by K T Bowes
Chapter 21
After ten days of fitful, sleepless nights, Hana found herself exactly where she vowed she’d never go again; the arrivals’ terminal of Auckland International Airport. A hellish journey through rolling fog over the Bombay Hills cut visibility to a few metres and smacked of horror movies where drivers roamed without hope of finding their destination. Hana sat in the queue for the airport ticket machine, eyeing her temperamental nemesis with terror. “It’s gonna get me again,” she wittered, chewing her bottom lip. “I know it is.”
The ticket machine looked innocuous enough but still refused to clip and release her ticket. Just like last time. The previous car pulled away in a cloud of exhaust fumes and Hana pressed the big green button again. “Just give me the ticket!” she groaned through the open window. “Why do we always have to do this?”
Leaning down she spotted the cardboard ticket poking a few millimetres from the slot, but it stayed there, baiting her. “I did what you said!” Her voice rose a few octaves as the robotic command rebuked her in its automated tone.
“Pull up close to the machine and obey the instructions.”
“I did!” Hana pushed her driver’s door open, hearing it clang against the metal of the machine. “I pulled up close and now I can’t get out!” She scooted across the centre of the car, entangling herself on the gear lever and cursing. Slamming the passenger door, she stalked around the back of her vehicle, trying to take the machine by surprise. She launched herself at it from the side and scrabbled at the ticket with her fingernails. Somebody behind honked their horn.
“Yes!” she punched the air in victory, feeling the shiny cardboard slide into her hand. “No!” Half a ticket sat in her palm, the other jagged half wedged in the hole.
Time marched on towards the arrival of the NZ001 flight from London Heathrow via Los Angeles and the traffic volume increased. Vehicles filled with curious occupants filed past the other ticket machine at a slow crawl, all eyes turned towards her like a bewildered theatre audience. Hana dug through her handbag for tweezers to extract the rest of her ticket. She’d pushed the green button eleven times but nothing happened. Unless she could make the barrier arm go up and fool the machine into thinking she’d gone and someone sensible had arrived, it wouldn’t play. Jumping up and down in front of her vehicle didn’t work either. The barrier stayed closed and the ticket remained stuck.
A shadow loomed from the fog, an imposing Māori with a moko tattoo dominating his cheeks and chin. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail. Gang insignia decorated his leather jacket and swear words abused her from the knuckles of both hands. He strode towards her, his lips a hard line and his nose, large and flat against his brown skin. Hana gulped and attempted a smile, gripping the handles of her bag in a death grip. “Hey, missus.” His voice sounded deep and powerful. “Youse got trouble?” he asked.
She nodded and jerked a shaking finger at the slot. “It won’t spit it out,” she said, hearing the wobble in her voice. Her eyes grew wide as she imagined him ripping the machine from its pilings and hurling it across the car park. Security would come and she’d miss Indra and Deepak’s flight.
The man squeezed into the tiny space between Hana’s car and the machine, forcing her to slip out the other side. He jabbed his finger at the instructions.
1. Press green button for ticket.
2. Press red button to release ticket.
3. Proceed under barrier.
4. Pay at a machine located in the car park before leaving.
Hana gulped as a stubby finger pressed the red button and half a ticket popped from the slot, crumpled and ragged on one edge and neatly perforated on the other. Hana felt colour flush to the roots of her hair. “I’m so sorry. Thank you.” She accepted the fragile leaf of cardboard residing in the giant palm and clambered back into her seat via the passenger side. Cranking the gear lever into first, she forgot to release the handbrake and the car made a terrible noise as the wheels spun. Removal of the ticket raised the barrier and it pointed jauntily skywards, starting its downward journey as Hana screeched underneath, leaving tyre marks on the asphalt. She fled the scene without her seatbelt and heard a clunk as her back bumper hit the car park floor.
Her heart pounded as she executed an appalling reverse turn into the last empty space in the arrivals car park, having almost ploughed into the vacant trolley bay adjacent. An airbus droned overhead as it came into land, sending her running for the double doors into the arrivals’ lounge.
Flight NZ001 processed for ages and she prayed Indra hadn’t smuggled in some Indian delicacy and met the border patrol close up. Hana sat near the doors and fidgeted, muttering admonishments to herself like a lunatic. She tried to watch the feet underneath the screens to identify an approaching sari, but they shifted around too quickly. The frosted arrival doors opened and closed, disgorging tired travellers in small denominations and Hana felt her chest grow tighter with each departure.
Auckland Airport depressed her as families arrived with smiles and departed with tears. Wonderful reunions happened in an area only twenty metres wide and she watched a small girl run under the barriers and hurl herself at a white haired old man. In the food court nearby, those departing held stiff conversations, avoiding the final goodbye and radiating fear and misery. Children grew bored and broke the rules, swinging on the barriers and hanging upside down from the railings. Some people laughed as they reunited with loved ones and others cried. The atmosphere shimmered with raw human emotion, tears and promises, sadness and broken hearts. Hana felt drained with effort of sitting there.
They appeared in front of her, striding through the sliding doors with purpose and blinking in confusion. Slightly built and beautiful still, Indra exuded authority. Despite the long flight, her skin mirrored the colour of an excellent espresso and her dark eyes shone. Jet-black hair pulled back into a bun showed not a strand of grey and her red and gold sari made her stand out like royalty. The Indian matriarch bore the same imposing presence which confronted Hana twenty-six years earlier as she trembled through the family meeting. At the mention of her pregnancy, Indra’s face had turned to stone and she terrified Hana with her screech of fury. She’d screamed in a language Hana grew to despise, until an aunty of Vik’s led her to another part of the house. Hana still heard her even with the distance between them. She asked Vik later what Indra screamed and he lied to her. “Very bad, very bad,” he translated and Hana chose to believe him. But her heart told her Indra wished her unborn child dead.
Hana jumped to her feet and met them at the end of the barrier. She wore a stunning amber dress, a neat jacket and heaps too much makeup. Her eyes widened in alarm as Indra let out a high-pitched wail and ran to her, throwing herself into her arms. Everyone in the terminal stopped to watch and Hana patted Indra’s back with cautious taps. “Oh, Hana!” Indra bawled. “It’s been too long.”
Lost for words, Hana swallowed and took Indra’s weight as the old woman draped herself over her.
“Hello my darling.” Deepak strolled over with a laden trolley, casually handing a clean white handkerchief to his blithering wife. He leaned across to kiss Hana on the cheek. She felt stunned by their genuine greeting and somehow they staggered and wheeled towards the exit doors.
Emerging into bright sunshine, Hana realised she’d forgotten the row number of her parking space. Glinting metal greeted her franticly searching gaze. “I’ll find it in a minute,” she said, hiding her growing dismay. Deepak and Indra drooped in the daylight and the twenty-six hour flight showed in the dark circles beneath their eyes. Hana scoured the car park, looking for landmarks to give her a clue.
A police car slid into the emergency vehicle bay and Indra gave another shriek as the single male occupant emerged. Bodie strode towards them, his physique solidified by a body-armoured vest. Indra entertained more onlookers as she collapsed in a heap, accompanied by wailing and crying. Hana cringed as members of the public assumed her arrivals were under arrest. A Japanese man
stopped to snap photographs on his camera.
Bodie caught Hana’s eye and winked as she toyed with the two bits of ticket. “The car’s in row 12B, over that way.” He indicated with a jerk of his head as Indra continued dripping and sobbing over his uniform. “Bring it here and we can save them a walk.”
Hana eyed the parking warden as he picked a fight with an over stayer and looked doubtful. Bodie jerked his head at her, forcing her to trust him. Hana jogged to her car, finding it where her son promised. She sat for a moment inside before starting the engine, never imagining a meeting with her in-laws that didn’t end in arguments and emotional bloodshed. Hana battled her way back to arrivals through the departing traffic. Her tattooed saviour watched as she made an illegal turn, having driven around the car park in the wrong direction.
Pulling up behind the police car, Hana observed her son supporting his grandmother’s arm, laughing and talking to Deepak. The likeness between them took her breath away, the shared genetics running through their blood. Bodie’s skin looked lighter, the darkness of his Indian heritage tempered and mellowed by Hana’s fair Celtic genes. But the brown eyes which flashed like coals when he was angry were his grandmother’s. Seeing them in comparison made her sad, wishing things had been different. Bodie shared Deepak’s sturdy frame, solid shoulders and an effortless grace, the likeness striking. It made Vik feel nearer somehow and Hana pushed away the emotions which surfaced. She glanced down at her left hand and rubbed the space where her wedding ring used to lie, her gift to Izzie on her wedding day. Her finger looked naked and she smoothed the dent which had never filled out.
“Where’s the bumper?” Bodie jabbed at the empty space at the back of Hana’s car.
“On the road near the entrance.” Hana cringed. “And I can’t open the rear door. We’ll need to put the cases on the back seat.” At his look of incredulity, Hana shook her head. “I didn’t do it. Those men rear-ended it.”
Bodie settled Indra in the back and packed the luggage around her. “You’ll be okay, Bibi ji,” he said with a smile. “It’s not far.”
Indra nodded and waved over the top of a lemon coloured suitcase and Bodie waggled his eyebrows at Hana. He leaned in close to her ear on the pretext of giving her a kiss. “She’s sick, Mum. Papa ji said this is their last hurrah.”
Hana swallowed and took in his news. Indra’s sunny smile condemned her from the back seat. She nodded as Bodie enfolded her in a safe embrace. “Thanks. I’ll make sure they have a good time.”
He helped her settle into the driver’s seat where she faced the prospect of the treacherous exit journey with her not-quite-symmetrical halves of ticket. Watching distress cloud her face, Bodie held out his hand. “Here, give it to me,” he said, a smirk lighting his dark eyes. He emerged from the airport with a new ticket, the grin still on his lips. Hana gave him a grateful look and he shrugged. “Didn’t even have to pull my gun,” he whispered, for her ears only.
Hana’s eyes widened in horror and he laughed. “Oh, Mum! You’re so gullible.”
Bodie kissed his grandparents through their open windows and promised to catch up with them after they’d made the journey to Invercargill to see Izzie. Hana left the car park without difficulty, heaving a sigh of relief as she filtered onto the highway towards Hamilton.
Hana drove for an hour with Deepak snorting out a random, snoring concerto and Indra chatting non stop about the family back home. Hana didn’t ask about her illness, her heart filling with a sense of profound sadness at the wasteland between them. It could’ve been different. “The Johals have spread since you left, Hana,” Indra called. She listed the relatives and respective children and Hana struggled to recall the disapproving faces from her history.
Arriving home, Hana drove straight into the garage, noticing a strange vehicle parked opposite her house. She dropped the garage door with the remote, recognising her nasty blonde visitor as she passed. The black saloon car contained only him and he waved to her from the driver’s window. Hana’s fingers fluttered over her chest and she clambered from her vehicle on shaking legs. With Indra and Deepak both sleeping, she rushed upstairs to peer from the front windows, the empty street confounding her. No point calling the cops with nothing to see.
Hearing movement downstairs, Hana discovered a bewildered Indra trying to free her sari from the closed rear door. Hana helped her and then woke Deepak. Her mother-in-law continued her chatter about the family as though she’d only stopped to take a breath. “Jaspal married a dreadful Hindu girl,” she complained, referring to Vik’s older brother. “It ended in tears; she couldn’t cook!” Indra’s expression nailed the real deal-breaker and Hana sighed at the memory of Indra’s constant picking at her culinary efforts.
Upstairs, Hana settled the elderly couple in the double room opposite hers where Izzie once slept. Exhaustion assailed her bones but Indra seemed refreshed and desperate for a sightseeing trip around the city. A revived Deepak agreed. Hana recovered with a mug of strong coffee while Indra made a dreadful mess in the bedroom, disgorging her suitcase and spreading its contents over every surface. She wanted Hana to approve of her offerings like a child seeking praise. “This is the special sari from Birmingham for visiting Izzie in the South Island.” She dropped the sumptuous fabric onto the bed and dragged out another. “This is the special sari for seeing Bodie.” Indra stopped, her face full of confusion. “Oh, he saw me.” She brushed a hand across her majestic red and gold number. “Never mind. We can pretend.” She shrugged off her ruined plans with aplomb. “This is the baby sari for Elizabeth.” The fabric dripped from her dark fingers, a blue base with golden hoops and swirls overlaid throughout the expensive material. “I bought a matching one for Isobel. Do you think she will like it?”
Hana inhaled and nodded. “She’ll love it.”
Indra pulled out another sari, engaging in a tussle with a stray pair of knickers. Hana respectfully looked away as the hold-up-suck-in and don’t-breathe-out panties twanged from the case and landed on the bedside lamp. To her surprise, Indra left them there.
“Ohhhh!” Indra exclaimed, producing a large photo album from her suitcase. “This is what I wanted.”
For the next two hours, she sat on the double bed with Hana. She showed her daughter-in-law memories from every significant event she’d missed. Hana sat through Jaspal’s wedding, Jaspal’s two children, Jaspal’s workplace, Jaspal’s luxurious home. She showed no surprise when Indra produced a scanned copy of Jaspal’s Decree Absolute, neatly labelled and compartmentalised as part of the snapshot of Jaspal’s life. Hana felt weary of a saga she no longer took part in. She imagined Izzie faking interest in the lives of her distant uncles and cousins and hoped she made a more convincing audience.
The evening couldn’t come soon enough. After a meal out, one lengthy trip into Hamilton, afternoon tea in a coffee shop, then a mouth incinerating curry cooked by Deepak, Hana admitted defeat. She crawled into bed, anticipating a trip to Waitomo Caves the next day. She woke once around two o’clock, sitting bolt upright at the unusual cacophony of sounds. Recognising the scraping of bowls at the other end of the house, Hana lay down smiling to herself as two jetlagged travellers ate cornflakes in the middle of the night.