by Bowes, K T
Looking up, Hana saw Boris’s anxious face peering in as he clicked it closed. Then he was across with Caroline, moving her out of the way as Logan revved the engine and pulled out. Hana glanced back to see Caroline’s hostility oozing out at her, but there was something else on Boris’ face that Hana could not define, but which nevertheless filled her with misgivings.
Hana wound the window down to take advantage of the cold winter air flowing in, which helped her to regain command over her body. As the Honda swept around the roundabout at Flagstaff and made the climb up the hill on River Road, Hana had a sudden flashback of her hurling vomit clean across Caroline’s shoes. She couldn’t have planned it better if she tried. She began to snigger quietly, disguising it as a cough at first but then when the giggles came thick and fast, Hana succumbed to the emotional release it offered and laughed until her sides felt like they were going to split.
Logan was alarmed at first thinking she was in distress, pulling over onto the hard shoulder and leaning over to help her. Grasping suddenly what she was laughing at, he found himself joining in and they sat and laughed until they were both nearly sick. Yet when the hilarity was over, Hana was haunted by the look on Boris’s face as they drove away and his sudden attention over the last few weeks. She instantly knew why, but really didn’t want to voice it. He was a man under a spell.
Hana Du Rose
Chapter 23
The holidays came around finally. It had been an extraordinarily endless term, two weeks longer than usual. The time off was punctuated by a visit from a very pregnant looking Izzie and a growing Elizabeth, who chortled and grinned fit to bust. Everywhere they went people asked Izzie when she was due, refusing to believe she was only four and a half months pregnant.
Jas spent a couple of nights out at Culver’s Cottage without his parents, revelling in the connection with his new aunty and cousin. He was a wonderful little boy and they were all in love with him by the time Izzie waddled back off to Invercargill. Despite many late night talks and lots of time spent together, Hana managed to keep her pregnancy secret from her daughter. It wasn’t entirely intentional, but more that she didn’t know how to start a conversation of that sort. Whenever she felt seriously sick, she found an excuse to go outside in the fresh air or down to the bathroom. By the end of the holidays though, Hana found the dreaded nausea significantly abated, confirming her suspicion she fell pregnant almost immediately after Logan put the ring on her finger.
Hana spent a lovely three days staying at Amy’s and looking after Jas while she and Bodie carried on working. Kindy closed for the holidays and the friend who usually looked after him was away. They baked and walked and played in the park happily and it encouraged Hana perhaps she wasn’t too old to go round again in the parenting world. She met lots of older mothers in the play parks, who excelled in their careers and left childbearing until later and who seemed patient and in control. Hana remembered her frantic parenting with Izzie and Bodie and wondered if she might actually be able to make a better job this time.
The other reason for her staying at Amy’s was so Logan could organise the sorting out of the driveway. She had driven him over to the Gordonton house and he retrieved his motorbike but hated climbing the gravel drive on it as the bends and steepness threatened to pitch him off each time. His cavalier disregard of his own safety seemed to have been exchanged for an increased carefulness, now he had Hana and his child depending on him.
Against all odds and advice from various companies, the driveway was going to be laid with tar and embedded with grey gravel. Logan could only find one firm willing to give it a go, confident their lorries could cope with the hill, but it meant the only road entrance to Culver’s Cottage would be completely out of bounds until it was dug, laid and sealed. Logan came with Hana to stay at Amy’s but was gone during the day while the work was done.
There was some difficulty with the gates which were removed during the work and the gate company were re-employed to deal with it. Hana was concerned about the house being exposed to trespass when Logan elected not to stay at home, but he convinced her the drive was impassable. “Bloody hell, Hana. There’s a ditch from one end to the other and aggregate going into it. Nobody could get a vehicle up there and if your mates want to walk up there, well they’ll have a wasted trip, won’t they?”
Hana was still dirty at her husband and the tension between them was unpleasant, not helped by the small double bed they shared in Amy’s spare room. Last time Logan reached for his wife with his gentle, slender fingers, she pushed him away. “No,” she said. “Don’t. I can’t deal with all your crap at the moment. I don’t know who you are anymore. Please, just leave me alone.”
“Do you regret marrying me?” Logan whispered, his voice full of self-doubt. Cruelly, Hana turned on her side away from him and refused to answer but her heart cried out, I don’t know.
One positive fact of Logan’s stay was it gave Jas an opportunity to get to know his new step-grandfather, whom he called Poppa Logan and he grew persistent about wanting Logan to bath him because they blew bubbles with the toys and squirted water at each other.
The last night of staying at Amy’s, both Bodie and she were still on shift and there was only Jas and his grandparents at home. Hana tolerated the shrieks and giggles from the bathroom for some time before investigating, only to discover a soaked bathroom and an equally saturated Logan. “Oh my goodness! What have you done?” she chastised. Jas was completely covered in bubbles, resembling a white petalled sunflower and the cleaning up operation took almost an hour. Jas was late to bed as Hana told both boys off and made them scrub the bath while she loaded endless towels into the washing machine and set it going. “How did you wet the ceiling?” she complained.
She was tired herself, wanting desperately to clamber into bed as the nausea threatened mildly in the background of her consciousness. She was irritated and grotty, which only made Jas and Logan look sideways at each other cautiously and the former burst sporadically into uncontrollable giggles.
Amy was tired when she got home after a difficult shift. She sported a cut on her chin and a bruise was beginning on her cheek. Hana asked, but Amy was economical with the information and if she noticed the spotless state of her bathroom and absence of towels of any description either in the room or the airing cupboard, she didn’t mention it.
On the final Sunday of the holidays, Hana went back to church up at Oadby and took little Jas with her, seeing as neither Amy nor Bodie objected. She had been away for over three months, but it was as though she never left. She was greeted with hugs and kisses, the same as ever and Pastor Allen endeared himself to her further by not singling her out in any kind of public welcome.
Ivan was not there, but Charlotte and Gareth were, sitting next to Hana as though the last few months had not happened. Hana nodded to Gareth at school a couple of times when he was studying in the common room, glad Angus was lenient over him hitting Tama. She felt reluctant to ask about his mother, aware Anka had not only abandoned their father, but them also.
Charlotte was chatty and animated for once after the service, actually removing the earphones to speak to Hana. “He passed his full licence and drove me here,” she told Hana, a proud smile on her lips as Gareth went off in search of the biscuits. They seemed close and it was clear sibling rivalry had been buried in favour of unity in the face of uncertainty.
Careful not to mention Anka, Hana asked, “Where’s your dad this week?”
“Oh, he’s gone out with Mum buying furniture.”
Hana kept her face straight and even, willing Charlotte to tell her more voluntarily, but the girl didn’t, either assuming Hana already knew or not wanting to speak further about it.
Jas, who trotted off easily into Sunday school, reappeared from the back room with several sheets of scribbly colouring. They were mainly pictures of Jesus with lots of multi-coloured sheep and a shepherd’s crook made into an assault rifle. Jesus had gained a bulletproof vest and a policem
an’s hat, which looked like a pizza floating on his head. Hana made admiring noises and gave Jas a kiss and cuddle, before losing him temporarily to the biscuit tray. “Gingernuts, my favourite!” he exclaimed and then glanced back at the colour of Hana’s hair with a perplexed look on his face. He opened his mouth to ask some scintillating question but changed his mind as the biscuit tray’s contents diminished with its next circuit of the room.
Pastor Allen gave Hana a hug at the end of the service, coming over to sit with her as Charlotte headed off in search of Gareth and the biscuits. “How is Logan?” he asked and his tone was pleasant but non-committal.
“He’s doing great thanks. He’s gone back to work.”
It galled her that Logan once visited the pastor, when she had broken up with him and suspected from the way the Pastor didn’t ask her any pertinent questions he already knew far more about her husband than she probably did. Allen patted her hand and asked her kindly, “Please tell Logan, I have been thinking of him and praying for his welfare.”
Hana felt both guilty and embarrassed, knowing she would deliver the first part of the message easily, but the latter part much less so. Why is that? She tortured herself and squirmed in her seat, watching Jas put four biscuits into his mouth at once and begin coughing up running gingernut mess onto the carpet. One of the older mums banged him on the back. Hana averted her gaze in the hope they didn’t call her over, her delicate stomach surfacing at the thought of childish vomit.
“Here, this is our address,” Hana said, scribbling the street name on a scrap of paper ripped from the back of her diary in order to look too busy to disturb. “But please, don’t share it with anyone? Promise?”
“Well, of course not but…Hana, is there a problem?”
“No, no, it’s all fine. I can’t explain now. But it’s important.”
Allen smiled and patted her hand, his brow knitted with concern. He was a generous man, kindly and honest, just what the little church needed after the demise of the megalomaniac who preceded him. Allen was married to a tiny lady and together they had a little boy, identical to his mother in every way, in addition to three strapping sons from her first marriage. The mother and baby had delicate bodies like small birds, fine-framed and fragile. Pastor was tall, blonde and good looking.
At first glance the family didn’t seem to fit somehow, but once Hana got to know them she realised how deceptive appearances could be. “I’ve got Logan’s number,” the pastor said as Jas was hurried over to Hana for mopping up. She nodded and listened to Allen say he would text Logan with a time to meet. As she felt the bile rise into her throat at the mess on Jas’ shirt, she remembered Logan’s phone bleating to itself in the bottom of the gully.
She drove her grandson home feeling sad she hadn’t felt able to confide in the cleric, that her new marriage was actually teetering on the brink of destruction and she feared their inevitable separation and a subsequent second round of single-parenting. The truth was she felt foolish and far too old for such dramas.
Back at home Jas sped around the house on a little tricycle, bumping into walls and furniture, eventually pitching off on the steps down to the conservatory which was apparently ‘meant to happen’ as part of the trick. The tears were real enough though and Hana consoled him with a hastily produced lunch, knowing ‘food consolation’ was not a good habit to get into. While they munched their lunch, Jas scoffing as though the gingernuts had never happened and Hana picking at her food, she asked him about the little metal box she gave him, the night at her house when he didn’t want to go home. After some false starts and countless wasted descriptions, during which he knitted his brow and looked entirely vacant, he finally nodded. “You mean the treasure chest?” he whispered conspiratorially.
Hana wasn’t sure she did mean that but after he helped her load the dishwasher, Hana found herself on her knees amongst Action Man’s battlefield. The floor was littered with toys and stuff. Hana had to be careful neither to break one of Jas’s precious toys nor her neck. They literally turned out every drawer and cupboard, toy box and container, looking for the grey metal box. “Are you sure it’s here?” Hana groaned.
“I’m not sure now.” Jas looked incredibly shifty.
Hana tidied as she went, rolling little tee shirts and shorts and putting them back into drawers in perfect colour-coded order. Jas seemed to enjoy the process, wrenching open some other dark corner where more clothing lurked, handing it eagerly to her to roll. “Ooh more, Hanny. Do these.”
Finally, the room was spotless apart from the battlefield, which needed to remain exactly how it was under Commander Jas’ strictest orders. “No, it taked me ages to set up,” Jas fussed. “Don’t move my men. They’re camouflaged!”
“They’re dangerous!” Hana groaned as she stabbed the underside of her foot on another hidden soldier’s gun.
Hana was tired, but decided in for a penny, in for a pound and she retrieved the polish from under the sink in the kitchen and wiped the surfaces of the room until they shone. Jas refused admission to the vacuum cleaner due to its tendency to cannibalise his smallest soldiers. “Fine,” Hana sighed in exasperation. “Use the hand held one, but only if you do it yourself and properly.”
Jas experienced a minor difficulty with language translation as Hana talked about him fetching the hoover and he looked completely blank. Eventually, she mimed the action of hoovering and he giggled uproariously and then dragged it out from a cupboard in the hall. “It’s not a…what you said, it’s a vacuum cleaner.”
He was as good as his word, gathering up dust and debris from around his battle lines, occasionally moving a scenario with extreme care and precision in order to clean in between and then reinstalling it exactly as it was. While he fluffed around on the floor on his knees, moving from one area to another wielding the hand-held device, Hana lay down on his little bed for a rest. “I’m tired, Jas. I’ll watch you and tell you if the enemy is nearby so you can take cover.”
“It’s not like that, Hanny,” Jas said scornfully.
Hana could smell the baby shampoo Amy used on him and the faint scent of a flowery washing powder wafting up from his squashy pillow.
Hana turned on her right side to face him and laid her right hand under her cheek, pushing her left hand palm down under the pillow. Her fingers contacted something hard and sharp and she felt the sting of broken skin on her index finger. She gasped and pulled her hand out, sitting up quickly to assess the damage.
The wound was paper-cut thin and consequently stung quite a lot. Sitting up quickly hadn’t done her any good either and Hana sucked her finger with her head between her knees. “Oh no, not again,” she groaned as the wave of nausea passed over her head like a cloth.
Jas looked both concerned and guilty as he came over and patted her shoulder. “Sorry, Hanny,” he whispered. “I’m a bad boy.” He left the little hoover running and they both heard it growling deeper and deeper as it ran out of battery. There was a clunk as it also used its dying breaths to swallow a small green soldier. Hana reached for the pillow, to see what cut her.
Jas let out a squeal and got there ahead of her, pulling out the little metal box and holding it tightly in his hand. Hana was annoyed with him. “Why did you do that?” she asked, dismayed. “You just got me to clear up your whole room looking for it!” She had never been so sharp with him and his eyes filled with tears as he twisted the metal box around in his hand. Hana shook her head, “Don’t do that, Jas, it’s sharp. Look what it did to me.”
She held out her finger to show the trickle of blood that leaked persistently from the cut. His compassionate side came to the fore and he threw himself at her, crying and burying his face into her arm. Hana cuddled him and soothed him, still irritated but knowing anger was not the answer. After a moment or two of tears, Jas put his head back out of her fleece and grumbled to her, “But you gived it to me and I really need it!”
Hana could see his point of view but still struggled with his approach. “So y
ou could have said that to me. But instead you lied and made me do a lot of work, which I didn’t really feel like doing, for nothing.”
“You’re gonna take it from me though and I need it!” Jas implored.
Hana took both of his tiny wrists in her hands and pulled him in close so she could read his face for understanding. “I promise you, Jas, right now, I see no reason to take the little box away from you.” His little face lit up but Hana went on, “But I need you to understand you may eventually have to give it to Daddy or Mummy, if it turns out to be important. Can I trust you to give it up then?”
Jas pouted and stamped his foot, although the temporary reprieve of not parting with it right then lessened the blow. After a moment, he nodded, but it was reluctantly given. Hana held out her hand for the box and Jas slowly placed it into her palm. Avoiding the sharp edge on one corner, she turned it over, looking for a place where it may possibly open. There was nothing visible and she shook her head slightly in exasperation. It looked hand-made of a kind of tin, slightly malleable and seemingly in one continuous piece. The sharp corner betrayed an opening, although Hana couldn’t find how to activate it.
In frustration, Jas snatched it from her and turning away, scrabbled in his toy box for something. He turned back satisfied with a sharp object in his hand, which looked like a large darning needle. Hana was appalled a small child would have such a thing, but Jas seemed unperturbed and used the pointed end to push into an indent on the box. Hana had felt it under her fingers and spotted the tiny hole, but it seemed of little relevance. More fool me, she thought as something clicked inside the box. It was the tiniest of noises but nevertheless; the box seemed to dismantle in Jas’s hand. His use of the catch clearly generated the sharp edge as the metal lifted under duress. “There, see,” Jas stated triumphantly.