What Matters Most

by Dianne Maguire

  Mia felt as though she had received enough shocking news for one day, but a single question still gnawed at her. ‘How likely is it that Peter Hooper is now abusing Rachel?’

  ‘If he was a victim — and there is no evidence to say he was — there’s a 20 to 50 percent chance of him offending, based on contemporary research. But in my mind current research is not conclusive. Anyway, at this stage there is no point in drawing conclusions. We just need to be aware of the possibility.’

  Mia was so familiar with the layout of the Child Protection Unit that she cruised along its corridors without specifically noticing the abundance of toys and books, the entire wall of larger-than-life cartoon characters recognisable by even the smallest of children, or the coloured animal cut-outs swaying gently from the ceiling.

  She knocked on Maggie Malloy’s office door and entered to be confronted with the solemn faces of Noah Tamblyn and a petite young woman wearing jeans and a black jacket.

  ‘Mia, come in,’ Maggie said, chirpily introducing Noah and the woman who turned out to be Lauren Quayle.

  ‘We have a ticking time bomb on our hands,’ Maggie explained. ‘Rachel is conscious and still refusing to talk to us even though she now knows we have conducted a medical. She was not at all happy about that I might add. Her signs are good, despite everything, so unless there are unexpected developments, it’s likely she will be discharged within 48 hours. And her family is in the lounge, anxious to see her.’ She sighed and opened her palms. ‘Apart from now having medical evidence, I’m afraid we are back to where we started.’

  Noah scraped his fingertips along the dark stubble on his cheek, seemingly thinking aloud. ‘Even though Cerise has found evidence of genital trauma, it’s not likely the perp will be identified because there was no DNA. That means without Rachel’s statement we have nothing to act on.’

  Lauren leaned forward in her seat and cleared her throat. ‘And her parents are at last arranging proper care — which means we no longer have a mandate to be involved unless clearer information comes forward to indicate she is being mistreated or abused.’

  Maggie turned to Mia. ‘So you see, her statement is our only option if we are to help her. Mia — she seems more comfortable with you than any of us. How would you feel about trying to persuade her to talk?’

  ‘I’ll give it my best shot,’ Mia said, modestly denying the urge to tell them that this had been her plan all along.

  Mia crept into the sunlit room to see Rachel lying on her side, the white cotton blanket pulled right up to her chin. Rachel’s eyes opened the moment Mia sat on her bed and closed again just as quickly. Mia was supremely confident in the knowledge that she could outwait a 15 year old.

  ‘Go away,’ Rachel said eventually, her lips barely moving.

  ‘I can’t,’ Mia replied.

  ‘Why not?’ Rachel said, briefly peeking at Mia with one eye.

  ‘Because I care too much,’ Mia told her.

  ‘Well, care all you like. The only person I want to talk to is my brother … without my parents.’

  ‘I promise I will arrange that, Rachel, if you speak to me first.’

  Rachel instantly turned onto her back. ‘I wish they had let me die,’ she said, her eyes shining with tears.

  ‘There are a lot of people who would be heartbroken if you had, Rachel.’

  ‘I don’t care about them,’ she said wiping her eyes with the sheet. ‘It’s way too hard.’

  ‘Let’s just take it one step at a time,’ Mia said softly. ‘Right now we need to know what is making you so unhappy.’

  It felt to Mia that Rachel was silently staring deep into her soul.

  ‘We know someone is hurting you, Rachel, because Cerise, the doctor I told you about, has examined you.’

  ‘I told you. It was …’

  ‘It wasn’t caused by your saddle. We know now, because some of the injuries are only days old.’

  Rachel’s frown deepened. She seemed startled by this news. She struggled to sit up and Mia immediately pressed a button on the control panel at Rachel’s side. The head of the bed lifted as they watched in silence. Rachel closed her eyes and lay back against the pillows.

  ‘Will you talk to Maggie Malloy? You know her. And I can stay with you if you want,’ Mia said softly.

  Rachel took a deep breath and started picking at her cuticles. ‘Once I talk to them, everything will go mental and I won’t get a say about what happens to me.’

  ‘You can discuss that with Maggie. Set up a sort of a contract with her about what can and can’t happen. You’re old enough to do that,’ she said smiling.

  ‘Okay. But only if you promise they won’t put me in foster care. If they put me in foster care I promise I’ll run away and become a street kid.’

  Rachel looked around at the murals on the walls, the stuffed animals swaying under the air conditioner vent in the ceiling, as Mia pushed her wheelchair to the interview room in the Child Protection Unit. ‘This place is for babies,’ she said, sneering.

  ‘Kids of all ages come here,’ Mia told her.

  Rachel kept her word that she would talk to Maggie, now sitting opposite her wheelchair in a tangerine-coloured seat identical to that which Mia occupied at Rachel’s side. But when Maggie informed her that Lauren Quayle and Noah Tamblyn were sitting the other side of a one-way mirror, Rachel’s colour rose in blotches. ‘No way,’ she said. ‘I don’t want some cop listening to what I say and I don’t want that social worker there either.’

  Maggie nodded. ‘I agree — it’s not fair. We are all strangers who expect you to tell us your most personal stories. But we’ve done it this way with hundreds of kids before you, Rachel, and we can’t think of a better way of doing it. Lauren and Noah need to hear what you say if they are going to do their jobs properly. And they know they can’t tell anyone outside of work or they’ll be on the unemployment line,’ she said with a faint smile.

  Maggie and Mia knew that Rachel’s silence as she picked at her cuticles was tantamount to her agreement, albeit reluctant. ‘You need to know as well, Rachel,’ Maggie said, pointing to the ceiling, ‘that the camera in the corner over there will be recording what you say.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Rachel said, her eyes flashing, ‘I don’t want it recorded so that some psycho drop-kick I’ve never even met can watch it whenever he wants.’

  ‘We need a record of what you say. The tape will be carefully stored, and destroyed when it’s no longer needed. And same again about anyone who does not respect your right to privacy,’ Maggie said.

  Rachel looked to Mia then immediately dropped her eyes again, this time seemingly more thoughtful and less acquiescent.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, finally lifting her head, ‘but I am definitely not going into foster care. I want that on the tape as well.’

  At last, Mia thought as they commenced the interview, acutely aware that Rachel was still recovering and could not be expected to remain alert and totally coherent for much longer.

  Maggie clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Rachel, as you know, we have found injuries on your body. Do you know where?’

  ‘Yes, to my private parts here,’ Rachel said pointing downward.’ Mia resisted the urge to take Rachel’s hand as she watched the teen’s chin dimple with the effort of holding back her tears.

  ‘Do you know how those injuries were caused?’ Maggie said.

  Rachel nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell us, please?’ Maggie said softly.

  ‘It was at Tanya’s party.’ She cleared her throat.

  ‘Take your time,’ Maggie said.

  ‘I was watching movies in the lounge room with Cassie. It was her sister’s 21st party and she didn’t want Cassie and me outside with all her friends. After a while Cassie went to bed because she felt sick, but I wanted to keep drinking. Then Trevor Carson came in.’ Rachel’s face twisted as tears ran down her cheeks. Unable to tolerate her suffering, Mia rested her hand gently on Rachel’s arm, but without looking at her
Rachel immediately pulled away, her eyes dropping to her left seemingly staring at nothing. Maggie gave Mia a knowing look as they waited. When mere moments had passed, Rachel continued as though there had been no interruption to the telling. ‘He and I were drinking together. He gave me some ekkies and said they were harmless; that they would help me chill. When he kissed me I didn’t really like it, but I thought I could get used to it. Then he started like, panting and getting worked up …’ Again Rachel’s eyes dropped. Again Maggie waited.

  The deeper she reached into her story, the more rapid, more disturbed her speech became. ‘He pulled off my knickers. I told him to stop. He was grunting; not hearing anything I said; telling me it was too late for him to stop. Then before I knew what he was doing he was jamming his thing into me. It killed. I hated it. And he wouldn’t stop.’

  Mia handed Rachel a wad of tissues from the box on the table and she and Maggie waited until Rachel’s sobs abated. Waited while she blew her nose and scrubbed vigorously at her eyes. ‘I thought I would like it. I really wanted to like it. But I hated it,’ she gasped breathlessly, hiding her face behind her cupped hands, her anguished sobs tearing at Mia. She and Maggie waited for what seemed a lifetime before Rachel lifted her head and dabbed at her eyes, now almost swollen shut. ‘The worst part was that afterwards he just did up his pants and called me a prick-teasing bitch. He couldn’t even tell me I was a good girl or anything nice.’

  ‘What about the other times?’ Maggie asked softly.

  ‘What other times? That was the only time. He came to school one day and tried to take it back. To apologise. I told him to get stuffed.’

  Maggie leaned forward. ‘Your more recent injuries, Rachel — how did they occur?’

  ‘Probably using tampons or something. I don’t know.’

  ‘Have you been riding since Monnie died?’ Maggie asked.

  Rachel’s tone softened. She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘That’s all I need to ask you, Rachel. Is there anything you want to ask me?’

  ‘Yes. Can I go home now, please?’

  ‘Did you think there was anything unusual about what Rachel said — apart from the tampon thing, I mean?’ Maggie asked Mia over coffee, once Rachel had been settled in her room with a light sedative and Noah had left to interview Trevor Carson.

  Mia turned from where she had been watching the passing traffic through Maggie’s office window and wandered back to Maggie’s desk, thoughtfully lowering herself into the chair opposite. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘I did,’ Maggie said smirking.

  ‘Well, it’s what you do, Maggie,’ Mia said returning her smile. ‘What was it?’

  ‘Don’t you think it was a strange thing for Rachel to say, about Trevor not telling her she was a good girl?’

  ‘Mm. I hadn’t thought about it … but now you mention it …’

  Maggie lifted her phone. ‘I think she’s still hiding something. All things considered I think Noah should have a chat with Peter Hooper.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tim selected a novel from the bookcase in the family lounge and wandered over to the armchair. Lifted his eyes from the book as he opened it and watched his parents. Annie and Peter sat side by side on the short settee, Annie with her chunky legs stretched out in front, Peter with his chin leaning on his chest, his arms folded as they watched an ancient black and white movie on the television. It’s like he hasn’t a care in the world, Tim thought contemptuously, suddenly throwing the book down on the coffee table with a thwack, prompting Annie to cast him one of her warning scowls.

  ‘Why don’t you go for a walk, Tim,’ she said before turning back to the television.

  ‘Nah,’ Tim said rising to make a cup of tea, strangely missing the presence of Ben who was with the Bollens. His mind churned over whether this would be a good opportunity to tell Annie the whole story. It was dead certain that Rachel would have finally spilled the beans to Maggie Malloy and the detective. Tim didn’t know how he felt about it finally coming out. Perhaps Rachel had been right. Perhaps the shame would be too much for the family.

  As though by osmosis, Tim’s thoughts materialised into Maggie Malloy, who rapped at the open door and stepped in to stand with her hands clasped before her, reminding Tim of a teacher he’d had in Year 8. Tim peered into the corridor behind her, surprised to find the detective was nowhere to be seen. He scanned Maggie’s face for any telltale signs of the news she had to break about Peter.

  When Maggie had entered, Peter had glanced up at her as though her presence meant nothing more to him than that of the blue-uniformed cleaner who whizzed around the family lounge with a vacuum cleaner every couple of hours. But the moment Maggie had rapped on the door Annie had sat forward in her seat, the movie suddenly forgotten. ‘Is the interview over?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes. Rachel is very keen to go home but the doctors want her to stay for another couple of days. You can see her very soon,’ Maggie said.

  ‘How is she?’ Annie said, one hand splayed across her ample chest. ‘I’m so glad she came out of that coma so quickly.’

  ‘The doctors are testing for any long-term effects from the medications she took, but they tell me the signs are good,’ Maggie said.

  ‘And how is she now — after the interview with the police and everything?’ Annie said.

  ‘Rachel was very clear in what she told us,’ Maggie said solemnly.

  Tim felt as though he was about to burst. He rose from his seat and paced the floor, glancing outside the doorway yet again as he passed.

  ‘Are you alright, Tim?’ Maggie said with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Yeah. Just feeling cooped up, that’s all.’

  Maggie smiled sympathetically and continued. ‘I need to speak frankly with you,’ she warned, glancing between Peter and Annie and she stepped over to lower herself on the coffee table to face them.

  Annie nodded with eyes like saucers. Tim peered at Peter who stared at his hands lying in his lap.

  ‘Rachel has told us that she has been sexually abused,’ Maggie said.

  Tim saw Annie gasp and clutch her mouth, watched Peter’s eyelids flutter as he studied the stippled pattern of the carpet.

  ‘Who? Who did it?’’ Annie spluttered.

  ‘A boy named Trevor Carson,’ Maggie told them.

  Tim had not been aware he had stopped breathing, until Maggie mentioned Trevor’s name. ‘Jeezus H Christ,’ he said dropping down into the nearest seat.

  ‘Detective Tamblyn is on his way to interview Trevor now.’ Maggie examined her hands for a moment. Lifted her eyes to Annie. ‘As you are no doubt aware by now, Rachel is dealing with some very difficult emotional issues. I’m referring her to our Child Psychiatrist, Declan O’Leary.’

  ‘How much will it cost?’ Peter asked.

  ‘We can arrange it at no cost to you,’ Maggie replied.

  Annie shook her head. ‘I don’t know whether that’s the best thing for her …’

  Jumping from his seat, Tim peered down at his mother. ‘Are you for real, Mum? Rachel has just tried to kill herself for the second time … and you’re still dithering over whether or not she needs help.’ He turned to Maggie. ‘I hope you can talk some sense into them. Can I see Rachel, please?’

  ‘Yes. She’s on the fourth floor. Mia Sandhurst tells me your sister is anxious to see you alone. You two must be very close,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tim said, his mind unable to cope with niceties at that moment. He loped from the room and headed for the stairs, Maggie’s next comment floating in the air behind him and calming him to a degree.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Hooper, I shall be referring Rachel to Dr O’Leary regardless. I hope I can count on your cooperation. We really have no choice.’

  The nurse on the fourth floor smiled up at him from behind her computer.

  ‘Rachel Hooper, please?’ Tim said to her over the bench at the nurses’ station, thinking she was really hot. Another nurse checking files
behind her gave Tim a lingering glance.

  ‘She’s in Room 412,’ the cute nurse said over the top of the computer. ‘But only family are allowed, I’m afraid,’ she called after him as he took off.

  ‘I’m her brother,’ he called back as he loped along the corridor glancing at the room numbers.

  His brief interaction with the nurses had calmed Tim a little. But it was the sight of a totally relaxed Rachel sitting up and watching television from her freshly-made bed that enabled him to finally breathe normally. He sat on the edge of her bed. Smiled and shook his head. ‘Don’t you ever bloody do that again,’ he said. ‘You scared the bejeezus out of me, Rach. I really thought you were dead.’ He dug into his pocket and gave her the folded note. ‘You can have this back. I didn’t show it to anyone.’

  ‘You keep it,’ she said pushing his hand away and resting against the stack of pillows behind her. ‘I don’t want to be reminded of it. Throw it away if you want.’

  Tim pushed the note deep down into his pocket. ‘Why did you tell them Trevor Carson raped you?’ he said lightly. ‘They’re going to find out the truth eventually.’

  ‘Because he did.’ Her glare did not waver.

  ‘Jeezus, Rachel … that means …’ He dropped his head into his hands. ‘Oh jeezus. Two of them. There are two of them. Oh jeezus.’ He sprang to his feet and paced the side of her bed. ‘I wish I’d killed the bastard. That fucking prick. I wish I’d smashed his fucking face in.’ He dropped onto the edge of her bed again and covered his face with his hands. Allowed the full meaning of what she had just told him to sink in. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he said too loudly, immediately correcting his tone. ‘Or why didn’t you say something to Mia Sandhurst when she was asking you all those times about what was going on? Why did you tell them it was from horse riding?’ he said.