by G. S. Bailey
She motioned with her other hand for Clair to follow. She turned and walked to her door, waiting.
Clair approached. She could see the marble floor, the groove. The widow took her hand and led her inside where the foyer opened to a large room with a staircase to a railed landing and a crystal chandelier suspended from an exposed ceiling way up high. There were doorways to other rooms on the ground level.
“I’ve been in here before,” Clair uttered.
“Yes,” the widow said.
She was still holding Clair’s hand. Clair had the photo in her other hand.
“Who is this?” she asked again. “What does he have to do with me?”
The widow’s chin quivered. “That’s Hogue Mulvane, my husband’s brother. He…” The widow’s voice faltered.
“He what?” Clair demanded. Her chest was tightening again.
“He photographed children… Naked children,” the widow said, shaking her head.
“Wh..at?” Clair sobbed, her voice shaking.
The widow nodded. “He photographed my daughter. He and my husband—they touched her,” she said in anguish. “The damned animals touched her.”
Clair remembered the chandelier, the stair case. There was a door to her right, two paces away. She knew what was in there. She flung the door open before the widow could stop her, and her gut clenched with the clarity of the images that bounded up at her.
It was in there that it had happened. She saw the light stands and the cameras. She felt the thick fingered hands lifting her nightdress. She saw the face of the monster and the one with the mask.
She slapped at the widows hands. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed at her. “Don’t frigging touch me,” Clair threatened, backing out of there.
The dread and gut wrenching anguish had morphed into anger. She backed to the door and onto the veranda. The widow didn’t follow. She was beyond the marble floor with her hands over her mouth and her eyes distraught.
Clair ran to her car and sped around and across the grass to get back onto the driveway. The gate was shut, and she skidded to a halt, gripping her steering wheel with her mind numbing. She sat there staring at the gates for some time before they clunked and swung back, forcing her to reverse the car before she could speed off down the driveway again.
Clair pulled up in front of her shop and turned off the car, and she sat there holding the steering wheel and processing the images her mind had not been able to smother. She saw the two men without their pants on. She saw her friend, nude, and she looked down at herself, nude. She felt the fat fingered hands gripping her, pulling her into position. She was squashed beside the man with the face. She was squashed against the arm of a couch with his sweaty, fat body beside her. Her friend was put on his lap, then she was pulled up onto his lap as well—then the cameras.
It was all Clair’s mind would allow her. If there was more, she couldn’t see it right then. She looked for the photo, but she must have dropped it. Her chest heaved into a deep sob and she started to cry.
Chapter 22
Strange. Maybe her phone died, or the battery?
David had woken and checked his phone for any message from Clair. There were none. He had worked late and called when he arrived home, but her phone had been turned off or something. He had tried again right then, but it was still ‘switched off or out of service’.
He had his breakfast and checked the on-line news before calling in at Woolworths to pick up a bunch of flowers. Buying flowers for a florist struck him as amusing. He picked out the biggest, most colourful bunch they had, thinking along the lines of a kitchen bench decoration. It was a huge arrangement of red and orange and purple and yellow. He was on-foot and caught a few smiles as he carried the thing along quite proudly.
Clair’s car was parked in front of her place. She wasn’t in the shop, so he climbed the stairs to the landing on the side of the box-like little building. It was nearly ten so she should be awake, he figured. He knocked and called out, “You there, honey!”
There was no response, but he heard a chair scrape.
He knocked again. “Clair—it’s me, David.”
The door cracked open and her eyes appeared. They were red and swollen with tears.
David’s heart sank. “Hey, what’s up?”
She sniffled. She didn’t answer. She was holding the door only a few inches open. Her eyes lifted from being downcast, but she still said nothing.
“What is it, Clair? What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” she uttered morbidly. “Nothing’s happened.”
David attempted to move the door but she held it. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t come inside, please?”
She looked at the flowers in his hand then met his eyes again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need to be alone right now.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure—but are you alright?”
She shrugged a weak, affirmative response. “Please just go, David? Please?”
She closed the door and left David staring at it. He backed away and walked down the stairs, turning to look up at the kitchen window of the little flat. There was no movement there.
David walked on with his gut clenched in worry. Had somebody died or something? He almost hoped that was true, and that Clair was physically alright at least. The fact that she didn’t want him there hurt, but he put that aside. They had known each other all of three weeks.
“Flowers!” Amanda exclaimed as he walked into the lounge. She was in her pyjamas watching television.
“Something’s the matter with Clair.” He dropped the bunch of flowers on a chair.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. She’s at home, crying, and she won’t talk to me.”
“What did you do?” his sister asked, as if he had done something ridiculous.
“I didn’t do anything. I don’t think it’s about me.”
“Oh. Then, what? What did she say?”
“I don’t know. She said, ‘leave me alone!’”
Amanda was dressed within a few minutes. When she had gone, David walked into the kitchen and leaned on the sink, staring out the window. The not being required to help bit was playing on him. It was true he had only known Clair for a few weeks, but his desire to protect her was strong. He churned over that until he heard Amanda’s car pull up. She had not been gone long.
“Well?” David asked, accosting her as she walked in.
“I don’t know,” his sister said.
“Is she alright—physically? She’s not hurt or sick?”
“I don’t think so. She said, ‘don’t worry’. She said for you not to worry!”
“Yeah, right! How am I supposed to not worry! Shit!”
“It’s probably nothing,” Amanda went on, giving David a hug. “Girls cry sometimes. She’s just moved interstate and left her whole life behind… It probably just hit her.”
“You think? Like a what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here moment?”
“It’s probably something like that,” Amanda assured him. “Give her some space. Let her figure it out. She told me she’s always figured stuff out alone, so this is probably perfectly normal.”
“Yeah? So, what should I do—call her tomorrow or something?”
“Or just send a text asking her to call when she feels up to it,” Amanda suggested. “Sometimes the best way to show you care is to give someone space.”
David nodded. That made sense.
“And you do care, don’t you?” his little sister went on, exploring.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”
Chapter 23
John punched in the security code on the intercom keypad, and the big iron gates slowly swung back. He drove on through with his newly bestowed entitlements and freedoms warming his chest and making him want to hum and sing.
He pulled up at the steps where Nell was sitting, waiting for him. She waved excitedly. She was beginning to develop colour. Her ghostly white complexion w
as warming to life. Her blue eyes were brighter and her lips were redder, and there appeared to be more gold in her hair. She was changing from black and white to full colour.
John got hugged. It was the latest development, his second one so far.
“That girl was here yesterday screaming, and Mum’s upset,” she announced.
That took John back a bit, wiping the smile off his mind. “Are you alright?” he checked with Nell.
She nodded. “I was asleep. I only heard a bit of it, and she was gone before I could see what was happening… Mum said not to worry.”
He left Nell with her book. “You there, Susan?” he called as he knocked and entered the foyer.
“I’m here, John. Come in,” she called from the kitchen. Her real greeting was virtually flinging herself into his arms, weeping.
John held her as she started to cry. He patted her, holding her tight and giving her a minute.
“What’s happening, love? What’s going on?”
Susan pushed back, sniffling into a tissue. She shook her head, seemingly in search of words.
“Those frigging animals,” she got out. “That young girl… I don’t know what they did to her—photographs, and Christ knows what else!”
“Fuck!” John spat, his gut turning. “I thought she was okay.”
“I think she just remembered, or started to. I called Doctor Karen. She said she has a case and will be a while before she can get here. She said it would take time before young Clair would even be approachable, anyway.”
“Yeah, okay. Fucking bastards,” John spat again. He hated the Mulvanes with passion. He pictured the elder brother still living it up in an island paradise somewhere.
“Are you alright?” he asked Susan. She had returned to washing dishes.
“No, I’m not alright, John!”
“Now, come on, you couldn’t have known!”
She started crying again.
“You couldn’t have known, love. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“Her grandmother left her with me to take care of. She left the child with me!”
Chapter 24
Clair hurried to her car with her groceries and returned home to hide away from the world. She had shopped to be sure she wouldn’t need to go out again anytime soon. Other than food, she needed nothing. She could take care of herself.
After three days crying, she had unconsciously erected a big, strong wall. She was well used to doing that—well used to the process of shutting down when faced with issues, though never for something as soul destroying as having been molested as a child. This issue required a bigger shut-down, a more complete and comprehensive one.
How long could I hold out like this? Clair had the balance of her savings to support herself for the time being. She would soon be tapping into her business budget, but that was of no concern. The plans to open her floristry shop were gone. She just needed to survive. Beyond the duration of the grocery supplies she was packing away was further than her state of mind would allow her to think. Whenever she tried to think, she would be dragged back to the fat fingers and the sweaty monster with the face.
Those groceries lasted nearly a week. Amanda had called in twice, and Clair had invited her to stay for a cup of tea, but she told the girl lies, letting her think there was some family problem she didn’t want to talk about. She had also snuck across the road to buy milk a few times, but she needed to do proper shopping again.
Her greatest fear was running into David, and that’s exactly what happened. She was coming from the shopping centre with her trolley when he was walking in. He stopped, and she had to.
“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Clair said, pulling at the sleeve of her jumper. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Mandy said there’s some problem at home. I hope everything turns out alright,” he said. “I’m just um…” he pointed to the bakery, edging along.
“Okay, thanks,” Clair mumbled.
She glanced back once, but he was waiting to be served. She glanced back again after packing her car and saw him looking over from the door of the shopping centre. She held up a hand to wave, tentatively. He did the same, and she wanted to cry, but she got in her car and just drove.
She drove and cried, and when she got home she found a business card wedged in her door:
C.A.V. Foundation
Karen Phelps
Counsellor
It was a plain white card with a mobile phone number on the bottom.
Clair cried into her pillow all afternoon thinking about David and being torn away and dragged back into the horror of the face and the fat fingers.
There was a gentle knock on her door the following morning. She had woken with some strength and a little resolve. Her visitor was a small, heavily set woman with a round face. She smiled.
“Hello, Clair.”
“Yes.”
“Did you get my card?”
Clair remembered the business card. She nodded. The woman was looking kindly into her eyes.
“I’m with the CAV foundation. We care about you.”
“About me?” Clair’s chin quivered. The woman’s eyes were so lovely.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “We care about all of you—every one of you.”
The sense that she was not alone invaded Clair’s mind. She had to turn from where she had cracked the door open and gather herself a little. Who was this woman?
She turned back, defiantly. “Who are you, anyway? And what do you know about me?”
“There’s a whole you in there that I don’t know at all, Clair. I only know a little about what happened to you. We care about everyone that these things have happened to. My name is Karen. I help people who have had their lives touched by child abuse. Parents, children, grown-up ladies such as yourself… Grown up men too.”
Clair swallowed at the knot in her throat.
“But I only stopped by today to say hello,” the little woman added cheerily. She was smiling again. Her eyes were really lovely. “I know you’re a strong woman, Clair. I can see that.” She turned away but glanced back. “I’m off to see young Nelly now. She hasn’t been so strong about this, you know?”
Clair couldn’t help herself from calling after the woman. “Wait!”
“Yes, dear?” She had stopped a few stairs down.
“Tell me about Nelly?”
She shook her head. “Oh, how those damned sickos ruined that girl’s life,” she said inclusively, motioning toward the door. “Are we having a cup of tea, dear? I’d love a nice hot cupa.”
“Yes. Yes, of course!” Clair said, leading the way.
The little woman sort of waddled along. She was almost as broad as she was tall. She put her purse on the table and looked around the room. “Well, isn’t this a darling little home?” she offered.
Clair set up for tea with cups and saucers and sugar and milk. She brought her biscuit jar over to the table.
“Ooh, yummy! May I?” the little woman asked. “I’m supposed to be dieting, but what harm can one chocky biscuit do?”
“No harm at all,” Clair agreed.
“Exactly!” the funny little woman declared. “Oh, but as I was saying… Young Nelly! School life ruined. She has virtually no education. She has no friends. No boyfriends ever! Hadn’t been out of the house in years until just recently.”
Clair sniffled. “I remember Nelly from when we were little.”
Karen smiled her lovely eyed smile. It just cut through and said ‘everything is going to be alright’. “Nelly remembers you too. She thinks you’re imaginary, though. She thinks she made you up.”
That struck Clair. “My whole life has been imaginary,” she said as the notion rose up within her.
“Yes… Yes it has,” the little woman said, glancing up from stirring her tea. “What a waste!”
“A waste?” Clair repeated, tearing up again.
“Oh, yes. Look at you. You’re so beautiful. And smar
t… Same as Nelly! Have you seen that girl? She’s gorgeous! You know, she deserves a really, really wonderful man. Hmm—how old are you girls? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? Oh, so young yet… I’m going to have Nelly dating by the end of the year. That’s my mission with that girl. She will have a date for Christmas!”
Clair laughed, painfully.
The little woman squeezed her hand. “Unfortunately, though, breaking out of an imaginary life is easier said than done, isn’t it, dear?”
“I don’t know. This is all new to me. I only just found out about um—”
“Yes, dear. You have just found out why you’ve been living an imaginary life all these years. You just found the key.”
Clair’s chin started quivering again. “Who are you?” she blubbered.
“The foundation I work for is a privately funded organization. We are entirely not-for-profit. We don’t charge anything at all and can offer financial assistance as part of helping people get their lives together. I was told you just left your job and moved here. Are you okay financially? I have a cheque book.”
“What? No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well, fiddle-de-dee. We’ve really got so much money, we like giving it away,” she explained with a laugh.
“I’m confused,” Clair said. “The widow sent you to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The little woman paused in thought. “That’s a very good question. She feels responsible for her husband and his brother inflicting their disease upon you. That would be the short answer.”
Clair hadn’t dealt with the widow in her mind as yet. She hadn’t gotten anywhere near rationalising and assigning blame.
“She helps a lot of people, Clair. Through the foundation, she has helped hundreds of people over the years.” The little woman leaned close. “Can I tell you something about Susan?”
“What?”
“She’s the one who needs help. She’s dragging around so much guilt.”
Clair was tearing up again.
“Oh, how a mother feels when she thinks she’s failed to protect her child,” the little woman said through a deep sigh.