by Bowes, K T
Hana ran around the house peering out of windows but saw nothing in the blackness. Finally she stood waiting in the hallway, wringing her hands and hoping and praying Logan would be all right. He knocked gently on the door, calling, “It’s just me.” He came clattering into the hallway as Hana opened it.
Greeted by her wide, frightened eyes, he grabbed her roughly and held her tight. She shook, but freezing cold air came off his clothing. He trembled in his socks and shirtsleeves. “It was a possum in the bins,” Logan reassured her. “You’ll have to get used to that out here, little buggers. They’ll have a go at anything.”
The peace of twenty minutes ago was broken so abruptly it left them both feeling shocked and drained. A possum in the rubbish was nothing, but the possibilities for the couple’s shattered nerves were endless. Hana busied herself making a pot of tea in the brightly lit kitchen while Logan tried to warm himself by the fire. Eventually, they filtered off to their rooms to turn in for the night, but neither got a good night’s sleep. Hana concluded she couldn’t live like this anymore. Something would have to be done. But despite the fact sleep eluded her until the early hours of Sunday, she found no ready answers in the darkness. The urge to crawl into bed with Logan for comfort was overwhelming and Hana fought that, as well as the monsters in the dark.
Hana woke very late next morning. She opted not to go to church despite knowing she ought to return Cilla’s Micra. She wasn’t sure what stopped her from going; maybe it was the kindness of her friends that would unpick her courage. Maybe it was fear of letting slip something about her forthcoming nuptials. Maybe it was guilt at not including friends who had supported her for many years, emotionally, physically and when Vik’s accounts were frozen temporarily after his death, financially too. Either way, Hana talked herself easily out of going. The day came with a heaviness after the shock of the night before, snapping the couple out of their false oasis and acting as a timely reminder of the danger still lurking.
Hana worried about returning to work and becoming traceable again to the men who sought her. They hadn’t found her new place yet, but they only had to follow her home from work to be able to do that. “How many more cars can I borrow?” she complained to Logan. “Will I have to disguise myself forever until they get bored and go away?”
“No, babe,” he reassured her. “We’ll get it sorted out somehow.”
Underneath the worry, Hana recognised a spark of anger. All the excitement of moving to her new house, the passion and beauty of falling in love after her eight year drought, everything was being marred by fear and an expectation of inevitable harm. “It’s not fair,” she grumbled.
Logan nipped out for a time to fetch something and Hana pottered around tidying and cleaning up. Unlike his mistress, Tiger seemed calm and settled, flopping around the place like it was already home. Hana wondered about letting him outside. It had only been a couple of days, but he seemed relaxed. “You look happy, old man,” she patted him gently on the head and he yawned. “Don’t know why you made all that fuss about coming here.”
As the day progressed, she started to feel a little c’est la vie. She had no control over anything in her life, so how could she control whether or not the old cat wandered down to play with the traffic? Hana hoped and prayed he didn’t. The day was calm and much warmer so she left the front door ajar, in case he wanted to go out. He carried on lying around, curled up on the window seat in the back room where Hana sat eating chips with Bodie only a few weeks ago, meowing quietly to himself and washing his paws when he could be bothered. He made no attempt to go exploring outside and in the end, Hana shut the door so she could vacuum and because it occurred to her it was a pretty stupid thing to do. The old worries flooded her brain and the c’est la vie rapidly disappeared.
Putting away a screw she found loose on the floor, Hana opened the drawer in the hall table. Inside was the black thing Logan reached for the previous night. It was a heavy six-cell Maglite, brand new. Hana slapped it against her palm, feeling the heaviness of the metal and shuddering at the damage it would inflict on an unsuspecting skull. Bodie’s words from police training college came back to her. “We’ve got these Maglites and if you whack someone with one, it can be seen as an accident but if you draw your staff, that’s a whole heap of paperwork.”
Hana worried about how their lives were becoming so defensive and tainted by recent events. The torch was impossibly heavy and bent her wrist back as she tried to hold it. She replaced it in the drawer and carried on with her cleaning. Logan texted her to say he was on his way and arrived shortly afterwards. “I went to your favourite shop,” he joked, having managed to ram a couple of wheelie bins into the Micra. “We’ll keep the rubbish in the garage in these and just put the bags out on bin day. I’ll take them down the drive to the road, I don’t mind. It’ll stop the possums being entertained at night with our trash.”
“What will you do with the metal ones?” Hana asked.
“I’m gonna drill holes in one of them and make it into an incinerator.”
“What a cool idea. I saw a sign on the Waipa Bridge. Apparently open fires aren’t permitted within one kilometre of the bush so that will be awesome.”
From the front passenger seat, Logan produced a long, wide plastic bag, containing rolls of paper. “Close your eyes,” he said, “no peeking!” He seemed both apprehensive and excited, biting his lips and giving Hana a half smile. Looking inside, Hana saw the most exquisite wallpaper. Tiny cream flowers swirled elegantly around on a pretty green background, the exact same colour as the voile on the new four-poster bed. Punctuated every now and then by a small pink rose, the effect was cheerful and calming.
Hana smiled up at him. “Wow. I couldn’t have picked anything better myself.”
Reaching down into the car again, Logan produced two five-litre cans of cream paint which matched the cream of the flowers. He studied Hana’s face for a reaction and sighed with relief when he saw she approved. Plainly he had good taste in decorations.
“It’s amazing.” Hana’s face held pure delight. She could never have trusted Vik to come back with the right colours for anything. Apart from the fact he failed to distinguish between red and certain greens, he liked dark Indian gold and vibrant colours that Hana could never relax with. Privately, Hana chided herself for comparing two entirely different men, while outwardly congratulating Logan on his perfect choice. Cheered up, she went inside with him. To distract her from the growing fear of Monday, they began to decorate the main bedroom, ready for the arrival of their first joint piece of furniture.
Taking an opposite wall each, they painted using the pads left over from the kitchen. They raced each other, competing to finish and chatting as they covered the elderly walls. The worst wall for repaired cracks and dents was behind the headboard of the bed and they jointly elected it as a feature wall, bearing the pretty wallpaper. “It just seems such a waste to hide it behind the four-poster bed. Why don’t we do the opposite wall as well, providing there’s enough?” Hana asked.
“I bought five rolls and with the tiny print pattern, me and the shop owner figured it shouldn’t use up too much paper in the matching process. And look, if we run out, I can just go back and get some more.” Logan smiled happily, kissing Hana with a paint splattered face and making her squeal.
They stopped for lunch while the paint dried on the walls and skirting board and then while Logan was giving them a second coat, Hana painted the skirting board on the walls to be papered, including the architrave around the wooden doors and the window frame.
It was getting dark by the time they stopped for food and it had become too late to wallpaper accurately. Hana laid on the bed exhausted after so little sleep followed by the physical work of painting, but Logan pressed on until after nine o’clock that night, giving the ceiling a couple of coats of paint with the pad. It was difficult painting around the sleeping Hana. Even though they had dragged the furniture away from the walls, the bed was in the centre of the room
. Logan covered Hana with one of the dust sheets to stop the paint getting on her sleeping form. Washing out the brushes and pads, he made himself some toast and jam and finding her still asleep afterwards, covered Hana up with a blanket and turned out the lights. He made sure the door was open to allow the paint fumes to disperse and went to his own temporary room. He also spent the night wittering and worrying about the logistics of the following day.
Pete rang him late, whining about having to work with Caroline. “I’m sick of her. She’s real mean. You have to do something.”
“She’s the least of my problems, bro’!”
“Yeah, how is that all going? How’s Hana?”
Logan ran his hand over his face. “Jumpy. Real jumpy. She’ll be ‘right. We’ll get it sorted.”
“You stayin’ up there with her?” Pete let rip with a wicked raucous laugh and Logan winced.
“If you breathe a word to anyone, I’ll break your legs. You know I’m not joking, man!” He heard Pete gulp and suspected he was checking the odd kink in his left shin, the result of a fight they had in fifth form. Logan peered down at the bent bone in the index finger of his right hand. Pete had started it and his friend finished it. Ironically the fight was over Hana, or the unnamed girl on the train.
“You haven’t forgiven me for that yet, have you?” Pete griped.
“You haven’t apologised!” Logan’s voice betrayed his irritation.
“Fine, I’m sorry,” Pete conceded with obvious reluctance. “I know now that she’s real. But obviously I didn’t know then. It sounded so far-fetched, you saying you’d seen this girl and she was your soul mate.”
“You done?” Logan’s temper flared at the memory of old hurts and he was keen to be finished with his flaky friend.
“How are you gonna get to work undetected and get that chick’s car back to her before she needs it in the morning?”
“Not sure yet.”
“And what about Watson and Dobbs? If you keep arriving at work together and obviously cohabiting, they’ll come after you. Especially after what they said about relationships between staff. The trustees will fire your ass.”
“You think I don’t know that? Stop winding me up.”
“Will you talk to Caroline then? Tell her to stop picking on me.”
“No. I’m not going near her. I promised Hana. I don’t break my promises.”
“Yeah, bro’, I know. I know.” Pete’s voice softened and Logan said goodbye and terminated the call. Presumably, being married would make it a legitimate relationship in the eyes of the board members and that particular problem would disappear. Quite frankly, he didn’t care. Logan turned out the lights in the house and went off to bed, not liking the fact he had no plan for the morning and hoping one came to him in his sleep.
Pete’s complaints about his ex-girlfriend, reminded Logan of his conversation with Caroline in the pub that night. He knew she wouldn’t give up easily. “Does she know about you?” Caroline’s attractive face took on its characteristic sneer, deforming her good looks. The pub sounds seemed to recede into the background. “Does she know all your murky secrets?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed dangerously and his fingers flexed into fists, but his silence spoke volumes.
“Oh my, she doesn’t!” Caroline’s glee was uncontainable. “At least I know who and what you really are.”
Logan turned over in the single bed, a dreadful sickness sitting heavily in his stomach and sleep still a long way off.
Chapter 48
By six o’clock on Monday morning, Logan was up, showered and dressed for work, even before Hana stumbled into the kitchen. Sleep was surprisingly fruitful and a plan came to him in the early moments between slumber and waking. Hana woke slowly, aware first of the light from the landing coming under and around the partly open door. She woke more quickly as she felt Tiger’s claws kneading at her stomach, trying to make her stay still so he could continue to use her as a pillow.
Turning on the bedside lamp, Hana realised she was still dressed and her clothes had become twisted and uncomfortable. Shrouded in a blanket laid over the dustsheet, Hana smelled the receding odour of paint, overlaid by the smell of toast cooking. Brushing her hair back from her face, she stumbled out of bed and made her way to the kitchen, feeling groggy and daunted by the thought of the day.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Logan smelled of toothpaste as he kissed her and plonked a cup of tea down in front of her at the table. Hana required some time to come round in the mornings and Monday’s were no exception. “Ok, so you’re not a morning person then,” Logan dismissed Hana’s dirty look with a smirk.
Small talk was not her thing, at least until after she’d showered, drunk two cups of tea and the clock hands had moved past seven. Unspeaking, she sloped off to the bathroom to begin her ablutions, emerging half an hour later, still uncommunicative but at least dressed and ready to go. She found Logan clearing up the kitchen and loading their cups into the dishwasher.
“Mmnn.” Hana went up behind him and put her arms around Logan’s waist, enjoying the feeling of having someone of her own again. Gratified, he turned around in her grasp and stroked the side of her face and hair, pulling the long tresses out of Hana’s cardigan and laying them gently on her back. Leaning down, he gave her a smouldering kiss which made Hana’s stomach feel like she was on a swing, a sensation of painful ecstasy. Logan hadn’t yet tucked his shirt into his trousers and Hana slid her hands up underneath it, caressing the soft masculinity of his tanned skin. She felt him exhale and explored further, touching the hard muscle either side of his spine. Logan paused in his kiss and then gently nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. Hana wondered fleetingly if they should call in sick and stay home for the day. It would be easier and definitely much more fun. “Let’s stay here,” she whispered, her voice hushed and soft.
She moved her hand around his ribs softly and seductively, feeling him go suddenly still as her cool palm encountered a ridge of skin, raised and rugged on the right side of his body. She traced it upwards, as Logan knew she would and his kisses stilled, fear emanating from him in waves. The ridge ran from his hip to under his armpit, hard and ugly, like scar tissue. Logan froze, waiting for a reaction from Hana and she instinctively felt the importance of the moment. She restarted the kiss and Logan seemed surprised as she pulled herself more tightly into him. Hana kept her hand over the scar, feather light fingers moving gently, showing him she didn’t mind. Logan pushed her hair up from the back of her neck, tracing his fingers upwards through it. It felt good. Hana looked up at him and whispered softly, “Stay home with me.”
Logan pulled away from her a little, and she felt his soft breath on her cheek. Then he looked hard at her, reading her face, but only his grey eyes revealed the battle within him matched her own. “We could,” he breathed, “but you don’t really want that burden. I’ve waited twenty-six years for this; a couple of days is nothing.”
He kissed her again and held her close. Hana was both grateful and cross. The tiny spark of rejection activated a Jezebel spirit which demanded she make him do her bidding, but she mentally rebuked it. He was right. She didn’t want to begin her new marriage the same way as the old one. Not that pregnancy was likely, but Hana knew to her cost what doing things outside God’s order founded. Her mind flashed to a different day in another time, in a whole other life and the memory doused her in icy water. Someone stood before her, their dreadful revelation of infidelity rocking Hana’s world and destroying her security forever. Hana bit her lip to hold back the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach which would probably never go. She cuddled in closer to Logan, pushing her face into his chest, grateful for his strong arms and butterfly kisses. “What’s wrong?” Logan kissed the side of her face, sensing her stiffness.
“Nothing. You’re right. I can’t wait to be your wife.”
Logan snuffed and rubbed his hand up and down Hana’s back. It consoled and comforted her, settling the quavering sensations in her gut and giving he
r hope. “I love you.” He kissed the top of her head and enfolded her, stroking her hair and providing the barrier against a fear inside Hana soul, he didn’t even know existed.
Logan drove to Cilla’s, arriving just after seven o’clock with her Micra filled to the brim with petrol. Hana sat in the car trying to ignore the vaguely sympathetic glances from her friend, smiling and grunting, “Good morning,” as Cilla got into the driving seat. Logan retrieved his motorbike from under the now damp sheet and rode behind them for the three kilometres to Alder Dale Residential Village, where they turned onto the small driveway of one of the units there. Hana sensed Cilla wanting to ask questions about Logan and evaded her enquiries with marginal success. “Logan’s a colleague. He’s been helping me with this charade.” Hana waved a tired hand around the car and Cilla knitted her brow and promised to pray for her.
To Hana’s surprise, she was transferred from the Micra into Angus’ sporty black Audi with its tinted windows and Cilla hugged her goodbye, before driving off to work. Hana was then taken into work incognito in the principal’s mid-life-crisis car.
Hana felt irrationally annoyed and particularly foggy as she trotted up the main stairs. Pete eyed her with curiosity from his desk, observing her as though she was a specimen. “Don’t look at me like that,” Hana stated, shoving her handbag into the bottom drawer of her desk. “All this trouble is making me depressed. All the car switcheroos are ridiculous.”
“I’ll tell Loge that then.” Pete blew at the key ring in his hand, a tube of superglue lying on its side and leaking onto his desk.
“Don’t you dare! Obviously I’m grateful for the effort my friends are going to. Logan must have made an awful lot of early morning phone calls to coordinate an operation like that.”