by Bowes, K T
Logan broke the kiss and glanced up at the sound of a door banging. He waved to someone over Hana’s shoulder. She glanced too but missed whomever he acknowledged. Logan took her hand and led her back to the quad, but Hana couldn’t lose the sensation of being watched. On the bike, she looked back once as they crested the hill before the downward slope, her eyes searching the landscape for the eyes which burned into her back.
Flick watched silently from the deck of the cedar bunkhouse and Hana felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. That her husband seemed to trust him right now, didn’t seem to be enough.
Du Rose Legacy
Chapter 31
On their way back down the motorway Hana asked suddenly, “What would you have done if I picked a silly name?”
He took his attention off the road fractionally to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“You know, something humiliating, like Flash or Bob?”
Logan shrugged and thought about his answer, feeling Hana’s eyes studying his face. “I guess I knew you wouldn’t, so it was a safe gamble. You wouldn’t disrespect something so gorgeous with a stupid label. But at the same time, I can’t go asking people to tell me what they think if I’m not prepared to accept it.” He indicated to get onto the back roads down to Huntly. “Whatever you’d said, that would be what he was registered as. We might have picked a different stable name but at the end of the day, I asked for your input.”
Hana lay back against her headrest feeling content. She felt valued and listened to. It was a great feeling and she wanted more of it. Years and years more.
Term four passed more quickly as it gathered pace towards the exams. The rotten spring weather seemed short lived as summer advanced. Logan held tutorials for his seniors during lunch hours and often after school and many times, Hana drove herself home after work. But there were no more business meetings that forced Logan north and for that Hana was grateful. She had only a few weeks remaining of her pregnancy, but felt sluggish and tired much of the time. There were some nights when she crawled out of the car and up onto the porch, desperate for her bed.
Logan would get home and find her zonked out on the sofa in the living room, fully clothed on the bed or once on the floor of the hallway where she had been certain she was looking for something, but was no longer sure what. When Logan stood on the spiky earring a few nights later, Hana remembered. “Yes! That was it!”
After that, Logan limited the after school tutorials and when he had a faculty meeting, made sure Maihi was on hand to pay a visit and stick around until he got home.
The student centre filled with panicking boys of all ages. It was largely the same every year. There were Year 13’s who suddenly discovered their mates had sneakily applied to universities and they hadn’t. There were rugby squad boys who, now the secondary school season was over had lost the will to live. They were usually sent in by terrified parents, faced with the reality of a boy who would be returning to finish school well into his twenties, eating their food and clogging up their laundry basket with no end in sight. Then there were frightened Year 11 and 12’s who missed the date for picking next year’s options and hadn’t got into their chosen classes.
The office was made busier by the fact that Rory, as Year 13 dean, dealt with his errant band of truants, nervous breakdowns, fights and other sundry discipline problems in the small office. Sheila could shut her door but occasionally, Hana felt as though she really must leave the room and allow Rory and some unfortunate boy, privacy and peace. It was hard enough for a young man to show his emotions without an audience.
On one such occasion, she took herself off to the staffroom for a cup of tea. Hana chatted amicably with the elderly man who washed the dishes after interval, discussing the state of the lawns at Culver’s Cottage. “The overwintering has done our grass no good whatsoever,” she complained. Despite Logan’s worthy battle with the lawnmower once a fortnight it had degenerated into paddock weed, an endless sea of yellow flowery heads waving in the breeze, completely un-manicured and rather unsightly.
The man nodded knowingly. “Well, if you don’t water the grass, it dies and gets replaced by drought-happy weeds.”
Hana agreed with him but having added the words ‘tank water,’ the old man realised she had absolutely no control over the matter and smiled benignly. Nobody on tank water would be foolish enough to waste it on the grass.
The sun shone and Hana spotted Pete out on the balcony. She wound her way through the tables and chairs, trying not to knock her belly or spill her tea. The ranch sliders were pushed wide open and a gentle breeze greeted her as she stepped onto the deck, balancing the cup of tea precariously on her bump. “Hey Pete,” Hana said affectionately, coming up behind him. He stood at the balcony rail; his elbows leaned on the top and his chin on his hands.
Hana was unsure whether the fact his bum crack was on display to the whole staffroom behind him was something he did on purpose to put people off their food, or just an unfortunate accident.
“What you up to?” Hana sipped her hot tea and tried to see what Pete was looking at in the distance. She squinted against the sunshine and used her hand to shield her eyes. Over on the backfields near the boundary, a group of boys were out in their distinctive black and white PE kits. They lay on their backs making bicycle movements with their legs.
A tall, dark figure in a school tracksuit stood with them, walking around between their prone bodies, occasionally moving his arms as he spoke. He blew a whistle and they leapt to their feet, forming up behind an unseen line. The man lined up with them, blew his whistle again and they all charged off around the field, a swarming throng of black and white bodies. A small boy at the back loped along, undoubtedly having difficulty.
The teacher stayed with him, keeping pace and Hana saw him bend every few metres to say something to the little figure. They ran around the pitch three times, the man and the little boy falling far behind, but not stopping. The swarm of bodies stopped near one of the goals and uniformly flopped to the ground. They looked like a bug strike on a green field of crops. The little boy kept running, the tall man bounding effortlessly at his side until they reunited with the group. The child hurled himself forwards holding his knees, forming a distorted triangle with his body as the rest of the boys broke into applause. The teacher slapped the skinny child on the back. It was too far away to make out the expression on the boy’s face but eventually he sank onto the ground next to the others and flipped onto his back.
“Cancer,” Pete said quietly.
“Pardon?” Hana answered, turning to him in alarm.
“The boy at the back. He’s had Leukaemia. Been back a few weeks and already he’s got him running around. They’ll do anything for him.” Pete’s voice dripped resentment. Hana tried to lead him away from a subject she didn’t want to get into.
“Are they Year 9’s?” she asked. Pete nodded. “How come Logan’s taking them for phys Ed?”
“He likes it, he’s good at it, I don’t and I’m not,” Pete replied churlishly, “He’s good at everything he touches. Always has been, always will be.”
Hana sighed. Pete often had sullen periods over the years. It could be a difficult job getting things out of him at the best of times, but she never recalled him being this resentful or downright miserable. “What’s wrong, Pete,” she asked, “we’ve known each other a long time. You’ve seen me at my worst and been so kind to me. What’s wrong?”
He turned to face her and Hana was surprised to see him struggle to keep control. Pete seemed genuinely upset, his eyes bright with unshed tears and his cheeks flushed and pink. His wispy hair moved comically in the breeze, but there was nothing amusing in the defeated stance of his body as he faced her. “It’s all gone wrong this year,” he said. “I was so happy when he came down here,” he jabbed his finger angrily at Logan, obliviously leading his class on the field, “and when he came to live at the house, it was like old times. And I met Henri and he found you and it was all so
great. And now...now it’s...not.”
Pete shut up suddenly. Hana mulled things over quietly without answering. She had noticed Logan and Pete hadn’t hung around together so much recently, but hadn’t thought much of it. “What’s changed?” she asked.
Pete blanched, turning paler than usual. He shook his head a few times, not wanting to tell her. He physically backed away and then reconsidered. When he spoke, it was in a whisper and he came so close to Hana’s face, she could smell the peanut butter sandwich he had just eaten. “I stuffed up, Hana. I stuffed up big time. I had a problem years ago. Logan paid them off and I promised, never again, I promised. But then Boris started...and I...” Pete paused and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. He looked like he was about to cry. “Anyway, Henri stepped in and sorted it and...well, Logan found out and...he hasn’t spoken to me since.”
“Boris was gambling,” Hana said quietly, “were you?” She looked at him, trying to put together the snippets Logan told her about what Boris was into and how it almost led Laval straight to her door, in payment of a debt. Pete’s eyes closed and a huge tear slipped out and ran down his shamed face. Hana saw his humiliation. Her mother’s heart melted and she reached out to him tentatively with one hand.
Like a coiled spring, he seized the fragile thread of compassion and crushed her to him. Her tea mug fell to the ground with a thud, not breaking on the wooden deck, but the tea spewed out and ran through the gaps in the boards. Hana heard a confused squeal, as some unfortunate boy sitting on the bench underneath was doused in warm, brown tea.
Hana was slightly taller than Pete and tried not to be put off by the smattering of dandruff which coated the back of his school tracksuit jacket, alarmingly near her face. She fought not to breathe it in, whilst concentrating on the human need for affection which he so obviously craved. He squished her to him, making it hard to take a breath as he spattered her shoulder with tears and snot. Hana didn’t care that all the teaching staff using the staffroom for meetings or free periods witnessed the touching scene, but she did care that her husband was walking back across the field with his class and had particularly great eyesight. She peered down over Pete’s shoulder and knew Logan had seen when he halted and the boy next to him bounced up and down and repeated whatever he had said.
Hana started to pry Pete’s hands from around her neck feeling ever so slightly claustrophobic, but he was stuck like a limpet.
“What’s going on ‘ere then?” came a soft Welsh accent and Hana was intensely grateful. Gwynne appeared in her view and she pulled a face as near to ‘help’ as she could. Gwynne’s strong hands plied Pete’s from around Hana’s neck and his sensible presence brought control back to the situation. He reached in his pocket and produced a small packet of tissues, which he offered to Pete. Pete ripped the plastic off and used all ten to blow his hooter at once. Gwynne stepped back quickly, in case Pete tried to give the tissues back and Hana stifled a giggle. They had both known him far too long. Gwynne put his arm around Pete’s shoulder and led him away from Hana and over to a quiet corner of the balcony, where he sat him down and produced another packet of tissues from a different pocket.
Hana wondered if Gwynne’s new wife was an emotional person, for him to need that many tissues. She retrieved her mug from the floor and contemplated the wet stain on her arm. Clattering below told her the group of boys had reached the building and looking down over the balcony rail, she saw her husband’s grey eyes staring into hers. Something about the hardness there and the stillness of his body as he looked up at her, made her quail inside.
Hana looked away and went back to the office, knowing Logan was in some way disappointed with her. She did her work, but her heart felt heavy. “I can’t support you if you won’t tell me things!” she hissed at her computer screen. Logan didn’t come to see her at lunchtime as he sometimes did and Hana felt chastened. She knew how Pete felt, being on the wrong foot with Logan Du Rose. She tried not to let it ruin her day, acknowledging as an angry rebellion threatened to rise up that it might all be in her head and to defend herself immediately she saw him, would actually be pre-emptive and lead to an argument.
They met at the car at home time, Logan already in the driver’s seat. He fiddled with something on his phone. Hana got in and leaned across for a kiss. She was testing the ground but didn’t know what to think when he kissed her back with tenderness. The drive home was quiet and the silence made Hana want to scream. In the end, she decided to wade into the murky waters and deal with whatever surfaced. “Pete told me,” she said as they rode west over the Fairfield Bridge, “about the gambling. I didn’t realise you’d completely frozen him out until he broke down at lunch time. He’s a mess, Logan.”
The lights at the end changed to red and Logan stopped the car behind an enormous red Hummer that claimed most of his attention. It was a truly huge vehicle and the Honda bonnet barely reached its rear bumper. Logan made a noise of exasperation with his lips but said nothing. Hana knew with unexpected clarity she had been there a million times with her husband over myriad small and large issues and that she would end up here again. At The Wall. She suddenly didn’t have the energy.
She let out a huge sigh and stopped trying to push the matter, putting the fingers of both hands over her eyes to dull the budding headache, running them down her cheeks and back up to rub the sides of her head. Then she leaned over and cracked the window down a bit to let in some air as the cars moved off again and they followed the Hummer right and up Victoria Street. Hana lay her head back against the headrest, noticing her frustration had abated. The need to poke and pry and know everything was dimming. She was cured. She smiled with her eyes closed and relaxed.
Hana felt the change in road camber as they left the old Avalon Drive and hit the new expressway. Then she felt Logan’s hand over hers, startling her to look at him. He stayed facing forwards, driving one-handed as he said, “I’ve forgiven him. I’ll get over it. I just need him to understand what he did.”
Hana nodded. She wanted to know more, but had learned finally, not to push. At home, Logan parked in the garage under the house. As they started to get out, he spoke, his voice low and confidential. “It was twenty grand, that’s what it cost me to bail him out last time. He never paid it back and I never asked. Seems it was a waste and so were the stitches and black eye I got paying it for him.” Logan got out of the car and went up the back steps leaving Hana open mouthed. She leaned against the car and ran her hand over her bump. She wondered if the baby would be sunny and amicable like Izzie, or silent and brooding like Bodie and Logan.
Realising the odds were definitely against her, Hana followed her husband up the stairs. In the kitchen, she found him filling the kettle with water and fetching mugs from the cupboard. She went up behind him and put her arms around his waist, following his movements as he put a tea bag in her mug and coffee into his. She shadowed him over to the fridge, still holding on and trying not to fall over his feet. In the end, he gave up and laughed, pulling her around and into his chest. “What do you fancy for tea?” he asked, but his voice was muffled in her hair. Hana rubbed her hand over her stomach.
“I don’t think I’m hungry,” she said quietly, “I might have a drink for now. Everything feels constricted inside.”
Logan rubbed his hand gently up and down her back, soothing her. It felt seriously good and Hana was grateful for his contact. She snuggled in close, just coming around to the idea of skipping the drinks altogether when the buzzer sounded near the front door. Hana felt a familiar knot of fear spring into the space between her ribs and stomach, sickening and paralysing. She had to remind herself that nobody wanted to hurt her anymore and life could go back to normal, whatever that was.
Logan responded to a male voice and pressed the gate button. Hana concentrated on her breathing and then excused herself and went to the bathroom. She sat on the lid of the toilet for a while, collecting herself and trying to calm down. When she finally emerged, pale and
shaking, she felt a complete fool. Pastor Allen stood in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of cold water. He greeted Hana fondly, putting his glass on the table and folding her into a hug, adding a polite kiss to her cheek. “We haven’t seen you for a while, Mrs Du Rose,” he said jokingly.
Hana blanched and tried to stutter out excuses, but he waved his hand in the air jovially. “No, no my dear, I was only joking, badly, I must add. I read something of your difficulties in the local newspaper.”
Hana’s eyes grew wide. “What? No! Not in the papers!” She panicked and looked at Logan.
Realising his mistake, Pastor Allen, shook his head. “It mentioned no names, Hana, but I recognised some of the details from what you told me when you were in the hospital. I must admit, I thought it was a series of isolated incidents, but it seems it was bigger than that. Why on earth didn’t you say something to me, to one of us? We could have done something to help.”
He seemed genuinely appalled and Hana quailed a little under his intensely kind stare. She looked towards Logan for help, but he leaned with his back against the pantry door looking at something on his thumbnail. Pastor Allen was evidently expecting a response and Hana couldn’t help feeling like she was not only under scrutiny, but also in disgrace.
“Sorry,” she said quietly, like a naughty child. Logan reached her in one huge stride and taking her arm gently led her to the table and helped her into a seat.
“She’s not feeling great,” he said defensively to the pastor, standing behind her, his eyes narrowed. Hana sensed his protectiveness and felt jointly grateful and stupid, knowing she had grossly overreacted. The sickness associated with Laval made a glorious revisit and Hana felt hopeless for having believed it gone.
Pastor Allen made a tutting sound with his mouth and plonked himself down in the seat next to her. Ignoring Logan stood over him, he took Hana’s hand in his and pulled it towards him. “It’s not a criticism my love,” he said gently, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I feel that we, your friends have all badly let you down. You’ve been missing church and home group for a long while and we should have done better. I apologise from the bottom of my heart.” He stroked Hana’s hand and looked genuinely downcast.