Chapter 40
Hana woke with a clanger of a headache. It took an age for her to wake enough to regain reasonable control of her arms and legs. Sitting proved difficult, the lower half of her body mummified in a sheet. Her left wrist throbbed and her right hand stung beneath heavy bandages. Hana tried to bend her knees and couldn’t. “Oh, help!” she squeaked. “I’m not dead. There’s been a mistake.”
Nobody came. Her bursting bladder needed urgent consideration and rolling onto her left side, Hana worked up enough traction to tip herself off the bed and onto her knees. Once there, she discovered an enormous white, old-fashioned nightdress shrouding her. Hana stuck her bottom in the air and straightened her back, feeling the tendons and ligaments complain against the stretch. She groaned and rested her forehead on her hands.
“Help! Help!” The screech behind her made Hana jump and the nightdress gave a hearty rip on the side seam. Henrietta sounded hysterical and refused to believe Hana didn’t collapse.
“What’s the time?” Hana groaned as Henrietta tried to stuff her back into bed. “Where am I?”
“You’re at Pete’s house,” Henrietta assured her. “All safe. It’s eleven in the morning.”
“Eleven!” Hana tried to stand, the nightdress hampering her efforts. “On Monday? I need to go to work!”
Henrietta held her down until Hana gave in, begging to visit the bathroom. The younger woman dogged her footsteps and waited outside until she’d finished. “I need to go home,” Hana said, holding onto the wall and attempting to find her way back to the bedroom.
“No, absolutely not.” Henrietta remained steadfast and Hana wandered around the bedroom looking for her clothes. “Tiger’s alone and defenceless,” she complained. “My house isn’t locked and I can’t be here.”
Henrietta tried to buy her off with a cup of tea, which proved pointless. Neither Hana’s painful wrist nor her cut hand could support the mug of hot liquid and she gave up. “I’m not staying,” Hana maintained. “I’m going home. I’ll get a taxi. Where are my bloody clothes?”
Henrietta sighed and patted Hana’s forearm. “Work is fine. Angus knows what happened and where you are. Your house is locked and my Peteepoos and Logan slept there last night. The police have access for fingerprinting and they also took your clothes. Boris kept vigil over me and you.” She smiled like the princess from Shrek.
“But Tiger.” Hana stood and the mug tipped sideways, spilling brown tea onto the table. “I’m sorry.” She put her hand up to her head and winced at the egg on the back of her skull. “How the hell did I do that?”
“Tiger’s here.” Henrietta waved towards the ranch slider. “Logan fetched him in his jacket. Darn cat ripped it to shreds.” She sighed. “I only let him out for an hour and he brought back eleven dead mice.”
“Logan?” The fog descended over Hana’s brain. “Why?”
“No, the cat.” Henrietta stared at her. “You don’t look well, Hana. Why don’t you have another sleep?”
The cat stalked towards Hana when Henrietta poked him and after his rude awakening, prowled the perimeter of the room. He finished by winding himself around Hana’s legs, perplexed by the enormity of the nightdress. He amused himself by chasing threads dangling from the lacy hem until he tied himself in a knot. When Hana freed him, he strutted to a chair and settled down for another snooze.
Hana laid her forehead on her arms, remembering at the last minute to avoid her throbbing wrist and cut hand. Henrietta clucked with concern. “The doctor wants to speak to you. They’ve checked the x-ray again and think they’ve found a small break in your hand. I can take you back to repeat the x-ray this afternoon.”
“No thanks.” Hana sighed into her sleeves. “It doesn’t feel broken. I’m not being poked and prodded again.”
“Go back to bed for a while.” Henrietta cajoled and persuaded but to no avail.
“Logan’s bed? Where he slept with Caroline? No thanks.” Hana stood, having decided. “I’m going home, although how I’ll pack with no hands, I have no idea.”
“What’s left to do?” Henrietta asked and Hana groaned.
“The intruders wrecked everything at Achilles Rise and Culver’s Cottage has no curtains and the place needs a damn good clean. I just need to get on with it.”
Henrietta’s brow narrowed. “I don’t know anything about someone called Caroline, but I only arrived last night.” She sighed. “Why can’t men be faithful?”
“Not just men.” Hana stood and pushed the chair in.
Tiger joined the conspiracy to keep her there as Hana stood and walked towards the hallway. He wound around her legs and knotted up the nightdress beneath her. “I’m still going,” she muttered to herself. In the bathroom, she plied her tousled hair with water and mousse she found in the cupboard. Then she strip washed with a plastic bag over her stitches. “I need clothes,” she complained, yanking off the bag.
“Oh, my life!” Henrietta exclaimed as Hana emerged from the bathroom with blood running up her arm.
“Oh man!” Hana wailed.
Henrietta patched up the damage with a new bandage and Hana began again. “Have you seen my clothes, please?”
“The cops didn’t want your underwear,” Henrietta whispered as though they’d bugged the house. “So I washed it for you.”
“Thank you.” Hana’s sense of relief felt disproportionate to the small act of kindness, but it gave her one less thing to stress over. She retrieved her knickers and bra from an airer in the conservatory, nestled much too close to a pair of grubby Y-fronts, which she assumed were Pete’s best.
“You can get dressed but you still need to stay here,” Henrietta informed Hana as she stood in the bedroom in her undies.
“I can’t,” Hana insisted. “It’s not appropriate.”
“Logan said you weren’t to leave!” Henrietta argued and Hana rolled her eyes.
“I’m not doing anything he says,” she scoffed.
Henrietta looked scandalised. “The police officer who visited last night said he rescued you!” She bristled on his behalf.
“He did,” Hana agreed. “But if I hadn’t just slammed the door in his face, I might’ve been more careful before opening it a second time.” She gritted her teeth and stuck her chin in the air, refusing to allow him any credit. “I’ll get a taxi,” she said, her tone stiff. Henrietta beat a hasty retreat and Hana sat on the bed, realising she had no purse or house keys. “Why me?” she groaned, lying on her side and pushing her sad face into Logan’s pillow. His scent intoxicated her and emotional misery added to the physical ailments.
She lay for a while drowning in her own misery before galvanising the last of her energy. She opened cupboards and drawers looking for something to borrow. With a pang of guilt tainted by wistfulness, Logan’s musky scent drifted up from the clothing and assaulted Hana’s nostrils, filling her with regret. She held a tee shirt to her nose and missed him with a physical ache in her chest. The tee shirt bore the slogan, “Love is overrated” on the front and Hana slipped it over her bra, deciding it summed up how she felt. Finding a pair of Logan’s track pants, Hana pushed her feet into them, folding the waistband over until she looked eight months pregnant. Her hand bled more and she stamped her foot at the unfairness.
Hana raided shelves in the compulsively tidy wardrobe and found the jumper Logan wore when he tried to dump her in the common room. For reasons known only to her subconscious, Hana slipped it on over the tee shirt. She borrowed socks and moved around, trying to put the room straight. The constant moving of her hand caused even more blood to leak through the bandage and she groaned at discovering drops on the nightdress. She folded it to take home and wash. The sheets she left, knowing she couldn’t get them off without more bloodshed. As the bedroom clock ticked over onto the two, Hana tried to move faster, finding her trainers but struggling with the laces.
“I’m not taking you home and I won’t lend you the phone to call a taxi,” Henrietta declared. She made
Hana sit at the kitchen table while she changed the dressing on her hand yet again, using an archaic but well-stocked first aid kit. She jerked her head towards the wound. “Grit your teeth. I’ll pull this off and start at the beginning. There’s only one bandage left. I’ll see if a plaster will work.”
“I can’t stay here,” Hana whined. “I don’t want to see Logan!”
Henrietta shrugged. “Well, he wants to see you. I think you owe him that.”
Hana sighed in frustration, but before she could answer, gravel crunched on the driveway and a car engine cut. Her heart leapt from calm to panic and she yanked her hand away from Henrietta before she finished with the plaster strip. The scissors Henrietta used to cut the gauze flipped across the table and landed on the parquet floor with a ting. Hana fled. She knew her behaviour looked ridiculous as she acted out the bizarre scene, searching for somewhere safe to hide.
“It’s only me,” Boris stated, creeping into the lounge with Henrietta clinging to his arm. He coaxed the sobbing Hana out from behind the curtains. “Zer is nussing to fear.”
“You can’t go home,” Henrietta stated, shaking her head as though Hana’s weird behaviour confirmed it. Boris nodded in agreement, sitting next to Hana on the sofa with his arm around her shoulders and a concerned look on his face.
“Nein,” he said. “You vill be a…how you say…mit den nerven völlig am ende. Not happy all over ze place.” He hugged her, patting her on the top of her head in the misguided belief he’d found the only place that didn’t hurt on Hana’s body. He glanced at Henrietta and raised his eyebrows.
“Look Hana, all that effort, getting dressed and sorting yourself out, it’s exhausted you. Here, Logan picked up a prescription for more pain killers this morning.” Henrietta produced a bottle of tablets and shook out two into her open hand. “Take these and have a lie down. Your neck looks painful.” She faltered, stuck for further adjectives and Boris finished for her,
“It looks zer bad. Go back to ze bedroom and rest. I vill take you home if you vish later.”
He waited until she swallowed the pills with the water Henrietta handed her. Then he hauled her to her feet and led her back to Logan’s room. Hana lay on the bed and sensed the fog return. Fighting a growing fatigue, she knew she’d been tricked as she floundered and then drowned in the nothingness.
A worried Boris and Henrietta settled themselves in the kitchen and Boris pointed to the black and white cat sneaking along the hallway like a burglar. “Vy he bring dis?” he asked, raising his arms in question.
“He thought it might help,” Henrietta replied, her eyes sad. “He said she loves it.”
“Was ist das pill?” Boris held his hand out, finger and thumb pressed together as though holding a tablet. Henrietta blanched.
“One of the anti-depressants the doctor gave me after Mum died. I doubled the dose.” She lifted her hand at the horror on Boris’ face. “They’re quite safe. I took two heaps of times and they made me tired. She needs to sleep right now, at least until Logan gets here. He’ll know what to do.”
Boris waggled his eyebrows in disapproval. The damage done, it seemed pointless to argue. Tiger found his mistress and sprung up onto the bed with her. He burrowed beneath the covers and made a nest behind her knees. Next time she needed him he wouldn’t be chasing birds two streets away.
Hana dreamed Bodie whispered with Logan above her head. Anka appeared as a fairy and told her they could be friends again because Tama changed back into a frog. The fat cat weighed heavily against the backs of her knees and Hana dreamed she took part in a three-legged mothers’ race on sports day but couldn’t stay upright. The sight of Izzie’s disappointed tears made her cry out in her sleep. A cool hand smoothed her brow and Hana reached for it, groaning as her wrist jarred. Hot sunshine beat down on an ice cream in her right hand and it melted up her arm and into the crook of her elbow. “Take it, Vik,” she insisted. “It’s for you.” She heard him sigh and the cool hand disappeared from her forehead. “That’s right,” she slurred. “Just go. You always leave. Everyone leaves me.”
She woke feeling wrung out, her brain addled and confused. The sticky plaster on her right hand showed blood instead of ice cream. An eerie half-light toned the room in shades of grey; the day disappeared from under her. Stretching out an aching hand to investigate the waist high paralysis revealed the snoring cat sprawled across her bottom half. Her legs felt bloodless and leaden. Hana prodded him and he sat up to lick himself clean after his nap, sniffing at the bloodied bandage with a disgusted look on his face. Hana persuaded her body to respond to her urgent signals for moving. “I need to leave, useless cat. Why can’t you help me?” Tiger opened his mouth and gave a wide yawn which showed all his teeth.
The open door allowed a half-light to filter through from a lamp in the hallway. Hearing voices, Hana stirred herself and sat up. It felt easier than before to lever herself off the bed and pad to the hall. She fought the urge to escape through the front door and start walking home. Leaning against the wall at intervals, Hana moved along the hallway with surprising stealth. The kitchen door stood open and she forced her feet forwards, emerging into the bright room to the sound of awkward silence.
Nine people had squashed themselves around the large kitchen table. Nine expressions of concern turned towards her. Logan, Pete, Boris and Henrietta faced her as she leaned against the doorway and a police officer and his female counterpart sat opposite them. Angus sat with his back to her, but turned as she entered. The other two proved a complete surprise.
“Mum.” Her son rose and walked towards her. He still wore his police issue shirt and slacks, but covered them with a jacket. Hana sank into his arms, all pretence at bravado wasted.
“Bodie,” she whispered into the front of his jacket. She clung to the fabric to prevent the others seeing her grateful tears. “I’m sorry you got pulled into this nightmare.”
“Hey, Hana.” Her son-in-law waited his turn, the clerical collar around his neck glowing a peculiar white in the dim light. “Izzie and baby Elizabeth say hi.” His voice sounded soft and reassuring but he looked tired, his blonde hair tousled and his parting confused about where it should be. “Izzie’s furious,” he added. “I wouldn’t let her come.”
“There’s nowhere for her to stay,” Bodie added, frowning at Marcus. He thumped his arm. “Besides, she ruins our best mate time with her complaining.”
“Why is everyone here?” Hana demanded, sounding ungrateful. “Did I miss my own funeral?” She noticed Logan look down at the table as she spat her bile and shame took a hold, making her squirm with discomfort.
“It’s a council of war,” Henrietta said. “I’ll make more tea.” She rose from the chair and flicked the switch on the kettle.
Hana sighed. “I’ll be fine when I get home. Or I can move up to the other house and just rough it for a week.” She glanced across at Angus. “I can’t expect the biology teacher to move his family into Achilles Rise now. I’ll sell it and cut my losses.”
“Sit down.” Bodie pulled up another chair and Hana lowered herself into it, every nerve ending in her spine screaming for relief. “Look at these photos, please.” He pushed a folder filled with photographs in front of her and Hana reached out to fumble the first page. Bodie swore. “Geez, you’re bleeding, Mum.”
“It’s dry.” Hana peered at the disgusting plaster. “But it explains my dream.”
“What dream?” He stood over her and waited for her to explain.
Hana shook her head, dismissing the foggy images. “I dreamed of your dad.” She looked down at the blood and sighed, wanting to tell him the truth; his father didn’t help her, not this time or the last.
“I’ve got more here too.” Policewoman Shelley pushed an iPad towards her and Hana avoided her eye. It rankled that the cop didn’t remember breaking her heart eight years ago, but perhaps she’d buried the awful experience somewhere deep along with all the other horrors of her job.
Bodie tapped the fol
der with an impatient finger. “Mum, we need to find these guys.”
Hana heard the undertone which dictated urgency and blocked out thoughts of Vik and a whole other, safe life. While Henrietta brewed tea in an old yellow teapot, Hana trawled through the faces of men who’d trodden the line between societal good and bad and fallen off. The man with Asian features didn’t appear, but her sharp intake of breath told everyone she’d seen the blonde. Hana experienced a wave of nausea at his nonchalant image and her fingers fluttered against her lips to dispel the remembered kiss. In the photo, he wore his hair longer and looked clean-shaven. “This man,” Hana said, her voice wavering. Her pupils dilated in a fear reaction. She saw Logan’s fingers move towards her in her peripheral vision and then he stilled them, knowing she needed comfort but unable to deliver. “He pulled out a knife and the blade popped from the handle. He held it up to my throat and said he’d kill me.” Hana gulped as her bandaged hand touched her jawline, feeling the tiny nick from the sharp point.
“It’s okay, Hana. We took your statement last night. You don’t have to go over it again for our benefit, but if you remember something else, please ring my direct number.” Without looking up, Shelley made copious notes in her pocketbook and pushed a business card across the table to Hana.
“I’ve already got one,” Hana said. She wanted to add, “But when I ring, you never call back.” She refrained, the effort of speaking making her throat even sorer.
The male officer stepped outside, making an excuse as he went through the ranch slider. “Bad reception in here,” he said, but Hana suspected he wanted privacy. She slurped her tea with difficulty, made even harder by her audience who watched. The policeman’s return broke the tension, letting a great waft of cold air in and the cat out. Shelley gathered up her belongings to leave.
“You’ve both identified the same offender,” she said. “We’ll get him. Have a good night and Mrs Johal, sleep here. There are alternative places we can put you, but here is better for now.”
They walked into the night with clinking belts and chirping radios. Moments later, the shrill sound of a siren in the distance took the pair to another call. Hana sneaked a look at Logan over her mug. He sat with a glass of water in front of him, avoiding eye contact with her. His eyes flickered at the sight of her in his clothes but other than that, he kept his head down. With practiced ease he banished the look of lingering pain as though it never existed. Plasters covered the knuckles of Logan’s left hand, a blue bruise spreading along the middle finger. Hana remembered the doctor asking about his injuries the night before and shame flushed through her body, accompanied by guilt.
Around midnight, Bodie, Marcus and Boris set off for Achilles Rise. Hana protested. “I want to go home,” she complained, emboldened by the idea of escaping Logan’s brooding silence.
“Nope.” Bodie turned his back on her, which only infuriated her more. She followed him onto the porch.
“You don’t understand!” Hana hissed, petulance in her voice. “Please don’t leave me here with him.”
Her wide eyes alarmed him. “Why?” His body stiffened. “What did he do?”
“He dumped me for someone else. Please don’t humiliate me by forcing me to stay here.” Hana glanced back at the front door, seeing Logan leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. His expression looked blank.
“Your safety’s more important right now.” Bodie wore his cop’s head and emotion didn’t feature. “It’s for one night. Better to be with him than the guys who attacked you. And anyway, if it weren’t for him, you’d be in a worse mess.” Bodie raised his eyebrows at the role reversal between mother and son. “Behave, Mum.”
Powerlessness enveloped Hana as the vehicles pulled off the drive. “They tipped out all my packing,” she insisted, hearing her plaintive repetition.
“I know, Hana.” Angus put his arm around her and crushed her into his side. “The official work story is that you’re ill. The police want no unnecessary interest in you at the moment. They intend to catch these men.”
“They always go on TV and ask the public for help,” Hana grumbled. “But they don’t care about what happens to me. That police lady always gives me her card and never answers her phone.” Hana felt herself stray into maudlin territory. “She doesn’t even remember telling me my husband mashed himself on a sixteen wheeler like a hood ornament.” Humour didn’t lessen the pain and with understanding, Angus squeezed her harder.
“I’m so sorry, Hana,” he breathed into her hair. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have interfered and forced you to change things.”
Angus left, Henrietta padded off to her guest room and Pete retired to his dreadful pigsty at the other end of the house. Hana intercepted pointed looks between the couple and figured Henrietta was the driving force behind any purity vow. After the drugs and the monumental sleep, Hana didn’t feel tired and hung around the kitchen alone. Logan appeared and washed up the cups, the tense atmosphere growing in density until it became a choking hazard.
A frantic scratching on the glass of the ranch slider caused them both to jump. Hana launched into panic mode and hid behind the sofa while Logan peered through the windows and saw nothing. He swore at the sight of two amber eyes staring through the glass near the bottom. Two padded feet beat an impatient tattoo. Logan opened the door but Hana shouted too late. “He’s got a mouse!”
Tiger swaggered in, strutting his stuff like a feline prince. Logan spotted the wiggling tail dangling from his mouth and swore again as he chased him around the room. “Bloody hell! Where’s he getting them from?”
“Just tell him he’s a good boy and send him back out,” Hana pleaded. She crouched behind the sofa, her body curled into a tight ball. Tiger hunted her out and spat the mouse on the floor in front of her, upset by her lack of enthusiasm. The mouse made a dash for it and the cat followed, both bounding along the hall and disappearing into the darkness.
“Did he go left or right?” Logan hissed as he reached the hall door. “I can’t see him.”
“Left,” Hana answered. “Where does that go?”
Logan winced and amusement crossed his face. “Henrietta’s room.” He snorted and lifted a finger, calling for silence while he listened. “I can’t hear anything. Maybe he lost it.”
“He never loses them.” Hana sighed and tried to run her hand over her eyes, groaning as the stitches in her palm passed over the bridge of her nose. Logan watched her in silence, his grey eyes mirroring her awkwardness.
“Oh well, Henrietta may have a little surprise in her bedroom tomorrow, but it won’t be Pete!” Logan’s laugh sounded hollow as he sat on the sofa.
Hana grabbed a piece of kitchen roll and mopped at the dried blood on her arm. It scratched and scraped but achieved nothing. She tore off another piece and tried to wet it first, soaking the bandage and wrist strap on her other hand. In temper, she snatched off the strap and flexed her wrist. The pain felt sickening, but the bones didn’t grind.
“The doctor rang this morning,” Logan said. He stood and fetched Henrietta’s first aid kit from a cupboard over the microwave. “Someone else looked at the x-ray and found a small break. He’s asked you to go back and he’ll set it in a cast.”
“No.” Hana shook her head. “I don’t want a cast. It doesn’t feel broken.” She flexed it again and the offending bone sent a twinge of pain as far as her shoulder.
“Liar.” Logan thumped the kit on the table and pulled out a chair for her. “Let’s get the other hand cleaned up.”
Hana sat down and Logan took the wrist strap to an ancient radiator. He laid it over the hot metal with care. He undid the bandage and peered at the neat, black stitches, the ends sticking upwards like shocked polecats. The moment felt uncomfortable and intimate, their faces close as Logan leaned over to wipe away the blood with an antiseptic wipe.
Hana snatched another and tore the sachet open with her teeth. She closed her eyes against the pain in her wrist as she dabbed at her lips
.
“Hana, don’t.” Logan clasped her fingers and confiscated the wipe. “Don’t do that, babe.”
She clenched her teeth, feeling the ache in her throat as misery sent tingles through her jaw and she fought to suppress tears. “He kissed me,” she said, her tone wooden. “I can’t make it go away.”
Logan closed his eyes, his jaw showing as a hard outline against his cheek. When he opened them, the grey irises sparkled and danced like grit. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t come back soon enough.”
Hana forced her back to straighten and fixed her face into a blank mask. “It’s fine,” she said, her tone clipped. “Thank you for coming back at all.” She looked expectantly at her slashed palm as though telling him to finish the task or let go.
Logan shook his head. He pushed the fingers of his bruised left hand into her hair and massaged her temple. His thumb caressed her cheek before stroking her lips. He leaned forward and his kiss stole the damage of the blonde man, replacing what he meant for harm with something sweet and pleasurable. Hana leaned in, hungry for more until her misfiring brain righted itself and reminded her of Caroline. She pulled away, shaking her head. “I’m not a cheat,” she stated, her eyes narrowing to slits in accusation.
“Nor am I.” Logan left his denial hanging, dragging her hand in front of him. He worked with his tongue trapped between his teeth as he concentrated on repairing the damage, producing a half-decent covering for the stitches. Hana held her breath against the lure of his musky scent, mentally blocking the feelings for him which still plagued her. Glancing up at the muted hoot of a morepork in the darkness outside, she noticed pillows stacked on the sofa and a sleeping bag laid next to them. She felt a wave of guilt.
“I can sleep on the sofa,” she said, her tone prim.
“I’m fine.” Logan sounded tired, dumping the reel of tape and scissors back into the first aid box. He felt the wrist strap and finding it dry, gave it to her.
“I insist.” Hana examined his work, bending her fingers and finding it easier to move without the swathe of bloody plasters.
“No need to be a martyr.” Logan walked to the kitchen and Hana watched his neat bum glide away. But he’d lit the blue touch paper and she flared.
“A martyr? You think I’m a martyr?”
“No.” He shoved the kit back in the cupboard and stood. “I know you are.”
“How dare you!” The chair scraped against the floorboards as Hana pushed it back with her knees and stood, holding her wounded hands in front of her like a boxer.
“Hana, I told you I loved you,” Logan said, knocking the wind from her righteous sails. “And yet you still choose to believe ill of me.”
“Because I can’t do this!” Hana spat. “I won’t let you make a fool of me.”
“I’m not trying to!” He sounded frustrated, bitterness and anger lacing his voice.
Hana dropped her hands by her sides in defeat. “You and Caroline can get back together. It’s nothing to do with me. I hope you have a good life, I really do.” She stopped in alarm as Logan lurched forward over the counter as though he might vomit. Shaking hands covered his eyes. The atmosphere fizzed with electricity and Hana swallowed as Logan faced her, his eyes sparking with danger.
“Just go to bed, Hana!” he snapped.
Hana fled to the bedroom. She spent an endless night tossing and turning while sleep evaded her. She berated herself in a tireless loop and left no other options open as she planned her next few months. Sell her marital home, move into Culver’s Cottage, resign, find a new job and start again. “You brought this on yourself,” she murmured to herself in the darkness. “You didn’t like boring and this is what you’ve ended up with. Be careful what you pray for.”
Rejection brought a physical pain in her ribs, sickeningly familiar and all the more piercing for its repeat appearance. Hana cursed her own stupidity and vowed it was the last time. The cat turned up before morning as she nodded off, purring and kneading her stomach with the claws on all four feet. Hana pushed his nose out of her face. “Mouse breath. Lay down!”
She listened to Pete stumble from his bed just before seven thirty, seriously intending to leave at seven thirty-five. Hana met him at the car in her strange attire. “I’m going home and you’re taking me,” she informed him.
“Logan will kill me,” he hissed. “He’s shaving. I’ll get him.” He turned away and Hana grabbed his spindly arm, wincing at the pain in her wrist.
“It’ll be the last thing you ever do,” she threatened. “There’s nothing between me and Logan, so get used to it.”
Pete put his hands on his hips. “He doesn’t think that. You’re breaking his heart, Hana.”
She shook her head and gave a nasty laugh, disturbing the wriggling cat stuffed under her pullover. A pitiful mewl came from inside and a claw poked through the stitching. “Just take me home, Pete,” she wailed, threats turning to begging.
With a roll of his pale blue eyes, Pete opened the door for her and helped her into his car, muttering a list of all the things Logan would do to him when he found out. To his horror, Hana burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, the effort of holding it in overwhelming her. “I’m sorry for everything.”
Deciding he liked grumpy Hana much better than tearful Hana, Pete started the car and set off for Achilles Rise. It spared him witnessing the abject dismay on Logan’s face when he saw his empty bedroom and the scream from Henrietta, who stepped out of bed and onto Tiger’s little gift. Peckish whilst delivering the present, the generous cat ate the best bits, leaving the entrails in her slipper.