by K T Bowes
Chapter 4
A study class occupied the common room, overseen by the tall Māori teacher. He stood with his hands in the pockets of expensively cut trousers, his famous backside resting against the wall. The sole of his black cowboy boot rested against the wall behind him and he looked casual and yet dangerous.
Hana dashed past carrying a box of university brochures and sensed a small electrical current go through her body. She stopped, perplexed. A grey-eyed gaze met her confused expression and she experienced that odd sense of déjà vu again. Hana faltered, her brow creasing as she corrected herself, realising her staring bordered on rudeness. Feeling unsure of herself she turned away and a student requesting help diverted the teacher’s attention. Drawn to the man in some inexplicable way, Hana dismissed the warmth of the schoolgirl-crush-which rose inside her, as ridiculous.
“I’m in my forties! This is stupid.” Hana flung her wares onto her desk and rested a hand over her chest, feeling the heightened thud of her heart through her porcelain skin. She eyed the back of her colleague’s head. Peter North snoozed with his wet cheek welded to a pile of reports. “Pete!” Hana shouted, wincing as he woke up with a start.
“What? What?” he screamed, standing up, his eyes wide and his wispy hair on end. “What happened?”
“I said I’m in my forties,” Hana repeated and Pete looked confused.
“You were yesterday too. It’s not an emergency!”
“No, but it’s also half past ten in the morning and you went to sleep after staff briefing. If Alan Dobbs catches you napping at work again, he’ll make sure Angus sacks you.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Pete sat with a thud, shedding a storm of dandruff around his chair. He pulled the reports towards him and peered at them.
“Pete?” Hana walked to his desk and stood next to him, pushing a few pieces of random paper with a slender finger. “Who’s that new teacher in the English department, the tall one?”
Pete’s eyes lit up with a mischievous smirk. “Why? Do you fancy him?”
Hana jumped back as though slapped. “I’m a happily...widowed woman.” It sounded wrong and she cringed. “Forget it, I only wanted to know where he came from.” She floundered. “He looks Māori and I wondered which tribe he belonged to.”
“Whatever!” Pete snorted with derision. “What would an Englishwoman know about tribes?”
Hana slapped him on the top of his fluffy head, regretting it as she unleashed another snow storm. She wiped her hand on her skirt. “I’m half Irish and half Scots and if you call me English again, I’ll never cover for you with Dobbs for as long as you live!”
“Ngāpuhi!” Pete shouted, spinning his chair as Hana stalked back to her desk. “Ngāpuhi, but he’s from the mountains in the north of the Waikato. His family has links to Tainui and Logan’s fluent in four languages. He grew up on a farm and can teach sport, English, French, accounting and maths.”
Hana hugged the knowledge to herself, a flush creeping up her neck. She faced her computer screen and tapped out a memo Sheila asked her to send. Sensing Pete still staring, she glanced in his direction. “What?”
“Nothing.” He smirked. “I’ll tell him you asked.”
“Don’t you dare!” Hana hissed. “That’s mean! I’m not interested, in fact, I wish I’d never asked! I should’ve known I couldn’t trust you.”
“Hana!” Sheila’s voice issued from her office in the corner and with a glare at Pete, Hana trotted over to the open door and poked her head through. “Have you balanced that budget from last year yet? We need to close it off and I can’t get it to tally.”
Hana’s shoulders sank. “No, I’m still a hundred dollars short and I can’t work out where it’s gone.” She bit her lip in nervous anticipation.
“Well neither of us enjoyed a surprise holiday in Fiji over the summer, so it must be here.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Hana said, pulling her head from the gap and turning away.
“Oh, Hana! Gwynne Jeffs from media studies offered to fix the centre’s computers for free. I’ve told him if we’ve got money left, he can have that photographic equipment he asked for last year.” Sheila came to the door, biting at her thumb nail as realisation dawned. “I know where it went!” She fanned her face with her hand. “I got that strange Korean student, James, onto the barista course last term at late notice. We paid up-front so there wasn’t an invoice. I bet that’s the extra hundred dollars. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”
Hana smiled with relief, faith in her budgeting ability restored. As she sat back at her desk, Pete leaned towards her and whispered, “He fancies you.”
Hana’s eyes widened and the flush began again, her heart dancing a wild tattoo. “Who does?”
Pete bit into a cookie and waited until his mouth was full before answering, muffling the words. “Gwynne Jeffs. That’s why he’s offered to mend the computers; he wants to see more of your lovely legs under the table.”
“Don’t be disgusting!” Hana snapped, the withdrawal of adrenaline behaving like a hideous sapping of energy. “No, he doesn’t.”
Pete spat crumbs into the gap between their desks as he leaned sideways again. His face held a knowing look. “You thought I meant him, didn’t you? You thought I meant Logan Du Rose fancied you.”
Hana’s face glowed beet red and she turned back to her screen, hating the silly sports teacher with every fibre of her being. “No, I didn’t,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve had and lost one husband. I don’t need another.”
“Liar,” he replied, shoving another cookie into his mouth whole. “I’ve known you fifteen years and I know when you’re lying.”
“Teach sport or something,” Hana bit, dealing with the aftermath of her disappointment. “Or better still, finish writing those reports from last year! Dobbs came here looking for you earlier.”
“Did he?” The other half of Pete’s cookie plunged to the carpet and his eyes bulged in terror.
“No,” Hana retorted. “I thought you could tell when I lied.”
Pete turned around in disgust, halted by Sheila’s shout from her office. “Pete, Dobbs wanted you earlier. He said he wants those reports you messed up last year and they need to be on his desk by this afternoon, otherwise you’re fired.”
Pete inhaled in shock and looked at Hana in accusation. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish and Hana tried not to smirk. “I made it up,” she sniggered. “How bizarre.”
The spindly sports teacher picked up the wad of rumpled reports and tucked them under his arm, ignoring the few which tumbled back onto his desk. “Fine then!” he said, sticking his pudgy nose in the air. “I won’t tell you what Logan said about you.”
The smile disappeared from Hana’s lips and she turned back to her work, knowing she didn’t want to hear. It couldn’t be flattering; not coming from a man much younger than her. Pete stomped from the room in temper when she refused to retype his reports and disappeared for a few hours.
Lunchtime saw the return of James, the Korean exchange student and prospective McDonald’s employee. He greeted Hana with a beaming smile. “I guess that means you got the job?” she congratulated him.
“Yes, Miss, I will be doing buggers for my first week.” He seemed ecstatic with his success, so she didn’t have the heart to point out the obvious errors in his speech.
“Who told you that?” She enquired, her voice wavering. Her prayers for another Korean speaking employee failing before they reached heaven.
“Fat checkout girl,” he answered. “She has big baps. I happy there.”
“You mean she butters the bread rolls?” Hana’s voice wavered.
“No.” James shook his dark head and screwed up his face. He lifted his hands up in front of his chest and did an exaggerated squeezing movement. “She has big baps. I like.”
“Ok.” Hana swallowed and her mouth dried up.
“Oh! I have new English teacher,” James said, his face breaking into a wide grin. “He wonderful. He help m
e get scholarship.” The student pulled a sad face and patted Hana’s upper arm in kindness. “Mr Johal die. You should marry Mr...” He faltered over the name. “Marry English Mr.”
“It doesn’t work that way, James, but thanks for the advice. I’d need to fall in love and I’m too old and jaded for that to happen.” She’d said too much to a student and Hana’s colour pinked, highlighting her porcelain complexion.
“In my culture, parents choose partner. Ask your dad.”
Hana gulped and bit her lip. Robert McIntyre died long ago and Hana knew even if he lived, her choice of partner wouldn’t be up for discussion. He made his opinion of her clear twenty-six years before when he attacked Vikram Johal. She straightened her spine and smiled at the thoughtful young man. “I’m glad about the job, James. Make sure you write to your mother and tell her. It’ll take the pressure of the fees off her a little. Well done.”
James smiled. “Thank you muchly for your help.” He pressed his palms together and touched his nose with his middle fingers, dropping from the waist in an elegant bow. “I love you, Missus Johal,” he said.
Hana smiled and watched him leave the student centre. “I’m glad someone does,” she whispered.