The Favour

by Rebecca Freeborn

  The screeches of her nieces and nephews filtered out from the living room. Quinn loved her niblings fiercely, in small doses anyway, and now she longed to escape to them, listen to their nonsensical stories, pull their warm bodies into her lap, avoid her parents and her two sisters. But she was a grown-up, and she was expected to follow her father into the kitchen and make conversation with her family on this most family of family days.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ Quinn said, putting the bottle of wine she’d brought down on the bench. ‘Hey Gemma, hey Leanne. Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Ooh, fancy!’ Gemma fingered the high black lace collar of the blouse Quinn wore; the only thing she could find in her drawers that would cover the angry mouth-shaped bruise on her neck. She couldn’t remember Simon biting her neck; only the sudden shock of pain, the imprints of his teeth that remained hours later. She flinched and batted her sister’s hand away.

  ‘Jeez, bit touchy today, are we?’ Gemma said.

  Quinn gripped the bench until her knuckles turned white. If she didn’t get a handle on this, everyone was going to know something was up. She wrestled her face into a smile. ‘This was bloody expensive, I don’t want your snotty kid fingers on it.’

  ‘If you ever have kids you’ll trade your expensive clothes for their grubby fingers any day,’ her mum pronounced in a grave voice.

  ‘Lay off, Mum,’ Quinn said. ‘I’m too old to have kids.’

  ‘Leave the girl alone, Louise,’ her dad said mildly, winking at Quinn. ‘It’s Christmas Day.’

  ‘There’s still time,’ Louise insisted. ‘You’re only forty-two. All the celebrities are having babies in their fifties now!’ She shook her head with a rueful (but slightly hopeful) smile.

  ‘Yeah, but they’ve got squillions of dollars to pay for fertility treatment and nannies and all that,’ Leanne said.

  ‘Not to mention surrogates,’ Gemma added. ‘Quinn’s uterus would already be degenerating at her age.’

  ‘Kindly stop talking about my uterus like it’s not right here in the room,’ Quinn said.

  ‘If you met a man now, you could have a baby within a year,’ Louise said. ‘If you’d give someone half a chance, you might find you like them.’

  Quinn sighed. ‘I like men well enough, I just don’t want to tie myself to one. And as I’ve told you a million times, I don’t want to have kids.’

  ‘One day you’ll change your mind and then it really will be too late.’ Her mum was starting to look distressed now. ‘Why don’t you like kids? What kind of person doesn’t like kids?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Mum, I like kids, I just don’t want one taking up residence in my degenerating uterus. Or my house, for that matter.’

  Louise threw the tea towel that had been hanging over her shoulder onto the bench. ‘Is it really so wrong for me to want my daughters to give me grandkids?’

  ‘What are we, potatoes?’ Gemma said, gesturing to Leanne and herself. ‘You’ve got five grandkids already, Mum. Get over it. It’s Quinn’s body.’

  ‘And it’s Christmas Day,’ their dad reiterated. ‘Let’s not start it with an argument as soon as we’re all together.’

  Louise sighed, then came around the other side of the bench and pulled Quinn into a tight hug. ‘Sorry, Quinnie. Merry Christmas.’

  Soon after, Quinn and her sisters helped serve lunch, and the dining table heaved with food. The effort of normal interaction had been exhausting, and it was a relief to sit at the table and let the rowdiness of her family wash over her. She pushed her food around her plate, eating little, obediently pulling every single Christmas cracker with her nieces and nephews, and answering the polite questions about work from her brothers-in-law as she clenched her shaking hands under the table.

  ‘When are you flying out to Melbourne, Quinn?’ her dad asked.

  Faint surprise stirred inside her. She’d almost forgotten about Melbourne. ‘First thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘You must be looking forward to seeing Amal again,’ Louise said. ‘It’s been so long since you worked together.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Are you staying with her or at a hotel?’

  ‘With her.’ Panic was beginning to rise inside Quinn. Pretending everything was fine for a couple of hours with her family was one thing. How was she going to get through a whole week in Melbourne with this cavern of blackness inside her?

  ‘And what are you girls going to get up to while you’re there?’ Louise said.

  ‘What is this, twenty questions?’ Quinn stood up abruptly and started taking everyone’s empty plates and stacking them up.

  ‘Hey, I wasn’t finished!’ Leanne protested, snatching her plate back.

  Quinn could feel her mother’s eyes on her as she turned away and took the plates into the kitchen. She set them down and rested her hands on the bench, closing her eyes and forcing herself to take a deep, slow breath. This was not her. She didn’t let things get to her like this. She had to pull herself the fuck together.

  ‘Are you OK, Quinnie?’ Louise’s hand landed on her shoulder, and Quinn almost jumped out of her skin. Her mum snatched her hand away, her eyes wide. ‘What’s wrong? You’re not acting like yourself today.’

  Quinn met her eyes, swam in them like a warm pool. For a moment, she thought about telling her. Telling her what Simon had done to her. Letting it all come tumbling out. But it would break her mother to hear it. She couldn’t do that to her today, on Christmas Day of all days, with their entire family here, laughing happily in the next room.

  ‘You hardly ate anything, love,’ Louise said. ‘That’s not like you.’

  Quinn drew her breath in slowly until she was sure her voice would come out steady. ‘I’m not feeling well. I think I might be coming down with something.’

  ‘Oh, why don’t you go and lie down on our bed for a while?’ Louise suggested.

  It was tempting, the idea of sinking into her parents’ over-soft mattress, a safe cocoon, letting the oblivion of sleep sweep her into peace for a precious hour. Then she thought of putting her dirty body in their bed, and it disgusted her.

  ‘I think I might go home, actually,’ she said. ‘I need to pack for Melbourne, and I don’t want to be sick in the morning.’

  ‘Oh.’ Louise looked disappointed. ‘Well, OK, if you’re sure. I hope you’ll be OK tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure I will.’ She made her voice sound upbeat. ‘All I need is a good night’s sleep.’

  When Quinn got back to her apartment in Kent Town, she slowly and methodically packed her bag with clothes and shoes for every conceivable weather possibility, toiletries, a phone charger and her hair straightener. Then she sat at the tiny table in her kitchen and drank one glass of red wine, thinking about the fact that she still hadn’t gone to the police station. She took some Panadol, had a shower and went to bed before darkness fell.

  Her alarm went off at five thirty the next morning. She stretched her legs out, starfish style. She’d slept deeply, uninterrupted by nightmares. Her mind was still, her body soft and rested. Maybe she was going to be OK. A week in Melbourne with Amal and she’d feel like herself again. She stared up at the ceiling. There was a greyish scuff mark beside the naked light bulb, as if someone had been walking on the ceiling, suspended upside down. How on earth had it got there?

  Her alarm went off again and she silenced it. She’d get up in a minute.

  The longer she stared at the scuff on the ceiling, the weirder it started to look. If she gazed at it without blinking for thirty seconds, it started to bleed at the edges, radiating outwards in purple and green shadows. Like the bruises on her shoulders.

  She’d get up in a minute.

  Everything was ready. All she had to do was shower and have a quick breakfast and she could be out the door in twenty minutes. Fifteen, maybe.

  She’d get up in a minute.

  Ten minutes would be enough time, if she grabbed some food and a coffee at the airport. She’d checked into her flight last night. She’d ev
en booked the SkyBus in Melbourne. There was nothing else to do but get to the airport.

  She’d get up in a minute.

  A shower probably wasn’t necessary, now she thought about it. She’d had one last night, after all. No amount of showers could make her body feel clean, anyway. The scuff mark on the ceiling looked as though it’d moved a little to the right. If she kept her eye on it, maybe she’d catch it moving.

  She’d get up in a minute.

  How had she never noticed that scuff mark? She’d changed that lightbulb numerous times over the years she’d lived here, and this was the first time she’d seen the mark. As if she hadn’t spent enough time on her back in this room. A laugh bubbled out of her, high-pitched.

  Get up, Quinn. Get UP.

  Two tears escaped the corners of her eyes, slid over each cheekbone and settled wetly in her ear canals.

  At nine thirty, Amal sent her a text: Was your flight delayed? Give me an ETA and I’ll come and meet you at Southern Cross Station.

  At ten thirty: I didn’t get the day wrong, did I?

  At midday: Are you still coming? Is everything OK?

  Quinn’s eyes stung from staring at the ceiling. The mark hadn’t moved. Her whole body ached from the inside out. What was going to fix this? Who could fix this? She thought about that night, so many years ago, when Hannah had called her from a public telephone in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, begging her for help. And Quinn had gone to her without hesitation, without judgement.

  She picked up her phone and dialled.

  ‘Hey!’ came Hannah’s warm voice. ‘Aren’t you in Melbourne?’

  Quinn opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  ‘Quinn? Have you pocket-dialled me? Helloooo?’

  She tried again, her dry lips struggling to form the impossible words. Her voice came out croaky, as if her vocal cords had rusted.

  ‘Can you … can you come?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HANNAH

  Hannah was packing clothes when her phone rang. Ethan and the kids were in the living room, playing the Xbox and laughing uproariously, even though they were supposed to be leaving for their beach holiday at Carrickalinga soon. Hannah was trying very hard not to destroy the cheery vibe of holiday anticipation by getting angry about being left to prepare everything while they had fun, and it was taking all her powers of patience.

  But when Quinn’s voice trembled down the line, her resentment dissipated in an instant.

  ‘What happened? Quinn? Are you OK?’

  The line went dead. Hannah stared at the phone in her hand. Quinn’s voice had been horrifyingly weak. That wasn’t the Quinn she knew. Something was very wrong.

  Ethan was leaping around the room, fist-pumping with glee, when she walked in. Sam was looking sulky, Jet was cheering him on and Grace was giggling at his antics. It was a sight that would normally make Hannah smile, but now the urgency to get out of here surged through her veins like fire.

  ‘I beat these suckers!’ Ethan crowed. Then he noticed her face and stopped abruptly. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I think something’s happened to Quinn.’ Hannah tried to keep her voice even so as not to alarm the children. ‘I have to go to her.’

  ‘Now?’ Ethan’s brow furrowed. ‘But we’re going to Carrickalinga soon, aren’t we?’

  ‘Oh, are we, Ethan? I’m the only one doing anything to get us ready!’ Hannah snapped, her nerves fraying.

  Ethan looked taken aback. ‘OK, OK, I’ll help.’ He held both hands up in what he probably thought was a placatory gesture, but only irritated Hannah further.

  ‘Fine. I’ve done most of it, so if you could just get sheets for all of us. We only have to bring top sheets.’ She grabbed her handbag from the table against the wall. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘What, you’re actually going?’ Ethan said in disbelief. ‘What about the beach house?’

  Hannah hesitated only for a second. ‘We’ll leave when I get back. Quinn needs me.’

  Hannah had pressed the intercom button for Quinn’s apartment in the foyer of the building three times, but was met only with silence. Maybe Quinn had called her from somewhere else. She was just getting her phone out of her bag when the speaker crackled and Quinn’s voice wavered through it. ‘Come up.’

  The door was ajar when Hannah reached the third floor. She knocked lightly on it as she walked in. ‘Hello?’

  Quinn sat at her little oblong dining table, shoulders hunched, a mug of coffee clasped in her hands. An oversized hoodie shrouded her, even though the air in the apartment was stuffy and stale. Her hair, usually straightened into a sleek concave bob, was a wild halo around her head, just like it had been before she’d begun taming it. She seemed smaller as she looked up at Hannah. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to be going to Melbourne today?’

  ‘Missed the flight. How was your Christmas?’

  ‘Forget about my Christmas! Has something happened?’

  Quinn stood up abruptly. ‘Let me make you a coffee.’

  ‘I don’t want a coffee, Quinn, I want to know what’s going on.’ Hannah guided her back to her chair and sat down beside her. She wanted to take her hand, or put an arm around her, but she had the feeling Quinn would skitter away if she touched her.

  Quinn took in a deep, rasping breath. ‘On Christmas Eve … We landed that big account I was telling you about the other week. We had a bit of a … a celebration.’

  Hannah waited.

  ‘Everyone started going home and he came into my office … Simon … He came into my office and started giving me a bit of shit, said he was taking the account for himself. I guess I got pretty angry and he came over and he … he kissed me. He kissed me.’

  Dread collected in a pool in Hannah’s belly. She’d never seen Quinn so subdued, so defeated. ‘Is that all he did?’

  Hand trembling, Quinn pulled the front of her hoodie aside, exposing a livid red and purple mark on her neck. ‘No. That’s not all he did.’

  Hannah leant forward for a closer look and realised with horror that they were teeth marks. She raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Quinn, this is assault.’

  Quinn gave a hollow laugh. ‘Yeah. I’m aware.’

  ‘Did he …?’ Hannah couldn’t complete the sentence.

  Quinn nodded, the corners of her mouth wobbling. ‘Yeah. He did.’

  Hannah dragged her chair closer to her friend and put her arms around her. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She held her for a long time until Quinn winced and pulled away.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ She was almost childlike in her appeal for Hannah to give her the answers.

  ‘Have you been to the police?’ Hannah asked, knowing already what the answer was going to be.

  ‘I can’t.’ Quinn buried her face in her hands.

  ‘Why? Why wouldn’t you report this?’ Hannah said wildly. ‘You were raped, Quinn. You have to press charges.’

  Quinn said something, but her voice was muffled by her hands and Hannah had to ask her to repeat it.

  She looked up. ‘I kissed him back.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘At the Christmas party last week. We were all really drunk and things got a bit crazy. I kind of brushed my boobs against his arm, just to rile him up a bit, you know, and then he bailed me up outside the toilets and kissed me. It was only for a second, but I kissed him back.’

  ‘Whatever happened last week is irrelevant,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s still rape.’

  ‘That’s not the only thing.’ Quinn stared down at her hands. ‘You remember that message I accidentally sent to him instead of you?’

  Hannah nodded.

  ‘Well, the day before the Christmas party, he called me into his office and threatened to show it to the partners. Then he touched me. It wasn’t like a full-on grope, but it was definitely … inappropriate. And I did nothing to stop him.’

  Hannah took both of Quinn’s hands in hers. ‘You didn’t cause this, Quinn. You must know that.’
<
br />   Quinn’s face stretched sideways. ‘I thought we were mates … I’ve flirted with him, teased him, ever since we first started at the agency. Of course he thought I wanted it. I’m hardly blameless in this situation.’

  ‘You are blameless!’ Hannah shook her hands. ‘That’s what rapists do … they create grey areas in their victims’ minds. I saw it over and over again with the rape survivors whose cases I prosecuted.’

  ‘And how many of those rapists were convicted?’ Quinn threw at her. Hannah let go of her hands, and Quinn let them drop back onto the table. ‘Yeah, thought so.’

  ‘OK. You’re right. The conviction rate is appallingly low.’ Hannah spread her fingers out on the surface of the table. ‘But if you do nothing, that will only guarantee that Simon gets away with this.’

  Quinn stared at the table for a long time. ‘If I report it, they’ll want me to go through every single thing that happened.’

  ‘I know. And it’ll be impossibly hard, but I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I don’t even know if I can remember it all now. Isn’t that weird? You’d think it’d be burnt on my memory, but it’s like it happened to someone else.’ Quinn shook her head. ‘They’ll want to know if I did anything to encourage him. I’ve literally been encouraging him for years! And now it’ll look even worse that I waited two days to come forward. Everything’s stacked against me already.’

  ‘I’ll be there for you,’ Hannah said. ‘I won’t leave your side.’

  Then Hannah’s phone began ringing and Quinn started violently. Hannah rejected the call without looking at the screen and turned back to Quinn. Her friend looked like a deer, eyes wide, body tense.