by K T Bowes
Chapter 15
Monday morning dawned with a pleasant warmth as fading summer blessed Hamilton city. Dashing into work early, Hana avoided the administration corridor and hoped Anka might have stopped laughing about Goliath’s wedding tackle.
Running up the back stairs with her head down, she cannoned into the Year 10 dean. “I’m so sorry,” Hana apologised and retrieved his crutches which flew in opposite directions. He balanced on the split-level landing, keeping his broken ankle off the floor.
“It’s fine.” He waved away her ministrations. His eyes sparkled with mischief and Hana grew wary, trying to pass him before he tainted her with the juicy piece of staffroom gossip she sensed on his lips. “Jeffs is getting married,” he announced, watching Hana’s reaction with interest. “To an internet bride!”
She shook her head, irritated that the men gossiped as much as the women and sucked her in just the same. “What? Gwynne?”
Telea faked contrition, eager to be the shoulder Hana cried on. “Oh sorry, you didn’t know? You must feel gutted because we had you pegged as Mrs Jeffs number two. I didn’t mean to shock you. Sorry.”
Hana flushed with irritation, seeing his game plan laid out before her like a trap. “Gwynne and I are friends and that’s all.” Seeing the disbelief in his face and the smirk beginning on his lips, Hana shoved past him in the small space. She jabbed a finger into his face. “I’ve told you before; I’m not sleeping with you, not even as a consolation prize.”
“But we’d be so good together!” Telea wailed. Hana kept moving, hearing the clang of his crutch as it hit the fire bucket at the bottom of the stairwell. She escaped into the deserted post room with a flush creeping up her neck.
“Yeah,” she muttered to herself. “Because I love sharing my boyfriends with five other women desperate to sleep with an ex-has-been-rugby player.”
“What?” Pete’s eyes widened in horror and he stopped with a chocolate bar halfway to his lips. “You like orgies? How did I not know this?”
Choosing to ignore him, Hana grabbed a wooden chair from the corner and lamented the illogical administration which gave the smallest people in the school the highest pigeon holes. She pulled it over to the rack and climbed onto it in her high heels. Sticking her hand into the back, she discovered a few envelopes for the guidance counsellors and a careers newspaper for Sheila.
“You’ve got great legs for your age, Hana.” Pete edged nearer the chair and reached out with a pudgy, chocolate covered hand. He ran a finger over her strappy sandal and Hana recoiled in disgust.
“Touch me again and you’re dead.” Hana’s voice remained casual, but the hand kept moving towards her calves. She backed to the edge of the chair with a look of distaste on her face. “I mean it!”
Logan Du Rose walked into the room and halted, enjoying the sight of Hana’s backside and trim, elegant legs. Then he spotted Pete’s questing fingers and his expression darkened. He leaned against the door frame with his arms folded and directed his bile towards Pete. “You do that and I’ll snap it off,” he declared, voice low and sinister. “And you know I mean it.”
Pete withdrew his hand and looked around him, his escape route blocked. “You said you wouldn’t break bits of me again,” he sulked. “I’m just looking.”
“Well, don’t.” Logan’s biceps flexed and he moved his head to the side, revealing a dangerous, pulsing vein. “It’s sexual harassment and assault.” He sniffed. “And I’ll kill you.”
“Not just for that!” Pete’s expression morphed into one of dismay. “You’d kill me just for that?”
Logan jerked his head towards the doorway and Pete sidled across, his crablike movements jerky and awkward. He paused with distance still between them. “You need to move. I don’t trust you.”
Logan shrugged and pointed at the brown mess in Pete’s fingers. “Dude, it’s melting. Try getting hot over Henrietta and leave Hana alone.”
At the reminder of his large girlfriend, Pete opened his mouth to speak and Logan silenced him with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to know. Get out.”
Pete sighed and edged past Logan, keeping a look out for repercussions. He walked backwards into the corridor and then when he felt safe, turned and jogged away. Hana observed from her position on the chair, her heels digging into the fabric. “Would you really hurt him?” she asked, her tone suspicious.
Logan shook his head. “Na. I broke his finger once messing about. He’s like a wasp; keeps buzzing around your face and ducking the swats.” His face relaxed and he crossed his legs at the ankle. “You look good up there, Ms McIntyre.”
Hana chewed her lip and looked at the carpet. Her tight skirt made dismounting with elegance impossible with an audience. Logan’s eyes flickered with amusement. “Need a hand?”
“Not the round of applause kind, but thanks.” Hana clutched the envelopes and gripped the back of the chair, contemplating a jump.
“Not like that.” Logan’s voice sounded soft as he fixed strong hands around her waist and took her weight. Hana forced herself to trust him and allowed him to lift her from the chair, wincing as Logan slid her along the length of his body. Her breasts pushed against his rock hard stomach and the height difference between them left her staring at the buttons of another immaculate shirt.
“Thanks,” she managed, inhaling his gorgeous, clean scent. When Logan released her, she felt as though an unseen hand cut her strings and she swayed on her high heels, feeling pathetic.
Logan walked to the window and looked out. “How was Sunday School?” he asked over his shoulder.
Hana scowled. “Fantastic! Apart from the children.”
Logan put his head back and laughed, a low, husky sound that tickled the pit of Hana’s stomach. “I heard the chick from downstairs telling the receptionist.” He smiled. “What’s her name?”
“The receptionist? That’s Alma.”
Logan shook his head. “Not her. The one with red bits in her hair.”
“The typist? Anka?” Confusion spread across Hana’s delicate features. “Don’t you know her?”
“No, never spoken to her.” The scar beneath his right eye crinkled with amusement. “Sounds like you had fun though. Is put-the-willy-on-the-man a Christian version of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey?”
He brushed his fingers across her shoulder, the contact tantalising. Logan withdrew it as six other members of staff dashed into the post room, behaving like ants as they spread out towards their pigeon holes. Hana noticed the sidelong glance of Ethel Bowman as she bent her large body in half to reach her crammed-full box near the floor. She shot Hana a look of victory as she stashed her lavish lunch on top of paperwork. Hana read glee in the florid face and her heart sank.
Gwynne entered the room, sifting through his box and extracting a few sheets of interest. Hana smiled at him and he winked back at her. “Congratulations are in order, I hear,” she said and he beamed and nodded.
“Yeah, thanks Hana.”
She read relief in his eyes at her public acceptance and knitted her brow. He owed her nothing. “I’m pleased for you.” Hana gave him a light kiss on the cheek, aware of the other staff watching. She knew the grapevine would deliver the right message so they could both get on with their lives. Logan leaned back against the rack, not hiding his interest. Hana felt his tension and destroyed the last possible obstacle between them. “See you later.” She lowered her voice and smiled at Logan, issuing the veiled promise. She squeezed his forearm before leaving the room, feeling muscle and sinew flex beneath her fingers. He shot her a sultry look from under his lashes and relief flooded Hana’s chest. She saw no ulterior motive in his expression.
In the hallway, Hana’s shoulders slumped as she lost confidence and dropped into chastising herself. Ethel Bowman’s gaze burned into her back as she touched the younger man and Hana quailed as the don’t-care spirit abandoned her. She jumped at the sound of the post room window grinding open, followed by an ear splitting whistle. “Hey!�
� Logan yelled. “Prefects! Break up that tussle. I’ll be out in a second.”
Hana ran into the women’s toilets to avoid him as he jogged downstairs to deal with the miscreants. A spirit of rebellion crept into her humiliation, reminding her she’d always wanted a man who could whistle through his fingers.
The staff gossip involved Gwynne and his shock announcement at briefing that morning.
“I’m glad for the guy,” Rory muttered, chatting to Hana whilst typing an email to a parent. “There was a bit of an awkward hush and then people congratulated him. Old Gwynne loved it.” Rory lost interest as he recalled the email so he could correct his spelling errors.
Sheila looked downcast and couldn’t refer to Gwynne’s new love without reference to his late wife, Tessa. It grew boring and took the shine off the news. “Whatever would Tess think?” she lamented for the hundredth time.
“Shut the hell up, woman!” Rory snapped, spinning around in a chair borrowed from the history department. An uneasy truce existed between them, but its fragile skin showed veritable cracks. Pete gathered up his car keys and a wad of reports and beat a hasty retreat, keen not to experience one of their endless arguments which often spilled over into frustration with him. Hana missed her opportunity and cursed Pete’s disappearing spine through the window.
She regretted it within seconds. Smarting from Rory’s rebuke, Sheila lashed out at Hana instead. “We thought Gwynne liked you. But why would you settle for an old duffer like him with younger fish to fry? I’d be careful; your toy boy’s on one hell of a rebound, so I hear.”
Hana whipped round from her photocopying but Rory beat her to it, throwing his pen at the wall and leaping to his feet. “Is nobody safe from your spite, woman?” He tripped over his chair as he strode towards Sheila. “How the hell do you know what ‘poor Tess’ would think? You didn’t even like her. Just because your life sucks and your husband’s a joke, doesn’t mean you can take it out on Hana.”
Deciding Rory looked able to mete out justice for the both of them, Hana fled, leaving Sheila open mouthed and ready to retort. She closed the student centre door behind her and sought fresh air, descending the back steps to the covered entryway and out onto the field. The last time Rory and Sheila fought so badly, Hana and Pete went for coffee at a local café to get out of the way. The argument raged all day and Hana ended up logging in from home to do her work. Something told her this time, she couldn’t be bothered.
With no car keys or money, she left herself few alternatives and settled on a bench overlooking the soccer field. The sound of silence comforted Hana as she warmed herself. She kept one eye open for Dobbs or the admin director, aware they’d view her defection without sympathy. Preparing a ready story in her head, she relaxed.
The bell sounded for lesson change and boys moved around, their behaviour loud and bawdy as they pushed and jostled each other. Some ran and others rambled without urgency. She wondered if anyone in her world valued her as numerous human beings rushed past and disregarded her as though she was invisible. In a matter of minutes, the grounds silenced again as the five-minute allocation for lesson change ended. Sheila’s words cut into Hana’s psyche and an embarrassed flush kissed the delicate freckles across her nose.
“Hey.” Logan slumped onto the bench next to her, their thighs touching as he leaned back to push keys deeper into his pocket. For once he dressed in tracksuit pants and a loose fitting tee shirt instead of Italian designer shirt and suit trousers. She caught his heady fragrance and her pulse quickened. “What’s the matter?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees to look into her face.
Hana felt a weight on her chest. “You’re the only person who’s asked that,” she said, her voice sad.
Logan glanced around them and nudged her elbow. “I’m the only one here, sweetheart.”
Hana felt the weight move into her throat and avoided the urge to cry like a pathetic female, but the sense of emptiness clawed at her soul. “Yeah, now.”
“So what’s up?” Logan persisted.
Hana shook her head. “Rory and Sheila are fighting in the office. It’s best to get out of their way.”
“Ah.” Logan pulled an expression of sympathy and his pupils reduced against the glare of the sun.
“Why aren’t you teaching?” Hana brushed a stray piece of grass from her bare shin and watched it flutter away on the breeze.
“I am.” Logan winced and Hana grew curious.
“Where are the boys then?”
Logan turned towards her, worry etched in a furrow between his eyebrows. “What’s the process when a member of staff loses an entire Year 10 class?”
Hana pulled a face and shrugged, “Throw a party? I’m not great at guessing joke endings.”
Logan looked shifty. “Who says I’m joking?”
Hana sat forward and looked into his grey eyes, sensing his urgency. “Where did you look? Start at the beginning.”
Logan sighed. “I took Rory’s sports class first period because he’s meant to be sorting out an issue with a parent. I guess he’s not anymore. He didn’t give me any suggestions, so I figured we’d go for a cross country run to wear them out. They set off full of purpose and I haven’t seen them since. I got distracted by a kid who turned up without his kit.”
Hana leaned back against the bench. “You said first period. We’re into second period.”
“Yep.” Logan wrinkled his nose. “They’re still missing. Some of them have metal tech now and I just checked; they didn’t show up.”
Hana sat for a moment pondering on likely hiding places. Logan opened his mouth to interrupt and she placed her index finger over his parted lips. “They never leave their bags unattended because they’re scared of losing phones and wallets and they can’t carry them in their sports kit.”
“It’s all still in the changing room.” Logan spoke from behind her finger, his warm breath sending shivers along Hana’s spine. “And I had to unlock it for the next class.”
Hana nodded. “So wherever they are, they’ve lost track of time and forgotten about everything else.”
Logan’s eyes widened. “What would distract thirty kids to that extent?”
Her face creased into a smile and she let her finger slide down Logan’s chin, leaving a blazing trail along his skin which his eyes betrayed. “I know where they are.”
“I need to get them.” Logan rose to his feet and held out his hand, clasping Hana’s fingers and hauling her upright. “Please help me?”
Leading the way, she set off toward the back of the site and instead of turning alongside the swimming baths, headed towards the area marked as out of bounds to students by a decrepit sign clinging to a rotten post. Logan strode behind her, panic and curiosity mingling on his face. As they dropped below the level of the school and into the vegetation of the gully it grew more shaded, native trees masking the warmth of the sun.
“Wait!” Logan snatched at her hand and pulled her to a halt. “What makes you think they’re here?”
Hana rolled her eyes. “Experience. This is where they’ll be, I promise.”
Logan raised their joined palms and pushed his fingers through hers. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Hana’s reply sounded hoarse and she bit her lower lip. “I’m sure.”
A dedicated group saw the gully project as an ongoing labour of love, restoring the native ferns and trees which fed the minds of horticulture students over the last fifteen years. Reclaimed from a sad, derelict area of swamp where two local gullies met, the soil became a bog for most of the year but the boys loved it.
Amidst the speckled light which filtered through the delicate umbrella of ferns, the air felt still. The soil puffed up as dust in patches and as they hurried, Hana lost her footing and slipped. Her strappy sandal went out from under her and she saw the ground coming up fast to meet her. Logan, caught her by the elbow and hauled her upright, grabbing her around the waist as her blouse untucked itself from her skirt. Callo
used fingers caressed her soft flesh, taking her breath away even more than the fall. She recovered her footing, heart racing and her lungs panting with fear from the near miss. Logan’s grip felt secure around her. His eyes narrowed. “That’s the third time you’ve fallen at my feet, Ms McIntyre,” he breathed. “Should I read into it?”
Hana swallowed. “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded small and frightened, her answer relating to more than just her clumsiness. The familiar electricity arced through both of them and Hana felt that peculiar sense of déjà vu again, reaching for some opportunity she’d missed and erased from memory. Neither of them moved under the powerful spell which enveloped them in a timeless peace.
Logan reached down with every intention of kissing her. Hana held her breath, desperate for him to make the impossible attraction into a tangible action. She swallowed and waited for the contact but it didn’t come. “Hana,” he whispered, “I need to tell you something.”
He jumped as the air split with the sound of squeals and screams from deeper in the gully. Logan swore and let go and Hana slipped in exactly the same spot as before. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, sounding rattled and impatient. “What the hell are they doing?”
Hana knew but didn’t waste time in the telling. She gripped Logan’s tee shirt to right herself and set off ahead, leading the way towards the awful sound of dying children.
The ground changed underfoot, becoming sodden and heavy. Brown liquid resembling clay-slip oozed through Hana’s delicate strappy sandals and coated Logan’s trainers. The track wound through the trees and they followed, a cacophony of bird sounds hysterical overhead and the relentless screams of thirty boys.
Rounding a sharp downhill bend, Hana stopped with such abruptness, Logan ran into her spine and grabbed her by the shoulders to prevent him flattening her. Where the two gullies joined into a muddy, swampy pool, boys of varying height and weight appeared molded into a dirty ball. Their smart black and white sports shirts looked unrecognisable from the mud. Each boy looked light brown in colour, shining and slippery with the liquid which covered every inch of them from head to toe. Impossible to determine where their clothes began and ended, they slipped around in the filth without a care. They rolled in a heap like an enormous milk chocolate pudding, with punctuations where arms and feet poked from the scrum.
Hana laughed but Logan stood speechless, watching the teenage enjoyment with disbelief. He swore and shook his head. Mud flew in every direction and Hana took a step back, sheltering behind Logan as it came their way. One boy sensed their presence and looked up and Hana knew the moment at which the telepathic message passed through the group, ruining their fun. The first child leapt upright from the scrum and the pudding disbanded with a sucking noise. The writhing lump became separate units of dirty teenagers and they formed into a perfect line, knee deep in disgusting brown soup.
Hana shook her head. “Did anyone swallow water?” she asked.
Every hand rose and she sighed. “Then you probably have giardia. Tell your parents tonight and see a doctor.”
“What’s giardia, miss?” A tiny boy from the centre of the scrum raised his hand.
“A parasite in your gut,” Logan said and the child paled. Another boy gagged and a titter went through the group, masking their uncertainty in the face of certain punishment.
“Come on,” Hana said, taking control. “We need to get back to school.” She set off up the track the same way they’d come, slipping and sliding as she made towards more solid ground. Like a giant brown snake, the line of boys followed, as though she was a mother duck about to cross a busy road. At the top of the hill she looked to Logan for direction, struck by the impossibility of sending the boys onto the polished parquet boards and pristine carpets. “You can’t go into class like this,” she said, her mind running through options. She chewed her lip and made a decision. “Logan, give me your keys.”
“Okay.” He nodded and drew them from an inner pocket in his pants, holding them aloft for her. Hana grabbed them and searched for a master key.
“Come on,” she told the boys and set off walking, the line trailing after her. Logan didn’t question her authority and it felt good to be treated as an equal for a change. At the swimming pool she stopped and unlocked the gate. The water temperature reading gave sixteen degrees and the boys filed past her as she motioned towards the water. “Get in! And no noise!”
The filthy boys slipped into the water and swam around. Hana wouldn’t let them out until they’d dunked themselves fully and released the mud from their hair and faces. Their clothes looked stained beyond recovery and they collected in a line by the gate with teeth chattering and grey liquid pooling around their bare feet. “Don’t expect sympathy from me!” she scolded them. “And we’re not giving you absence passes so your next class teacher will give you a detention.”
They nodded as one, looking at least passable as children. “Aren’t you going to punish us, sir?” The boy shivered and hopped from foot to foot as he asked Logan the question, eliciting a groan from the rest of the class.
Logan shrugged. “Only if you involve me.”
The boys nodded and filed past him, leaving a wet trail to the changing rooms. Hana took a broom from the pool shed and attempted to sweep the muddy footprints away, only smearing the brown paste around the tiles. Leaves and blobs of mud hung around the edge of the water like pond scum. “It’s not coming off,” she complained. “Larry Collins will kill us. He’ll dispose of my body in the gully!”
“Just leave it. I’ll take the blame.” Logan confiscated the broom and seized her hand in warm fingers. He stood it up against the wall and led her through the gate, locking it up behind them. The sound of a quad bike revved in the distance and Hana panicked.
“He’s coming!” she squeaked, looking around for somewhere to hide.
Logan snorted. “He doesn’t scare me,” he said, watching Hana’s frenzied movements with interest.
“Well, he should!” she snapped. She grabbed his hand and bolted, hauling him along behind her. Boys emerged from the changing rooms and Hana sent them in a single direction. “Groundsman!” she hissed and the message went through the group like a ripple. Within seconds only a drying trail into the changing room remained as evidence, the last child scrambling for safety into the main building.
Reaching the deserted staircase up to the guidance counsellors’ suite, Hana and Logan flattened themselves against the wall as the quad bike passed outside the door. Logan sniggered. “That was close.”
Hana looked appalled. “It’s not funny. He’ll go mental!” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll have to admit it. I won’t involve you.”
“Don’t be daft.” Logan pressed her back to the wall and stopped her leaving. “I said I’d take the blame.”
Hana shook her head. “You’re new. I’m a nobody. He’ll complain to Donald and I’ll get growled at but I’ll survive. You might not.”
Logan’s hand moved up to her face and his thumb brushed Hana’s cheek. His fingers dug into the back of her hair, releasing a torrent of red curls as her clip gave way. “You and Gwynne,” he whispered, his tone hoarse and his irises flickering like storm water.
“There is no me and Gwynne,” Hana breathed. “There never was.”
Logan lowered his lips to hers and the stairwell melted away from view.
Five minutes later, Hana squelched into the student centre in soaked sandals streaked with gully mud. She hovered outside the closed door of the office. She’d forgotten how it felt to stroke a man’s rough skin beneath her fingers or have her mouth teased by another’s lips. Like riding too high on a swing and losing her stomach on the downward, Hana sank into oblivion beneath Logan’s touch and she felt the spectre of Vikram Johal let go of her just a little. She thought about Logan’s sensuous lips against hers and put her hand up to her mouth, stifling a grin.
“They’re still at it.”
“What?” Hana whipped around with guilt on her face.
“They’re still at it. Rory and Sheila.” Grant jerked his head towards the door and flapped his wad of detention slips in warning at two boys near the front of the common room. They silenced. “The first ten minutes sounded entertaining, but now we’ve gone past the usual insults and he’s apparently a brown son of a bitch and she’s something unrepeatable.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how you put up with them.”
The shine of Logan’s kiss didn’t dim against the impossibility of her working environment and Hana sighed. “Nor do I.”
She smiled at Grant and watched by fifty boys, opened the office door with caution. A tornado of paperwork greeted her, swishing around in the current from the overhead fan. The contents of her desk had joined Rory’s on the carpet. Hana sighed and closed the door behind her, leaning against it to help the wobble in her legs. Her body thrummed with the excitement of her encounter with Logan and the disaster at her feet couldn’t touch her. Sheila and Rory stopped their bickering to watch as Hana hummed to herself, her mind elsewhere. Then Rory ducked as Sheila threw the paperweight.