Cross My Heart
Page 24
She stood on the street side of the rusty gate, the envelope in her hand feeling more like a ball and chain than a few sheets of paper. Once she stepped through this gate, walked through the door and up to the counter, she would be saying words she had vowed never to utter. But Skye had taken the leap, freeing her from her promise. It was time for the adult Tess to find the courage her scared, cowardly teenage self had so sorely lacked.
The hinges moaned as she swung open the gate. Five short steps to the porch; two more to the door. She held her breath just long enough to give her the extra push she needed to step inside. A bell chimed, announcing her entrance, and then there she was, standing at the counter.
‘Hello there, what can I do for you?’ A cheery middle-aged, uniformed officer appeared before her. She glanced at his name badge and her stomach did a quick flip. Constable Brad Turner.
‘Um … I …’ She’d rehearsed this over and over on the drive into town: Start with the statement. She lifted the tab on the envelope and slid out the copy, held it gingerly between her fingers. It quivered like an autumn leaf on the brink of falling. ‘I’m here about an assault.’
The policeman frowned. ‘You’ve been assaulted?’
‘No.’ She pressed her thumbs against the paper to steady her grip. ‘I was a witness to an assault.’ Why was she pussyfooting around? Why not say it straight, use the label she’d avoided even thinking for all these years. ‘A rape.’
The officer straightened his shoulders, his smile fading. Tess handed him the papers. He studied them closely before looking up again, rubbing his free hand over his bearded chin. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I’m a friend of Skye Whittaker’s. Her daughter’s guardian. I’m staying at her house, with Grace, and I came across this in some of her papers.’ It sounded so lame, like she was handing over a shopping list she’d picked up off the floor.
‘Right.’ He drew out the word, over-emphasised the T. ‘But Ms Whittaker is dead, so unfortunately any investigation based on this statement is now null and void.’ He folded the papers and held them out towards Tess. ‘And in any case, it’s confidential, so I’m afraid I can’t discuss it with you.’
This was it. Her time to speak up. To not do nothing. ‘I was there.’ She forced the words out, made sure she was speaking loudly, clearly, emphatically. ‘I was there when it happened, well, at least one of the nights that it happened, and he threatened me, told me if I ever said a word to anyone he’d come back for me.’ She had to get the words out before they disappeared. ‘I promised Skye I wouldn’t tell anyone. I should have said something, but I was too scared. We were only fifteen and he was, he was …’
‘I see.’ Constable Turner withdrew his hand from where it hovered midair, holding the papers he’d tried to return. He placed them on the desk in front of him. ‘In that case, you’d better come in and tell me exactly what happened.’
Telling the story out loud was even harder than she’d imagined. Constable Turner sat opposite, elbows resting on the table, shoulders hunched as he wrote down—and recorded—everything she said. He was sympathetic, almost fatherly, without any sign of cynicism or disbelief. Relaying the events of the night wasn’t even the worst part. It was admitting her silence that left her winded. But he assured her the story was a common one: victims of assault—and he told her she was one, too, even though her own suffering could never be compared to Skye’s—stayed quiet for many reasons, not least the fear of retribution. Was she worried about that now? he asked, and she thought about the answer long and hard before honestly saying she wasn’t. For the first time in her life, it wasn’t her own skin she wanted to save. What she wanted now was justice for Skye and protection for other young women—like Harrison’s own daughter.
Like Grace.
By the time she pulled up outside Jules’s place, her limbs were leaden, her head pounding. She checked her watch. Jules hadn’t batted an eyelid when they’d shown up and Tess had asked her to mind Grace for an hour or two. She had just given that big, broad smile and placed an arm around Grace’s shoulder. It was good to have people here who genuinely cared. Jules, Mitch, Max … she’d never expected that when she’d landed in Weerilla those few short weeks ago.
Out back, Erin was in the studio, moulding a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel. Grace looked on wide-eyed, her face filled with wonder, so entranced she didn’t even notice Tess’s arrival. Jules must be somewhere inside.
She ducked her head through the door of the main house. ‘Anyone home?’
Footsteps sounded in the hallway and then Jules appeared, looking over the top of the glasses precariously perched on the end of her nose. It was a good thing she had them attached to that string around her neck. ‘Come in, come in. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Large and strong.’ Tess dropped her bag to the floor and collapsed into a chair.
Jules joined her at the table as the whir of the kettle started up on the bench. ‘I don’t know what they’re doing out there at Affinity, but I could barely shut Gracie up today. She was showing me her drawings of the horses, telling me about her favourite one. Whisky?’
Tess nodded. The initial changes she’d seen in Grace had been almost imperceptible—a quicker bounce in her step, a brighter gleam in her eyes—but since their last session, the one they’d done together, the turnaround had been more obvious. ‘I know, it’s amazing. It’s like she’s a different kid.’
‘Not different. More like herself.’ Jules stood again and went about the business of making coffee, depositing Tess’s order and sitting back down.
It was a good distinction. Tess picked up the cup, closed her eyes and let the hot liquid slide down her throat. ‘Oh my God, what is that? It’s divine.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Jules held her cup between her palms, close to her face, the steam curling like a trail of smoke from a genie’s lamp. Her laugh was almost a giggle. ‘You won’t believe what it’s called.’
Tess took another sip. ‘Try me.’
‘Dark Horse.’
‘No way.’
Jules drew an imaginary cross over her heart.
Tess let her gaze fall to the black surface of the coffee. It was all too much. The heart. The dark horse: the one who keeps their truth hidden, the one not expected to win. It was the phrase used in the newspaper article to describe Harrison’s run for state government. Well, he certainly had something surprising headed his way, and she needed—no, wanted—to share the news. She inhaled as she looked up at Jules. ‘I’ve just come from the police station. I was making a statement.’
‘Statement?’ Jules was studying her like an abstract artwork on a gallery wall. ‘About what?’
‘A sexual assault that happened twenty years ago.’
Jules sat up straighter, her brows furrowing.
‘It happened to Skye and I was there. I was assaulted, too.’
Detail by sordid detail Tess relayed the whole story, telling it again exactly the same way she’d told the constable. ‘It feels like I’ve been holding my breath all these years. I can only imagine what a relief it must have been for Skye to make her statement.’
Jules’s mouth fell open. ‘You never told your parents?’
She shook her head, the tightness in her chest momentarily returning. That was still a mystery she didn’t fully understand.
‘And Skye went to the police before she died?’ Jules was piecing the puzzle together, trying to make sense of it all. ‘This man, Harrison, he would have been told about her accusations?’
‘Yep. But he was also notified that she’d died. He’d presume there was no one to give evidence against him.’
Jules’s eyes sparked like flint as she nodded. ‘But now there is. So even though it’s all those years ago, they can still make it stick?’
‘According to the police officer, the statement Skye gave won’t be enough since she’s no longer here, but my accusations should at least get him investigated.’
‘That won’t be too g
ood for his political aspirations.’
‘It certainly won’t. The smug prick won’t know what’s hit him when the detectives knock on his door. Again. It’ll be like groundhog day. He managed to keep it quiet the first time around, but that won’t be happening again. I have an old uni mate in Melbourne who’s a journo. I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy to splash it across the front page of the Melbourne Herald.’
Mental note: give Petra a call.
Jules reached across the table and took her hand. ‘This man sounds like he could be dangerous. If you don’t feel comfortable out there while this is all going on, you and Grace are welcome to stay with me.’
‘Thanks, Jules, but it’s all good. He’s in Melbourne. There’s no way he could track me down all the way out here. Once it’s all put into motion, I may have to go there and testify, but that’s a while down the track.’
‘Well, the offer’s open if you change your mind.’ The sound of laughter trickled into the kitchen from the studio outside. Jules turned towards the noise and then back again. ‘It’s a brave thing you’re doing, for your friend and yourself.’
Tess rubbed at her collarbone, her fingers scratching against the woollen neckband of her jumper. She went to stand but then froze. ‘You know, if Skye had found the courage to go to the police it doesn’t make sense that she would have killed herself. Wouldn’t she want to see it through? Make sure the mongrel got what he deserved?’
‘I would have thought so.’
Skye’s suicide was still unfathomable. ‘Unless the pressure got too much.’ The whispers in her ear came from nowhere. His reptilian voice, his insidious threats. She’d heard them only once in reality but over and over again in her mind. How many times had he uttered them to buy Skye’s silence? How many times must she have replayed them over the years as she’d tried to get on with her life? Perhaps, in the end, it had all been too much. ‘I just wish I’d been there for her. Helped her.’ She hung her head, unable to meet Jules’s eyes.
‘You’re helping her now, doing what you’re doing. Looking after her daughter.’
The back door swung open and Grace burst inside.
Tess coughed and pasted on a smile. Jules was right, she was doing what she could.
Even if it was too little, too late.
Twenty-two
Rain battered at the window panes. The day was wild and wet. Perfect for staying indoors. While Grace pored over her school work, Tess kept herself busy cleaning. It had been over a week since her visit to the police station and she’d scrubbed the place from top to bottom. Her fingers itched to pick up the phone and call the constable for an update, but he’d assured her things would take time, promised to keep her in the loop. Except there had been news of a different kind via the newspapers. She stared at the black screen of her iPad resting on the kitchen sink. She already could recite the article word for word. Clutching the dishcloth, she willed away the sweet taste of victory the words elicited, the sensation like a craving she needed to satisfy.
A quick tap on the tablet and there it was again. ‘State Senate Hopeful Neil Harrison Questioned by Police.’ Good old Petra had grabbed the story and bolted like a racehorse. ‘Toorak businessman and Senate hopeful Neil Harrison is being questioned by police in relation to a number of sexual assaults. According to sources, the victims included a member of Harrison’s own family who was coerced into keeping quiet. Harrison, a married father of two, has denied the allegations. Police are continuing to investigate the case.’
Her heart stuttered for the zillionth time as she stared down at the report. So matter-of-fact. There were no names mentioned, but of course Harrison would have been told who had made the additional accusations. Would he even remember her? Remember that night? There’d only been that one time with the two of them in the room. Had he been bluffing when he said he knew where she lived? Or had he followed her home before that day without her knowing?
She glanced over at Grace, the tip of her tongue poking between her lips as she concentrated on her maths problem, oblivious to the whole horrible story. Making the statement had been the right thing to do. For all three of them.
The door rattled as a thump sounded from outside. Tess dropped the iPad to the bench. She hadn’t heard a car, but the way the wind was howling that was no surprise.
Grace jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘No.’ Making the statement had been a risk, but one worth taking if it meant keeping Grace safe in the long term. For the short term it put Tess on alert.
Grace shrugged and lowered herself back into her chair.
Another knock, louder this time, longer.
‘Okay, I’m coming.’ It was probably Jules, out and about and up for a chat. Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob. She sucked in a quick mouthful of air and pulled.
‘Josh!’ Was she hallucinating? He was standing right there on the porch, brown leather bomber jacket zipped up to his neck, jigging around like he needed the bathroom. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Nice to see you, too.’ His expression was deadpan, but there was a quirk to his lips. ‘Are you going to let me in? It’s fucking freezing out here.’
‘Oh, of course. Sorry.’ She moved aside and he shuffled in, blowing on his knuckles and rubbing his hands together. The cottage was warm and cosy, a complete contrast to the blustering weather outside.
He scanned the room as he leaned in to give her a kiss. ‘Nice place.’
‘We like it.’ He stepped towards the fireplace and raised his palms towards the radiant heat. Dark denim jeans, boots the exact colour of his jacket, a navy scarf tossed casually around his neck. His hair, mussed a little by the wind, was styled differently to when she’d last seen him, longer on top but still perfectly combed. His cheeks were a ruddy pink against the olive tan of his face, the colour no doubt acquired on his European business trip. He looked good, like he’d just stepped out of a menswear catalogue. She waited for the tingling sensation the sight of him usually evoked, but there was nothing. Absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, wasn’t it?
Grace rose from her chair and crept into the main living area.
Josh turned towards her. ‘Hi, Grace. Good to see you.’
Grace’s mouth twitched in response, though no words came out.
Josh turned back, mumbling, ‘Nothing’s changed, I see.’
God, he could be a spoilt brat sometimes. If only he knew. ‘Coffee?’
He pulled a face.
‘Oh yeah, you’re a tea man.’ His refusal to share in her love of the finer brew had always irked her. She moved past him into the kitchen, ignoring the way his eyes followed her, like he was trying to work something out.
Grace gathered her books and zipped up her pencil case. ‘I’m going to my room to read.’ She scooted past Josh like a mouse scurrying past a prowling cat and disappeared around the corner into her bedroom. Technically, it had become Tess’s bedroom since Grace had elected to sleep in her mother’s bed, but if she was more comfortable in there it was fine.
‘So, how’s it all going?’ Josh took a seat while she organised the cups.
‘Pretty good. And you?’
‘More than good.’ He nodded deliberately. ‘I’ll fill you in about that in a minute. Tell me what you’ve been doing.’
Where would she start? They’d had a few phone conversations since he’d come home but both had steered clear of anything vaguely difficult. She’d reported in briefly on Grace’s progress without giving any details. He’d raved about his trip and promised to visit when he’d caught up on his workload.
She filled the two cups, overshooting on the second and splashing her thumb with the boiling water. ‘Bugger.’ She reached for the tap and let the cooler stream wash over the burn.
‘You okay?’
She nodded. This was all so strange, having Josh turn up out of the blue. Turning off the tap, she returned to the task at hand. The pad of her thumb throbbed like hell, but she’d live.
‘So, what have you been doing with yourself?’
‘Not a lot. Getting to know each other, hanging out. Grace has been doing some art classes—and teaching me the piano.’ She smiled. In reality, they were learning together. Their ‘lessons’ were her favourite part of the day. ‘And we’ve been doing some equine-assisted learning, too.’ She’d trained herself to use the correct terminology since Mitch’s training wasn’t classified as therapy and it totally got up his nose if she used the wrong label.
‘What?’
She lifted her chin. ‘It’s a kind of counselling session, with horses.’
Josh’s forehead wrinkled into a series of crevices and he gave a kind of snort. Self-reflection had never been his thing. Never been hers, either, until recently.
He laughed. ‘You hate horses.’
‘Yeah, well, things have changed.’
She stared down into her cup. Things certainly had changed.
‘And how’s that working out for you?’ He was obviously feeling the distance between them, too.
‘Really, really well.’
He lowered his head and took a mouthful of tea, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. There was a little-boy-lost look about him. She probably should be slightly more forthcoming, try a bit harder. ‘It’s helped break down the barriers, brought us closer.’
‘Maybe I should come along sometime.’ He still wasn’t meeting her gaze and his tone was unsure rather than wry.
Wind screeched around the corners of the house. A log broke in two and collapsed inside the grate. A long, heavy silence fell between them. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it pounding through the wall of her chest. She should say something, take him up on his invitation, but she was suddenly, inexplicably protective of her relationship with Grace.