by Bowes, K T
Bodie’s radio chirped and crackled and he walked across to the other side of the room to speak into it. He confirmed something with the dispatcher and then, kissing her quickly on the cheek left via the common room. The distraction derailed Hana’s efforts to finish sorting everything out and she put her head around Sheila’s door, asking if she might go home. She felt exhausted and very fed up.
Sheila was happy the office was on the right track again and told her she would square it with the administrative director and take any flack for Hana’s early exit. Hana left through the door to the field and skirted the Chapel before nipping quickly over to the BMW and getting in. She shot the central locking closed quickly and heaved a sigh of relief as the car moved out onto the main road.
Logan was waiting for her when she got home. Hana clumped tiredly up the steps to the porch, wondering what she was going to say. She wanted to lie down and sleep, dreading any big confrontation for most of the journey. Logan heard the gate warning and was already near the front door when Hana arrived, abandoning the car at a jaunty angle on the driveway. He blocked her route into the house, tall and striking with a guarded and unreadable expression. His skin was clean and glistening from a recent shower and his hair was still damp. Hana stood on the last step, reluctant to go any further until he played his hand fully. He opened the door and stood back to let her through, saying as she laid her bag next to the door, “I made coffee.”
The smell of freshly percolated coffee greeted Hana like a strong, brown wall. Estate agents urged vendors to brew coffee and bake bread, thereby creating a desirable aroma to any would-be-purchasers. Hana whirled round, shoving past her husband as he was closing the door, almost breaking her neck on the doorstep in her haste. She ran across the porch and vomited spectacularly over the hydrangea underneath. Its poor pink head bobbed and bowed sadly as it contemplated the second episode in the week since it entered the property.
Logan came over and rubbed Hana’s back as she retched and gagged a while longer. “It’s ok, babe. Geez Han, are you…oh ok, not done then.”
The scent of coffee hung around the porch having escaped through the open front door and Logan had to empty out the machine and open all the windows before Hana could enter the house. Even down in the bedroom she could still smell it, causing her eyes to bulge and water as though it was going to start again. She ended up out on the roof garden wearing Logan’s jacket.
“Hemi helped me,” Logan said, indicating the pots around the tarmac and the presence of the heavy benches and table. “You can move things around where you want them, but what do you think?”
He was like a small child looking for her approval. Gone was the aggression and panic of the previous day. Hana nodded and complimented him, trying really hard not to redecorate it if he so much as said the word ‘coffee.’ “He popped by to look at the back living room windows,” Logan went on, “I thought we could get him to make the French doors. What do you think?”
Hana nodded slowly. Her eyes were closed and she swayed slightly on the bench. “Please may I go to bed?” she asked and it was more a desperate plea than a request. Logan nodded and with his brow furrowed deeply with concern, helped her inside. Hana put her nose inside the jacket, just in case some smell found her, but they shut the bedroom door and opened the window and it seemed to be ok. Hana shrugged off her tight work clothes and snuggled down into the bed. It was a blessed relief. She lay still for a while trying to let the nausea pass away, deciding her theories about the sex of the child were now well and truly confirmed.
Hana couldn’t eat the food Logan made and he ate alone in the kitchen so as not to make her sick again. She could see he felt lonely and sad but didn’t know how to deal with it. Any feelings of compassion for him were quickly dulled by the need for a bucket if he dared come near her with the tasty chicken and rice he had cooked for dinner on his breath.
After an hour or so, the feeling dissipated and she felt much better. She still winced, however, every time the bedroom door opened in case she reacted to some smell entering without permission. Logan struggled in carrying a small portable television, which he retrieved from the garage storeroom. He found a space for it on the cupboard at the end of the bed and grovelled on the floor to plug it in. Shortly afterwards, the TV happily generated sound and interest in the room. Even though it was only five o’clock, Logan discarded his clothes down to his shorts and climbed into bed with Hana, snuggling into the back of her as though he couldn’t get close enough. He stroked her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear, kissing her on her temple and settling down comfortably. “Sorry,” Hana whispered quietly as the music for Home and Away trilled loudly into the darkening room.
“That’s ok,” he whispered back, “you might feel like some tomorrow.”
“No,” she replied, “I meant, sorry for yesterday. You don’t have to tell me everything. I shouldn’t have asked. I was trying to follow what you were saying and understand things…”
Hana stopped, realising she had done the famous ‘sorry-but’ line, which was not a sorry at all. Logan kissed her again but didn’t say anything. Hana realised her ‘sorry’ probably wasn’t a ‘sorry’ at all anyway as she was disappointed he didn’t concede and tell her everything right there and then. She admonished herself for the selfish spirit that made it all about her, snuggling in harder and resisting the urge to throw up again.
Hana Du Rose
Chapter 22
It was pitch dark outside and the night air was bracing and damp. The ground would be slippery underfoot because of the frost which was beginning to form on the tips of the grass. Logan stood at the back door looking out over the roof garden towards the bush. He shivered despite the warm clothing he had quietly dressed in, keen not to awaken his sleeping wife. He shuddered at the inevitable cold that would seep into his bones and leave him wide awake for the rest of the night.
The sight of a flashlight moving down the side of the paddock alerted him and he gently opened the rear door, glancing cautiously behind him. Locking it from the outside, he made his way gingerly across the frosty bitumen of the roof garden, cursing its smooth, slippery surface. Trying to make no sound he braved the steps down to the lawn, noticing again how the new wood creaked and rubbed against the old. Giving up, he jumped down the final three lest they give him away.
The flashlight beam jerked forward a couple of times on the way down, indicating the owner of it had slipped. At one point, it stopped altogether, bobbing up and down comically as the person tried to get up again. In the nearest corner of the paddock, the light stopped and Logan moved forward over the grass, covering ground quickly with his lengthy gait. The flashlight was extinguished at the sight of him and a hooded figure waited patiently. It could have been two farmers leaning over the fence chatting about the weather, had it not been for the lateness of the hour and the fact one was shrouded in a camouflaged jacket and didn’t remove his hood.
Logan’s speech was quick and urgent, showing frustration although he tried hard to keep his voice down. If any part of the hushed conversation was a disagreement, it was all over by the time the flashlight reignited and the hooded figure began to make the long climb back up to the bush. Logan watched as it walked away, but then it turned again, calling in a slightly louder whisper, “One more week!”
“You’ll do as you’re bloody told!” Logan replied in a hoarse and menacing hiss.
Logan returned to the house as silently as he left it, hoping his footprints would frost over before morning came. The darkness was eerie and still and he accidently banged the door as he came through it, fumbling with the handle because of his cast. He stopped, listening for Hana stirring but heard nothing. Locking the door, Logan took his boots down to the garage and then warmed himself in front of the living room fire which he lit specially.
It took a good half hour to warm up enough to return to bed without waking Hana and having to answer questions. Creeping into bed Logan kept on his side until he achieved a
n even body temperature and then he snuggled back up to his wife. She stirred slightly at his touch but didn’t wake. Logan strove for sleep, as he did most nights after the early hour’s disturbance. He was finding it harder and harder to get back to sleep and then a trial to get up in the mornings. He started to wonder if he was getting too old for all this.
Hana was long gone before her husband opened his eyes the next morning. In fact, as Logan stirred and stretched, Hana was already pulling into the car park at school, disgruntled to find someone parked in her slot despite the early hour. Feeling annoyed at the unwieldy turning circle on the BMW which demanded an embarrassing five-point turn, Hana pinched another spot around by the school gym. Getting out of the car, she accidentally caught her shin on the pointed bottom of the door and stamped her foot childishly in anger. “That is it!” she exclaimed to herself, determined to get her Honda back as soon as possible.
Once inside, Hana examined her laddered tights, finding a dribble of clear nail polish at the bottom of her drawer to dab onto the hole and stop it becoming a bigger run. Hauling her skirt further down was small comfort as when she stood up again, the ladder popped back into view like a glaring white lamp in a sea of black stocking. A small amount of blood seeped from the cut and the nail varnish made it sting and smart.
Hana worked hard all morning, attempting to restore her previously efficient role into its former state. Sheila left her alone, keen to return to normality as quickly as possible and Pete stepped over and around her with extreme care. Hana worked straight through morning tea and lunch, crouched over her computer screen, entering and updating records, alternately kneeled on the floor going through the mountain of paper.
She was disturbed by the sound of the boys coming back into the common room after lunch, a hubbub of noise and smell. Hana let out a huge sigh and excusing herself, went in search of the bathroom and a strong cup of tea. At the washbasin, she ran her hand under the tap and used the water to wet her lips, realising tea would make her sick again. The dark lowlights of her hair struck out starkly against the straightened blonde and red under the glare of the ancient strip lights. Someone was in the end stall and flushed, clattering awkwardly out of the thick doorway. At the sight of Hana fiddling around with a stray piece of fringe, Ethel Bowman froze on the spot. Out of the corner of her eye, Hana saw her momentarily consider going back into the stall before deciding to brave it out. Hana turned to face her, readying a reluctant but determined smile. She was instantly aghast at the state of the older woman.
Ethel Bowman’s hair was unkempt and straggly and her tent dress looked un-ironed, hanging off her like a large shroud. She had shed copious amounts of weight from the solid frame and now looked gangly and spare, lost under the floral fabric like a piece of furniture put away for storage. Her face was a horrid grey and where the famous triple chins once proudly wobbled, was a tell-tale flap of skin. Her eyes were dull and lackluster and she looked unbelievably sad. Her gaze dropped away from Hana’s as she struggled to compose herself. Finally, she said, sounding like a Jane Austen character, “I am undone, my dear. Thoroughly undone.”
Hana’s arm began to ache as she stood staring at Ethel Bowman and she realised with surprise her hand was still half way between the sink and her head, where she had intended to tackle the rest of her fringe. She glanced in the mirror and witnessed herself in a kind of half salute and put the hand down quickly by her side. Ethel moved quietly along to the line of sinks and washed her hands carefully and laboriously. Hana dried hers on a paper towel and then reached up and patted Ethel on the shoulder gently, trying to offer comfort. It was clear the woman was in extreme pain of some sort.
“How about we sit down with a cup of tea and have a chat?” Hana suggested. In the kitchen area, Hana was dismayed to discover Mrs Bowman preferred coffee, hoping fervently she wouldn’t start vomiting at the smell. She chose a peppermint herbal tea for herself, strong and smelly and seated herself across from her companion, praying sincerely all the while. For grace and a strong stomach. Just this once, on both counts in equal measure.
Ethel took a loud and long slurp of her coffee and leaned in close to Hana. Hana tensed, waiting for the familiar reaction to the smell, trying not to breathe in sync with Ethel. At home Logan had declared a self-imposed ban from drinking coffee, acquiescing easily after the incident with Hana puking over the porch. Fortunately, Ethel leaned back again once she began her torrid download of apology and information. “You see dear, I had no idea. I really thought he wanted me, for myself.” She lowered her voice nasally so the staff on free period around them couldn’t hear. “I met him at a Christmas tea dance which my friend took me to. He seemed so attentive and genuine. I liked him, I really did and he lavished me with attention, which I haven’t had much of.”
“When was this?” Hana asked as Ethel took another slurp of her drink. Noticeably absent was the stash of biscuits and cakes synonymous with the name of Bowman. Just coffee nowadays it seemed.
“He started calling round after New Year,” Ethel continued, “before school came back. It all seemed so lovely. I felt a million dollars. I should have smelled a rat but well…I was so gullible I suppose.” She sighed and rubbed her hand roughly over her face.
“How much did he take?” Hana asked her, adding quickly, “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”
Ethel reached out and touched Hana’s hand. “I have no dignity left and after what Bodie and those other policemen told me about how you have fared, I don’t mind telling you everything. He’s taken all I had. In a few short weeks, it was one ‘loan’ after another, all properly drawn up by lawyers who don’t exist. He persuaded me, well…I stupidly offered…although your son and the nice detectives kindly reassured me I was manipulated into…taking a mortgage out on my little villa. I’m now paying for a large debt on a South African mining company which I have never heard of, with no hope of release. That is if it even exists. The lovely men your son brought round are looking into it all. But the upshot of it is, I’m selling my house and retiring. I’ve had time to rethink many things recently. With the little that’s left, I’m going to live with my sister in Tauranga. She has Parkinson’s and I am going to care for her in our dotage.”
Hana made sorry noises, genuinely feeling sad for the woman who gave the best part of her life to the school. To the exclusion of all else, it seemed. Given so much to the school in fact, there was nothing left to share with a nice new husband or boyfriend after the loss of her first. Which came first, a sense of emptiness and living through one’s job, or living through one’s job and creating a sense of emptiness in other areas of life? Hana didn’t know and doubted very much Ethel did either.
“Do you know,” started Ethel suddenly, startling Hana from her musing, “I’ve been trying to lose weight for years. So every cloud has a silver lining, as they do say.” She smiled and patted Hana’s hand again. “I’m sorry he got me spying on you. I simply didn’t realise. I honestly thought he knew you and was interested in how you were doing. I suppose deep down; I harboured this ridiculous dream of impressing you, having you round to lunch with him and showing off a bit. Silly really.” Ethel looked hard at Hana, seeing how perplexed she was at the last comment. “You see, dear, I have always admired you, you know. Suffering that great loss as you did, but getting up and carrying on, bringing up those two beautiful children and now finding hope for yourself. I think I envied you. You have this ‘something’ and I wanted a little for myself. Silly old woman!”
Hana’s frown grew deeper, wondering what it was about herself Ethel saw and how she could tap into it now, complicated as her life was growing suddenly. On an impulse, she grabbed Ethel’s hand tightly in her own and leaning in, kissed her gently on the cheek. Ethel looked shocked, but not as stunned as the other people in the staffroom who hushed quickly and then tried to resume normal life as Hana leaned back in her seat. “You are precious,” she said with compassion, to the stricken Ethel, “fearfully and wonderfully made.”
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Ethel’s eyes filled with tears which brimmed and threatened to plunge over her eye rims. Hana knew she should be saying something super spiritual, something awesome which would irrevocably alter the course of the other woman’s life, but hard as she prayed, nothing would come to her aid apart from one simple sentence, Psalm 139, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” It seemed hardly appropriate, woefully inadequate somehow, but it was all she had to offer.
The bell sounded for the next period and Hana reluctantly got up from the table. Ethel stirred but made no move to leave so Hana patted her again on the arm and went to put her cup in the dishwasher. It was almost full and splattered down the side of the cupboard as she aimed the liquid into the back. It was a lazy habit and one she admonished her children for doing and she felt momentarily guilty. Serves you right, she thought to herself.
Grabbing a cloth, she dampened it and began to wipe the cupboard front, kneeling down to do it. The smell of the disinfectant on the floor which had been recently mopped combined with the scent of coffee from the open dishwasher, threatened to loosen Hana’s grip on her sickness and she struggled to fight down the bile which rose into her gullet. The sound of high pitched arguing made her stand up quickly, far too fast for someone feeling so sick and the last thing Hana remembered was the sight of Caroline’s angry face and Sheila’s determined one, as once again she pitched into the familiar nothingness. The last thing she heard was Sheila yelling, “Stay away from her you toxic little…”
When she awoke, Hana was rottenly sick into a bucket which was held out to her by the kindly school nurse. She lay back on the pillows feeling exhausted, but knowing from experience it would quickly pass. Looking around at the sick bay, Hana was relieved no boys were in there staring at her curiously. She was not to know four boys were hurriedly cleared out in order to allow her to recover in peace. Kind Boris carried Hana down the winding staircase with his jacket over her knees to protect her dignity, laying her tenderly on the hospital bed. The nurse shooed them all away and closed the door, taking Hana’s pulse and temperature and deliberating whether or not to call an ambulance. Hana’s face was white as she lay back on the pillows.