by Robin Storey
Chapter 20
ACCORDING to the psychological tests that Maria ran, I scored high on anxiety and moderately high on depression.
‘That’s pretty normal for someone dealing with psychological trauma,’ she said at the beginning of our second session. ‘What we need to determine now is what you want to get out of these sessions.’
‘My only goal is to find a way of disposing of Edward Gisbourne, a giant carbuncle on the face of humanity.’
Maria raised her eyebrows. ‘What brought this on?’
I told her about Gisbourne ostensibly being back in town and about his recent conviction. As I had no desire to go into my relationship with Frankie, I ended with, ‘So, he’s not only a bank robber but he beats his wife up as well. That’s the lowest of low, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘What exactly did he do?’
‘I don’t know the details. But knowing him, it wouldn’t be a clout around the ear. He’d make a good job of it.’
‘What was there about him that makes you think that?’
‘He’s got a real air of menace about him – and I don’t think it’s just because he pointed a gun at me. I could sense it in court – he’d beat you up if you so much as looked at him the wrong way.’
Maria continued her gently persistent questioning; and before I realised what I was doing, I was recounting the events of the night of the hold-up. It was amazing how many details I’d forgotten. The dull grey metal of the gun. The eyes staring at me through the stocking. The swish of car tyres on the wet road outside. The loud ker-ching as Mike opened the cash register. My body – numb on the outside, but quaking on the inside. How two minutes had seemed like two hours.
By the time I’d finished talking my chest was burning. In my mind’s eye I was beating the crap out of Eddie, blow after blow until he was a bloody, bone-shattered mess writhing on the floor.
‘What are you feeling right at this moment?’ Maria asked me.
‘What do you think?’
‘I could take a guess but I want you to tell me.’
‘For God’s sake, this is kindergarten stuff. You want me to finger paint it?’
I got up and strode out.
#
Maria had given me some literature on dealing with trauma, with particular reference to victims of crime. It included information on how to cope with anger, suggesting talking to a counsellor or friend, going for a walk or jog, or punching a boxing bag. I didn’t do any of those things. I headed straight for the pub.
It was the nearest pub to Maria’s office, the sort I would never go to normally, frequented by tradies and labourers – sweat and plaster dust mingling with the stale, beer-soaked carpet. Under the comforting cover of rough chat and raucous laughter, I drank myself into oblivion then caught a cab home, staggering through the front door at ten o’clock to a tight-lipped Sarah. She refrained from saying anything and I knew it was because she was trying to be understanding, but it irritated me even more and I swatted away her attempts to help me undress and get into bed.
Maria rang me the next day, concerned about my well-being after my angry exit from our session. I was sitting at my desk nursing a throbbing hangover.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry I stormed out.’
‘No need to apologise,’ Maria said. ‘I know it was painful for you reliving it again, but often just the act of talking about it relieves a lot of the tension and the stress. Like pricking a boil and letting all the pus out.’
I grimaced. As my stomach was also feeling delicate, this imagery was doing nothing to help my recovery.
‘Now that we’ve started the process,’ she continued, ‘it’s important that we keep going so you can process all your thoughts and feelings and come to some resolution. Do you want to schedule another appointment now?’
‘Er … I’ve got to rush off to a meeting. I’ll get back to you.’
I didn’t get back to her; but I did take up jogging on the beach before work, telling myself it was as much to get fitter as to dissipate anger. But I still woke up in the middle of the night with the familiar hot constriction in my chest. I was well aware that the hold-up was only part of the reason for my anger towards Eddie – the other part was his treatment of Frankie. My mind seemed to take perverse pleasure in picturing her in the most horrific scenes of abuse; and to divert it, I made myself think of the last time we were together in the motel room – just as tortuous, in a different sense.
I resorted to mulling over ways I could accidentally bump into her without Eddie’s knowledge. I had no idea if she’d moved back to Sydney (maybe they’d just been visiting when he committed the assault) and even if she had, what were the chances of an encounter amongst three million other residents?
I’d finally drift off just before dawn, to be woken by the alarm two hours later, feeling as if I’d just been through the fast cycle of a washing machine.
After one such night, I bought a coffee on the way to work in an effort to wake myself up. I barely had time to sit down and take a sip when my office phone rang.
‘Yes,’ I said tersely, before remembering that I was at work and supposed to be nice to people who rang wanting help. ‘Nice guy’ was how people, especially women, used to describe me. What happened to me?
‘Will?’
I sat up straight. Suddenly I didn’t need the coffee.
‘Frankie! Good to hear from you.’
‘I’m sorry for what I said when you rang. I didn’t mean it.’
‘I imagine you’re under a lot of strain. What’s he been doing to you, Frankie?’
Miniscule pause. ‘Look, I’m okay, really.’
I let that ride. ‘Are you living in Sydney now?”
‘Yes. In Strathfield.’
‘Can we meet up sometime?’
Silence.
‘Just for coffee?’
I heard her take a deep breath.
‘It’s up to you,’ I said. ‘You name the time and venue.’
She blew out a sigh. ‘It will have to be a day when Aimee’s in day care.’
‘You’ve got a kid?’
‘Two. A boy and a girl, five and three. Jake’s in kindy.’
The pride in her voice was unmistakable.
‘Congratulations. I’m happy for you, I know how badly you wanted a family.’
‘Yeah. Look, I have to go to work now. I can meet you on Friday morning. In the city would be best.’
I checked my calendar. I had a seminar all day Friday on Dealing with Resistant Clients. I’d cancel my attendance. Delia wouldn’t be happy, but so be it.
We arranged to meet up at 11o’clock at The Den near Hyde Park. I stared out my office window, at the drab sky and the rain sprinkling over the deserted construction site next door. Letting the notion of Frankie as a mother seep into my mind. I had no doubt she’d heap all the love and attention she’d never had herself on her children. But they were Eddie’s children. And they were living in a home in which there was domestic violence. I’d bet my life that the assault conviction was just the tip of the iceberg. I felt an intense pity for two children I’d never even met.
Chapter 21
I WAS at a corner table in The Den by 10.45. It was trendily minimalistic, with rough-hewn tables, bench seats with chintzy cushions and abstract paintings jostling for prominence on the walls. The clientele were businessmen and hipsters with laptops. My mobile phone beeped with a text message. It was Steph.
‘Hi bro. Have you been spirited away by aliens? Hope you’re okay, give me a call some time.’
‘Sorry, been busy. Will phone you later today,’ I messaged back. I slid my phone back in my pocket, looked up and there she was. Everything and nothing had changed. Still the same hair and brash lipstick but she’d toned down the eye make-up. Although she was wearing jeans and a turtleneck jumper, her figure was noticeably more rounded. Still the same perfume, though. Desire flared up instantly in a Pavlovian response.
Frankie pulled up a cha
ir and sat down.
‘How are you?’ I said.
‘I’m okay.’
She smiled. It wasn’t her 100 kilowatt smile, but it was a worthy effort. There were lines on her face that hadn’t been there before and shadows under her eyes. A faint discolouration underneath her right eye looked like a fading bruise.
Silence. Heavy with words unsaid, because I didn’t know how to say them or even what they were. Finally I said, ‘Are you working?’
‘Just the usual. I’m doing rental bond cleans for Clean as a Whistle. It’s pretty full-on, not like cleaning hotel rooms, where you can sneak in a tea break.’ She looked bashful. ‘They just made me team leader. It’s weird, I’ve never thought of myself in a position where I could tell people what to do.’
That strange mix of feistiness and self-deprecation was one of the things I loved about her.
‘Congratulations, I think you’ll do pretty well. You’ve always struck me as being a bossy-boots.’
I smiled as I said it and she returned my smile. Warmth flooded me. I desperately wanted to reach over and take her hand, but thought better of it.
‘So what made you decide to come back to Sydney?’ I asked.
‘Eddie’s mum’s got leukaemia. They’ve given her five to seven years, but it could be sooner. So we decided to move back, mainly for the kids’ sake. I never knew my grandparents when I was a kid, and I think every kid should have at least one grandparent who spoils them rotten and tells them stories about the good old days.’ She gave a weary half-smile. ‘That’s the theory anyhow.’
The waitress delivered our coffees. Frankie emptied two sachets of sugar into her coffee and stirred it vigorously. ‘So let’s talk about you. Are you still charging broke people the earth so they don’t go bankrupt?’
‘Actually, I’m not. I’m on the other end of the spectrum, trying to prevent people becoming bankrupt in the first place.’
I told her about my decision to quit law four years ago and how it had taken me 12 months to find the job I really wanted. ‘I really enjoy my work. It can be frustrating sometimes; the people I deal with can drive you up the wall. But for those who are motivated, I can really help them get their finances on track and it’s life-changing for them. And it more than makes up for the meagre salary.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ Frankie said. ‘You seem more relaxed. I never liked that trust-me-I’m -a -lawyer bullshit.’
‘Really? And what else have you deduced about me, Ms Freud?’
‘Well, I know you’re married. But I don’t have to be Freud to work that out.’ She nodded at the wedding ring on my left hand.
‘Yeah.’ That was always going to come up, sooner or later. ‘Sarah and I got married a bit over three years ago. We’d been friends for some time – she was the assistant manager of The Three Monkeys.’
‘Does she have blonde hair? Sort of chunky?’
‘That’s her.’ I smiled inwardly. Sarah would hate to hear herself described as chunky, even though she was back then.
‘When I was up on stage singing with you, I noticed her staring at me. She looked put out. No wonder – she had the hots for you.’
Sarah had never mentioned that night after we started dating, nor asked me anything more about Frankie, which I was relieved about.
‘Do you have any kids?’ Frankie asked.
I shook my head. ‘We’ve been trying for the past year, but no luck. Anyway, tell me about your kids.’
She dug into her handbag, took out her wallet, slid out a photo and handed it to me. ‘That was taken a couple of months ago. Aimee was having a whinge day – it took ages to get her to smile.’
I studied the two chubby-cheeked, clear-eyed children sitting together against a background of muted blue and pink. The boy’s blonde hair glinted with red tinges and he had the endearingly cheeky smile of a kid who knew he could get away with anything. The girl had a mop of brown curly hair and her mother’s eyes, and although she was smiling, you could imagine her expression changing from sunny to thundery in an instant, at the drop of an ill-timed word. She was a miniature Frankie.
‘That’s Aimee with a double “e”,’ Frankie said.
‘They’re beautiful kids,’ I said. And I meant it. Photos of other people’s kids left me indifferent, but there was something about Frankie’s kids... maybe that was it. They were her kids. I’d love them if they had two heads.
‘Jake’s full name is Jacob, after my brother,’ Frankie said. I studied Jake again. There was some resemblance to Frankie’s brother, from what I could remember from his photo, in that he had also been blonde-haired and blue-eyed as a child. But I could see little resemblance to Eddie, although I had only seen his face from a distance in the courtroom. Time distorts memories by overlaying them with other memories and gaps are filled in by the imagination and prejudice. I had no idea whether the image I had of Eddie now was accurate.
‘Are you enjoying being back in Sydney?’ I asked.
She twirled her coffee cup around in its saucer. ‘It hasn’t turned out the way I hoped. Maureen, that’s Eddie’s Mum, is a cranky old bitch; and when we take the kids for a visit, she just ignores them and whinges all the time about the treatment from her doctors. Jake told me the other day he doesn’t want to go to Grandma’s any more because she scares him. I know she’s not well, but I thought she might have made an effort for the kids’ sake.’
Her voice wavered. ‘I have these pictures in my mind of how life’s going to be, and it never works out that way.’
So the cottage with the white picket fence, and Mum and Dad cuddling on the couch hadn’t eventuated with Eddie. Surprise, surprise.
‘Yeah, reality sucks all right.’
‘But I’m glad you’re happy anyway,’ Frankie said.
‘What makes you think that?
She stared at me.
‘Sure, I’ve got a job I enjoy, I didn’t even mind giving up the Audi, and a wife who loves me. But happy? Before today, I had some idea in the back of my mind that I could achieve a state of contentment. But now that I’ve seen you again, that’s flown out the window.’
‘What do you mean?’ Frankie said in a small voice. I took her hand in both of mine. She didn’t pull it away.
‘Frankie, you’re the only woman I want. I’ve loved you every day of the past six years and I love you now. I can’t tell you how much...’ I swallowed the lump in my throat and started again. ‘We could have a life together – I know you’re not happy with Eddie. If you can find the courage to leave him, I’ll leave my marriage too and we can start afresh. We can even go interstate if you think we’ll be safer. With the kids, of course.’
Frankie’s eyes were tearing up. She brushed the tears away fiercely.
‘It’s not that simple. I’ve already left him a couple of times, and he found out where I was and threatened to kill me if I didn't come home. And as a father he’s got rights. He’d take me to Family Court to apply for access, then I’d have to go to court as well, interstate or not.’
‘Why don’t you take out a domestic violence order out against him? You’d have excellent grounds because of the assault. In fact, I’m surprised the police didn’t take one out anyway.’
I knew the police could apply to the courts for a domestic violence order against a perpetrator, even if the victim didn’t want it, and that if they deemed the victim’s life in danger they could also request no-contact conditions on the order.
‘They did,’ Frankie said. ‘But by the time it got to court, Eddie had started anger management counselling. So the magistrate just made a standard order to be of good behaviour.’
Meaning Eddie could continue living with Frankie – until the next time, when he killed her. Of course he was going to anger management counselling – he knew how to manipulate the justice system. Counselling would have as much impact on him as Zen Buddhism would have on a terrorist.
‘We both know that’s not going to change anything,’ I said. ‘You need to ge
t out now. Before he kills you. Or the kids.’
‘He wouldn’t hurt the kids,’ she said sharply. ‘He adores them.’
‘He’s hurting them by being violent towards you. That has a big impact on them, how they grow up and learn to behave.’
‘I fucking know that!’
She dug into her handbag, took out a tissue and swiped again at her tears. ‘There’s something else. Remember at the hotel, when you asked me what hold Eddie had over me? He’s threatened to tell the cops I drove the getaway car for the robbery if I leave him.’
‘Wouldn’t it be worth facing the music to get him out of your life? You wouldn’t necessarily go to jail – he forced you at knifepoint for God’s sake – that’s got to count for something! I could get you a good lawyer.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t take the risk. If I go to jail...’ she stifled a sob. ‘I couldn’t do that to the kids.’
A mobile phone beeped. She reached into her handbag and pulled out her mobile phone.
‘Is that him checking up on you?’
She didn’t answer, just read the message and put her phone back in her bag.
‘Where does he think you are now?’
‘He thinks I’m at work. I took a sickie.’
‘So you lost a day’s pay to see me?’
She nodded, avoiding my gaze. ‘I don’t know why. There’s no point; I can’t go away with you. And there’s no point in me seeing you again because it only makes it worse.’ She pushed her chair back. ‘And I have to go.’’
‘Wait, sit down for a minute.’
Frankie perched on the edge of her seat, poised for exit.
‘I just want one thing before you go. Tell me you love me.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’
‘Please?’
‘Do you promise to leave me alone if I do?’
‘Yes.’
‘I fucking love you.’
‘Do you mean it?’
‘You didn’t say I had to mean it.’