Chapter 17
Hana awoke to the sound of the dawn chorus. Sunrise grew later as autumn approached and six o’clock came and went before she opened her eyes, groggy from the sleeping tablets. Her head felt as though someone filled it with cotton wool and then kicked it around. On reaching the bathroom, she didn’t recognise the woman in the mirror who resembled a harpy with sticking up hair and dark circles around her eyes. “Attractive,” she muttered, scaring the cat who mewed at her and ran away.
Last night’s wine glass sat on the bedside table next to the open bottle of pills. It mocked and condemned her in the early morning sunshine. Screwing on the childproof lid and debating whether to bin them or not, Hana noticed the instructions for use on the label, ‘Take one with food. Seek medical advice in the event of overdose.’ Hana’s eyes widened. She’d disobeyed every instruction. “Hey, you lived to tell the tale,” she told herself.
Hana blundered around the bedroom and kitchen getting dressed for work and sorting out the cat. Still feeling groggy and sick, she stared in the pantry at the array of cereal boxes and closed the door choosing nothing. She set the burglar alarm in the hallway and stumbled down the stairs to the garage. The sensor picked her up as she came around the corner and the light flicked on, illuminating the bottom of the stairs. Opening the internal garage door and stepping into the darkness, she saw her damaged truck for the first time. A crack across the back bumper didn’t look too dire until Hana looked closer and noticed the dent. Jiggling the catch on her rear door proved futile as the lock fused with the impact on the chassis. She turned on the main light and contemplated searching for the scratches Logan mentioned but without a torch, it seemed a pointless exercise.
Patting the rear wing, she apologised in advance. “I’m sorry for having to use you today but I need to get to work. Please don’t drop anything important on the road.” Hana pressed the garage release on the wall and the door clanked upwards, letting in cool morning air. She fiddled with the keys in her hand and watched the widening gap as she worried the men might return. She’d be powerless if they got into the house.
A sudden flurry of movement caught her eye as a car bumped onto the driveway, its elderly suspension creaking and grinding up the slope. Panic rose in Hana’s chest and taking short, gasping breaths, she edged backwards to jam herself between the rear wall and the freezer. Her heart pounded in her breast and she froze, knowing they’d come back for her. Her terrified gaze fixed on the switch and she leapt for it, slamming her hand down hard enough to depress it first time.
The motor kicked in and the door began its slow journey towards the floor, chains rattling overhead as it stirred itself to life as though disturbed from a deep sleep. A figure appeared in the narrowing gap, ducking beneath the metal door and touching the sensor on the bottom so it stopped at half-mast.
“No!” Hana screamed, failure sending anger to mingle with the fear. “Leave me alone!” She grappled with the door handle, feeling it slip from her grasp as she remembered she’d locked it from the inside before closing it behind her. In desperation, she cast around and seized a spade hanging with other garden implements on a set of wall hooks. She yanked it free, sending a fork and a rake tumbling down at her feet. Hana gritted her teeth and wielded it like a weapon, ready to take off her attacker’s head this time.
“Bloody hell!” Logan exclaimed, raising his forearms in self-defence as he rounded the back of the vehicle and met Hana head on. Already in motion, she couldn’t stop her arms swinging the shovel and watched it cut through the air and almost decapitate Logan. He ducked in time and snatched the wooden shaft from her one-handed.
“Sorry, sorry!” Hana gasped. “I thought you were them.”
“I can see that.” Logan flipped the spade upright and leaned it against the wall, eyeing Hana with a look of disbelief. Then he gave a decisive nod. “Good choice of weapon though. It took me by surprise but I dodged it. Grab the rake next time and jab it forward. You might trip them up and the prongs can be useful.” He bent and stood the other implements upright, glancing around the garage with interest.
“Use the rake,” Hana repeated. She swallowed and put her hand over her mouth, her stomach roiling from the stress. “Use the bloody rake.”
Logan quirked his mouth up on one side. “Sorry. Too factual.” He pulled her hand away from her mouth with strong fingers and reeled her in, the movement slow and deliberate. Hana’s feet moved in short, jerky steps until her nose touched the front of Logan’s jacket. Then she turned her cheek to meet his chest and felt the shakes begin in her knees and work their way up her thighs into her lower back. She breathed through pursed lips and groaned with relief as Logan’s strong arms enfolded her, burying her head in fabric and safety
“You know they’ll come back, don’t you?” Her voice sounded small and muffled.
“Sorry, babe. I’m so sorry.” He didn’t deny her fears or reduce them to a figment of female overreaction. Instead, he held her shuddering body until she calmed. Hana breathed in his masculine scent and took massive gulps of air. Logan’s voice sounded soft and soothing, resonating through her skull from his cheek against the top of her head. “We thought you might like a ride,” he whispered. “Boris’ car’s got a flat, so we came in Pete’s old banger. There’s room if you want?” He touched his hand to her cheek. “I should have texted first. Sorry.”
His brow knitted and Hana forced her head to nod, staring up at him with gratitude. Logan kept hold of her hand but bent to retrieve her fallen handbag, passing it to her and brushing the fingers of her other hand with a light touch. “You go,” he said, jerking his head towards Pete’s battered heap on the driveway. “I’ll shut the door and duck out. Did you set your alarm?”
Hana nodded. “I did it from upstairs. It doesn’t cover the garage.”
Logan nodded. “Pity.” He smiled and stroked her cheek with a tender action. His fingers brushed her skin and settled on the back of her neck beneath her hair. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead which sent shivers down her spine and Hana held her breath. But the moment ended and Logan withdrew his hand, raising the garage door higher and then sending her under. As Hana settled in the back of Pete’s car, she watched him lower the door again and duck under at the last moment.
Hana hoped nobody wanted to discuss the previous evening’s events. She sat in the back with Logan as the car lurched in the traffic, Peter North fighting for clutch control at junctions and inclines.
“You’ve got a hole in your exhaust,” Logan commented as the rasping noise caused pedestrians to stop and stare. “Sounds like it’s at the baffle end.”
“Na.” Pete dismissed his diagnosis. “I like it. Makes me look like a boy racer. This is my ride, bro’. I love it.”
“Bloody hell, man, grow up,” Logan complained from the back as another loud grumble came from beneath his seat. “How can you be a boy racer when you’re an overweight, balding guy accompanied by a car full of teachers from the local high school?” Logan shook his head in exasperation and put two fingers to his temple in a shoot-myself-in-the-head symbol.
Pete bristled, accepting he was overweight and balding but pulling Logan up on one small error. “Hana’s not a teacher!” He wound the window down, ramped up the heavy beat on his screechy stereo and waved to a motorist in the queue next to him. “Yo, bro’, how ya doin’?” he shouted.
Logan glanced at Hana and rolled his eyes. He slumped down in his seat a little lower and masked his identity to other road users by placing his elbow on the windowsill and covering his face. Hana smiled at his antics, knowing he meant it as a distraction. She stretched out her hand and touched his face; the first time she’d initiated something physical with him. He stirred as Hana’s fingers traced the healing scar under his eye, feeling the knottiness of the line. She sighed, recognising the impossibility of a relationship, while knowing she fell deeper into something she couldn’t extract herself from without pain. She moved her hand away and glanced down at her feet to avoid hi
s perceptive gaze. “Oh no!” she groaned. “I’ve still got my slippers on.”
Hana’s white, fluffy clad feet were the least of the school’s problems and even Donald Watson allowed them to pad by without mention. At interval, Hana stared down at her feet beneath the desk and wiggled her toes. “I might wear these tomorrow,” she told Sheila. “My feet usually ache by now.”
Sheila ignored her and continued to pull staples from the notice board and toss them onto Rory’s seat.
“What’s the matter?” Hana asked and Sheila shrugged.
“Nothing.”
The final dress rehearsal for the joint production between the boys’ and girls’ schools took place during the third period. Mayhem reigned throughout the site with no one immune to the growing atmosphere of nervousness. Raw fear permeated the air, actors fled from toilet to Great Hall and back again clad in gaudy, surreal costumes. Boys wearing eyeliner and lipstick hung around in the corridors alongside girls who looked similar.
“Which Shakespeare play is this?” Hana asked a girl lounging outside the Great Hall.
The teenager fluttered false eyelashes and adjusted the dog collar tightened around her throat. “Romeo and Juliet.”
An English major, Hana looked confused. “So, which character are you?” She took in the leather jacket and skin-tight black jeans, Gothic eye makeup and fake facial tattoos.
“Juliet!” the girl replied as though insulted.
Hana nodded and beat a hasty retreat, glad she missed out on buying tickets.
Dobbs policed the site, parting couples who looked too cosy between scenes, becoming more and more agitated as the day wore on. Adding to the flagrant disregard of school rules, drama teachers contributed to the melee, leaning against walls and blocking fire exits as they waited for scene changes and actors suffering stage fright.
With the floorshow downstairs, the student centre seemed eerily silent, offering peace and solace for Hana. She completed jobs which often got neglected and dusted the shelves of the office. When her phone rang, she answered it.
“Hi, Mrs Johal, it’s Tom here. I attended the call to your neighbour’s house last night.”
“Oh, hi.” Hana regretted her lack of enthusiasm, but couldn’t muster up anything more excitable.
“Yeah,” he continued, “I’m sending someone to fingerprint your vehicle. He might be able to identify the men.”
“They didn’t both touch it.” Hana closed her eyes and thought back to the men’s behaviour. “The dark haired man might’ve prodded the underside but the other one didn’t.”
“Ah well.” The police officer sounded defeatist. “It’s a long shot but my new boss feels it’s important enough to try.”
Hana lost her hard won sense of peace and agreed she’d be home by five, remembering too late that she needed Pete to give her a ride.
Wandering through the staffroom in her fluffy slippers she looked for Pete, realising he’d been absent all day. She spotted him laid across two chairs on the deck outside the staffroom, fast asleep and snoring. A line of curious faces watched through the common room window as the remaining Year 13s came in for their study class. Hana noticed a line of spit balls lying around him on the deck, still glistening in the sunshine. Some other class had used him for target practice.
Hana negotiated the obstacle course of tables and chairs, tripping over a pair of feet sticking out from under a table. “Sorry!” she cried, struggling to right herself before she hit the floor.
Boris rose like a monster from the deep, his hair on end and his eyes bleary. “What, what?” he shouted.
Hana rubbed her elbow and studied him with concern. “Are you ill?”
Boris snorted and wiped dribble from his chin, pushing himself off the carpet. Upright, he wavered on the spot like a blade of grass before noticing the clock. He uttered a loud expletive and collected a bag from next to him on the floor. “I’m late for ze class!” He staggered away, weaving himself across the staffroom like a drunk.
Wondering if she should wake North, Hana decided against it. His head lolled over the side of the seat and a long glob of spit formed a track from his open mouth to the floor. Drops of saliva travelled down it, making it look like an invisible escalator.
Rain began outside and knowing her slippers wouldn’t cut it on a journey over to the English department, Hana phoned Logan in his classroom to see what time they planned to leave work. The phone in the English department office rang for a while until answered by the grumpy Bob Green. “He disappeared off before lunch and hasn’t come back yet. Angus said not to worry, but Angus doesn’t have to take Du Rose’s classes as well as his own, does he? No, it’s me who’s forced to do two people’s work, isn’t it?”
“Okay, thanks. I just wanted to know when he planned to leave tonight. He’s giving me a ride home.”
“I’ll tell you what I told that other woman,” Bob ranted. “I don’t know where the hell he’s gone and if I wanted to be a messenger service, I’d get a job in a call centre.”
“What other woman?” Hana asked, regretting the question the second it emerged from her lips.
“The one who keeps ringing!” Bob snapped. “His girlfriend.” He ended the call and Hana dropped the phone as though it was contaminated.
The call left her rattled and Hana distracted herself with work, not allowing herself the luxury of searching for an explanation. A curious numbness sank into her soul and she beat herself up for almost making a fool of herself. When Logan appeared looking wasted with his hair sticking up around his head like a halo, Hana avoided any physical contact and treated him like any other colleague. He looked confused but picked up her obvious signals and didn’t press her for answers. North staggered into the office with a spit ball on his forehead, slumping into his chair and resting his head on the table. He and Logan shared the barest of grunts.
“The cops rang me.” Hana kept her tone clipped. “What time are you leaving, Pete?”
North got to his feet. “Now. Let’s go now.”
“You can’t! You’re already in trouble.” Logan pressed him back into the chair where he closed his eyes and dozed off. He turned to Hana. “One of us will drive you home. What did your son say about it?”
Hana chewed her lip and tried not to look guilty. “I didn’t speak to him,” she admitted, fending off Logan’s surprise with irritation. “He’s a busy man. I can’t involve him with every little problem I run into.”
“Okay, okay.” Logan held his hands out in front of him and backed away. “I’m teaching now. We’ll talk later.” His lips twitched as though he wanted to kiss her but he suppressed any desire to follow through and left the room. North woke up for long enough to stumble out of the office and disappear, maybe to a teaching engagement but then again perhaps not.
Towards the end of lunch, the school readied itself for the performance of a lifetime. ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ chez a group of spotty, hormonal teenagers, many of whom had transitioned from acting to real romance. That was the trouble with single sex schools. It resembled the diet fanatic avoiding chocolate. Should the unfortunate dieter get locked in a chocolate factory, there existed the potential for a never-to-be-forgotten binge session. The next day would bring forgotten promises and broken hearts.
Despite being four hours north, Bodie still had many colleagues and friends in Hamilton and unlimited access to a huge and all-encompassing computer database. He rang Hana mid-afternoon, his tone irritated. “How come I have to hear it from someone else, Mum?” he whined.
Hana sighed. “You sounded busy and I didn’t want to bother you.” She apologised and asked after his date. Demanding answers of a man trained in interrogation techniques proved fruitless; she learned nothing apart from the woman’s rank and that she worked with him. Something about his tone told her it was casual and she’d be best not pressing further.
The conversation turned back to her recent one-woman crime wave. “Logan thinks it’s something to do with scratches
under the truck.”
“What scratches?” Bodie demanded. “Who’s Logan?”
Hana fudged the question, not wanting to admit to her monster crush on a colleague.
Coming to no useful conclusion about the attacks, Bodie rang off and promised to visit on his next shift rotation. Hana clutched the phone and wondered how to escape work, early, barefoot, without being spotted by Donald Watson and without a vehicle.