Du Rose Family Ties

by Bowes, K T

  Hana shuddered and put her hands over her ears. “Don’t make excuses!” she hissed. “You weren’t there!” She removed her hands and screamed at Logan, thumping her fists on his chest. “You weren’t there! I swaddled my newborn son in towels and put cotton balls in his ears and then I discharged a shot gun through a wall to protect us.” Tears of fury pricked at the corners of her eyes, enraging her further. “I’m not the only one still paying for it, Logan! I’m not the only one!”

  She left him standing next to the quad, a look of pure confusion on his angular face. Hana heard him shout her name but couldn’t look back, couldn’t go back, wishing she could turn time back, though. She took a shortcut through a bush walk and another paddock, knowing Logan couldn’t follow on the quad. “He hides his identity as your grandfather for forty years and then tries to kill your son and wife.” She punched the air with her fists in temper, feeling sweat gather in the small of her back and under her arms. “You just keep making excuses for him, Logan Du Rose. But don’t expect me to worship at the feet of yet another bloody twisted Du Rose male!”

  Hana found her in-laws and her babies in the apartment on the top floor of the hotel. Leslie knitted a round beanie hat while Alfred made a pom-pom by poking wool through a cardboard donut. His pink tongue poked from between his gums. Hana knocked and walked through the open doorway, looking around for her children. Leslie put a finger up to her lips. “Macky’s in the bean bag.” She jerked her head towards the sleeping child at her side. “Phoe and Wiri fell asleep in the guest room after we came up here.”

  “Damn!” Hana groaned. “I promised to take Caleb some food and check on him. I’m such a drop-kick!” She turned back to the door.

  “Dude’s all good,” Alfred wheezed. “I took him muffins and hot coffee. Says he feels much better and I sat with him while he ate. He’s stopped the pills what caused it so he’s lookin’ perky now and the doc gave him a jab up the ass so he’s not keen to repeat that experience.”

  Hana felt her bottom lip wobble and begged her body not to let her down. Failure crowded in on her for leaving her own children and forgetting Caleb. Leslie’s voice broke into her private self-bashing. “Sit down, kōtiro. I can see youse brain whirring. Ya didn’t abandon yer babies; youse left them with us. And that Caleb isn’t your responsibility to be worrying over. I told that big husband of yours that too when he came in throwing his weight around.”

  Hana rolled her eyes. “He came to find me and we had a fight. He let Sacha go and I didn’t want him to.” Hana winced. “She listens to me.”

  “Does she help much?” Alfred joked and earned himself a glare of rebuke from Leslie. “Well, wahine! You ladies talk too much about nothing and it gets ya nowhere. I just wondered if the beast gave better advice than the men in this place.” He snatched up his craft like a guilty puppy going back to its bone instead of chewing the skirting board. “I’ll just make this here bobble then, will I?”

  Hana’s eyes strayed from Alfred to Leslie. “Don’t fall out because of me. It’s my mess and I’ll fix it.”

  “He should’ve told ya,” Leslie remarked, turning her knitting to begin another row, her wooden needles clacking together in the silence. “Lincoln Haines drags trouble wherever he goes. He married that nice doctor lady and got mixed up in a messy affair. The woman died and he went to jail for killing her. Logan never believed he did it and paid for a flash lawyer, even though he’d just arrived home from England. The judge told the jury to find him guilty of manslaughter and then locked him up. Never expected Logan to bring him here though. Not after what happened.” Leslie contorted her face into a grimace to stop her continuing and Alfred raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “Shut up now, wahine,” he murmured and Leslie knitted her brow and acknowledged his rebuke with a short nod.

  “It’s fine.” Hana settled into an armchair opposite and studied the rise and fall of her son’s chest as he slept, his cheeks flaming pink from the teeth which pressed through his tender gums and made him grumpy. “I’ve just enjoyed a lecture about how it wasn’t Jack’s fault; he was suffering from dementia or some out-of-body experience which caused him to cut Mac’s umbilical cord and then point a pistol in his face.” Hana swallowed. She’d said his name and the earth hadn’t cracked open, but the yawning void of misery still remained in her heart.

  Leslie tutted but Alfred put down his cardboard circle, shoving his thumb in the centre hole like the ring of Saturn orbiting a gnarled, arthritic joint with a trail of blue wool hanging loose. “We think it likely, kōtiro. Old men suffer brain farts sometimes.” His smile was wistful. “He lost his way and did a bad thing.”

  “A bad thing.” Hana rolled her eyes at the understatement.

  Alfred raised his hand. “I do know, girly. I was there remember and I seen your face, sweetheart. Covered in blood from the birth and exhausted as I’ve ever seen anyone look. I don’t think I’ll forget the haunted expression in your eyes, Hana. I’ll take it to my grave and that’s even after the kaumatua prayed a karakia for me to rid me of the taste of terror. You nearly blew my bloody head off when I looked in that door but I couldn’t have blamed ya. It went down as one of the worst days of my life and I’ve endured some terrible ones in my time.” Alfred dipped his head and Hana felt her chest swell with tears she couldn’t allow to fall. Ten months after Jack’s death she knew if she let anything out, it’d bring everything else with it and she wouldn’t be able to stop.

  Chapter 17

  Flick

  Logan arrived home long after Hana put the children to bed. She read them a story and tucked them into their covers like sausage rolls. They giggled and fought the process, but routine won through and they slept within minutes of the lights clicking off. Mark arrived home and then went out again after a shower and a mysterious dousing in aftershave. Hana caught him at the front door, detaining him as he slid his feet into expensive loafers. “Mark, where are you going?”

  “Just out.” His face coloured and Hana’s heart sank.

  “You’ve met a woman, haven’t you?”

  Mark shrugged and pursed his lips. “Don’t worry about me, Hana. I won’t get caught up in something lurid again; I’m not stupid.”

  “No, you’re on the rebound and vulnerable.” Hana put her hands on her hips and observed him. “When will you be home?”

  “Not sure.” He planted a kiss on the side of Hana’s head and avoided her eyes. “I’m due back at the hospital tomorrow so I’ll probably head off around lunchtime.”

  “I’ve hardly seen you.” She knew her voice betrayed her sadness. “I’m sorry if that’s my fault. I seem to be acquiring children all over the place at the moment.”

  “Don’t apologise, Hana.” Mark’s strong arms enfolded her and he rested his chin on the top of her head. “It’s been great staying here. I love how you let me do my own thing and leave me to my devices. You haven’t hassled me for answers and I’m grateful.”

  “Can I bug you for answers now?” Hana lifted her face, green eyes boring into Mark’s identical irises. He grinned.

  “It’s possible that I’ll stay in New Zealand a while longer. I haven’t met a woman so don’t worry. I’ve met a bunch of excellent bedfellows.”

  Hana’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth in horror. “It must be Tama’s damn bed! Last year he ended up as the pornographic addition to a hens’ night at the hotel. It’s the bed. I’ll burn the mattress.”

  “It’s not the bed.” Mark laughed. “There’s a conference at the hotel for surgical registrars and I met a few of them at dinner the other night. They’re a decent group of surgeons. Some of them are from Auckland General Hospital. They’ve altered my perspective on a few things and convinced me to stay.” He kissed Hana’s forehead. “So, I’ll stay. Tonight’s their last night so we’re meeting for a drink in the hotel bar. It may go on a while. I might grab a room down there so I don’t have to navigate the skinny driveway in an inebriated state or wake you all with my rowdy singing.”


  Hana narrowed her eyes and watched her brother bluff his way through the excuses. Then she popped his well-crafted balloon. “Right, Casanova. Be good. And if you can’t be good, be careful.”

  “Trust me, I’m quite safe. The ladies are married and not my type.” Mark gave her a wink and left, closing the front door behind him with a click. As she stood watching through the leaded lights alongside the front door, Hana saw Mark’s brake lights flicker as he pulled to the side of the driveway. Logan’s ute rumbled past and the headlights flashed in thanks. Hana turned from the lobby and padded to the kitchen, keen to avoid another argument with her husband.

  “I’m sorry.” Logan’s instant apology sounded crestfallen and his words genuine. Hana wondered if Alfred had ripped him a new one after their conversation. “Dad ripped me a new asshole,” he conceded and Hana hid her smirk in the front of his shirt as he gathered her into him. “He said I should explain. So, aside from everything else, I feel I need to help Linc just like you want to rescue Caleb. They’re both broken, Hana. Linc’s innocent and he served jail time for something he didn’t do. He won’t hurt you, babe; I need you to trust me on that. He was Jack’s apprentice before all the bad stuff happened so he knows the business.” He lifted her chin with his finger and she smelled the scent of hay and horse. “Wait here.” He kissed the end of her nose and Hana’s brow crinkled as she watched him dash into the hallway in his socks.

  When he returned, she let out a gasp of pleasure and he smiled. “Thought that might make amends.” He held the precious diary aloft as Hana reached for it, bouncing on the balls of her feet in eagerness. “But it comes with conditions!” he stressed. “You do not go poking into old crimes, rumours or mysteries. You do not search for dead bodies, uncover problems which might come back to bite me or discuss anything you read in here with anyone else but me. My feisty old grandmother’s words stay inside this book. Got it?”

  Hana’s head nodded with renewed vigor, her eyes alight and filled with excitement. “I promise!” She reached for the diary, gratified as Logan’s arm lowered enough for her to seize the leather binding.

  “Will said it’s fragile and you need to wear gloves at all times.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. “He also said he’s not interested in an old wahine’s ramblings and he doesn’t want to hear them.”

  Hana’s head nodded, her attention already on the treasured book. “I thought you threw them away.” She glanced up at Logan. “You said you’d destroy them.”

  “If they cause any more strife, I will.” His look of determination made her want to hide the addictive tome behind her back.

  “Thank you,” she said instead, wrapping an arm around Logan’s neck and forcing his head down for a kiss. “It will take my mind off things.”

  “Hmmmn!” He looked dubious, figuring his grandmother’s diary entries had caused nothing but trouble so far. “I know you’re struggling,” he said, grey eyes staring into Hana’s. She swallowed and nodded.

  “I am.”

  “Do you wanna talk to someone?” Logan asked and Hana knew it cost him to offer counselling. The Du Rose men neither admitted weakness nor accepted help for any.

  Hana shook her head. “No, thanks. Going to Hamilton for a while might help me shake off the nightmare and the book will give me another focus.” She smiled, order restored on the outside and buried within. “I promise to read it and behave.”

  “Okay.” Logan leaned in for a kiss and wrinkled his nose at the smell of his shirt. “I’ll take this off and then hunt up some dinner.”

  “It’s in the oven.” Hana laid the book on a clean counter with care and watched as Logan attacked his buttons and let the shirt slide down his arms. He stripped the white tee shirt over his head and she chewed her bottom lip and checked him out through narrowed eyes. His muscles bulged, decorated by scar tissue and tattoos and she sighed, craving the feel of his skin under her fingers. She took a step forward as he spoke, watching him undo his belt and slip his jeans down, taking his socks with them and piling the dirty clothes by the laundry door. His boxer shorts clung to his neat bum and Hana almost missed what he said as he turned to the sink and ran the tap.

  “What?” She stared at Logan with surprise in her face, sure she’d misheard. “He what?” she repeated, attempting to keep her tone bland.

  “Flick’s got a girlfriend,” Logan repeated, washing his hands under hot running water and lathering soap onto his wrists. “It’ll be good not to have dirty hands for a while,” he mused. “Teaching’s cleaner than farming.” He reached for the towel and dried his fingers.

  A peculiar emotion flitted across Hana’s heart and with horror, she recognised the snakelike tendrils of jealousy. “Who is she?” Her eyes studied her husband’s hands as they moved in slow, deliberate movements under the towel.

  “Pardon?” He glanced up, his face blank.

  “The girlfriend. What’s her name?”

  Logan shrugged. “What does it matter? You’ll never get to meet her. He rang Alfred and seemed real keen for me to know, so now I’ve told you too.”

  Irritation blossomed in Hana’s chest, knotting up her lungs until it became difficult to breathe. “I’m just asking!” she snapped. “Sorry for taking an interest.”

  Logan laid the towel on the bench and turned, resting his bum against the dishwasher. A flash of darkness crossed his eyes and Hana sensed the gathering storm, but chose to ignore it. “What’s the problem, wahine?” He folded his arms and settled his gaze on Hana’s reddening face.

  “There’s no problem.” She punctuated the rebuke with a sigh and raked a damp cloth across the table. The breadcrumbs from Mac’s dinner stuck to the fabric and frustration built like a tornado in her head. Bobby’s new life seemed attractive and fresh compared to hers. A spiteful slither of regret felt like a shard of glass in her brain. The stockman sat on her bed in the months before Mac’s birth and offered Hana an escape route during the most awful moments of her marriage. He made no secret of his adoration. Despite believing the very worst of her husband, Hana refused, a decision which almost cost her life and Mac’s.

  “There clearly is a problem.” Logan contradicted her, uncrossing his ankles and staring at Hana with an intensity which caused her heart to flutter.

  “No. There. Isn’t.” She gritted her teeth and spewed out the answer, chastising herself for the foolish reaction. Bobby loved her from afar but she didn’t love him. She loved Logan, despite the acid stare he fixed on her face from across the room. The cloth shook in her hand and the crumbs tumbled back out onto the scarred wood. Hana chased them again, swiping the damp fabric over tiny teeth marks in the edge of the table. All four of her babies had used the table to teethe, champing down on the wood seeking to quench the pain of aching gums. Hana traced the newest mark with her fingertip, wondering if Mac did it at lunchtime when she turned away for a second. She remembered his sorry little face, cheeks pink as he cried a sad, pitiful wail. The teething cream she reached for left a minty jelly on his gums but her words of comfort went unacknowledged. Hana’s finger froze over the dent and she swallowed, Logan’s grey eyes burning a hole in her temple.

  “Talk to me, Hana.” His voice sounded calm, but she sensed the underlying tension, biting back a retort which would send him sky rocketing into anger and dismay. “Do you love Flick? Is that what this is?”

  Logan’s question floored her, removing her ability to find a coherent answer. She shook her head, surprise etched on her face.

  “He told me.” Logan’s jaw tensed, the bone showing through his cheek as a sharp line. His hands balled into fists at his side. “At the airport. He told me I didn’t deserve you and if I ever gave him cause, he’d come back and take you away.” Logan’s nostrils flared like one of his horses and Hana’s body stilled in shock.

  “I didn’t realise how he felt.” Hana’s voice sounded tinny and wavered as she struggled to finish her explanation. “I never encouraged him. When we all thought you were sleeping with Sylvia, he
offered to take me away but when he defended me and Macky against Jack, I knew for sure he was serious.”

  “Do you wish you’d gone with him?” Logan asked. “Do you still want to?” His eyes flashed storm water grey and his complexion paled to a deathly hue.

  Hana’s jaw dropped and she pushed her finger along the tiny teeth marks, remembering Mac’s huge green eyes imploring her for help as he gnawed on his hand. A fire lit her from inside and she detonated like a bomb at Logan’s question. “Really?” She heaved in a breath and repeated the word, loading it with scorn. “Really? You think that’s my biggest problem right now?” Hana balled the cloth into her hand and flung it across the room where it missed the sink, scattering crumbs over the floor tiles before landing over them with a plop. She felt a lump push up from her stomach into her chest as anger possessed her brain and mouth in one fluid movement. Hana grasped the plastic bowl Mac ate from in one hand, her fingers still sympathising with his pain through the grooves in the table.

  She threw it like a Frisbee, enjoying the satisfying smack it made against the side of the Belfast sink. It lifted her spirits enough to make her want more and her fingers alighted on her own plate, not plastic but crockery. Hana gritted her teeth and sent it after the bowl, hearing it smash against the cupboard and then shatter on the tiles. Exhaling in a rush from the influx of adrenaline, she sought the momentary distraction like a drug and fixed her fingers around the tea mug on the table.

  “Hana!” Logan’s shout broke through the mist and she resisted the authority in his voice, hurling the mug towards the wall and watching a tea stain dribble down the paintwork as the mug smashed. Her mug. Her favourite mug with the cheerful strawberries on its delicate sides. The roar of anger escaped without control and Hana let go, releasing all her anxiety and distress as she snatched up the other crockery on the table and pelted the wall with it.

  Logan seized her wrist as she ran around the table in search of more of the same rush, yanking her backwards until her spine hit his chest and his arms formed a cage around her. “Stop!” he told her, his tone commanding. Hana swore and struggled, reaching for the fruit bowl in the centre of the table and imagining the noise it would make against the tiles. And the mess. The mess made the pain hurt less for a fraction of a second. “Geez, Hana!” Logan pleaded, pinning her upper arms tighter to her sides, working his hands forwards and clasping her harder around the chest. Hana screamed and kicked, no longer sure where the tantrum began or ended in the runaway expression of her misery.