The Favour

by Rebecca Freeborn

  Then there was a howl from across the playground, and Hannah turned to see a boy writhing on the ground, Jet standing over him with a fierce look on his face. Heart sinking, Hannah rushed over at the same time as another woman she assumed was the boy’s mother. The woman knelt beside her son and put her arms around him. ‘What happened?’

  ‘That boy just punched me in the face!’ he sobbed, pointing at Jet.

  Hannah grabbed Jet’s upper arm. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘I didn’t punch him! He said I was a bad guy!’ Jet shouted.

  ‘What did you do, Jet?’

  ‘I pushed him over.’

  ‘I want you to say sorry to him,’ Hannah said, already knowing this was futile.

  ‘But I didn’t even punch him!’ Jet protested.

  The boy’s mother was still hugging her son to her body. She glared at Hannah. ‘My son is not a liar,’ she hissed.

  ‘Just say sorry, Jet,’ Hannah said. ‘You can’t go pushing people over when you don’t agree with them.’

  ‘No!’ Jet said. ‘He was being a bully to me.’

  The other woman stood and pulled the boy up with her. ‘Come on, honey, let’s get away from that nasty boy. Control your kid,’ she threw over her shoulder at Hannah.

  ‘Mum?’ came Sam’s voice from behind her. ‘Can we keep doing the mission now?’

  ‘Can’t you see I’m a bit busy right now, Sam?’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Jet said.

  ‘Did you hit that boy, Jet?’ Hannah said.

  ‘He called me a baddie!’

  ‘I didn’t ask what he did, I asked what you did.’

  ‘I hit him on the arm and then I pushed him over.’

  ‘You definitely didn’t punch him in the face?’

  ‘No!’

  Hannah sighed. ‘Hitting people isn’t the answer, Jet. If you disagree with someone, just walk away, OK?’ She glanced across the playground at the other boy, who had gone back to the game with the other kids and looked none the worse from his encounter with Jet. ‘Lying little turd,’ she muttered under her breath.

  Grace ran up to her and hugged her around the legs. ‘Mummy!’

  ‘How’s it going?’ Ethan strolled over.

  ‘Jet just got in a fight with some kid,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Dad, can you do the mission with me?’ Sam said.

  ‘Your missions are stupid,’ Jet said.

  ‘They are not!’ Sam advanced towards Jet threateningly.

  ‘They are so!’ Jet shoved Sam.

  Hannah noticed the other kid’s mother watching her from across the playground, shaking her head. A surge of anger seized Hannah. Having that kid, the one who was always causing trouble, was hard enough, but it also made Jet the scapegoat for everything that went wrong. She was tired of apologising when others were often equally responsible.

  ‘Why don’t we go over to Granite Island now?’ she suggested. ‘We could walk over the causeway to the island or go on the tram – it’s pulled by a big horse with hairy legs!’

  ‘Yeah!’ Sam said. ‘Let’s walk over!’

  ‘Horsie! Horsie!’ Grace crowed.

  ‘I’m hungry!’ Jet complained.

  Ethan looked at Hannah. ‘Which one do we disappoint?’

  Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Given enough time, probably all three of them.’

  In the end, they settled on a compromise: letting Grace pat the giant Clydesdales who waited in the post-and-rail yard beside the beach for their turn to be hooked up to the horse-drawn tram, then walking on the causeway while snacking on the food Hannah had packed. The children were stunned to see the camels gliding along the beach, kids perched on the double saddles, holding tight to the iron handles. Grace pointed to the Shetland pony giving rides to kids, a look of resigned boredom on his face.

  ‘Mummy, can I have a pony ride?’ she said, her voice high-pitched with excitement.

  ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘How long is this bridge, Mum?’ Sam asked, watching the heavy wooden boards to make sure he didn’t step on any cracks.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Hannah. ‘About half a kilometre, I think.’

  ‘Cool.’

  Jet was walking along one of the tram rails, one arm held out to the side for balance while the other stuffed popcorn into his mouth.

  ‘Watch out, Jet, the tram is coming,’ Ethan said.

  Jet ignored him, continuing to teeter on the rail. The man sitting atop the tram dinged the bell.

  ‘Jet!’ Ethan shouted, his voice laced with panic. As the horse and tram drew closer, he grabbed Jet’s arm and yanked him off the rail.

  ‘Hey!’ Jet protested, rubbing his arm as they all paused to lean against the wooden railings with the peeling white paint.

  ‘Why don’t you ever listen?’ Ethan snapped at him, his eyes still wild. ‘You could’ve got yourself killed!’

  The Clydesdale clopped by, pulling the green and yellow tram.

  ‘Horsie!’ Grace cried, stretching her hand towards the horse’s feathered white legs.

  ‘Not you too!’ Ethan held her back until she squirmed.

  Hannah put a hand on his arm. She’d never seen him look so alarmed. ‘They’re OK. No harm done.’

  ‘They could’ve ended up underneath the horse’s feet,’ he said, his voice still tense. When the horse and tram were far enough ahead, he released Grace. ‘I thought something bad was going to happen.’

  ‘I know,’ Hannah said. ‘But it didn’t. Come on, let’s keep going.’

  ‘I’m bored,’ Jet said as they resumed walking. ‘Can we go back now?’

  ‘No, I want to see Granite Island!’ Sam cried.

  ‘Do you kids ever stop arguing?’ Ethan muttered.

  ‘We’ll have a quick walk around the island, then we’ll go back and have a ride on the Ferris wheel,’ Hannah said. Jet cheered up and ran off after Sam, dodging around elderly couples and families with prams.

  ‘How do you do it?’ Ethan marvelled. ‘Keep them all happy like that?’

  Hannah smiled. ‘A lot of practice. And I still get it wrong eighty per cent of the time.’

  It was such a very small thing, but it felt good to have her husband acknowledge what she did. It made her feel like maybe they were going to be OK after all. She took his hand as they continued along the causeway, watching their children running ahead of them.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  QUINN

  Quinn had already been to the beach for a swim, walked several kilometres up the coast and back, had another swim and a long shower, but no matter how much she moved her body, her mind refused to wake up. It was weird, considering how many potentially risky situations she’d placed herself in before, that she’d never given a thought to how she might feel if she was raped. If she had considered it, she didn’t think she’d ever have imagined this. Fear, maybe. Anger, definitely. Anything but this almost unbearable lethargy that she couldn’t seem to shake off.

  She rattled around the beach house for a while, ate a banana, turned on the TV and scrolled through the endless list of shows and movies on Netflix before switching it off again and slumping against the back of the couch. What did she usually do at home when she wasn’t working? Why was it so hard to think? Her brain was an empty well.

  Eventually, she got up again and went to the walk-in pantry, staring at all the food Hannah and Ethan had brought … six loaves of bread, three different types of cereal, Vegemite, peanut butter, pancake mix, packets of spaghetti, jars of pasta sauce, rice, cans of tuna, bags of chips … more food than Quinn would usually eat in a month but would probably barely last Hannah’s brood a week. She didn’t feel like eating anything.

  She closed the pantry and wandered into Hannah and Ethan’s bedroom. There was a small pile of discarded clothes in one corner; all Ethan’s, from what Quinn could tell, though she certainly wasn’t going to get close enough to find out. A wardrobe held Hannah’s clothes, hung on the rail and folded into neat piles on the shelves. Quinn s
norted. Hard to believe now that the impulsive, disordered Hannah of their youth had turned into such a square. She followed her listless curiosity into the ensuite. The items on the sink were arranged neatly, Hannah’s on the left side, Ethan’s on the right. Quinn almost laughed. It was a regular his and hers set-up.

  Hannah: toothpaste, toothbrush, moisturiser, deodorant, the neutral make-up Hannah wore when she didn’t want people to know she was wearing make-up (Quinn knew), hairbrush, two hair ties (in case she lost one, of course), two pairs of earrings, hair dryer, the cord wrapped neatly around it, and a zipped-up toiletries bag that Quinn opened without hesitation to reveal a box of tampons, two individually wrapped condoms (this surprised Quinn: she wouldn’t have picked Hannah for a condom-user, nor Ethan for a condom-wearer), and a blister pack of anti-depressants (another surprise – Hannah had never mentioned she was taking anti-depressants).

  Ethan: hair wax to maintain his looks-good-for-his-age mussed-up style, razor, deodorant, toothbrush, and not one, but two bottles of expensive cologne, for all those times one might need to smell like they were on a first date while on a family beach holiday.

  The sudden slam of the door downstairs startled Quinn, and she scuttled out of the bathroom and bedroom and into the kitchen just in time for the three children to come thundering up the stairs. She quickly grabbed a can of beer out of the fridge to make it look like she’d actually been doing something.

  ‘We saw a horsie!’ Grace yelled as soon as she saw Quinn.

  ‘Wacko,’ Quinn said. ‘Go on the tram to Granite Island, did you?’

  ‘No, stupid Sam wanted to walk over and it was so boring!’ Jet said, overtaking his sister.

  ‘It was not!’ Sam screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Hannah trailed up the stairs behind the kids, looking drained. She smiled wanly at Quinn. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’ Quinn tried to sound bright, but knew her friend would see right through her. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Oh, you know.’ Hannah gave a vague gesture. ‘Twenty per cent fun, eighty per cent shitshow.’

  Quinn forced out a chuckle and had to swallow back a sudden and unexpected sob. She lifted the beer can to her lips and took a large gulp to ease the lump in her throat, just as Ethan walked into the room. His gaze flicked to the beer, then away. ‘You’re getting started early.’

  ‘You’re getting started late, I would’ve thought,’ Quinn said. ‘You are on holiday.’

  His mouth made an approximation of a smile. ‘Well, yeah, but when you have kids your priorities change. You can’t just go cracking a beer at two o’clock in the afternoon when you’ve got three kids to feed and get to bed.’

  ‘Who’s feeding them and getting them to bed?’ Quinn muttered under her breath as she turned away.

  ‘What was that?’ Ethan said.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said gaily, taking her can of beer down the stairs to the second living area.

  Fucking Ethan. He was such a smug piece of shit sometimes, using his family as a weapon while he left the bulk of the work to his wife.

  She plonked down on the couch and took a sip of beer. It was clear she’d overstayed her welcome on the Osborne family holiday, but she knew if she went home now, she’d spend the next week and a half lying on her back staring at the grey scuff on the ceiling. At least here she had the beach, and the need to stay out of Ethan’s way kept her moving. Besides, Hannah had driven her here, and she couldn’t expect her friend to make the trip again, especially after everything she’d already done for her. She’d just have to stick it out for another couple of days, try to be civil with Ethan, then go home and get on with her life.

  The worst part of being here was that they knew what had happened to her, and it made them look at her differently. She didn’t want to be a victim. She wanted to go back to charging through her life, taking what she earned without shame or embarrassment or apology. She wanted to be around people who could look at her without seeing all the baggage that had attached itself to her since Christmas Eve. More than anything, she wanted to feel normal again.

  Her eyes fell on her phone sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Maybe there was a way. She picked up the phone and opened the Tinder app. Finding people near you, it told her. There were three options within the immediate area. Not many, but she only needed one. She chose the guy who sounded the least douchey in his bio and swiped right. She was still staring at her phone when she heard Hannah’s light step coming down the stairs.

  ‘What are you doing down here by yourself?’

  Quinn locked her phone and replaced it on the coffee table before Hannah could see the screen. ‘Just staying out of your way.’

  Hannah sat beside her on the couch. ‘You know you don’t have to do that. I mean, of course you can if you want some time to yourself … but you’re always welcome to join us.’

  Quinn shrugged. ‘Maybe later.’

  Then her phone pinged, and Quinn leant forward to look at the screen. You’re a match! proclaimed the Tinder notification, then a message immediately popped up above it: Hey, what’s up? Imaginative. When she sat back again, she noticed Hannah’s eyes darting away from the phone, an expression of alarm on her face that she quickly masked when Quinn tried to meet her eye.

  ‘What?’ Quinn said.

  Hannah nodded at the phone on the coffee table. ‘You’re not serious?’

  Shame winnowed through Quinn, making her want to lash out. ‘What difference does it make to you?’

  ‘Quinn …’ Hannah shifted uncomfortably. ‘How could you want this now?’

  Furious tears stung behind Quinn’s eyes. ‘So I’m never allowed to enjoy anything again? I’m never allowed to feel normal?’

  Hannah looked down into her lap. ‘I’m not saying that. I just don’t understand why you’re looking for a hook-up, now of all times.’

  ‘That’s just it, Hannah, you don’t understand! But it’s my decision, and you don’t get to tell me what’s right and wrong this time.’

  Hannah looked like she wanted to touch Quinn, but instead she burrowed her hands between her legs as if to warm them. Hannah had always been the touchy type, back in the old days. Quinn hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it until Hannah had hugged her a few days ago. It seemed so long since there’d been that intimacy between them.

  ‘I know I can’t possibly understand what you’re going through,’ Hannah said. ‘But I don’t think this is the right way to make yourself feel better.’

  Quinn was silent. She didn’t have the words to explain to Hannah that it wasn’t the sex she wanted – it was the control. Maybe she could feel like she was taking something back for herself. More than the violation, it was the sense of powerlessness that was getting to her.

  ‘How about we go for a drink somewhere this afternoon?’ Hannah suggested. ‘Just you and me.’

  ‘You don’t have to be my babysitter, Hannah,’ Quinn said wearily. ‘I’m a big girl; I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘Well, do it for me, then,’ Hannah said. ‘I could do with a break from the kids.’

  Quinn looked sideways at her. ‘You’re humouring me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Come on.’ Hannah stood up. ‘We’ll go to the pub in Normanville, have a quick drink and bring fish and chips home to placate Ethan and the kids.’

  Quinn hesitated for a second, glanced at her phone with her Tinder match waiting for her to respond, then stood up. He could wait.

  The Normanville Hotel was a beautifully restored nineteenth-century stone building, pretty on the outside with its sandstone facade and red brick quoins around the windows. Hannah took a seat at the one remaining table outside in the beer garden and Quinn went in to get menus. On the inside, it was a typical country pub: solid wooden bar with ornate panelling topped with a West End Draught beer mat; carpet with a heinous swirling pattern that wouldn’t show the vomit stains.

  Quinn knew that if she merely brought out the menus, as reques
ted, Hannah would order a single drink and then make an excuse to get back to the house before Ethan got too antsy. Quinn didn’t have the patience for that. Hannah had dragged her here to stop her from hooking up with Tinder Guy, so she was going to make this worth her while. She purchased a bottle of Watervale riesling over the bar, tucked a couple of menus under one arm and juggled the bottle, an ice bucket and two wine glasses back out to her friend.

  Hannah raised her eyebrows as she approached. Quinn shrugged. ‘It was cheaper to buy by the bottle.’

  ‘One of us has to drive back, you know.’

  ‘I can drive,’ Quinn said. ‘You go nuts. You deserve it.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘And who’s going to put my kids to bed?’

  ‘Your dickhead husband.’

  ‘Quinn.’ Hannah looked pained.

  ‘What?’ Quinn poured generous serves into both glasses and slid the bottle into the ice bucket. ‘You deserve a night off, not just an hour to have one drink and go straight back on duty.’

  Hannah looked as if she were contemplating whether to push the point, but then she picked up her glass and took a sip instead. ‘You could’ve made your point without calling him a dickhead.’

  ‘Sorry, he’s not a dickhead.’ (He totally was.) ‘He just needs to appreciate you more.’

  ‘He actually does, you know.’ Hannah fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. ‘He said a few times today that he doesn’t know how I manage it all.’

  Quinn snorted.

  ‘All I’m saying is that he’s not some arsehole who thinks I sit at home all day twiddling my thumbs. He realises how much I do, and he’s grateful for it.’

  Quinn was itching to bite back, but she was feeling better being out of that beach house with a drink in her hand, and she didn’t want to spoil it with an argument. ‘Thanks for this,’ she said instead. ‘I needed it.’

  Hannah clinked her glass against Quinn’s. ‘Me too.’

  They sipped their wine and watched the people at the other tables. Quinn tried to think of conversation to make, but her head felt spongy. What did they normally talk about? Hannah’s kids, Quinn’s conquests, Ethan, work. Every topic seemed fraught; every thought leading back to what happened on Christmas Eve.