by K T Bowes
Chapter 41
Hana knocked on the front door and a startled Bodie opened it. Boris stood in the kitchen stuffing toast into his mouth and gave a feckless wave of a greasy hand. Tiger scratched his way out of the pullover and fled, leaving Hana extra injuries to her hands. He vented his irritation by tormenting sparrows on the roof, twenty metres above the street.
“I know! I know!” Pete followed Hana in and met Bodie’s glare of annoyance. “She won’t do as she’s told!” He jostled Boris aside to push bread into the toaster.
“You got a letter from the insurance company,” Bodie said, rubbing his eyes. “Want me to open it?”
Hana nodded, keeping her face blank. “I don’t think it’s a cheque.” Her tone sounded leaden.
Bodie ripped the envelope and sighed. “Nope. Your car will need to remain missing for a total of three months before they settle the claim. Liability is being sought from the garage owner for negligence.”
Hana nodded. “Why’s the Honda on the driveway with your car?” she asked. “What if the men saw it?”
Bodie squeezed her forearm. “It’s okay, Mum. They didn’t come back.”
“How do you know?” Her eyes darted towards the sunroom window and back to her son’s face.
“Because someone kept watch all night.” He jerked his head towards Boris and his voice hardened. “It’s his turn now.”
Hana’s shoulders slumped. “He’s not looking. He didn’t even see us arrive,” she wailed.
Boris said something with his mouthful, fighting Pete for the bread which popped free of the toaster and Bodie glared at his back. “Don’t worry, Mum. It’s okay. The local cops are keeping an eye out.”
Hana rolled her eyes. “Great. I feel so safe now.”
Pete shoved Boris into the oven handle and snatched the last piece of toast from his fingers. “Logan’s gonna kill me,” he declared. “And it’s all Hana’s fault.”
“Please stop it, Pete,” Hana said, weariness making her irritable. “You’re making my head ache. Wait for Boris in the car.”
“But what about Logan?” Pete whined and Hana gritted her teeth.
“I don’t want to hear his name.”
Bodie turned Pete around and gave him a shove towards the door, snatching the toast from his outstretched fingers at the last moment. “Dude, know when to quit,” he told him. “Some of us didn’t get to sleep like babies.” He passed the well-handled toast back to Boris, who pushed it into his mouth. Hana looked away and closed her eyes, fighting to control her gag reflex.
She found Marcus fast asleep in Izzie’s old room, snoring like a motor in low gear. Hana glanced back at Bodie. “Keep an eye on him,” she said. “You know he doesn’t check his insulin levels without Izzie around to remind him.”
Bodie nodded. “I will.” He sighed and put his hand against Hana’s bedroom door before she could push it open. “Your car’s on the drive because the person on watch packed your gear to keep themselves awake. We loaded everything into the kitchen and kept going all night. It’s done.”
“All of it?” Hana paled. “Knickers and everything?”
Bodie nodded. “I did your knickers, Mum. What a revelation.” He grinned and she slapped his arm. “I spread a towel over the drawers and stacked them in the back of my car. It seemed stupid to pack and then unpack them again. I wrote on the side which cupboard they came from, so just slide them back in when the frames arrive at the new house.”
Hana cleared her throat. “Did you leave any knickers out for me?”
Bodie looked at her sideways. “Why?”
“I’m not moving until next weekend.” She chewed her lip and considered her options. “It’s okay. I probably need new ones, anyway.”
Bodie snorted and faked surprise. “What? Is grey not the new black then?”
“Shut up. The washing machine did that.” Hana smirked and her lip cracked. She closed her eyes and let Logan’s kiss overwrite the blonde man’s, but the image hurt even more.
Bodie handed her a handkerchief, a pale blue square of cloth with navy kiwi birds marching around the edges. “I found this,” he said. “Mop your lip with that and then wash it later. You’re out of toilet roll.”
Hana took the handkerchief, feeling the softness in her fingers. Her heart thudded in her breast and she slipped it into the pocket of the tracksuit pants and wiped her lip on the sleeve of Logan’s pullover.
An eager Bodie showed her how they’d stacked the boxes five high in the garage. Hana’s labelling system disappeared after the boys took over, but everything she owned sat inside a box. Hana looped her arm through Bodie’s and smiled at him with gratitude. “So that’s why Boris ate directly out of the toaster,” she said. “I wondered why he spread margarine with the lid from the jam.”
Bodie nodded. “We did a great job, aye?”
Hana rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. “I’m so relieved. I’m tired and I can’t think straight.”
“I know.” Bodie kissed the top of her head. “How was last night? Did you sleep?”
Hana shook her head. “Awkward and no, I didn’t.” She sighed. “Is the big furniture still upstairs?”
“Yep. No point carrying it down here. The removals guys can take it through the ranch slider and along the slope to the driveway. It makes more sense.”
Hana forced a wavering smile onto her lips and summoned up some enthusiasm. “You boys are amazing,” she crooned, fondling the cardboard edge of an open box and ignoring the rubbish bin nestled against dessert bowls. “How much did those clowns break?” she asked, forcing the image of the blonde man’s face from her memory.
“Enough. But not everything.” Bodie led her upstairs to the kitchen where he pulled a flower vase from the dishwasher. Hana squashed all comment when he brewed tea in it. She turned her hand over and lifted the dressing so she could peek underneath. “Gross!” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure I could’ve found my own five-year-old to stitch this.”
Bodie peered over her shoulder and laughed. “It looks clean though and it’s stopped bleeding. Your neck is a mess.” He jerked his head towards her throat and Hana resisted the urge to let her fingers follow his gaze. “Did you get the break in your wrist checked already, or do you want me to take you?”
“No!” Hana put her hand behind her back. “It’s just sore, not broken. I’m not going back there.” She reversed until her bum touched the two-seater sofa, which leaned against the wall on its side. Her Honda keys balanced on the uppermost edge. Hana reached for them and Bodie pounced.
“Oh no, you don’t! You can’t drive without at least one good hand. You’ll wreck that new car before you’ve had it a fortnight!”
“Bo, I can’t stay here,” Hana begged. “I want to go to the new place.” She looked around her with a sudden realisation. “I’m done here.”
Bodie smiled and put his arm around her. He stared through the ranch-slider over the pile of furniture at the cat who rolled around in a patch of sand on the terrace. “I know what you mean,” he said, his tone sad.
While the men showered, moaning and groaning as they realised every single towel got packed, Hana pottered around. She cleaned the empty rooms and wiped the skirting boards with her stitched right hand sealed inside a yellow rubber glove. She found two facecloths at the back of the airing cupboard and pulled them out from behind the hot water cylinder. “I’ve found some towels,” she called over the noise of the shower. “I’ll leave them outside the door.”
Marcus yanked the bathroom door open naked. He squealed as he grabbed the nearest one and held it up in front of his face. “Is this it?”
“Ooh, vicar!” Bodie snorted, covering Hana’s eyes with his hand.
“It’s okay, I’ve already lost my appetite,” Hana sighed.
“We’ll take the vacuum over to the other place and bring it back when this house is empty,” Bodie suggested. “I don’t mind doing it. It should be a quick job with no furniture.”
Bodie winced. “Dad’s tools and the stuff on that shelf by the stairs door. I’ll do it if you want.”
Hana shook her head, giving his arm a feeble pat. “No. I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”
Squeezing past the towers of boxes proved a mission, with only a narrow slit to push her body through. “Good job I didn’t stop for breakfast this morning,” Hana sighed. “I wouldn’t fit.”
“What?” Bodie stood on the bottom step to watch her progress. “You’re sure you wanna do this?”
“Yep.” Hana waved him away. “I think most of it’s rubbish and the new owner might want the tools.”
“Are you still selling?” Bodie sounded sad.
“I don’t know. Angus promised to speak to the biology teacher this morning. He’ll text me.” Hana’s brow knitted and she ducked between two boxes to get sight of Bodie again. “Did you find my phone?”
“Yes.” His head nodded with certainty. “It’s charging in the kitchen. Remind me to put it in the car when we leave.”
“Okay.” Hana gave him a forced smile. “I’m fine here. I won’t be long. You can check on Marcus. Make sure he eats something, even if it’s only toast.”
Bodie nodded and disappeared, leaving Hana to her memories and the growing sense of loss which facing her husband’s tool collection brought to the fore. Dusty from lack of use, they lined the walls as he left them, labelled and ready to work had Hana known how. A dusty shelf stood to attention beneath a shadow board, containing an ancient hand drill, now brown with age. Hana fingered Vik’s shoe cleaning tin and picked up a bottle of liquid polish. She shook it and realised it defied the term ‘liquid,’ as a dry block rattled inside.
“My life sucks,” she grumbled, bending down to swipe at a scrap of newspaper sticking out from under the shelf. The wrist and palm injury made both hands useless in fine motor skill activities and she knelt on the floor in frustration. “I only want to see the date,” she complained to the silent boxes stacked around her. She knew why. It called to her from a happier time, from a day before her world ended and failed to restart. Hana pulled at the yellowing paper, feeling it crumble in her fingers. Desperation drove her on and she lurched forward, gripping it in her left hand before her wrist complained. The newspaper caught under the feet of the shelf and Hana gave a more forceful tug. A sharp pain shot through her wrist followed by a ripping sound and she overbalanced, falling against a stack of four boxes as the paper came away in her fingers. Hana slammed her right hand on the ground to steady herself. Bad mistake. “Ow!” she moaned. An old blue mouse block propelled through the air and hit her in the forehead, disintegrating into a shower of blue dust. “Well, thanks for the cancer to add to my problems,” Hana grumbled, dusting herself off.
Another mouse block sat next to her on the floor, remaining whole even while its companion fell to pieces. Hana pushed at it with a lolly stick she found poking out from under the chest freezer. The block felt solid to the touch. Hana retrieved the handkerchief from her pocket and picked up the object. She gave a few cursory rubs, surprised to find it wasn’t mouse poison but a metal box, beaten into a rectangular shape. Hana held it in clumsy fingers, something about it triggering a hazy memory relating to Bodie. “Metalwork,” she breathed. “Fifth form.”
In the time it took Bodie to shower, dry himself on the remaining facecloth and pull on clothes, Hana had stuffed most of the tools into bags and emptied the shelf in the garage. A call from Izzie delayed everything. “I’m fine, darling.” Hana reassured her daughter. “It was very exciting.”
“Bloody wasn’t!” Bodie exclaimed and Hana pulled a face and put her finger up to her lips.
“Shut up!” she mouthed, before continuing her conversation with Izzie. “You know how your brother panics about everything.” She side stepped Bodie’s grabbing fingers and ran into the corner of the kitchen counter, wincing in pain as he stuck his tongue out at her.
Hana stood at the top of the stairs with a handbag she’d wrestled from an open box in the garage. She pulled the metal box from her pocket and dropped it in. Marcus watched her with interest. “I made one of those at school,” he said. “Fiddly things. Does Mr Harper still do that with the Fifth formers?”
“Year 11s,” Bodie corrected. “Get with the times.”
“Is it yours?” Hana retrieved it and turned it over in her fingers. Bodie shook his head.
“Na. I didn’t do metal tech after Year 10. It didn’t fit in with science.”
Marcus snorted. “Whatever, dude. Harper banned you.”
“What did I do?” Bodie cocked his head in confusion, brows knitted and brown eyes narrowed. “I welded something important to something else, didn’t I?”
Marcus shrugged. “Dunno, can’t remember.”
Bodie shoulders slumped. “That was a total waste of time then, wasn’t it? I bet I got detention. What’s the point of a punishment if you can’t remember the crime?”
Hana rolled her eyes and held the box out to Marcus. “It must be yours then.”
He shook his head. “Na. Izzie’s got mine. She keeps crap in it.”
“Does she want another?”
“No thanks.” Marcus bounded down the steps. “Our house is full of stuff like that. She’ll kill me if I take home more.”
Hana shrugged and dropped the box back into her handbag, quickly forgotten amongst the other pointless detritus.
Marcus blinked at the sight of Culver’s Cottage as Hana pointed it out from across the river. “Impressive!” he exclaimed as they crossed the Waipa bridge. With only two opportunities to sneak a peek at it from Hakarimata Road, owing to the treacherous bends, Hana stopped him trying.
She grabbed at the steering wheel twice as he crossed the centre line. “Don’t crash my new car!” she wailed. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
Marcus grinned and waggled his eyebrows, infuriating her. “Izzie said you’d found a boyfriend,” he remarked as he slowed down for an oncoming gravel lorry. “Is he the dude who smashed his hand up on the guy’s face?”
“Did he smash his hand up?” Hana’s eyes grew wide with guilt. “I saw the plasters but thought maybe he just cut it a little.”
Marcus shrugged. “Dunno. It was still bleeding last night and Pasty Pete said he smashed it.”
“You shouldn’t call him Pasty Pete,” Hana chided and Marcus grinned.
“Because I’m all grown up?”
“No!” Hana turned in her seat to stare at him. “Because you’re a vicar and it’s not very nice.”
“Oh, yeah.” Marcus navigated the worst two bends and gave her a sideways look. “So, you didn’t answer the question. Is he the same dude you’re dating?”
“I’m not dating anyone.” Hana gritted her teeth and faced the side window. “Can we talk about something else?”
Marcus gave her a sly look and Hana felt him staring at her back. She whipped round. “Eyes on the road, boy!” she snapped.
Bodie went ahead in his BMW, lurching over deep ruts and potholes. Twice the bumper scraped against the gravel and Hana cringed as they turned into the steep driveway behind him.
“Oops,” Marcus laughed. “I’m not used to your car. I keep wiping the windows when I think I’m indicating. I just washed the windscreen instead of flashing Bodie.”
“Don’t flash anyone in my car.” Hana sighed and watched her new investment slip in and out of view. Her car bit into the gravel and propelled up the slope just as Brian promised. She watched as Bodie almost lost his exhaust pipe.
“Wow, that’s stunning!” Rounding the final bend, Marcus admired the old villa on its green hill, backed by the beautiful Hakarimata Ranges. Hills and valleys surrounded it until the outline of Ngaruawahia poked up in the distance. A shiny new roof perched atop the house like a hat; navy blue with matching pipe work. Th
e villa occupied its section with latent pride, like a dog finally adopted from the pound.
“The painter started,” Hana said, watching as Bodie knelt on the ground behind his car and prodded at his exhaust pipe. “The weather’s been fine.”
“Yep.” Bodie stood and brushed dust from his jeans. His eyes roved over the weatherboard which gleamed with a shimmering new coat of white. “Looks good.” He pointed at Hana’s car. “I’ll put my car in the garage. I don’t want this idiot to ding it.”
Marcus heaved in an indignant sigh and winked at Hana. “Don’t speak about your mother like that.”
“You’ll need to unlock it. The builders hung new doors.” Hana pushed her fingers into the Honda’s glove box and withdrew a remote control, complete with sticking plaster. She groaned and stared at her palm. “I’ll stop wrapping my hand up,” she said, flapping the plaster.
Bodie cringed as she pulled it off and handed the remote to him. He wiped it on his trousers like a picky child.
Marcus had dispensed with the dog collar and dressed in jeans. Elizabeth shared his skin tones and the same unruly blonde hair. Large framed and square, he looked a polar opposite to olive skinned, elfin Izzie with her father’s dark hair and Indian heritage. Hana watched him from beneath her lashes and he raised a blonde eyebrow. “I’m fine, Hana. I took my shot and ate a muesli bar for breakfast.”
“Okay.” Hana gave a tired smile. “Just looking out for you.”
Marcus nodded and put his arm around her shoulders. “I know. Thank you.” He pointed at the wrap around balcony. “This is a gorgeous house, Hana. Did you match the navy of the roof to the front door and handrail?”
Hana pressed her lips together with pleasure, a flush beginning in her pale cheeks. “Yes. Do you like it?” A stab of anguish reminded her of Logan’s help sourcing the exact shade and she clenched her fists, regretting it as both hands sent sharp physical pain to distract her tortured heart.
Hana led the way up the steps to the front porch, pointing out Bodie’s handiwork. “He sanded the deck once we finished the floors and the painter varnished it.” She glowed under Marcus’ nod of approval for her rash purchase. “Take a look around,” she offered, unlocking the wide front door and pushing it open. It creaked with age and Hana felt a dart of welcome begin in her toes and tingle to the top of her head. Things would be okay.
Inside the house, Marcus stopped in surprise at the openness of the layout. “Wow,” he said, spinning around. “You don’t expect that.” Individual rooms invited cosiness, leading from a magnificent lobby with high ceilings and the original architrave and ceiling rose. “Well done on snagging this!” He exhaled in approval, raising his eyebrows and winking at Hana. “Good on you.”
“Go for a snoop,” Hana invited, embarrassed by his enthusiasm. She imagined walking through the navy front door with Logan and bitterness replaced the sense of welcome. He would never see it painted. Hana listened to Marcus poking his head through doorways and chatting to Izzie on his phone.
“It’s amazing,” he enthused. “Each room opens onto the hallway as though it’s the heartbeat of the house and instead of perpendicular openings; they’re slanted, like being in an octagon. There are huge windows everywhere. Yeah, it’s gorgeous.”
“The rimu floors look fantastic.” Bodie breached the stairs and nodded in approval. “Someone did a great job.” He smirked at Hana and she summoned up a smile.
“Yeah, I love seeing the life of the wood in the knots. It shows all the stresses and lifelines of the original tree. A bit like me.” She swallowed and the maudlin cloud swirled around her head and dripped its nasty condensation into her chest.
Bodie winced. “You’ll be safe here; I’ll make sure of it, Mum.” He waved his arm towards the lounge, graced by the phenomenal views of the river and the sunshine. “You need to look at that each morning and let the fear and sadness go away.”
“Is that what you do?” The words became airborne before Hana could stop them and she held her breath. A look of shock passed across Bodie’s face at her uncanny perception and he shut it down with practiced expertise.
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m a big boy. I let nothing make me feel that way.” He jerked his head behind him. “I’ll bring the cleaning stuff up from the car.” His heavy footsteps down the stairs chided her.
Hana wiped her eyes on the sleeve of Logan’s pullover, regretting her lack of control over her mouth. Bodie’s unhappiness radiated outwards like an ethereal thread. It began in their shared past and the death of his father, but grew in intensity during those first years as a cop. The speed with which he headed north suggested something awful, but getting personal details from her son felt like major surgery. Hana didn’t have the energy to wield an emotional scalpel. “Just leave it,” she sighed and stared around her new home. “You’ve got your own problems.”
Marcus reappeared from the kitchen, still giving Izzie a detailed description. “There’s a dining room and laundry. Four bedrooms. Yes, I said four. What are you doing Izzie? Oh, give her a kiss from me. Tell Peggy hi too. No, don’t kiss her. Do you want me to describe it, or not? Listen then.” He wandered towards the front of the house, facing east. “The lounge is huge with a bay window that looks over the river. Your mum’s stripped all the walls too. She just needs to decorate.” He winked at Hana in appreciation of the massive task still ahead of her.
Hana sighed and walked into her basic kitchen, last updated in the 1960s. Old wooden cupboards and a metal draining board lined the walls. An open space in the middle left ample room for a kitchen table and an ancient cooker leaned against the wall looking decidedly unsafe. Evidence of patching on the plasterboard showed where the electrician had replaced much of the wiring and left new switches in his wake. She ran her fingers along a mantelshelf, knocking a host of dust and misplaced screws into the old hearth below. “What have I done?” she breathed to the empty room. “I can’t do this alone.”
Marcus moved through the house, admiring everything. Hana listened to his echoing voice and tried to catch a dose of his boundless enthusiasm. “There’s an integral bathroom and toilet. Yes, it would work for us. I don’t make a smell!” Marcus sounded huffy and his feet padded down the small hallway to the master bedroom on the right. “Ooh, this is big. No, no ensuite. The house is early 1900s. It’s lucky to have an indoor bathroom. Yes, maybe they added it later; I’ll ask.” He walked towards the back of the house to where steps ran down to the garage. A rimu banister ran along the left side of the wall before the steps turned a dogleg and disappeared downwards. Hana followed and peered through the glass door onto the roof garden. Bitumen covered the surface and rickety wooden steps led down to an overgrown lawn. A huge overgrown lawn. Hana closed her eyes against the pressing need to mow it with her inadequate machine and poked her head into the bathroom.
“It’s so authentic. I love it.” Marcus made her jump as Hana wielded bleach and a cloth, wondering where to start. The enamelled iron bath looked like it craved more than bleach and the toilet seat needed changing. Wooden and old, it stank of pee. Hana wrinkled her nose.
“Where do I start?” She looked pitiful, leaning against the wood panelled wall with two damaged hands stuffed into yellow rubber gloves.
Marcus peered into the toilet at a cigarette end bobbing around in the water. “At the beginning,” he answered and smiled. “We’re here to help.”
Hana swallowed. “I know. Just like always.”
“Just like always.” Marcus wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, infusing her with love and his usual brand of honesty. He never said anything he didn’t mean. He kissed the top of her head and took the bottle of bleach from her fingers. “You’ve got a septic tank. You can’t use this stuff.”
He sent Hana to wipe down the kitchen cupboards with something less toxic to septic tank bacteria. Then he sought Bodie. The solid door at the bottom of the stairs led into the garage and he saw Bodie’s car backed up to the entrance. Bird so
ng piped in through the open doors. The sturdy concrete walls looked back at him with a blank expression, the vast space empty. At the sound of scuffling feet, Marcus located a half door leading under the house and followed the noise.
He pushed it with care, but like everything else in the old place, it creaked on its hinges.
Bodie reacted with a sidekick, deflected late. “Geez, bro, I nearly ended your fathering career!” Humour replaced discomfort as Marcus stood in the doorframe, protecting his groin with both hands.
“What the heck?” Marcus screwed his face up in annoyance and brushed the faint shoe mark from his jeans. His eyes narrowed. “Only guilt causes a reaction like that. Spill or I tell Hana.”
Bodie blanched. “Please don’t.”
Marcus spread his legs and folded his arms, blocking the small doorway. He stooped to avoid the overhead joists. “I know you can go through me if you want to, but it’ll make a noise and Hana will come downstairs.” His lips quirked upwards and his blue eyes flashed.
Bodie exhaled, brushing the furthest wall with his hand and then inspecting the cobwebs and dust on his fingers. “Then you’d better not tell my sister!”
Marcus smiled like an angel. “As a man of the cloth, my word is my bond.” He grunted as Bodie threatened his nether regions with another kick, forcing him to use his hands to protect his dignity again. Bodie snorted and got him in a headlock. They tussled and sparred like school boys before Marcus conceded. “I give up, okay I surrender. I won’t tell. You can trust me!”
Bodie squeezed a lump of fat around Marcus’ stomach and heard his friend grunt. “You’d better not,” he threatened. “I’m letting go, but no retaliation. Okay?”
Marcus grunted again and stood up with a smirk. Bodie backed away and ran his hands through his hair. Cobwebs dotted the surface like a hairnet and he shivered, feeling a spider run up his wrist. He squeaked and Marcus hollered with laughter. “You’re such a wimp!” he scoffed.
“Yeah?” Bodie collected the webs into his hand and Marcus lost his humour.
“No, don’t!” he squealed as Bodie launched at him and stuffed the matted ball down his shirt. Marcus danced like a rhino in a tutu and Bodie laughed until his guts spasmed. He leaned against a dirty wall and the weight of the world settled back on his shoulders.
“What’s up with you, man?” Marcus winced as he brushed the last of the web from his stomach and dropped his shirt. “What’s the matter?”
Bodie sighed. “I want to store my gear in here.”
Marcus couldn’t resist the opportunity to mimic a high pitched voice. “Really officer, I’m surprised at you! I believed it when they told me the police incinerated all the drugs and guns.”
Bodie didn’t smile and Marcus shut up. “I dived a few weeks ago,” Bodie said, his voice faltering. “I found this kid trapped in barbed wire and got caught up with him. The crew cut us both free and it’s nothing new. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. We put ourselves at risk to find them and sometimes end up in the same predicament; it goes with the territory. But that day in the water, I experienced this bone deep exhaustion and since then I’ve dreaded the calls. I’ve lost my nerve. It’s no longer just a job, finding awful bloated, grey bodies that represent someone’s daughter, someone’s son. I can’t look at the families anymore. It makes me physically ill, Marc. I can’t explain it, but I see Mum’s face instead of theirs. The day Dad died, Angus drove me home. We stopped to fetch Izzie and I sat in his car knowing it had to be bad. Mum sat us in the lounge and told us Dad wasn’t coming home. Her face looked like plaster.” Bodie rubbed a hand over his forehead and it came away damp. “Why’s it coming back now?”
Marcus cocked his head. “Trauma is like frozen peas,” he said, his eyes holding wisdom beyond his years. “We freeze dry the things we don’t want to look at and that’s okay for a time. But the day you get it back out is the day you discover it’s just as fresh, just as painful as the day you put it in there.” He pursed his lips. “Perhaps it’s time to get it out and leave it out. Let it defrost.”
Bodie nodded and swallowed. “There’s something else.” He breathed out through pursed lips and wouldn’t look at Marcus. “Years ago before I left Hamilton, something happened.” His eyes became gimlet hard. “I found new information a few weeks ago and it’s eating me up.”
Marcus watched his childhood friend, feeling the waves of sadness peel off him in a current of intoxicating misery. He didn’t ask, sensing Bodie wouldn’t tell him. “What will you do?” he said instead. “About the new thing.”
Bodie inhaled. “I don’t know. I’ve applied for a job with the Road Patrol guys.” He bit his lip. “If I get it, I’ll stay and deal with things. Properly.”
“Good.” Marcus nodded. “You know where I am if you need help.” He cocked his head and Bodie saw into his soul, seeing the heartbroken blonde teenager who loved Vik as much as he did. Marcus bawled at the funeral and Bodie supported him and Izzie, a seventeen-year-old bowed by secrets and pain, an arm around each of them.
“I know bro’. I know.” He heard Hana moving overhead and sought to lighten the mood. He offered Marcus his hand, receiving a look of mistrust. The handshake forged on the fields of the Presbyterian Boys’ High School decades earlier ended with them both picking their noses and Hana wrinkled hers in displeasure.
“That’s gross!” she squeaked, pushing the door open. Her eyes took in the beamed ceiling and dirty block walls. “I didn’t see this room on the plans,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Are you two making it into a den?”
Marcus laughed and widened his eyes at Bodie. “Can we?”
“No.” Hana sighed. “But you can make yourselves useful. One of you can vacuum and the other will drive me to the shops. I need heavy duty cleaner for the bathroom and kitchen.” She looked at them both in expectation, hands on hips.
Marcus bolted past her hauling the Honda keys from his pocket. “I’m driving!” he shouted. “Bo’s the loser.”
Hana’s son rolled his eyes. “Who made that immature, un-Christian dude a vicar?”
An hour later, they leaned against the lounge wall while the sun poured into the room.
“Chips again,” Bodie commented. “I need to do some serious exercise or I’ll get as fat as Marcus.”
Hana smiled and admired the vibrant red, shaggy rug adorning the centre of the room. Marcus pointed a chip at Bodie and then licked it until his friend cringed. “Okay, stop!” Bodie begged. “You’re sick.” He turned to Hana. “How did a trip to the supermarket for cleaning products end up with house furnishings? They don’t sell this stuff.”
Hana put her packet of chips on the floorboards. “Marcus forgot the difference between his left and right, so we went to Huntly. I found this amazing shop on the main street. We can get all the paint and building stuff there.”
“I hope that’s the royal ‘we’,” Bodie grumbled. “I’m over it now.”
“Says the man who did a little vacuuming,” Marcus retorted. “I did a crash course in putting the Honda’s back seats down while the store owner balanced a three metre rug on his shoulder in the middle of the street. Not much pressure.”
Hana leaned forward, her face alight. “This man stopped to help. He pointed out the folded picnic table under the floor mat in the boot. See, they think of everything, the Italians.”
Marcus turned away sniggering and Hana smiled at him, not understanding. Bodie pointed a chip at his friend. “I loved watching you wrestle with it on the driveway,” he said. “In the street would’ve been worth money.”
Hana rolled her eyes as Marcus took the bait. “Telling a cleric where to stick it wasn’t helpful.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Hana narrowed her eyes at Bodie.
Marcus’ face creased into a grin. “Your mummy told you off,” he sang in a baby voice.
Hana groaned and left them to pick up the food wrappers, opening her purchases in the kitchen. Bottles of strong bleach lined up on the coun
ter alongside a tub of horrid, thick, bacteria laden syrup for revitalising the septic tank after her killing spree. Bodie followed her in and whistled at the line-up, handling the new toilet seat with a look of disgust on his face.
“It’s clean, idiot!” Hana said, laughing at his expression. “Please could you fit it for me?”
“No, make Marcus do it,” he complained. “Don’t clean the toilet first.”
Hana sighed and carried her purchases to the bathroom.
“Have you thought about electronic gates,” Bodie asked as they removed the packaging from the seat.
“Na,” answered Hana. “They cost a fortune. I’d need to run the electrics all the way to the bottom of the drive. And how would I know if someone wanted to get in?”
“They install a monitor at the bottom.” Bodie chewed his lip. “People should text first, anyway. Nobody just turns up on your doorstep when you live this far out.”
“But what if they do and can’t get in? They can’t back out onto the main road. It’s too dangerous.”
Bodie sighed. “Okay then. Set them further back and gravel a decent turning circle.”
Hana put her hands on her hips, bleach transferring from her gloves to Logan’s track pants. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Sure have.” Bodie scratched his head and turned away. “They’re being fitted on Monday.”
“What?” Hana gulped. “I can’t afford that.”
“It’s fine, Marcus is paying.” He watched his brother-in-law turn uncomfortably pale, trying to swallow without choking. Bodie enjoyed Marcus’ discomfort for a heartbeat longer. “Just kidding,” he said. “I’ve got savings and I know you’re dissolving the family trust. I chose the gate weeks ago so I hope you like it.”
“The family trust isn’t that big,” Hana said, her face ashen. “It’ll cost thousands.”
Bodie wrapped his arms around her. Behind her back he gave Marcus the finger as his friend pretended to wipe tears from his cheeks with toilet roll. “Let me do this, Mum,” he said. “You’re so isolated up here. Dad would expect me to take care of you.”
Hana felt a wave of sadness and regret. Vik’s expectations always came back to bite them, his strong sense of family and moral obligation. She pushed her nose into Bodie’s shoulder, using pain to block the mental wanderings. Pity her husband didn’t stick around to look after her himself. “Thank you,” she whispered, holding onto Bodie’s muscular body to ground her. “It’s too much, but I’m grateful.”
“They’re navy,” he said. “Like the roof. Lightweight aluminium but they won’t open without a remote or the code.” He didn’t tell her the slatted pattern discouraged climbing or that the spikes at the top were as purposeful as decorative. Only a brave assailant would climb the steep cliff either side of the gateway and plough through the dense bush and treacherous covering of nasty Supplejack vine. From any other direction, they’d approach across country, navigating the bush from the walking track and traversing paddocks before reaching the house. Bodie enthused Hana with a catalogue from the gate company and missed out the security details.
The afternoon continued in a haze of scrubbing. Marcus attempted to fit the toilet seat and failed, his skills lying in a different avenue. Hana decided a pastor reduced to swearing was distasteful and confiscated his tools. As teatime neared, Hana grew listless and Bodie knew the signs. “You don’t intend to go back to Achilles Rise or Gordonton, do you?” he said, watching her colour flush.
“No.” Hana shook her head. “I’m staying here. This is my home now.” She sounded resolute, gritting her teeth and folding her arms.
An hour later, Bodie chased Tiger around the garden at Achilles Rise while Marcus giggled from the ranch-slider in the family room. “Bloody women!” Bodie shouted and Marcus snorted.
“The cat’s a boy, stupid,” he said, a dirty great smirk on his face.
For the tenth time, the cat shot tantalisingly out of reach and onto the roof above Bodie’s head. “You’re supposed to be getting the cat cage ready,” he shouted at Marcus. “I’m gonna kill you now.”
Bodie grabbed the door handle, listening to Marcus barfing up his afternoon tea behind the curtains as he laughed so hard. Bodie slapped the glass. “You sound like a sea lion!” he shouted. He jiggled the handle. “Let me in!”
Tears ran down Marcus’ cheeks and he gripped his crotch as though adding wetting himself to the menu of distress. Bodie mouthed something at him through the glass, but Marcus didn’t hear. Hana’s neighbours did though, wondering how a vicar and a cop got to be so entertaining.
“I’m getting my sister to divorce you!” Bodie shouted, slapping the glass again.
Marcus froze and his blue eyes widened like saucers. “Doorbell!” he said.
Bodie watched in horror as he clambered through the furniture stacked in the room and out into the hallway. “No! Don’t open it!” he shouted. “Marcus, no!” Bodie jumped the small wall by the window and ran down the slope to the locked gate. He clambered over the trellis, getting wrapped in the passion fruit vine that twisted and turned under his hands and feet. He remembered his last tangle with the vine years ago, his body more agile as a teenager. Landing hard on the downward slope, he felt the wind knocked out of him and doubled over in pain. His ankles throbbed from the drop but he picked himself up, running past the garage door and up the front steps. Leaping the handrail gained him ground.
Logan Du Rose turned to stare at him. “Hi,” he said, chewing his lower lip. He raised a box of beers in one hand and chocolates in the other. A bunch of flowers sat on the passenger seat of the truck, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to wear them over his head quite yet. “Is Hana here?”
“She doesn’t drink beer.” Marcus swiped the box from Logan’s hand and pitched forward with the weight.
“Nor do you, ass-wipe!” Bodie growled. “I’ll tell your wife.”
Marcus stuck his nose in the air. His eyes widened with mischief. “The secrets I could tell her about you.”
Bodie groaned and leaned forward, resting his palms on his knees to get his breath back. Logan hefted the chocolates in his hand and stared between the two men. “Do you think I should get the flowers, or is there no point?”
Marcus smiled, the angelic expression practiced and effective. He gave Logan the full hundred-watt effect. “Just bring the chocolates,” he said, holding out his hand. “If you’ve got Turkish Delight in there, I’ll do or say whatever you want.”