Ruined

by Fen Wilde

  Not that anticipating violence ever meant that she escaped it. Just that she would try to protect her baby, her stomach area, as best she could.

  She had wondered about the man, because she feared he went around the block to shout abuse at her. From the look on his face, she even feared he might assault her. But he drove past, slowing only slightly, and Upeksha’s awareness had been laser focused on getting home, or which house she could duck into should he reappear. Which neighbour might be friendly enough to open the door.

  Though she had reported him to the detectives that day they came to her house, she was ashamed to admit she could only describe the danger she sensed from him—not any identifying details about his car that might have helped them to locate him.

  But then, driving away from Natalie’s apartment, it occurred to Upeksha that she knew where he was.

  63

  The investigation is over quickly.

  Of the four young sex workers the police wanted to talk to, they could only find one. Only one number was listed in Andrew’s phone, and she is captured on CCTV leaving the hotel alone, as she’d stated, after refusing to perform natural oral.

  She didn’t know the other girls, she said in her statement.

  They were just on the street when she got the call.

  Her story didn’t budge, and despite a call for public help with the CCTV footage of the other three girls circulated widely, nobody came forward to identify them.

  There were small discrepancies.

  The CCTV caught the other three girls leaving the hotel, at a time when the medical examiner declared that Andrew was still alive, based on the time-of-death estimate.

  Numerous burner phones were found in Andrew’s room in a grimy sharehouse, not far from where he and Griffin had lived with Catelyn and Marilyn. Between those and Griffin’s phone, the police could link Andrew to all five murdered escorts within weeks of their deaths. DNA evidence linking him followed soon after.

  His death was ruled as a homicide by asphyxiation. There was speculation that he had been drugged prior to asphyxiation—traces of several depressants were found in an empty bottle of champagne—but there were numerous over-the-counter as well as illicit substances found at the scene and in his system, so it wasn’t conclusive who was giving them to whom, and with what intent.

  Timelines surmised that he had organised an orgy with sex workers immediately after Natalie had left (her hasty exit and distress also caught on CCTV), and had taken numerous substances with them. They left just before midday, and the time of death was estimated to be between midday and 12:30 p.m. The police had arrived at 12:39 p.m.

  The means of asphyxiation was not found at the scene.

  But they had no leads, and to Natalie’s surprise, resources were quickly funnelled elsewhere. The case wasn’t officially closed, but it seemed that the death of a white man—who could be considered to have deserved it—wasn’t a top priority for the homicide squad.

  Andrew sank out of the world without a trace.

  64

  At the time Upeksha was running late, and hurrying away from the bus stop and the man that had caused alarm bells to ring throughout her body, she was unaware that Letitia was running early.

  Due to the late bus, Letitia’s bus had in fact pulled up behind Upeksha’s own. The driver had waited for Upeksha to disembark too, to then be able to move into the correct bus zone to open the doors. Letitia was looking at her phone though, working out which way she needed to walk to reach Upeksha and Ravi’s house. She didn’t look up, and she didn’t see Upeksha getting off the bus or hurrying away.

  Neither Letitia nor Upeksha knew it, but Andrew had been following Letitia’s bus since she boarded it.

  His careful plan was about to be executed.

  Two weeks earlier, he had booked Letitia at a five-star CBD hotel. He’d been kind, respectful, and had sent her off early with a big tip. All things which he hoped would work in his favour now, as he “ran into” her on the street.

  Usually, he propositioned his victims. He lived just around the corner and was just heading home between meetings. Did she have time for a fifteen-minute blow n go? He had five-hundred dollars. He lives by himself; there will be no one else there...

  It had worked every time. After all, he had screened without fuss the previous time. He had been a perfect client. And most people could spare fifteen minutes for five-hundred dollars…

  He drove slowly past her bus, having seen Letitia standing up to exit.

  He pulled in ahead of the buses and craned his neck to check if Letitia was definitely exiting, not just getting ready for the next stop, and saw a nondescript old brown woman taking forever to exit, blocking Letitia’s bus.

  He shot her a disgusted look, hoping she’d move faster.

  Finally, she got off and her bus pulled away. Letitia was definitely on the steps of her bus, preparing to disembark.

  Andrew quickly pulled away. His plan was to drive around the block, and if necessary the adjacent blocks, until he saw her. He had to be quick, in case her destination was close by.

  Barely two minutes passed before Andrew saw Letitia on the street, her arms swinging easily as she strode along the path that Upeksha had trodden just five minutes before.

  A few minutes more, and she might have seen Upeksha ahead of her; called out to her; listened to her lament the late bus and reassured her that she was in no hurry.

  As it was, Andrew pulled up alongside her with a wide grin.

  “Fancy seeing you here!” he said, the window whirring as it lowered.

  He was dressed in a business suit and an expensive-looking tie.

  Letitia had hesitated, then moved toward the open window.

  Andrew was an attractive man.

  She remembered him. She remembered their pleasant tryst. The large tip.

  She smiled back, and he fed her his line.

  The sun was shining, and she was early.

  She slipped into his car.

  Smiled her big smile.

  She thought to herself that this day could not get any better.

  But then it got worse.

  65

  Two Months Later – May 2018

  Tentatively, Griffin introduces Natalie to his sister.

  Marilyn is wary and skittish, until Natalie answers questions about her job honestly. Then, unexpectedly, she starts to cry.

  They don’t talk about Andrew.

  Natalie and Griffin have canvassed that topic enough that Natalie never wants to talk about him again.

  Her feelings changed for Griffin at the police station. After making her statement, Griffin was also interviewed. He asked if Natalie could stay in for it. Then he spoke at length about his childhood, and what it was like when Andrew joined him, Marilyn, and Catelyn in Sydney.

  He admitted that Brian still lived near the farm where they had lived as children, but stated that he has never been in touch with him, and always refers to him as deceased. “He’s dead to me,” he says, and shrugs.

  He speaks about Andrew’s verbal violence toward Catelyn.

  Of Catelyn’s guilt and unrelenting love. How she tried to make it up to him, but never, ever could.

  He spoke about how angry Andrew remained all these years later, whenever he got in touch with Griffin and they had a pint.

  “He wasn’t a pleasant guy to be around,” Griffin said. “But I always felt guilty about him being left behind. Every time, I wanted to try to help him. And every time, I walked away with a bad taste in my mouth.”

  Andrew was sixteen when Catelyn was killed, in a car accident with a client. Andrew had gloated when she died: That’s what whores get! Exactly what’s coming for them. Griffin had organised for Andrew and Marilyn to go live with Catelyn’s sister in Melbourne, but Andrew never turned up. Every couple of years he would get in touch with Griffin, but he never told him where he was living or what he was doing. Griffin always got the sense that he wasn’t doing well, but he was never receptive to
Griffin’s offers of support.

  “I would never have thought he would actually hurt anyone, though,” Griffin stated, pensive. He squeezes Natalie’s hand hard.

  “So your mother left him, and he never forgave her. It doesn’t sound like he had the resources or insight to work through it,” Detective Casey muses. “But why would he target escorts of colour, rather than white escorts, like his mother, do you suppose?”

  Griffin had looked thoughtful.

  Natalie watched him carefully, a painful tightness in her chest.

  She stops herself from answering for him.

  Waits, breathing deliberately slowly.

  In, out. In, out.

  Finally, he speaks. “If someone’s fucked up enough to want to kill escorts because they’re angry with their mother, frankly, I think you’re clutching at straws to try to find too much logic in their motives.” He pauses, goes to speak and then stops, glancing at Natalie again for a second.

  Natalie wills him on. Wills Casey to stay silent.

  Keeps very still.

  “I suppose, it’s maybe about the response?” He glances at her again, his assessment more a question than a confident statement of fact. But he carries on, the answer unpolished, not considered before this moment. But forming, nevertheless.

  “I suppose he thought it was easier to get away with it? Even the murder of marginalised women like sex workers might draw too much attention if they’re affluent and white?”

  After the frenzy of the investigation dies down, Upeksha drops in on Natalie unannounced.

  She lets herself in with the key she insisted Natalie give her years earlier “in case of an emergency.”

  She makes irrelevant small talk, and wanders around the flat. Natalie’s skin bristles: it looks like Upeksha is checking up on her, again. Assessing her standard of living.

  Murmuring about inane things as she moves around, Natalie switches off, rolling her eyes at Griffin (now his legal name) behind her mother’s back. She stops following Upeksha around the flat, giving up on understanding what she is doing.

  Instead, she goes back to what she was doing before she was interrupted: making Griffin a cup of tea.

  She can hear Upeksha rustling in her bedroom. But she swallows the rush of rage rising in her body.

  More of the same, she thinks to herself determinedly, the phrase somehow comforting. Her mother will never change.

  She doesn’t see Upeksha calmly and quickly return a long black wig and a pair of Louboutins to the back of her wardrobe.

  Months later, she’ll discover them there, in a strange spot where she doesn’t keep either wigs or shoes, and remember.

  Running into her mother outside the hotel when she fled Andrew’s room.

  Taking them off in the car.

  She’ll remember the mention of an older brown woman on the CCTV approaching Andrew’s room at the hotel, the telltale flash of red visible on her feet, the face hidden behind long black hair. The halfhearted request for her to come forward as a witness, drowned under all the images of the three young sex workers. Even Natalie, usually so tuned in to mentions of race, barely gave it a second thought.

  She’ll never ask Upeksha about it, and she’ll never know for sure.

  But Natalie holds onto it.

  Feels it in her bones as an act of love.

  Now though—she sees Griffin watching her, witnessing her reset herself against her mother’s intrusion.

  Noticing.

  Getting it.

  She smiles at him warmly, and hands him his tea.

  Epilogue

  In Ravi and Upeksha’s backyard, Griffin is barbequing steaks and chatting to Eloise.

  Natalie can see that Eloise is enjoying herself. Occasionally, she throws her head back and laughs, her smile wide, her teeth perfect. She looks natural and comfortable, but Natalie can see that she is full of wonder at the circumstances.

  Griffin looks handsome and relaxed, managing the steaks and being attentive to her friend both important to him, and both things he does with ease.

  He looks like he belongs there. Charming everyone at a family barbeque like he’d known them his whole life.

  Natalie is sitting with Alex.

  She’s made a point of coming by every week. She told Alex she wants to see more of him. She asks him more questions. About his work. About how he manages aspects of his life in relation to what he knows about how his brain works. She talks to him more openly, more confidingly. Sometimes, he responds in kind; sometimes, he does not. Sometimes, he drifts off and plays with his figurines.

  Upeksha and Ravi are quietly delighted. Their house is filled with laughter more on the days Natalie comes to see Alex. Even on the days he’s not receptive to company, Natalie stays with them and chats. To them, she seems less on edge and more accepting than she has her entire life.

  When he’s in town, Griffin accompanies Natalie, and they approve of his commitment to family time. They suspect, rightly, that Natalie’s softening—toward them, toward life in general—has something to do with him. Sometimes, she even brings Eloise, and secretly they hope that Eloise might fall in love with Alex. It’s far-fetched, they know that. But they hope for it anyway.

  Now, Griffin plates up their steaks, remembering that Ravi likes his blue, and Upeksha likes hers without a hint of blood. He tops up their glasses, and they swoon at his thoughtfulness. While Natalie rolls her eyes at his failure to multi-task, he will always stop what he is doing to really listen, even to them, and they adore him.

  Everyone converges around the outside table.

  “To Letitia,” Natalie says, raising her glass, as she always does at these get-togethers. They clink glasses.

  Later, getting ready to leave, Natalie is taking her empty Tupperware back to the car. Though Upeksha had protested, Natalie had bought the steaks, marinated them, and brought along her favourite salads.

  She’s changing their dance, just a little bit.

  Grant is taking things out of his ute. He stops and stares at her, his lip curling in distaste.

  “Fucking wogs,” he mutters under his breath.

  He still can’t get his racist slurs right.

  He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then Griffin appears with more Tupperware. Loaded up with leftovers this time.

  “Your mum insisted,” he says. Natalie rolls her eyes.

  She glances back toward Grant, curious, but he ducks his head down, pretending to look for something in the ute. More of the same, Natalie thinks to herself.

  To her surprise, it doesn’t affect her the way it usually does.

  Griffin shuts their boot, and takes Natalie’s hand.

  He kisses her gently on the lips.

  Then they walk together inside, to say their goodbyes.

  THE END

  Note from the author

  I’m acutely aware of the danger of cultural appropriation in trying to tell a story like this. For those wondering, yes, I consulted with someone with Sri Lankan heritage for this book, though this book is more about a broader refugee experience than about Tamil or Sinhalese people or their history and struggles.

  Likewise, I consulted with a working escort for this book. Natalie offers only one very privileged perspective of sex work. Sex workers are as variable as workers in any profession. Some hate their job, some love it, some can pick and choose their clientele, and some need to take any work to survive. You probably know a sex worker or two, without knowing their profession. They’re people, just like everybody else. So be an ally. Vote for decriminalisation. Dehumanising sex workers is a slippery slope for human rights.

  Finally, I feel acutely how lucky I am to have been born in Australia. And it is just that—luck. Refugees are you and me, with worse luck. We can never know the choices we would make under the circumstances that they face.

  I love Glennon Doyle’s phrase “there is no such thing as other people’s children.” Alan Kurdi, and every other child refugee, were and are
our children, just unlucky enough to be born somewhere not safe for them to stay. It is beyond devastating to me that we are not protecting them.

  I wanted to write a story to honour that.

  A note about sex work

  Please also note that ‘sex worker’ is the preferred title. The word prostitute is dehumanising and thus can be dangerous for sex workers. It is used in this novel in certain contexts as the killer is dehumanising his victims, and it is likely the term that he would use.

  It is also offensive to refer to a sex worker as a whore. Workers may refer to themselves in this manner, but people outside the work cannot without causing offense.

  This novel portrays the work of only one way of working in the sex industry. It is that of a very privileged worker who is able to pick and choose her clientele, and avoid some of the more dangerous and dehumanising aspects of the work. It is in no way intended to represent all sex workers, in particular workers of colour. Though I have hinted at the impact of race on sex workers, that is a whole other topic beyond the scope of this book.

  Bonus chapter

  I wrote an extra chapter for this book that didn’t really fit anywhere. It’s a short sweet little interlude featuring Natalie and Aaron. Some of you may recognise Aaron from my novel Close—I promise he will get his own story soon!

  If you’d like to read this chapter, please head over to my website:

  http://www.fenwilde.com/bonus-chapter-ruined/ and enter the password Natalieandaaron.