by K T Bowes
Chapter 33
“So much for giving you the best room in the house!” remarked Logan as they drove home the next morning. Hana smiled, tiredness in her eyes.
“I slept okay,” she said with a sigh. “When did you leave?”
“I’m not sure,” Logan lied. “Late. I helped the security guys with that party which caused so much trouble.”
“Good job you were there,” she mused.
“They can cope.” Logan peered down at the bruised knuckles on his right hand and winced. A good punch up always cured frustration.
“I loved the trek.”
Logan smiled across at her and squeezed her hand, reluctant to let go. He drove one-handed, their fingers entwined on his thigh. Hana didn’t pull away and it gave him hope.
She sat up straighter at the sight of the Tainui Bridge. “Hakarimata Road is up there, isn’t it?”
Logan nodded. Hana pulled her hand away. “Can we go there?” she begged, her face eager like a child’s. “Please can we make a detour?”
They turned off the main road on a dangerous bend and Logan’s truck revved up the steep gravel driveway “Hana, it’s a mess,” Logan said, even before they crested the top of the hill. “It’ll cost everything you have.”
“You don’t know that!” Hana argued. “You haven’t seen it yet.”
“I don’t need to.” He dodged another pothole and the truck sank into a rut, sending gravel flying as it pulled itself out. “Nice landslide,” he commented, jerking his head towards the right of the track where fallen trees pivoted on a substantial mudslide.
“Fine!” Hana folded her arms and pouted. “Blow out my fragile candle of hope, why don’t you?”
Logan laughed and pressed the accelerator, coaxing the truck around the final bend.
The Hakarimata Ranges loomed ahead, dark and forbidding. The house perched on a lower slope, a valley between it and the first of the foothills. Five hundred metres sat between the house and a thriving bush, surrounded by green, rolling hills and paddocks.
“Wow! It’s just like Angus’ villa!” Hana exclaimed. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s derelict,” Logan muttered, knowing she ignored him. “It didn’t start out here. Someone transported it although I don’t know how they got it up the slope.” White, weather-boarded and with a fading pride, the house sported an original tin roof. A widow’s walk wrapped around two sides, joining onto a balcony above a double garage. The doors hung sideways like a boxer’s post-fight eyelids and the flashing sat on the driveway in front. “It’s not even watertight.”
Two of the side windows were cracked and the drive down to the garage looked treacherous, littered with builder’s crap and pieces from a retaining wall. Nightmare. Logan sighed at the look on Hana’s face. “Sweetheart, don’t even get out of the truck.”
Logan cranked the gear lever into reverse and looked behind him, ready to execute a turn small enough to face the downhill trip. “I bet the last person who tried to reverse down there is the reason those trees ended up flat on their backs.” Logan’s eyes crinkled with humour. “If you listen carefully, you can still hear the engine running.”
Hana tossed her head and pushed the door open, slamming it behind her. Logan watched in amazement as she crunched across the gravel towards the front steps. An agent sat on a camping chair, her expression surprised at the presence of visitors. “Yeah, I bet you are, love,” Logan hissed as he gave her a polite wave. He switched off the engine, locked the doors and made his way towards Hana. A lack of surety plagued him after the previous night. Damn his mother.
Deciding to keep his opinions about the house to himself, Logan let Hana follow the agent up the stairs. He felt lost, not knowing what she expected of him. She needed protecting, yet he knew she wouldn’t accept it with any degree of trust. Not now. He cursed his mother again and shook his head. “Bloody women.”
Logan felt awkward as he shook hands with the agent, not lessened by her assumption they were a married couple. She wore unsuitable stilettos which welded her to the gravel and her English accent reminded him of London. “Amazing timing,” she said with a smile. “We’ve held open homes every Sunday lunchtime for the last six weeks. This is the last one.”
“We saw the sale board on Friday,” Hana admitted.
“The property has potential,” the agent twittered as she and Hana moved around the rooms.
“Yep. As firewood,” Logan mused, wandering in a different direction. He took in the practicalities, elderly wiring, rotten weatherboards and general, money-sucking dilapidation. The bay window at the front looked out over a spectacular view of the merging Waikato River and the Waipa, the grey water standing out against the orange hues of the latter. “Ngaruawahia.” Logan sighed and tasted the name of the township on his tongue. Home of the kīngitanga movement and the current Māori king. Logan blew out his cheeks and shook his head.
The sky took on a pink glow as the sun dipped into the hills behind the house. Hana clattered around with the agent downstairs in the garage and Logan heard them laughing. When they climbed the stairs from the garage, Hana looked alive and vibrant. The agent looked hopeful. Logan kept his uncharitable thoughts about the source of that hope to himself, but it involved the listing from hell coming off her books.
His heart melted at the sight of Hana’s excitement and he knew she’d fallen in love with it. “It’s amazing,” she said, her eyes shining. He daren’t hold out his hand in case she rejected him in front of the agent, but the overwhelming need to touch her caused him physical pain.
“It’s a great project,” the agent said, beaming. “Are you looking for a family home?”
Hana giggled. “Not really.” Her eyelashes fluttered at Logan. “But my partner’s renovated before. His parents’ place is beautiful.”
Logan released the breath he didn’t know he held. Perhaps he’d held it since the night before. His lungs emptied in an exhale which shook his body. Partner.
Back in the truck and skittering down the treacherous road, Hana chatted about the agent who migrated from the south of England. Logan remained silent, regrouping and gathering his shattered nerves. “She pointed out the areas where the previous owner sunk piles. He also put in some retaining walls.” Hana jabbed a finger at the washout. “That’s where the council rerouted a stream. It used to run across the road so they sent it underneath and it drains into the river. The agent said it’s made a difference to the stability of the area.”
Some long buried wisdom caused Logan to bite back the enormous, mounting reservations. Her bubble of hope seemed so fragile. “What did you see?” he asked. “What do you want?”
Hana faltered, looking sideways at him as though not understanding the question. Then she turned away, looking out of the window. He heard her whisper, “Myself. Freedom.” Then she fell silent.
Logan turned off Hakarimata Road and crossed the railway line. He indicated left and instead of heading towards River Road and Hamilton, he drove further north. Before the Taupiri sign, he pulled into a makeshift lay-by, dodging gravel piles belonging to road construction gangs. The truck lurched through potholes and ground to a halt. Logan switched everything off, including his own brain, silencing the myriad warnings and objections.
He turned sideways in his seat and watched Hana as she gazed through the windscreen, her glassy eyes not seeing the grit piles. He waited, forcing himself into an unfamiliar state of patience.
Hana sighed. “The house is stuck. Someone loved it once and now it’s rotting on the side of the mountain. That’s how I feel. Previously loved, but stuck. I’m living a life mapped out for four people and I’m trying to live it alone. I needed you to rescue me, but didn’t know that until this weekend.” Hana sighed. “You make me feel whole. I’ve never given anyone the chance to accept me with all the bad parts, but you knew them.” Her eyes narrowed in question. “You don’t seem to care about my past.” She looked at Logan and he smiled, his lips twitching with the tension. Hana’s face rad
iated hope. “I want to buy that house.”
Logan reached out towards her, putting his hand over her fidgeting fingers and holding them still. He said nothing but stared out across the horizon, a slight smile playing on his parted lips.
“Say something.” Hana looked up at him, gauging his reaction to her bizarre logic. She followed his gaze through the windscreen, across water sparkling in the dying embers of the sunshine. Her eyes rested on the white house set high in the hills and backed by dense bush. From a distance, none of its imperfections showed.
“Life’s about perspective,” Logan said. “Get a good surveyor.”