Chub let loose a bark of laughter and picked up a scone. ‘Denial is the first sign.’ He took a large bite and chewed happily.
Mark folded his arms and buttoned his lip. Bill/Chub had changed so much. Too much for his taste.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake, it’s a woman, isn’t it?’ Chub sighed. ‘Are you riddled with guilt because of Kath?’
His words cut so succinctly to the truth that for a moment Mark simply looked at him in shock.
Chub picked up a scone and passed it to him. ‘Eat.’
Mark hesitated and then took the scone from him and bit into it. It was light, crumbly and buttery. The strawberry jam was a perfect foil for the cream, which was cool and refreshing. He closed his eyes as the sensation took him immediately into the past. Evoking all sorts of memories that made him want to cry like a child.
Kathryn.
Guilt lashed him like the flick of a whip as he realised how far he’d stepped away from her these last few weeks.
‘They’re very nice,’ he said with effort, more to fill the awkward silence than because he really wanted to pass on compliments.
‘Yes,’ Chub agreed simply. ‘Better than beer. Though I have some if you want it.’
Mark shook his head. ‘No thanks.’
‘So what’s her name?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Mark snapped crossly.
‘Oh well,’ Chub chuckled, ‘we’ve got a whole plate of scones to get through before you need tell me.’ He rubbed his hands and took another. ‘I’m in no hurry.’
The thought of eating that many scones did not appeal to Mark at all. So he said, rather tight-lipped, ‘Her name’s Charlotte.’
‘And you like her.’
‘No,’ Mark barked, ‘I definitely do not like her.’
‘Oh,’ Chub’s eyes widened as he nodded, ‘that bad, is it?’
‘You’re not making any sense.’
Chub held up a hand. ‘Bear with me.’ He took another scone and bit into it before saying, ‘I’m actually rather good at this. I’ve already been responsible for one couple getting together . . . well . . . sort of. The point is –’
‘The point is,’ Mark interrupted, ‘we’re not getting together.’
Chub looked at him and said gently, ‘Why not?’
‘Because –’ Mark opened his mouth and then it shut again, putting his half-eaten scone down on the table, the crumbs in his mouth turning to dust.
‘Kath is dead, Mark,’ Chub said bluntly. ‘She’s been dead for two years and she’s not coming back. It’s sad but it’s reality.’
He flinched at the unfeeling way Chub announced it but his companion continued unheeded. ‘The world has moved on without you. You need to catch up. She would want that. I know she would. All she ever wanted was your happiness.’
It was true. He reached into his pocket and clutched the list she had written for him. He even had it in black and white. So what was holding him back? Why couldn’t he leave this limbo? Why couldn’t he move on?
‘All that’s standing in your way now is fear,’ said Chub as though Mark had asked these questions out loud.
Fear.
Yes. He was afraid. Afraid of putting this heart on the chopping block again and waiting for that knife to fall . . . as it always did. Nothing good in his life ever endured for long. He swallowed hard, seeming to stare into the deep dark chasm of his own demise.
‘You know,’ Chub picked up another scone, ‘when we were friends, back when I spoke to you and you used to speak back –’
Mark winced.
‘– you gave me a lot of interesting advice. Much of it was about risk taking. I guess ’cause you’re a project manager, everything was always about the big picture. The finish line, you used to call it. Without your advice I never would have gone to Cape Lambert. Never.’ He took another scone and grimaced. ‘They don’t sell donuts there. But my life was stagnating and I just had nothing to look forward to in the city any more. I remembered what you used to say about the big jobs so I took a leap of faith.’ His tone grew low and serious. ‘It was the best thing I ever did for myself. And that’s what you need to do.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mark responded, once more retreating behind his haughty mask.
‘Okay, to summarise,’ Chub ticked off his fingers. ‘I’ll say it again: big picture, finish line, leap of faith. That’s what you need right now. And maybe a donut or two.’
Just then Annabel walked in carrying two other platters to set on the coffee table – one of cupcakes, the other of mini quiches.
‘Chub! Half the scones are gone.’
Chub stood up and kissed his girlfriend. ‘Sorry, honey. I couldn’t stop him.’ Then he looked sternly back at Mark, who stood up.
This was probably a good time to leave, so instead of calling Chub’s bluff he said, ‘On that note, I should go.’ As he turned to head for the front door, his brother-in-law stalled him.
‘Don’t let years go by before I see you again. But next time call first.’
He gave a reluctant smile in response. ‘All right. And thank you.’
Mark spent the next couple of days in Perth trying to read those books he’d borrowed from the library without much success. He’d start one, get bored and then start another until that one lost his interest as well. He was just too distracted to focus.
He’d actually booked himself the entire week off work. But ever since he’d spoken to Chub, he was just itching to get back to the job. Or, if he was truthful . . . back to Charlotte.
He felt as if Chub had released his shackles and he wanted to test this new emotional freedom. He wanted to see how she was doing in her new role. He wanted to enjoy her company without feeling guilty about it.
The more he thought about it, the more he just wanted to head back to Hay Point. Finally, he quit merely pondering and brought his flight forward a few days. Then he returned the unhelpful library books and, in one last attempt to get a good read, went to a bookstore in Perth city and browsed the shelves.
Something had to catch his fancy so he could cross another item from Kathryn’s list. Before his mind knew what his feet were doing he was standing in the Self Help section.
He might have known he’d end up there.
Even miles from Charlotte, subconsciously he still wanted to make a connection. Reading one of her books seemed like a good way to do it, given Emily had said she tended to write about her own experiences. It was almost like discovering a hidden window into her life.
He found her name on the shelf easily enough and there was a small selection of titles there. None of the books were very thick. But he figured this was just her style. He could easily picture her writing intelligent, concise little handbooks on coping with life. He ran his fingers casually over the slim spines, reading the titles one by one.
Dealing with the Loss of a Loved One.
Tips for the Single Parent.
Life after Rape.
He nearly broke his finger on the last one.
What the?!
He snatched the book off the shelf, a pain throbbing in his temple as he flicked through the pages. Chapter headings jumping out at him like sharp spikes.
The Psychological Effects.
Self Blame.
Rape Trauma Syndrome (RTS).
The Reorganisation Phase.
Distrust of Men.
Flashbacks.
Depression.
Guilt.
Panic Attacks.
He slammed the book shut and went to the counter to pay for it. Adrenaline was pumping so fast through his veins he almost felt sick with it. Emily had said Charlotte wrote about her own experiences . . . Now he had to see her.
Urgently.
The morning after Zara confessed to sending a letter to Dennis Mayer, Charlotte got on the phone to Woodford Correctional Centre. At least she had the benefit of actually knowing which maximum-security prison Dennis had been sent to. The other letters Zara had
sent didn’t matter. They had probably been binned or returned to the post office. Zara said she had put no return address on the envelopes for fear that Charlotte would receive mail that bounced back. The most important thing was to discover what had happened to the one letter that had gone to the right place. It was a long shot phoning them but she knew she had to try.
The woman who answered the phone sounded surprisingly normal. Charlotte had no idea what she’d been expecting. Just not the cheerful unconcern of the person on the other end of the line. For some reason she thought people who worked in prisons must be quiet and subdued so as not to provoke the inmates.
You’re just being silly. She’s probably not anywhere near any of the prisoners.
‘Er, hi,’ she began cautiously to the woman’s chirpy offer of assistance. ‘I was just wondering . . . this is going to sound like a really stupid question, but do your prisoners often receive mail?’
‘All the time,’ the operator responded. ‘Did you wish to send something through?’
‘No, actually, I already have. I just wanted to know if he got it.’ She paused. ‘Would you know if Dennis Mayer has received any mail within the last two weeks?’
The woman laughed. ‘We have over a thousand inmates here. I wouldn’t know who received what. I’d have to ask his prison guard to find out for you.’
Charlotte chewed on her lower lip. ‘You see, I don’t want him to mention to Mr Mayer that anyone’s asking.’
This time the woman sounded stern. ‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t understand. The letter never should have been sent in the first place.’
She heard the clicking of a tongue on the other end of the phone. ‘Actually, I’ve logged into our system and looked up Dennis Mayer. Apparently he’s been released.’
‘What?’ Charlotte nearly dropped the phone. ‘When?’
‘Two years ago,’ the woman informed her. ‘So he wouldn’t have received your letter, unless someone forwarded it.’
She was still trying to grasp the woman’s first sentence. ‘Two years ago? He’s been out of prison for two years?’ This was more shocking than all the rest.
‘Yes. I have a forwarding address here, if you’d like it. It’s for an apartment block in Brisbane. Our mail clerk might have taken the trouble to forward the letter.’
Oh shit!
Her head was spinning but she said quickly, ‘Er, yes, yes. I’ll take that down.’ The woman narrated it to her as she scribbled with pen and paper. She put the phone down and stared at the address as goose bumps puckered all over her body.
All this time.
He’d been out and they’d been none the wiser. How irresponsible of them not to check! And how naïve of her to assume that because he’d been convicted for three counts of rape he’d be jailed for life. She snorted as she mentally calculated the time he’d actually spent in prison.
Twelve years.
What was the world coming to?
On the other hand, in those two years he’d been free, they had heard nothing about him. Not from those friends of their mother who had known him. No one in the surrounding community had warned them that he’d been in town again. This meant that, unless Zara’s letter had reached him, he wasn’t interested in coming back to Sarina. Not that she thought anyone would welcome him. Few people knew he was Zara’s father, other than some of her mother’s closest friends, who had guessed at the time. But everyone knew he was a rapist. When he was convicted, the friends he had stayed with in Mackay had been shocked and had told everyone how betrayed they’d felt, as though harbouring him for that short period had been their own personal horror story. If Dennis had been back to Sarina she would have heard about it. So it was clear he wasn’t interested in their mother any more. He must have made a new life for himself in Brisbane, where he had come from originally. With trembling fingers, she turned back to her computer and typed in the name of the apartment block to get a number for the strata manager.
Three seconds later she was on the phone again.
‘Hi, would you be able to tell me if Dennis Mayer is still one of your tenants? He was in number 305.’
She heard the flutter of paperwork and then to her relief good news came back.
‘No, he is no longer here.’
‘Do you have a forwarding address?’
‘No.’
Good!
With any luck, if the letter had been forwarded here, it had also been lost. She put down the phone still shaking but with relief. Hopefully, it was languishing in a bin somewhere at the post office. It seemed horribly unfair that Dennis Mayer had slotted right back into society as easy as a hook through a fish’s mouth. She clicked off her computer, stood up and walked out of reception and back into her house. Her mother was seated in front of the television sipping a cup of tea, her face wan and unreadable.
If she could remember anything, anything at all, what would she say now?
It didn’t matter. She certainly had no intention of asking her. Why bring back the horror when it would all blow over soon enough? In the meantime, she had other things to worry about . . . like starting her new job that day. Mark Crawford certainly hadn’t given her much time to prepare herself. At the very least she would have liked to brush up on what she knew about alcoholism. But her professional capacity was the least of her problems.
What of the kiss they had shared? The confidences he’d trusted her with? The horrible words he’d overheard her say to Will?
She felt terrible after the way they’d left things.
Too much had passed between them to just ignore it. They needed to talk about it all. Should she bring it up at the office? Wait till after work? It would be awkward being around him with all that hanging over her head. Inwardly, she groaned. If she hadn’t been so distracted by Zara’s revelations last night she might have called him this morning.
She needn’t have worried, however, because when she turned up at four pm at Barnes Inc he wasn’t there. The receptionist Ann took her to see Will, who apparently had been briefed on what to do with her.
‘Hey!’ His greeting was friendly enough and much less confrontational than anything from Mark would have been. It was unfathomable that she should feel pique instead of relief.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
‘Er . . . good.’ She must have been frowning because he grinned knowingly.
‘Wondering why Caesar isn’t here to greet you?’
Is it that obvious?
‘The truth is,’ Will broke her thoughts, ‘he doesn’t talk to new recruits for a few weeks.’
Of course.
‘Let me guess,’ she demanded, ‘because he doesn’t want to answer silly questions.’
‘Sort of.’
She couldn’t stop the rebellious retort. ‘What if I demand to see him?’
‘You can’t.’ Will sighed. ‘He’s out of town. Won’t be back for a week.’
She stared in amazement. ‘What? When did he leave?’
‘This morning.’
Wow. That was a slap in the face if ever there was one. After everything they’d been through together yesterday, gone without so much as a goodbye. Was she making too much of it? Or did she just get snubbed?
‘He did leave strict instructions on how you were to be received, though,’ Will informed her.
‘How kind of him.’
Turned out they were rather strict instructions. Her office was located in a different donga from the main office. It was open plan but at one end there was an enclosed meeting room. Apparently, this was to be her working space. Here, she would be able to have some privacy if she was in a meeting with one of the men. They had given her a computer and a filing cabinet. Will told her that the HR manager would come to see her shortly about PPE and an induction.
‘You probably won’t need to go onto the wharf. But we thought we’d give you one just in case,’ Will explained.
Caesar wanted her to work Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays from f
our to six o’clock. And for most of that she’d be just talking to the men. In fact, he wanted her to screen everyone on the job as a first pass. All employees had been instructed to book an appointment with her. She was going to have a rather busy couple of months building a file for everyone in the office. None of this was disagreeable to her. It just might have been nice if he’d told her all this himself.
She went home that evening feeling strangely bereft.
Why do I even care? It’s not like we’re friends. It’s not like he’s ever used common courtesy with me before. Why should it be different just because we’ve kissed?
In the days that followed she began to worry less about him and more about the men in her care. She had seen only three of them so far but there was a lot there when you dug deep. Alcohol abuse for a lot of these workers was only a symptom that hid so much more.
One man felt so helpless being away from his family. He had a son with autism and it was killing him not being able to be there to help his wife on a daily basis. Another man had a teenage daughter who he felt had gone off the rails. Apparently, she was doing drugs and he blamed his own absence for that.
There was a lot she could do here and she even began to feel some gratitude towards Mark for having given her the job. In fact, the more she thought about her absent boss, the more she thought of him as ‘Caesar’. They had a business relationship and she shouldn’t have built it up to be something more. She should just stick to being his landlady and his employee rather than trying to get emotionally involved. Especially when she should be focusing more on her sister right now.
Zara’s confession about the letter had really rocked the ground under her feet. For the first time, she realised how little she knew about what actually went on in her sister’s head. She really should be paying more attention to her.
Emily caught her reflecting guiltily on it when she dropped by her office close to knock-off time on Wednesday.
‘Hey, you, everything all right?’
‘Sure.’ Charlotte sat up straight, ironing out the creases on her face. Emily wasn’t fooled.
‘You’ve been rather quiet lately.’
‘Have I?’
‘Guess it kind of sucks when the only counsellor in town is yourself,’ Emily remarked shrewdly.
The Girl in the Yellow Vest Page 25