by Bowes, K T
“How could you, kōtiro?” Leslie ran down the hotel steps as Hana clambered from the car with Wiri and Phoenix tumbling out behind her. “How could you tell him?”
“He got it out of me!” Hana insisted, heaving Mac’s car seat onto the gravel. “Have you ever tried to keep a secret from Logan Du Rose?”
“He keeps enough from you!” Leslie retorted and Hana felt the sting of truth.
“I didn’t come here to fight,” Hana said, lifting the handle of the seat into the crook of her right arm. “I wanted to talk to Will.”
“Your damn husband wants it gone!” Leslie threw her arms in the air. “What will my Alfie do now?”
“Go to the doctor like normal people.” Hana felt her energy ebb away. “Take pills, go to clinics, get proper help.”
“I can’t believe you did this.” Leslie’s breasts wobbled in her dress, clanking together like bowling balls and Wiri sniggered and pointed at them.
“Kuia Leslie, your boobies are dancing,” he chortled and Phoenix put her hand over her mouth and giggled; not understanding but joining in anyway.
“Stand here!” Hana ordered, her tone offering no chance of disagreement or rebellion. “Behave and stop being rude.”
Wiri lowered his eyes and reached for Phoe’s hand, his lips curved upwards in a resistant smirk. Phoenix’s eyes twinkled and she bit her lip in recognition of some shared joke which was beyond her comprehension, but not her enjoyment.
“Leave them with me!” Leslie demanded but Hana shook her head.
“We’re not staying. I need to collect something and then we’re leaving.” She glared at the protesting children and they silenced, picking up on her taut nerves and fraying patience. “I’m here to see Will and then I need to find my brother before he leaves.”
“Tell that husband of yours it’s none of his business!” Leslie shouted after Hana and she nodded but didn’t look back, grateful the children were too young to understand the dispute. Logan left the house before dawn and hadn’t spoken to Hana, but Leslie’s reaction told her exactly what he’d done.
“Nice one, Logan,” she breathed through clenched teeth, chiding herself as two sets of eyes looked up at her with enquiry.
“What did Pa do?” Wiri demanded and Hana shook her head, losing the energy to correct his noun usage.
“Nothing.”
In the museum the children fought over Will’s knees, desperate to sit on his severed legs and ride the chair. Their selfish enjoyment dismissed the adult qualms of squeamishness or distaste. Will was Will and his thick biceps whipped the chair into noisy spins on the polished floorboards and break neck rides down the ramp. Such was childish simplicity and juvenile egotistical desires. They loved Will; they coveted the wheelchair more than sugar.
“You can both fit!” he bellowed, silencing the sniped roots of bickering. “One on each stump. Hop up.”
Wiri sprang up first, all selfishness forgotten as he hauled Phoenix up by her slender, delicate wrist. They clung together, bodies tensed in excitement as the old man pushed the chair towards the furthest corner and then spun it on one wheel. Hana stared at her baby son and saw his eyes alight with feverish giggles, wanting to join in but afraid. “I love you,” she mouthed to him, squatting in front of the car seat and smiling with her eyes. He responded, rosebud lips moving in words of his own response, but no sound emerged. Mac’s arms and legs flapped like tiny windmill sails as he expressed his pleasure in Hana’s attention and she enjoyed a connection in which sound took no part. The delight in his eyes at the sight of her face in his vision and his appreciation of her comforting arms seemed reward enough in the cold light of day. “My perfect boy,” Hana crooned, stroking the delicate alabaster cheek and receiving his smiles with gratitude.
“Cookie time!” Will sang, wheeling towards his work room behind the museum. He skidded in the doorway and the tyres squeaked on the boards, accompanying the children’s howls of pleasure.
“Come on Macky.” Hana hoisted the car seat back onto her arm and followed the giggling group through the doorway.
Will doled out chocolate cookies to the children, warning them not to touch anything with their sticky fingers. “Use the sink at the end,” he stressed, eyeing the precious family artifacts spread around them.
“I’ve lost my cotton gloves,” Hana confessed, propping Mac’s car seat on the counter and watching as he pressed the cookie between his pink lips.
“I didn’t want youse to have that diary.” Will spoke with honesty, reaching into a low drawer and yanking white gloves from a rustling packet. Wiri craned his neck to see and Phoenix followed suit, like vultures. “Nothing for noseys!” the old man rebuked them and as one, they resumed cookie eating, sucking the succulent chocolate chips out whole.
“Caroline’s pregnant.” Hana eyed the children and mouthed the words to her friend, watching his reaction of distaste. He exacerbated her discomfort by raising his finger at her.
“I told youse to say something last year!” he hissed. “Youse coulda stopped that.”
“Oh, gosh.” Hana put her hands over her face. “How could I? If she’s in Christchurch with Kane then she’s leaving my husband alone. Why would I risk that?”
“Because she’s now pregnant to her half-brother,” Will hissed. “It’s not just immoral, it’s illegal.”
“Only on the say-so of an old woman’s diaries. It’s not proven.”
Will cocked his head as though he thought Hana thick. “DNA proves stuff like that, Hana. All the damn time. That’s a right can of worms about to blow up in our faces.”
“Not mine!” Hana held her hands out, palms facing Will. “It’s nothing to do with me.”
“What did Logan say?” Will delivered another round of cookies to prolong the silence and spirit of cooperation. “You did tell him?”
“He doesn’t want to know.” Hana’s voice sounded leaden. “I tried.”
“Then just leave it.” Will rolled forwards and patted her knee. Mac wiggled his legs and beamed when his booties ruffled Will’s sideburns. “Just leave it.”
“I feel buried in other people’s problems at the moment.” Hana watched Phoenix take a bite out of Wiri’s cookie whilst keeping hers in her tight little fingers. “Phoe! Eat your own.”
“It’s okay.” Wiri beamed at his partner in crime and Mac gummed his own half-cookie and grinned, green eyes narrowed in silent conspiracy.
“Whose problems?” Will pushed a finger in the packet and then pulled it out empty. He patted his stomach and pulled a face. “I don’t wanna be one of those old people spewing over the sides of their chair like bread dough.”
Hana nodded and gave a wistful smile. “Good on you. I admire your willpower.”
Will bent to retrieve a crumb from Mac’s cardigan and popped it into the baby’s mouth. He sighed as the child pushed it back out again and gave him a look of disgust. “Whose problems, Hana?”
“This thing with she-who-I-can’t-mention, the small boy who’s taken up residence with us, my brother who’s done an amazing about-face and is now staying in New Zealand on the advice of strangers he met here.” She drew her hand across her eyes. “Want me to go on?”
“Ryan’s great here. You shouldn’t worry about him.” Will patted her knee and slapped her fingers as they worried at a loose thread in a seam on the cotton gloves. “Tama’s happy in the fire service. What else is there?” His eyes strayed to her tiny son and back again. It was a momentary tell and Hana huffed out a sigh.
“He can’t hear. I suppose you guessed too and didn’t think to say anything either.”
“I was working up to it,” Will confessed. “It’s a hard thing to say to someone but I would’ve.”
“Logan knew. I’ve carried it for months thinking he’d freak out and he was doing the same.” Hana sighed. “Why is my life a permanent mess?”
“Because you look outside your own wee bubble and spread your care to others, that’s why. Look at me and my boy. Because of
you, we’ve got a home and jobs instead of worrying about surviving and waiting for the bailiffs. You’re burdened for others, Hana and there’s only a problem with that when it weighs youse down so.”
Hana nodded. “Alfred’s been growing weed on the roof of the hotel. It’s a nightmare and now Logan knows.”
“Why’s it a nightmare?” Will asked. “Isn’t it Alfie’s problem?”
“Yeah. But knowing about it made me complicit. It’s Logan’s hotel and a police raid would be disastrous. Leslie keeps asking to look after the children but I’m nervous when she takes them to the flat. I find myself checking she won’t leave them with Alfred while she nips out. I don’t want to offend them but can’t trust them either; these children are my responsibility. Alfred promised he’d stopped driving and then he drove my brother around the mountain on a tiki-tour to goodness knows where. It’s been a dreadful strain and telling Logan felt like a relief. Now they’re mad as hornets at me. I don’t know what Logan’s said, but it won’t be good.”
“Jack smoked weed.” The bristles moved under Will’s hand as he stroked his gnarled face. She closed her eyes against the recurring image of Jacob Darcy Du Rose holding a pistol in her newborn’s face. “It makes yer paranoid. Mebbe that was his problem.” Will’s brows knitted at the agony on Hana’s face and he touched her hand. “What else, kōtiro? What hurts?”
“I can’t get his face out of my head.” Hana felt her chest hitch and clung to the fringes of sanity like a skydiver sans parachute. “It won’t go away. Logan remodeled the ensuite bathroom after I shot the wall out but I can’t use it. I can’t sleep in our bedroom because of the smell of blood and fear, but I know it’s in my head. I think I’m going crazy.”
“Crazy?” Wiri’s mouth dropped into a fearful ‘o’ and the biscuit crumbled in his fingers. “You’re not allowed to go crazy.” His grey eyes filled with tears.
Hana gulped at the realisation he’d listened to every word like a dry sponge soaking in knowledge and assessing threat. Her hands shook as she rubbed a finger beneath her lower lip. “It’s just an expression, Wiri,” she said. “It means nothing.”
“My real mum’s crazy.” Tears welled in the child’s eyes and Hana recognised an older man’s words. She heard the intonation and felt the secondhand misery of Asher’s spite repeated from the childish, rosebud lips.
“No, she isn’t.” She dismissed the fact with more surety than it deserved. “She’s in hospital and doesn’t feel well. But she isn’t crazy, sweetheart. Mummy will be back home before you know it.”
“But I live with Phoe now.” Wiri’s eyes locked on Hana’s in challenge and she quailed under the fierceness of his gaze. “So it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Get on with yer cookie,” Will told him, jerking his head at Phoenix whose lips strayed towards the ragged end of Wiri’s biscuit. He rustled the packet and held out another. “One more each.”
Distracted, the children stuffed remnants into their mouths and took another, busying themselves in juvenile pleasures. Mac waggled his fingers and grunted, receiving another half which occupied him instantly. Will turned his chair towards Hana. “That’s one problem less, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Her brow crinkled in confusion.
“Kid’s all yours, girly. The decision’s made.”
Hana sighed and watched the small boy feed her daughter his cookie and felt the weight of one small problem fall away. Will spoke the truth; Wiri would travel to Hamilton as her son and she would allow him past the last barrier into her close-knit family. “I’ll ask Nev for his birth certificate so I can register him in a school.”
“Best get him to sign a release form too.”
“A what?”
“Certificate of guardianship,” Will said. He reached out and touched Hana’s trembling fingers. “I’m proud of you, kōtiro. The creator broke the mold after he crafted you; ‘cause there sure as hell ain’t no more like ya on this earth.”
Chapter 20
One More Problem
“I’m hungry, Ma. Please can you feed me?” Wiri skipped along next to Hana as she poked her head through doors looking for Mark.
“Feed me too?” Phoenix begged, grizzling at the imagined threat of being forgotten.
“You just ate biscuits in the museum. You can’t be hungry.” Hana withdrew from the dining room doorway as a waitress emerged carrying used crockery.
“Nonie Leslie will feed us,” Wiri asserted, craning his neck to see into the industrial kitchen opposite. “She still likes me and Phoe. Just not you.”
“Not you.” Phoenix shook her head with exaggerated sadness and patted Hana’s thigh. “It be all right. I feed you.”
Hana exhaled in a snuff as Mac rubbed his eyes and whimpered in his car seat, a muted, nonsensical sound which indicated extreme tiredness and dissatisfaction with his sitting position. “Fine! Go in the family dining room.” Hana pushed the heavy door open and the children piled through. They dived for the oak dining table, dragging up the ancient chairs and clambering astride them. Phoenix’s face barely reached high enough to see over the vast expanse of scarred wood. Hana released Mac from his restrictive straps and hoisted him onto her hip. Digging in a drawer she retrieved a feeder cup and approached the archway into the kitchen with care, eager to avoid a collision with the busy waitresses.
“I’ll just grab milk,” she told the large man at the sink, his arms buried to the elbows in sudsy water.
“Yes, missus Du Rose,” he replied, turning an innocent face in her direction. A long tongue pushed from between his lips in concentration and the characteristic almond shaped eyes betrayed the Downs syndrome which gifted him an extra chromosome. “Nearly done with breakfast.”
“Thanks, babe.” Hana gave him a beautiful smile and filled the feeder cup with full fat milk. Mac watched her action with intensity and swung his legs in excitement as his mother pushed the cup into the microwave.
Hana searched the chiller cabinet for left overs and slung together sandwiches one handed. The bacon strips refused to lie flat and the slabs of cheese stuck up like ramps until she rammed the second slice of bread over the top. The microwave dinged and Hana retrieved the cup, swapping it for the plate of sandwiches which she slapped a plastic cover over. “Let’s get you sitting down,” she told her son, keeping the cup at arm’s length even though he lurched for it and made sucking noises with his lips. Mac slid into the high chair and waved his arms like a windmill as Hana fixed the straps to keep him there. He lurched for the cup as she drew it nearer and she shook her head, getting eye contact with him and touching her fingers to her lips. “Thank you,” she said and pulled her fingers away.
Mac ignored her, pitching back and forth in the chair and making it grind against the floorboards. Hana sat the cup away from him, aware of the other children’s interest as she took his tiny hand and used the fingers to touch his lips. “Thank you,” she repeated and saw a flash of recognition in the green eyes. His lips moved and his wrist relaxed, allowing Hana to perform the designated words of sign language. He huffed and puffed as she let go, snatching the cup with eagerness and snorting milk in tiny droplets as he rooted for the tip with his lips.
“Please watch Macky for me, guys?” Hana asked. “And I’ll fetch your morning tea.”
“Yes, Ma.” Wiri slid from his chair and stood next to the baby, ready to bang him on the back if he choked. Hana gave the boy a smile of gratitude and contemplated life without Wiri’s sensible head in it. She realised as she retrieved the sandwiches from the microwave and grabbed two small plates, the thought made her miserable. It wasn’t her intention to steal another woman’s child; it just happened that way.
The children tucked into warm milk and bacon and melted cheese sandwiches with enthusiasm while Hana watched her baby boy suck the dregs from the cup. His eyelids drooped from the soporific effect of the warm milk and his head wobbled on his neck. He jerked awake as the cup bounced against the table top and then drifted away. H
ana released him from his bonds, wiped his creamy mouth and cradled him into her body. She snuggled him tight and reached for her phone, texting her errant brother.
‘I’m at the main house in the family dining room. Are you coming to say goodbye?’
The lack of reply spoke louder than any message. Five minutes out of a disastrous relationship with Hana’s former friend and he’d entangled himself again. She sighed and watched the view beyond the leaded squares of blown glass as guests moved around in the front car park, arriving with excited anticipation and leaving with a sense of sadness.
“I’m still hungry.” Wiri’s voice spoke into the silence, shocking Hana back to reality. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and Phoenix looked hopeful, picking the last crumbs from her plate.
“You can’t be.” Hana patted Mac’s back as he slept. “You’ve had cookies and sandwiches and warm milk. Wait for lunch now.”
“Mmmnnn, lunch,” Phoenix repeated and Hana sighed and wondered when the endless round of food provision would end. Even in his late twenties, her eldest son still treated her home like a free larder so perhaps the answer was never.
“Uncle Mark’s holding hands with a man.” Wiri watched through the sash window, his eyes narrowed in curiosity.
“No, he’ll be shaking hands,” Hana corrected him. She peered through the sash window but other tourists blocked her view of the car park as they dragged suitcases across the gravel. “That’s what grown-ups do when they say hello or goodbye.”
“Like this?” Wiri seized Phoenix’s skinny wrist and pumped her tiny hand. She grumbled with annoyance.
“No! Gently, gently,” Hana chided. “Get Uncle Logan to teach you later.”
“Like this?” Wiri clasped Phoenix’s sticky hand with more care and Hana nodded her approval.
“Much better. Logan’s good at it; he’ll show you.” Her lips quirked at the memory of how Logan’s hand always ended up on top in the handshake, a deliberate action of superiority.
Hana listened to the footsteps issuing down the long corridor and waited. Mark pushed his tufty fringe around the heavy door and grinned at the room’s occupants. “Glad I caught you,” he intoned, his voice deep and comforting. “Any tea going?”
