by Bowes, K T
Hana slept deeply, not stirring when Bodie returned the heavy stepladder to the garage, bumping against the wall in his effort not to turn on lights. He had finished the kitchen completely, cupboards, walls and ceiling, even skirting boards and the architrave around the door and windows. He slapped a coat of the Double Tea paint onto the brickwork of the old disused fireplace and mantel shelf also, not sure Hana wanted it painting but pleased with the way it caused the ugly old feature to disappear into the room. Around four o’clock in the morning, he screwed the remaining handles onto the cupboard doors and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
The room looked completely different. No longer wishy washy blues and yellows, it looked clean and fresh and the colours gave it a cosy olde worlde charm.
Hana’s phone blasting out its rendition of the William Tell Overture on the table and he answered it quickly before it got into its second phase. It was Izzie, a tearful, near hysterical Izzie wanting her mother. “She’s in bed! It’s the early hours of the morning. Where did you think she’d be?” Bodie shut the door tightly before dealing with his sister, who was sobbing.
“What kind of brother are you? Sending my husband home with a pregnancy test!”
Nice one Marcus, Bodie smirked to himself. That really was an original returning home gift –an airport teddy for the daughter and a pregnancy test for the wife!
Realising her antics were getting her nowhere, Izzie calmed down. Bodie was an excellent listener, refusing to take sides, especially where his best friend was concerned and in an expensive mobile call, Izzie talked about the things that bothered her. “I’m happy about the pregnancy but also petrified about what could go wrong.”
Neither of them admitted it stemmed from Elizabeth’s Down Syndrome, which potentially could be repeated in subsequent children. Or the fact that Elizabeth’s developmental difficulties would make it extra hard for Izzie to be pregnant and then cope with a newborn. “Look Izz,” he counselled, “Life is life and many people cope with shocking circumstances every day. It’ll work out fine.” He had no further wisdom as Izzie revolved in ever decreasing circles with her reasoning, so eventually distracted her by talking about Hana’s new place and what they were doing to the kitchen already. Izzie expressed a heartfelt desire to see it as the tears welled up again.
Unexpectedly, it was she who changed tack. “Did you see anyone in particular down at the police station?”
Bodie inwardly cursed his brother-in-law for caving in at the first sign of female tears and giving a mate’s secrets away so quickly. “Yes,” he replied guardedly. “I am going to see her again and no, I am not going to keep you informed!”
Having gotten more information from her brother than she usually did, Izzie was satisfied, ringing off guiltily as she heard Marcus return from the late night hospital visit to a sick parishioner. The cottage hospital at Invercargill wasn’t a good place for a tired pastor, she decided, as she wiped the tears off her face with a tissue before going to make him a hot drink and persuade him to do his bloods before he forgot.
Hana spent the entire night dreaming she was trying to convince Tiger to come down off the roof and woke up feeling tired and uncharacteristically grumpy. It took a while for her to get going and she felt heavy and miserable at the thought of her last gallant protector leaving. She brightened though, at the sight of the completed kitchen and hugged Bodie for his thoughtfulness. “Oh my gosh, it looks absolutely amazing! Thank you so much.”
They travelled back out to Huntly to get brunch, finding a café to eat in. The food was excellent value and mother and son ate heartily for under $20. The café was painted in a cheerful blue and farming images decorated the walls and tables. Little moo cows peeped out from behind frames characterised by huge eyes and cutesie bodies. Cutlery on the table wrapped neatly in serviettes protruded from pottery gumboots or decorated flowerpots. Old window-frames and a lichen encrusted post and rail farm gate had been affixed to the wall to add to the atmosphere. Dried flowers and grasses were pushed behind them artistically and Hana drank in the last moments with her son, imprinting everything on her memory.
Bodie leaned back, stuffed after his lasagne and garlic bread and stifled a belch behind his hand. Hana grimaced. “You’ll never get a girlfriend,” she jibed him and he laughed.
“That’s what you think, Mum. My women do bigger ones than me.”
“Eugh!” Hana shuddered.
Much later, Bodie travelled back up State Highway 1 towards Whangarei. Bodie wished Hana’s home invaders had been apprehended, but he had gleaned useful information in another visit to the station before leaving. “I can’t rely on my mother to tell me,” he admitted crossly to the detective sergeant he spoke to. “She doesn’t want to worry me. She let slip the blonde guy has been sitting outside her old house for weeks. She thinks you’re not interested.”
They didn’t tell him much but he sensed something was going on, something much bigger than two men terrorising his mother.
He indicated and pulled out to overtake, thinking of his mother. Hana seemed sad and tearful, but he knew she was happy with her latest decisions and once she got stuck into the renovations, she would be occupied and busy. He was concerned for her but hoped her turmoil would burn itself out. He also recognised similarities in his own life and wondered if it was something in the weather which caused mother and son to question the meaning in their lives and make drastic changes.
Bodie pressed his fingers to his lips and suppressed the ready smile at his other recent parting. Leaving the station he made a short, but familiar detour round the corner to the suburb of Claudelands, to a house he visited many times. It looked different in daylight, shabbier somehow and despite the obvious doorbell, Bodie tapped lightly as he always had.
There was surprise and dismay on the face of the slender girl who opened the front door to him. Behind the poorly guarded expression of apprehension was one of hope, as the door creaked open on hinges requiring urgent attention. “You came,” she said, her voice laden with an uncharacteristic defeat. “I saw you at the station yesterday.”
Bodie raised his eyebrows and inclined his head questioningly. In answer, she shook her own. It was such a slight, imperceptible movement anyone, else may have missed it, but Bodie moved past her into the doorway and closing the door with his heel reached out for her, pulling her in towards him with strength and purpose. He held her tightly, one arm wrapped firmly around her back and the other cradling her head, stroking the soft blonde curls as she tried to steady her breathing, nuzzling into his chest. Bodie felt an old ache leave him as they stood there for the longest time, neither of them wishing to break the spell.
Finally, he relaxed his hold and felt for the girl’s left hand which gripped the back of his shirt. Bringing it up to his face, he examined the space on the third finger of her left hand, where the wedding ring no longer lay. “Sorry,” he whispered, wiping away the tear which rolled silently down her beautiful face. Her blue eyes were filled with a larger unshed torrent and he looked long at her face, studying the familiar freckles and the lips which fascinated him once. Rosebud lips and a button nose, his mum would have said. But they were lips that were never his to kiss. They belonged to someone else. “I’m sorry, Amy,” Bodie said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t know. I would have come back.”
“Mummy,” the little voice was half whisper, half sob as it came from behind them. The girl whipped around quickly, hurriedly wiping her face before going to the child. The little boy was around three or four years old although Bodie couldn’t have been sure. Knowing he had seen him before, he racked his brain. Wavy, jet black hair framed his olive face in stark contrast to his mother’s blondeness and his eyes were darkest brown and almond shaped. He held his arms up to be lifted, keeping a suspicious eye on the stranger as he popped a thumb into his mouth. Sleep tousled, his little body wore a pair of blue underpants. It hadn’t taken Bodie’s quick eye for detail long to see that the delicate frame was covered in
chickenpox sores.
As she picked him up, her attention now wholly focussed on the boy, the girl kissed him gently on the nose and muttered endearments to him. Bodie stood awkwardly by the front door watching, a displaced voyeur while she carried the little lad into the kitchen, sat him on the bench top and reached for a bottle of medicine. Keeping his thumb in his mouth, the child stared through the open door at Bodie, breaking the connection only momentarily while the thumb was reluctantly taken out and the white medicine spoon slipped in twice. Swallowing hurt him, but he seemed more relaxed after the attention and was carried off down the hallway from where he silently padded.
Bodie heard the girl talking softly and the boy complaining in reply, as Hana’s son remained sentry-like by the front door, not knowing whether to leave quietly or stay and say what he came for. Bodie felt his nerve leaving him, trickling away minute by minute. And then he heard it. Just a word, a name, but he heard it and felt like he woke up from some bizarre foggy dream.
It was one of the things Hana conceded to as a white woman married to an Indian. Bodie Jaspal Singh Johal. His heritage was consigned to the middle of his self, safely hidden apart from exams, odd displays of his birth certificate and those awkward moments when someone in authority read it loudly in a crowded room to identify him for something.
“Jas, lie down,” came the girl’s soft voice again, “go back to sleep so you can get better.”
Like a wave crashing repeatedly over him, Bodie knew with surety where he had seen the child before. The hair was Izzie’s unruly locks, the eyes were his father’s and the tiny face was a shockingly miniature version of the one which stared back at Bodie out of the mirror every single morning, as he shaved and got ready for his empty, work driven life.
In that split second he knew he would stay, trapped in that same position to the left of the front door, the streak from her tears drying slowly on his shirt. Stay, say his piece and see what happened.
Chapter 45
Hana set off for Achilles Rise shortly after Bodie left for Northland. She was armed once again with the cat cage and the vacuum. The biology teacher’s family was due to move in at the weekend and Hana was unsure what state the house had been left in following the move. She planned to have a couple of hours serious cleaning and then the letting agent agreed to meet her there in order to go through the property. Any damage after Saturday would be the responsibility of the tenant.
It seemed curiously familiar pulling up onto the driveway, a comforting reflex action. There was safety in being able to raise the garage door with the remote and Hana decided she would concentrate on driving down to her new garage and practice putting the car inside in the future.
Going up through the internal access door into her old home, Hana felt overcome by a mixture of nostalgia and fear as she walked through the house, her happy memories tainted by the recent attack.
The afternoon was sunny and the house bright and cheerful. Hana cleaned, vacuuming as she went. She wore a pink rubber glove over her stitches this time and pushed the vacuum with her other hand. With no furniture surfaces there was little to polish or wipe, so Hana ensured the windowsills were dust-free and everything else was clean and sparkling bright. Looking admiringly through the spotless glass at the front, Hana’s eyes were drawn to the mountain range in the distance, easily pinpointing the location of Culver’s Cottage from the lay of the bush, although from this distance the house wasn’t visible. “My new home,” she said proudly to the empty house. “But I’ve still got you.”
Hana dreaded the final walk through. She moved around the property remembering another time when it was empty and awaiting furniture and occupants. In her mind, she saw Izzie and Bodie running around choosing bedrooms and laughing as they explored the garden. She saw Vik as he planned where to hang the tumble dryer in the laundry and when he grabbed her round the waist and whispered, ‘Welcome home Mrs Johal,’ in her ear. His death pulled keenly at her heart strings as though afraid he would be forgotten. Hana stroked the kitchen bench top. She and Vik had been through a lifetime of hurt, change and love together. It had been all consuming and she didn’t know if she had the energy to do it all again. How do you justify your stretch marks to someone who wasn’t there when they began to be a part of your body?
Closure was the buzzword amongst professionals for dealing with issues, intended to make a person feel better and more wholesome. Hana found walking around the empty Achilles Rise both painful and depressing and if there were any psychological benefits to be gained, she hoped and prayed they kicked in soon. Wiping the kitchen counter tops, she was mindful of the violence she encountered there and shuddered as she remembered the man who almost choked her to death. She had aired misgivings to her son about the safety of the family who would shortly move in, but Bodie reassured her. Having thoroughly gone through the house, he was convinced now that the car was the target, or Hana, although he kept that suspicion to himself.
“It’s all going to be fine, Mum,” he said. “The family will be safe here.” He couched his words trying to give her peace about the heavily pregnant woman due to move in, without reinforcing his view that his mother may well meet the men again. “The gates are due to be fitted next Monday. I pressured the electrician and gate supplier to do the job quickly.”
Hana knew he probably paid through the nose for his impatience, but their peace of mind would be satisfied by the fact the property was more or less inaccessible, other than via the treacherous driveway.
The sound of the cat-flap made Hana jump, but the fear reaction was dispelled by relief as a very huffy and stand-offish Tiger came slinking into the family room. Hana hunkered down and called him, but he demonstrated his annoyance at his mistress and skirted the room, sticking close to the walls despite the wide empty space between them. “Come on boy,” Hana pleaded. “I want to take you to our new home. There’s heaps to do out there. You’ll love it. No dogs, no neighbours, just heaps of mice to catch whenever you like.”
Eventually, he came over to her, whipping her with his tail as he circled and winding himself around her legs. Hana spoke to him quietly, producing treats from her handbag and letting him familiarise himself with her before picking him carefully up. “Come on old man,” she cooed, “you’re going to love the new house.” She cradled his furry body into her. He didn’t much like it, but tolerated her affection. Carefully Hana moved towards the cat cage, open and ready on the carpet. Sensing her purpose, Tiger struggled and clawed at Hana, but she held on for dear life. She fully intended to take her cat to Culver’s Cottage with her this time, no argument. “You are coming home with me. So get over it!” she hissed, wrestling with his wriggling, dangerous form. She won the battle and Tiger was reluctantly inserted into the cage he hated with a passion. The twelve-year-old male sat in a bad temper on the newspaper, glowering at Hana through the bars. “Sorry, old man,” Hana spoke gently to him, “but believe it or not, this is for your own good! Those children would be far too athletic for you.”
Resisting the hazardous urge to stroke him through the bars, Hana left the disgruntled cat sitting in a scrunched-up-pounce position in the centre of the cage and carried on with her cleaning, pausing only to bump the vacuum back up the stairs and commence pushing it around the property for the last time. Hana washed the rest of the wide windows on the inside, smiling at the sight of the Hakarimata Ranges in the far distance through the sunroom. Something about them invoked in her a sense of longing, a need to be back there. She wondered how she was going to cope with having to leave each day and go to work. To her surprise, she began to wonder if there were any jobs she could do from home. She pushed the idea away. Hana Johal, she chided herself reluctantly, you’re far too introverted as it is; the last thing you need is an excuse never to venture out of the house again. “I do need a new job though,” she reasoned. “I can’t cope with keep bumping into Logan.”
Finally, the house was as clean as it could be. It was time to go, but emotionally Hana wasn�
��t ready. In the background of her thoughts she heard the echo of her former life; laughing voices; old arguments; a much younger Bodie bouncing on a trampoline in the centre of the lawn; Izzie playing with her dolls under the dining room table, chatting quietly to them; Vik digging in the garden, cursing the heavy clay soil; the chirruping and complaining of the mynha birds in the trees lining the fence. In the foreground, there was just deafening silence.
Hana’s heart nearly broke as she locked all the doors and checked the house was secure before hefting the vacuum, cleaning materials and angry cat down the stairs and into the car, in separate trips. She lowered the garage door for the last time and backed off the sloping driveway. She couldn’t face a walk through with someone else. She needed to go. The agent had a spare key and would have to understand.
Pulling up to the intersection, Hana felt numb and tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away roughly with the back of her hand and glanced in the rear view mirror, to see if it was obvious to passing motorists she was crying. Her face was blotchy and red rimmed eyes peered back at her. She sighed at herself as a car drew up behind her and she was forced to move up properly to the junction. The sigh caught half way out of her lungs at the sight of the Asian face staring out of the windscreen behind her. “Oh no, oh no. Not again!”
Instinctively, Hana fumbled at her central locking, shooting the switch hurriedly and Tiger chose that moment to yowl loudly at his prisoner status. Hana was indicating left to go towards River Road and home, but she made a split decision and turned right instead. Panic made her pull out blindly. “Sorry, sorry,” she wailed as she narrowly missed a collision with a car moving swiftly along Discovery Drive. She flew down the road, driving far too fast. Fleetingly she considered turning right at the roundabout and using the 80km carriageway on Resolution Drive to put some distance between herself and the black BMW, but in her rear view mirror she saw the vehicle following. It was moving rapidly, much faster than she dared travel and the higher speed road would only give him more room to catch up. Making another split decision, Hana went straight on and flew up the small road into the tiny estate along Farringdon Avenue and into the maze of streets that led off it. She knew she was driving far too fast for the road conditions and half prayed a policeman would suddenly appear and put an end to the chase. An old adage of Vik’s sprung ridiculously to mind. There’s never a policeman around when you need one, and she sped on unhindered.