by Bowes, K T
Hana drove the truck back to Achilles Rise in sheer misery, remembering nothing of the journey when she finally pulled onto the driveway.
Chapter 35
Hana decided to throw her energies into her new venture instead of worrying about her terminally threatened relationship. She woke early that Tuesday morning and made the decision before she got out of bed, giving her a surge of excitement which made life seem bearable with the possibility of enjoyment.
She still had the piece of paper Logan was waving around, the quote from a local roofer. Logan’s decisions about his love life might be flawed, but his expertise relating to house buying and building had proven reliable thus far. Hana rang the mobile number on the quote just after seven o’clock and was greeted by a cheery male voice. “Yeah, sure. We can start this afternoon. Another job we’ve been working on has been halted by the owner not having planning permission for his build.”
Hana whipped herself up a frothy coffee with a little machine Bodie gave her last Christmas and made the next decision of the day. She would have a chocolate Peanut Slab bar for breakfast. It was utterly decadent and as she dipped it into the coffee, Hana became even more adamant she was going to thoroughly enjoy her single life to the full. How many husbands would tolerate an early breakfast opposite a woman with a chocolate moustache?
Despite the fact she felt slightly sick afterwards Hana continued in good spirits, only mildly upset by the realisation upon reaching the garage, she would have to hypocritically drive Logan’s truck to work. She determined to give back the truck and sort out her own transport from now on. “Next adventure, Mrs Johal. Car buying by yourself.” Surely Logan would want to end the loan anyway. Ignoring the flutter of misery that reared its ugly head for a millisecond, Hana battled on through the morning traffic to work.
She was in early and used the time to get some work out of the way without the noise and disruption of the boys and Sheila. It was a profitable and fulfilling forty minutes or so before the onslaught. Reception allowed her to put a private call through to the local hardware store and Hana rented a floor sander which she intended to make good use of in the evenings. For one week, it was hers to strip the rimu floors of Culver’s Cottage back to their former glory. Hana arranged to pick the machine up on the way out to Ngaruawahia that evening before six o’clock and asked them to put by some floor varnish for her at the Customer Service desk. There was a moment’s slight hesitation when the gentleman at the other end asked if she would like a tint in the varnish and some discussion about it ensued. Finally Hana asked his advice, to which he replied, “Look personally, if I was going to all the trouble of stripping rimu, I would let it be. Get a nice clear varnish and let the wood do the work.” Relieved, Hana conceded he was probably right and ordered the clear glossy varnish. “Right you are then,” the man said politely. “I’ll have it ready at the cash desk for this afternoon.”
By the time Sheila puffed into the room after briefing, Hana had processed eleven invoices, answered four emails and was onto tidying the brochure racks and making a note of what needed replenishing, following the boys’ ransacking episode during a wet lunchtime the previous day. Sheila seemed particularly grumpy for some reason and Hana avoided conversation. Caroline Marsh, on the other hand, seemed in fine fettle and hummed lightly to herself as she worked at her desk and dealt with the usual Year 13 problems which presented themselves by way of improper uniform, hair outside the regulations and the odd behavioural difficulty. She dealt calmly and firmly with the boys, refused to be blustered by their arguments and they accepted her authority without much of a fight.
During the third period, Caroline went off to teach a physical education class and Hana sighed involuntarily with relief. It was awkward to say the least. A latent urge to plant drawing tacks on Caroline’s chair in a playschool type display of aggression reared its ugly head. Choosing instead the mature option of grabbing a drink, Hana asked Sheila if she wanted one but received only a grunt in reply which she took to mean no. “Are you sure?” Hana pressed, desperate to be busy. “I’m going anyway.”
Sheila shook her head stiffly and pursed her lips, causing Hana to beat a hasty retreat.
Popping out into the common room as the quickest route to the staff room, Hana concentrated on yesterday’s empty cup in her hand, trying to decide whether to have tea or coffee. She still found New Zealand tea bags somewhat pathetic, requiring a good bashing in order to release any flavour at all. But the school bought the cheapest brand of coffee which left a greasy film on the cup. The decision was hard because neither option was particularly pleasant.
Someone came through the double doors and held them open for her. Too late she realised it was Logan and didn’t have enough time to plan her facial expression, which ideally should have been neutral. Instead, she fluffed and halted and felt a complete idiot, as usual. Logan looked dark under his eyes and tired. He had obviously run his fingers through his hair as it was stuck up a little at the front. It made him look even more gorgeous in a rumpled way and his white shirt stuck out under the grey pullover he wore. The mother instinct in Hana responded to his unkemptness and her heart did its usual flip-flop. Holding the door open for her, he looked as though he was about to speak. “Hana,” he said softly and reached out for her arm.
Before she had considered her actions at all, Hana pushed open the other heavy, wooden door of the pair and slid through. As Logan looked openly hurt, Hana plunged on into the staff room without getting eye contact with him at all. She treated him as less than a stranger. Hana decided on a drink of hot water instead, her hands shaking as she held her cup under the boiling water heater. She was appalled at herself for her behaviour, not just because it was out of character but because she knew the boys nearest the door saw her rudeness. Hot tears of guilt rose into her eyes and Hana struggled not to blink, hoping they would evaporate instead of cascading down her face. The redheaded temper which had both amused and exasperated Vik had been a struggle to tame over time and reluctantly climbed back into its box after many years of battle. Vik said it made her feisty and exciting but Hana had deemed it unpredictable and risky. After Vik died, a red-hot temper was of little use to her and she buried it deeply inside. Apparently not deep enough.
“Steady on, dear, you’re going to get burned!” The elderly gentleman who cleaned up the staff room after the messy onslaughts by frantically busy and on occasion, somewhat lazy staff members, took Hana’s cup from her trembling hand, deftly wiping the hot splashes off the counter top. He peered into the cup and finding blobs of dried coffee circling the top in a crusty dance, plopped it assertively into the washing up water. Taking a new cup from the drawer, he filled it with a little cold water from the tap and then replenished it with hot, before pressing it gently into Hana’s hand as she stood struggling for control. “Here you go, my sweet,” he smiled. “Have a sit down if you’re feeling a bit delicate and I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Taking a deep breath, Hana thanked him gratefully, as much for the drink as for his tact in not prying for details or reasons. He was a lovely man, an ex-soldier, one of Angus’ ‘cases’ as they were known. Hana often thought to herself, we are all his ‘cases’ in one way or another, and that was true. The staff room cleaner was of pensionable age, but paying a premium to keep his ailing wife in a ‘home for the bewildered’ as he laughingly referred to it in moments when the agony of her condition could be temporarily assuaged by humour.
Despite the cold, Hana walked out onto the balcony to drink her hot water, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She did care about Logan. After all these years she had finally let someone into her life, beyond the gates of polite reserve into sharing her hopes and fears and offering them a piece of herself. Along came Caroline Marsh, his fiancé. It was all over; Hana saw that with her own eyes, leaving a nasty taste in her mouth and bitterness in her heart. The breeze was strong out on the balcony even though it was covered with a dirty, lichen encrusted fibreglass roof and Hana’s hair
blew dramatically back from her face. She closed her eyes, knowing she would later regret the windswept look once she was back in the office but enjoying the invigoration from the momentary lack of control. Blowing the cobwebs away, her mum called it.
Hana thought about the villa on the hill that was now hers and the peace and seclusion of it and hugged it to her with a little smile of thankfulness. She leaned over the rail, peering down at the ground and a little boy running underneath the slatted wooden balcony. Hana thought how much fun it would be to throw things or spit. Maybe that was why teenagers sometimes did it at Chartwell from the top floor. Terrible as it was, it must be quite exhilarating. Hana was never actually going to spit which was a good job, as she remembered in time that she had been caught out on this particular balcony before.
Glancing across at the glass doorway into the common room and grateful she hadn’t done anything naughty, Hana was alarmed to see Logan looking straight at her. His face was a mask of confusion and unhappiness. She stared hurriedly at the boys working in silence at the desks next to him, relieved to see they were head down, tail up, studying hard, oblivious as to what their study teacher stared at out of the window.
Hana turned away and went inside, dropping her cup into the sink and thanking Bert for his kindness. “I feel much better now, thank you,” she lied. A quick stop in the toilets to persuade her hair to behave and then Hana was back in the student centre, taking the back stairs past the guidance offices to avoid any further quickening of her heart rate or dashing of her fragile spirits.
“Please can I go, Sheila?” Hana begged an hour later. “I’ve got so much to do, I can’t concentrate. I’ll make the time up, I promise.”
Sheila was uncommunicative and agreed easily, so Hana penned a quick email to Donald Watson encompassing a grovelling apology, explaining her absence and hoping he wouldn’t mind. ‘My car was stolen and I need to sort out transport for work,’ she wrote, before hot tailing it out of school. She couldn’t bear the thought of running into Logan again.
Driving the truck along Greenwood Street, Hana visited every car yard on its length before finding what she was looking for. The car salesman was slick and good at his job. Hana admired the silver Honda CRV through the window and failed to hear his quiet approach. When he spoke to her, pleasantly enough, she was so shocked she jumped and banged her nose on the window. Brian – so his nametag said – tactfully chose not to notice, engaging her in small talk before getting right to the point and organising a test drive. “This is a beautiful car,” he gushed to the attractive redhead. “As soon as you get behind the wheel, you’ll love it.”
Hana sat awkwardly in the plush reception, sipping a latte from a machine and flicking through a gossip magazine, while Brian…Well, wondered Hana, what was Brian doing exactly? He was meant to be fetching the vehicle keys but seemed to have been gone a long time.
As Hana considered giving it up as a bad job, Brian appeared in the doorway. “Ready Miss? Your ride awaits you.” He made quite a dashing sight, all blonde hair and windswept, his tie over his right shoulder where the wind had thrown it. “This way.” He indicated Hana should follow him and they went outside to where Brian to his credit, had parked the Honda under the covered entranceway. In the time he was away, he had evidently been pimping her ride as the bumper had acquired a shine and the windows gleamed. Even the smudge her nose left on the side window had been shined off. The weather turned again and a light rain fell, leaving smatterings of fine drizzle on the windscreen.
Brian helped Hana into the passenger seat. “I’ll just drive until we find somewhere to swap,” he encouraged her. “You can get a feel of being inside the vehicle and see if it suits you.”
Hana liked the interior immediately. There was a heap of legroom and the dashboard didn’t encroach on the vehicle as it did in other cars, seeming more set into the chassis. As Brian headed out into the suburb of Dinsdale, he and Hana chatted about the vehicle. “It’s a Japanese import, three years old, has a full service history and low mileage,” he waxed. The price didn’t seem quite the bargain Brian was convinced it was, but it was clear from how hard he was selling, that he would be quite glad to see it off the forecourt. The Honda had a useful tow bar, alarm and according to Brian, would come with a three year warranty and AA cover for twelve months. It had an AA certificate of roadworthiness and a full Warrant of Fitness barely a week old. Before she even sat behind the wheel, Hana had already decided this vehicle was the one for her.
They swapped seats in a lay-by on the Whatawhata Road in Hamilton, which wound its merry way out to the surf beaches of Raglan. Hana adored the way the car drove, its comparative lightness after the Serena and the truck and the ease and responsiveness with which it did as she asked. There were no strange knocking sounds or any odd engine noises, just the steady purr as they rolled along. At the township of Whatawhata, Brian asked that they turn around and go back to town. “They’ll be sending out a search party,” he joked. “They’ll all be jealous.”
Hana resisted the urge to rebel and carry on to the coast. With great reluctance, she did a perfect three point turn in a side road past the primary school. Heading back into town the vehicle ate up the road and Hana euphoric at her ability to make decisions for herself. Her realisation that she had been ‘frozen in time’ had snapped her out of a life of inaction and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. “I can tell you love it,” Brian laughed and clapped his hands together. “I told you.”
Back at the car yard, Brian hid his surprise when he discovered the attractive redhead was not easy prey to his salesman charms but could and did, drive a hard bargain. Overjoyed the huge 4 x 4 was not going to be part exchanged for the Honda and very much smitten by this latest customer, Brian was generous to a fault and the price was negotiated until both parties were happy. “I’ll even throw in a full year’s road tax if you want to decide today.”
Hana left the yard feeling elated, a little lighter in her bank balance but much happier in her spirit. She could in good conscience hand the truck back to Logan, clean and filled with gas and get on with her life. Brian assured her the Honda would be fine up the steep driveway to her new house and she would be able to collect it the next day, once the bank transfer went through. “I’ll call you on your mobile once the transaction is complete,” he promised.
He found out less about her than he wanted, but liked her company and added her mobile number to the list he kept in his desk, of pretty and hopefully available clients, for another time.
Chapter 36
Hana was home by three in the afternoon and despite the cost of making a toll call during the day, rang Izzie to tell her the good news about the car. Her daughter was thrilled for her and inwardly relieved her mother was finally beginning to live her own life properly. “Mum, that’s so awesome. I really admire you achieving all these big things by yourself. It’s a huge step.”
Hana glowed with pride and spoke to Elizabeth, who cooed a dribbly, ‘hello’ down the telephone receiver, much to her mother and grandmother’s delight. She rang off, got changed into scruffy track pants and a tee shirt and headed off to the hardware store to fetch the sander early.
At four thirty, Hana climbed the steep driveway up to Culver’s Cottage, the truck whining and groaning with the effort, as the floor sander clunked in the boot. At the top of the incline, Hana stopped to survey the house, noting the torn and rusty roof already replaced across the back with new corrugated sheets and the rest covered in what resembled a large, brightly coloured parachute. The rain showers amounted to little but she thought the wind might have put back the roof work. Evidently it hadn’t and the house smiled out at her as it prepared to receive its own new lease of life. Hana drove carefully down the steep slope towards the garage where it nestled underneath the house making use of the hill. She got out and marvelled again at the cleverness of the design and how it fitted so perfectly into its situation, before dropping the sander heavily onto her foot and deciding to concentrate h
arder on the job in hand. “Damn it!” she yelled out into the silence. The sander was heavy and required much manhandling out of the boot, off her foot and up the stairs from the garage. She returned to retrieve the huge pot of varnish, which the kindly man set aside for her along with the turpentine and assortment of brushes he recommended for her use. “Obviously I don’t actually know what I’m doing,” commented Hana to her new surroundings. “But I’ll give anything a go once. I’ll either make the floor look beautiful, or delay my moving in date while the builders lay carpet!”
Excited about her project, Hana got straight to work. It took some time to work out how to change the sanding pads but once she had it sorted, Hana sanded to her heart’s content, humming and singing over the din. It took over two hours to sand the front room floor and over four changes of pads, but finally the floor was smooth and held the beautiful honey colour of the rimu. The boards were untainted apart from the original seal and Hana was grateful, having been expecting to be there until midnight taking off layer upon layer of varnish and stain. She stood in the bay window and admired her handiwork. “You’ve done good for an old timer,” she complimented her reflection in the window.
It grew dark while she worked and Hana only noticed when she needed to search for the light switch, powering the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling in order to go over a stubborn patch of floor. There was sanding dust everywhere and Hana reached out for the broom she brought with her to herd the mess into one corner. As she swept, she heard the creak of the garage side-door and froze, her hand on the broom handle. Quick footsteps came up the stairs and along the corridor, giving Hana time only to raise the broom in both hands as a weapon.
Bodie burst in through the living room door which Hana closed to try to reduce the dust travelling through to every room. Unfortunately, she only thought to do that after the first half an hour by which time a considerable amount of travelling had already been done. Bodie choked and waved his hands around his face at the floating dust particles before coming across and removing the brush from Hana’s grasp. “You should have a face mask on!” he exclaimed, sounding like his father. Hana hugged him to her whilst trying to disguise her alarm at his sudden intrusion. But he was a cop and not easily fooled.