by Bowes, K T
Bodie wandered into the kitchen, climbing over the two-seater sofa that stuck out under the wooden top of the dining table. He found Hana handling the keys to the Honda. He reached for them, deftly grabbing them out of her hand and holding them above his head. “Oh no, you don’t! You can’t drive properly without at least one good hand. You’ll wreck that car before you’ve had it a fortnight!”
“Bo, I can’t stay here,” Hana begged, “I need to go to the new place.” She looked around her with a sudden realisation, “I’m done here.”
Bodie smiled and put his arm around her. “Funny mummy,” he said, using an old childish expression he and Izzie used to use, a lifetime ago. He stared out of the ranch-slider over the pile of furniture at the cat, rolling around in a patch of sand high up on the terrace. “I know what you mean,” he said sadly.
Hana got her own way and the boys agreed to take her up to Culver’s Cottage. While they showered, moaning and groaning as they realised one of them had packed every single towel, Hana pottered around. She cleaned the empty rooms and wiped the skirting boards with her stitched right hand safely sealed inside a yellow rubber glove. She found two tiny hand towels at the back of the airing cupboard which had fallen down behind the hot water cylinder and left them outside the bathroom door, smiling to herself. “We’ll take the vacuum over to the other place and bring it back when this is all empty,” Bodie suggested. “I don’t mind doing it. It should be a quick job once the place is empty.”
Going down the stairs to the garage, Hana peered into the storage cupboard under the stairs. Numerous half used pots of paint glinted back at her and she shut the door again, not ready to deal with the miscellaneous contents. Getting into the garage proved a mission, with only a narrow slit to fit her body through. If Hana had stopped for breakfast that morning, the extra weight would have made entry impossible. Her house contents were boxed and housed so that not a square centimetre of floor space remained empty. Unfortunately, in their excitement the boys had forgotten to pack up the tools and shelving which adorned the walls of the cavernous space. Vik’s tools, dusty from lack of use, lined the walls, neatly labelled and ready to work had Hana known what half of them were. A dusty shelf stood regimentally against the wall inside the door containing an ancient hand drill, now brown with age and various shoe cleaning implements including some liquid polish, which now defied the term ‘liquid.’
Bending down, Hana swiped at a scrap of newspaper stuck temptingly out from under the shelf. The wrist and palm injury made both hands useless in fine motor skill activities and she kneeled on the floor in frustration. She wanted to see the piece of paper. “I only want to know when it’s from,” she complained to the boxes stacked around her. It was old and yellowing, but curiosity made Hana still want to see it. She lurched, managing to grip it in her left hand and brought it towards her before her wrist complained. The newspaper seemed to be caught under the feet of the shelf and Hana gave it a more forceful tug. There was a ripping sound and the paper shot out, almost overbalancing her. She put her hand on the ground to steady herself. Bad mistake. “Ow!” she moaned. With it came a couple of old blue mouse blocks, one of them disintegrating as it was propelled off the paper and onto the concrete floor. The other one was dusty and seemed heavier, remaining on the paper even though its mate had fallen to pieces. Hana pushed at it with a lolly stick that poked out from under the chest freezer. It didn’t break down but seemed solid to the touch. Fossiking around in her pocket Hana found a tissue she used to pick up the object, knowing they were toxic. The block was surprisingly weighty. Rubbing at it with the tissue, Hana realised it wasn’t a mouse block at all, but a petite metal box, beaten into a rectangular shape. “Funny. I don’t remember anyone having this,” she commented to herself, holding it in clumsy fingers.
Hana hadn’t noticed her earring was loose until she felt the tiny metal butterfly creep down her tee shirt and into her bra. She reached up to her left ear, hoping she hadn’t lost the front, a silver stud with a small diamond; one of the last things Vik gave her. She felt her ungainly hand catch it as the stud tumbled from her earlobe, but couldn’t keep hold of it. She knew it had fallen but was amazed when she heard a tinny sound and saw it stuck to the little box on the tissue. Hana tried to pick up the earring. “Great! I’m going to have to clean it now because of the mouse poison.” She looked crossly at her useless hands. “I don’t fancy my chances running it under the tap somehow!”
The earring refused to come off, sticking fast to the box. But the tissue didn’t stick to it at all. Hana took the earring firmly between her thumb and forefinger and pulled, managing to wedge her fingernail underneath it. Off it came suddenly, as though defying a force of some kind. Curious, she lifted up the box and held the earring away from it, but on a level. Letting go of the earring and knowing she risked losing it for ever if it fell and bounced, Hana watched it propel straight towards the metal box and hold fast again. It was nothing to do with gravity as the pull was sideways. The box was magnetic. Hana retrieved her earring carefully and put it together with the butterfly stud. She wrapped the tissue around the box so it was covered and none of the blue poison could rub off and then slipped it into the pocket of her track pants with the earring.
Back in the kitchen, Hana used the last of the hand sanitizer to clean the earring, trying to run it under the tap without dropping it down the plughole. It took great concentration, frustrating with neither hand operating properly.
By the time Bodie managed to dry himself on the hand towel and get dressed, Hana had replaced the earring carefully into her ear and felt desperate to go up to Culver’s Cottage. A call from Izzie delayed everything. “I’m fine, darling.” Hana reassured her daughter. “It was all very exciting.”
“Bloody wasn’t!” Bodie exclaimed and Hana pulled a face and put her finger up to her lips.
Finally, they were ready to go. The little box was transferred to a compartment in Hana’s handbag as it was too annoying in the small pocket of her borrowed pants. It would remain there in the handbag, forgotten amongst all the other pointless detritus she carried.
Marcus was quite taken with the cottage as he glimpsed it from far below on the main road. “Impressive!” he exclaimed as they neared the turn. There were only two opportunities to sneak a peek at it from Hakarimata Road, owing to the treacherous bends that needed to be navigated with care. Bodie went ahead in his BMW and Marcus was left in charge of driving Hana in the silver Honda. “I keep wiping the windows when I think I’m indicating,” he complained, irritated, “and I just washed the windscreen instead of flashing that car to go.”
Clambering up the driveway, Marcus was stunned at how the view opened up around them. The vehicle bit happily into the gravel and propelled merrily up the slope, although Bodie’s expensive car in front looked horribly low and suspiciously close to losing its exhaust pipe a couple of times in ruts and dips in the camber of the drive.
“Wow, that’s stunning!” Rounding the final bend, Marcus was taken aback by the beauty of the house sat proudly on its green hill, backed by the beautiful Hakarimata Ranges about a quarter of a kilometre away. Hills and valleys surrounded it until the distant roofline of Ngaruawahia could be spied in the distance. There was a shiny new roof; navy blue with matching pipe work and the house sat neatly on its section like a child at a gathering with a new hat, prim and proper and positively glowing. The weather of the previous week, fine but cold, had allowed the painter to begin and the weatherboard gleamed with a shimmering new coat of white at the front. Bodie’s car popped over a slight incline and down to the right, towards a garage which nestled under the house, but Marcus stopped at the top. “It wouldn’t be polite to ding one’s mother-in-law’s new car, especially against your policeman brother-in-laws expensive BMW,” Marcus sniggered at his own humour, which was usual for him.
Marcus had dispensed with the dog collar and dressed casually. He looked very much like baby Elizabeth in colouring and had the same unruly blonde
hair. Large framed and square he was entirely different to Izzie, who had her father’s dark hair and eyes mixed with the elfin frame and olive skin of her Indian heritage. If brown was the stronger gene, then Elizabeth had certainly turned it on its head in her stubborn resemblance to Marcus. Hana once thought she spied a hint of red in Elizabeth’s spiky blonde mop and treasured the thought that, as neither of her children bore any likeness to her, perhaps her grandchildren would be uncanny throw-backs to the dormant Irish McGillivray and Scots McIntyre clans. Growing up with curled auburn hair and fair skin dotted with annoying freckles, it would be nice to get something out of the years of teasing.
Hana bounced out of the Honda, glad it was a slightly higher vehicle than Pete’s car which she had struggled out of earlier. The house looked stunning. The navy blue of the roof had been carefully picked out in decorative panelling around the wood and handrail of the widow’s walk. Bodie had sanded the floor of the walk and the painter had varnished it whilst the sun was high one day.
Hana, felt lighter of spirit than she had for days and used her keys to open the door on the front porch. Usually she drove down and went in through the door next to the garage, but this was different and she wanted Marcus to approve of her rash purchase. Wide wooden steps led up from the flat of the drive to the walk, following it past the bay window. A covered porch with wooden balustrades picked out in the same navy gloss paint, protected visitors from the weather as they waited to be given entry. Hana pushed the door wide open. It was old and creaked a little. “Welcome to my new home,” she smiled.
On the inside of the door, the wood had been left bare and it suited the décor of the hall. The outside was painted with a thick coat of blue and a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head looked recently shined and buffed. Marcus felt that Narnia’s Aslan smiled at him as he passed over the threshold. Inside the house, the first thing that hit him was the openness of the layout. Individual rooms invited cosiness, while the hallway was in itself, quite magnificent. “Wow!” Marcus breathed in approval, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Each room opened onto the hallway as though it was the heartbeat of the house and instead of being perpendicular openings, they were slanted softly, giving the feel of being in an octagon. Big windows either side of the front door ensured the hall had its own light source, so if each of the room doors were closed, the space would not be dark. Marcus wandered around in genuine admiration and when Hana was busy letting Bodie and the vacuum in through the garage door, he made time to send Izzie a quick text. ‘Your mum’s fine. Her new place is awesome! You will love it.’
The rimu floors were truly wonderful, revealing the life of the wood in the knots, stresses and lifelines of the original tree. The living room was graced by the phenomenal views of the river at the front and next door was a kitchen, which served the dining room behind it. The living room was easily the biggest room, but the other rooms had charm and character of their own. Apart from the angled doorway, the spaces were fairly square and even. The walls were stripped bare, some of them showing where they had been patched and filled ready for paint or paper. The kitchen was basic, but probably the next biggest room. Old wooden cupboards and a metal draining board lined the walls. There was ample room for a kitchen table in the middle. A very old cooker leaned precariously against the wall looking decidedly unsafe. Some of the plug sockets and switches looked new and there was evidence of patching on the plasterboard where the electrician had started replacing the wiring.
Marcus moved through the house. Next came what could be a dining room, or another sitting room and an integral bathroom and toilet. Then there were four bedrooms off a long hallway leading from the main entrance hall, a huge master bedroom situated on the right side of the house. Steps ran down to the garage and a draught indicated that the newly hung and painted double doors were open. A pretty banister ran along the left side of the wall before the steps turned a corner in a dogleg and disappeared down. At the top of the steps was a door, fully glass panelled and opening out onto a flat roof garden over the garage. For now, it was more bitumen than garden, but Marcus imagined Hana would make it into something special eventually.
Turning back on himself, Marcus went down the hall peering into the rooms. “There’s no ensuite in the master bedroom,” he called to Hana.
“No,” she shouted back, “but then the age of the house means it was probably un-thought of back when it was put together, probably about 1900 or so we think.”
“It’s so authentic. I love it,” Marcus smiled, poking his head into the bathroom. The room was spacious and the bath looked like it was made of tin, or steel. The sink was old and square looking in that same style. It had a great deal of lime scale around the fittings, but it could be cleaned up. The toilet had seen better days and the seat definitely needed changing but maybe a bit of bleach would sort that out. A cigarette end bobbing around in the bowl showed that one of the tradesmen had slack habits. Unless someone else had been in. Marcus pushed that thought away quickly, although it gnawed at him nonetheless. He guessed they would have to be careful for the time being.
Hana pottered around opening cupboards and inspecting the electrical work. Marcus heard her happily humming to herself so he carried on his private tour. Going back down the hall to the garage steps, he went down and round the corner. The door at the bottom was solid and led into a double garage. The walls were concrete block, sturdy, but in need of brightening up with paint. He was surprised to see an open door on the other side and went towards it. The sound of feet scuffing on the floor echoed out dully. Marcus pushed it softly, but like everything else in the old place it creaked on its hinges.
Bodie looked up startled, but not too surprised to be unguarded and he almost hit Marcus in the groin with a sidekick, deflected late. “Bro, nearly ended your fathering career!” he snorted as Marcus stood prone in the doorframe, protecting his groin with both hands and Bodie put his foot down and turned around. A small square window with frosted glass admitted light into the room but it was high up in the wall to the right of the door. Marcus, still protecting himself looked disgruntled at his friend.
“What are you up to?” he asked as he straightened up.
Bodie turned back to him and answered, “Honestly?”
Marcus nodded and Bodie exhaled slowly, brushing the furthest wall with his hand and then inspecting the cobwebs and dust on his fingers. “Then you’d better not tell my sister!”
Marcus assumed his most pious-eyes-raised-to-heaven-beatifically position and crossed his arms regally across his chest. A small smile played on his lips. “As a man of the cloth, my word is my bond...” but he didn’t finish the comic sentence before Bodie threatened his nether regions with another kick and Marcus had to use his hands to protect his dignity again. They tussled and sparred like they had at school before puffed, Marcus had to concede to the fitter man. “I give up, ok I surrender. I won’t tell. Not even your mother, although it wasn’t part of the conditions!”
Bodie suddenly looked like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “I want to maybe store some stuff in here.”
Marcus couldn’t resist the opportunity to jibe his friend in a high pitched voice. “Really officer, I’m surprised at you! I believed it when they told me the police incinerated all the drugs and guns.”
But Bodie wasn’t smiling. Marcus shut up and waited, hoping he hadn’t blown it. “It was that last dive,” Bodie continued, “I realised I was sick of looking for bodies. I do heaps more than that, heaps more, but that’s the bit I am so sick of. Awful bloated, grey bodies that are someone’s daughter, someone’s son. I’ve applied for a job down here again, with the Road Patrol guys,” he looked awkwardly at Marcus and tried to lighten the mood, which had grown heavy with his revelation. “Anyway, the Tron needs me.”
Marcus laughed at the town’s unfortunate nickname, then he reached out towards Bodie and offered his open hand in a handshake they used on the fields of the Presbyterian Boys’ High School many years ago.
It ended with them both pretending to pick their noses and Hana wrinkled hers in displeasure when she came across them there. Bodie looked anxiously at Marcus, but there was no indication she heard any of their conversation.
“One of you,” she announced, “can vacuum and the other one can drive me to the shops to get some food and cleaning stuff for the bathroom and kitchen.” She looked at them both questioningly, but was then almost mowed down by Marcus bolting past her. He retrieved the Honda keys from his pocket and shouted something immature and definitely un-Christian about losers.
An hour or so later, the three sat in the living room leaned up against the wall while the sun poured into the room. “Chips again,” Bodie commented. “I need to do some serious running after this last few weeks! I’m gonna be as fat as Marcus.”
Hana smiled and admired the vibrant dark-rose-red, shaggy rug, which now adorned the centre of the room. Marcus had driven the wrong way out of the drive and so they had gone up to Huntly instead, discovering a myriad of handy little shops selling all sorts of things. The rug was over $300 but worth it. Marcus had struggled to fit it into the Honda and had to work out how to put the seats down quickly as the shopkeeper balanced the heavy rug on his shoulders and tapped his foot on the kerb impatiently. In the end, a friendly passer-by had helped with the veritable jigsaw puzzle. “I love Honda’s” he said passionately. He pointed out the folded picnic table which was part of the car, snuggled above the spare tyre. “See, they think of everything, the Italians.”