by K T Bowes
Chapter 48
Logan dragged himself from the single bed before six o’clock on Monday morning, showered and dressed for work. Sleep proved fruitful and a plan dropped into his brain in the early moments between slumber and waking.
The light from the landing disturbed Hana, burning through the open door and reflecting off the new paintwork. She grunted as Tiger’s claws kneaded her stomach, trying to make her stay still so he could keep her as a pillow.
Turning on the bedside lamp, Hana saw yesterday’s clothes twisted around her body. Shrouded in a blanket she smelled the receding odour of paint, overlaid by the smell of toast. Brushing her hair back from her face, she stumbled out of bed and padded to the kitchen. The thought of the day ahead daunted her.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Logan smelled of toothpaste as he kissed her and plonked a cup of tea on the table. “Sit down and I’ll make your breakfast.”
Hana sighed. She required time to wake up in the mornings and Monday’s were no exception. “Ok, so you’re not a morning person then.” Logan dismissed Hana’s dirty look with a smirk and pushed the drink towards her.
“Thanks,” she grunted. “I need a shower, two cups of tea and the clock hands to move past seven.” She yawned and watched Logan move around the kitchen. “You on the other hand, look like someone who rises with the sun. I don’t think I like you.”
A cold shower woke her properly as the hot water dried up without explanation. She screamed and shot from the bathroom in her towel.
“Sorry,” Logan called up the stairs. “I put the washing machine on. I didn’t think about diverting the hot water.”
Hana squeaked in reply and slammed the bedroom door. Half an hour later she emerged, feeling more human. She discovered Logan in the kitchen, washing up at the sink. “Sorry for being grumpy.” Hana wrapped her arms around him from behind, enjoying the solidity of his muscles and the sense of companionship.
“I’ll get used to it,” he said, drying his hands and turning. He stroked the side of her face and pulled her long red tresses from the collar of her cardigan, smoothing them down her back. His kiss made Hana’s stomach feel like she rode a swing, a sensation of painful ecstasy. Logan’s shirt hung outside his trousers and Hana slid her hands underneath, caressing his tanned skin. She felt him exhale and explored further, touching the hard muscle either side of his spine. Logan paused in his kiss and nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, his excitement growing.
“Let’s stay home,” she whispered, her voice hushed and soft. “Don’t you want to?” She stroked her fingers around his ribs, feeling him still as her cool palm encountered a ridge of skin. Raised and rugged, it tracked up the right side of his body from hip to armpit and the way he held his breath communicated his fear to Hana. Logan froze, waiting for her reaction and Hana worked hard not to give him one. “Did someone hurt you?” she whispered and he nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible action. “Then I’m sorry,” she said.
Hana kept her hand over the scar and restarted the kiss, eager to go back to where they were. She realised she didn’t care what damage he hid beneath his shirt and communicated her acceptance with her body. Logan pushed her hair up from the back of her neck, tracing his fingers upwards through it. It felt good. Hana looked up at him and repeated her request, “Stay home with me.”
Logan pulled away and she felt his soft breath on her cheek. His grey eyes revealed how the battle within him matched her own. “We could,” he breathed. “But it’s not what you wanted. I’ve waited twenty-six years for this; a couple more days is nothing.” He kissed her. “Besides, I want us to have our own bed.”
“True.” Emotions coursed through Hana’s chest. A tiny spark of rejection activated a Jezebel spirit which demanded she make him do her bidding, but she mentally rebuked it. “You’re right,” she sighed. She didn’t want to begin her new marriage the same way as the old one. A memory flashed into her mind and took her breath away with its unexpectedness. Inevitable pain surfaced and Hana pressed her face into Logan’s chest. Someone else stood before her with a confession of requited love and imploded Hana’s world in a sentence.
“What’s the matter?” Logan’s voice forced her from her memories. “Did I offend you?”
Hana shook her head. “No. Not at all. Everything you said is right. I can’t wait to be your wife.”
Logan rubbed his hand up and down Hana’s back. It consoled and comforted her, settling the quavering sensations in her gut and giving her hope. “I love you.” He kissed the top of her head and enfolded her, stroking her hair and providing the barrier against a fear inside Hana’s soul that he didn’t even know existed.
Logan drove to Cilla’s in the early morning execution of his plan. “It’s full of petrol,” he said, handing her the keys. “Thanks so much for your understanding.”
Cilla fluttered her eyelashes at the handsome male and accepted the keys. “So, I’m taking Hana to Alder Dale?” she said, double-checking. Logan nodded and retrieved his bike helmet from the back seat, giving Hana a smile as he walked around to the side of Cilla’s house.
“Good morning, Hana,” Cilla said, climbing into the driving seat. “You look a little better than you did the other night.” She cranked on the seat handle and closed the gap between her stomach and the steering wheel. “Anything from the cops?”
“No.” Hana sighed and her mouth turned downwards. “I’m sorry I involved you in this.”
Cilla shook her head and started the engine, backing the tiny car off the drive and into the street. Hana watched as Logan wheeled his motorbike onto the driveway. She craned her neck around to watch him ride behind them for the three kilometres to Alder Dale Residential Village, where they turned onto the small driveway of one of the units there. Hana knew Cilla wanted to ask questions about Logan and evaded her enquiries with marginal success. “Logan’s a colleague,” she said. “He got dragged into this mess and has helped me heaps.”
Cilla pursed her lips. “It looks like more than a work relationship, love,” she replied. “I hope you know what you’re doing. We loved Vik so much. His death took something from all of us.”
Hana’s jaw dropped and she inhaled to force down her temper. “Are you saying I shouldn’t meet anyone else or try to start again?” she asked, her tone tight and wooden.
Cilla shrugged. “I don’t know, Hana. When you’ve had the perfect man, it’s hard not to end up disappointed with anyone else. We might all struggle to accept someone new.”
“Thanks for your help, Cilla,” Hana said, jumping from the car. “Logan filled your car to the top. I’ll see you around.” She closed the door behind her and stood on the driveway, shaking from head to toe.
“Hana, dear, what a performance.” Angus greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and mistook her anger for distress. He jabbed his remote at the car behind him. “Hop in, dearest,” he said, turning to wave to Cilla as she backed off his driveway.
Hana shot a look of panic at Logan as he cruised to a stop on the small street. He pushed his visor up and raised his eyebrows. Angus shooed Hana into his car and gave her no opportunity to vent her bile about Cilla’s comment. She slumped into the passenger seat of his sporty black Audi with its tinted windows and travelled to work incognito in the principal’s mid-life-crisis car.
Pete eyed Hana with curiosity as she slammed into the office, observing her as though she was a specimen. “Don’t look at me like that,” Hana snapped, shoving her handbag into the bottom drawer of her desk. “All this trouble is making me depressed. Car switcheroos are ridiculous.”
“I’ll tell Logan.” Pete blew at the key ring in his hand, a tube of superglue lying on its side and leaking onto his desk.
“Don’t you dare! I’m grateful for his help. It took a lot of work to coordinate an operation like this morning’s.”
“Yeah.” Pete turned to her with the key ring gripped between finger and thumb. An Audi emblem peeked out from beneath his fat finger, the old Toyota one lying broken on his desk. “That
’s what he does best. Nobody messes with him when he rounds up the boys.” Pete licked his lips. “Hana. Were you in bed with Logan when I called him last night?”
“What do you mean round up the boys?” Hana demanded. “And my relationship with Logan is nobody else’s business! I’m tired of people thinking they have a right to comment. They don’t!”
Pete spun back to engross himself in his activity and gave Hana the silent treatment. Irritated, she stomped off to the staffroom, calling over her shoulder, “I hope it sticks to your fingers!” Pete stuck his tongue out at Hana’s retreating back and then got the scissors out of his desk as her wish came true.
The groundsman barrelled into their office before interval, his face puce with anger. The door opened so hard, it hit the cupboard behind. Her nerves shot, Hana screamed and tried to run away, tripping over the wheels of Pete’s chair as he whirled around in surprise. She smashed into the open drawer of the tall filing cabinet and jarred her painful wrist, bursting into tears of pain and terror. The sleeve of her cardigan caught on a file and pinned her in place like a fish on a line.
“What the hell’s happening?” Sheila’s blonde ponytail swung behind her as she emerged from her office and went to Hana’s defence. “Larry Collins, get out of here!” she demanded.
“No!” the groundsman shouted, the wobbly flesh beneath his chin swaying with the lurching of his body. “Where’s her car? Why’s the principal parked in her space?”
“How does she know?” Sheila yelled, disconnecting the yarn from Hana’s sleeve and releasing her. “Someone nicked her car, you stupid man. Bugger off and annoy someone else.”
“Oh.” Larry Collins peered sideways so he could see around Sheila. “Ask her if she came on a motorbike this morning.”
“No, I won’t!” Sheila bit back. “Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, man!”
Pete snorted and flapped his keyring in the air. “You don’t wanna mess with the owner of that bike,” he muttered.
“Whose is it?” Larry’s voice rose in temper. “I’ll clamp the bloody thing. Our principal shouldn’t have to park with the other nobodies!” He waved a beefy hand towards Hana. “Nobodies like her!”
“Get out!” Sheila moved towards him at speed and Hana put a hand out to steady herself. Her sleeve reattached itself to the filing cabinet again and she groaned in misery.
Larry Collins exited the room backwards, alarmed by the darkness in Sheila’s eyes. “You’re all weird,” he hissed, menace in his voice. “I’ll clamp that bloody bike right now.”
“Oh, Hana.” Sheila wrapped her arms around Hana and stroked her back. “Angus said you’d been sick. Ignore Larry. He’s a stupid little man.”
“He is!” Pete exclaimed. “Especially if he thinks he’s clamping Logan’s bike.”
Hana wailed in misery. “He only tried to help me!” She looked up in time to see Pete’s fingers flashing across the keypad of his phone.
“It’s okay,” he announced. “He moved it. He went into town in his free period.”
“What’s going on?” Sheila demanded.
Hana turned away, remembering Logan’s promise to visit the registry office. Her cheeks flushed and she hid a smile behind her hands. Sheila disconnected her from the file and stamped into her office, slamming the door behind her. “Thanks Pete,” Hana said, grateful more for Logan’s whereabouts than Pete’s intervention.
Logan appeared in the office before lunch, having made an interesting discovery at staff briefing which aided his cause. “Hey, Hana,” he said, resting his bum on the corner of her desk.
“Hey.” Hana’s eyes held expectation and excitement but Pete’s presence made discussion impossible.
“Did you know the school’s closed on Friday?” Logan asked her, his lips rising in a smile.
Hana shook her head and knitted her brow. “No. Why?”
“Oh! It’s awesome,” Pete raved. “I love the V8 races. The cars race around town for three days starting on the Friday. The main race is always on Sunday. The white lines are on Mill Street already. I’m going down later with my ride to do some racing. I do it every year. You should come, Logan.”
Logan laughed. “Er, no thanks,” he replied. “You rev that heap of crap and it’ll drop its bumper on the track.”
“Yeah but school’s closed. If you don’t wanna come revving with me, you could come to the Friday heats. You might as well. The sports department always get drunk in the beer tent. Best day of the year; better than Christmas.”
“Whatever.” Logan peered at Pete’s hand. “Why is your finger stuck to your thumb?”
Pete stared down at his hand and jabbed his thumb at Hana. “She cursed me,” he said. “But Larry Collins yelled at her so karma got her back.”
Logan’s brow furrowed and he jerked his head towards Pete. “Wash your hand.”
Pete shrugged. “Na, thanks. I’m picking it off.”
Logan spun around and lifted his friend by the collar. “I said go and wash your hand.” He pushed Pete towards the office door and spat him into the common room. “And take a decent while.” He slammed the door in Pete’s face.
“You got the registry office?” Hana asked, her eyes shining with excitement. She pushed her hands around Logan’s waist and rested her cheek on his chest. “And we’re getting married on Friday?”
“Yep.” He swung her around and slid her down his body. “Sure are, Ms McIntyre.” He kissed her, laughing when she wiped her lipstick from his lips with her thumb.
“Thank goodness something’s gone right,” she sighed.
“Why’s Larry yelling at you?” Logan’s brow narrowed.
Hana’s eyes widened. “It doesn’t matter now. But he burst in here and terrified me. My fear reaction is way over the top nowadays. I went loco.”
“That’s understandable.” Logan’s lips felt good over hers and Hana sighed with satisfaction. “On Friday at ten o’clock, you’ll be Mrs Du Rose.” His eyes crinkled at the edges and he bit his lip. “I can’t wait,” he whispered in her ear.
The sound of a drawer closing made Hana jump and she shot a look at Sheila’s office door. They stilled and listened as Sheila slammed her fingers into her keyboard with aggression. “I wish I knew what was up with her,” Hana whispered. “She’s being really odd.” Hana turned back to Logan, her face dropping at the unease in his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” The wary look left his face. “Nothing at all.”
Hana touched his fingers, winding hers through them and feeling his rough skin against her softer pads. His eyes returned to their silvery tone and he smiled and kissed the back of her hand. “See ya later.” He winked before leaving the room and Hana sighed with satisfaction. Her stomach did flips at the thought of marriage to him, able to undress him at will and inspect the quality gift beneath the expensive wrapping.
Logan stuck his head through the door after lunch, on his way back to class. He found Hana alone and bailed her up against the filing cabinet, kissing her out of view of the windows. “So you haven’t changed your mind then,” he smirked as she slipped her hand underneath his jacket.
“No.” She tried to sound huffy but his kisses on her neck made her fail.
“I’ll stay at the Gordonton house for the rest of the week.” Logan snuffed into her hair and Hana stalled, her body rigid.
“No, you can’t!” she exclaimed. “Please don’t leave me there by myself?” She hated the pleading tone in her voice.
“The gates go in today,” Logan replied, misunderstanding her fear for irritation. “Angus and I moved your car from Cilla’s garage earlier and hid it in his. Each morning, you can drive to Alder Dale and get a lift into work with Angus. Your car will sit in his garage all day.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving his fringe flicked back from his forehead. “It will make you harder to trace. They won’t find you.”
“But I’m scared,” Hana argued.
“I know you are.” Logan switched to talki
ng about work matters and stepped back as staff and boys wandered past the office door on route to their next class. He continued once they disappeared. “The gate will protect you at home, so the most risk is when you’re travelling. Your son came up with no ideas and his colleagues don’t seem interested, so I’ll take care of you myself.”
Hana nodded in response, but grave misgiving filled her heart. Her afternoon plunged from ecstatic to miserable. Caroline Marsh returned and sent Pete running for cover. With Hana at her mercy, she barked orders and gave her stares of unveiled malice. The head of geography visited with concerns about a student and Caroline engaged him on the topic of honeymoon destinations. “Logan and I fancied Bali,” she said, every word cutting into Hana’s psyche. “But then we decided on Fiji. He’s not the beach sort. He likes to be busy, so we thought we’d scuba dive and hire scooters.”
“Logan Du Rose?” Clay O’Sullivan knitted his brow in confusion. “Are you and he together?”
“Engaged.” Caroline twinkled her fingers in his face, displaying a huge diamond on her ring finger.
“Oh, congratulations.” He bent and kissed her cheek, shrouded in awkwardness. “When’s the happy day?”
“We should’ve married in January,” Caroline said. “But we postponed due to a family crisis.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “It’ll be soon though. I’ll be sure to send you an invitation.”
Hana breathed through pursed lips, her redheaded temper soaring and driving her blood pressure skywards. She shoved the buds for her dictaphone so hard into her ears it hurt, drowning out Caroline’s lies as Evie’s gentle voice dictated case notes. Hana spewed the words onto her screen like an automaton, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Caroline’s tap on her shoulder made her jump.
“I hope you heard all that.” The blonde woman’s blue eyes sparkled. “You don’t stand a chance against me. Logan can’t get enough of what I have to offer.” She oozed confidence and Hana felt depleted in her presence. Caroline’s touch caused physical pain and Hana jerked backwards.
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “And don’t speak to me. I don’t work for you.”
Caroline laughed, the sound polluting the atmosphere with its bile. She jabbed her finger at the half cup of cold tea on Hana’s desk, jumping back in fake horror as the liquid soiled the papers everywhere it touched. “Damn,” she said, laughter in her voice. “I’d help you clear up, but I’m teaching next door to Logan now. I know how much he looks forward to seeing me. It’s impossible to find time together in this place.” She spun away and left Hana mopping up the mess, fighting the increasing sense of doom.
Hana binned her day’s work and started again, tears pricking at her eyes. Her confidence plummeted into her shoes and Caroline’s words ate at her trust in Logan. Sheila rang to demand the reports she gave Hana to type and she admitted they’d been ruined. “I’m printing them again now,” she said, wincing as the copier ate the top copy of each.
Caroline returned, tossing her head and throwing her folder onto her desk. She winked at Hana and licked her lips, the inference clear. “You should wake up and crawl back into your granny car,” she spat. “Logan always comes back to me. I don’t want to see you hurt, but I’ve been here before.” The smile faded from her face as Chris Carter stuck his head through the door.
“How can I help you?” Hana fixed a polite smile on her face and stood, stepping towards the sports teacher. “Sheila isn’t back yet.” She pushed her shaking hands behind her back and faked confidence.
“Oh.” Carter’s gaze slid towards Caroline. “I wanted to see Caro.”
Hana backed away, edging to her chair by degrees. “That’s fine,” she said, her eyes sliding to Caroline’s face. Anger lit a fire in the other woman’s cheeks, producing high spots of colour.
“Not here!” she snapped. She shot a spiteful glance at Hana and left the room, Chris Carter trailing her like an obedient puppy.
The tension left with them. Hana pressed her forehead to her desk and looked up when her computer squeaked in protest. A line of unintelligible typing punctuated her letter to a university and she rubbed the outline of the keyboard from her forehead and deleted the nonsensical sentence. “What are you up to, Ms Marsh?” she commented out loud. “Because that guy’s the school Lothario.”
When Caroline returned, she remained quiet, leaving Hana alone to catch up on the work she ruined. Hana’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she liaised with social services for one of the guidance counsellors. A livid stench seeped through the closed office door from the common room, making Hana feel sick. It smelled like a mixture of diarrhoea and drains. Caroline covered her mouth with her hand and exited through the door to the lobby.
Hana sighed and poked her head into the common room. Boys hung out of the large windows gagging, pinching their noses and covering their mouths. The Year 12 dean turned towards Hana. “What’s that smell?” she asked.
“What smell?” He blew his red nose into a tissue. “I’ve a stinking cold. I can’t smell anything.”
Hana covered her nose with her hand. “The boys are dying.” She looked around the room at the students gasping for air. “How could you not notice?”
“Don’t look at me! I didn’t make the smell.” He acted affronted and looked around him, noticing the expiring students. “Oh. Is it that bad?”
“Okay, who dropped the stink bomb?” Hana demanded. Instead of schoolboy laughter, blank stares met her, accompanied by the occasional retch. Hana and the dean trawled around the room looking for evidence of a stink bomb or a dead body. Nothing. Hana sniffed her way around and the dean tried to help, but spent more time blowing his nose.
A clap of thunder silenced the room and Hana jumped and grabbed her colleague’s arm. “What was that?” she demanded.
A large boy from the back row stood, raising his hand in the air. “Please sir, can I go to the bathroom?”
The dean nodded and they watched as the boy grabbed the back of his shorts with both hands. He set off at a fair speed for such a large chap. As he barged through the double doors and hit the staircase sprinting, he wailed, “Oh no, not again!”
Hana pointed towards his retreating back. “Can someone check on him, please?” Usually so eager to get out of the study class on a pretext, none of the boys volunteered.
“I’ll go,” the dean said with a sigh, grabbing a stack of tissues. When he didn’t return, Hana collected his belongings and put them on the table in the student centre.
Caroline Marsh ventured back into the office before home time, holding her hand across her mouth. The stink remained but Hana got used to it after the first hour. Caroline wrinkled her nose in disgust. Peter North appeared at a run and fumbled around in the crap on his desk. He snatched up his Rubik’s Cube and turned to leave. The smell hit him like a slap around the face and he spoke to Caroline. “You should see a doctor for that! You’re starting to stink on the outside like you do on the inside,” he snapped. “Oh.” He pressed an index finger into her face. “Logan loves Hana, so get over it.” He winked at Hana and spun the lines on his cube. She’d never felt so grateful to the funny little man.
Hana sat in her office after everyone left and waited for Angus. She heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of him in the doorway just after three thirty. “You’re leaving early because of me, aren’t you?” she said, guilt in her voice.
Angus raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter, Hana?”
She shrugged and picked up her handbag, locking the office door behind her.
“What’s that smell?” Angus asked in the common room, puckering up his Scots nose in disgust.
“A bad biryani apparently,” she replied.
Angus drove her to his apartment and opened his garage, handing her the keys to her car. “We moved it earlier today,” he said, watching her with interest. “Your friend Cilla had quite a lot to say on the subject of our Mr Du Rose. If you’re having a relationship with him, Hana, there’s only so much I can do t
o protect you.”
Hana nodded. “Don’t worry about it, Angus. It’ll all be over soon.”
She drove through Ngaruawahia and turned right onto Hakarimata Road, feeling the tension melt away with her proximity to the bush. High on the mountain ahead of her stood a wooden cross, painted white and lit up as evening approached. The Christian youth camp nearby owned and maintained it and the glow reflected off the surrounding bush like a beacon. It called Hana home. No other vehicles showed in her rear view mirror and she turned into her driveway feeling relieved at her paranoia.
She forgot about the new gates until she almost ran over the electrician. Hana screeched to a halt and jumped out, leaving the engine running. “I’m so sorry,” she gushed as the man brushed dirt from his trousers. “I forgot you’d be here.”
“That’s okay,” the man grunted, waving across the gate installer. “I ran the cable down the side of the road but I’ll need access to the house.” Hana nodded and peered into the gloom, seeing many faces turned towards her.
“How many people worked here today?” she asked, watching a man with a shovel fill in a deep trench alongside the driveway.
“The boss put everyone on this job,” the installer said, waving an arm at his crew. “Mr Johal explained you needed it fast. An install like this usually takes two guys three days. So he sent seven of us.” The man smiled, his face and hands dirty from digging. “And he charged extra.”
“Just inside the house to do now,” another man said, sidling up in a cowboy hat and overalls. “We need to run the cable through the roof space and install your intercom.” He slapped the electrician on the back. “Josh wired the power into the same source as your water pump.”
“Water pump?” Hana’s brow knitted. “I have a water pump?”
The electrician smiled and turned away while the gate installer tried to explain. “Yeah, miss. It’s the pump which sends the water from your rainwater tank to the house.”
Hana nodded and colour rushed to her cheeks. “That water pump,” she said, embarrassment making her throat tight. “I know what you mean. It’s amazing. You’ve done a fantastic job.” She stepped sideways and focussed on the gate being slotted into its runner.
“Glad you like it.” The other men went back to their tasks and the installer stood next to her. “See how the driveway is cut into the rock here?” He pointed to the steep sides of her driveway. The first part of the slope looked like a tunnel, passing through a high-sided mountain populated by dense bush. “This protects you from anyone bypassing the gate.” His finger indicated the runner as two men heaved the gate into place. “The road workers blasted the front into a sheer side years ago when they created the main road, so it’s ideal for running the gate across it. The only time you’ll have a problem is if there’s a landslide. Your gate won’t be able to open across it then.” He grinned at her. “You’ll have a great excuse not to go to work.”
Hana nodded and watched the heavy metal gate slide left across the front of the orange rock face and then back to cover the aperture. Four men on the driveway tipped soil back into the trench. “How far down did you dig the cable?” she asked. “In case I need to dig there.”
The man snorted. “A metre away from the edge of the drive and another metre down,” he said. “You won’t hit that by accident.”
“Okay.” Hana inhaled and felt her sense of safety return. “I love the navy blue,” she said, peering into the gloom. “What do you need from me?” She pointed to the runner. “Is that okay to drive over?”
“Yep, for sure.” The installer called to the electrician and waved him across. “Let’s get the wiring finished and then we can tidy up tomorrow.”
Hana gave them a ride up the long hill and brewed tea and coffee for them. The electrician disappeared into the roof through a hatch above the garage stairs and they heard him crashing around on the joists. “Did my lad walk up yet?” he shouted, his voice muffled.
The installer walked beneath the hatch and called up to him. “He’s on his way. Want me to spot for you?”
“Yeah?” Hana heard him cough on her abundance of fibreglass insulation and winced. “Ask the lady where she wants the control panel and I’ll drop the cable down that wall.
Hana chose a location next to the front door, adjacent to the burglar alarm panel. “It will look like mission control,” she joked, but nobody laughed.
“That was easy,” the electrician said later, dusting pink fibres from his clothing onto the porch. “I followed the cables from the security alarm. Job done. And thanks for the bacon butties, miss. We don’t usually get those.”
The other men mumbled over their sandwiches and waved crusts of bread in appreciation. They huddled on the porch as a group and drank tea as night descended.
“So, I can use it already?” Hana asked and the head installer nodded.
“Yup. Ready to go. I’ll pop back in a week’s time to check it over and make sure it’s still sitting straight. They sometimes need adjusting in the first few days.” He opened a box and pulled out two remote controls, covered in plastic wrapping. He handed one to Hana. “This remote will open, shut, half open and lock open. You’ll get used to the functions and I’ll leave a manual. There will also be a number programmed into the keypad and if you write it down for me, I’ll get Wally to walk and put that in. If someone opens the gate from outside and drives through, the keypad up here will sound a single beep as it opens. They need either a remote, or the keypad number to get in. Otherwise, they press the button on the intercom and an alarm sounds in the house. They don’t know it’s a camera and will take a photo of them, so if they’re up to no good, you’ve got their picture.”
Hana scribbled a four-digit code on a scrap of paper and gave it to him. It changed hands twice before finding the right person to carry out the task. A slender man with curly red hair set off down to the road. Ten minutes later, Hana jumped as the intercom buzzed in the hall. “Action stations, Phil,” one of the younger men said to the installer.
He bounced into the house, wiping his feet on the doormat and pressed a button. Hana’s jaw dropped at the sight of Wally peering into the screen, his red hair back lit by passing cars. “Right, miss. This is what you do,” Phil said, tugging on Hana’s arm in his excitement. He pressed an icon with a face on it. “Ask who they are and what do they want?”
Hana leaned forward until her lips almost touched the speaker indents. Wally’s face pixelated in front of her eyes. “Er, who are you?” she stuttered, feeling a fool. “And what do you want?”
“It’s me, Wally,” the man replied, looking hurt. “I’m with the guys who installed your gate.”
A peal of raucous laughter issued from the porch. Phil stared at Hana in disbelief. “I didn’t mean him,” he said, smirking. “You ask other people that. We know that’s Wally, don’t we?”
“Yes.” Hana nodded and bit the inside of her mouth. Phil pointed to an icon of a key.
“Press that and Wally can come back in.” Hana pressed the button and stifled a giggle. Phil’s phone rang and he turned away to answer it. “Okay, Wally. Wait until it closes and then test the new code on the keypad.” Hana watched as the two men enjoyed a phone conversation made up entirely of half words and grunts. Thirty seconds later, the keypad buzzed again. Like a game show contestant, Hana slammed her index finger over the face icon and Phil stared at her again.
“But Wally can let himself in,” he said, looking perplexed. “He’s got the code remember?”
Hana nodded like a naughty schoolgirl and swallowed the rising fit of giggles. The camera showed her empty driveway and the sound of Wally puffing up the hill. “How long does the gate remain open?” she asked, thinking of someone attempting to follow her through.
“I’ve set it to thirty seconds,” Phil said. “But you can park on either side and close it using the remote once you’re through.” He smiled. “It’s a great system. You’ll love it.”
The men left after dark a
nd Hana watched them exit through the camera, pressing the unlock button and seeing their utes pull onto the main road one by one. She heard the click as the gate closed and the camera shuddered. Phil’s parting instruction resounded in her brain. “Don’t panic if it’s flaky in an electrical storm. Some of them can be quite magnetic and they frig a lot of stuff up. But the gate won’t open by itself, okay? Call us if you have any problems.”
“Magnetic.” Hana murmured the word to herself as she watched the darkening bush through the kitchen window. “Why does that remind me of something?” The memory evaded her, hammering a warning but not revealing the source. She realised she knew something crucial, but couldn’t dislodge the piece which made it so.
Hana heated soup she found in the pantry but wasted it, realising too late she wasn’t hungry. She felt tired and as the house settled around her, loneliness chewed at her bones. She watched Tiger as he poked around in his water bowl, trying to retrieve a feather that found its way there. Bored, she wandered into her bedroom. Stepping through the doorway, the difference in the room struck Hana. She clapped her hands at the sight of the crisp paintwork. Dressing in the early morning darkness, she failed to appreciate the prettiness of the cream walls and the cleanliness of the freshly painted ceiling. The roughness of the grey plaster walls either end of the bed offered a stark contrast. Hana sighed with contentment as she sat on the bed to remove her tights and blouse. A sense of transformation in her house and life vied with the loneliness. In comfortable clothes with thick woolly socks on her feet, she peeked into the bag of wallpaper and removed a roll. “This will look amazing,” she mused to herself, holding it up against the cream paint. “You’ve got similar taste to me, Du Rose.”
Hana found the wallpapering equipment Logan left in the garage next to the new wheelie bins. She carried it upstairs and laid it out on the floorboards of her bedroom. Then she sat down cross-legged in front of it. Her last wallpapering attempt didn’t go so well and she stroked the silken pages with anxious fingers.
Hana remembered using their pine dining table in England to paste the back of the paper, starting full of enthusiasm. She’d balanced on the table fixing soggy paper to the walls and taught three-year-old Izzie to read and write at the same time. But Vik’s criticism stung later, as his brown finger pressed on a particularly bad crease. “This looks ridiculous!” he spat, tiredness and travel making him cruel. Hana remembered her tears and the resentment she felt at his continual, neglectful absence.
She sighed. “Logan isn’t like Vik,” she said aloud. “And anyway, this is my house.”
Grabbing a tarpaulin from the garage, Hana laid it as flat as she could over the kitchen table and went back for the ladders. No small Izzie stuck wonky alphabet letters onto the tarp, but Hana measured, cut, pasted and stuck the first sheets of wallpaper in her new home. She surprised herself with how much she enjoyed it, working her way across the easiest wall first. “Paper towards the window,” she whispered, focussing on Vik’s other criticism. “Then the joins don’t cause shadows.” Hana sighed and stood back to admire her work, wondering why her late husband’s cruellest words still lingered in her heart, burying the kind moments under resentment and sadness.
She used up three of the five rolls and made it half way across the second wall when her ringing phone made her jump. Hana looked at the screen, seeing Logan’s name flashing. “Hi.” Her voice sounded breathless.
“Your gate looks great,” he said, the sound of his motorbike rumbling in the background. “Please can you let me in?”
She walked to the hall and pressed the remote on the wall, watching through the road-facing camera to make sure nobody followed him up. The view wobbled as the gate clattered closed against its metal fixings. By the time Logan’s headlight bounced up the incline, Hana had washed her hands and waited for him. The bike’s engine strained up the hill as he kept it in low gear. Hana waved from the porch and Logan pulled off his helmet and waved back. He seemed intimidating in his bike gear and his movements looked slow and careful as he put the heavy machine on its stand. His body language oozed tiredness. Logan unzipped his jacket and stuffed his gloves into the pannier. He squeezed the bike keys into his tight jeans pocket and picked up the helmet, taking the porch steps two at a time.
“Hey,” he said, breathing in her scent at the top of the stairs. “I missed you.” He sighed and held onto her.
“I’ve done something,” Hana whispered. Her smile faded. “But you might think it’s crap.”
Logan squeezed her shoulder. “Why would I think that?” He kissed her temple. “Show me.” He held her hand all the way to the bedroom where he stared around without a single word of criticism. “What an amazing job,” he said. “You’re a woman of many talents.”
“Thank goodness!” Hana gushed. “I thought you’d find all the bits I did wrong.”
“Na.” Logan shook his head. “I’m a perfectionist, but only over the things I do myself.” He looked around and sighed. “I’m told I’m a real pain to live with.”
“Who by?” Hana needed to ask but dreaded the answer.
Logan’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “My mother. She hates it.”
Hana licked her lips. “Want me to make you some food?” She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, hearing his leather jacket crinkle as she moved the sleeve.
“No, thanks. I can stay and help for a while if you want.”
“I’d love it.” Hana reached up and kissed him, gratified when he caught the back of her head and pressed her closer. His lips felt cold against hers.
Logan removed his jacket and helped with the last few sheets. “Are you okay about Friday?” he asked, handing her the brush to push out the air bubbles.
“Yeah.” Hana stared down from her position on the ladder. “Are you?”
“Course.” His brow narrowed. “I’m making sure you’ll turn up.”
Hana laughed. “Trust me,” she said, winking and copying his catch phrase. He made her squeak, brushing a sticky strand of hair away from her face and then lifting her into his arms. He lowered her to the ground but kept hold of her, looking into her eyes with such seriousness she felt her heart give a skip of fear.
“Can you put Tiger into the cattery for a couple of nights after the wedding?” he asked.
Hana looked at the old cat. He perched in the centre of her bed with all four paws beneath him. He watched their decorating activities through slitted eyes. She pulled a face. “Only if you put him in the-you-know-what.”
Displaying his sixth sense for trouble, Tiger thudded onto the wooden floor and left the room. Logan’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, maybe not.”
“Why?”
“Just a thought.” He kissed Hana’s nose and refused to discuss it. “No, don’t ask questions.” He grunted as she tickled his ribs and ran away from her. Hana followed him to the garage and pestered him as he collected the paint for the ceiling. He raised the brush in her face. “Askers don’t get,” he warned her, laughter in his eyes.
The bedroom looked stunning when at ten o’clock, Logan finished putting the last coat of paint on the ceiling. The room glowed with the exquisite colours and the house felt alive. Hana got excited about the four-poster bed with its voile swags and side tables. “What time’s it coming?” she asked for the third time and Logan smiled.
“Four o’clock on Thursday, same as last time you asked.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Hana screwed her face up and looked apologetic. “Will we have time to put it all together? It might take hours. My old bed can go into the double spare room.”
“Good idea,” Logan said, his back to her as he cleaned excess paint off his brush. He forced himself to shake off the image of the dark-skinned man on the tube train. His jaw worked as he gritted his teeth, remembering how Hana reached for the long, brown fingers in her distress and Vik ignored her. He’d stared through the train window, dabbing his bleeding lip with a tissue and leaving Hana’s needs untended. Logan balled his fist
s and fought the urge to smash the double bed into pieces with his bare hands and use it for firewood. Hana’s sigh startled him from his morbid thoughts. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You didn’t answer my question, but it doesn’t matter. When you look distracted like that, I panic inside. I imagine you’ve changed your mind.”
“Not gonna happen.” Logan hauled her sideways and crushed her into his ribs. “You over think everything, Hana. It’s part of learning to trust someone.”
“I know.” Hana rested her chin against his chest. “It’s difficult. I’ve been alone for a long time and my only forays into relationships didn’t go well.”
Logan pushed her back by her upper arms and stared at her, his grey eyes hard. “Why am I only hearing about other guys now?”
Hana snorted. “No other significant guys. Don’t go macho on me.” She rolled her eyes. “No ex fiancés anyhow.”
Logan hissed in an exaggerated breath and feigned shock. “That’s harsh, wahine. Below the belt. I need to sort you out.” He dragged her closer and jabbed his fingers into her ribs, tickling until she squealed. The play fight turned into something steamy, sparked by a stray kiss. “You need to stop teasing me,” Logan grumbled, looking uncomfortable. Hana taunted him with a seductive nip on his bottom lip. He groaned. “You’re gonna be in such trouble on Friday night.”
Hana pursed her lips. “I can’t remember what to do,” she confessed. “I might need a diagram.”
“Shut up and get the dirty brushes together,” Logan ordered, wincing against the strain of keeping his promise. “Stop talking about you-know-what.”
Hana followed him to the kitchen, waiting until he immersed his hands in the sticky water. She grabbed the hem of his tee shirt and raised it, biting the skin above his waist. The awful scar met her, filling her vision with a wound which must have half killed him once. Hana paused and resumed her teasing, dragging her lips over his ribs. Logan moaned and diffused his frustration by rubbing sticky fingers through Hana’s hair. She shrieked in dismay. “That’s mean,” she cried, pouting and feeling her wet curls. The sight of the desperation in his eyes made her sorry.
“Stop taunting me,” Logan threatened, his eyes closed. “You’re making it worse.” He peeked from beneath his lashes and caught her easy smirk. “You’re doing it on purpose!” he said, shock in his voice. He reached for the zipper of his jeans. “Wanna see what you did?”
“No!” Hana screeched and fled from the room. She locked herself in the bathroom.
“That won’t help you,” he jibed from the hallway. “There aren’t many locks I can’t pick, especially stupid ones like this.”
“Whatever!” Hana giggled from her seat on the side of the bath.
She emerged to say goodbye to Logan, their kiss charged with desire and longing as he straddled his bike. “Not much longer now,” he soothed, seeing fear settle in her eyes.
“I’ve heard it’s like riding a bike,” she replied, running a finger over the handlebars.
Logan snorted. “Sex again, Ms McIntyre? I meant until I’m here looking after you every night.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment flickered across Hana’s face and she giggled. “Why can’t you stay? Nobody will know.”
Logan shook his head. “Can’t babe, sorry. Things to do, people to see.” He winked at her and pulled his helmet over his head. Hana stepped back as the bike surged and watched him control the powerful machine. He waved at the first bend and Hana sighed, wrapping her arms around herself in the eerie darkness. She heard the revs change as he hit the steep downhill and climbed the porch to press the gate release. Red tail-lights filled the camera aperture as Logan cleared the gate and Hana watched as he turned left instead of right.
“Funny,” she said aloud, wondering why he’d drive to Huntly first. Figuring he’d take the minor arterial road east, she locked the front door and thought no more of it.
The week crawled by for Hana in a haze of disgustingly early mornings. She arrived at Angus’ unit before seven and listened to the international cricket scores on his car radio, neither awake nor interested. Some nights she worked in the office until he left at six o’clock, trying to remain grateful for the lengths he went to in taking responsibility for her transport arrangements. Logan spent the evenings with her, leaving the lounge often to take hushed phone calls which he told her not to worry about.
Wednesday’s highlight proved to be Peter North, who caused an unintentional stir. Sconned by a cricket ball to the face, he lost consciousness and threw up in front of a Year 9 class. He woke to the sound of an ambulance and blood streaming into his eyes. Dobbs fetched him from the hospital and dumped him in the student centre. “The moral of the story is this,” he shouted, not caring when Pete shoved his fingers into his hairy ear holes. “Don’t listen to your iPod whilst standing in the cricket nets, especially whilst supervising Year 9s!”
Dobbs left and Pete sank his head onto his forearms, remembering his wound at the last minute. “The ball didn’t give me a headache,” he grumbled, his bottom lip drooping. “He did. For two bloody hours he’s said the same thing over and over again.” He sighed. “Never let him take you to the emergency room. It’s not worth it.”
Hana made sympathetic noises and turned to answer the ringing phone. “Oh, hello Henrietta,” she said. Pete snatched the handset from her before she could say anything else.
“I’m hurt!” he wailed. “It’s terrible. Oh, you heard? You are? That’s wonderful.” His expression perked up and he blew a soggy kiss onto Hana’s phone before handing it back.
“Gee, thanks.” She reached into her drawer for a wet-wipe.
A knock on the door heralded a small boy with a guilty look on his face. His bottom lip wobbled and he pointed to Pete. “Mr Dobbs said you’d punish me,” he muttered and heaved in a breath. “I batted the ball which hit you in the face.”
“Oh, that.” Pete swung on his chair and waved his arm in dismissal. “It’s nothing.” The bandage across his forehead slid down over his eyes and he pushed it back up with a dirty finger.
The child edged closer. “Mr Dobbs said to expect a very long detention.” His fingers twisted in front of his striped blazer and Hana cocked her head in sympathy.
“The sort you might need to invite your wife and children to?” she asked and the child nodded.
“About that long, yeah.”
Hana looked at Pete, astonished by his good humour. She watched as he dragged a chocolate bar from his top drawer and examined it. Fluff covered the wrapper and aged the label stuck to it with tape. Hana read the words upside down and glared at him. Pete dangled the bar in his fingers, testing its floppiness. “I was saving this,” he said with reluctance. “But you can have it.” He turned and waved it at the boy who took a step backwards. “Have it,” Pete said. “To show there’s no hard feelings.”
The child took the chocolate bar and read the label. “But it says, ‘Happy birthday Hana,’” he whimpered.
“So it does,” Hana commented through gritted teeth. “But is it happy birthday last year or the year before?” Her voice sounded acerbic and the child held out the bar.
“Take it and run,” Hana suggested, glaring at Pete.
The boy fled and before she could berate Peter North, he turned to her with excitement in his eyes. “Henri’s coming home to look after me,” he said, standing and jumping on the spot. His bandage cascaded into his eyes and he walked into his swivelling chair like a blind man. He pushed the swathes of cloth from his milky eyelashes and grinned at Hana. “Do you think this is bad enough for sex?” he demanded, jabbing a spindly finger at his forehead.
Hana ignored him, her green eyes flashing. “How many, Pete?” she demanded. “How many years?”
He shrugged and refused to look her in the eyes. “A few,” he said, sounding sulky.
“Sheila’s too? And Rory’s?”
He winced and stared at the ceiling, chewing on his bottom lip. �
��I can’t remember,” he said, flaring his nostrils.
Hana snorted with disdain. “You’re disgusting, Peter North! All these years we thought nobody gave a stuff about the student centre staff. Oh, my goodness!” she exploded. “You ate the guidance counsellors’ chocolate too, didn’t you?”
“I don’t feel well,” Pete complained, a globule of blood dangling from the end of his nose. His bloodshot eyes blackened underneath as Hana watched.
“I’ve no sympathy for you,” she snapped. She pointed to the box of tissues on his desk. “Use one of those.”
Caroline’s dramatic entrance saved him from further admonishment, flouncing into the room like a leggy princess. A Year 13 boy followed her, tears in his eyes and an illegal ponytail in his hand. A bobby pin stuck to the end and revealed his attempts to keep it hidden before somebody snipped it off. Pete ignored them both and attempted to patch up his rocky relationship with Hana using small talk, whispering so Caroline couldn’t hear. “Hana, Hana, I want to tell you something funny.” He leaned closer and Hana stiffened. “Henrietta washed one of her dresses with our stuff and when she hung it on the line to dry, she discovered four of Boris’s odd socks and a tee-shirt of Logan’s sticking out of the sleeves.” He rubbed his eye and winced. “Oh, and a pair of my undies.”
Hana made gagging noises in her throat and Pete leaned closer. “Hana, Hana, I’m bleeding.”
She gasped as blood poured from Pete’s nose. “Don’t panic,” she told him. “Lean forward over your dustbin and I’ll call the nurse.” Hana grappled for the phone but changed direction to stuff a whole box of tissues under his nose.
Caroline stopped speaking and leaned sideways to watch. The Year 13 stood up in horror and then sat down again, his skinny rat’s tail wiggling in his fingers. “Do something!” Hana barked at Caroline and the blonde woman shrugged.
“Like what?”
“Like call the nurse!” Hana spat.
Something in Caroline’s eyes made her afraid. “I thought you’d be used to that by now.” Her smirk made Hana’s stomach churn and she mistook it as a reference to Vik’s death. She opened her mouth with a retort but Pete’s dead faint onto the carpet took her by surprise and knocked her flying. The Year 13 ran for help, still clutching his ponytail and Caroline turned back to her desk.
Pete woke up and stopped Hana dialling another ambulance. “It’s doppin’ dow,” he muttered through a swathe of tissues.
“Pardon?” Hana squeaked.
Pete pulled his face away to show the blood reduced to a trickle. “I ded it doppin’ dow.”
Hana rubbed his back. “It looks like it’s stopping now,” she said. The Year 13 reappeared looking green and ill.
“Nobody’s on reception and I can’t find the nurse,” he announced.
“I dink I deed dodo dome,” Pete said and smiled up at Hana. Blood speckled his teeth. “Dendietta’s dumin dome. An de dess das dink. It dooked dike a derson.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh for goodness' sake!” Caroline slapped the desk with her open hand and the student fled into the common room. “You really are a stupid bimbo, aren’t you? Logan won’t stay with someone like you, not in a million years and if you can’t stand the sight of blood, you won’t survive long around the Du Rose boys.” She gathered up her files and paper, pulling her skirt into place with a sexy wiggle. “And what the dumbass is saying is, ‘the dress was pink! And it looked like a person.’ Although who loses that much blood and still wants to talk about his fat girlfriend’s tent dresses? Losers, the lot of you.” Caroline left the room in a huff of perfume and temper.
Hana bit her lip and looked down at Pete. His face turned up towards hers like a broken puppy caught crapping on the carpet. “It’s ok,” Hana patted him on his wispy hair. “You’re not a dumbass or a loser.”
“Do ar.”
“Hey?”
“I du dunass an du de dooser.”
Hana peered at Pete as his meaning sank in. Her lips parted with indignation. “Charming! I am not a loser. Sort yourself out now!” Hana pushed his face into another box of tissues and he stepped across the room like an automaton. “Find the nurse!” Hana shouted as he walked into the doorframe. “And mind that.”
Hana slumped into her chair and put her face in her hands. An image of Henrietta’s dress fluttering in the breeze occupied her inner vision and she tried to see the funny side. Then she sat up straight, her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no!” she gasped. “What should I wear on Friday?” She ran through a list of possibilities, dismissing them all as too old, too prim, not wedding enough or just not gonna happen.
Hana panicked. She looked at her watch and then remembered her car sitting in Angus’ garage. By the time she got to it, the shops would have shut. “I can’t wear jeans to my own wedding,” she groaned, laying her head on her forearms. The idea came and went numerous times before Hana acted. In her defence, she felt she had no choice.
‘HELP ME,’ said her text to Anka’s number. No reply came and Hana let relief and sadness flood her emotions as a dirty, confusing mix. Anka had ignored all previous messages and Hana stuffed her phone into her desk and continued with her work.
“Wots wrong?” Hana’s hands shook as she read the reply twenty minutes later.
Typing and then deleting the answer over and over, Hana realised the terrible error in her haste. If Anka told Tama about the wedding, he’d enjoy leaking it to Logan’s parents. “Don’t answer,” Hana told herself, twirling her phone on the desk. It spun in a circle and vibrated again. ‘Hana? Are you ok?’
Hana swallowed, knowing in her heart Anka still cared for her. They’d been friends for years, sisters in the church, confidants in times of hardship. Hana ached for that genuine female closeness they’d shared. Against her better judgment, she picked up the phone. ‘Going to a wedding. I’m desperate for your help.’
Anka would ignore her. It wasn’t an emergency and not serious enough to patch up their friendship over. Hana shoved her phone in the drawer, not expecting a reply. She’d wear an old dress. Logan wouldn’t mind.
The message came before the final bell. ‘12 Brook Street,’ it said. ‘It’s not far. I’ll be home by the time you get there.’
Hana savoured a response she hadn’t expected. She got directions from the internet, realising Anka didn’t know she’d need to walk. It looked a few kilometres away. Her heart skipped in her chest with excitement and she reached for the phone, dialling Angus’ assistant. “Hi,” she said. “Please can you tell Angus I’m nipping out of school but I’ll be back before he leaves at six?”
“He’s in a meeting!” the woman snapped. The line went dead.
Hana exhaled in exasperation. “Horrid woman!” she grumbled. She texted Logan to tell him she needed to grab a dress for Friday, but she’d go home with Angus as usual. She caught sight of Anka’s message as she closed her phone. Her heart quickened and excitement bubbled in her chest. The slam of the office door at the same time as the final bell, made her jump and the phone skittered across the carpet.
Caroline smirked and pushed her perfect bum into her chair. The sideways glance she sent in Hana’s direction made her flesh creep. Caroline pulled a lipstick and small mirror from her handbag and leaned back. “Logan’s such a great kisser,” she said, her tone sultry. She ran the lipstick over her lips, the inference clear.
Hana turned away, refusing to doubt Logan because of a tissue of lies. Her shoulders straightened. “Ah well,” she replied, barb in her voice. “Pity you wasted your opportunity.” She snatched her phone from the carpet, ignoring the rattling sound it made. She shoved it in her bag and pulled her coat over her arm. “Waking up next to Logan Du Rose is dynamite.”
Hana slammed the door behind her and steadied her nerves before descending the thin staircase to ground level. Boys flanked her on every side and her battered phone gave up its sim card, depositing it quietly in the bottom of her handbag. Logan’s multiple frantic calls went into the
ether.