About Hana

by K T Bowes

  Chapter 34

  Before the first week of the holiday finished, Hana had engaged a solicitor, a surveyor and begun the purchase process for the old house. “Culver’s Cottage?” she said in surprise, her pen hovering over the sale document. “Why?”

  “Not sure.” The agent shrugged.

  “Previous owner’s name.” Logan sifted through papers attached to the file they’d obtained, his grey eyes flicking as he speed-read tiny print. “He moved the house from a location in Te Awamutu. The original soil samples are here and details of the piling specifications.”

  “The surveyor said it’s sound.” Hana bit her lower lip, already defending the house against scepticism.

  Logan nodded. “It is.” His eyes held amusement. “You were right; it’s fine.”

  Hana relaxed and leaned towards the agent. “Why didn’t Mr Culver finish the renovation?”

  “Start,” Logan asked. “Why didn’t he start it?”

  “Business failure.” The agent eyed Hana’s pen like a hungry bear. “He blames the recession but I can’t comment on that. His wife left him around the same time and he lost heart with the house. He wants the sale completed within the month though.”

  “Okay.” Hana’s fingers twitched around the pen and the agent sighed.

  “He fenced around the house itself, but if you want more garden, you can move it. Your land will go as far as the bush and down to the road. The council is responsible for the part adjoining the highway. They clear it back periodically to prevent slips.” At Hana’s hesitation, the woman fired up her hard-sell techniques. “Other clients are interested.”

  “Are they?” Hana cocked her head and the pen moved closer to the paper.

  Logan smirked and turned his face so the women didn’t see his silent amusement at their game. The agent nodded. “Yes. There are.”

  Hana looked across at Logan, needing his assurance she did the right thing. Her nerve failed her at the last moment as the silver-plated pen twirled in her fingers. “Should I do this?” she asked him and the agent sighed.

  “Do you want extra time?” He sat up, more concerned with Hana’s interests than the agent’s. The other woman panicked, fluttering her eyelashes at Logan for support. Wasted.

  “I’m not sure.” Hana wavered, confusion in her eyes. “It’s a heap of money from Vik’s estate. What if it all goes wrong?”

  “Then we work it out, babe.” Logan’s brow furrowed and he rested a hand on her thigh under the table. “What does your gut say?”

  “Do it.” Hana swallowed. “But my head’s screaming something different.”

  Logan inhaled. “It’s up to you, Hana. If it feels right, it probably is, but don’t blow half a million grand on something you can’t manage.”

  Hana gulped. “It’s a fortune.”

  The agent heaved out a ragged breath and nudged the brochure with an acrylic fingernail. She’d almost ditched the awful house and relieved herself of an eighteen-month millstone. Other prospective viewers fled at the steepness of the driveway and state of the exterior. Those who ventured inside added to the house’s misfortunes, poking and prodding plaster and wood and making it look worse. The only other offer on the property got laughed out of the office. Until Hana’s.

  “I’m doing it.” Hana raised the pen and signed her name, hovering over the surname. “I should’ve bought it in my old name,” she said with a sigh. “McIntyre.”

  The agent sat up straight, worry flitting across her face. “You provided identification,” she said, her tone terse. “You have other names?”

  “Just my maiden name.” Hana signed Johal with her usual flourish. “My first husband died.”

  The agent’s liberal trowelling of makeup didn’t hide the embarrassed flush which crawled up her throat. “Sorry,” she said, her voice hushed. “You never said.”

  Logan sniffed and his grey eyes held a veiled warning. His body stiffened at any mention of Vikram Johal and although he kept his opinion private, he wished Hana never met the man. He gritted his teeth. “Ah well, when I make an honest woman of you, it won’t matter.” Logan kept his face straight, seeing a romantic haze descend across the agent’s face which chased out the awkwardness.

  “Oh, that’s so sweet.” She pressed her hands across her chest and clutched her heart. “You’re so lucky, Hana.” Her eyes roved over Logan’s white tee shirt, undressing him with her eyes.

  Hana noticed and frowned. “Thanks for the coffee and donuts,” she said, pushing her chair back and standing. She held out her slender hand and the agent shook it.

  “I’ll get an envelope for your copy of the contract,” she gushed, standing and disappearing into a side office.

  “Stop it!” Hana said to Logan, giving him a sideways glare. “You know she fancies you.”

  “Are you jealous?” Logan’s eyes flashed and Hana tried to read his twinkling grey eyes. She failed and he watched her give in.

  “Yes. Very.” Her face creased into a pout and Logan snorted, leaning across and planting a loud kiss on her cheek. His eyes still sparkled and the agent heaved a dreamy sigh on her return, handing a chunky envelope to Hana.

  “Here’s the key you requested.” She held out a fob with the agency’s logo emblazoned on it. “Any changes you make will become the owner’s property if you default on the contract. You aren’t allowed to take up residence or deny him access until the completion date. After that, it’s all yours.”

  Hana nodded and accepted the key, turning it over in her fingers. “Thanks. I understand.”

  Logan maintained a possessive hand in the small of her back as they exited the office, surprised when they didn’t walk to the truck straight away. Instead, Hana aimed for a bench nearby. She clutched the envelope to her chest and her face paled. “What did I just do?” she wailed as her courage failed. She sank onto the wooden slats with wobbly legs.

  “You’re priceless,” Logan said with a smile. “You crack me up.” He sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Hana’s jaw slackened and she turned to him, their faces close. “Are you?” she said and he heard the craving in her voice. “Are you really?”

  Logan swallowed and nodded. “Really and truly, backwards and forwards.” He pushed his fingers through the back of her hair and breathed in her flowery scent. His lips trembled against hers and Hana felt her stomach pitch. Stubble grazed her chin and she sighed.

  “What would I do without you?” she whispered and Logan smiled and rested his forehead against hers.

  “I don’t intend for you to find out.”

  “Apparently not.” Hana’s fingers linked through his as she joked, “Nice move though. The wedding thing stopped her pining after you.”

  Their relationship progressed into something tangible and steady as they worked together on the house. Hana revelled in the physical thrill at his nearness, surprised to discover she still possessed love to give after the abrupt end of her marriage. The contract completion went through without a hitch and Culver’s Cottage became the property of Mrs Hana Johal. In an act of rebellion, she gave her name as McIntyre to the service providers, ensuring electricity and phone bills arrived in her post box in her maiden name. It gave Hana a peculiar thrill, shedding facets of her past and preparing herself for a brighter future. But with it came guilt at abandoning her children’s surname and a husband she’d loved.

  Work proved business as usual, sorting out the pile of mail and appointment run sheets for the guidance counsellors. Rory took a term’s sabbatical and brought in his new baby daughter for Hana to cuddle. Pete gave the child a cursory look but complained when Rory wouldn’t hand her over, losing interest in favour of picking his nose. “Nobody trusts me,” he grumbled, eating the bogey off his index finger.

  “Is Angus replacing you?” Hana asked, jerking her head towards Rory’s empty seat. He shrugged and pointed at the mountain of boxes on his desk.

  “Yeah, she’s under
there somewhere.”

  “She?” Pete’s blue eyes widened with enthusiasm. “What kind of she? Old? Young? I hope she’s hot and fit.” He closed his eyes and let his imagination wander. Rory shuddered.

  “Pete, promise us you’ll never breed,” he begged.

  Hana laughed and jerked her head towards the desk as Sheila dumped another box of leaflets on top of the pile and glared at Rory. As she wandered back into her office, Hana winced. “I hoped things might get better after Amy arrived,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Rory rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Me too. I’m not white and middle classed, Hana. I’ll never be good enough.”

  “That’s not it!” Hana looked appalled; her eyes wide and green as emeralds. “She’s not a racist.”

  “Maybe.” Rory sighed and stroked his daughter’s olive cheek. “But that feels like the problem.”

  Hana glanced at the back of Pete’s head. “I have a Māori friend,” she said, watching his ears twitch back like a dog’s. “He said he couldn’t speak Te Reo in school until the mid-90s. I didn’t realise.”

  Rory nodded. “Yup. My father got caned for saying his own surname because it sounded too Māori. So they butchered it, dropping the first half to fit in.” He shook his head. “People have no idea. On the one hand it was about getting brown people into qualifications and giving them scholarships, while on the other, training them to be a white, middle classed Pākehā, just like them.”

  “What’s your full name then?” Hana asked, stroking the baby’s black curls.

  “Te Kanawa,” Rory said with a sigh. “My father used Kana on my birth certificate, so I’d need to change it back by deed poll. Then there’s my marriage licence and the children’s names.” He sighed and glanced at Sheila’s office, his expression sad. “Life’s hard enough without that.”

  Hana leaned forward and touched his hand. “I don’t believe she’s a racist,” she whispered. “But she is deeply unhappy. Something else is going on.”

  “Maybe.” Rory stood and collected his daughter from Hana’s arms. “Best get Amy home for a feed.” He walked across to Sheila’s open doorway and spoke to his child. “Wanna say bye to granny?” he asked.

  Sheila emerged, her face ethereal in the glow of grandparent-ship. Hana watched love for the little girl spill over, eradicating the aura of sadness for a moment. “Bye sweetpea,” Sheila whispered and placed a gentle kiss on the perfect head. Hana watched tears bud in her eyes and her brow knitted in confusion.

  “See you at home,” Rory said, his tone gruff as he turned away.

  After lunch, Hana heard the sound of Angus’ Scottish lilt in the common room. It didn’t concern her until his words hit home. “This is where the boys study during free periods. Rory supervised many of those classes but other staff are rostered on. You’ll take over those duties as well as the role of Year 13 dean for this term. We’ll talk again before Rory returns as it might be feasible to move you into the sports department, given your qualifications. There’s a permanent role here for someone of your calibre.”

  Hana shot to her feet and ran to Sheila’s door. “Quick! Rory’s replacement is outside. Angus is bringing them in now!”

  Sheila and Hana jostled each other in their attempt to rid Rory’s desk of its considerable detritus. They gathered boxes into their arms and then stood in the middle of the room, looking for somewhere to hide the mess. Peter North sat at his desk playing with his phone, a sitting target. “Under here!” Sheila hissed and they dived for him, elbowing him sideways as they stashed it at his feet.

  “We won’t get it all in,” Hana squeaked and Sheila bobbled her head on her shoulders, hurling another box across.

  “We have to!” she stage whispered. “Oh, crap!” A box upended itself on Pete’s desk as the women jostled, spewing leaflets like a paper-fall. Sheila snagged the box, lost its entire contents and then dropped the cardboard container on Pete’s head.

  “Ah, here we are.” Angus appeared calm as he blocked the doorway, but his guest opened her eyes wide in alarm. “The student centre.” His brows knitted at the sight of the women flanking Pete’s seated body. Pete moved his head and the box swivelled on it, tilting backwards at a jaunty angle and blocking his view. A University of Waikato brochure slid onto the table in front of him and he opened it as though wearing a box was usual practice.

  Hana froze with her back to the door, watching as Sheila swallowed and took evasive action. She slapped Pete on the back of the head, knocking the box forwards. “I can’t breathe!” He made choking noises.

  She slapped it again and glared at him. “Get this cleared up!” she snapped. “I’m sick of your mess.” She dumped the empty box in front of him and stamped to her office, closing the door behind her. Hana fought the urge to laugh at the expression on Pete’s face. She straightened her shoulders and with cool professionalism, turned to greet the principal and his newest staff member. Angus continued without faltering. “This is Caroline Marsh and she’s acting for Rory this term,” he stated. “She will also take physical education and science classes. I know you’ll make her most welcome.”

  Angus left a breeze in his wake, abandoning the teacher to her fate. The room remained static as nobody moved and Hana heard Angus chatting to a student in the corridor. Sheila appeared from her office and pointed towards Rory’s desk. Dust and stray papers littered it. “You can sit there,” she said, jabbing her finger. “But my son-in-law will be back.”

  Hana gaped in surprise at the possession in Sheila’s tone. Caroline Marsh didn’t change her face expression at all. Hana smelled trouble as Sheila found a new enemy, one who might just fight back.

  Short blonde hair suited the new teacher, giving her a boyish look. Everything about her screamed quality, from the cut of her suit to the expensive shoes on her feet. Hana glanced down at her store brand heels and winced. Caroline Marsh looked athletic, her body toned to lush angles devoid of bulges. Hana sucked in her stomach and worried about her wrinkles. The new teacher wore no makeup, preferring the natural tones of her skin to reflect beauty and inner assurance.

  Hana watched as she broke the deadlock, ignoring Sheila and dumping a bag of possessions on Rory’s desk. The silence felt palpable and Hana sighed, preferring the tense truce between Rory and Sheila any day. “Sorry, Pete,” she whispered, removing the box from his head and confiscating the leaflet. He sat like a statue, watching Caroline Marsh with an unreadable expression on his face. “Don’t stare,” Hana hissed in his ear. “She’s probably married.”

  Pete’s jaw flexed and Hana heard the distinct sound of his teeth grinding. She leapt back as he shoved his chair out from under the desk, almost running over her. “You bitch!” he snapped, malice in his usually gormless face. His gaze fixed on Caroline and anger made his thin shoulders rigid.

  “Pete!” Hana couldn’t mask her shock. She grabbed his wrist and stared at him, taking in the balled fists and rigid stance. He turned towards her, lips moving and finger jabbing.

  “You’ll find out!” he spat. Grabbing his car keys in a shaking hand, he slammed from the room, the glass trembling in the rear door with the force of his exit. Hana and Sheila exchanged a look of shock, but Ms Marsh continued sorting her possessions as though Pete’s interjection happened in a parallel universe.

  Picking up a cardboard tube containing posters, the woman held it between two fingers as though it was contaminated. Hana watched as she dropped it into the bin at her feet with a clang. Sheila stuck her head around the corner and inhaled in surprise, but instead of meeting the challenge as usual, she disappeared and left Hana with the problem. “I’ll take that,” she said, mustering the courage to snag the cardboard end and pull. No reaction. She stashed the tube in an end cupboard, her heart racing with uncertainty.

  Sheila stayed in her office with the door closed and Hana shot worried looks behind her as the atmosphere in the room hung leaden on her shoulders. A visit from Logan during his free period lightened her mood. He walked th
rough the open door and sat on a corner of her desk, a sheet of paper in his fingers. “This is a quote for the new roof,” he began, placing it in front of her. “I’ve printed off the email.” His brow furrowed at the tension on Hana’s face, his fingers reaching across to brush a red curl off her shoulder. “It’s the best quote we’ve had. Winter’s coming and he’s happy to start this week. What do you think?”

  “That’s brilliant!” Hana sighed with relief at the price. “I think that’s doable.” Her fingers strayed to the crease in his trousers, following the line from his knee to the middle of his thigh. At his look of amusement, she stopped herself. The familiar hum of their connection invigorated her and the effort of hiding their attraction at work took its toll. She wanted his arms around her, but Hana felt the new woman’s eyes boring into her back and crushed the need. Logan pointed an olive finger to the start date and Hana forced herself to concentrate.

  One second she stared at the paper and the next, Hana watched it flutter to the carpet. Confused, she followed its plight as Logan jumped away from her.

  “Hello, Logan.” Caroline Marsh stood close behind Hana’s seat, her fingers clasping the back and preventing her from turning. Logan’s body looked rigid in her peripheral vision, his arm muscles bunching into a hard knot.

  Hana pressed her legs against her chair, desperate to turn. Caroline’s grip denied her. “I guess you didn’t expect to see me here?”

  The shock on Logan’s face told Hana the question was rhetorical. He bent to retrieve the paper and she watched it vibrate in his hand as he laid it on the edge of her desk. A mantle of awkwardness descended over him, frightening Hana. She shoved at the chair, finding it rigid against her. Logan’s sensuous lips worked, but no sound emerged. Hana’s gaze was restricted to a mark on the wall behind Pete’s desk, which resembled a stray bogey. She shoved hard with the backs of her legs and the wheels of her chair clattered against Caroline’s shoes. The woman let go with a hiss of pain. Hana stood and whirled around, seeing the look of victory on Caroline’s face and the abject misery on Logan’s. He shot them both a look of confusion and bolted, storming from the room without explanation. Hana’s heart pounded in her chest, emotions running riot and whispering lies.

  “What’s going on?” Her green eyes flashed and Caroline saw the doubt and pain which she didn't mask in time.

  “Nothing that concerns you.” She turned away with a smile on her lips, returning to her desk and picking up her pen.

  Hana glanced at Sheila’s door, seeing her boss’ face peeking through the narrow gap. Sheila’s eyes blinked twice and then the door closed, leaving her alone and undefended. Hana pushed at the roofing quote with her index finger, confusion making her heart pound. Looking up, she caught the sideways glance from Caroline and felt sick at the animosity in the other woman’s eyes.

  Caroline left to teach Rory’s classes and Sheila went too, leaving Hana with her fears and worries. She texted Logan but received no response. Her unease grew and she found it impossible to concentrate. As the final bell tolled, she gave up, collected her bag and wandered out to Logan’s truck, the quote fluttering in her fingers.

  Clattering across the uneven surface in her high heels, Hana noticed Logan in the distance. He walked towards Peter North’s battered car, hands stuffed into his tight trouser pockets. The fabric pulled taut over his neat buttocks and his shoulders slumped in despondency.

  “This is ridiculous!” Hana told herself, bolstering her courage. “You need to get this sorted.” Knowing from experience her voice wouldn’t carry, she began walking in his direction. Her right arm lifted in a ready wave, hoping he’d turn around.

  “Logan!” Hana’s lips parted in surprise at the shout, watching as Caroline Marsh approached from the other direction. She sashayed across the car park in her expensive heels, pink lips parting in a smile. She wiggled her hips like a catwalk model and Hana watched Logan pause. His body language looked unreadable. Hana didn’t hear Caroline’s words, but saw her press her hands against Logan’s chest in comfortable familiarity, gazing up into his eyes as her lips moved. Hana’s heart rose into her throat, creating a lump which stopped her swallowing.

  Caroline pressed closer, aligning her body against Logan’s. They matched, their respective height complimenting each other’s. Hana’s chest hitched as after a short pause, Logan unlocked Pete’s car. She saw Caroline’s hand drag casually from his chest to his waist, lingering on his bum as Logan opened the boot and stowed his bag. She slipped into the passenger seat and the car doors slammed, sealing them both inside together. Logan started the engine and the reverse lights flicked on. At the same instant, pride and dignity flooded back into Hana’s dismayed senses. “You idiotic, middle-aged fool!” she hissed at herself.

  Her heels dug into the tarmac as Hana dropped her hand from its waving position and whirled around. She clip clopped to the truck, not wanting them to witness her devastation as they drove past. Her heart numb, she hid on the driver’s side, bobbing down as though she’d dropped something. She knew the identity of Caroline Marsh with absolute positivity and an old chasm of misery opened up in her soul.

  Hana drove the truck to Achilles Rise in a haze of distraction, remembering nothing of the journey when she finally pulled onto the driveway.