About Hana

by K T Bowes

  Chapter 23

  Hana drove herself to work, attempting to reclaim the fragile threads of her life again. She felt sad and remote from everyone, regretting her desire to push them all away. She decided to make amends with Anka and forgive her slighting of Logan, remembering the adage about not breaking important friendships over a man.

  Hana arrived at Anka’s office in time for morning tea, hoping they might walk up to the staffroom together. Anka’s computer screen showed her latest document and a mound of paperwork covered her desk.

  “Shop!” called a voice from under a table. Hana jumped and spied the soles of flip-flops poking out. “She’s helping in the shop,” continued the feet as they emerged from under the desk. A large bottom followed them, accompanied by a naked midriff, inappropriate tee shirt and arms filled with rubbish. “I put the ceiling fan on and everything flew everywhere. Made a right mess!” The girl hauled herself to her feet and puffed across to the dustbin.

  The bell sounded for interval and disappointment crossed Hana’s face. “Will she take her usual morning tea now or do you think she’s covering someone?”

  The girl looked straight at Hana as though she might be thick. “How do I know?” She thudded into her seat, but not before the papers tumbled from her grasp and the ceiling fan whipped them into another frenzy.

  Hana flicked the switch to off and beat a hasty retreat. She reached the shop at the same time as a gaggle of Year 9s. A science teacher shouted for silence over their heads. “Line up by the wall. ID cards ready and no messing around. This is your break time you’re wasting. I don’t have a life so I don’t mind.”

  Hana peered through the doorway but didn’t see Anka. As she turned to leave, she caught Lief’s eye and shouted over the boys’ heads. “Where’s Anka?”

  The shop assistant rolled her eyes. “No idea. She went to the stockroom on the first floor to find something ages ago.” Lief slapped a graphics calculator on the counter and nodded at the line of students. “I hope she comes back soon. Sandra’s off sick and Donald sent her to help me.”

  Hana gave up all hope of morning tea and rebuilding friendships. “I’ll try to find her,” she promised and Lief nodded with gratitude. Deciding to start at the stockroom, Hana set off for the main building, navigating adolescent bodies in various stages of eating or playing.

  Hana’s heels clattered up the first set of stairs to the split-level landing. Too late, she remembered she needed the key code for the lock and groaned. The hockey coach skipped up behind her and paused as she blocked the stair well. “Sorry.” Hana moved sideways and he squeezed past her.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t remember the number for the stockroom.” Her brow furrowed and she turned to take the sharp left turn towards the student centre. “I wrote it down; I’ll find it.”

  “It’s unlocked.” Stan jerked his head towards the door and Hana followed his gaze. “Someone’s in there. Just watch you don’t get smacked in the face as they come out.” He rubbed his forehead. “Happened to me last week. They need to put a sliding door on there.”

  Hana nodded and stared at the door with relief. It stood ajar, the toe of a smart shoe keeping it open. “Thanks,” she said, tapping herself on the temple. “Of course it’s open. Anka’s in there.” She crossed the stairs towards it, giving Stan an apologetic eye roll over her shoulder.

  She placed her hand on the door with caution, half expecting it to swing outwards and knock her down the stairs to the bottom. Part of the original building, the small dog-legged room hugged its roots as an anteroom to an office, turning its back on the smart brick structure which sprung up at its rear in the 1980s. The carpenter who turned it into a stockroom made a fantastic job of fitting bespoke floor to ceiling shelving, assuming it would open from its original side. But the architects ordered that doorway closed and opened one onto the stairs, giving it the tiniest of landings. They didn’t think to tell the carpenter and his handiwork didn’t factor in a door which opened inwards. Rough edges betrayed his temper as he carved a hole in the shelving unit to allow only slender bodies to squeeze through. He hung the door to open outwards, not caring about generations of boys who learned to dodge the hazard as they flew up or down stairs. Numerous accidents with bags catching on the handle led the groundsman to remove it, forcing anyone inside to rely on a rusty catch to hold fast, without locking them in.

  Making sure she didn’t knock anyone out as she pulled the door outwards, Hana slipped between the door and frame, peering into the darkness for Anka. Distracted by making sure the vibrant blue stiletto remained in place, she ran her finger over the catch to lock the door in the open position. It refused to budge and Hana sighed, realising the reason for the shoe’s placement. Anka’s voice rose in an irritated whisper and Hana paused, curiosity getting the better of her. She leaned towards the left, her view blocked by a wall of shelves filled with stationery and lost property. “No!” Anka pleaded. “No. It just won’t work anymore; I’ll lose my job.”

  “Look,” a male voice entreated, the tone soft and cajoling. “Nobody will know. I’ll be out of this dump soon. We’ll be fine.”

  “You know how I feel.” Anka sounded sad, her South African accent more pronounced. “We can’t do this anymore. It’s wrong on too many levels.”

  “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” the male voice asked, fear in his tone. “He won’t find out, I promise.”

  “It’s too risky now. It’s getting dangerous.”

  Hana heard the strain in Anka’s voice and intervened without making it obvious she overheard the whispered exchange. She swiped a stack of exercise books onto the floor with her hand and bent to retrieve them, making a great fuss of shuffling them all together to buy Anka time. “Oops!” she exclaimed. Through a gap between the bottom two shelves, Hana watched as the couple froze and then parted. Her heart sank and disappointment flooded through her veins. By the time she stood and replaced the exercise books, her hands shook and her brain shut down any hope of conversation.

  A student in a white prefect’s shirt emerged from around the end shelf. Rugged and dark haired, he walked with casual confidence as though his X factor lurked just under the surface. Already tall enough for his head to be in line with the top shelf, he observed Hana through eyes masked by anger and fear. He waved a lined refill pad over his shoulder. “Should I pay for this at the shop?” he demanded.

  Anka appeared in Hana’s eye line, her cheeks pink and flushed. She licked her lips once and floundered, darting her eyes from him to Hana and back again. She shook her head once in response. “No, don’t worry. I’ll sort it out.”

  The student squeezed past Hana, stumbling over the shoe in the doorway and swearing. He glanced back at Anka with a smirk which pushed him beyond good looking and into the realms of devastating. Hana stared at him, a peculiar sense of recognition knocking at the back of her brain. She’d seen him around lots but it wasn’t that. His olive skin and the smiling curve of his eyes reminded her of someone. His shirt hung from the back of his pants, not long enough to cover his torso and he shoved it inside his waistband with long fingers. Half way down the stairs, he turned and gave Anka a pointed look.

  Hana heard her friend let out the smallest exhale, hearing desperation and misery. She turned to look at her. “How much did you hear?” Anka asked, defeat sounding in every syllable.

  Hana sighed, deciding on honesty. “Enough,” she replied. She took a step forward. “What are you doing?”

  Anka poked out her foot, seating the blue shoe over her toes without bending down. She spoke in a halting, dead tone as though the story might prove boring. “He’s a friend of Gareth’s.”

  Hana’s brow knitted. “I thought we were friends, Anka.”

  Her friend looked up, the lie on the tip of her tongue. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “We are. I couldn’t tell you.”

  Hana swallowed and put a hand over her mouth. “I don’t know what to say.”

>   Anka waved a slender hand which displayed an expensive wedding ring; a forgotten casualty of her life-changing decision. “I can’t talk here. It’s too complicated.”

  Hana nodded. “Look Anka, they want you in the shop, but we do need to talk about this. Can we meet tonight, in Starbuck’s at Chartwell?” Hana reached out to touch her friend’s shoulder but at the contact, felt her stiffen.

  “Fine. At seven o’clock after I get dinner finished.” Anka sounded wooden and the chasm between them opened wider. She pushed past Hana and stepped out onto the stairs, stopping just long enough to issue her threat. “Don’t you dare tell anyone, especially not your smart new toy-boy!”

  “Why would I do that?” Hana whispered, sadness radiating from her eyes. “Then he’ll be in the same awful position I am.”

  Anka tossed her hair and walked away, gliding elegantly down the stairs in her designer navy suit and high heels. Hana let the door close in her face, jamming a ruler in the gap to stop it locking her in. She leaned against the shelf opposite and rubbed her cheeks with shaking fingers. Shock paralysed her and her mind pushed the awful thought around her head without understanding. Her best friend had engaged in a relationship with a student. Hana closed her eyes and shook her head. “Not just against school rules but illegal,” she breathed. The bell sounded and Hana pulled the stockroom door shut behind her, arriving back in the common room in a state of shock. She worked until home time without stopping and making numerous silly errors on her budgets.

  Logan popped in to see Pete and ran a gentle hand across her shoulders. “Hey, how are you doing?” He studied her face for clues, hating the wall Hana threw up between them.

  She shrugged. “I’m good, thanks. I don’t know where Pete is.”

  Logan perched on the edge of her desk and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I didn’t really come to see him.”

  “Oh.” Hana chewed her lip and prodded at a stack of brochures in front of her. It felt like his eyes bored holes in her soul and she stood up, needing to break free. He snatched at her hand as she turned and kept her in place, his touch light but firm.

  “Did I do something wrong?” He searched her face.

  Hana inhaled. “No.”

  He raised his free hand and wagged a finger at her. “Don’t give me the, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ routine.” His lips quirked upwards in a smile which didn’t reach his eyes. He swallowed. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Dark lashes swished down, shuttering his hurt from her.

  Hana looked at his fingers wrapped around her hand and shook her head, the motion almost negligible. He ducked his head to peer up at her. “Was that a no, Ms McIntyre?”

  She pursed her lips as a smile broke free, lighting her green eyes from within. He stood up, towering over her and lifted her chin with his index finger. His brow furrowed and a gentle thumb played across her cheek. “I don’t want to give you up,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to make you sad either.”

  Hana blinked and confusion coursed through her. She sighed. “Stuff keeps coming back from my past and I don’t like it.” She reached up and fingered Logan’s shirt button, feeling the smoothness ground her. His scent enveloped her in a comforting aura which felt right. Sunshine and meadows and the taste of summer. “I don’t want you to leave me alone.” Her eyes searched his face for confirmation, relieved when he relaxed. His arms wound around her shoulders and his heartbeat thudded through his chest wall and into her cheek, like the ticking of a clock.

  “Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “Because I lied. I can’t leave you alone.”

  Hana smiled into his shirt and pushed her hands under his jacket. His presence made her feel safe and immunised her against the world and its insistent problems. “I have a dilemma,” she whispered. “I could use your advice.”

  “Yeah.” His hands caressed the back of her neck, fingers exploring the delicate nape and pushing upwards into her curls. “What?”

  Hana struggled to concentrate. Her fingers strayed from the small of his back to the strong muscles either side of his spine. Bunched and thick, they distracted her. Logan’s fingers fluttered down the smooth fabric of her blouse and he cleared his throat. “Hana?”

  “Sorry.” She licked her lips and pushed herself into her chair, attempting to control the wobble in her legs. Buried sensations rose up from a well she once believed bricked over. “Okay.” She gathered her wits enough to speak. “If someone you knew did something bad and you found out about it, would you tell someone in authority?”

  Logan’s eyes widened and he stared at her hard, taking a step back. “Is this a trick question?”

  “No.” Hana shook her head in confusion. “It’s my dilemma.”

  “It depends on the thing.” Logan reached for a long curl which coiled past Hana’s shoulder, twirling it in his fingers and focussing his attention on the way the light caught the different shades of red. When his eyes met hers, they contained a look of seriousness. “What’s the thing?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Hana chewed her lip. “I just found out.”

  “Is it illegal?” Logan studied her face and she nodded.

  “Very. And immoral.”

  Logan shrugged. “Sleep on it. As long as nobody gets hurt in the meantime, see how you feel tomorrow.”

  Hana winced. “Whatever I do, people are gonna be hurt. Some more than others.”

  The bell interrupted her and Logan glanced at the closed office door in irritation. Then he leaned down and kissed her, lingering and communicating his reluctance to leave. Hana reached up and ran her fingers through the back of his hair, resting her other hand against his chest and feeling his heart rate increase as she parted her lips for him. The sound of boys outside forced them to break apart. Logan looked pained, his forehead creased and annoyance in his grey eyes. “Can I see you tonight?” he asked.

  Hana closed her eyes and shook her head. Logan winced. “You’re washing your hair?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Hana sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m meeting a friend about my dilemma.”

  “Okay.” Logan opened his mouth to speak but Pete crashed through the office door, slamming it behind him and leaning against it, his arms splayed wide.

  “If Dobbs asks where I was period 4, tell him I was writing reports right there.” He jabbed a finger towards his chaotic desk.

  Hana gave Logan a knowing look and spun her chair to face her computer. “No. That would be lying.”

  “It’s not!” Pete lurched for her. “Omission of the truth is not lying.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Hana dodged the greasy hand which tried to grab her arm. “It’s the exact definition. Touch me and you’re dead.”

  “You don’t understand!” Pete protested. “I need help.”

  Hana heard Logan snort from behind her. “Understatement of the year,” he muttered. “See ya, Hana.” He grabbed Pete by the ear and spun him around, shoving him towards his desk. “You heard the lady, touch her and you’re dead. I second it so be told!”

  Hana turned to acknowledge Logan’s support with a stunning smile and his shoulders relaxed. He gave her a one-fingered salute which best fitted a cowboy and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Hana?” Pete began again and she shook her head.

  “No, Pete.” She wedged ear buds into her ears and pressed the switch on Evie’s dictaphone, typing up minutes from a departmental briefing.

  The meeting with Anka remained at bay until Hana closed down her computer and readied the office for leaving. Then the weight of it rolled up to greet her with a sense of foreboding and loss. She’d attempt to talk sense into her friend but if she failed, she knew what she needed to do. Despite the boy being at least eighteen and over the age of consent, his relationship with Anka put her in front of the trustees and possibly in court. Knowing and saying nothing made Hana an accomplice.

  On her way through reception, Hana stopped to see Angus’ personal assistant. The older woman huf
fed and puffed and complained, but pencilled a meeting with Hana in the principal’s calendar for interval the next day.