About Hana

by K T Bowes

  Chapter 35

  Hana woke early after a restless night filled with worry. She made a number of decisions before she got out of bed, giving herself ready distractions and making life bearable.

  She rang the mobile number on the roofer’s quote just after seven, greeted by a cheery male voice. “Yeah, sure. We can start this afternoon. There’s a halt on our other job.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.” Hana pursed her lips and watched her neighbour drag his rubbish bin to the curb, reminding her it was bin day.

  “It isn’t,” the man retorted. “The bank foreclosed.”

  Hana winced. “Good timing then.”

  “Sure is. I’ll see you at the house later. We own our own scaffolding so we’ll get started, then talk about a deposit.”

  Hana glanced down at the quote in her hand. “I can talk about it now.”

  The roofer chuckled. “I know you’re good for it. That guy of yours knows what he’s about.”

  Hana swallowed and fought the knot of sickness in her stomach. She opened her mouth to deny Logan’s affiliation to anything belonging to her and then closed it again.

  Hana used the coffee maker to produce a passable latte and made the next decision of the day. “Chocolate for breakfast,” she sighed, dipping the peanut slab into her coffee. “Decadence is my reward for being single. No husband will tolerate breakfast opposite a woman with a chocolate moustache.”

  Feeling nauseous from the chocolate, Hana stumbled to the garage and the sight of Logan’s truck greeted her. She allowed herself a minor flutter of dismay before steeling her spine. “Next adventure, Hana. Car buying.” She jabbed a finger at Logan’s truck. “This can’t go on.”

  At work early, Hana made a private call to a local hardware store and rented a floor sander. Every evening over the next week would involve stripping the rimu floors of Culver’s Cottage. If that didn’t cure a broken heart, a lung infection might at least distract it. Hana arranged to pick the machine up on the way to the house that evening and asked the man to leave some varnish at the Customer Service desk. “Sure, what sort?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Hana faltered at the first hurdle and fiddled with her credit card. “What do you recommend?”

  “If you’re going to the trouble of stripping rimu, get a nice clear varnish and let the wood do the work,” he said. “You know it’s going to take you hours though, don’t you?”

  “Yep.” Hana sighed. “Looking forward to it.”

  “Right you are then,” the man responded. “I’ll have it ready at the cash desk this afternoon. Good luck.” He hung up.

  Hana stared at the phone. “Good luck? I’m not going to bloody war!”

  “What?” Sheila puffed into the room after briefing, a stack of notices in her hand.

  Hana watched her cowed body language with concern. “Nothing,” she replied. “Just talking to myself. You okay?”

  Sheila walked into her office and slammed the door in reply. Hana got up to pursue her but Caroline Marsh appeared, a twinkle in her eyes. She flounced into the room, humming a happy tune to herself. She glanced at Hana as though she was little more than a bug on the wall and Hana swallowed and concentrated on her work. Deciding to care and not caring were poles apart.

  Caroline stayed at her desk and dealt with the usual Year 13 problems. Improper uniform, hair outside the regulations and candidates with behavioural issues were sent her way from the deans’ office. She dealt with the boys amidst an aura of decisiveness, refusing to listen to their practiced arguments or give sway to their usual bluster. She dispatched them like a hitman, which jarred with Rory’s gentler approach.

  At the start of third period, Caroline left to teach a physical education class and Hana sighed with relief. An urge to plant drawing tacks on Caroline’s chair in a playschool-type display of aggression reared its ugly head. Hana chose the mature option of coffee. “Want tea or coffee, Sheila?” she called, receiving a grunt in reply. “Sorry, is that yes or no?” She put her head around Sheila’s door and smiled as she waited. Sheila shook her head and pursed her lips, the venom in her face causing Hana to beat a hasty retreat.

  Using the common room as the quickest route to the staffroom, Hana contemplated the school’s greasy tea or floaty coffee, not fancying either option. The empty mug in her hand bore testament to the disgusting quality of one of them and she couldn’t remember which. She waved to the teacher on duty and he waved back, putting an imaginary gun to his head and rolling his eyes. Hana laughed and turned late, protecting her face with her outstretched hands as the door swung towards her. The man stepping through caught it at the last minute, his face dark and foreboding. He steadied her with a hand on her forearm.

  “Logan.” Hana breathed out his name, hating herself for the emotion betrayed in the single word. She didn’t have enough time to plan her facial expression and render it neutral. Logan’s skin looked sallow beneath his eyes and tiredness radiated out from him. His dark hair stuck up at the front where he’d run his hands through it. Even his pristine white shirt looked buttoned up wrong, leaking from beneath his grey pullover.

  “Hana,” he said, his voice soft as he increased the pressure on her arm.

  “No!” she hissed, yanking her arm away. The cup pinged from her fingers and bounced on the carpet, drawing the attention of the room’s occupants. As their spat gained public traction, Hana lost her nerve and bolted, leaving the dregs of something brown leaking onto the floor. The hurt in Logan’s eyes followed her as she plunged across the split-level landing and into the staffroom.

  Hana lurked in the kitchen, deciding on hot water because she couldn’t trust herself to wield a spoon. Her redheaded temper flared and it only saddened her more. Vik hated it, saying it reduced her effectiveness. She’d buried it so deep, it felt alien in her chest and she shook with the effort of suppressing it.

  “Steady on, dear, you’ll burn yourself.” The old man who washed the dishes for busy and lazy staff alike, took Hana’s cup from her trembling hand. He wiped the hot splashes from the counter top with a deft action. Adding a splash of cold, he peered into her face. “Don’t you feel well, Hana?” he asked. “You look a little peaky.”

  She nodded, unable to summon the words. Despite the cold, Hana stepped onto the balcony with her drink, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Recriminations pinged around her brain like a pinball. After all these years she let someone into her life, beyond the gates of polite reserve into sharing her hopes and fears. The veil of happiness seemed so fragile in the face of Caroline Marsh’s presence. Hana knew she couldn’t win against Logan’s fiancé, ex or otherwise. The breeze tossed Hana’s hair into a frenzy of auburn curls, messing with her vulnerable state in a violent caress. She enjoyed a momentary lack of control as it shielded her face and closed her eyes against the force of it. The thought of Culver’s Cottage invigorated her, taking away the bitter pill and replacing it with sweetness. All hers and a beacon for her newfound independence.

  She leaned over the rail and allowed her water to tip just a little. A dribble cleared the bannister and landed on the path below the balcony. Hana fought the urge to spit, wondering how great it would feel in the unemployment line afterwards. She pushed her hair back from her face and sighed, steeling her nerves for a return to the office. Guarding herself against running into Logan on a daily basis seemed an impossibility in a place she’d always considered home. The turn of the clock on New Year’s Eve had edged out all her security and switched boring for terrifying, with challenges at every turn.

  Hana sipped her drink and glanced across towards the chapel, seeing movement in her peripheral vision. Logan watched her through the long windows of the common room, his face a mask of confusion and unhappiness. He touched the door handle and Hana saw the frame move, his eyes never leaving her face. Boys looked up around him and humiliation visited her soul. Fear of another public display caused her to avoid him, leaving the balcony before he closed the door behind him. r />
  Hana skirted the counselling offices and used their entrance to her office, desperate to avoid any further quickening of her heart rate or dashing of her fragile spirits. “Please can I go, Sheila?” she begged. “I’ve got so much to do, I can’t concentrate. You know I’ll make the time up.”

  Sheila nodded. “I don’t care, Hana. Oh, Mr Nice Bum came looking for you. He left you a note.”

  Hana swallowed. “Thanks.” She returned to her desk and saw the envelope, Logan’s neat left-handed slant spelling out her name. With a jerky movement, she snatched it up, tearing it into tiny pieces without opening it. Her fingers shook as she slid the shards of paper into the dustbin and dropped an old brochure on top. Then she wrote a quick email to Donald explaining she needed to source transport. Not waiting for a reply she left, unable to bear the thought of running into Logan again and having to listen to his excuses for choosing Caroline over her.

  Driving the truck along Greenwood Street, Hana visited every car yard on its length before finding what she wanted. She admired the silver Honda CRV through the window and didn’t hear the salesman’s stealthy approach. “Nice car,” he commented.

  “Geez!” Hana jumped out of her skin and banged her face into the driver’s window.

  The salesman masked a smirk with his hand. “It’s open,” he said, leaning forward to jiggle the handle. Hana flushed with embarrassment and groaned.

  “Thanks.” She swallowed. “Tell me about the car. I’m interested.”

  The man rested a hand on the bonnet, getting into his stride. “Two point five horsepower, it looks like a four by four but isn’t really. It’s got the bodywork, tyres and all the hype but is actually a front wheel drive.”

  Hana shook her head and tried to follow his lingo. “Is that good or bad? I’m sensing bad.”

  He notched up his enthusiasm levels. “It’s good. Are you looking for something to take off-road?”

  “No.” Hana thought of her new property, a glow of pleasure beginning in her chest. “My house is up a steep driveway which isn’t sealed. It will need to cope with that a few times a day. Other than that, I need a normal car.”

  The salesman nodded. “That’s fine. She’ll do that no problem. You’ve got an automatic gearbox, but you can knock it into manual and override that on steep inclines.” He eyed Logan’s truck. “What you’ve got looks more than enough. That Hilux will drive across rivers.”

  Hana swallowed. “It’s not mine. A friend lent it to me and wants it back.”

  The man’s face brightened and he flashed Hana a coy wink. “How about a test drive? As soon as you get behind the wheel, you’ll love it.”

  Hana agreed and sat in the plush reception, sipping a latte from a machine and flicking through a gossip magazine. He took the car to get ready. Hana sighed and looked at her watch as the afternoon ticked by. Just as she considered giving it up as a bad job, the man appeared in the doorway. “Ready miss? Your ride awaits you.” He made a dashing sight, his blonde hair brushed back from his forehead and a cloud of aftershave hanging around his head. “This way.” He threw his arm out in an act of gallantry and Hana tried not to cough at his halo of strong scent.

  The Honda waited for her beneath the covered entranceway. The panels shone and the interior smelled like a tart’s boudoir. He’d even shined off the smudge left by Hana’s face-plant into the driver’s window. A light rain fell, leaving smatterings of fine drizzle on the windscreen and he ushered Hana into the passenger seat. “You can call me Brian,” he said. “I’ll drive until we find somewhere safe to swap.” He gave her a sideways smile. “You get a feel of being inside the vehicle and see if it suits you.”

  Hana liked the interior. With heaps of room at her feet, she stretched her legs, touching buttons and making Brian panic. As they headed into the suburb of Dinsdale, he distracted her fiddling with information about the vehicle. “It’s a Japanese import, three years old, has a full service history and low mileage,” he waxed. “Tow bar, alarm and three year warranty.”

  Hana nodded and looked interested. “I want a good price,” she said, felling him with a wide smile.

  “Yes, yes, we only do the very best prices,” he gushed, straightening his tie.

  They swapped seats in a lay-by on the Whatawhata Road and Hana put her foot down. “Let’s go to Raglan,” she suggested, mischief in her green eyes. Brian held onto the door handle and sweated.

  “Not today,” he said, a nervous twitch distorting his right eyelid. “But I’d love to take you for coffee at the weekend.”

  Hana winced. “Sorry, Brian. I wasn’t propositioning you. I’m in a relationship.” She gritted her teeth and lied, not able to think of good reasons to deny putting her foot back into the dirty ditch of over forties coupling.

  “Oh, is it serious?” Brian looked fed up. “My divorce came through last week.”

  “Very serious.” Hana took a bend too fast and plastered Brian against the passenger door. “He’s a cop,” she added, detail giving weight to authenticity. “A big Indian cop with muscles.” Her mind wandered to Bodie and she relaxed, describing someone familiar and figuring Brian would never meet him. “He’s in the vice squad.” She giggled, embellishing. “Now I’ve told you that, he’ll have to kill you.”

  Brian gulped. “I’m not really divorced.” He clung to the door handle with one hand and straightened his tie with the other. “Please can I drive now?”

  Hana loved the car and the sense of freedom it offered. She peeled back the sunroof and put her head out. She felt euphoric at her ability to make decisions for herself, the new mindset enjoyable. Back at the sale yard, Hana drove a hard bargain. She used Brian’s computer to transfer the money and agreed to pick the car up the next day. He eyed her like a puppy dog and threw in a full year’s road tax under the influence of Hana’s intoxicating happiness with her achievements.

  Starting the engine of Logan’s truck, Hana faced a reality check and her spirits lowered. She needed to get his vehicle out to Gordonton, avoid all awkwardness and somehow get home afterwards. “Tomorrow,” she promised herself. “I can get a taxi back to town. I’ll be fine.”