by Bowes, K T
“I’ll go upstairs. By myself!” Hana narrowed her eyes at her husband and he smirked again.
Hana raised her hand to rub her eyes, remembering at the last minute her cast was still there. Exasperated, she changed hands. “It’s irritating aye?” Logan commented.
Hana nodded. The break was due to be x-rayed again the following week although it was always a mission because of the baby. “I hope they take it off next week. Otherwise I might do it myself.”
Logan shook his head at Hana’s stubbornness as the Honda took the drive down into the valley. It was used to far worse just getting up and down to Culver’s Cottage. Hana thought about her life on the final leg of the journey as the hotel and its imposing gates came into sharp contour. Nothing was permanent; she knew that. She had learned it at cost. She loved her hideaway in the hills but it was Logan she was in love with; a good wife would follow her husband anywhere. Hana looked sideways at his happy face and prayed nothing would wipe the smile away over the next few days with his tumultuous family.
Hana stretched her hand across the divide and touched Logan’s thigh. The angle was awkward because of the cast, but he placed his slender fingers carefully over hers and squeezed. His thigh muscle felt taut and powerful through his jeans as his body shifted with the turns in the treacherous road and Hana smirked to herself.
The way Miriam flung herself out of the front door upon hearing the Honda crunch over the gravel was decidedly suspicious.
“The jungle drums have been beating,” Logan hissed to Hana under his breath as Miriam threw herself at her son. She looked him in the eyes and then pressed her nose and forehead to his in a traditional hongi. Hana smiled and braced herself. The cousin had warned Miriam of a big surprise, but Hana’s rounded belly was not what she imagined. Miriam stopped in her tracks and approached her daughter-in-law with more considered gentleness than she did her son. Hana shared a hongi also, but much wetter as Miriam let the happy tears run down her cheeks and drip onto her apron without shame. Her excitement was uncontainable.
“Come in, come in!” She ushered them both inside the warm, familiar hallway with the giant fireplace and seating area. She struggled to take her eyes off Hana’s bump and kept putting her hands up to her mouth as though fighting to keep in the gushing flow of joy that threatened to overwhelm her. Her face looked manic. Naked happiness coursed through Logan’s mother and it was strangely infectious.
An aura of pure pride hung around Logan and he buzzed under his mother’s attention. His smile seemed broad and easy and his eyes crinkled at the sides in ready laughter lines. Hana gently rubbed her tummy. See what a big fuss you’re causing, baby? She smiled fondly. Miriam, alert and watchful, misinterpreted the gesture and bustled forward to urge Hana to sit down in one of the comfy armchairs. She accepted the chair gracefully, shooting a look at Logan as she sat down. His grey eyes sparked with understanding and he sat on the arm of Hana’s chair, effectively screening her from his mother’s intense ministrations. “How about you make some tea, Mum. I’ll take Hana and the luggage up to my old room.”
Miriam looked like she might refuse, hovering on the edge of the rug as though if she looked away for more than a second, Logan and his unborn child might disappear in a misty haze. Logan seemed caught momentarily in the middle, trying to keep the balance between his wife’s sensibility and his mother’s sanity. He stood up to reassure Miriam, perhaps perceptive enough to know what she was thinking. He gave her a crushing hug and sent her off, promising, “We’ll be back downstairs before the tea’s brewed. We’re staying until Sunday.”
Hana felt a little disappointed in Miriam. She had mentally built into a kind of substitute for her own mother. She did two pregnancies without Judith and didn’t want to do a third. But Miriam seemed incapable of displaying the same strength of character and gentle composure as Hana’s mother would have shown. Hana’s rational self knew it wasn’t Miriam’s fault and she was the disappointed victim of her own dreams and expectations. Nonetheless, she felt a little sour. The peace and hope of the layby high in the hills dissipated like an ethereal smoke. And then Logan reached down and took Hana’s hand with that seductive look in his eye and it was all better.
He led Hana upstairs, through the winding corridors and back-spiral-staircase to his room. Hana took her boots off and stretched out longwise on the bed. Logan bounced down next to her and rolled so that he was half on top. His kisses were slow and deliberate and as usual, Hana found him difficult to resist. She turned her face to the side but undeterred, Logan moved his lips deliciously along her neck and reached his hand up underneath the dress.
“No!” Hana laughed and pushed him away, getting up and leaving him face down in the pillow groaning, his ardour severely cooled. “You promised, naughty boy,” she giggled. “Go and get the bags while I use the bathroom and then we shall go down for tea with your mother. Only this time, one shall have one’s knickers on!”
She said the last sentence as though she was an English princess and Logan got off the bed and bowed low before complying. He was back up in a few moments and Hana ratched around in the bags for her underwear and slippers. The rooms had rimu floors and rugs, but the downstairs hallway was tiled and cold. She pulled a pair of red lacy briefs over her thighs, making sure her husband saw enough to drive him mad as punishment. Then she slipped her slippers onto her feet and dodged his roving hands. “You’re so cruel,” he complained as he pulled the door to the room closed behind him. “I never knew you were such a tease!”
“I never thought you’d take my knickers off and throw them over a cliff!” Hana retorted, turning a corner and reddening with embarrassment. A house maid gathered supplies from a trolley in the hallway, handing them to another woman in an open bedroom doorway. Dirty sheets and towels were heaped in a pile on the floor. The girl looked down and bit her lip as Hana scurried towards the top of the spiral staircase, cringing as her husband laughed loudly behind her.
Miriam had dutifully made tea and paced the huge industrial kitchen, looking both nervous and excited. Hana tried not to let it irritate her. Miriam was who she was – someone slightly insane - and nothing would change that. Logan’s mother poured tea, offered biscuits and kept sneaking peeks at Hana’s stomach. Hana felt like a circus freak. Logan watched his mother carefully for a while, listening to her prattle and then went over to a cupboard in the corner of the massive room. He pulled out a box of something and Hana heard the sound of a blister pack splitting. Logan walked behind his mother and gently laid a white tablet down on the table in front of her, next to her tea mug. “This was yesterday’s, Mum. Let’s take that one now and then we can take today’s in a little while. How about that? We can do them a few hours apart until you catch up. Can you take the other sort at the same time as this one?”
Miriam looked at the tablet and then flicked her eyes towards her son, without reply. His voice sounded gentle and caressing. He pulled out his wallet and gave his mother the smallest glimpse of something inside. Hana wanted to see too. She craned her neck, but the wallet faced Miriam and not her. Miriam’s eyes widened and she seized the tablet. Small, with tiny writing on it, it was quickly gone, swilled down with the tea. Miriam held her hand out for whatever it was that Logan showed her. He carefully withdrew it from the wallet pocket and she took it as though it was made of delicate silk. The baby scan photo nestled in her fingers, a corner already bent. “Thank you,” she beamed.
Miriam studied it with the intensity required of a treasure map to millions of dollars. She wiped away a few tears, behaving like she had been given the best gift of her entire life. She held the scan gently and looked extremely proud. Hana risked a glance up at Logan and saw him watching his mother with a strange look on his face. His brow furrowed and he bit his lip. Hana wanted to tell him it was fine, she had another copy of the scan upstairs if he wanted to let Miriam keep that one. But his look was about something else.
The sound of boots clattering outside broke the reverie and footst
eps pattered down the hall. Alfred appeared in the doorway wearing large hairy socks that must have come out of gumboots on the front step. He rushed up to his son first, embracing him heartily and kissing him on the cheek. Satisfied with Logan’s health, he kissed Hana on the top of her head, patting her gently on her shoulder. “Kia ora, kōtiro,” he whispered. Alfred acknowledged his wife even though she hadn’t noticed him, kissing Miriam on the cheek gently as though she was made of glass.
When she didn’t look up, he peered over her shoulder at what engrossed her attention. Hana watched his face, momentarily entertained by his confusion. “What have we here?” he asked Miriam, who ignored him. Alfred looked harder, the small figure of the baby’s skeleton distinguishing itself from its surroundings on the paper. Alfred looked questioningly at Logan and then back at Hana. “What is this?” he asked sharply. “Not...? No, surely not.” It was like he too couldn’t believe what he saw. Hana felt perplexed. They had a grandson; they had Tama.
Yet this seemed like such a massive deal to them both. It dawned on her slowly like breaking day. This baby was the first grandchild born within marriage. Tama’s birth belonged to another family. Nobody had known he was theirs, not until it was already jaded and ruined. Alfred and Miriam adored Logan. He had mana as so many people told Hana. Maybe it was just that any child of his would be special. They had probably given up on any of their children getting properly married and bearing offspring. Hana realised again, how little she knew about the elderly couple.
Alfred grinned like a fool, but Hana detected a strange sadness in his grey eyes as though he overdid his reaction to mask something else. Logan looked utterly proud. Hana used her hand to cover a smirk. Her body sustained and provided for the unborn grandchild, but Logan’s part had been pretty explosive and extremely satisfying. She bit her lip and tried not to focus on his shapely butt and the arm muscles bulging through his shirt, as her pregnancy hormones ran amok and sent her thoughts in an altogether different direction.
The Du Rose’s reaction contrasted starkly with Hana’s father’s reception of Bodie’s existence all those years ago. When Izzie was conceived she and Vik were so fractured from both sets of family, there had been nobody to tell the good news. Hana watched Miriam’s concentrated study of the scan as though she already familiarised herself with the tiny person through its image. Alfred giggled and danced around the kitchen like a lanky pixie and Hana watched in confusion. “I might just nip to the bathroom,” she said, standing quickly. Alfred saw her rounded tummy and realised it was all far more imminent than he thought and he laughed and rejoiced even harder. “A baby!” he kept exclaiming, “A Du Rose baby! I never thought it!”
He came around the table to hug her and Hana felt the woodenness of his body against hers. A slight tremor communicated itself to her and her face fell with dismay. He was faking. Hana stepped back in confusion and studied his face for answers. Alfred was as expert at shielding his emotions as Logan and she got nothing from him. “Sit, sit!” he told her. “Stay here a while.” He licked his lips and his grey eyes flashed something; a warning perhaps. Hana sat down in her place with a thump.
“A quick word, Dad,” Logan whispered, catching Alfred’s arm and leading him to the counter. Under the pretence of pouring tea, Hana heard him say quietly to his father, “Mum’s missing her meds.”
Alfred looked at him startled and a frown moved over his face. He nodded emphatically and then let out a big breath. They had their backs to the kitchen and Alfred reached across and patted his son’s shoulder. Hana saw Alfred jerk his chin forward, expressing an unspoken question and she heard Logan’s quiet reply, “About a week. She’s had one and if I can get another down her before bedtime she should come right.” Logan leaned in closer to his father, “You have to stay on top of it, Dad. It’s important.”
Alfred nodded and glanced guiltily backwards at Miriam, still engrossed in the photo. He patted Logan’s shoulder again and turned back toward the table, to where Hana felt a little awkward and excluded.
Miriam stood up suddenly and carefully placed the photo into her apron pocket like a kangaroo resettling its new-born roo. And then she smiled. It broke out over her face like sunshine superseding the rain. It was a beautiful smile that lit the face of an unexpectedly stunning woman. Hana recognised the serene, grey-eyed woman from the train more than twenty years ago. Her eyes were kindness itself and Hana relaxed. “Dinner!” Miriam said, as though she had just offered them something exciting.
Alfred explained haltingly. “We have a party of forty in. They want an evening meal. We’ve got our ladies from the township coming in soon.”
Logan nodded with approval. He offered Hana his hand and led her over to the door. “We’ll get out of the way,” he said.
“Don’t you need some help?” offered Hana, but Miriam bustled over and kissed her on the cheek.
“We’re like a well-oiled machine, kōtiro. I’ll supervise the ladies and then we can eat in here afterwards.” Her hands strayed to the pocket of her apron and touching the photo seemed to inject her with energy. Hana saw her as Logan did and immediately felt overwhelming compassion for this fragile woman. She allowed herself to be led from the kitchen by her husband and once they were out in the hall, she wrapped both arms around his waist.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him, nestling close. He stopped and looked down at her, his face questioning. “I should have let you do this sooner,” she acknowledged, “I feel mean now. Your mother’s so happy. You knew she would be, didn’t you?” Hana was careful not to mention Alfred’s strangeness.
Logan shook his head emphatically. “No, it was better this way. But yes, I knew they would both be overjoyed.” He hugged her close and kissed her ear, “But the timing was perfect.”
He nodded to himself and led Hana down a different hallway to the family room. “I’ve never been in here have I?” she asked entering the large, open space.
The walls were panelled like an ancient Tudor dwelling. Old fashioned, red leather sofas were dotted around the room, the decorative sort with old metal buttons forming a diamond effect on the larger areas of upholstery. Logan shrugged and moved across to the fireplace while Hana walked around looking at things with interest. A low fire struggled in the hearth and her husband set to work fixing it. He took logs and kindling sticks from a wicker basket and after he had coaxed the tiny flame into something a bit stronger, added the kindling and a couple of logs.
He worked quickly and intently. It was alien to Hana who was a city girl at heart and more than once, Logan arrived home to find the fire dull and lifeless and Hana wearing a coat, or on one occasion, a coat and dressing gown. He had given up trying to demonstrate the art of fire making to his wife and made sure the fire was kept in when they needed it.
Hana curled up on the sofa. “How old were you when you made your first fire?”
“Five,” Logan grunted, poking kindling into fiery orange gaps. “Outdoor fires are harder but Jack taught me those early. Once I grasped the rudimentary principles, it became my responsibility to stoke the family room and kitchen fires. The kitchen one used to heat all the water for the house.”
It was an important job and Logan took it seriously. He continually tried as an adult not to get cross with Hana, who failed to see the necessity of such a primitive skill and would rather flick a switch and get instant heat.
“I love this furniture,” Hana said, laying back on the massive four seater sofa. “It’s got such character. It fits this room perfectly.” She looked around her happily.
Logan finished with the fire and flicked on the stereo, housed inside a glass dresser in the corner of the room. There was also a TV, but Logan ignored it. Slow country music crooned gently out of the speakers. He looked apologetic as Kenny Rogers got into his stride, but it fit the place somehow and Hana relaxed. Logan sat down next to her, fitting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into him. His tan boots peeked out from under the hem of his jeans as he plonked his fe
et on a low, worn coffee table. Hana was scandalised. “I hope you don’t do that at home,” she griped.
“It’s fine,” Logan yawned unconcerned. Hana peered harder at the table and noticed signs of wear around the edges and heel shaped grooves in the wood.
She settled back and closed her eyes, savouring the sense of peace and stability that enveloped the hotel like a timeless void. Logan laid his cheek on the top of Hana’s head and she felt him playing with a red curl further down her back. His strong body was soft and comfortable and she didn’t want to move in case she lost the perfectly shaped spot she was nestled into.
Hana woke up an hour later, overly hot and disoriented. The softness of Logan had been poorly replaced by an old tartan cushion and Hana had slipped into an awkward angle in the crack between the seat cushions. Her neck ached and she sensed wetness under her cheek. Sitting up with a groan, she found dribble on the cushion and the sofa she had admired, had sucked her into a well-worn groove and wouldn’t let her go. Her head felt muzzy and her heavy cast hung at a bad angle, producing a bone-numbing ache in her shoulder and armpit. “I shouldn’t have laid down in the first place,” she groaned crossly to the empty room. The space seemed hot and airless and Hana sat still for a minute, gathering her wits enough to stand and walk. She opened the door and cool air blasted around her legs as though it had been waiting outside for admittance.
It was dark and the passageway outside was gloomy and misleading. Hana stepped into it, not knowing which direction to take. She needed to find Logan and a bathroom and felt annoyed at herself for not taking more notice of the route they took. “It must be this way,” she grumbled to herself, heading left.
Hana crept along the passage, feeling at chest height along the wall in case she came across a light switch. The deceptively wide area housed wall tables and bench seats, churchlike in the dark. Every other door was tightly closed. “Oh, where am I?” Hana whispered.