by Bowes, K T
“Bad girl!” chastised the Irishman. “I was de other side of da confessional for enough years to know what dat silence means.”
Hana laughed, “You have a filthy mind, Father.”
Phoenix produced an incredible burp which would have made a more uncouth audience cheer. Hana pulled a face at her daughter who returned a beatific smile in reply. “Piggy,” Hana called her. “What should I do, Father? How can I get rid of this constant feeling of being watched? I’ve stopped Logan digging around in the city underworld but we still need to find out what’s going on.”
“Why’d you stop him?” asked the priest.
Hana let out a breath of frustration. “I don’t want him getting back into that,” she said. “Logan’s let his business interests in Auckland go and I don’t want him involved with the Triads again.”
The old man nodded. “Well den, let’s ask our Holy Father in Heaven to intervene. Surely he knows de whys and wherefores of dis whole situation. He loves ye Hana and he’ll keep ye and your wee one safe.”
Hana closed her eyes and laid her head back, allowing the gentle prayers of the intercessor to wash over her. Occasionally he lapsed into Latin and it was calming and strangely reassuring even though Hana couldn’t understand a word of it. Peace took hold of her and Hana was grateful, feeling refreshed as the cares of the last weeks trickled slowly away.
An hour passed before Hana realised it. The Father had been silent for some time and she lay with her head against the pillows, enjoying the tick of the wall clock and the welcome feeling of divine weightlessness.
Chapter 6
Leaving the rest-home with Phoenix awake in the car seat, Hana drove back to the school. She parked in the visitors’ parking outside the main reception, sad about the old Mazda in her space outside the Chapel. Her job and this building were once a major part of Hana’s existence over fifteen years and life had moved on without her too easily. The place held many memories for her, good and bad. It was where she recovered from her first husband’s death nine years ago and where she made and lost some of her best friends. Time was no respecter of persons, moving along without a care for those subjected to the constant tick of the clock.
Hana walked into the reception feeling like an outsider, not helped by the receptionist who made her fill in a visitors’ form and clip a plastic name tag to the front of her jacket. “It’s health and safety,” she insisted.
“But I’ve only been gone a few months,” Hana protested. “I know everyone here.”
“Not everyone. We have some new teachers this year.” The receptionist was adamant and Hana relented.
A few of the older students remembered her and gave her that special flick of the head and eyebrow movement which indicated acceptance. It made Hana feel better as she climbed the familiar double staircase up to the first floor. In the common room, a group of Year 13s endured a study period, supervised by a teacher Hana didn’t know. An overwhelming sense of misery bit her, like the one she experienced every time she visited her former house on Achilles Rise. Hana still owned it, renting it out to a biology teacher at the school, but she kept visiting to a minimum. It seemed to make her regrets worse despite her fantastic new husband and baby.
Hana walked towards the student centre office door, acknowledging boys who either waved or nodded to her in recognition. Before she could put her hand on the doorknob, she was accosted by a student who ran from the back of the silent common room to get to her. “Miss, Miss,” he cried with excitement and the entire room observed as he flung himself at Hana, wrapping his arms tight around her neck and almost bowling her over.
The study teacher rose to his feet, concern on his face. Hana plopped the car seat on the table to peel the Korean student from around her neck. “James,” she managed through the choke hold. “How are you?”
He reluctantly let go but hopped from foot to foot in apparent ecstasy. “In the Chapel this morning, I shit my eyes and do big big, giantnormous pray for you to come!” he squealed, “And here you are!”
A few boys sniggered at the Korean student’s unfortunate English mispronunciation, but Hana ignored it, used to James and his unusual diction. “Do you still have your job at McDonald’s?” she asked.
He waved his arms around like a windmill, shouting at her in his excitement, “Nooooooo! I work at Bugger King now! Is amazing der.”
Hana smiled, remembering the agonies of helping him create a CV a year ago. He was so grateful. A few of the boys behind Hana tittered and snorted and the study teacher took a walk around the room to silence them. They ignored him. “Ooooh,” squealed James, “this is baby?” He pointed to Phoenix and the little girl eyed him with knitted brows. Most people did. “Lurvely!” he gushed, clasping his hands to his chest, not helping the less-than-masculine-impression he oozed out to the whole common room. “I hold?” he asked, pointing at Phoenix.
Hana smiled and glanced at the study teacher. “If I’m still here at interval, come back and have a cuddle with her,” she offered and he beamed, thrilled. The study teacher, fed up with the disturbance, started to walk towards them from the back of the room. Hana saw boys at the front, right under his nose, playing a game of cards instead of studying.
“Ooh,” said James, turning back towards Hana, “lady in der is very wicked! Don’t go in der. She not help me like you. She say too busy!” He jabbed his finger at the student centre door, punctuating each word. “No. Like!”
Much to the relief of the study teacher, who plainly wouldn’t know how to deal with the exuberant James, the student wandered back to his seat in the common room high-fiving several other boys on route. Hana smiled at the harried teacher with encouragement, wondering if he was newly qualified. Picking up her daughter, she opened the student centre door.
World War Three greeted her. The room looked tornado damaged, with desks strewn at jaunty angles across the room and paperwork everywhere. On the floor sat a steaming bucket of clear liquid with a dirty cloth languishing in it. It stank out the room with an acidic smell and one of the windows gleamed with extraordinary cleanliness. Hana looked at the paperwork everywhere and turned her attention accusingly to the ceiling fan. It whirred to itself but had been known to speed up and spread loose paper like a snow storm. Even that, concluded Hana, couldn’t fling desks. She looked down at Phoenix in her seat sucking her thumb. “Maybe now’s not a good time, baby,” she whispered.
“Ooooh!” Peter North, Hana’s colleague for over a decade and one of her husband’s childhood friends spotted her and ran across, burying her in his flaccid chest. “Please tell me you’re coming back?” he wailed.
Sheila, Hana’s former manager and friend also pushed in, fighting Pete for a hug. “My turn!” She slapped the top of his head and he let Hana go with a grunt of disgust. Behind the door sat Rory, Year 13 dean and Sheila’s son-in-law. He smiled and waved, looking unhappy with life.
“What are you doing?” Hana asked, suspicious of the mess. Sheila and Pete tried to talk at once, shouting over one another and pushing each other. Phoenix stopped sucking and looked like she might cry, relaxing as Hana turned her to face her mother. Rory saw the dilemma and stood up, deciding to take charge of the situation.
“Get off her, Sheila, let her breathe! Move back, come on. Would you like a coffee, Hana?”
Hana’s mouth opened in amazement, her answer halted on her pretty pink lips. All eyes turned to watch Pete dip a knobbly finger into his trouser pocket and pull out a black, plastic comb which he used to run through his sparse, fluffy hair. Transfixed, Hana stared as he parted it at the back and combed it forward in two tufty clumps. He looked different, Hana realised as she stared. Ignoring Rory, she remarked to Pete, “You’re looking rather smart.”
“Don’t mention it!” Sheila hissed, but it was too late. Hana’s brow knitted as she tried to process the word smart, in relation to Peter North, seeming like a paradox. But gone were the dirty tracksuit bottoms which only got washed in the holidays. The filthy school ja
cket with the meat pie stains and lumps of ketchup, never washed to the best of Hana’s recollection, was also noticeably absent.
The compliment caused Pete to stand up tall and push out his chest with comical pride. “Henrietta gave me a makeover,” he said, referring to his large girlfriend. “Look,” he added, “she even got me new socks to go with my shirt and trousers.”
He hooked his trouser leg over his hairy, knobbly knee to display a pair of fluro orange socks which were extraordinarily long. Hana smiled and tried to approve of his stellar effort. “Very nice, Pete.”
Pete whipped off the shiny, black patent slip-on shoe and wrenched the sock off his foot, announcing, “But they do this, look.”
Sheila and Rory groaned collectively. In between each of Pete’s spectacularly disgusting hairy toes and awful toenails, nestled a ball of orange fluff. Hana curled her lip and looked away as he plunged his foot into the bucket near his chair and washed the fluff out. Hana stared. “It stings a bit,” he said, peering into the hot water.
His hair was fascinating; Hana had never seen anyone with a rear-parting; not someone who wasn’t a clown for a living. Rory took a large swig of coffee from the mug on his desk just as Hana said. “You look like Julius Caesar.”
Rory sprayed his coffee everywhere, all down his shirt and over the paperwork on his desk. Sheila looked horrified. Pete, trying to be helpful, stood up in the bucket and took a step towards Rory, knocking water all over the floor. He then mopped at Rory’s shirt with his orange sock.
“Get off me!” Rory yelled, trying to bat him off and tipping the remains of his coffee down Pete’s new trousers.
“Ow! Hot! Hot!” Pete wailed as the coffee scalded his legs. Sheila tried to help Rory out of his burning shirt while Pete dropped his trousers with such speed, Hana wondered if they were elasticated.
The student centre door opened wide onto a scene in which the careers advisor ripped the Year 13 dean’s shirt off in a fit of unbridled passion and the so-called sports science teacher observed with his trousers round his ankles. Pete completed the scene as he jabbed frantically at his crotch, in an attempt to get the attention of a beautiful redhead carrying a baby car seat. Quite apart from the inappropriateness of the behaviour of the occupants of the room, the newcomer was appalled by Peter North’s excitement with his own groin. He grinned with glee, thrusting forward his lurid red and royal blue underwear, pointing to an enormous letter ‘S.’ “Look!” he squealed with pride, “Superman pants!”
Chapter 7
The room’s new entrant stood aghast in the doorway staring, her jaw open to display a neat row of white teeth topped by a pair of disbelieving brown eyes. Her cup of coffee tilted at a dangerous angle so that the liquid dripped steadily onto the floor. Her hand shook and her face morphed into deep disapproval tinged with dismay.
Hana clutched her car seat, the baby still facing her and gurgling over her tiny thumb. In the office behind, Pete bent double, inspecting a dubious stain in the middle of his Superman ‘S’ and sighing. With an alarming ripping sound, Sheila parted Rory from his shirt and blew frantically on his damp and overweight pectorals. They noticed the newcomer when Hana issued a faltering, “Er, hello.”
The woman nodded with curtness and pushed past Hana. She approached what used to be Hana’s desk before it was strewn across the room. With a trembling hand she laid her dripping coffee on it and surveyed the scene with a frown “What a mess,” she said to herself.
Pete slipped his trousers up as quickly as he downed them and looked at his toes wiggling on the dirty, wet carpet. “What’s in this water?” he asked.
The woman turned towards him and answered with a flare of short-temper, “Vinegar.”
Pete gave a little shriek and lifted his foot off the carpet. It was pale and knobby and the woman looked away, curling her lips back in a disgusted snarl. “It stings!” he squealed and Hana saw the woman’s shoulders tense and slump as she struggled not to bite the silly man’s head off.
“I should be off now. I have things to do.” Hana waved her head at the room, her arms busy with the baby and left. It was obvious Sheila wasn’t getting on with her replacement and the new woman was out of her depth. Hana stepped into the common room as the bell for interval sounded and James made a beeline for her and Phoenix.
The Korean boy was surprisingly good with babies, drawing gummy smiles from the little girl by doing pretend sneezes. When Phoenix smiled, she opened her whole mouth as though intending to take a bite out of something and her eyes squeezed tight shut. She hadn’t yet started laughing but Hana couldn’t wait if smiling was this cute. While James enjoyed his cuddle, Phoenix coped with the haze of gathered testosterone in the shape of the protective boarding house boys who hovered around her, fiercely possessive.
The student centre door opened with a click and the new admin assistant emerged. Hana alternately watched her baby in the arms of the Year 13 boy and ogled her husband on interval duty in the courtyard. She eyed him covertly from the floor length window in the common room, admiring his fit build and sex appeal without his knowledge.
“Excuse me,” said the woman, making Hana jump, “could we have a word?”
Hana nodded and appraised her as they stood toe to toe. She was mid-fifties but elderly looking, her hair pulled off her face and scraped into a severe bun. It was dark hair running to grey and she dressed dowdily in keeping with her brusque manner, her comfy shoes resembling those dished out in an old people’s home. She accosted Hana as though to chastise her and antennae on the nearby boys rose in defence. They formed a protective circle around her like a guard of honour and the new woman looked unnerved.
Hana bridled with irritation at the woman’s aggressive stance, but her lips parted in surprise at her question. “How did you stand it here for so long?”
Hana’s lips formed an ‘o’ of dismay. “Aren’t you enjoying it?” As the question left her tongue, Hana realised the stupidity of it. Of course she isn’t.
The other woman’s eyes filled with tears. “They’re insane, the whole room full of them. I don’t think I can stay here.” She looked desperate and her hand shook as she cast it across her eyes. Embarrassed, the teenagers drifted back to guard Phoenix from James.
“I don’t know,” Hana faltered. “I worked there for fifteen years and I don’t think it fazed me that much.” The conclusion was unflattering. “Maybe I’m as mad as the rest of them then.” Loyalty dictated Hana should defend her colleagues. Friendship made her want to. “Look, they’ll probably drive you as bonkers as they are,” she said, patting the lady on the forearm, “but guess what? They can be the most loyal, generous and awesome room full of friends if you let them.”
The woman tensed and flexed her fingers as she stood in front of Hana, seeming unsure of herself. Hana smiled. “I’ve suffered dreadful periods of isolation in my life. A few times it’s threatened to unhinge me, but I’ve never suffered loneliness in that room.” She jabbed her hand towards the office door, “Never.”
Something clicked in the woman’s face, a realisation or moment of catharsis. Her face unguarded for a second, allowed Hana to see the yawning chasm of need deep in her soul. It seemed horribly familiar, the bloody track marks of grief and rejection gouged into her soul. Hana knew them well. Sometimes she could still spot them beneath the surface when she looked in the mirror. She sighed as she smiled and told her, “It’ll be ok.”
The clanging bell signalled the end of interval and James returned Hana’s baby with reluctance. He turned away revealing a line of white barf down the back of his black-and-white striped blazer. “Thank you, Missus and baby,” he called with a wide grin.
“You might not be thanking me later when your blazer stinks,” Hana said with a smile.
“I’m Heather, by the way.” Sheila’s new off-sider offered her hand to Hana. “If you’re not rushing off, would you come into the staffroom for coffee?” She attempted a grin. “I’m sure Pete and Rory would appreciate the chance to
get dressed in peace.”
Having dispatched the troublesome bubble of wind from her tummy down James’s back, Phoenix slept in her car seat on one of the staffroom tables. The sleeping infant was undisturbed by many staff members who came to admire her, as her mother reminded herself how awful the school coffee was.
“I’m newly divorced from a cheating husband,” Heather offered. “He took everything we built together over our twenty-five-year marriage. I was his part-time secretary and he’s declared the business and himself bankrupt and put the whole thing into receivership.”
Hana tutted and reached for Heather’s writhing hands. “I’ve lost my five bedroom house on a few acres of land in the sought after Tamahere district, south of Hamilton,” she continued, sounding like a real estate agent in her veiled hurt and sarcasm. “Everything’s gone. The bespoke furniture and expensive vehicles, all sucked into the whirling frenzy of creditors.” Gone were her pride, self-confidence and self-assurance, hidden under a fragile veneer of austerity. “I’m terrified this full time role is beyond me,” she confessed. “The computer work’s too complicated and the other occupants of the office are enough to send me over the edge. But I need the money to live. I’ve lost everything and there’s no backup plan.”
Hana patted her hand feeling powerless. “No backup plan? I know how that feels.” She inhaled. “I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of adultery too.”
Heather put her head down and a great sadness descended on her once again, resting on her shoulders like a dead weight and causing her to stoop. “My husband was an elder of our church. When he fell from grace, he took a lot of people down with him. It’s destroyed the groups he was involved with. People can’t believe it. It rocks your faith.”
