An Affair With Danger - a noir romance novella

by Robin Storey

  ‘My wife wanted me to come. Insisted, really.’

  Maria flashed me a curt smile. ‘If I had a dollar for every time I heard that from a client, I could retire. Why did she insist that you come?’

  ‘I’ve been a bit hard to live with lately. Snappy, irritable, some days it’s a huge effort just to get out of bed. And I’m not sleeping well. I don’t know why – maybe I’m having an early midlife crisis. I told Sarah I’m sure it will pass, but she said three months is long enough and I should see someone.’

  ‘Was there something that happened three months ago that may have triggered those feelings?’

  ‘My sister was involved in a bad accident in America and she was in a coma. It was touch and go for a while. I flew over when it happened – the whole family did.’

  The memory of Steph in hospital still made my heart lurch – bandaged, tubes hanging out of her, she looked like an alien creature. She’d finished her exercise physiology degree, married an American, and was living and working in Chicago. As she was riding her bike at dawn along a Chicago city street, training for a triathlon, a truck took a corner too quickly and barrelled her over.

  ‘That must have been a terrible shock.’

  Maria’s reply was warm and empathic, but I got the impression she was finding an extra dimension in my words that I had no idea about.

  ‘It was.’ The shock of the phone call from her husband Mark, the rush to organise time off work and buy plane tickets, the agonisingly long flight over there, the two weeks spent by Steph’s side in hospital until she came out of her coma. It was all a blurry nightmare.

  ‘But fortunately, she pulled through the coma. She amazed the doctors; she’s one tough lady. She’s got no permanent brain damage thank goodness, but she’s got a lot of therapy ahead of her before she can walk again. She flew home a couple of weeks ago and she’s staying with our parents to recuperate.’

  Mum had taken on a new lease of life, making Steph’s rehabilitation her major project. Protein smoothies, physiotherapist appointments, fit balls and other exercise paraphernalia taking over the house. I guessed she found it more fulfilling than attending fundraising events for war orphans, worthy though that was. Particularly as Mark decided he couldn’t handle Steph’s incapacitation, packed his bags and disappeared.

  ‘Events like that affect people in different ways,’ Maria said. ‘All those symptoms you described could be your body’s response to shock.’

  ‘Really? I admit at first it was scary when we thought she might die, but she’s been out of critical care for weeks. Why would I still be feeling the shock now?’

  ‘It may be taking you longer to process it. However, there could be another reason.’

  She scribbled something on her notebook then looked up. ‘If you’ve had a shock in the past that you haven’t dealt with or resolved, it will be lurking there in your subconscious and every subsequent shock you have will bring up memories of that incident. So, in effect, you experience a double whammy of shock.’’

  She looked at me keenly. ‘Could that be the case with you?’

  I considered it. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You may have to think about it, as it could be an experience you’ve dismissed as not being important.’

  ‘The only thing I can think of is that I was in a shop when it was held up and the guy threatened me with a gun. But that was eight years ago and it was all over in less than two minutes. It was a shock at the time, but I was okay afterwards.’

  ‘Did you get counselling for it? Or talk to anyone about it?’

  ‘Not really, apart from the police. They gave me the number of a victims’ counselling service but I didn’t take it up. I didn’t feel the need for it.’

  ‘Being a victim of an armed hold-up is a traumatic experience. I don’t think anybody could come out of that without some emotional impact. And men in particular often cover it up and convince themselves they’re okay, because despite our so-called enlightened society, it’s often still considered taboo for them to admit they’re scared.’

  ‘I have no trouble admitting I’m scared when the situation arises,’ I snapped. ‘And of course I was scared. Who wouldn’t be, with a gun waved in their face? But there’s no point raking it up again now.’

  ‘All right.’ She had a calm, serene presence about her. I had a feeling that if I’d admitted to murder, it wouldn’t have fazed her. She shuffled some papers on her desk and handed me a few sheets. ‘Here are some questions I’d like you to answer. They help me gauge if there are any issues with anxiety and depression, and how you’re coping with life in general.’

  After I’d answered so many multiple choice questions about my thoughts, emotions and actions that my head was spinning, Maria said, ‘That’s all for today. I’ll analyse the results and discuss them with you at your next appointment.’

  She smiled. ‘I assume there will be a next appointment?’

  I shrugged. ‘I guess. I have to find out if I’m crazy or not.’

  As I opened the door she said, ‘I’d really like you to think about what I said. About whether the impact of the hold-up could be affecting you now.’

  #

  ‘So, what was Maria like? Was she easy to talk to?’

  I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead of me. Sarah had already asked me twice, in different ways, how the session had gone.

  ‘We didn’t do a lot of talking – I had to answer a lot of questions that apparently indicate whether I’m anxious or depressed and we’re going to discuss those next time.’

  We were both silent as I negotiated my way through the late afternoon traffic to my parents’ house at Woollahra. It was an awkward silence – I knew Sarah was dying to ask more about the session but didn’t want to upset me. And I didn’t want to talk about it. But she was my wife and I should want to talk to her. And she had put up with my moods.

  ‘She thinks that the shock of Steph’s accident could have triggered memories of the hold-up and resulted in a sort of delayed after-shock.’

  ‘That’s interesting. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it all sounds a bit far-fetched. I’m a bit wary of this deep, subconscious stuff when often there’s a really simple explanation for how someone is behaving.’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t discount it without at least giving it some thought.’

  I glanced at her. She’d slimmed down since we’d married and had her blonde hair cut and bobbed, which suited her role as public relations manager of the Corporate City hotel group – a big step up from assistant manager of The Three Monkeys. Her face, now thinner and sharper, looked drawn.

  I squeezed her knee. ‘I have been known to be wrong. I promise I’ll give it some serious consideration.’

  She smiled and squeezed my hand back. I told myself I was lucky she thought the world of me and had agreed to marry me. I’d buy her a bunch of flowers tomorrow and take her to our favourite Thai restaurant. Better still, I’d take her away for the weekend to a secluded coastal resort, where we could frolic on the beach, drink cocktails and make love. Although sex had become imbued with all sorts of undertones, now that we’d been trying for almost a year to have a baby.

  Mum gave us the usual effusive welcome. Sarah had charmed all my family – even my father, who was not easily given to praise, had declared, ‘She’s got beauty and brains. Count yourself very lucky, my boy.’ The subtext was clear – I didn’t deserve her and it was nothing short of a miracle that she’d married me.

  Steph was in the living room watching TV. My heart squeezed every time I saw her – my healthy, full-of-life sister reduced to a pale shell of herself, shrunken into the wheelchair as if it was a natural extension of her body.

  ‘So it’s come down to watching “The Bold and the Beautiful”,’ I said. ‘Want me to get your slippers and warm milk?’

  Steph picked up a cushion from the nearby couch and threw it at me. The good thing was you soon forgot about her injury – her spirit shone out large
r than her body. She was determined to not only walk again, despite the doctors’ doubts, but to run another triathlon.

  ‘How good will this be for my career?’ she’d said recently. ‘Now that I know what it’s like recovering from chronic injuries, I’ll have real empathy for my clients.’

  I’d witnessed her in some dark moods, so I was happy to see her natural optimism brimming up again. Mum brought in a tray of coffee and muffins, and a protein shake for Steph. Dad was at a meeting at the University, which was a relief. One less loaded comment about my change of career to contend with.

  ‘You look tired,’ Mum said to Sarah. ‘You’re working too hard.’

  She gave me an accusing glance, as if it were my fault. In my parents’ eyes, it was bad enough that I’d given up a well-paid, high-status career for a modestly-paid job as a financial counsellor with Debt Solutions, a not-for-profit community organisation; but the fact that my wife earned twice my salary and was the main breadwinner was something they couldn’t accept. It upset the natural order of things.

  ‘It’s been pretty full-on lately,’ Sarah said, ‘I’m hoping to have a break soon.’

  ‘I was thinking of taking you away this weekend,’ I said. ‘A nice, quiet beach where we can get away from everything.’’

  ‘I have to go to a conference on Saturday; it’s for all the executive staff. I told you about it.’

  You idiot, you should have checked with her before blurting it out.

  There was a knock on the front door followed by a ‘Hullo!’ The door opened.

  ‘Come on, Cooper. Amelia, pick up your teddy please.’’

  ‘Oh, that’s Nick and Jaclyn,’ Mum said unnecessarily. ‘They’re going to a law society function tonight so they’re dropping the kids off.’

  Nick bowled into the living room leading five-year-old Amelia by the hand and with three-year-old Cooper in his arms. Jaclyn was behind him holding an overflowing zip-up bag with a box of Lego perched on top. She looked sporty-glamorous in sweat pants and halterneck top, her hair in a ponytail. She was back in the gym two months after the birth of each child.

  ‘How is everyone?’ Nick asked, without waiting for an answer. ‘The traffic over was horrendous. Kids, go and give Grandma a hug.’

  Amelia rushed over to Mum, who scooped her up in her arms. Cooper clung to his father, regarding Mum with a terrified look, as if she were about to eat him.

  ‘He’s such a Daddy’s boy,’ Nick said. ‘‘Never mind, Coop, I’ll tell Grandma that you counted to 20 all by yourself this morning.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Cooper,’ Mum cooed. ‘What a clever boy you are.’

  If I found Nick hard to take before, he was insufferable since he’d become a father, recounting every little milestone of his children as if they were child prodigies. After a ten-minute discourse on Amelia’s superior skills in university-level maths for pre-schoolers, Nick turned to me.

  ‘By the way, did you know your Mr Gisbourne has got himself in trouble again?’

  I tensed. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘He was convicted of assault. A colleague of mine was in the same court on another matter. The victim was his girlfriend. He got a suspended sentence – should have served time, if you ask me. Apparently his lawyer spouted some bullshit that he’d finished his parole successfully, and this was an aberration and he was going to anger management counselling, and the magistrate obviously swallowed it. Getting through parole without a black mark proves nothing – it just means he wasn’t caught.’

  Frankie was my first thought. What had he done to her? She sprang to life in my mind’s eye, with a black eye and split lip. Or was it worse? Broken bones? I felt the heat of anger rising up inside me.

  ‘So he’s back in Sydney?’ I asked.

  ‘It was in Burwood Local Court. I didn’t know that he’d left Sydney. Or that you were keeping track of his movements.’

  I felt Sarah’s questioning look. I shrugged. ‘Someone told me he’d left town. And I felt relieved at the time because there was less chance that our paths would cross.’

  Mum’s brow creased. ‘I’ve been afraid all along that he’d seek you out and do something terrible to you. In revenge.’

  ‘Logically, he doesn’t have grounds for revenge. He pleaded guilty so I didn’t have to give evidence. He’s the one in the wrong. But logic doesn’t count for those guys.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Nick said. ‘It’s been what … seven or eight years? His only concern will be how he’s getting his next supply of drugs. He’ll have forgotten you well and truly.’’

  Somehow I doubted it. And I certainly hadn’t forgotten him.

  Chapter 19

  IN THE car on the way home, Sarah said, ‘Are you really worried about that Gisbourne character being back in town?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nick’s right. It’s been a long time. If he was going to do anything to me, he would have done it by now.’’

  I hadn’t told anyone about the assault on me after Frankie and I had returned from our trip, apart from the police. I’d explained the lump on my head by saying I was mugged late at night in the city while waiting for a taxi. It would have been impossible to explain without divulging my relationship with Frankie, which I didn’t want to do. Not even to Sarah. Especially not to Sarah. I told myself it was none of her business, it happened before we started our relationship; but the reality was that my relationship with Frankie was difficult to talk about and I wasn’t sure she’d understand. Hell, I didn’t understand it myself.

  I tossed and turned all night into the early hours of the morning. The more I tried to blot Frankie out of my mind, the more she popped up; so real I could almost believe it was her steady breathing I could hear beside me instead of Sarah’s. She’d always been there in the back of my mind; and when I allowed myself the luxury of thinking about her, I wondered what she was doing right at that moment, and if she was thinking of me. I sent my thoughts winging through space to her and imagined her catching them at the other end.

  But now there was another image of her that wouldn’t leave me – a battered, bruised, defeated Frankie. On the last occasion we were together, she was convinced that Eddie had cleaned up his act and that a bright new future awaited them. I remembered the information from his sentencing, that he had two previous convictions for domestic violence, which I had later figured out were committed during his relationship with Frankie.

  It was clear now that he hadn’t changed and never would. I was as certain of that as I’d been of anything in my life.

  #

  By the time I got up and stumbled into the shower, I’d come to a decision. I had to see Frankie again, just to make sure she was okay. As a friend, it was my obligation to help her – the very least I could do was try and persuade her to leave Eddie, and start the new life she deserved.

  The dilemma was how to arrange it. Assuming she still had the same contact details, I could either send her an email or text message; but I couldn’t be sure that Eddie wasn’t checking her phone. I’d bite the bullet and ring her from my work phone, so the number wouldn’t be identified as mine.

  When I arrived at work, my first clients were already waiting for me – a couple in their forties who were up to their eyeballs in debt after the husband had lost his job. A common scenario but as was usually the case, they’d left it until the bailiffs were beating down the door before getting help. We discussed a plan to contact creditors and arrange payment plans for each of them.

  ‘It doesn’t help that Harry guzzles a six-pack every night,’ Alice, his wife said. ‘That’s money down the drain we could be using to pay off our debts.’

  ‘Quit your nagging,’ Harry said. ‘Drinking is the only pleasure I have left in life. Take that away and I may as well…’ He made the gesture of slitting his throat.

  Being a financial counsellor usually meant counselling in other areas of life as well, as lack of money impacts on everything. I’d managed to score the job witho
ut any formal counselling qualifications, and I was straightforward and practical in my approach. If my clients had serious problems such as gambling or substance abuse, I referred them to specialist agencies.

  ‘At your next appointment, we’ll do a detailed budget,’ I said, handing them their appointment card. ‘And Harry, just a heads-up, you’ll need to drastically reduce your drinking if you’re going to get yourself out of this mess. It’s your choice – drinking or being debt-free.’

  Alice gave a triumphant smile as they left, with Harry muttering under his breath.

  ‘Another happy customer,’ smiled my boss Delia, a plump, middle-aged woman who exuded motherly common sense.

  When she left to attend a meeting, I shut the door of my office and picked up the phone. Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialled the number. After a few rings, I was about to hang up when a breathless voice said, ‘Hullo?’

  This is not a good idea. Hang up now. I ignored the warning voice in my head.

  ‘Frankie, it’s Will. Please don’t hang up.’

  Silence.

  ‘Are you alone?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m at the shops. But yes, I’m alone.’

  What do you say after so long? The six years since I’d last seen Frankie seemed a lifetime ago.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Her tone was guarded. ‘Why are you ringing?’

  ‘I heard that Eddie was in court recently. For an assault on you.’

  ‘Yeah.’ There was a defiant tone to her voice, the implication being, ‘So, what’s it to you?’

  ‘I just wondered how you were. Obviously things aren’t good at the moment.’

  ‘What gives you the right after all these years to ring up out of the blue and make assumptions about my personal life, which you know nothing about?’

  ‘I know I have no right at all. Except that of someone who’s concerned about you. I care about you, Frankie, there’s no time limit to that.’’

  ‘That’s very touching, but I don’t need your concern. Find someone who does.’

  She hung up. I kind of expected that response. Maybe I deserved it. Because I was kidding myself if I thought my motives for getting in contact with her were purely out of friendship. That much was clear as soon as I heard her voice.