‘Oh, yes. From the Sex Crimes Unit,’ she said, noting the size and warmth of his hand. She watched him help himself to a seat while she considered the extraordinary effectiveness of the jungle-drums that had informed the nurses already of her suddenly planned leave.
‘I know you’re probably anxious to be out of here seeing as you’re on leave,’ he said, ‘but I was in the hospital on another job, and I wanted to follow up the matter of Rachel Hooper. I’m aware we left you dangling a bit on that one.’
‘Is she okay?’ Mia said, suddenly alarmed.
‘Yes, she’s fine — well, as far as I know. Lauren Quayle from Child Welfare is liaising with the family.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card. ‘She asked me to give you this. And you may as well take one of these, too,’ he said, passing his own card to her.
‘Do you know Lauren?’ Noah asked, leaning back in his chair with a fond smirk.
‘No. No, I don’t.’
‘She is a senior practitioner with the Department. I’ve worked with her before and I’m confident Rachel’s being well supported. Of course, we will be involved the moment it becomes necessary. But for now, on the information we have, it’s more appropriate for Child Welfare to be on the scene than us.’ He unfolded from the chair and extended his hand again.
‘That’s reassuring news,’ Mia said, standing and placing her hand firmly in his. ‘Thanks so much for dropping in Noah,’ she added, wondering what his wife was like as he strode from her office, glanced at his watch and gathered pace along the corridor.
Minutes later, Mia was heading once more for the beach house, feeling at least for the moment as though she hadn’t a care in the world, the familiar magic washing over her as she headed into the Peninsula.
When she arrived, the sun was beginning its descent behind the horizon. She lifted the blinds she had drawn only a few hours earlier, lit the fire and, settling into the softness of the settee with a chilled glass of Pinot Gris, she watched the flames and made the call to Adam that she had been dreading for weeks.
The moment she heard his voice, the sobs she thought she had well and truly dealt with suddenly formed in her throat like pebbles.
‘Mum,’ he said softly when he answered, ‘I’m really glad you’ve called.’ He seemed to be listening for her response, but despite her efforts she could not speak.
‘Do you want to call me back?’ he said, even more softly.
She took a moment and cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ were the only words she could manage.
‘It’s not your fault, Mum. He’s like a stranger. I’m freaked out. He told me he was here on business and invited me to dinner. When I turned up he’s sitting at the table with her. That threw me off from the start because he hadn’t mentioned her. Then he introduced her as his colleague, but it was so obvious that they were into each other. At the end of the meal, he blurted out that he hoped I liked her because they were in love. Then he asked me not to say anything to you.’
Tears ran silently down Mia’s cheeks. Her throat had closed over completely, not only at the suffocating realisation of why they had flown to Brisbane together, but mainly at the blistering pain and embarrassment Eric’s lovestruck thoughtlessness and stupidity had caused their son.
‘Do you want to ring me back?’ Adam repeated. Mia could hear the muffled talk and laughter of his housemates in the background, and pictured his tall, thin body stretched out on his invariably unmade bed in his room, part of a two-storey townhouse he shared with his uni mates. His hair, thick and dark like his father’s had once been, would probably be in need of a cut and he would be wearing the same intense expression he had worn even as a child when something unexpected had happened to suddenly rock his world.
‘No, I’m okay,’ she said. ‘I know it’s hard for you, Adam. And I know the way he told you about her was gobsmackingly clumsy. But he’s your dad and he loves you.’
‘I know that, Mum. But he’s weird — like some lame Austin Powers avatar. Where are you calling from, by the way, Mum?’
‘I’m at the beach.’
Adam’s voice seemed to mellow. ‘That’s great. You love it there, don’t you?’
Mia finally managed to reassure Adam she was fine, and to bring him up to date on his father’s departure from their home. She worried that on the very brink of his final exams, Adam had to deal with a possibly intolerable collection of changes to his life. But throughout his entire childhood and beyond, she had told him the truth, no matter how confronting, no matter how unpalatable, and on this occasion there would be no exceptions.
‘I’m so relieved you rang me and that everything is out in the open now, Mum. I’ll ring you tomorrow to see how you are,’ he said, as they brought their conversation to a close.
‘I’ll be fine, Adam. The only worry will be if I think you are worried about me. Just concentrate on your exams for now and we’ll speak in a few days.’
After their final goodbyes she slipped another log on the fire and poured a second glass of wine, considered with burning pride the emotional maturity of her son, way above that of his father. Unable to concentrate on her novel, she eventually left it sitting open and abandoned on her lap and pondered the night she had spent with Steve Wheeler. She realised she was finally ready to ring him. She glanced at the time, instantly aware that Western Australia was hours ahead and decided it would be too late over there and that she would definitely phone him tomorrow. Again, she picked up her novel. But still unable to concentrate, her mind wandered to Eric. Where he might be. What he might be doing at that very moment.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Not far ahead of Tim, Peter scuttled across the slate floor like an uncoordinated spider, his skinny arms and legs clawing and slipping in his futile attempts at claiming traction. Despite his lack of athletic agility, Peter’s meagre size gave him an advantage over Tim who desperately pushed his bulk as he ran across the tiles and scrambled in the relatively small space to catch hold of the old man, driven by the vision of finally grabbing him and beating him to a pulp. But instead, Tim watched as Peter pushed through the screen door, passed into sunlight and galloped barefoot over the concrete apron towards the shed, his boots and overalls still in a ball under his arm.
Undeterred, Tim slammed through the screen door, gritting his teeth, and with his head down and fists clenched ran the most determined run of his life, eventually closing the gap to a few slender centimetres. Tim stretched his arm as far as it would go and went to grab Peter by the sleeve, but just missed him as Peter threw his bare arse on the motorbike. Steadying the front wheel with his one free hand Peter kick-started the old bike into life and gunned it to take off with a roar, smoke billowing, its rear wheel snaking and quarry rubble spewing directly into Tim’s path. Shielding his face with his arm Tim slowed and eventually came to a stop. ‘You wait, you sick bastard,’ he said, watching the bike turn towards the road and disappear, its noisy exhaust quickly fading. ‘You have to come back here sometime. And I’ll be waiting for you.’
The screen door thwacked behind Tim as he returned inside and made his way through the hollow silence to Rachel’s room, his burning anger now diluted by the chilling fear of not knowing what shape he would find her in and his uncertainty over whether or not he would be equipped to help her in the way she needed. He stopped again at her doorway. What he saw this time was almost as gut-wrenching as what he had witnessed only minutes ago. Still naked, Rachel stood alongside her bed, her feet splayed wide on the carpet, her arms held stiff and high and away from her sides. To Tim, she seemed desperate to avoid any part of her body touching the other. And from her inanimate expression as she looked down at her left hand, he knew she was in no state to be aware of his presence. He also knew instinctively she would come back of her own accord.
It seemed hours, but it was less than a minute, before some semblance of life bled back into her face and Tim was finally able to step towards her. He picked her dressing gown off the floor and gingerly helped as she s
lipped into it one arm at a time, his relief swamping him at knowing her nakedness was finally covered. Feeling ashamed at being a man and thoroughly disgusted at being Peter’s son, Tim’s gut sank with the same recurring questions about his own sexual orientation and even though he knew without a doubt he was not into little kids, he wondered if he had inherited some other sexual malfunction from the old man. ‘You wait, you stinking piece of slime,’ he whispered as his arm slipped around Rachel’s shoulders in an attempt to stop her trembling.
‘No,’ she wailed, pushing him away, her face twisted with disgust, ‘don’t touch me.’ She pushed past him and thumped wordlessly along the passage, slamming the bathroom door behind her with sufficient strength to set the family room windows shuddering.
The sound of water running full and hard was audible within seconds, followed by echoes of weird mumblings as though Rachel was repeating some sort of mantra over and over again. He imagined her scrubbing herself raw under the steaming shower and was immediately concerned, but he soon reasoned that it was more likely to be therapeutic than harmful.
Staring down at the shambolic bed, he wondered if he should seek some professional help. The only person he trusted and who he thought would know what to do was Mia Sandhurst, but he could not bring himself to make the phone call. Instead, he rationalised that everything was ticking along well enough so far and that if it all suddenly turned to shit, well then, he would call Jack Carmichael who could be here within minutes.
Deciding to change the bed with fresh linen, he bundled the top sheet and tossed it onto the floor. He was about to drag the fitted sheet from the bed when he noticed a wet stain about the size of a 20 cent piece. He peered closer, nausea rising at the thought of sniffing the stain in order to confirm that it was what it appeared to be. But the chlorine odour of semen rose up and assaulted him where he stood, triggering in him an overwhelming urge to be physically sick. Hurriedly pulling the sheet from the bed he bundled it up, along with Rachel’s nightgown, which had three distinctly similar stains.
Running to the kitchen for a garbage bag he pushed aside the lifelike pictures in his mind of his father straddling Rachel, the insidious vision triggering the same sense of powerlessness, the same sickening horror that he had felt for his sister as he had stood and watched her being assaulted. He wondered how many times this had happened. Desperate to ponder this question further, he decided to put it on hold for now, once he realised the time. Ben and Annie would be on their way home soon. Turning his mind to sheer practicalities, he fished sheets from the cupboard, suddenly aware that the shower had finally stopped running. As he made up her bed with fresh linen he finally allowed his thoughts to wander back over the years.
There had been times when the old man’s eyes would linger on Rachel. But Tim had put it down to latent paternal pride. There were other times when the old man would walk in on Rachel in the bathroom, his apology disproportionate with the long seconds it took for him to retreat into the passage again. He wondered about the countless occasions on which Rachel and the old man had been at home alone, like during footy matches, instances when she’d gone alone with him in the car, or other occasions when she’d gone out to the paddock ostensibly to give him a hand, or to work together in Monnie’s stable yard.
And then, the most likely scenario of them all … the realisation hit him like a wrecking ball. Those countless nights the old man spent working late in the shed, a bottle of grog at his side. It would have been a piece of piss for him to wander into her room while everyone was asleep, to get his sick thrills and wander out again, crawling into his own bed like a spider under a rock. No one would know. Annie and Ben are out to it like well-fed calves the minute their heads hit the pillow. Ben’s bedroom, between Tim’s and Rachel’s provides the perfect soundproofing and even though he complained about Rachel’s music sometimes, there was no way Tim could hear voices or movement in her room.
‘No wonder she’s a bloody mental wreck,’ he said through clenched teeth, punching the surface of the newly made bed.
He ran to the kitchen, flicked the switch for a cup of tea and took several cleansing breaths as the kettle rumbled into life. Nothing was enough. He paced the kitchen, his hands on top of his head as though it could help sort the logistical nightmare now facing him. Annie and Ben were due to walk in any minute. That didn’t matter. He could handle that. In fact, Annie needed to know before anyone else.
No. He needed to report this immediately. At last, this was his decision. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and began to dial 000. Hesitated, then slipped it back again. Perhaps it would be best to give Rachel a say, provided she was capable at the moment of making decisions. If not, he would take the initiative and call the police later, probably before Annie and Ben got home. Probably before the old man brought his skinny cowardly arse back here again.
The bathroom door slammed and Rachel’s footfall thumped towards her bedroom. ‘I’m making tea, Rach,’ he called. ‘I’ll bring one to you.’
Her muttered response was inaudible, the only noise in the house at that moment being the teaspoon tinkling against the mug as he stirred their tea, followed by the belated thud of her bedroom door. He walked slowly and deliberately to her room, his guts churning and his head aching, a steaming mug in each hand. He stepped in after calling her name and edging the ajar door open with his toe.
Any sign of progress came as a relief, no matter how minute. So when Tim saw her freshly scrubbed and wearing clean blue pyjamas, her face shiny from crying (now a given since Monnie’s death), Tim could not help but smile. She climbed back into bed, her pink doona neatly folded at the end, the room smelling faintly of clean sheets, of sun and washing powder. He placed her tea on the bedside cupboard. Sat on the edge of her bed and studied her silently over the top of his mug.
‘How long, Rach? How long has he been doing this?’ he said, after swallowing.
‘Rach? How long?’ he repeated as she sat upright and stared ahead, bolstered by two pillows.
She silently slipped under the covers, turned onto her side. There she lay, the only movement being her tears, which slid down her nose to drop onto the pillow. He waited for her to speak. She eventually turned on her back and stared blankly up at the ceiling, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her hand. ‘I don’t know. Probably since grade four or five — I was about nine.’
Horrified, but not surprised, Tim studied her face. ‘Does Mum know?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I tried telling her lots of times, but she was always busy. It was hard enough getting the words out, let alone deciding how to make her listen.’
Tim nodded. Rachel’s words described his experience to perfection. For him it was easier to give up than to persist. As loving as their mother could be, she would not hear anything outside her own frame of reference. ‘He has to stop this, Rachel. We have to tell the police.’
She sat suddenly upright like a jack-in-the-box, her brown eyes as wide as a possum’s. ‘No, Tim … please. It’ll kill Mum. This is such a small town. She will never be able to walk down the street again. Never be able to do her volunteer work or take Ben to school. It’ll wreck the family. I don’t want to be responsible for that. Besides … like, at least he’s never, like, raped me. Not properly … apart from his fingers sometimes. But not very often,’ she seemed at pains to point out. ‘It’s mostly just what you saw him doing today.’ When Rachel glanced down at her side, Tim held his breath, afraid she was about to leave him again. Instead, she turned to him, wordlessly beseeching him to understand.
But he could not understand her tolerance. ‘Sometimes he puts his fingers in?’ he shouted at her. ‘And he only masturbates on you? Jeezus Christ, Rachel …’ Tim dropped his head in his hands at noticing how she instantly recoiled. ‘Inserting his fingers is rape, Rachel. It’s against the law,’ he added softly. ‘And it’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard. He should be doing everything he can to protect you — not treating you like a …’
�
�A slag — go on, say it, Tim. Say it. That’s what everyone will say once they know. You’re thinking, Why didn’t she just stop him, aren’t you? That’s what everyone will think.’
Tim sighed and jumped to his feet. Paced back and forth along the side of her bed. ‘I don’t care what people think, Rachel. I just want to stop him from ever doing this to you again. He should be the one who is bloody ashamed, not the rest of us. You have done fuck-all wrong. He has to be stopped.’
Rachel sat up suddenly, taller against her pillows, her eyes dancing. ‘You can stop him, Tim. I know you can. Then the family can stay together and he’ll leave me alone. He’s scared of you, I know he is. Please, Tim. I’d rather die than wreck Mum’s life.’
‘Jeezus, Rachel … he’s sick. He needs help. He shouldn’t even be under the same roof as you. He shouldn’t be under the same roof as anyone, except other crims.’
‘He’s our father, Tim. Pleeeease.’
The sound of the gravel crunching and the groan of Annie’s old Holden idling up to the house sent Tim’s mind into overdrive. The instant silence as they stopped talking, suddenly filled by their exchange of wide-eyed alarm.
‘Shit — that’s Mum. Pleeease, Tim. We can’t tell her. Please say yes,’ Rachel begged.
Tim rose from the bed. Started pacing again. ‘Okay. Okay. This is insane. We’ll give it a try,’ he said softly. ‘I have a few ideas. But you have to promise that you will tell me if he tries anything … even if he looks at you creepily.’
Rachel nodded half-heartedly.
‘Promise me,’ Tim roared.
‘Okay — I promise,’ she said sliding under the sheets as he left.
Tim reluctantly left Rachel’s room to the sound of Ben running into the toilet and the clunk of him throwing the toilet seat open. ‘Close the bloody door, Ben’ Tim barked to Ben’s back as he passed. Seconds later the door slammed.
‘Hello, Tim love.’ Annie smiled up at him from the breakfast bar as she unpacked several bags of groceries. ‘I thought you were working at Laurie’s,’ she said, turning to the overhead cupboards.
What Matters Most Page 16