About Hana

by K T Bowes

  Chapter 25

  Logan turned up bright and early with his truck in the morning, planting a scorching kiss on her lips before handing her the keys. Hana drove to school while he directed her on the finer points of the temperamental vehicle. It felt huge compared to her Serena and owned many more blind spots, one of which almost swallowed the head of art’s Toyota Vitz. At the last moment, Hana spotted it in the side mirror and swerved to avoid shunting it.

  “Maybe drive in, rather than reversing,” Logan pointed out, trying to be helpful. He received a glare and a repeat of the experience as his reward.

  “I always back in!” Hana retorted, mounting the curb and flattening a prize rose bush before coming to rest in her allocated parking space. “Last time I drove in, someone attacked me. At least this way, I can see them hiding from miles away.”

  “That’s not logical,” Logan said, narrowing his eyes. “They can still hide around the front end.”

  “What?” Hana’s head shot up in horror and he amended the sentence.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered. “Nothing will happen.”

  Hana sighed. “Thanks.” Bending to retrieve the road kill rose and attempting to stand it up again, she missed the rest of the staff sitting in their vehicles, too afraid to get out. Frightened faces eyed her through misted windshields.

  “It’s fine, leave it.” Logan hid his smirk, pulling her fingers away from the hooky thorns. “I’ll see you later.” He dipped his head as though to kiss her and then thought better of it, in view of their audience. He satisfied himself with a light touch on her hand.

  Hana hurried to the office and dumped her handbag, sliding into a back seat in the staff briefing. At a nod from Angus, Donald Watson stood and the room hushed. “We’ve called this extraordinary meeting to make some announcements.” He puffed up his chest and the dramatic blonde comb-over slipped alongside his right ear, giving him a side ponytail. “It’s with great sadness we must inform you that Anka van Blerk has left our school with immediate effect. She’s been our typist for seventeen years and is leaving to concentrate on family issues. A card will circulate over the next few days, along with a collection which I know you will donate generously to.”

  Nodding his thanks in advance of an avalanche of money, which in reality never went into collections, Donald sat with a satisfied bump. Hana watched Angus, noticing how his face remained blank, giving nothing away. She stared at her feet and contemplated life at the school without her friend while other important notices held everyone’s attention. A general buzz of concern went round the gathered crowd afterwards and many approached Hana, assuming she knew Anka’s circumstances. She couldn’t trust herself not to say the wrong thing, so she smiled and nodded, reassuring those who enquired. She extracted herself from the staffroom as soon as she could, attempting to avoid the sudden interest in Anka. First back in the office, she dialled the number for Angus’ assistant. “I won’t need that appointment with Angus, thanks,” she said, lowering her voice as Pete and Sheila blasted through the door, followed by a sulking Rory.

  “Yeah, I bet you won’t,” the spiteful woman replied and Hana’s heart sank.

  “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she said with dignity and slammed the phone down.

  Sheila made a beeline for Hana, buzzing with questions. “Come on,” she said, irritated at Hana’s reticence. “She’s your friend. You must know something!”

  Hana absented herself from the office after jamming the photocopier on purpose, providing her with a ready excuse to go elsewhere. Her heart felt like a wooden lump in her chest and she sent Anka a text. ‘Donald announced your resignation. Assuming he doesn’t know why. Please stay in touch. I don’t wish you any ill.’

  She hid in the staff workroom on the second floor, copying questionnaires for Evie. No matter how Hana felt about her friend’s behaviour, she wouldn’t betray Anka’s secret to gossip mongers but worried about her tendency to put her foot in it under pressure. She sighed and repeated the tape that played in her head. “They always leave you in the end.”

  The door to the workroom opened and Logan strode in with a bundle of books and papers under his arm. Hana welcomed the distraction, admiring his physique in smart shirt, black slacks and polished boots. His dark fringe stuck up as though he’d run frantic hands through it.

  She smiled, seeing anger replace the tired expression in his eyes. Her welcome line faltered on her lips. He strode towards her, weaving through tables piled high with marking and clutter. His jaw ground through his cheek and his grey eyes heralded an unpredictable storm. Anka’s words of warning returned to bite Hana.

  “Did you know?” His muscles stretched the shirt fabric as he leaned across to dump the books next to someone else’s abandoned pile.

  “Know what?” Hana’s eyes widened and she backed away, finding her spine pressed against the copier. It whirred and spat paper into the tray, rocking her body in a gentle, soothing motion. Her mind spun, sifting through the things she may or may not know, until settling on Anka’s bombshell. She glanced away for only a second but Logan read the tell. “What are we talking about? Know what?”

  “About the typist. You did!” He drew his own conclusions as she floundered, snorting like an angry stallion. “Of course you bloody did.” He backed away from her, disgust on his face in the shape of a dismissive sneer. “Thanks a lot, Mrs Johal!” he countered, wounding her with the use of her married name. In that alone he severed their connection. “Thanks a bloody lot!”

  He spun on his heel and blasted from the room, leaving his books on the table. The breeze from the corridor sent a precarious heap of papers cascading onto the floor. Hana’s hands shook as she retrieved them, her heart numb. She stacked them back into a pile while dismay morphed into anger. “How dare he!” she hissed. “How dare he think I’ll share gossip with him; it’s none of his business.”

  Her mind spun with possibilities, remembering Anka’s disparaging remarks about Logan Du Rose. His behaviour validated them and Hana sank into a chair. “I don’t want to be Mrs Johal anymore,” she sighed with a tremor in her voice. “I liked being Ms McIntyre again.” Hana thumped her fist on the desk and two piles of books and papers toppled, mingling on the floor. “Damn it!” she exclaimed to the empty room, thumping the table again. It hurt just as much the second time.

  Her sanctuary destroyed, Hana separated the piles best she could and contemplated her options. The workroom filled with teachers trying to squeeze marking or research into their already packed day, gulping cups of cold coffee and taking frenzied bites of sandwich as they worked. Hana left, grabbing the copied questionnaires and dumping them on top of Logan’s abandoned pile. It hadn’t appeared so heavy under his strong arm and Hana struggled with the combined weight of her work and his.

  Passing the window facing the chapel, she groaned at the sight of Logan’s truck parked in her space. It looked wonky, the rear wheel crossing the white line on the passenger side. “Can’t drive it anyway,” she muttered to herself in consolation. “And the bus is okay.”

  By the time she reached it with her armful of books, she’d convinced herself the deal would be off and she needed to fix an awkward situation up front. Battling not to drop the pile as she fought with the car key, alarm button and door, Hana felt the wave of sadness start in her chest and radiate outwards. Her conscience dictated that she safeguard the boys’ work and she wrapped the seatbelt around the books before locking the door.

  Engrossed in her silly mission, she didn’t notice someone sneak up behind her. As she slammed the door and turned, she discovered herself nose to nose with Peter North. She squealed and he looked at her with curiosity, scratching a spot on his forehead. “What are you doing?” he asked, pointing as the top layer of papers slid off the pile and onto the floor of the car. Hana took a deep breath, grabbed his hand and thumped the keys in his palm.

  “Give these to Logan, please.” Leaving him gawking at her, she stomped toward
s the guidance counsellors’ entrance, remembering too late that her own work was in with Logan’s. She halted and glanced back as Peter North set off running after a group of Year 11s, disappearing through the front gates.

  Hana used the counsellors’ back door and climbed the stairs to the common room. The tranquil lobby of the guidance suite looked inviting and calm. She sat in a chair for a moment to catch her breath before braving the hundreds of eyes beyond the common room door. Evie’s door snapped open and a small boy emerged. He giggled and Evie patted him on the shoulder. “Good boy, Kevin, remember what we’ve talked about. Use your strategies this week. Come back and tell me how it goes on Friday, will you?”

  The Year 10 nodded with enthusiasm and waved from the open door to the stairs. He shouted over the balustrade to someone else on the ground floor and a tennis ball bounced up to meet him.

  Evie turned to Hana. “Come in,” she said, indicating her open door.

  Awkwardness shrouded Hana. “Oh, I’m not staying. I wondered if you had another copy of the questionnaire for me to duplicate. You wanted fifty, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, please.” Evie walked across to her sunny desk, the light creating highlights in her hair. She picked up a copy of the questionnaire and handed it to Hana. “Now sit down.”

  “I should get back to Sheila,” Hana said, backing towards the doorway.

  Evie regarded her with sympathy. “What, to the endless questions and guilt tripping for answers? Why would you rush back to that? Stay and have coffee with me. We can catch up.”

  Hana felt numb and experienced a sense of impending doom as she watched the new facets of her life crumble and twist before her eyes. Staleness, dull and choking, rose up to infill. She grabbed at the figurative lifeline and sat down with a bump.

  Evie made coffee and they discussed work matters. Hana broke first, spewing her guts to the counsellor when she couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I feel I have no right to be happy,” she admitted. “I always felt that way. I crossed a line and I can’t come back.”

  Bulging filing cabinets lined the walls, filled with secrets and confidences. Hana knew Evie was trustworthy.

  “I liked Logan.” Hana’s voice sounded sad. “Anka tried to warn me in her cryptic way, but I ignored her. He got angry because I didn’t tell him about her and the student. We’ve fallen at the first hurdle because I won’t share other people’s problems, especially not sensitive ones like that.”

  Evie raised her eyebrows. “How long have you known about Anka?”

  Hana swallowed. “I found out yesterday, by accident. I walked in on them. We arranged to meet for coffee last night and I booked an appointment with Angus for interval today.” She sighed. “She fell on her sword so it’s academic now.”

  Evie nodded and her smile looked genuine. “Why do you think Logan reacted that way? Could there be another reason for his anger?”

  “I have no idea.” Hana’s face screwed up in defence. “But he won’t be getting a second chance!”

  “Why?” Evie leaned forward. “You’ve allowed Anka to make a mistake but not Logan. What’s the difference? Is it because he was angry, or something else?”

  Hana swallowed. “He’s not the person I thought he was. I feel a fool.”

  Evie’s nod looked slowed down, a movie reel at half speed. “So, could your trigger be humiliation, Hana?”

  She gasped, her faults laid bare and raw. The revelation shocked her and she blinked in horror. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged. Evie leaned across and patted her knee. “We don’t need to press further into where it comes from, Hana. But you should recognise the tapes playing in your head and reverse them.”

  Hana fought for air, relying on humour to extract her. “They always leave me in the end. How do I say that backwards?”

  “Oh, Hana.” Evie’s smile radiated sympathy. “Change it to, I will love while I have the chance.”

  Hana looked at her hands, picking at a ratty nail and lacking the energy to bother. “Fat lot of good that’s done me so far,” she sighed. She rose to leave, unable to cope with the gentle probing and scared she may reveal something of her inner awfulness to the sweet woman with the fluffy hair.

  “Hana, I don’t usually give advice,” Evie said. “It’s not my role. But I feel a single conversation with Logan might prove important. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  Hana pressed her fingers around the door handle and turned away, Evie’s words bouncing off her hardened resolve. The smile she returned contained sadness and hurt. “Not always,” she said and left.

  Sheila gave Hana a ride home. They left late and Hana saw Logan’s truck still outside the chapel. “Bloody Pete!” she hissed and Sheila rolled her eyes, eagerly diving into a list of North’s many faults and foibles. As she rambled, Hana realised the gossip mongers knew nothing about Anka aside from speculation, assuming her family issues related to Ivan. They kinda did. But that didn’t explain how Logan found out.

  Izzie rang, buzzing with excitement because Elizabeth rolled onto her stomach unaided. “She’s so gorgeous, Mum. I wish you could see her. She grunts something awful and doesn’t give up until she rolls over onto her fat little tummy.”

  “I’m glad things are working out.” Hana nosed through the cupboards and found a new bottle of red wine. She battled with the lid one-handed before admitting defeat and shoving it back in the cupboard. The tap water effervesced in the glass, entertaining her while Izzie chatted about how the ladies of the parish helped rather than hindered.

  “I needed to be clear with them, that’s all. Marcus helped me and now it makes perfect sense. They clean, bring food and all they want in return is company. One lady takes Beth for a walk while I mow her garden. I get some peace and physical exercise and she gets to play nana for an hour. Life is one big trade off.”

  “That’s lovely darling.” Hana’s bland answer alerted her daughter.

  “How are your plans going?” Izzie asked, trying to draw her out. Hana rolled her eyes and fished a speck from her water with a tentative finger.

  “Ah, you know,” she sighed. “These things take time.”

  The argument with Logan left a bitter taste in her mouth and a sick feeling inside her chest. Hana clambered into bed, swathed in her favourite flannelette pyjamas. Little monkeys caroused around the pants. “You’re too old for drama, girl,” she whispered to herself. “You’re nobody’s woman. I think it’s best if you stay on your own.”