About Hana

by K T Bowes

Chapter 6

  Hana arrived at work late the next morning, flustered and apologetic. She failed to cover the angry welts on her throat or the tender cut on her lower lip, despite desperate efforts in the mirror. Angus accosted her as soon as her feet hit the parquet floor of the reception. “A quick word, Hana,” he said, ushering her into his inner sanctum.

  Hana sent up a silent prayer he wouldn’t require the gory details and wasn’t disappointed. Angus settled into his worn leather chair and eyed her over steepled fingers. “Take a few days leave on full pay while your injuries heal,” he suggested.

  Hana took a moment to contemplate her empty home and far too much time spent gawking in the mirror. She anticipated the unhealthy cycle of staring, prodding, crying and staring some more at her sore parts. “No thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d rather keep busy. I’ll stay in the office so nobody sees me; I know I look hideous.”

  “Hana, Hana, that’s not even a consideration. Do whatever you think best, but go home if you feel unwell.”

  Her morning went fast. Hana was thankful for the activities which kept her mind off the night’s events and the disquiet she found creeping into her thoughts at inopportune moments. She took a phone call from the nice police lady around mid-morning. “We’re still pursuing our enquiries, Mrs Johal. The youth apprehended last night won’t talk. He’s going through the magistrates’ court this afternoon, but I think he’ll just get a slap on the wrist or youth custody. I’ll keep you updated though.”

  Hana thanked Shelley for her promise and fervently hoped she wouldn’t. She nursed a desire to never hear another word about it. On that note, she avoided the staffroom teeming with people and gossip, choosing to take her short breaks in the relative safety of the student centre.

  Logan Du Rose sat at the table nearest the ranch slider, marking exercise books with a frown as Hana slipped past on the way to the post room. She clutched a scarf to her bruised throat and skittered by, dreading the attention of his unnerving grey eyes. Skirting the kitchen, she focussed on the rear doors, allowing herself five minutes before the next bell rang for lesson change. Logan ran his right hand through his hair and from the corner of her eye, Hana noticed the dark, glossy curls tumble over his long fingers.

  “Oh, bloody hell!” There was a crash as the double doors at the end of the staffroom opened into her face and a large, fleshy body cannoned into Hana, sending her flying backwards into the staff whiteboard.

  Hana grunted in pain as her back contacted the metal and it bent underneath her. A whoosh of air left her lungs and her ribs sent out distress signals which bent her body into a ball of pain. The staff member she collided with drew herself up to her full height and glared at Hana with spiteful, gimlet eyes. “You support staffs is useless,” Alberta Lenska screeched in her broken English. She waved a chemistry textbook in Hana’s face. “Stupid leetle voman! You bend it.”

  Hana moaned an apology and forced her body upright, performing a mental check to see if her poor body had shattered under the second onslaught in less than twenty-four-hours. The whiteboard behind her made popping noises as gravity reshaped it. Alberta pushed her threatening face into Hana’s, ignoring the shortened breaths issuing from Hana’s lungs or the look of agony on her face. The terrifying Russian woman was capable of reducing both students and staff to tears with her jaded outlook on life and unsmiling persona. In fifteen years, Hana witnessed enough whiplash injuries from Alberta’s violent tongue to know she should extricate herself from the situation with haste.

  “It was an accident; I’m sorry,” Hana managed as the woman loomed in front of her. She pressed herself backwards, smelling the whiteboard marker pen as it transferred itself to her white blouse.

  “Just get out of way!” Alberta bit. “I need to see board!” She advanced, shoving Hana roughly aside like flotsam. Hana’s face reddened with humiliation at seeing Logan’s distinctive cowboy boots appear behind the Russian.

  “What’s your problem?” he asked, advancing into the chemistry teacher’s personal space and dwarfing her. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

  Alberta fluffed up like an offended porcupine and her eyes bulged. She lifted her famous prodding finger and Logan shook his head. “Keep it to yourself,” he said, his tone acerbic. He offered his hand to Hana and she gripped the long fingers, allowing him to ease her free from the tiny space between Alberta and the whiteboard. She edged around the chemistry teacher’s florid body and found her flushed cheek against Logan’s hard chest. He kept hold of Hana’s hand and leaned in towards Alberta’s face, his voice deep and resonant. Hana gulped. “If I ever hear you speak to anyone in this school like that again, I’ll put in a formal disciplinary complaint.”

  Alberta bristled and stuck her nose in the air. “Nobody listen to support staffs,” she smirked. “They is nothing. Is been tried before.” Her multiple chins wobbled and the blonde bun bounced on the back of her head. She glanced in Hana’s direction with a look of sly victory. Logan jerked his head towards Hana.

  “Not her, me!” He took a step closer to Alberta and Hana shimmied sideways, unable to break the grip of his hand on hers. “I’m not scared of you, lady. Do you wanna test me?”

  The colour faded from Alberta’s face and the chemistry book shook in her hand. Hana steeled herself for the woman to throw one of her familiar tantrums, but for once it didn’t come. Power surged from Logan’s body and the other two staff members in the room watched in fascination as Alberta shook her head. “No. You is not scared of anyone.” She lowered her eyes to Hana’s face and wariness replaced spite. “Excuse me,” she said to Hana with a modicum of politeness and waited for her to move.

  Hana exhaled a ragged breath and shifted from in front of the list of events on the whiteboard. Her whole body trembled and she peered in confusion at Logan’s hand. His olive fingers were long and beautifully formed, but ruined by myriad cuts and scars which criss-crossed the flesh as though he’d pushed his hand through glass. She felt the scarf at her neck slip and snatched her hand back, working the soft material into a knot to cover her throat injury. The cut on her bottom lip oozed and she pressed her top teeth over it, desperate to hide her weakness. “Thank you,” she whispered in a small voice. Without looking up, she turned and ran from the room. The English teacher’s grey eyes bored into her back as she let the double doors slam behind her, taking refuge in the bathroom instead of the post room.

  Seeking refuge in the furthest cubicle, it was fortunate she couldn’t see the back of her white blouse which now bore the words ‘Swimming Sports’ backwards in purple whiteboard marker. Hana peered at her hand in confusion, aware of the thrill of electricity which still coursed through her fingers. She lifted them to her nose and smelled the faint scent of aftershave. Despite herself, she smiled.