About Hana

by K T Bowes

  Chapter 8

  Hana knew of the forthcoming swimming event, even before conceding the purple marker would not wash out of her blouse.

  Sheila Jennings rushed around, calling boys and press-ganging them into entering various underwater exploits in the name of competition. She cajoled and entreated with the practiced expertise of a mother. “I want our tutor group to beat my husband’s,” she stated with maniacal insistence.

  Peter North skived in the office and enjoyed a post lunch nap under the guise of student mentoring. He sulked at the constant foot traffic as boys responded to the flurry of notes generated by Sheila. “Why are you doing this to me?” he bawled, ushering another knot of scrawny Year 9s into his darkened boudoir. He greeted their polite knock with an angry demeanour, glaring from beneath bushy eyebrows.

  “Come in, come in, ignore him.” Sheila bustled the boys into her office and closed the door.

  “That was a group of six and her office only seats two. Do you think she’s wall mounting them?” Hana turned to face an irritated Pete and he growled in reply.

  “I don’t bloody know. Why does she have to do it here?” he grumbled.

  “Because it’s her office?” Hana retorted and Pete laid his head on his desk and covered it with a textbook. Each new arrival intensified his irritation and eventually he slammed out of the office. Hana heard him attack a group of Year 13s in the common room.

  “Why are you drawing tits on that brochure?” he yelled. “Can’t you see it’s a dude? What’s wrong with your generation? You just want it all!” He left a nervous hush in his wake and Hana delayed her need to pass through on the way to reception.

  “Right, don’t forget to meet by the stands at the swimming pool after school. We need to run through our game plan.” Sheila pushed the boys out of her room and emerged flapping her hand in front of her face. “Gosh, it gets hot in there.”

  Hana indicated the pile of slips on her desk. “I’ll take these down to reception in a minute. Pete just had a tantrum in the common room so I’m waiting for the dust to settle.”

  “Did he fart?” Sheila lifted her eyebrows in horror. “If he farted, I’d use the back stairs and not go in there until tomorrow.”

  Hana shook her head. “Na, he exploded in a different way this time. It’s fine. I’ll go now.” She wandered to reception armed with yet another pile of notes calling for Sheila’s boys.

  “Not more,” the receptionist groaned. “Everyone else dealt with this during tutor class.”

  “She wants to beat Martin,” Hana said with a grimace. “She’s got some secret plan.”

  “I could tell you a secret about him.” The receptionist’s eyes glinted with mischief behind her spectacles. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. “But you don’t listen to gossip. I won’t waste my breath.” She placed the slips on her desk. “Anka will be here to relieve me for my break soon. I’ll leave them for her to do.”

  As Hana turned away, the unmistakable sound of tinkling glass heralded something shattered beyond repair. She glanced at the receptionist, who shrugged. “Someone with a rugby ball. Yesterday it was the door at the back of Q block.”

  “But everyone’s in class,” Hana replied with confusion.

  Moments later, a Samoan student ran in through the doors, twisting his body as he cast around him for something. His eyes rested on Hana and he barrelled towards her with relief. “Miss, someone’s busted your window!”

  Believing she’d find a group of guilty boys wielding a rugby ball, or a cricketer shifting from foot to foot, Hana walked towards the chapel and her parking space. The Year 10 boy bounced up and down next to her in agitation. “It’s fine Rewa, accidents happen, love,” she said. “The windscreen company will fix it on my insurance. It’s happened before.”

  The boy bustled along next to her as they made their way across the courtyard towards Hana’s car. At a turn off the main thoroughfare, a window in the science block opened and a teacher stuck her head out. “He wore a hood and ran away before we realised what he’d done.”

  Hana’s steady footsteps halted. “What? Someone did it on purpose?”

  The teacher nodded and pulled her head back in, turning to rebuke the boys behind her who rubber necked through the glass.

  Hana’s smashed windscreen hung like a crystal curtain across the front of her truck. Glass glittered on every surface and she approached the stricken vehicle, hearing shards crunch beneath her shoes.

  “Told ya, miss.” Rewa bounced on the balls of his feet. “Someone busted it.” He jabbed his finger at a clay brick sitting atop a dent in the hood. “Look.” Before Hana could react, the boy reached across and hefted it in his palm. “He chucked it but the glass repelled it enough to bounce it back onto the bonnet. Did you know that windscreen glass is designed to shatter and stay in place in case of accidents? We learned about it in physics. It’s clever, in’it?”

  Hana nodded. “Very clever.”

  Sickness rose into Hana’s throat, not helped by Rewa’s excited tactlessness. “Did you upset a gang, miss? I can ask my bro’ to sort it out for you. He’ll put the word out.”

  “No, I don’t believe I’ve upset anyone, Rewa,” Hana said, her hands shaking as she plucked the brick from his hand. A note clung to it beneath a child’s elastic hair tie. Hana slipped it free. ‘Give it back!’ the note stated.

  With a nervous gulp, Hana shoved the note back into place and sat the brick in the centre of the dent. “Someone’s being silly,” she said, forcing calm and dignity into her poise.

  “Is it the same person what made them marks on youse neck and lip?” the boy asked and Hana’s blood pressure hiked.

  “No,” she replied, offering reassurance she didn’t believe. She walked back to reception on trembling legs, her pulse pounding in her head.

  Anka, already ensconced behind the reception desk, rose to greet Hana’s pale face and wooden expression. “What’s happened?”

  “Please could you put a call through to the police?” Hana replied. Again.

  She climbed the winding staircase up to her office on shaken legs, feeling victimised and afraid. She heard Rewa recounting her misfortune with the added details of gangs and shoot outs. At the top of the stairs, Hana heard Anka ask, “Why were you out of class?”

  Hana brushed her hand across her face, catching her lip and wincing in pain. She closed her eyes and let the heavy door shut behind her.

  “Hana?” Gwynne Jeffs sat in her chair, displaying an unfortunate pair of stubby grey shorts which didn’t match his neat shirt and tie. She glanced at the reason; a series of painful looking grazes on his bare legs and knees. They oozed liquid stuff from beneath fragile scabs.

  Hana’s conscious mind formed a sentence filled with thanks and platitudes for the ride home a few days earlier, but her subconscious had other ideas. She blurted, “Someone smashed my windscreen on purpose.”

  Gwynne rose, his eyes narrowed to form a perplexed expression. The computer chair swivelled itself around and crashed into the desk. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But it can’t be a coincidence. They left a brick with a note on it.” Hana sank into Rory’s empty seat and nausea filled her chest.

  The police arrived within a short time, not because it was the crime of the century, but because they maintained a community office up the road at Waikato Anglican Girls’ Grammar. Two male officers walked around Hana’s vehicle, taking photos and scratching their heads. One confiscated the brick, his fingers encased in latex gloves. Hana cringed and admitted that both she and the student touched it. Rewa seemed reluctant to share his observations with the boys in blue and hung behind Hana, feigning disinterest. The cop shoved the brick and its note into a clear plastic bag with a look of disgust. Behind the crime scene, a full class of boys rubber necked out of an abandoned lesson.

  “What’s with the injuries?” One of the officers waved his hand to encompass Hana’s bruised neck and weeping lip. She opened her mou
th to speak but unable to contain himself any longer, Rewa beat her to it.

  “She upset the gangs. They smashed her and now they’ve smashed her car. They’ll go after every member of her family until they feel vindicated.” Pleased with himself, the boy took a step forward. “Did you know that windscreens are designed to do that thing where they hang like a curtain?”

  “Okay, Rewa.” Gwynne shut him down. “You should get back to class.”

  The boy shrugged. “Ah no, I’m wagging this afternoon, anyway.” He coloured beetroot red, realising his error amidst all the excitement. He shifted from foot to foot. “I might go to maths, actually.” He slunk away with Gwynne’s eyes boring holes into his back.

  The cops subjected Hana to numerous questions regarding this crime and the attempted mugging a few nights earlier. Hana gave short replies, desperate to forget both matters as soon as her swollen lip and neck allowed it.

  Gwynne stood next to her and commented only when spoken to. The officers circled the car again, drawing few conclusions. “Can I suggest you speak to the boys from there?” Gwynne pointed towards the science classroom. “They probably saw the whole thing. You’ll need to hurry before the bell goes or they’ll disperse to other lessons and you’ll have a bugger of a time finding them all then.”

  They wandered across to Y block without urgency, failing to arrive before the bell sounded and sixty potential witnesses stomped away to different classes.

  “This is a nightmare!” Hana hissed. “Vik bought that car for me. Why would someone damage it?” She buttoned up her emotions, resenting her body for its desire to show weakness through tears.

  “It’s ok. I know how you feel.” Gwynne rubbed Hana’s shoulder as the police shrugged and talked amongst themselves amidst swirling teenage bodies, their attitude nonchalant.

  “No, no you don’t!” Hana panicked. “After the accident, the insurance company wrote Vik’s car off. This and the house is all I have left!” She pressed her hands over her eyes and concentrated on her breathing as boys walked past, staring with childish interest.

  Gwynne caught her arm and led her back towards the school building. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Why me?” Hana complained, hearing the ugly whine in her voice as Gwynne nudged her towards his car. “Everyone will think I’ve done something wrong. Rewa’s telling them I’ve upset a gang!”

  “Hana, everyone who knows you will dismiss that theory. Don’t worry about it.” Gwynne’s started his truck’s engine and they left the grounds, heading north towards Chartwell. The mall hummed with daytime shoppers and Gwynne steered Hana towards the lift and the first floor food court. They headed for Starbucks and Hana found a seat in a corner while Gwynne ordered.

  She stared at his back while he waited for drinks at the rounded servery, pondering the awkwardness of the other night. His loneliness called to hers but she resisted. Eight years of widowhood rested on her slender shoulders, apart from one small foray into relationship which ended without explanation after a few dates. Gwynne’s wife, Tessa died just after Vik, equally unexpectedly leaving them both nipping at the edges of isolation. Older than Hana, he looked wiry and capable. His blonde hair greyed at the temples and into his sideburns and Hana felt for slumbering emotions within her chest. She wondered if Pete was right about Gwynne liking her. When she reached for a response from her heart, she received nothing outside of the usual numbness.

  A vision of the commanding English teacher rose unbidden into her mind. She saw the taut fabric of his trousers stretch across his neat backside as he wedged long, thin fingers into his pockets and the muscular torso which strained against his shirt. She remembered the smell of his aftershave and the sense of maleness he exuded, experiencing a peculiar tingle begin in her stomach. His attractive grey eyes could stop her in her tracks with the force of his questing. She felt like she’d seen him before but knew she’d remember someone as imposing as him. “You’re a fantasist. He’s too young to be interested in you”, she told herself out loud, a familiar mantra over the last few weeks.

  “Pardon?” Gwynne turned at the counter and Hana blushed red to the roots of her hair.

  “Nothing,” she replied, closing her eyes against the embarrassment.

  While Gwynne waited for their drinks and shot looks of interest at Hana, she consoled herself with people-watching. A young couple occupied a sofa, their baby parked next to them in a buggy. The infant mouthed on a toy in relative contentment while his parents argued in hushed voices overhead. The male sipped a latte, but the mother left her drink untouched. Hana sent up a silent, agonised prayer they sorted out their problems. At least they had each other. Vik went to work one morning and never came home.

  Gwynne returned with the drinks. He bought Hana a hot chocolate and as she sipped it, she sought self-control. The couple with the baby left and Hana turned her thoughts to the brick through her windscreen. Gwynne broke into her reverie with his own conclusions. “This must be related to the other night.” He paused and observed Hana. “Not that I want to bring it all back for you.”

  “I’m coming to the same conclusion,” she replied with a sigh. “Who have I upset? And why aren’t the police more interested? Those two cops didn’t seem bothered, did they?”

  “Not really. But we’re a school and stuff gets broken all the time.” Gwynne raised his eyebrows and Hana saw, her heart sinking.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said. “The female officer rang once to say they’d had problems with the boy you caught. They haven’t contacted me since.”

  “Me neither,” he admitted. “But I turned my phone off yesterday because I went to Auckland with the media boys. I assumed they’d talked to you. What did the cop say?”

  Hana shook her head. “Just that the boy was going to the magistrates’ court yesterday afternoon. Nothing since then.”

  Gwynne rolled his eyes in frustration. “We know what that means. A few hours washing graffiti off community buildings, a slap on the wrist and away you go.”

  The green corduroy chairs felt comfortable and safe in their unashamed simplicity. As Hana stared at the fabric, she registered the stains and crumbs thousands of people contributed to and pulled herself back to her own stark reality. She started and her jarring movement slopped chocolate from the white mug and onto the arm of the squashy chair. Hana fumbled for a tissue and dabbed at the sinking stain. “I should get back,” she said, guilt lacing her voice. “I left an hour ago on an errand for Sheila. She’ll think you kidnapped me.”

  Gwynne gave a small smile and started to say something. Then he changed his mind and closed his lips. Hana laid her mug on a table decorated with sentences in different fonts. ‘Enjoy life - keep it simple’ the words said.

  If only, Hana thought to herself.