight with Michael to defend his sister’s honour but as usual, the cowardly charmer sent his haemophiliac kid brother.
“Where’s your brother?” Odering
demanded when faced with Logan. “Walk away, it’s not your fight.”
“He’s not here.” Logan’s grey eyes observed the older boy with cool detachment. “So it’s me or nothing.”
“I can’t fight you,” Odering said again, glancing around at the gathered audience. “It’s not a fair fight.”
Logan shrugged. “It’s me or nobody,” he repeated.
Logan beat the taller, bigger boy to a pulp, taking an unlucky elbow to the face and shattering his nose in two places. He bled profusely over his opponent, terrifying the onlookers enough to break ranks and find an adult. Logan leaned over Odering, his blood running into the other boy’s face and hissed, “Quits?”
Karl Odering nodded and they stood up, shook hands and walked away like it was nothing. Angus Blair appeared to clear up the mess and drove Logan to Auckland general hospital, yelling at him all the way there and all the way back. He would have continued his broad Scots diatribe during the procedure to set the boy’s nose and give him a factor eight infusion, had the nursing staff allowed him into the room.
Logan recognised Karl Odering the previous year when he appeared by Hana’s hospital bed after an attack. The ego dance began again, satisfying in a primitive, macho way. When angered, Odering revealed the scar above his left eyebrow which Logan caused with a well-timed head butt, and Odering enjoyed the slight kink in Logan’s nose when he was trying to concentrate.
The teacher took his sheaf of reports and strode to the main building to deliver them, his cowboy boots clicking against the road. He slapped them on Amanda’s desk and turned to walk away. “Logan,” she called out. “What are these?”
“Reports,” he said, his face blank. “Angus insists on seeing the quality of work his staff produce and he’ll love those. Not!” He jerked his head towards the sheaf of paper and turned again
“Logan!” Amanda raised her voice, sounding desperate. He stopped and stood still without turning around. “What can I do to make it right again?” Amanda asked. “I miss Hana.”
Logan’s movements were effortless as he walked back into her office and leaned over the desk towards Amanda. Something nasty and latent brooded in his eyes and she swallowed. The receptionist waggled her ears and ignored the ringing phone, hoping to hear gossip. Logan’s eyes made Amanda cringe with the intensity of his gaze. “I suggest,” he said quietly. “I suggest you work out who the good guys are, as opposed to the bad guys. And then remember to shaft the right ones.”
Amanda’s hopes plummeted and anger lit her pink cheeks with embarrassment. Her pupils dilated at Logan’s proximity and the musky scent of his aftershave. She wasn’t over her fantasy and he saw it in her face. “Stay away from us, Amanda,” he whispered and with a sad smile he left, taking the stairs up to the first floor three at a time on his long legs
Amanda sank into her office chair and put her head in her hands. She needed someone to look after Millie because there was an outbreak of diarrhoea at the nursery. Hana was her last hope. She shook her head at her own stupidity but the obsession refused to be banished and each sighting of Logan raced her heart and set her aquiver.
Logan’s Year 11 class lined up outside his room and automatically straightened as they watched him stride towards them. A boy checking out a ‘rateyourteacher’ app on his phone snorted. “Look at this,” he whispered to his friend. “These are hilarious. ‘Peter North runs like he’s got a rod stuffed up his arse.’ It’s signed, Cowboy.”
The boy next to him jabbed him in the ribs and he stopped and bit his lip as Logan looked at him in expectation. “Something you’d like to share, Mr Clarke?”
“Nothing, sir,” the boy gulped, switching the phone off and shoving it in his pocket. Logan unlocked the classroom and the boys filed in.
“Check his,” his mate begged in a whisper, as they sat at their desks.
“No point,” the boy mouthed back. “They’re all so scared of him, they only put nice stuff!”
Logan turned to the board and hid his smile. He loved that site. He checked it regularly and left the comment about Pete to see if he’d notice. Pete put a dodgy one back about Logan, but an administrator deleted it. Logan turned back to the class and rested his cowboy boot on the seat of the chair in front of him. He started teaching the finer points of the poetry of WB Yeats, with the faintest of crinkling around smiling eyes.
Chapter 20
“Have you got interview clothes for tomorrow?” Hana asked Tama as he stood in the lounge and pulled his tatty jeans up.
“Er...na...yeah...na.” Tama muttered, using that dreadful Kiwi phrase which was more of a non-answer.
“Well, do you or don’t you?” Hana asked, pouting.
“Na,” he said and shook his head.
“So why didn’t you say that!” Hana grumbled.
“I did!” he replied, his head shooting up and his face full of indignation.
Hana sighed and tutted as she fitted Phoenix into a coat, ready to go out. “Well, you’ll need to look smart or they won’t employ you,” she said, seeing the dawning realisation in Tama’s eyes.
“Oh, no!” he exclaimed, staring down at the holes in the knees of his jeans. “What will I do?”
An hour later and Hana dragged the young man along the mall, yanking his arm when he stopped to look in the windows of the gadget shops. “That’s no why we’re here,” she grumbled, hauling him along.
“We won’t find anything,” Tama whined. “I’ve been in all the old-men’s-shops and there’s nothing.”
“They’re not old-men’s-shops!” Hana bit, jabbing Tama in the ribs. “They’re smart-men’s-shops.”
“Yeah, well they’ve never seen anyone my height,” he grumbled, dragging his feet and sulking.
“I never knew he was so fussy!” Hana exclaimed to the shop assistant in the only remaining shop Tama hadn’t yet rejected. “He’s worse than a woman.”
The male assistant bridled and looked offended, staring at Hana as though she’d slighted him personally. He muttered with sarcasm, “I don’t think so, madam. He isn’t complaining he ‘aches all over’!”
Hana sniggered. “Fair enough.” Hana looked into the pram to check her baby. Phoenix was awake and sitting up, reins keeping her secure. She cuddled a furry horse Tama bought her and Hana pushed it further into the pram to stop its legs dangling near the wheels. “Hold Fluffy tight,” she told her daughter. “We can’t lose him.”
Phoenix squeezed the toy around its neck and her eyes widened with possession as Hana touched it. She’d developed an unhealthy dependence on the gift, looking for it in bed and wanting it with her when she went out. It filled Hana with dismay. Tama couldn’t remember which shop he’d bought it in and memories of a crying Izzie came to mind as Hana eyed the toy warily. Poor Vik endured a three-hour round trip in the middle of the night during a snow storm to retrieve an ugly, squashed, fluffy green frog thing Izzie couldn’t bear to be without. He’d arrived home exhausted after digging the car out of heavy snow drifts twice, only to find she’d cried herself to sleep.
The shop assistant’s low whistle alerted Hana, as Tama stood in front of her wearing a smart white shirt and navy tie. Well fitted, dark trousers accentuated his trim figure and he appeared older. “Wow! You look amazing,” Hana breathed.
“Scrubs up well, doesn’t he?” the shop assistant stressed with pride, flapping at imaginary dust on Tama’s shoulder. Tama’s eyes bugged and Phoenix squealed with delight and flapped the furry horse at him.
“Does it look good?” he appealed to Hana, the coy version of the teenager seeming particularly endearing. He stuck his tongue out at the baby and she gurgled like a dirty drain.
“You look fantastic.” Hana turned to the assistant. “We’ll take them,” she said.
Tama looked uncomfortable and shook his head. “No, Ma. It’s too expensive and way out of my league. I don’t want you to spend your money on me and I sure as hell can’t afford it.”
“Logan told me to use his credit card
,” Hana said. “So do as you’re told.” She sent him back to the changing room to remove the clothes, paying while he was in there. Tama returned in his tee shirt and holey jeans, swinging the shirt and trousers on the hanger with the tie trailing precariously over his shoulder.
“Too late,” Hana said, seizing the clothes and handing them to the smiling shop assistant, who folded them neatly and placed them into a decent carrier bag.
“But, Ma, that’s a lot of money.” he protested. “People like me don’t own clothes like that.”
“It’s a gift, sweetheart,” Hana said, pushing Tama’s arm. “And people like you are firemen, Tama, so they do.”
“Thanks, Ma.” Tama enfolded Hana in a hug, oblivious to the curious looks of passers-by.
“Shoes now,” Hana said, enjoying her mission and pushing the pram towards a shoe shop. She didn’t bother asking him what he wanted, realising he didn’t really know. They trawled a few shoe shops until Hana found a pair of shiny shoes which would look smart and be easy to polish. Tama reminded her of a small boy as he sat on the bench seat and let her fit his big feet into the shoes and lace them up. Her mother’s heart broke at the sight of his pleasure, knowing he’d experienced only the parenting attempts of Logan in his young life.
“You can put my shoes on every day,” he said, loving the cossetting Hana provided. He fluttered long, dark eyelashes and resembled a child no older than Jas. Then he clumped around the shop, making Hana smirk as he admired his feet in every mirror he passed. “Phoe!” Tama popped like a jack-in-the-box around the side of a shelf as Hana stood with the pram nestled against her hip, holding his smelly trainers in one hand and lifting an elegant black stiletto with the other. Phoenix squealed with glee and Hana dropped the stiletto.
“Stop being naughty,” Hana chided him and Tama and Phoenix giggled, sharing the same odd sense of humour.