by K T Bowes
Chapter 51
Logan’s face paled as the Sikh guru bound the cloth around his hands, tying his strong olive fingers to Hana’s tiny ones. He tied it too tight and the blood thudded in Hana’s fingernails. The man opened his mouth to speak and through the haze of red and gold, Hana heard her father’s voice. “You’re a disgrace to my good name, a disappointment. You’re no daughter of mine.” It echoed down the years, still inducing the same clenching of heart and spirit. Then Logan’s face morphed into Vik’s and Hana choked, knowing she needed to scramble free before they sucked her back in.
Hana sat up, sweat beading on her brow and her hands clammy. The dream reminded her of her former hopelessness, saddening her at the trampling of better memories. Vik made her happy. Eventually. She forced herself to remember the good times, Bodie’s first smile, Izzie’s first tooth, the journey to New Zealand. She smiled at the vision of their little family experiencing Russell; glad to be on the white sandy beach next to a flat green ocean.
Hana lay back against her pillows and thought of Logan. “Nothing like Vik,” she whispered. He offered protection and made her feel safe. When he touched her, the electricity seared her soul. An earth scientist and engineer, Vik represented solid husband material, clever, articulate and a great provider. His sense of realism vied with Hana’s fanciful, creative side and he viewed her impulsiveness as a challenge to his authority. Logan allied with her artistic nature, but promised to ground her when she dived off into stupidity. Hana shook her head, knowing her new marriage couldn’t work as long as she compared her new husband to her dead one.
“That’s the trouble,” Father Sinbad told her over the phone the day before. “You lost your partner before either of you were ready. Everything Vik was became immortalised in a sheen of perfection. He never had time to dull or grow old in front of you. Age and life did nothin’ to him. He remains as youthful and vibrant as the day you last saw him, despite the heavy tread of time on the stairs of life and the expansion of flesh and receding of hair in yer own world.”
Sinbad’s wisdom rang true. “Apart from the receding hair,” Hana said, snuggling down in the big bed. “Thank goodness I don’t have that.” The duvet inner felt different and she patted it, sensing it wasn’t her own. Burrowing into the covers, she found the label and gasped. Brand new and expensive, it weighed her down beneath it. Hana remembered the look on Logan’s face as Vik’s driving licence landed on the new cover, her old life soiling his attempts to help her begin again. Guilt prickled at the nape of her neck and she climbed from the bed and pulled her jeans off the back of the chair. The plastic driving licence felt hard in her hand. Vik’s thirty-seven-year-old face stared up at her and Hana chewed her lip. “Sorry, Vik,” she whispered. “But it’s time to let you go.” She winced. “It’s what you wanted after all.”
The plastic hit the side of the bathroom bin and made a dull thud as it settled. Hana cleaned her teeth and stared at herself in the mirror. She felt as though she’d crested a mountain after a long, arduous journey to the summit. Descending presented another raft of problems. Did she run down, accepting the scrapes and falls on the way, or opt for the safe path? Hana sighed, not knowing the answer.
“Hey, how did you sleep?” Logan tapped on the bathroom door and Hana dried her lips and turned towards his voice.
“It’s not locked,” she called. Logan pushed his face around the door and she smiled at him. “I’ve worked out there’s not much point.”
Logan grinned and stepped over the threshold. A white tee shirt covered his upper body and tight shorts encased his gorgeous bum. Dark hair dusted his long legs, defining the muscle in his calves and thighs. Hana folded her arms and leaned against the sink. “Good morning,” she said.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Logan edged nearer and placed his fingers either side of her waist. He bent his knees so he could look into her eyes. “How was the bed?”
“Big,” Hana replied, tilting her face upwards. “And lonely.”
Logan’s lips quirked upwards. “No regrets?” he asked, his tone tender. “If you like sleeping alone, now’s the time to say something.”
Hana bit her bottom lip. “I don’t want to sleep alone,” she replied, her eyes narrowing behind fluttering lashes. “I want company every night. Think you can manage that?”
Logan’s nostrils flared as he inhaled and swallowed. “Every night?” he said, lowering his voice. “You sure about that?”
Hana’s eyes twinkled and she nodded. “Very sure.” His fingers strayed along her sides and clasped behind her back, pulling her body close to his. Hana’s arms slid up and stroked the sides of his neck. His body felt hard and strong against hers and desire shot through her stomach. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him and Logan lifted her, clasping his hands under her thighs.
“I can’t wait,” he whispered between kisses. “You’re beautiful and I love you.”
“You promised you’d say that every day.” Hana kissed his neck and rested her cheek against his shoulder. He felt solid and safe beneath her and she pushed her fingers into the soft curls at the back of his head.
“And I have.” His biceps bulged against her ribs. Hana sat up and parted her lips with a ready contradiction. Logan silenced her with a kiss, keeping his lips against hers as he spoke. “Apart from the nine days, twelve hours, fifteen minutes and thirty four seconds when you wouldn’t speak to me.”
Hana wrinkled her nose. “Fair enough. But did you think it?”
“Course I thought it,” he scoffed, nuzzling her neck. “You just wouldn’t let me say it.”
“You need to put me down so I can get ready.” Hana wiggled her legs and Logan groaned.
“Don’t do that,” he begged, his eyes narrowing. “What will you wear?”
“Clothes, silly.” Hana slid down his body and watched the discomfort on his face. “The dress I almost died fetching from Anka.”
“Yeah, don’t say her name.” Logan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Anytime there’s big trouble in my life, there she is like a bloody bad omen.”
“She didn’t use to be.” Hana looked down at her pyjamas and spied a streak of blood. She tracked it back to Logan’s finger. “You’re bleeding again. Want me to find a clean plaster?”
“Na, I’ve got some.” He pulled the fabric from his finger and squeezed the two edges of the cut together. Blood pooled in the slit. “I’ll sort it out. You get ready.”
“I need the shower.” Hana flounced from the bathroom, wiggling her hips and looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I need a cold one now,” Logan complained. She laughed and disappeared into the bedroom and he lifted the lid of the dustbin to flick the bloodied plaster in. Vikram Singh Johal’s face stared up at him and he inhaled, before dropping the plaster over the image and replacing the lid. “You never deserved her asshole,” he said.
“You’re ready too early, idiot!” Hana groaned to herself an hour later. She put the finishing touches to her makeup and fought the good fight with her hair, pulling it into a loose bun and teasing tendrils down the side of her face. A matching green clip fell out when she upended the bag, tumbling onto the dress. “Oh, Anka,” Hana breathed, recognising a trace of her old friend’s former kindness. She slipped it into her hair, a delicate flower made from fragile cloth petals the same colour as the dress. It looked striking in Hana’s dark auburn tresses. A momentary fight with a stray and unexpected grey hair left Hana feeling annoyed and then she took a deep breath, readying herself to pull the dress on over her underwear. The task proved much harder than it did with Anka helping. The dress seemed tighter and less co-operative. “Oh, why me?” she hissed.
Her head wedged in the bodice and her arms stuck out of the sleeves. She pushed and shoved but the further in she went, the more restricted her movement became. After a few moments of undignified wriggling, Hana felt claustrophobia take hold and a rising panic built. The more she panicked, the hotter she felt and the more stuck she became. “Oh, help!” s
he wailed. “This wasn’t meant to happen!”
A knock on the door made her whip around, unable to see which direction to face. Her pale winter body and belly-hugging black knickers poked from the bottom of the dress. “Hello?” she called, sweat trickling down her spine.
“Are you okay?” Logan asked. “I’m ready early.”
“I’m fine,” Hana lied. She swallowed and backed in the assumed direction of the bed, bumping into one of the posts and tripping sideways. “Oof!” she cried as she slid to the floor, creating a dull thud as her backside hit the rug.
Before she summoned another more coherent sentence, Logan opened the door and Hana heard his long strides across the room. “No!” she wailed. “This is embarrassing. You can’t see me like this.”
“I can’t see you at all.” Logan’s voice sounded normal and without humour.
Hana felt his hand grab her wrist and yelped. “Ouch.”
“That still hurts?” Logan switched to her other arm and hauled her upright. “You need to get it checked.”
“It’s much better.” Hana stood with her arms in the air and her head buried in the green dress. Her knickers and legs stuck out the bottom. “I’m stuck,” she announced, as though Logan might not have noticed.
“And bloody gorgeous.” Logan paused and ran a finger down Hana’s thigh. She squeaked and lashed out, missing and pitching backwards. He caught her and gave a dirty laugh.
“If you’re a gentleman, you’ll say nothing right now,” Hana grumbled, feeling hopelessly compromised between the dress and the man. “I’m so embarrassed,” she gasped.
“Hold still.” Logan peered around the side of the dress and found the zipper which Hana missed. He eased it down and released her from the fabric death grip. She felt the tension go and opened her eyes.
Logan pulled at the hem of the dress, straightening it over her hips with concentration in his face. Slow and sensuous, the action felt obscene. He tugged the zipper up so the dress fit snugly, hugging Hana’s slender figure. His fingers brushed her waist and Hana held her breath. When his eyes met hers, she fancied she saw right into his soul. Tension hung in the air between them and Logan’s lips twitched. He bowed his head to kiss her and then halted himself. “What’s wrong?” Hana whispered, fearful as he pulled away.
Logan swallowed and brushed his own lips with his hand. “I don’t wanna smudge your lipstick,” he said, his pupils huge against his grey irises. “You look beautiful.”
Hana sighed and patted her mussed hair. “I did. Now I’ll have to do it again.”
“Leave it long.” Logan moved closer and fondled an escaped red curl. “I love it best this way.” He left the room, striding through the door and closing it behind him. Hana felt the electricity buzz through her and found it hard to focus on her appearance.
“Start again,” she told herself, steadying her nerves. She restyled her tumbled hair, straightening it again and coiling the ends. She left it long in deference to Logan’s request, pulling strands from the side and affixing the clip to the back of her head. With her first application of lipstick and foundation on the dress lining, she reapplied it and stroked the tights into place. Pushing her toes into high heels completed Hana’s wedding attire. She smiled at her reflection. “This is it. Too late to change your mind now.”
Hana’s mind cast back to her first wedding day, a Sikh ceremony followed by a trip to the registry office for the legalities. She remembered the sense of numbness; her only comfort the kicks in her belly from her unborn son. She’d known Logan a matter of months yet still understood him better than Vikram Singh Johal on the day he made her his wife. The early days with Bodie hid beneath a dark emotional cloud.
He conveniently appeared during a mid-course break. Hana breast-fed whilst reading Keats and Wordsworth and Vik changed nappies amidst papers covered in biological formulas and ecological reports. Bodie chucked up on English essays and science ones without prejudice and the newlyweds struggled on, regardless. Hana asked Vik during a depressed moment, “Would you have married me if I didn’t get pregnant?”
He refused to answer the question and it crushed her spirit. Hana subdued herself and tried to be a good wife, sensing he’d sacrificed his own choices for the sake of decency. This time needed to be different.
Hana found Logan sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. He peered into it as though it possessed hidden depths, his long legs stretching out beneath the table. His white shirt pressed against his muscles and his trademark tight trousers accentuated every curve. Gold cufflinks sealed the cuffs of his shirt like a tiny, glittering detail.
Hana’s heart skipped with excitement, blotting out the nervousness. She squeezed herself onto his knee in the small space between his body and the edge of the table. Her head on his shoulder felt right and Logan’s hands either side of her waist made her sigh with relief. “You look stunning,” he said. He reached for her right hand and examined the healed cut, bringing it to his lips to kiss.
Hana sat up and studied his face, looking for doubt or fear in his grey eyes. Instead, she found hope and contentment. “You look quite hot yourself,” she said with a smile. His fringe flopped into his eyes and Hana pushed it back with careful fingers, letting them stroke the scar above his cheekbone. “Are we doing this or what? I’m keen to get to the next bit.” She ran her index finger across his lips and felt his light exhale against her skin.