by Bowes, K T
Gwynne snorted and sat back in his chair. “They knew who he was,” he replied scathingly, “even I knew who he was. He’s one of my ex-students!”
Hana started so violently, the drink slopped out of her glass and onto the table. It was spectacular how much of the surface the Bailey’s covered when there appeared to be only dregs in the glass. Hana watched the liquid pool; concentration etched into her face before she grappled for a serviette as the camber of the table encouraged the drink to flow towards its rounded edge. Frantically mopping, Hana leaned down to wipe the edge of the wood, noticing in the strobe light her other shoe had worked its way towards Gwynne’s seat. She looked around for somewhere to put the sticky, wet tissue. It would stick permanently to anything she laid it on so the tiny decision was more important than anyone would give credit for. Finally, Hana rested it delicately on a used plate and sat back in her seat, one hand laid across her forehead. “I had no idea,” she exclaimed, exhaling slowly. “An Old Boy of the school. I never saw that coming.”
Gwynne’s wife made her excuses and headed to the toilet to prepare for the hour long journey home, leaving her husband to talk in hushed tones to Hana about the mugging incident. It left her dreadfully battered and bruised, appearing initially to be a random and opportunistic incident. Hana’s windscreen was smashed a few days later with a brick bearing the message ‘Give it back!’ After that came the suspicious rear shunt of her truck and its subsequent theft, followed by a terrifying home invasion.
Hana digested Gwynne’s information about her attacker being an ex-student of the school, the shine wiped off her evening. “You know sometimes,” she said wistfully to the teacher, “I wonder if I’ll ever be safe again.”
Hana Du Rose
Chapter 2
Alfred and Miriam refused to let Hana help them clear up the ballroom. “No, love, the waitresses from the township will be glad of the extra money for clearing up tomorrow. This is what we do.” Alfred patted his new daughter-in-law’s arm with affection.
Logan and Hana bid their guests goodbye as the evening drew to a close and most of them travelled back to Auckland or Hamilton. Izzie, Elizabeth and Marcus went off to stay with friends in Drury for a few days before winding their way back down to Invercargill.
Izzie seemed calmer as she and Hana hugged goodbye. “Let’s stay in touch more regularly,” Hana begged, stroking her daughter’s hair away from her caramel toned face. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Marcus squeezed Hana’s arm reassuringly as he kissed her cheek, giving her a knowing look which summed up the unspoken promise to look after Isobel. “Goodbye, Mrs Du Rose,” he smirked. “Bless ya.”
The staff from school left in dribs and drabs, uttering their congratulations to the couple. Logan knew those invited to the supposed birthday party would be breaking their necks on Monday to spill the beans. “If I was a betting man, I’d wager everyone knows about our wedding before briefing at 8.40am,” he commented to a smirking Alfred.
Hana’s eyes narrowed in thought and her brow knitted in anticipation of the reaction of her colleagues. Ethel Bowman’s flaccid face and multiple chins wafted across her inner vision and Hana shivered.
“What’s wrong?” Ever attentive, Logan sensed her anxiety.
“Oh, just imagining Ethel Bowman’s face on Monday. She’ll want to know why she wasn’t invited and then she’ll move onto claiming it as some matchmaking victory.”
Logan shrugged. “That’s easy. You tell her I organised the whole thing and she’s welcome to moan to me if she wants - which she won’t. And who cares how she sees it? We both know the true story.” Logan took Hana’s fingers in his and smoothed the skin over her new wedding ring. “Let her hear from someone else how I’ve known and loved you for decades. Who cares?”
“Guess so.” Hana smiled and rested her chin against her husband’s shirtfront, smiling up at him through relieved green eyes. “I’ll send her to you then, shall I?”
“Definitely.” Logan kissed the end of Hana’s nose. “You now have access to the most useful words in the English dictionary.”
“What are they?” Hana cocked her head to one side like a little bird.
Logan put his head back and laughed and then made his face look serious with narrowed grey eyes and a somber expression. “My husband wouldn’t like it.” He delivered the line with a sexy sparkle escaping from under his lashes and Hana couldn’t help smiling.
“Oh that’s awesome. I forgot about that. Because there’s also, I’ll need to check with my husband, and I think my husband has plans for that weekend and…”
“Steady on!” Logan snorted. “You can’t use me as the get-out for everything, woman.”
“I can and will.” Hana looked pleased. She retrieved her other shoe from under the table and looked at her watch. “Gosh, we’re going to get back to Culver’s Cottage really late.”
“But I booked us a room,” Logan whispered, pressing his body into hers and moving his lips across the skin under Hana’s earlobe.
“Aw that’s so thoughtful,” she breathed. “But now I’m torn between staying at the hotel and going home to poor Tiger. He must be going out of his kitty mind cooped up at home.”
“It’s ok Mum,” Bodie interjected, seeking the newlyweds out to say goodbye. “Amy and I sorted him out this morning; he was fine.”
“Oh, thank you.” Hana looked relieved until Bodie’s next sentence.
“And we’ll be back there within a couple of hours. We’ll stay at Culver’s Cottage for the night before I drive Jas and Amy back to Hamilton.”
The news silenced his mother, a look of displeasure crossing her pretty face. Logan sensed something was wrong, but couldn’t fathom what. He baulked at the stern tone she used to her son. “So where are you all intending to sleep?”
Logan felt out of place and awkward, moving away to help his father dismantle one of the trestle tables which fought the old man valiantly with its spindly metal legs. “Watch your fingers Dad!” Logan took the table from his father and collapsed it easily. He tuned back in to Hana’s body language whilst folding the next table. She looked tense. From Bodie’s uncomfortable expression, Logan saw the conversation was not going well and hovered between involving himself or staying completely out of it. Hana’s fingers were clenched as she stood facing her son, releasing suddenly as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Hana smiled and Logan released the breath clogging up his chest.
She disappeared outside with them, returning to the ballroom shivering. “It’s frosty outside,” she announced as the table Alfred rolled carefully across the parquet floor wobbled alarmingly on its circular edge, threatening to squash him underneath if he made a wrong move.
“First of many,” Alfred called genially, rolling the table into the cupboard at the back of the room. It picked up speed as it went through the double doors and there was a deafening crash as it contacted something inside. “Oh shit!” came the muffled voice from behind the doors, “Forgot that was there.”
Logan came up behind Hana, ignoring the banging and crashing from inside the cupboard and the sound of Alfred talking to a number of chairs and one round, stubborn table. Logan pushed his arms around Hana’s shaking body and linked his fingers across her breasts. “Geez you’re cold. What was that all about with your son?” His question sounded nonchalant, asked more bravely than he felt.
Hana shrugged. “I know it probably seems silly as they already have a child, but I didn’t want them sleeping together at the Cottage, especially not in our new bed. We didn’t, so I don’t see why they should!” She leaned back against him enjoying the security of his presence and the warmth of his chest against her back. “Anyway, that’s what I told him. He promised to sleep in the room you used and give Amy and Jas the spare double room. I don’t want anyone in our bed except us.”
Logan wound his arms around her. “It never occurred to me. But when I asked Bodie to check the cat on Friday night, I expected h
im to come to the party alone. “What’s the story with that little kid then? Is it some deep, dark Johal secret?” He pulled Hana in closer and kissed her on the neck, moving hastily away at the sound of a more deafening crash and a yell from his father.
In the kitchen, Miriam held the cold compress to Alfred’s head, chastising him thoroughly. “How many times have I told you to leave those damn tables alone? The staff have no trouble with them. It’s just you!”
“There’s a knack to it!” he defended himself.
“Yes,” retorted Miriam, roughly brandishing the compress, “and you don’t have it!”
The wounded soldier sat on a chair in the warm kitchen and sulked while his wife examined the bruise on his head and put brandy into a small tumbler on the table. Alfred reached out for it and received a slap on the back of his head. “Not for you,” she rapped out, “that’s for me. For my bad nerves, which you get on!”
Alfred looked so sad, eventually she produced three more tumblers and put brandy in each. Miriam pushed one of them across to him, not near enough to show forgiveness, but enough to make him reach a little. Poor Alfred downed it in a few quick swallows, looking sheepishly up at his wife and mouthing, “Just for the shock.”
Miriam tutted, watching Hana in surprise as she skulled hers almost as quickly. The bride felt she had suffered a number of shocks herself. Hana pushed her glass back towards Miriam, who hesitated for a second before refilling it and bugging her eyes at her husband.
Logan returned to the kitchen, noticing Alfred and Hana seemed to have tucked into the plonk. He shook his head with amusement. “The celebrations go on then?” he asked with a smirk.
Miriam offered him the remaining glass, but he declined. “Na, I don’t like spirits, thanks.” Logan occupied the chair next to his new wife and draping his arm over her shoulders, studied her from underneath his long eyelashes. “You look tired, babe. Big night aye?” Hana rested her head back against him with a nod and sighed deeply. Logan jerked his head towards his mother. “Grant, from the township helped me put the cupboard back together.” Logan’s tone was light, leaning across to examine Alfred’s head, “That looks sore. It’s gonna hurt tomorrow.”
Alfred pouted and if it were possible, looked even more pathetic. He quietly pushed his glass towards the bottle, inching it there fraction by fraction as though expecting a guillotine to come down at any second and dismantle hand and glass. Miriam moved the bottle onto the bench top and glared across at her husband. “You’re a silly old man sometimes,” she snapped at him, “you shouldn’t drink after a head injury!”
“You gave me the first one!” Alfred complained, but Miriam was resolute.
“No! You’re not in danger, man. So quit it!”
Alfred shrugged and pushed his bottom lip up over his top one, looking fed up. He inclined his head towards Logan. “It’s only youse gets the sympathy round ‘ere, boy. Maybe I should get the curse and I’ll be in for some…”
“Alfred Du Rose! You take that back you wicked old man! I won’t have talk of the curse here.” Miriam’s voice wobbled and Hana tensed in her seat, feeling Logan’s body stiffen underneath her head. Alfred’s jaw clenched in obvious irritation and he pushed himself away from the table, creaking his old bones into a standing position.
“I’ll go finish off in there,” he stated, sounding cowed, resignation dripping from his lips.
“I’ll help,” Logan tipped Hana gently back towards her own seat and stood, following the old man out of the door. Hana felt stunned, her green eyes watching her new mother-in-law with a nervous intensity. What curse?
Miriam plonked her bum down on a seat and reached for her glass. Her fingers shook and slopped the liquid over the sides.
“So you decided to go along with it then?” she asked Hana, struggling for control as she ran arthritic hands across eyes that lost their childish liveliness.
Hana looked sideways at the other woman, knowing they needed to reach equilibrium sometime, but wondering how that could happen. Miriam’s grey eyes drilled into hers, ready to defend Logan, to inflict harm on Hana should she feel it necessary. The little old lady act was just that, an act and Hana knew she would be a dreadful adversary. “You seemed pleased,” Hana replied, trying to keep the whine out of her voice.
“I am actually,” said Miriam, “I like you. I think you can make it work. You have a way to go before this family trusts you, but I believe you can do it.” She nodded as she said the last sentence, as though agreeing with herself. “I heard you met her!”
There was so much bile in that last word Hana stopped with her glass halfway to her lips and stared at Miriam. The older woman’s teeth were gritted shut and her jaw flexed with such passionate anger Hana’s eyes widened in alarm. Miriam launched into a vitriolic monologue that almost took Hana’s breath away. “For years, Caroline Marsh has dangled my son like a fly on a spider’s web. She’s a toxic, spiteful piece of…I won’t say it, she ent worth my cussin’. My son’s been her fall guy so many times. She’s cheated on him more often than he lets on and the best thing he ever did was walk away when she humiliated him the last time. It wasn’t tears of sadness I shed I can tell youse. To think she’s turned up again! We are simple people, Hana. We doesn’t ask for much but respect from our whanau.” Miriam paused for breath only momentarily before launching again, “She’s a bitch!”
Hana took a deep breath. “I get that. I see her every day at work. Maybe she’ll leave us alone now?”
The last was part question, part hope - that Caroline would get the message, but Miriam scoffed loudly and her drink sprayed across the table. “Don’t bank on it! Married men are her sort of challenge.” Miriam gripped Hana’s arm roughly, “Keep Logan away from her. Promise me? They aren’t meant to be together. The old kuia said so. Don’t let her near him again!”
Hana nodded her head in a slow motion, fear and dismay growing inside her chest. Her father’s old adage rattled around in her brain, ‘it takes two to tango.’ Hana was tired. It had been a lovely, but testing evening. Miriam bounced unnervingly between the gentle elderly mother-in-law and a maniacally-frantic-lunatic, dangerous to be around.
Hana pushed her chair back to leave the room. She had no idea where she was sleeping, but decided to take her chances and find Logan first. Miriam downed another tot of spirit and swayed slightly in her seat. Hana was fearful she might wobble off the chair if she left her alone, but didn’t want to stay with her either. She hovered by the door, not sure what to do. “Nice looking boy, that one of yours,” she heard Miriam sigh. “My Barry was a good-looker too, not handsome like Logan, more…delicate looking, fine-boned and gentle. A bit like your boy.”
Hana looked at her sideways, wondering what Logan’s late brother must have been like and feeling sorry for the woman in front of her. How impossibly sad to bury your own child. It wasn’t meant to be like that. Hana knelt down beside her on the floor and reached out, holding the old lady’s heaving shoulders against her. Miriam cried so quietly, it was only evident from the shaking of her body. Hana felt compassion, but no considered words would prove helpful in dulling Miriam’s internal pain.
After a while, Miriam broke Hana’s grasp, reaching for a tissue box at the centre of the huge table. She drew one out with trembling fingers and blew her nose. Hana stood up, her knees aching from the compression and lingered next to Miriam for a moment, unsure what to do.
It was like the flicking of a switch. At the sound of laughter coming down the corridor, Miriam composed herself at speed, rubbing her eyes with the tissue and pushing her greying hair away from her face. She turned away from Hana, hauling herself up and busying herself at the sink, wiping down the empty bench tops with a cloth. When Logan and Alfred entered the kitchen noisily, they found Hana standing next to an empty chair, twisting her wedding ring with an uneasy look on her face. The chair was was slewed at a funny angle across the floor and the weight of a peculiar atmosphere settled around her. “Ok?” Logan asked his wife, u
nnerved by her silent, wooden nod. Hana pouted and seemed keen to leave the room and he obliged, with a nervous glance at his mother’s stiff back.
An hour later, Hana lay in bed on her stomach with her arms wedged under a pillow and her face buried. There was complete confusion at bedtime. Miriam, not realising her son had booked the venue for his wedding reception, made Hana up a room in the guest corridor. Logan moved their bags into his old room at some point during the party and then wasn’t sure which room to take. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked Hana. “I took our gear into my old room and it just felt like I wanted to be there with you.”
“It’s fine,” Hana conceded, covering her yawn. “I just want a bed. I don’t care where it is.”
It was no longer the haven of Logan’s youth, redecorated during the general overhaul of the main house. It was painted in neutral colours, cream walls and an accent navy feature wall over the bed with dark navy blackout curtains. Long gone was the wallpaper, ripped and creased and the draughty window frames of his boyhood, replaced with plush décor and style. This wing housed the family and was never used for guests, being at the front of the house near the main entrance. On the many occasions he came home, Logan always slept in this room. Always alone.
As Hana lay on the bed, her husband emerged from the ensuite shower. He wandered around in his towel trying to remember where he put his wash-bag. Finally, after upending his rucksack for the second time, he lay down on top of the covers with his hands behind his head, looking sideways at Hana. “Ok, Mrs Du Rose, give it up.”
Hana slowly drew her face out of the pillow and looked at him, squinting against the overhead spot lights. “I put it in my bag, I think. It’s under the bed if you want it.”
Logan turned on his side, staring straight at her as he fondled a strand of her red hair. “Not the bag, you egg! I’m talking about what I walked in on with you and Mum and what’s wrong with you now.”