Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  So the apology was for his actions. Even if someone had been listening, they would have misunderstood.

  “Is that why I’m here, Gail? Do you want to leave me?”

  “You’d keep Jess.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll win in court, Jake,” she quavered. “After what you did.”

  “You may try.” Words carefully chosen, he warned. “You won’t win. You’ll only incite scandal. Do you want that for Jess?”

  She was losing control. She’d never had it.

  “Which brings me to the point.” He leaned forward, not touching her, but close, and confusingly earnest. “If you decide to stay, you will never be hurt again.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that!”

  Coolly, he resumed his pose in the visitor’s chair.

  “I could have died!”

  “You will never be hurt again.” Fussily, as if of the utmost importance, he flicked a small dot of pollen from his immaculate trousers. “Whether you believe me or not is up to you. When you’ve made up your mind, let me know.”

  This was not going as it should.

  “One more thing,” he continued. “I am told Ryan visits regularly.”

  They’d said what had to be said. Her choices were clear. She had to think them through. She hadn’t brought him here for small talk.

  “I find it rather odd,” he persisted. “Ryan coming here. What do you talk about?”

  He would know what they talked about too.

  “An idle question, Gail. There’s nothing up my sleeve, I promise.”

  She decided to cooperate. “Ryan’s been very kind.”

  “And sober! You did notice that? Of course you did.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Ryan.”

  “No? I’d have thought his sobriety would please you. His trips away are bearing fruit.”

  What trips away? She didn’t ask the question he was inevitably going to answer.

  “The poor fellow’s a born alcoholic,” he grimaced. “The rehab clinics – at least those Mother approves of. Even though they do cost an arm and a leg.”

  “As long as they cure him.”

  “You know, Gail,” he mocked. “It occurs to me you and Mother do have something in common after all.”

  The sounds of clashing metal bed-pans intruded from the passageway; nurses preparing for the night shift.

  “Not interested?” he asked. “No? I’ll tell you anyway. You and Mother both chase rainbows that aren’t even there. Once an Alcoholic …”

  “It’s time to leave, Jake.”

  “Certainly. As you wish. But first …”

  “The nurse will be here any minute.”

  “But first,” he insisted. “When you do consider your future, there’s one important element to think about.”

  “Please go. Please.”

  “Of course.” Leaving the chair, he started for the door. And closed it.

  She cringed.

  “You should know, Gail. I miss you. I do wish you’d come home.” She whimpered.

  “We’re good together. Wanting you, Gail. It’s my only excuse for what I did.” Re-opening the door, he quickly left.

  “Mrs Campbell,” the nurse gently roused her. “You have a visitor. If you’re up to it?”

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m not sure. He didn’t say.”

  “Tell him I’m not well enough.”

  The nurse retreated.

  “Wait!” She pulled herself up against the pillows. Visitors were rare; she was bored. “Tell him I can see him for just a few minutes.”

  “I’ll do better,” the nurse offered. “I’ll keep watch. If you want to get rid of him ring the buzzer.”

  She’d never seen him before. Probably in his mid-thirties, he was tanned and muscled and lithe. Carrying a grey felt hat in one hand, he wore a blue suit, blue shirt, striped tie and highly polished but worn leather shoes. He could be an office worker or an outdoors worker dressed for the occasion. He was as at ease in the sick room as he was in the suit.

  “Mrs Campbell.” His handshake was firm, his smile reassuring. “I’m sorry we have to meet this way. If you feel well enough?”

  “It’s all right. There’s a chair by the window.”

  Fetching the chair, he introduced himself. “I’m a friend of Jill and Mick Reilly. Maybe they’ve spoken of me? Detective Sergeant Robert Watson.”

  “Not that I remember …”

  He scrutinised the newspaper on the bedside locker. “Yesterday’s paper, I see. You’ve read it?”

  “Why?”

  “Then you’ll have read about the transfers.”

  “You’re one of them!”

  “Precisely.” He spoke in an urban voice, the accent of the inner Melbourne suburbs.

  “You said you’re a friend of Jill’s.”

  “I’m off tomorrow. Otherwise I’d have waited for your full recovery. However …”

  She didn’t know him, but diffidence seemed alien to the character who’d come through the door.

  “I trust you understand …” His generous mouth curled in amused self-deprecation. “This is not my usual style.”

  She frowned.

  “You’re right.” He quickly sobered. “This matter is no cause for levity. Though it is totally ironic. My usual style is straight to the point. Which is precisely why my colleagues and I are being given the proverbial boot. We’re somewhat too direct for this place.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. So to the point. There was never an intruder in your house. Your husband beat you. And probably worse?”

  Blushing, she made no attempt to evade his scrutiny.

  “I see,” he nodded affirmation. “Before I hightail it out of here, my conscience demands I set things straight with you. You should know. Not all the police at the Station agree with what the top brass are allowing Jake Campbell to get away with.”

  She dared not even breathe.

  “We can do nothing. As you see.”

  Why was he here?

  “We can move on satisfied that we did all we were permitted to do for you. Our careers are probably over. At the very least, we’ve hit a brick wall.” If he was bitter, he was not showing it.

  “You’ve set things straight.” She reached for the buzzer. The nurse would rescue her.

  “There are our families to consider.” He made no move to leave. “Though I’m not sure it’s excuse enough. Not this time.”

  She pressed the buzzer.

  “There have been times when we’ve been able to do nothing, or almost nothing.”

  The nurse was at the door. “Mrs Campbell needs her rest, Detective.”

  She waved the nurse away.

  “I should be leaving,” Detective Watson held out his hand. “I am sorry …”

  She ignored the outstretched hand. “Are you trying to tell me something, Detective?”

  “Please, Mrs Campbell – don’t jump to conclusions. This is a complicated circumstance. Although your husband may be up to mischief in other ways, they are not so cut and dried. The single issue that is clear, is what he did to you. And still we can’t prove it.”

  “You didn’t do anything!”

  “We didn’t make a case. Our problem is you’re not the first abused spouse, not by any means. Nor will you be the last. The truth is, I’m happy to be out of here.”

  “But surely …!”

  “My colleagues share my belief. Here, we few are impotent. Aliens in an unfriendly world. There’s no place to hide, nowhere to run. My children are vulnerable, my wife is a social outcast. Jill Reilly sends her best wishes.”

  “Is that why she hasn’t been to see me?”

  “Her husband is a solicitor. Extremely vulnerable.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Your case is a high profile instance of a commonplace crime. Your case is the one which brought the simmering pot to the boil, as it were. Your husband
has powerful friends in powerful places.”

  “I still don’t really understand.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Again, he prepared to leave. “I’m tiring you. Just know we did try. It may be some small consolation.”

  “Am I supposed to thank you?”

  “I’m sorry …”

  She was very angry. “Did you expect a medal?”

  They knew the truth and they’d allowed it to be covered up. Who cared if their careers were over? Her life was over. She lowered the pillows, pulled the covers high, and closed her eyes. He’d go in a minute.

  “You are right,” he spoke from the doorway. “We have been cowards. No one should have to suffer as you have, and not have recourse to legal justice. If you do nothing more, Mrs Campbell, at least heed the lesson we coppers have had to learn.”

  She refused to indicate she was listening.

  “You’re justifiably outraged,” he acknowledged. “But do hear this – you need to get it into your young head before it’s too late. For you Belleville is bad news. Leave it.”

  She would leave. Somehow. But never without Jess.

  She’d been in Belleville Private Hospital for nearly two months; an unnecessarily long time. She didn’t know why, but guessed. It would have to do with Jake and his family, and with their attempts to ward off any possible charges against Jake. So long as Jess was with her, here in the small secluded hospital, it was actually a bonus. Obviously with Doctor Walker’s connivance, the Campbells were paying for what was becoming a holiday; the holiday she should have had when she’d first arrived in Belleville. Discounting the first painful weeks, she was enjoying the prolonged respite from the outside world. It would end too soon.

  She played with her baby, read, walked around the limited garden area, slept and tried not to think; especially not to think about the transferred detective and his warning. There was nothing she could do. Not yet. Except try to regain physical and mental strength for what the future held.

  At the beginning of the third month, she was declared fit to leave. “Right, young lady,” Dr Walker rubbed together two complacent hands. “Once again we’ve successfully patched you up. Feel like going home tomorrow?”

  There’d been no warning, no time to prepare.

  “I’ve made the arrangements,” he smugly continued. “As before, a live-in nurse until you’re properly on your feet. Your mother-in-law will supervise time-tables and the like. You’ll be in good hands, as always.”

  He couldn’t be serious.

  “Of course,” he coughed embarrassment. “You are fearful young Jake will be up to his tricks again? Not so. Not so, young miss.”

  No one believed the story of the intruder. Even their doctor talked about Jake’s actions as fact. Yet good men had jeopardised their careers because they’d dared to try to stand up to the men of power.

  “You should consider the inconvenience of travelling out to the clinic. I’m perfectly happy if you want to continue as before. But, really, young lady – this latest episode has been a special case. Ordinarily, you’d do just as well to consult your Belleville G.P.”

  “What about the scars? Will they be permanent?”

  “Scars! Of course not. The bones are on the mend. The bruising and swelling have long subsided. The rest is coming along nicely. All will be as it was within a few months.”

  “What about my periods? Will they come good?”

  “Your periods?”

  “They said it was the beating. They said it was the shock.”

  “The shock of the beating? Just so …” His confusion was ill disguised. “Of course.”

  “You did see the hospital’s reports?”

  “Naturally. You were due …”

  “I missed just after I was admitted!” Obviously he hadn’t read all the reports. “I was due weeks ago! It hasn’t happened!”

  “My dear child. Calm yourself.”

  “I’ll never be well!”

  “You’re unnecessarily concerned,” he soothed. “Profound shock has an unpredictable affect on the body.”

  “Could it still be shock?”

  For answer, his thin fingers pressed her wrist. Nervously, fearfully, she waited.

  “A second pregnancy so soon?” He released her. “I’m not sure of the wisdom … as I have already advised you, my dear. Consult your Belleville G.P. However, I tend to think …”

  No!

  Had she screamed?

  In the room there was no sound. Even Doctor Jim Walker was without speech. Two weeks and three days later, it was confirmed by the Belleville G.P. She was pregnant. Next year she would give birth to a child of rape.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Angus Jacob Campbell, a healthy seven-pound baby boy, was born following a prolonged but risk-free labour. She refused to breastfeed him. For the first month of his life she refused to even touch him. She planned never to touch the child who would forever remind her of the beating; and more.

  Abortion had not been an option, not for Jake’s wife. The debilitating months of a bitterly resented pregnancy had effectively neutralised her. Every remnant of energy had been needed to endure life with the alien in her womb. By the time of the birth, any faint chance she might have had of pursuing action against Jake had been missed.

  Again, Jake had won. He’d successfully tied her, and Jess, to himself and his family and his town. The new child was happily accepted as evidence that Jake Campbell was no wife beater. On the contrary he was, as his esteemed forebears had been, a family man.

  She could always leave. It would be without her children, without Jess. But there were considerations other than limited finance, fragile health and minimal job experience. She’d have to immediately find accommodation and long-term employment. The only place to try would be the only other place she knew – Melbourne. And even if she did remain healthy in the city she’d been warned to leave, any likely employment would be labour intensive. Not possible. Still only in her mid-twenties, she was to find no new beginning. Fate had set her on this path. For sanity’s sake she must find a way to endure it.

  Her one ally was Jill Reilly. Jill had stayed clear of the hospital, not overtly antagonised Jake, and made no fuss. But within two hours of Gail’s return home she’d been knocking on the front door. Though she’d apologised for her absence, she’d made no excuses. Nor had she discussed the visit to the hospital of the transferred detective. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to betray her husband’s secrets. Maybe she didn’t know any secrets. Maybe …

  Their friendship was not deep. In their regular morning tea times together Jill was careful to confine conversation to children, home and superficial gossip. The beating was never talked about, nor the circumstances of Angus’ birth, nor her reluctance to touch him. It’s possible she never would have touched him. Until Jill lightly intimated that, by employing nurses to rear the new baby, she was inviting not only family criticism, but possibly the resumption of direct family interference.

  Daily supervision by Amy must not happen again. When Angus was three months old she dismissed the nurses. Insidiously, the happy baby with the Campbell beauty drew her to him. She could not love him, dared not. Love for this child who was especially lovable would imply acceptance of Jake’s right to rape her. She must not love him. To love Angus would be to love the brutality of his conception. And yet … Beguiled by the baby’s charm she began to comprehend that he, too, was a victim of his father’s violence.

  Gradually confusing loyalties, doubts, proximity, and pragmatism began to erode resolve. Jake had kept his promise. He was unfailingly considerate, drank in moderation when at home, banked a substantial weekly allowance in her separate bank account and remained – when she suffered him – an exciting sexual partner. She began to anticipate with pleasure the act of sex with her husband.

  Housing was in demand for a city imprisoned by the boundaries of river and vineyards. On the river, houseboats were multiplying. On the land, houses were supplanting vines. Real Esta
te was booming and Jake Campbell’s continuing success was assured. The new architecturally designed house was bigger and more expensively furnished than the last.

  The friendship, having been strengthened by the test of loyalty, had survived the move. At eleven a.m. Jill Reilly was knocking on the back door.

  The tea made, they carried it out to settle under the skinny branches of young trees. The biting frost had melted under the cosy warmth of the autumn sun. Jess was playing in the new sandpit, Angus asleep in his pram.

  “These are the best times,” Jill sighed. “Autumn and babies. If only we could hold on to them.”

  “You’re right about autumn,” she agreed. “It’s the only time of the year I feel anywhere near at home.”

  “You miss the mountains. I miss my kids. Today especially.”

  “Why today?”

  “No reason …”

  “There has to be a reason.”

  “Not necessarily, Gail. Some days, if it wasn’t for you … if only Mick would leave …”

  “I’d miss you.”

  “I know. One day you’ll know how I feel. Empty nest and all that stuff.” Jill absently rocked the pram.

  She poured another cup of tea. Jill pointlessly rocked the pram. Angus did not stir. Jess built sand castles. In the surrounding new estate the thunder of earthmovers and the steady rhythm of hammers and the tang of fresh paint celebrated the new era. In the landscaped back garden of the architecturally designed house, the unusually uncomfortable absence of sound lengthened.

  Unsure, she tentatively asked, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, Jill? Or is it private?”

  Startled, Jill flushed. “It’s nothing. Why?”

  “You were a million miles away.”

  “Not a million. A few hundred,” Jill admitted.

  “You miss them badly. Did you have to send them off so young? There are schools here.”

  “You know better, Gail. It’s not how it works.”

  “Not for me,” she scoffed. “I’m going to keep them with me as long as I can. At least till secondary school. It’s what the family does. I guess I’ll have no choice then. That’s if I’m still living here.”

  “I thought that was settled.”