by K T Bowes
Chapter 32
Hana felt refreshed after her bath. Her washed hair hung in long red ringlets down her back, almost to her waist.
The hotel guests arrived and Hana heard the party start downstairs. Many of them booked rooms and the surrounding noise increased. Loud music accompanied the banging of doors and squealing of women’s voices. Hana sat on the bed fiddling with the TV remote, settling instead on the novel she brought.
She read to page four of the book before falling asleep, a feat considering the noise in the hallway. She woke with a start when the book fell from her hand and crashed to the floor. Her stomach urged her to check the clock, seeing the hands moving past seven. She made herself tea and ate the complimentary crackers, hoping they lasted her until morning.
Answering a knock on her door revealed Logan, balancing a tray against the wall and his stomach. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve knocked a couple of times. Take this.” He handed over a bottle of red wine.
“Yum. I love macaroni cheese,” Hana said with enthusiasm, eying the hunk of fresh bread balanced on the tray. Logan set it down on the bed, producing cutlery from his back pocket.
“Hungry?” he asked and she nodded.
“Starving. I could lick the bowl.”
Logan opened the doors onto the balcony and stepped outside, retreating as the guests either side of Hana shouted to each other across her balcony. “Bloody animals,” he complained, his face clouding over. “We’ll eat in here then.”
“Who are they?” Hana asked, tearing off a hunk of bread and dipping it into the cheese sauce. She savoured the taste and sighed with happiness.
“Some IT company,” Logan said. “They arrived drunk, so it doesn’t bode well.”
Hana wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “That sucks when it’s your home.”
Logan nodded. “Yeah. The best conferences are the Christian ones. We never have a problem with them. Ma’s getting sick of the corporate stuff.”
“I’m not surprised.” Hana watched a shoe zing past her window.
Logan looked tired and careworn, dark stubble shrouding the lower part of his face. “I forgot the butter,” he said.
“Doesn’t need it,” Hana reassured him, stuffing a crust between her lips and speaking with her mouth full. She used the last of the bread to mop the bowl, feeling full to bursting as she finished and laid it on the nightstand. “That was so nice,” she sighed. She flopped back against the pillows and puffed her belly out. “I’m stuffed.”
Logan watched her with a smile, relaxing against the backdrop of her innocent jocularity. He finished his dinner and scooted onto the bed next to her, lying on his side and twirling her hair in his fingers. “Tell me about your husband,” he asked.
“I’m not sure where to start.” Hana felt herself tense, both her worlds merging and causing her discomfort. “Do I have to?”
“No.” Logan twirled her hair and his grey eyes bored into her soul. “Was he kind to you?” he asked. “That’s what I’m asking.”
Hana sighed. “Yes. He was.”
“That’s good then. Tell me about your kids.” Logan probed with an air of casualness, as though it didn’t matter what she revealed. Hana loosened up, speaking about Bodie and Izzie with the glow of love in her green eyes.
“They sound great,” Logan said. “Bodie’s your eldest? How old is he?”
Hana breathed through pursed lips. “He’s twenty-six,” she answered, her expression guarded.
Logan didn’t react and the tense moment passed. “What about your parents?” he asked. “You said you’re half English and half Irish. Tell me about them.”
Hana swallowed and sat up, hugging her knees. “I find them harder to talk about than Vik, to be honest.”
“That’s okay, you don’t have to.” Logan rolled onto his back and rested a hand on his tight stomach. “I’m just interested in where you’ve come from.”
Hana sighed. “I grew up in Lincolnshire in the UK. Mum was an amazing Irishwoman and I get my hair colour from her.”
Logan smiled with his eyes. “What makes her amazing?”
Hana shook her head and rested her chin on her knees. “Past tense, Logan. She died after Bo was born.” Hana’s voice tailed off, remembering the last time she saw her mother. She shut her eyes against the old pain. “Mum was deaf and couldn’t speak.”
“Like Jack?” Logan cocked his head and understanding crossed his eyes. “So you signed with him?”
Hana nodded. “Kind of. I know British Sign Language but one of his signs looked American. Maybe he’s learned a mix of languages.”
“Can you teach me some?” Logan asked. “I’ve learned to understand his noises, but it would be good to speak to him properly.”
“Yeah sure.” Hana’s smile looked tight.
“What about your father?” Logan asked. “Is he still in England?”
Hana shook her head. “He was an Anglican minister. And he’s dead too.”
Logan’s brow knitted at her tone. “Sorry, Hana. That must be hard. I can’t imagine it.”
She swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. We didn’t part on good terms.”
“Still hurts though.” Logan studied her face, watching as she skirted the edge of trusting him. Hana bit her lip harder than she intended, selecting her words with care.
“The last time I saw him, he said I was dead to him. I made a mistake. He couldn’t forgive me and only cared about the impact on his reputation. He threw me out of his home and I didn’t see my mother alive again.”
“Wow. Sorry, Hana. We don’t have to talk about it.” Logan held his arms out to her and she edged nearer, allowing him to touch her. She heard her father’s hysteria echo in her memory and the pain crushed her chest like a bag of frozen peas, still as fresh as the day he spoke the words.
“You should probably know what I did,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It might affect how you feel.”
Logan pulled her towards him in a fluid movement, his fingers gripping her left shoulder. “Nothing will change how I feel about you,” he whispered, guiding her down so he could kiss her. She tasted the wine on his lips, felt her stomach drop to her knees and relaxed into the pleasure of his nearness. Hana opened her mouth to speak but Logan pressed his index finger over her lips. “I don’t need to know,” he whispered, kissing her lips, hair, neck and face. “Leave the past where it lies.”
Hana acknowledged his acceptance by relaxing into his embrace. With every kiss, she fell a little more under his spell until the dangerous cliff edge passed beneath her without fanfare. She couldn’t stop, even if she wanted to. The tap of Vik’s memory in the back of her brain went unnoticed for the first time in eight years. Logan kissed her until she sounded breathless and then he held her.
Hana stilled, counting the scars on Logan’s fingers. She asked about each of them in turn and he answered for those he remembered. There seemed so many. “Barbed wire. That one was a rusty nail in the tack shed. That one was a fight and needed four stitches.”
“A fight? Were you a naughty boy?”
Logan smirked. “Sometimes. I took care of myself and those who mattered to me. Pete earned me a couple of hidings at school.”
“Pete?” Hana waggled her eyebrows in surprise. Their easy friendship fell into place like a missing puzzle piece. “Ah.”
A tap on the door disturbed them and Hana pulled away from Logan in fright. He laughed at her reaction and got up to answer it. Miriam stood in the hallway, bearing a tray with three tall mugs of hot cocoa. Hana ran a hand through her mussed hair, trying to put it straight as Logan took the tray.
Miriam grabbed the third mug and plonked herself down in an armchair by the window. “Geez, this lot are hard work,” she sighed, slurping her drink. “They’ve eaten all the food, drunk all the drink the boss man paid for and are set on driving Alfie mad, wanting this, that and the other.”
“Why’s he dealing with them?” Logan didn’t take the second mug but shoved
his hands deep into his pockets and narrowed his eyes.
Miriam shrugged. “He said to leave you alone,” she answered. Her brow furrowed. “He thinks they sneaked in their own drink. We’ll lose our licence if anyone reports them.” She jumped at the sound of squealing from the balcony. A trouser leg appeared over the railing separating Hana’s from the rest, followed by a body and head. Hana watched in amazement as a man scaled the railing on the other side and banged on her neighbour’s door. “It’s too much,” Miriam groaned. “They’re out of control.”
“Want me to deal with it?” Logan demanded.
At Miriam’s almost imperceptible nod, Logan wrenched open Hana’s ranch slider and vaulted the balcony. He grabbed the drunk by the shirt, snatching a decorative vase from his hand. “You gonna smash that window?” he asked, forcing the man out of sight. “No? Good choice.” Hana heard the clunk of the pot on the balcony floor and Logan’s fist hammering on the glass. “Management,” he shouted. “Open up!”
Hana and Miriam heard the swish of curtains and the sliding door opened and closed. Hana held her breath as one-sided arguing ensued. Logan said nothing in reply. The commotion moved into the hallway. “Pack your gear,” he ordered the room’s occupants, his tone brooking no argument. “Leave before I get back up here or I’ll throw you out.”
“You can’t do that,” a female voice slurred.
They heard Logan laugh. “Can’t I? I’m about to chuck your mate in the car park. I’m happy to come back up and do the same to you.”
Chuntering followed his threat and Hana heard the zipper of a case opening next door. “Do you think he’ll be ok?” she asked wide-eyed.
“He won’t hit him,” Miriam lowered her voice. “Not unless he needs to.”
“I meant Logan!” Hana’s eyes widened.
“Oh yes!” Miriam giggled. “Logan handles himself just fine.”
Hana slumped onto the bed, her face ashen and she rubbed a hand over her eyes. “What do you mean by that? Does Logan fight a lot?”
Miriam shrugged and dismissed the question. She glanced behind her at the sliding door and moved to click it shut, securing the lock and pulling the curtains across. “We’ve met before.” She laid out her sentence with deliberation, emphasising each word. “Do you remember?”
Hana’s body stilled and her heart rate picked up, sensing a conclusion to her mystery. She leaned forward. “Yes. But where?”
Miriam nodded, a steady, regal dip of her head. She’d been beautiful once. “My brother got sick and sent for us. We travelled to London to visit. I took Logan and Michael. You sat opposite us with an Indian man.” Miriam ran a hand over her own stomach to accentuate her meaning and the colour drained from Hana’s cheeks. “You looked five months pregnant and pūkatokato.”
“What’s that?” Hana whispered, concentrating on the unfamiliar word to distract her from the unfolding disaster. “What does that word mean?”
“Heart broken.” Miriam dropped her voice to translate the Māori words for utter devastation.
“No, no, no!” Hana stood, squeezing her cheeks between her hands. Her head felt ready to explode and sickness roiled the food in her stomach. The scene flooded back like an ice cold wave crashing over her head. “Not that day, not that day,” she begged, her voice breaking.
“Why?” Miriam sounded innocent, her question innocuous.
Hana sank onto the bed as the memories rolled like a film reel, undoing her carefully crafted life at the seams. They rode the Circle Line train to Vik’s parents, carrying news which already earned him a cut eyebrow and a split lip from Hana’s father and brother. She remembered crying for most of the journey, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and hoping the rest of the train didn’t see. It marked the day she lost her family, her reputation and control over her life. Her fragile sanity protected her, shrouding the hideous day in a fog of amnesia. Miriam’s presence lingered beneath the surface, pricking at Hana’s subconscious, but no more prevalent than the pattern on the ragged seats of the underground train.
Miriam watched her struggle. “Do you remember what happened?”
Hana’s mind grappled, in too much pain to pull out the memory. “No.” Her reply communicated exhaustion. “I don’t.” A glance at the grey eyes opposite filled her with chills. Her brain unlocked a picture of those eyes and it hurt like a physical pain.
“You cried and I gave you my handkerchief.” Miriam swallowed. “Logan’s really. He gave me a set as a gift. I lost the rest, but you took the last one.”
Hana swallowed. “Kiwi birds,” she said, her voice trembling. “Little navy blue ones marching around the edge.”
Miriam nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”
“I still have it.”
“That’s nice.” Miriam smiled. “I’m not asking for it back.” She cocked her head and watched Hana wrestle.
It hit Hana like a freight train. “No! Oh no! Tell me that boy with you wasn’t Logan?” Hana’s green eyes flashed. She shook her head. “He wasn’t there, was he?”
Miriam’s slow nod tipped her over the edge and the veil fell. The dark haired teenager on the train watched her through unusual grey eyes the colour of grit. He stared at her, still fourteen and trapped inside her memory. Hana covered her mouth with her hand. “Please leave.” She issued the directive to Miriam without looking up.
The old woman stood on bones which creaked as she moved. Her progress towards the door seemed endless. Hana kept her eyes closed, knowing she would run. Tonight. She knew that much, but not where.
“He died.” Miriam’s voice broke into Hana’s turmoil like nails on a blackboard.
“What?” Tortured green eyes turned towards her and the old woman nodded.
“My brother,” she said. “Logan wouldn’t get off the train because of you. We missed our stop and my kauaemua died. We got there too late.”
“You blame me?” Hana’s voice sounded hoarse and her eyes closed against Miriam’s shrug. “You do.”
“I don’t know anymore.” Miriam opened the bedroom door and looked back. “But it was the beginning of the end.”
She left the room and Hana paced, unable to think through the confusion. She hugged herself tight, foolishness breeding rage. “The receptionist will call me a taxi,” she said, speaking to herself in hushed tones, soothing her inner child. “It’ll be okay.”
Her toothbrush clattered into the sink as Hana shoved it into her wash bag with shaking hands. She retrieved it and added her other belongings, stuffing them in and cursing when the zipper stuck.
“What are you doing?” Logan’s question made her jump and Hana screamed, fear and anger interchanging in her chest and confusing her thoughts.
“Leaving. Don’t try to stop me.”
Logan heaved out a sigh of defeat, pushing his hands into his pockets and leaning a muscular shoulder against the doorframe. “At least tell me why,” he asked, his tone calmer than his expression.
“You know why!” Hana shouted, her face ashen. “Your mother told me.”
Logan’s lips pursed into a silent ‘o’ and he cursed. “She wasn’t meant to.”
Hana shook her head. “What is this?” She waved her arm around her, taking in the opulent hotel room and the handsome man in the doorway. “Is it a sick joke? Do you want to blackmail me?”
Logan laughed, the sound hollow. “For being pregnant at eighteen? Nobody gives a damn nowadays, Hana.”
“Angus might. The board might.” She gritted her teeth and ran cold water over her hands, pressing the soap into her palms hard enough to make the skin red. “Nobody knows. You could ruin my whole life.”
“I don’t want to.” Logan gritted his jaw.
“What do you want?” Hana demanded. “What do you want, Logan?”
He swallowed and stared at her, his expression unchanging. His irises flashed like moving smoke. “I want to make you happy,” he said. “I know it sounds lame, but I promised myself I’d find you and put it right.”
&
nbsp; “Put what right?” Hana left the water coursing over her fingers. “How?” It sounded like a plea.
Logan gritted his teeth. “Put right how you felt that day. You looked so lost and that man you married? I hated him. He didn’t care about you or your baby and it made me sick.”
“Don’t say that,” Hana hissed. “He did love us, he did.”
Logan nodded. “Then I’m glad, Hana. Because he didn’t deserve you that day, babe. And how do I want to put it right? I want to love you better, to tell you you’re beautiful every bloody day because you are.”
“You’ve always known? The day of the assembly and the time I sat with you in the staffroom. You knew then?” Hana turned off the tap and stared at her fingers.
Logan nodded. “Yeah, I knew. Twenty-six years I searched for you, Hana. But here you were. I knew on the first day of term when you dropped your handbag at my feet.”
“And you altered your contract.” She closed her eyes, feeling hot tears near the surface. “Nobody knows,” she said. “About Bodie. They never asked.”
“It’s not their business.” Logan screwed up his face. “I’m not interested in them.”
“Bodie doesn’t know.” Hana’s whisper made his jaw clench. “Vik lied. He said our anniversary marked our Sikh wedding, but the registry office one took place months earlier.” She swallowed. “After Vik died, I almost told him the truth but couldn’t.”
Logan edged towards her, working her like a frightened mare being rugged for the first time. Hana looked terrified of everything and balled herself against the sink. “I need to go home,” she said. “I can’t think straight.”
Logan nodded. “Okay.” He paused in front of her and held out his arms, watching the conflict in her eyes. She stared at the offered warmth, old memories giving her eyes a wild quality. He kept his body still, willing her to trust him and attempting to communicate assurance across the distance between them. Hana closed her eyes and blocked him out, putting her index finger in her mouth like a child. Her hand shook.
“You never said you’d been to London.” Her tone accused him.
“I never said I didn’t.”
“Where did you look for me?” Her eyes snapped open, seeking answers and wanting only truth.
“There.” Logan edged closer. “As soon as I could. I taught in London and rode the trains every weekend, every line.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “That sounds pathetic.”
Hana shook her head. “It doesn’t. Not pathetic.”
“Look, I was fourteen. My uncle wanted the eldest boy in the whānau but Barry died the summer before. I shouldn’t have been there. Michael travelled with us, but faked sick. Ma ran out of money and I made us late for the train, drawing cash from my savings account. We got on the train and a girl got on at the next stop. A girl in a yellow dress. She sat opposite me, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off her but she cried from Epping Forest to the centre of London. I spent the journey trying not to stare, but I failed. Looking at her eased the ache in my soul and I imagined what it might feel like, to love her and be loved in return. I fell in love, Hana. I fell in love with you.”
Hana sniffed and reached for toilet roll, pushing a wad under her nose. “It’s too strange,” she whispered, her words stilted. “Nothing good came out of that day.”
“It did for me.” Logan cocked his head and edged nearer. “Trust me.”
There it was, the sentence he repeated to her like a mantra, offering safety and hope, a lifeline to something else. She turned and faced him, collecting the pieces of herself into an acceptable state. “Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” she asked. “Why not just say we’d met?”
Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Can you imagine that conversation, Hana?”
She shrugged and nodded, understanding pushing through the fog. “No. I’m glad you didn’t.”
Logan swept her hair off her shoulders, allowing his hands to replace the red swirls. “Do you want me to take you home? I can.”
Hana swallowed and shook her head. “No. It’s too late and you’ve been drinking. Maybe tomorrow.”
Logan smiled and released his breath, feeling like he’d run a marathon. “Okay. We’ll talk more in the morning. If you want.” He searched her face for an answer, his grey irises shot with desperation and fear.
Hana looked up at him, her eyes mirroring his confusion. “I can see that little boy and he’s so young.” Her green eyes sparkled with salty tears. “It makes me feel worse.” She touched her chest with shaking fingers.
Logan shook his head. “Five years is nothing, Hana. I wouldn’t care if it were twenty, but it isn’t. Stop hiding. Let me love you.”
She didn’t object to his hands on her shoulders and he eased her closer until her cheek pressed against his chest. He pushed his fingers into her hair and kissed the top of her head. Hana sighed, her mind and body limp with exhaustion. “You’re tired,” Logan whispered. “Come on, lay on the bed.”
Hana let him lead her to the centre of the room, sinking down into the mattress. Bone weariness afflicted her and images of her mother’s face plagued her. The same one, over and over, not disappointment but love, aching, painful, silent love. Logan lay next to her and pulled her into his body, warming her as she shivered and gave up fighting sleep.
She disturbed as a different man ran across her balcony and tapped on next door’s window. Logan slipped from the bed, covering Hana with a blanket. With a glance back at her beatific face, he slipped the catch on the door and closed it behind him. It took seconds to fell the fool with a punch to the face. The drunk dribbled as Logan stuffed him over the rail and jimmied the lock on the empty room next door. It stunk of cheap perfume belonging to the women he threw out earlier and Logan dragged the bleeding man through the same way as the first, giving him another slap for annoyance sake. He hauled him downstairs with a hand covering his mouth and dropped him on the floor before the deserted reception desk. Then he dialled the number for security. “Get him out,” Logan told the retired army sergeant. “Tell them I’ve had enough. Their boss will pay us compensation and I want them all out first thing. Any more trouble and they go tonight. No more noise, no more disturbances. Last warning.” He grunted at the man’s reply and hung up the phone.
Then he returned to Hana, gratified when she snuggled in next to him. He covered them both with the sheets and held her, experiencing the motion of the dirty underground train in his dreams and remembering how powerlessness felt.