by Bowes, K T
“So what’s the problem? Ring him,” Bodie answered.
Hana bit her lip and looked pensive. “I don’t have the number. Logan found him.”
Bodie looked at his mother oddly. “Ask him for the number.” He shrugged and watched her.
“Ok.” Hana’s smiled looked false and Bodie began to worry.
Going to bed later in her big master bedroom was initially exciting. It was new and different and Hana lay for a while savouring the house sounds and the call of creatures she didn’t recognise. The house’s proximity to the bush lent itself to hearing the night noises, coupled with the gentle rustle of the trees which bounced off the surface of the river and came back again. The railway line on the other side of the water made her start a few times when in moments of silence, the trains rumbled along loudly even though they were probably two kilometres away from the house.
As she lay in bed freight seemed to roll along every ten minutes, making her jump in the first instance and then feel irritated as she listened to the carriages bumping along the tracks. A couple of times she thought it was an earthquake and ran to the window, met by the muted side lights of the crate beds as another train clattered along. Turning on the side lamp, Hana felt annoyed at her room. She always found it hard to go to sleep if the bedroom was a mess. A pile of clothes had been hefted out of a box onto the floor and items were propped up around the walls: some pictures, an old wooden framed mirror and bits and bobs her helpers hadn’t known what to do with. It’s no good, she thought to herself as she stood shivering in her pyjamas, I need to sort it out. So that was how she spent the first night in her new home.
The day dawned clear and bright through the uncurtained windows, the orange orb reflecting its vibrant colour on the river below. It shone relentlessly through the windows along the east of the house, warming those fortunate rooms quickly. The cold dewiness of the night and pre-dawn hours evaporated from the wooden balustrades and fencing, creating a curious steaming effect around the outside of the house.
Bodie and Marcus appeared together in the living room in search of Hana and the possibility of breakfast. They found her clad in her dressing gown, hair sticking up unattractively, reaching into the bottom of a cardboard box. She jumped as they entered the room, almost overbalancing into the bottom of the box but catching herself at the last minute. “Mum! What on earth are you doing?” Bodie asked her.
Dark circles around Hana’s eyes and the increased paleness of her skin, betrayed her nocturnal activities. But she looked pleased with herself and indicated with an outstretched arm, the overall tidiness of the room, the books neatly placed in the dresser, the furniture arranged nicely and pictures leaned up against the patched walls in their eventual designated places. “What do you think?” she asked them, looking for their approval with childish need. The men looked around them, taking in the orderliness of the room while Hana resumed her foraging in the bottom of the box, uttering from its cardboard depths, “The trouble is, I can’t seem to find everything.”
Bodie was gone before she emerged again, having left a guilty looking Marcus stood in the doorway, too sleep befuddled to beat the hasty retreat his partner in crime skilfully affected.
The kitchen was immaculate. Everything was properly stored and the surfaces clear. Bodie poked around looking for the toaster. The wall cupboards were wooden with old metal handles, painted pale blue some many years ago, judging by the scuffs and dents in the paintwork. They were old fashioned and reached the ceiling. Hana must have used one of the chairs to reach top shelf, as the cupboards were neatly filled with crockery and pots, least-often-used on the uppermost shelves. The ceilings in the property were higher due to its age, responsible in part for the open cavernous feel. In the pantry near to the old fireplace, Bodie found spreads and jams for his toast, which bounced loudly in the toaster as its process finished.
Marcus joined him and they sat at the table, scoffing compatibly and talking about their day. Bodie was going into the police headquarters in Hamilton and offered to drop Marcus at the airport beforehand. “As long as you don’t make me late like last time,” Marcus grumbled.
“You did that yourself,” Bodie retorted. “I can’t be late, I’ve got an appointment and if you’re ready, I’ll take you. If not, get a cab.”
“Why are we friends again? I seem to have forgotten.” Marcus opened his insulin case and started messing around with the contents.
“We’re not. You’re my sister’s husband and I’m stuck with you. And you left grease on my front seat.”
Marcus stuck his tongue out at his friend and clicked the blade into the knuckle of his index finger to draw blood. Bodie waved his toast at him in disgust. “Don’t do that at the table! I’m eating. Mum! Mum, tell him!”
Hana padded in to make herself a cup of tea, nodding approval of Bodie’s use of the old brown teapot steaming on a coaster on the side. “Nice!” she exclaimed happily, ignoring the bickering men as she sat down clutching a strawberry decorated mug. Conversation returned to Marcus departure and Hana felt a heaviness descend on her. After Marcus, Bodie would go too. Being a parent was hard. Despite the loveliness of the house and Hana’s bewildered excitement at her ownership of it, some part of her wanted to pack up and go away with the boys into their busy lives; to be part of something they were doing. It was horrid always being left behind.
Bodie went off to get dressed and Hana recognised the awful banging and clanging of the pipes as he turned on the shower. She looked alarmed, but Marcus seemed unconcerned, slurping the last of the tea dregs and peering into his cup in disappointment at the fact it had all gone. “Just an air lock,” he stated matter-of-factly, “it’ll run off when the water gets going through again everywhere,” then as an afterthought as he licked a toast crumb off his finger. “Or tap the pipes - that usually sorts it.”
“So I don’t need a plumber then?” Hana asked, relieved. That simple, thought Hana to herself, if only life was so easily sorted. Tap once for a quick solution.
The shower behaved perfectly for Marcus and they gathered together in the hall, checking he had everything for his return flight. Bodie was in full dress uniform which Hana fleetingly thought was odd and he looked smart and capable as he loaded the small case into the boot of the BMW. Hugging Marcus, Hana felt tearful and lost. “Tell Izzie I love her,” she said, fighting the rising grief and managing an extra kiss for Elizabeth. She waved them off, mopping her eyes quickly so they wouldn’t see the tears pouring down her cheeks as the car bumped around the bend and down into the bush, masking it from sight as the pungas and ferns obstructed her view.
It was another clear day, bright and pleasant after the cold and misery of the high winds. “Come on woman, get it together,” she told herself out loud, her voice sounding incongruous amidst the squawking of birds and hissing of the breeze in the trees. Hana’s wrist hurt only mildly and she dispensed with the stretch bandage. The stitches on her other hand were itchy and aggravating and she wondered about the merits of trying to take them out herself. The cut looked clean and partially healed but as she lifted the kitchen scissors, Hana lost confidence in her abilities with her left hand, instead deciding to leave it open to the air and get on with her life.
She cleared up the kitchen and then the bathroom after the boys, finding the floor soaked through lack of a shower curtain. There was nothing for it so she did the same, showering and mopping the floor with a dry towel afterwards. Resolving to sort out the problem she set off in the Honda, towards what had suddenly become her favourite little shop, in Huntly.
Chapter 44
Hana didn’t hear the vehicle climb the drive. She was startled by the loud rat tat tat on the front door knocker. She faltered, paintbrush in hand, not knowing what to do. Her car was in the driveway so the caller would know she was there. Bodie had a key and wasn’t due back yet and Marcus had flown out.
Hana stood on the bench top next to the sink, making a quick exit immensely complicated. As she struggled to r
each for the chair she used as a ladder, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Hana almost overbalanced as she tried to retrieve it, smearing paint from the wet brush onto the window by accident. Her hands were covered in paint and her phone went an impressive shade of the brown she was using on the cupboard doors. It was a distinct brown, labelled Oilskin at the paint shop in Huntly where Hana spent considerable time that morning. It was completely changing the look of the room and the plan was to accent it with a beige-white colour called Double Tea on the walls. It would be beautiful once it was finished but Hana in her struggle had put the Oilskin in places it was not meant to go.
She managed to press the green telephone button on her phone before the caller disconnected and lifted it to her ear. “Are you all right?” came a familiar but concerned voice, backed by the sound of a train from across the water.
“I’m fine,” Hana answered a little too brusquely as she clambered down from the surface and went across the hall to open the door.
Logan smiled warily as Hana greeted him wiping at the smudge of brown paint just under her right eye and spreading it across her cheek. The streak in her fringe made Logan smirk, the expression showing in his eyes. “Painting?” Logan asked. “Sounds fun.” He followed Hana to the kitchen where she flicked on the kettle, but he saw her look longingly at the half painted cupboard. “I’ll make the drink and then I’ll stay and help you for a bit,” Logan gallantly offered. “If you’ve got another brush.”
Three hours later and half of the twenty-three cupboards had been painted as the pair worked happily in different corners of the room. Logan consigned Hana to the bottom cupboards after witnessing her almost falling off the bench. Deciding he would be too heavy for the metal sheeting, he fetched some steps from the garage to stand on. From the hardware shop in Huntly, Hana had purchased some beautiful black, wrought iron handles which looked gothic and were similar to those she installed at Achilles Rise. The paint on two of the longer cupboard doors was dry enough for Logan to screw on the new handles and the effect was stunning. “Do you think the darker colour saps the light?” Hana asked him, worrying about her choice. “It’s darker than it looked in the shop.” She wiped her hand across her forehead and left another streak of pain.
Logan stepped back and looked at the difference between the finished doors and the old pale blue ones behind him. “I think it looks good,” he replied. “The wall paint will correct any lighting problems.”
“What lighting problems?” Hana’s eyes opened wide with dismay.
“No lighting problems, there aren’t any. It’s fine, don’t worry.” Logan tried to rectify his error, not helping by adding he wasn’t an expert. Hana eyeballed him hard, spotting the tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth before he could wipe it off. Then she giggled, a cute little sound from behind her hand.
“You’ve got paint on your chin,” she sniggered, “and the end of your nose.”
Logan scrubbed at the areas she mentioned, feeling the stickiness of the paint. He wasn’t ready for the brush which slapped him square between the eyebrows and accompanying hoot of laughter. “Now you’ve got a mono-brow!” Hana squealed with delight.
Logan inhaled slowly, bending down in a pretence of loading his brush with brown paint. He strode towards Hana, who was quickly pinned in the far corner of the room. She squirmed and giggled as Logan threatened her with the wet brush. Hana was sure it was full of paint as she tried to duck under his arm. Logan did some light spots on her nose and cheeks. Nothing came off, but Hana squealed and writhed.
Holding her tight, Logan let his brush fall into the sink and then lowered his lips to hers. Even messing around with her drove him crazy. He kissed her slowly. Hana relaxed under him, her body betraying her as she responded to his lips trembling nervously against hers and the sensation of his fingers straying underneath her hair and caressing the back of her neck. They grew heated and urgent, the painting forgotten amidst their rising passion and for a moment, the spectre of Caroline was chased away.
The click of the front door shutting made them jump guiltily apart. By the time Bodie’s smartly gleaming black shoes were removed and his socks padded him across the hall, Logan was washing his brush under the tap. Hana stood watching him intently, leaned against the bench top looking guilty. She knew in her heart she needed to send Logan away. Caroline had a claim on him which was far stronger than hers. Hana knew she would lose. She always did.
“Cool!” Bodie was like a small child with decorating. He thoroughly enjoyed it. Within half an hour he had changed out of his uniform and wielded Hana’s paintbrush with gusto. With over three quarters of the cupboards with the first coat and some of them a second, the insipid blue was gone, leaving a rich and definite colour in its place. The impulsive fixing on of the new handles made a second coat difficult and they had to be loosened to prevent them getting painted by accident. “You should have waited, Mum!” Bodie complained. “It’s part of the fun, doing the finishing touches.”
Hana looked across at Logan and pointed silently in accusation. He pulled a face in return and shook his head, stabbing his brush at her in denial.
Having lost both her smaller brushes, Hana cracked open the wall paint and liberally applied it to the scarred walls, painting where she could without getting in the way of the men. Her wall-filling skills were proved adequate as the paint skimmed over the defects covering them easily and drying quickly. The slight sheen in the paint hid a multitude of sins in the ancient plasterboard.
The room took shape, the cupboards and walls blending smoothly with the rimu floor as though they were all old friends. Even the metal bench tops seemed keen to contrast favourably and as the light failed and electricity was employed, the yellow light bounced off the surfaces and the house seemed to settle with a sense of relief and happiness now it was finally being loved. The ceiling was the worst job and Bodie and Logan shared the task, using a roller and interchanging when they got neck ache. There was little chatter as they all became increasingly tired, but they worked companionably until every surface received a coat of paint and some of the luckier ones, two.
Finally, around ten o’clock, Logan looked at his watch. “I need to make tracks to the Gordonton house,” he said, his body language slouched and reluctant. Standing awkwardly on the porch, he pulled Hana out of view of the kitchen door and kissed her again, unable to tear himself away. Hana was powerless to resist him and his kisses were bittersweet for her, knowing they were stolen from Caroline. Men always lied. Having their cake and eating it, Hana’s mother called it, the sign language as prominent as the spoken words.
“You need to go,” she said forcefully to Logan, seeing his brow knit without understanding. She pushed at his strong chest and he caught hold of her fingers. Without dropping eye contact he kissed them, his lips warm against the chill outside. Hana bit her lip and struggled for control, failing miserably.
Hana waved as the truck heaved itself back down the hill and returned to the kitchen to make a drink she promised herself some hours ago. Her heart felt heavy in her chest and her chin stung from the roughness of Logan’s stubble. Even the thought of his serious grey eyes, long dark lashes and his full lips pressing on hers, was enough to bring a rush of colour to Hana’s cheeks.
“Please give me a chance?” he had begged quietly into her neck on the porch.
“No,” she replied.
The house was warm with the fire going all day and the paint dried obligingly. Hana made tea in the old brown pot, responsible in part for her colour choices and sat down at the table. The table top was covered in an old sheet and she plonked her cup down, catching it when it tilted on a coaster hidden under the shroud. “I’m tired Bo,” she said, “I haven’t slept since the move and I think it’s catching me up.”
Bodie sat down with her and together they shared the pot of tea. He wanted to talk to her about deep things; about Logan, about his own dad and also the interview he had come from at the station. But his mother looked so tired he bit b
ack the discussion. “Hey,” he said, “I have to be leaving after lunch tomorrow.”
Hana looked instantly sad and Bodie regretted it. He felt an unexpected rush of gratitude towards Logan for his apparent eagerness to slot into their lives and an old weight shifted itself off his young shoulders, a burden that should never have belonged to the devastated seventeen year old who picked it up so willingly.
Marcus had been fundamental in releasing Bodie from some of the weight when he married Izzie. Genuine and sincere, Marcus also shouldered some responsibility for Hana and as they sat in the uncomfortable airport lounge earlier, Bodie felt it was only payback to give his best friend a few useful hints about the behaviour of their younger joint family member. Marcus turned to look at Bodie in alarm as he spoke and his eyes grew wide with shock and then realisation. “Sorry bro,” Bodie said, sympathetically squeezing Marcus’s shoulder. “But it’s really obvious to me what you need to do.”
He tried not to smirk at his friend’s obvious discomfort, but pushed him roughly when the pastor swore out loud. Marcus became agitated, suddenly desperate to get home and as his flight was called to board, they hugged openly, the policeman and the pastor, both uniformed and destined to serve. Bodie uttered quietly, “Go well my friend. Take care of her.”
Hana fell willingly into bed just before midnight and this time had no trouble sleeping. A hot shower, made pleasurable by the clean new shower curtain and fluffy towels, left her feeling ready for slumber. The shop owner recognised the potential for regular custom and instructed his wife to show her the nicest towels and bed coverings in the hope that Hana would return. Consequently she treated herself to a cream broderie anglais bedspread and pillowcases as well.