The Favour

by Rebecca Freeborn

  Everything she’d done had been wrong.

  She may as well have handed her body to him on a fucking platter … she’d scrubbed away the evidence, given him two whole days to prepare his story.

  Would the police have apprehended Simon yet? Would he deny everything or admit that there had been sex, but claim that she’d been into it? Her lip curled. She imagined how he would treat the cops to a string of stories about her behaviour towards him at work, tell them how she’d been coming onto him for years. He might say that she liked it rough and that’s where the bruises came from; he shouldn’t have done it, he wasn’t normally into that sort of thing, but she’d begged him to hurt her, and, well, maybe things had gone too far, but sometimes these things happen in the heat of passion, right? A father, a husband, an upstanding member of the community like him surely didn’t deserve to be punished for one woman’s post-hook-up regret?

  Bugs teemed through Quinn’s head, swarming over each other and darting in a thousand different directions as she went through all the possibilities of what he might say. But she couldn’t stop her mind from going to one particular dark place: that maybe he was right. Maybe part of her had wanted it. Maybe that was why she hadn’t tried harder to fight him off.

  The heat of her shame climbed from her feet, up her legs, burned through her belly and up to her throat. She stopped and faced the water, an impossibly large expanse of nothing. It couldn’t wash away what had been done to her – she’d tried that already – but maybe it could wake up the dead weight inside her.

  Swiftly, she stripped off her T-shirt and shorts and waded out into the shallows in her underwear. The water was almost clear; schools of tiny, transparent fish darted hither and thither, their grey shadows the only indication they were there at all. Little puffs of sand clouded around her feet as she stepped further from the shore. It was a cool morning, but the water was almost warm from the heat of the last few days.

  When she was up to her waist, she dived under and began to swim, her eyes closed against the saltwater, feet kicking. She kept her face under until the pressure in her lungs rose to a scream and there was no more room in her head for Simon’s face. Then she surfaced, gasping the air back in, her head tilted back to keep her mouth above the water as she got her breath back. But the shore still seemed too close to home, so she struck out towards the horizon in a slow breaststroke.

  What would happen if she kept swimming? Would she swallow water as she swam, bit by bit, until it filled her up and she sank beneath the surface? Or would she tire first, fall asleep mid-stroke, wake when the blue weight pressed in around her? Would she struggle to the very end, or would she surrender quietly – with a glimmer of relief, even? Quinn didn’t want to die, that wasn’t why she’d come out here; but there was a certain fascination in imagining how it might play out.

  After another minute, she pivoted under the water and began to head back. She was already beginning to tire. Her regular visits to the gym kept her in shape, but she wasn’t swimming fit, so by the time her feet hit the sand again she was breathing heavily. The morning breeze was like sleet as she emerged onto the powdery sand, water cascading from her body. Goosebumps rose on her skin like tiny bullets. She hadn’t thought to bring a towel, so she had no choice but to pull her sandy clothes back on.

  Her white T-shirt clung to her wet body as she walked rapidly back up the beach, arms crossed over her chest; her hair, tamed by the weight of the water, dripped between her shoulder blades and down her back. Where had she come down onto the beach? Had she already walked past it? But no, there was that piece of driftwood, and the mountains of brown, leafy seaweed, and the narrow track of white sand that led back up to the road. And there was the beach house, enormous and white, with its walls of imposing double-glazed windows looking majestically over the sea.

  Ethan was kicking a soccer ball around the front lawn with Jet and Grace when she reached the house. He started a little when he noticed her.

  ‘Morning,’ she said.

  ‘You’re up early,’ he said.

  ‘You’re all wet,’ Grace said, squinting up at her.

  ‘Yeah, I went for a swim,’ Quinn said, shivering.

  ‘Didn’t bring your bathers, then?’ For a fraction of a second, Ethan’s eyes dropped to her chest, then whipped back up again.

  ‘Spur-of-the-moment decision,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have a shower, I’m freezing.’

  In the downstairs bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Her hair hung in dripping ropes around her face; her T-shirt was plastered to her body and was almost transparent, revealing not only her bra but the outline of her nipples. Ah, the headlights were on. She was just starting to smile when she noticed the teethmarks on her neck: an angry red mouth shouting back at her from her reflection. That must have been what Ethan had been looking at. Her face flushed at her assumption that he’d been checking her out. No wonder he’d looked so uncomfortable.

  Dark purplish shadowing had begun to bleed out from the red marks; it looked more like she’d been pinched than bitten. So typical of Simon, to want to brand her like this.

  Quinn peeled off her shirt and got in the shower. She avoided looking at the other bruises, the ones on her shoulders, her upper arms, her inner thighs, but she washed those areas more vigorously than the rest, wincing a little at the pain, as if she could erase them. What a cliché she was, to think she could clean it all away with a bit of scrubbing. She squirted shampoo into her palm and lathered up her hair, closing her eyes against the evidence of the assault laid out on her body like a map.

  Ethan and the kids had come inside by the time Quinn emerged from the steamy bathroom. She dressed in a blue maxi dress and was about to join Hannah’s family when she reconsidered and loosely knotted a cotton scarf around her neck. Then she went up the stairs in her bare feet. She’d almost reached the top when she heard Ethan’s contemptuous voice, and she paused on the stairs to listen.

  ‘You should’ve seen her; it was like a bloody wet T-shirt competition. She may as well have been naked.’

  ‘To be fair, she probably wasn’t expecting anyone to be outside at that time,’ Hannah said. ‘She doesn’t have kids … she’s got no idea how early they get up in the morning.’

  Quinn gripped the stair rail. She wanted Hannah to defend her to her husband, like she had last night, but instead she was making excuses for her, like Quinn needed to have her impulsive behaviour rationalised. Like she was another one of Hannah’s children who just needed to grow up a bit.

  ‘Still, the house is practically on the beach. If she wanted to swim, she could’ve run back across the road to get her bathers.’

  The scraping sound of butter being spread on brittle toast was Hannah’s only answer.

  ‘It’s like she never stops to use her brain,’ Ethan went on. ‘She just acts. No wonder she gets herself in trouble.’

  There was a clang as Hannah let the knife drop onto the bench. ‘She didn’t get herself into anything, Ethan. It was done to her.’

  ‘Well, that’s the other thing. She was flaunting that hickey on her neck like a badge of honour or something.’

  Quinn surged up the last few steps and launched into the kitchen. ‘Morning.’

  Hannah had been glaring at her husband, but as her gaze turned to Quinn, the blaze in her eyes cooled and her startled expression became guilty. ‘Hi! How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m not sick, Hannah.’

  Quinn refused to look at Ethan, but she heard the sliding door open onto the balcony where the kids were sitting around the outdoor table. She went to the fridge and opened it, then stood there studying the food inside.

  Hannah came up beside her. ‘He didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’

  Quinn gave her a withering look. ‘Really? How did he mean it, then?’

  Hannah grimaced. ‘I think he just doesn’t know how to react.’

  ‘Oh, the poor thing.’

  ‘Do you want some bacon and eggs?’ Hannah st
ruggled on gamely. ‘I was about to make some for the kids.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a coffee.’ Quinn moved over to the little coffee machine, lifted the lid and popped one of the capsules inside.

  ‘You didn’t eat anything last night either.’ Hannah’s voice was gentle. ‘I know you must be feeling a bit wobbly about everything still, and you probably will for a while, but you need to eat.’

  Quinn rounded on her. ‘I seem to remember a time when you couldn’t even get out of bed. I’m killing it in comparison.’

  A mixture of expressions flashed across Hannah’s face in quick succession, and she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Ethan was still outside and hadn’t overheard. Then she gave a tight nod. ‘OK, well you know where I am if you want to talk about any of it.’

  She went outside to join her family, leaving Quinn standing alone at the coffee machine. Guilt settled over her as she got the milk out of the fridge. She didn’t usually bring up that time with Hannah. It was like a third, silent member of their friendship; mute, invisible, but always there in the room with them. Quinn knew Hannah had never told Ethan – it was the only part of Hannah he would never be able to claim. Quinn had always derived a kind of vicious pleasure out of that. Not just that she was the only one who had access to that dark corner of Hannah’s past, but there was a smug satisfaction in the knowledge that her friend’s picture-perfect life was tainted by a dirty secret.

  Quinn may be far from perfect, but she’d always have that over Hannah.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO

  HANNAH

  When her constitutional law tutor handed the marked essays around the room, Hannah turned straight to the back page. She’d been fully expecting a distinction, maybe even a high distinction, so when she saw the P circled in red pen, she thought maybe Joseph had just written it a little clumsily. Surely that was supposed to be a D. But after a moment, she noticed the comment beneath the grade.

  You can do better than this, Hannah.

  She stared at the words for so long that her eyes stung. It had been a particularly difficult essay in a particularly difficult area of law, but she’d been certain that she’d nailed it. She’d never received such a low grade before. Hannah snuck a look around the room, but no one else seemed bothered by their mark. They were all putting their books and notepads and pens back in their bags, ready to go to their next tutes. It seemed she was the only one struggling with this subject … or, at least, the only one who hadn’t known she was struggling until now. The childish urge to cry ached behind her eyes.

  Joseph dismissed them and the whole room of students stood up at once and swept out in a wave. Hannah was about to follow suit when Joseph looked up from the page of notes he’d been studying.

  ‘Hannah, could I speak with you for a minute?’

  She looked towards the doorway as the other students disappeared. She’d planned to meet Quinn in the uni bar, but she also didn’t want to miss this opportunity to discuss her essay. Maybe the grade had been a mistake. ‘Sure.’

  He grabbed a chair and pulled it over to face his, and Hannah sat down, her essay with its devastating verdict still clutched in her hands. Joseph gestured at it. ‘How do you feel about this?’

  Hannah grimaced. ‘Disappointed. I thought I’d done well.’

  He gave her a sympathetic nod. ‘A lot of my students stumble on this essay. I like to set a hard assignment early on in this course. Separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.’

  ‘I guess I’m the chaff, then?’

  Joseph laughed. It was a deep, booming laugh, straight from his diaphragm, and Hannah couldn’t help joining in. She’d liked her tutor from the first day of this subject. Constitutional law wasn’t the most engaging topic, but somehow he made it seem interesting. He was self-deprecating, funny, generous, calm, and when a student spoke, he looked at them as if they were the only person in the room. As a result, the students clamoured to speak up in tutes just so he would turn his golden attention on them for a minute. She felt special to actually be the only other person in the room now, even if it was to talk about how disappointed he was in her efforts.

  ‘You’re definitely not chaff, Hannah,’ he said. ‘Quite the contrary. I see a real brilliance in you, and that’s why I’m harder on you than I am on some of the other students.’

  This unexpected compliment lit a spark in Hannah’s belly that glowed right up to her face.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said with a smile that seemed to incorporate his whole body. ‘I’ve embarrassed you.’

  ‘No, not at all. I’m flattered.’

  ‘But you’ve still got a passing grade that could’ve been a distinction.’

  His words dissolved the warmth inside her. What a stupid girl she was, to simper under what was probably a throwaway comment. She nodded, avoiding his penetrating eyes.

  Joseph clasped his hands in his lap. ‘Do you want to do well in this course, Hannah?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘And are you willing to do the work?’

  She leant forward, eager to please him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ He stood up. ‘I need to get to my next class. Walk with me for a minute?’

  He slung his satchel over one shoulder and gestured for her to walk out of the classroom ahead of him. It felt good to walk beside him down the corridor of the building. Almost like they were equals. Joseph held the door to the stairwell at the end of the corridor open for her.

  ‘I’d like to offer you some extra tutoring,’ he said as they started down the steps, ‘to help you get on top of things. Would you be open to that?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Hannah said. ‘That would be amazing.’

  He glanced at her. ‘The only problem is that it wouldn’t look good for me to have a beautiful young woman like you in my office outside normal contact hours. You understand, of course?’

  Hannah’s face went hot again. He thought she was beautiful. Joseph Harris thought she was beautiful.

  He chuckled. ‘I’ve embarrassed you again.’

  She ducked her head, thankful for the excuse to watch her feet on the stairs so he wouldn’t see how pink her face was.

  ‘I know it shouldn’t matter, but people get a bit sensitive about these things,’ he went on, ‘so I thought perhaps you could come over to my house one night instead.’

  Hannah looked up at him, startled, and almost missed the last step. He couldn’t be serious? ‘Um, I’m not sure—’

  He laughed again. ‘Don’t look so worried! My family will be there. I thought that might make you feel more comfortable than being on campus after hours. My wife can cook you a nice dinner and then I can help you with your studies. What do you think?’

  Hannah had never heard of a tutor inviting a student over to their house before. It didn’t seem like something he should be doing … but the way he described it did make it sound less suspicious than if she were alone in his office with him. It was obviously completely innocent, or he wouldn’t bring her into his home with his wife and children. Besides, he’d seen something in her that none of her other tutors had. Something special. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

  ‘OK, yeah. That’d be great, thanks.’

  He held the door open for her again and they emerged from the building into the sunlight. ‘How about Friday night?’

  Hannah had planned to go to the Exeter with Quinn for happy hour, but she found herself nodding. ‘OK, sure.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ He paused, giving her a warm smile that made him look younger than he was. ‘How about I email you my address and we’ll go from there?’

  Hannah nodded again. ‘Thanks, Joseph. I really appreciate this.’

  ‘Of course. I’d better go, I’ll be late for my next class.’ He touched her back, his fingers warm through the light fabric of her tank top. ‘I look forward to seeing you on Friday night.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said.

  She wa
tched as he sauntered away across the square to the other main building. The warmth of the encounter stayed with her as she headed for the uni bar to meet Quinn. She’d never turned down a night out to study before, but the truth was, Hannah was bored. She loved Quinn – for a while, she’d thought she was in love with Quinn – but ever since they’d found Travis sucking face with that girl last year, her friend had become sharper, harder, almost desperate in her pursuit of a good time. Hannah loved partying as much as the next girl, but this was her final year at uni and she needed to start thinking about the future. Next year she would have to find a job, and she couldn’t afford to turn up to work hungover every second day.

  Her decision to go to Joseph’s house had nothing to do with the flattering things he’d said to her. This was an investment in her future.

  QUINN

  Quinn ordered them both a pint as soon as she got to the uni bar, but she’d almost finished hers by the time Hannah walked in.

  ‘About time,’ she said as Hannah sat down across the table from her.

  ‘Sorry.’ Hannah looked unusually flustered. ‘I had to speak to my tutor after class.’

  Quinn pushed the beer across the table to her friend. ‘Everything OK? You look weird.’

  ‘Yeah, great. Well, it started out not so great. I got a bad mark for my constitutional law essay, but Joseph says I’ve got real potential—’

  ‘Joseph?’ Quinn’s attention was already wandering to the other patrons in the bar. It’s not that she wasn’t interested in Hannah’s life, but Quinn found it impossible to focus when her friend talked about anything to do with her degree.

  ‘Joseph Harris. He’s my constitutional law tutor and he’s absolutely brilliant. He’s offered to give me a bit of extra tutoring.’

  ‘Mmm hmmm.’

  The door to the bar swung open and Quinn glanced over to see a group walk in. Her belly flipped as she recognised Travis and his current girlfriend among them. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him around the campus occasionally, but every time it was a shock, the reminder of what he’d once meant to her colliding with the way he’d treated her. He’d come crawling back to her after she’d sprung him pashing that girl, insisting it was a one-off, that he’d been off his face, that he hadn’t even realised what he was doing, that it hadn’t meant anything. But Quinn had known he was lying, and that he would do it again as soon as he thought he could get away with it. That was the bit that hurt the most. Knowing that while she’d been making plans for their future, he’d been doing all sorts of things with all sorts of women. Even now, a year later, it still stung to see him there, girlfriend sitting on his lap the way Quinn used to, his arms around her as he laughed in her ear, kissed her neck.