by K T Bowes
“I’m okay,” came Hana’s muffled voice. “It’s heavier than I thought. I just need to get these last few hooks in.”
Logan grunted in reply, not daring to remove his hand as the shroud shifted under his fingers with Hana’s movement. “Hurry up, babe,” he groaned. “I need to put my arm down.” His face whitened at the strain it put on his abdomen and he cursed under his breath.
“Heard that,” Hana said with a giggle. “Logan, why are you feeling my bottom?”
“I’m not.” He peered at the shroud, unable to distinguish any particular body part. “Not on purpose, anyway.”
The activity continued and Logan heard clicking from inside the fabric as Hana fastened the hooks. With more wiggling and puffing, the material moved up Hana’s back and over her head, as though she extracted herself from an extra-large pullover. She reappeared, hair on end and her clothes rucked up to her midriff. She wobbled regaining her balance and gave Logan a triumphant grin. “Ta dah!” she said and pointed at the silver swags.
Logan’s lashes swished against his eyelids and he offered a quirky smile. “You’re a twit,” he muttered. “If you fall and break a bone, we’re both screwed.”
Hana shrugged. “I’m fine. I did the bedroom ones in the middle of the night alone. These are heavier is all.” She spent the next few minutes pulling and tweaking the curtains into place. “I wanted to surprise you,” she told Logan with disappointment in her voice.
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you did that. Finding you up a ladder wearing a curtain is beyond surprising. Alarming.”
“You exaggerate.” Hana gave him a sultry look. “I did the other one by myself with no issues.” She turned away and winced, noticing the scuff mark on the floorboard where she reached too far and the ladder scooted out from under her. Hands on hips, she stood back to admire her work. “Don’t you think they look wonderful?” she demanded, her eyes shining in victory.
Logan took the neat edge of the left curtain, drawing it back and forth across the window. “It works,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Stop it!” Hana complained. “You’re mocking me.”
“No. I’m admiring.” Logan stepped back and took in the fire glowing in the hearth. The grey paint and dramatic wallpaper gave a sense of home. “You’re great at this renovation thing.” He lifted his right hand and brushed his fingers through his hair. “You’re talented.”
“Not really.” An embarrassed flush lit Hana’s cheeks and she pursed her lips. “Home is important. I need to have a place I can go where I’m safe and the surroundings are peaceful and uncluttered.”
“Me too.” Logan nodded and their eyes met. “I’ve never found that until now.”
“Never?” Hana held her breath as Logan shook his head.
“Never.”
“Do you think we’ll be okay?” she asked in a whisper. “Me and you.”
Logan nodded. “More than okay, Hana. We both want happiness and security. I’ll work hard to make it happen.”
Hana swallowed and shoved the memory of the blonde man to the back of her thoughts. “I know,” she said with a sigh. She tugged the new curtains closed over the bay window and turned. A late afternoon greyness edged across the paddock behind the house and lapped at the French doors. “I’ll do those curtains another time,” she said. “I don’t have the energy today.”
Logan followed her into the kitchen, watching as she packed the sewing machine away. He stopped her as she lifted it from the table. “Leave it up,” he said, raising his eyebrows as Hana shook her head.
“No, it’s fine. I know you hate mess. If I leave it on the table, I’ll feel pressured to make all the curtains in one go, even when I don’t have the energy.” She carried it through to the back bedroom, refusing Logan’s aid as it banged against her shins.
Making a drink later, Hana jumped as her mobile phone danced and vibrated around the counter. She picked it up and peered at the number. “I don’t know who it is.” She pushed it away from her, eyes wild in betrayal of her inner panic. Fear lurked just beneath the surface of her equilibrium as a permanent guest. It required little effort of late, to rise up and dominate her thinking. Snatching it up, she thrust the phone towards Logan. “What should we do?”
He took it and answered with a grunt. When his eyes rolled, Hana relaxed. “You threw us into a tail spin, idiot!” he snapped. “Try texting your new phone number before you ring us. Hana’s phone didn’t recognise it.” Logan pulled the phone away from his ear and handed it back to Hana. “It’s Pete,” he growled.
Hana heard Peter North’s nasal wailing without putting the speaker to her ear. She winced at the hysteria in his voice. “Where’s that thing you do? I can’t find it, I need it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“The thing! The thing! So I can pay for the drilling parts!”
A light went on in Hana’s eyes. “Oh, is George from the tech department there?” she demanded.
“What the hell’s going on?” No longer Pete’s voice, but that of the gentle teacher who’d taught woodwork for over thirty years. “This clown doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”
“What do you need?” asked Hana, avoiding the question. She heard Pete burbling something in the background, followed by George’s heavy sigh of exasperation.
“Sheila gave us approval for a bench drill at the end of last year,” he began, frustration in his voice. “I’m using it for the pre-employment classes so she said she’d pay for it. It arrived yesterday and I brought the invoice straight over. Now this idiot won’t sign for payment.” Hana heard Pete start to whine again in the background. “What am I supposed to do now? I can’t send it back and I don’t have the money in my budget.”
“Right,” replied Hana with deliberate slowness. “I remember Sheila approving it and I set money aside at the start of this year. Put Pete back on and I’ll make him sign for payment. It’ll be okay.”
George muttered his thanks and Pete returned, still grumbling.
“Shut up, Pete and listen!” Hana snapped.
The conversation took so long, her mobile phone bleeped for low battery. Her right ear hurt when she disconnected the call. “That man!” she complained to Logan. “Pete’s happy to take extra money for running the department, but he didn’t realise he needed to do any work!”
Logan laughed and gripped his stomach with a pained look on his face. “That sounds like Pete.”
Hana plugged her phone into the charger and leaned back against the counter. “He’s taken up residence in Sheila’s office because he thought it might be a quiet spot for a nap. But it’s too busy for him.”
“What’s the thing I heard him panicking about?” Logan asked, sipping coffee at the dining table.
Hana’s eyes grew round. “My budget spreadsheet. I tried to tell him how to open it and then changed my mind. One wrong click and he’ll mess it up for the rest of the year. He asked me how to turn my computer on and I knew that didn’t bode well.”
“Please don’t make me laugh again,” Logan begged, rubbing his hand across his stomach. His dressing gown parted and Hana eyed the dusting of hair disappearing into his pyjama bottoms. She lost her train of thought.
“Pardon?”
“What did you tell him to do with it?”
“Ooh don’t tempt me,” Hana bit, regretting her glib answer as Logan doubled over in pain. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, rubbing his back. “I told Pete to sign whatever they put in front of him and I’ll clear up the mess after. He wanted to know why I’m off work and I told him you’d been sick and in hospital.”
“No, no, no. Please tell me you didn’t say that?” Logan shook his head in misery and Hana baulked.
“He wanted details, but I gave none. And I asked him not to tell anyone else.” A pensive expression masked a flash of naked fear. “He said Mrs Bowman keeps asking about me.”
Logan lifted his head, suspicio
n in his eyes. “What does that mean? That sounds like more than a casual enquiry.”
“He said she stops by to ask every morning. She wants to know when I’m coming back. Today she asked for my phone number. Pete says Angus took it off the staff sheet. She’ll need to find an old sheet to get it now.”
“She asks him every day?” Logan’s eyes widened at Hana’s slight nod. “Oh, crap!” he groaned.
“I told him to tell her nothing! I pleaded with him and told him it’s crucial.”
“Geez Hana!”
“It’s okay. He agreed.”
“Yeah, but on what condition?” Logan demanded and Hana cringed. “Pete turns everything to his advantage, Hana.”
She gulped. “Nothing I can’t deal with by myself.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Just tell me, Hana. Or I’ll drive to school and bash his brains in.”
“Oh, very civilised.” Hana pouted and hardened her jaw.
“Just tell me.” Logan stood, overshadowing her with his presence.
Hana sighed and traced the outline of his left pectoral with her finger. “He’ll sign off invoices and text me. I need to log onto the school server and maintain the spreadsheet. He wants Angus to think he can cope.”
Logan shook his head. “And?”
“That’s it.” Hana squirmed.
“Liar.” Logan caressed her jaw in his strong fingers and Hana licked her lips.
“Can we go to bed now?” she whispered and Logan raised one eyebrow.
“Yes. But tell me first.”
Hana sighed. “He did one of his ugly cackles. If I don’t help him, he’ll tell Mrs Bowman you got a vasectomy.”
Logan shrugged. “Do I care? Don’t help him, Hana. He’s a twat.”
“Let me just log on and enter this one amount and then I’ll come to bed.” Hana found her laptop in the sideboard and switched it on. Logan’s strong arms encircled her as she leaned over the keyboard.
“Leave it!” he demanded, turning her body and pulling her away.
“I can’t,” she said, ducking out of reach. “I don’t want Pete spreading rumours about you.
Logan smirked. “Whatever,” he replied with nonchalance. He encircled her so she couldn’t get away. “Like at school when he told everyone at the social I caught diarrhoea? Or the time I banged my head and needed stitches and he told them surgeons removed my brain? Or maybe the vasectomy story or the full castration? One day, he’ll think of something original.”
Hana smiled with her face pressed into Logan’s dressing gown. Logan ran his hands down her spine, leaving a tingle in their wake. “You should have told him I’d break his legs if he repeated anything. He knows I mean it!”
The certainty in his claim made Hana uneasy, but she brushed it away. He led her to the bedroom and closed the door, cocooning them in the safety of each other. Hana breathed in the masculine scent of her husband and wished life could stand still for just a while. As her hands and mind explored the newness of their marriage, she sensed the tendrils of danger snaking nearer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hana woke, feeling groggy and out of sorts. The clock showed after nine and shocked her with its lateness. Logan slept next to her, drugged by painkillers and the dull, relentless agony he rarely complained about. The borrowed phone vibrated itself off the bedside table and onto the floor. Logan groaned as the sound dragged him from slumber. His right hand scrabbled on the floor, trying to reach it. A moan of agony escaped his lips and he clutched his side with white-knuckled fingers.
“Leave it, I’ll get it,” Hana sighed, dragging herself from the cosy bed and running round to retrieve it. “Hello?” she said, rubbing her eyes and hearing only the disconnect tone. “Damn, I missed them.”
“It’s a wrong number,” Logan sighed, gingerly touching his dressing. “Oh crap, this leaked through again.”
Hana sighed and sat on his side of the bed. “I’ll change it if you trust me to try.” She eyed the weeping mess and chewed her lower lip. “You don’t think those men found us, do you?”
“Not through a random phone that’s been in the bottom of a policewoman’s drawer for over a year.”
“So, you don’t think I should call the number back?”
Logan shook his head. “No, Hana. If it’s important, they’ll call again.” He yawned and lay back against the pillows.
“What if it is them?”
“It’s not.”
Hana struggled to stem her panic. She staggered first to the bathroom and then the kitchen. “It could be them,” she muttered and Logan heaved out an exaggerated sigh.
“It’s a wrong number,” he snapped through gritted teeth. “I’m going back to bed.”
Hana stood in front of the boiling kettle, watching the steam rise to the ceiling. As her eyes refocused on the bush line, she spotted a moving shape trudging down the side of the paddock. Clad from head to toe in dark clothing, it slipped and slid in the clogged soil. Hana drew back from the window in alarm. “Quick, someone’s coming. Quick!” She rushed through to the bedroom, calling to Logan. Her eyes widened in terror as she looked for somewhere to hide.
Logan shifted onto his side and then worked his way into a sitting position, “Who is it?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Hana repeated. “You go, you go, please! Don’t let him get me again.” She fled from the room and Logan heard the click of the bathroom door locking.
He dragged his dressing gown over his pyjama bottoms and padded along the hallway. He rapped his fingers on the bathroom door. “Geez Hana, you can’t do this every time someone visits!”
“I can,” she squeaked from behind the wood.
Logan shook his head and responded to the sharp knock on the front door. The visitor eyed him through wide, brown eyes. “Kia ora,” she said, grinning to display gaps in her front teeth. A woolly hat perched on her head and curly grey hair poked from beneath the tattered hem.
“Hi, kuia,” Logan said, showing respect to the elderly Māori woman. He stood aside to let her in. She bounced across the doorstep after kicking her gumboots off on the porch. She hefted a bag of winter vegetables and wore an enormous smile.
“My boy, Hone fixed up your television aerial,” she said, jerking her head towards the lounge. She indicated the dressing beneath Logan’s ribs, clicking her tongue in sympathy. “He told me youse got sick.”
Logan nodded and wrinkled his nose. His fingers pulled his dressing gown closed over his wounds as though embarrassed. The newcomer smiled in sympathy. “Don’t be worrying, tāne. I bought veggies from the market to set you up with some of my soup.” Shrugging, she padded to the kitchen in oversized socks and clattered around finding a knife and chopping board in the cupboards. Logan made an excuse and nipped to the bathroom. He knocked on the door and Hana opened it with deliberate slowness.
Her tear streaked face forced a groan from his lips and he pried the back scrubber from her fingers. “That’s no good, idiot!” he said, pulling her into his chest. “The old lady from next door came to visit,” he whispered. “She’s sweet. Get dressed while I make her a drink.”
Hana nodded and turned towards the tarnished bathroom mirror. She grabbed a swathe of toilet roll and dabbed at her tears. When she ventured to the kitchen, she found Logan sitting at the table and their visitor chopping an array of vegetables and stirring a teaspoon in the old brown teapot. She seemed able to do both at the same time. Hana swallowed and fought the hitching in her chest. “Hello. I’m Hana. This is very kind of you.”
The woman turned with a beatific smile. “Kia ora. Ko Maihi ahau,” she answered, giving her own name. She induced confidence and safety with her presence and Hana responded to the easy maternalism. “Youse both had a rotten time, I hear,” she said, adding a taro to the broth on the stove. Hana darted a dark look at Logan and he shrugged. Maihi turned back to view their stunned silence with a smirk. “I know most things, kōtiro. I have whānau all
over this town and down in Kirikiriroa.”
“Hamilton.” Logan translated the Māori name for Hana and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Impressive, kuia.”
The old lady chuckled. “I’ve a nephew with the cops and a niece who cleans at the police station on Bridge Street. They hear things and tell Aunty.” She patted her chest with work-worn fingers and winked at Logan. Hana smothered a smirk as the old woman played him like a musical instrument. He deferred to her with such respect and deference, Hana watched in fascination. She experienced a strange mix of emotions, ranging through jealousy to confusion as they dropped into fluent Māori and she understood nothing of their conversation.
“Sorry, kōtiro,” Maihi jumped to her feet and embraced Hana in a rough grip, sensing her isolation. To Hana’s surprise, she cuffed Logan round the back of the head. “Speak English boy,” she told him. “Or teach your wife Te Reo.”
Logan’s look of hurt made Hana giggle. He glared at her, resenting the female alliance taking shape before his eyes. “Cup of tea, for you.” Maihi pushed a steaming cup of green water towards Hana and she peered into it. “Kawakawa,” Maihi qualified. “Good for infection and health. If you lay the leaves over a wound, it tells what the ailment is by changing colour.”
“Does it?” Hana’s interest piqued. “It actually changes colour?”
“Yes!” Maihi’s head bobbled on her shoulders with enthusiasm. “It turns many colours, including white. It can tell youse what’s wrong.”
Hana glanced sideways at Logan and he confirmed the fact with a nod. She smiled with the pleasure of learning hidden facts about her surroundings, satisfaction pinking her high cheekbones and lighting her eyes. “That’s awesome,” she breathed, peering into the hot tea with new interest.
So Maihi slipped into their lives, found a space and made herself at home. Logan admired a skill handed through the generations and longed to possess it. His paternal grandmother honed it to perfection and he hadn’t seen the like since. As Hana sipped her tea feeling slightly bewildered, Maihi indicated the pan of boiling vegetables with a flick of her head. “Veggies,” she stated, as though Hana might not recognise them. “From the Saturday market down town. You should get all your stuff there. It’s good value. Meet your friends, have breakfast and do your veggie shopping. Perfect.” She squeezed her wrinkled face into the cutest smile and Hana grinned back.
