‘And, of course, I enjoy good food,’ he added. ‘That’s my weakness … what’s yours?’
She felt the colour rise on her neck. ‘Chocolate,’ she said. ‘And a good read. And, of course, I like wine.’
‘So, given you have a place on the coast, you will have eaten at the Star of Greece, wouldn’t you?’ he said.
She sliced through the golden crust on her whiting. ‘Oh yes. It’s one of my favourites.’
‘Good. I’ll take you there. When is your next day off?’
She gently placed her knife and fork down on the table. Clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I don’t go out with married men, Noah. Sorry.’
‘I’m not married. I’ve been divorced for over 10 years.’
‘Then why are you wearing a wedding ring?’ she said.
‘Because I can’t get the bastard to move and I haven’t got round to having it cut off yet.’
Mia’s eyes narrowed at the thought of being someone else’s Lucinda Brayshaw-Mahoney — some perfectly decent, resoundingly undeserving woman she had not yet met. ‘Prove it,’ she said.
He studied her face thoughtfully. ‘Short of phoning my colleagues for a verbal testimonial I can’t prove anything at this moment. You’ll just have to trust me.’
‘Mm. Well, I guess it is the Star of Greece. Okay, I’ll trust you.’ Mia could not believe the reckless words had slipped so glibly from her mouth. Six months ago, the screaming risks associated with finding out more about him would never have outweighed the safety of being left to wonder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tim sat on the chair at the end of Rachel’s bed, one leg crossed over the other, his hands in the pockets of his jacket while he watched his sister and mother exchange fractured clusters of sentences, both crying, each feeling a seemingly devastating sense of responsibility to the other. Every now and then they would hug. It almost brought tears to his eyes because he hadn’t seen them do that since Rachel had been a little girl and also because of the heartfelt expressions they both wore. He swallowed and uncrossed his legs. Felt as though he was watching a film with a plot and actors and with cameras somewhere in the background. But it was actually his life playing out in front of him. His family.
He watched them pull apart. Rachel lay back on her pillows and his mother dropped down again into the seat at her side. Rachel picked at her cuticles and rasped static, calm responses to Annie’s hushed questions. He thought his little sister looked fresher and shinier than she had for a while, but there was still a burdened sadness deep behind her eyes.
‘Could you pull the curtain around, please?’ Rachel had said when they had first entered her room. Annie had helped wash her face and hands. Had assisted while Rachel changed into her pink spotted nightgown after which Annie had spent what had seemed hours brushing Rachel’s hair into a ponytail. Tim felt his fury rise at the thought that the old man had actually had the stupidity, or the arrogance, or both, to go at her while she was sick in her hospital bed. He took a deep breath and pushed the thought from his mind.
‘I can’t work out how I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, pet,’ Annie said to Rachel yet again. ‘How could he? You were so little. And to top it all off … I can’t believe … Trevor Carson.’ Her eyes shone with tears again and her hands flew to her mouth. She looked at Rachel and grabbed her in a hug and they both sobbed. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t notice. I’m so sorry,’ Annie blustered repeatedly.
‘I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry too,’ Rachel howled. They eventually pulled apart and Annie wiped her nose and eyes with a shredded tissue from the sleeve of her brown windcheater. The whoosh of Rachel pulling a tissue from the box beside her was almost lost in the sounds of their sniffing and blowing.
‘What about you, love?’ Annie said, turning to Tim. ‘It must have been unbearable for you as well.’ She stopped and stared at him silently, her hand flying to her mouth once again. ‘Tim, oh my gawd. He didn’t do anything to you as well, did he?’
Tim shook his head. ‘No, Mum. He was just a prick, that’s all.’ And he gave me totally screwed sex genes.
‘I’m so sorry, Tim, she said sniffing back her tears and rising from her seat. ‘I have been such a crap-filled mother, despite trying so hard.’
Rachel and Tim exchanged surprised, even mirthful glances at Annie’s uncharacteristic language. ‘What about you, Mum?’ Rachel asked, her expression suddenly turning anxious as Annie toddled round her bed and pulled a few tissues from the box. ‘What are you going to do? Everyone will be talking about our family as though we are freaks. Everyone will be calling me a slag, but what will they be calling you?’
Annie grabbed Rachel by the wrists. Stared into her eyes. ‘Well, we know that you are not a slag. We know that is the very last thing you would ever be, Rachel. And we don’t care what others choose to believe. It is what we know that counts. So you must put that sort of thinking behind you.’ She dropped into her chair and sighed. ‘We will soon learn who our true friends are … which reminds me. I don’t think we can be back in time to get Ben from Heather Bollen’s place,’ she murmured almost as though speaking to herself.
‘I’ll ring her,’ Tim said, jumping from his chair, anxious to seize a break from the intensity of everything and keen to make the call he reluctantly knew he must make to the cute nurse, Ellen.
‘Thanks, love,’ Annie said before turning back to Rachel. ‘Noah said he will need you to make a statement tomorrow. You should do it, pet. Stay strong. Your father needs to be responsible in some way for what he has done to you.’
Tim wandered along the corridor to a small alcove of armchairs facing a coffee table that was scattered with dog-eared magazines. He nodded at a pair of nurses who smiled his way as they passed. Dialled the number.
‘Hi, Heather. It’s Tim. Mum asked me to give you a ring. We’re still at the hospital with Rachel.’
‘How is she, Tim?’ Heather said, raising her voice over the reassuring laughter and squealing Tim could hear in the background. He knew Heather would be standing in her kitchen amid the chaos of crowded benches, pots bubbling on the stove and probably a joint in the oven, holding her hand against her free ear and trying to talk above the din made by her husband Tom and their four boys, each barely a year apart. Tim pondered what Tom Bollen would think when he heard Peter is a sex pervert — especially since they had spent many hours together inseminating cattle. But then he refused to let his mind go there. ‘The doctors say that physically she’s out of the woods,’ he told Heather. ‘But she’s in a bit of a bad way otherwise. Mum was wondering if you would mind having Ben for the night. We’re not sure we will be able to get home before his bedtime.’ The words. ‘We’ve been held up because Dad got caught interfering with Rachel,’ had almost, but not quite, found their way out of his mouth.
‘No worries. Tim. Ben and my boys are having a ball together. I’ll find him some jammies to wear and will drop him at school tomorrow.’
‘Much appreciated, Heather. Thanks for your help.’
Tim paced the mottled blue carpet while he dialled her number, his free hand spontaneously rubbing the back of his neck. He wished he hadn’t changed his mind — wished he had stuck to his original decision. But his instincts had nagged at him, telling him there was something extra special about Ellen. So he had not allowed himself to think about it — had just simply dialled her number and arranged for them to have that drink together tonight.
‘Yeah, Ellen. G’day. This is Tim Hooper,’ he said, taken aback that she had answered so suddenly.
‘Hi, Tim.’
‘I’m sorry. I have to cancel tonight.’
‘Is everything okay?’ Ellen said.
‘Yeah, but something’s just come up and I have to take Mum home.’
‘Oh, that’s a pity. Will I see you tomorrow at the hospital?’
Tim could not fathom the tone in her voice — disappointment? Disbelief? Anger? But it made Tim feel like punching the wall. �
��Maybe,’ he said.
He slipped his phone into the pocket of his jacket and dropped into an armchair, staring down at the tattered mgazines on the coffee table. Ellen had been like a kid at Christmas when he had phoned her earlier. Now he had totally let her down. ‘What’s the point of being upset? I’ll let her down one way or another anyway,’ he muttered.
He stared at a painting on the wall ahead, briefly wondering how Australia’s pioneer women coped with those long dresses while they collected firewood. And wondered if the pioneer men ever had boneless-pork problems. With a surge of hope he thought of the wonders of medical science today. How it can cure all sorts of conditions. I just need to man up … grow some balls. Talk to an expert — someone like Mia Sandhurst. Better a chick than another bloke. A spurt of hope made him punch joyously at the air. Stretching his legs out he lay back in his seat. Felt as though he had just made one of the best decisions in his life. Maybe he would get to know Ellen, after all.
Peering up at the lights, twinkling down at him like stars, in the ceiling he thought back on his and Annie’s discussion with Noah Tamblyn in the cramped little interview room. Annie had turned deathly pale the moment Noah had told her what Mia had seen. Tim remembered noticing for the first time, as her hand flew to her mouth, that her bottom line of teeth was as cluttered and shambolic as an old picket fence. Noah Tamblyn on the other hand had been super-cool — nodding and eyeballing Tim with a look of intense concentration as he had listened to Tim’s account of how he had also seen the old man molesting Rachel. And when Tim had mentioned that he happened to have kept Rachel’s nightie and the sheet from that day, Noah’s face had lit up with such excitement that Tim expected him to spring from his seat and jump about clapping his hands. Then when Annie had unselfconsciously muttered, ‘I wondered where the dickens that sheet had got to,’ Tim had noticed Noah’s smile — his bottom teeth as white and as straight as a die.
‘We’ll see you tomorrow, pet,’ Annie said, bending and kissing Rachel on the cheek as Tim sauntered back into the room.
‘Are you okay, Mum?’ Rachel’s expression of concern suddenly slipped from her face and her eyes glowed. ‘Maybe he’ll stop doing it now that the police know about it, and he can come home again.’
‘Rachel, pet,’ Annie said sitting again on the edge of the bed. ‘I don’t want him home. Ever.’ She took Rachel’s hands in her own. ‘It’s up to you whether you forgive him or not. But I will never … never … forgive him. Now,’ she said patting Rachel’s hand. ‘You have a good sleep and we will see you tomorrow.’
Tim felt helpless during the drive home. Annie sat wordlessly at his side, her actions fluctuating in repetitive cycles between whimpering and muttering, sobbing, dabbing at her eyes, then sniffing and straightening in the seat. Eventually, Tim turned the car radio to her favourite classical music station, which drove him to the edge, but it seemed to calm her a little.
‘We need to think about the future now that your dad isn’t coming home,’ she said. ‘You and Rachel both need to pursue your own dreams. I realise that now, love.’ Her eyes shone with tears as she stared ahead. ‘You did a very brave thing, Tim. I’m proud of you. Even though you are almost twice his size, he is your father so it must have been very difficult.’
‘The only difficult part was holding myself back from smashing his face in,’ Tim said with his eyes on the road.
‘He gave you a hard time when you were little, didn’t he, love? I didn’t take much notice unless he went truly over the top and hit into you. That’s because he said you needed to be brought up tough if you were going to be strong. Besides, you were always such a happy little fellow. Serious — but happy.’ She snorted softly. ‘I always knew he wasn’t the best of fathers, but turns out he was the absolute worst … he always worked hard though and provided for us all.’ She withdrew a wad of tissues from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Sniffed. ‘What about Ben, love? Do you think he’s okay?’
‘Dad’s always been a bastard to Ben because he’s a bully, pure and simple. But I reckon Ben’s alright. What about you though, Mum? I remember as I was growing up seeing my mates’ parents holding hands, or patting each other’s bums, or smiling at each other. I remember thinking it was a bit creepy, but also wondered more than once why you and Dad never showed each other any signs of affection at all.’
Annie made a face. ‘Your dad has always been a bit strange about … um … matters of the heart. It should have bothered me, but it didn’t. When you don’t want it, you don’t miss it.’
Tim cringed at her words and willed his mother to change the subject. His parents’ sex life was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He turned the music up just a tad louder as something to do. But she remained silent after that — deep in thought.
‘I found a box of photos in the laundry cupboard,’ Tim said.
‘Oh, you mean Dad’s old family photos?’
Tim could not believe Annie’s nonchalant tone. ‘Yeah — did you know about them?’
‘Yes love, I put them there,’ she said her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
‘I found out from Laurie that Dad’s mum shot herself.’
‘Yes, she did. She lost her first husband in an accident and her second husband eventually left her and the children. It was all too much for the poor woman. They didn’t have social security in those days, you know.’
‘What sort of childhood did Dad have?’ Tim asked. ‘He didn’t look very happy in the photographs.’
‘I don’t know, love. Dad never wants to talk about it. He said it made him feel sad to even think about it, so I never pushed him.’
Tim rolled his eyes. Don’t you old people ever talk about anything? ‘I wonder if someone molested him and that’s why he molested Rachel.’
‘Oh for goodness sake, Tim. I don’t know. Just drop it, will you?’
‘Remember when Noah Tamblyn said there were some questions in his mind about Dad’s family history? Do you know what he meant?’
‘Tim, just drop it, please love. There’s only so much I can think about in one day.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mia accelerated sharply through the faint mist, the overhead lights blurring across the damp expressway to create sheets of gold. She was beyond pleased to be in her purring warm car, heading back to the coast after her emergency return to the city had reaped an unsettling mixture of stunningly good and blisteringly bad outcomes.
She smiled. Rachel’s recovery from the drug overdose and hypothermia had been nothing short of miraculous. Another testament to the teen’s continued resilience despite the odds, she thought thankfully. Her stomach sank at the memory of Peter Hooper’s salaciousness: his closed eyelids, his mouth agape, his scrawny neck stretched tight, making it abundantly clear that he was blissfully aware of nothing other than sating his own depravity. Try as she may, Mia could not comprehend the horror of it for Rachel.
She slowed behind a string of tail-lights glowing like rubies in the night, pulled out to the third lane and accelerated.
Then there had been dinner with Noah. She sighed, suddenly swamped by regret and embarrassment. Once she had decided he was likely to be telling the truth about being unattached, she had felt a tingling sense of anticipation at the thought of getting to know him better. They would be thrown together effortlessly, she knew, because she was now a key witness in Peter Hooper’s prosecution. Anticipation had swelled to delighted certainty at Noah’s implied interest in something more personal when he had suggested they have lunch on the coast next weekend. So by the time they had finished dinner her mind was out of control with her sensual, erotic thoughts, which flourished because of her seemingly unfettered interest in male sexuality — a definite benefit she knew she would never have discovered had her marriage remained intact into old age.
Noah displayed just the right degree of chivalry in insisting he walk her through the city streets to her car, in placing his hand lightly against the small of her back when they had stepp
ed off the kerb at the traffic lights, and again when they had turned into a narrow dark alley she would never have taken had she been alone.
‘Well, here we are,’ he had said when they had reached her car. She thought she had detected resigned disappointment in his tone at their impending separation. That’s why, when he had bent to kiss her, she had slowly closed her eyes and lifted her chin, anticipating what was certain to be the most sensual of experiences. But instead, he had given her a mortifyingly chaste peck on her right cheek before quickly stepping back. In a void of awkward silence, she had fruitlessly waited for him to confirm some definite details for lunch on the weekend. Then she had selfconsciously climbed into her car. ‘Take care, Mia,’ he had said, closing the car door and tapping the roof. Glancing in the rearview mirror at him running across the road, she had realised with shattering certainty that his interest in her was purely platonic.
Mia woke slowly next morning and sat up to the sight of a gentle sea shimmering before her like an endless sheet of blue satin. ‘A fine day at last,’ she muttered, quickly dressing in track pants and a jumper. She resisted lighting the fire, even though her fibro cottage was still cool from the night breezes and would stay that way at least until the sun was higher in the sky. She ambled in bare feet to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the coffee machine, breaking the silence as it whirred back to life.
Stretched out on a deck lounge, she sipped her coffee as the sun emerged higher and brighter in the sky. Wallowing in her solitude, she soaked up the silence, broken only by birdsong and the gentle rhythmic slap of the waves against the shore … until a strong glossy magpie she had named Pierre, and who often visited, swooped graciously to land on the railing and deliver a bout of joyous warbling. ‘Bonjour, Pierre,’ she said, still waiting for the day when, as one of nature’s greatest mimics, he would repeat her words. ‘Ça va?’ she added, smiling at the intensity with which his small dark eyes watched her and his head tilted to the side as though fascinated by every sound she uttered. He continued to watch her from the railing as she reluctantly brought herself to her feet and wandered back into the house, telling him as she passed, ‘I’m off to the shops, Pierre. How about you? Do you want to come?’
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