‘I need some air,’ she said, before the torrent of insults spewed out of her. ‘I think I might go for a swim. You don’t mind, do you?’
Hannah smiled. ‘Of course not. See you when you get back.’
No matter how hard she walked, how fast she swung her arms, she couldn’t escape the demons in her mind. She should’ve known; she should’ve fucking known that reporting Simon was futile. He wasn’t the type of guy who would take this sort of thing lying down. His ego – the ego she’d always respected him for, because she recognised the same quality in herself – wouldn’t allow him to think he could ever be the bad guy. In fact, he probably didn’t even think he’d done anything wrong. A man who so wholeheartedly believed his own bullshit was somehow always convincing.
The surf was choppy, providing a backdrop of white noise as Quinn walked, her feet sinking in the wet sand. Calves burning with the effort, she pushed herself harder and harder. It was a curious sort of relief to have her apathy sucked below the tidal wave of rage that was swelling inside her. She welcomed it; craved it. It made her feel strong. Purposeful. It made her feel like breaking things. Preferably Simon’s face, but anything would do.
A few surfers bobbed on the iron waves, but the powdery white stretch of beach was otherwise empty. A lone gull hung in the sky above her, its harsh squawks slashing through the idyllic scene. Tears pricked her eyes, wind streamed through her hair, and still she walked and walked. She’d been planning to swim, but now she was walking she couldn’t bring herself to stop. If she stopped, she’d have to think, but if she kept walking, maybe she could forget. Forever and ever.
A figure in a dark wetsuit emerged from the water just ahead of her, surf board under his arm, water beading on his tanned face and dripping from his hair. He nodded to Quinn, and in the same instant they recognised each other and instinctively stopped.
‘Patrick,’ she said.
‘Hey.’ He looked down at the sand. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m sorry about the other day,’ she said rather than answering his question. ‘I wouldn’t normally—’
‘Ah, it’s all good,’ he interrupted. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
There was an awkward moment where neither of them spoke, the crashing waves the only sound. Quinn’s body twitched with restlessness. A salted drip of water slid down Patrick’s temple and his stubbled neck before disappearing into the porous material of his wetsuit, and she swallowed hard.
‘I don’t suppose you want to give it another go?’ she said. ‘I owe you one.’
He chuckled a little. His big toe started tracing a circle in the damp sand. He kept his gaze fixed on its progress for several seconds before lifting his eyes to hers. ‘Yeah, nah. Better not.’
‘I promise I’ll make it up to you.’ There was a horrible desperation creeping up inside Quinn like a disease, but she needed to exorcise her anger in something outside of herself.
Patrick shuffled his feet, his face scrunched up with reluctance. ‘You’ve got your own shit going on, mate. I don’t want to get in the way of that.’
Of all the blokes in the world, she had to find the only bloody decent one on Tinder. Honourable wasn’t usually her kind of thing, but now she found it annoyingly attractive. ‘OK, suit yourself. Mate.’ She gave him a small smile and kept walking, not daring to look back.
The sun disappeared, and a bank of grey clouds scurried across the sky. The wind had increased and the waves picked up, roaring as they smashed into the shore. There must be a storm on its way. Good thing she hadn’t gone in for a swim after all. The end of the stretch of beach grew closer. When the tide was out, it would’ve been possible to go around the cluster of rocks up ahead and keep walking, but now they were half-submerged and treacherous beneath the crashing water. She would have to turn around, and that would mean going back to the beach house, because what else was there to do?
Instead, her feet took her up onto a rock above the waves and she perched on its stippled surface, looking out over the angry grey sea. Maybe she could buy a place down here, abandon her old life. Never go to the police station, never go back to work, never have to deal with it. The thought was intoxicating. But that would mean remaining still, and Quinn hated remaining still. Sooner or later she’d have to start using her brain again, interacting with people again, and she couldn’t do that by running away. Plus, there was the inconvenient reality of needing money.
‘I wouldn’t stay there for too long,’ shouted a voice over the wind and the waves. ‘You’ll get swept out to sea.’
It was Patrick, climbing over the rocks towards her. His wetsuit was rolled down to his waist now and her eyes were riveted to his wiry torso.
‘Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,’ she said, forcing her gaze back to the ocean as he settled beside her.
‘Well, for what it’s worth, it’s not the answer.’
She glanced at him. ‘What are you, a fucking psychologist?’
He laughed. ‘Nah, I’m a landscape gardener.’
‘Why did you follow me?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Your sparkling personality?’
Now it was her turn to laugh. ‘Sorry I tried to proposition you.’
‘It’s not that I didn’t want to.’
‘You just don’t want to get caught up in my mess.’
‘Not that either. Figured you didn’t need the complication after what you’ve been through.’
‘You sound like Hannah.’
‘Hannah sounds like a good friend.’
‘She is.’ Quinn bumped her knee against his. ‘I can give you a wristy if you like? Even things up a bit.’
He looked at her as he laughed, his teeth white against his brown face. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Quinn.’
Goddamn. Quinn wasn’t normally into the rugged country type, but this one was uncommonly appealing. He would taste of salt and she wanted to kiss him, but she knew he wouldn’t go for it and she couldn’t stomach another rejection today.
‘How much longer are you here for?’ he asked.
‘I have to go back tomorrow morning.’ Her temporarily buoyed mood slid back down again. ‘The police want to ask me more questions.’
She felt his eyes on her, but he didn’t speak.
‘He’s a family man, and he’s my boss. Nothing I say means anything in comparison with that.’
‘I believe you.’
‘You don’t know me. You don’t know the things I’ve done.’
‘Makes no difference what you’ve done,’ Patrick said.
She gave him a wry smile. ‘You know, you’re remarkably sweet for someone who opened communication by asking what sex stuff I’m into, then proposed a threesome with my friend.’
‘What?’ Confusion crossed his face for a second, then he rubbed his forehead vigorously with his hands before looking at her with a sheepish grin. ‘I meant, like, what were your interests. And I thought we were just having a drink – that’s why I thought Hannah might’ve joined us. I told you I’d never been on Tinder before, right?’
Quinn laughed out loud. ‘I thought you meant you’d never banged in public before.’
‘That too.’
Before she could think twice, Quinn leant towards him and kissed him briefly on the lips. He did taste of salt, and it took a great deal of self-control to withdraw before he did. ‘Well, thanks for being a decent bloke.’
Water lapped at the edge of the rock they were sitting on, and Patrick stared at it for a moment before turning to her. ‘Walk you back?’
She nodded and they got to their feet. He picked up his surf board from where he’d left it behind him on the rock then followed her down to the sand, and they began to stroll back up the beach. When they reached the track she’d come down earlier, Quinn stopped. ‘This is me.’
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted against the light. ‘Good luck tomorrow.’
‘Thanks.’
They shuffled their feet for a minute. Quinn loo
ked up the road, where Hannah and her family waited inside the beach house. She’d have to pack her stuff tonight, and mentally prepare herself to return to the police station tomorrow and tell her story all over again. Exhaustion swept through her at the thought.
‘Well, seeya,’ she said.
Patrick put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Look after yourself, yeah?’
‘Yep.’
She set off up the sand track. When she looked back, Patrick was still standing there, watching her. She waved to him one last time and kept walking.
There was a very different vibe in the small room Constable Byrne led Quinn into than there had been on her first visit. Byrne’s formerly sympathetic expression was now inscrutable as he gestured at the small rectangular table. Even the woman officer, Constable Findlay, who had been the more gentle of the two last time, avoided direct eye contact with her. Quinn took the single chair on one side of the table, apprehension already rising in her throat. Once again, they hadn’t let Hannah come in with her, and her friend’s absence was a yawning hole.
‘What happened with Simon?’ she asked as soon as Byrne had sat down beside his colleague.
Byrne looked down at Quinn’s statement from last time. ‘What can you tell us about your work Christmas party on the eighteenth of December?’ he said at last.
‘We had lunch, exchanged shitty Kris Kringle presents, and got drunk.’
‘Did you have an altercation with Mr Mandalay?’
Quinn’s jaw clenched. ‘Do you mean the part when he held me on his lap or when he kissed me in the hallway?’
‘Did you kiss him back?’
‘For like a millisecond.’
‘How would you describe your relationship with Mr Mandalay before this?’
The disquiet grew heavier and heavier inside Quinn. ‘A bit flirty, I guess. We’ve worked together for a long time. I thought we were friends.’
‘And do you think that … flirty relationship might have given him cause to believe you were interested in more than just friendship?’
‘Well, I distinctly recall telling him on multiple occasions that it was never going to happen, so what do you reckon?’
He held her gaze, as if daring her to look away. ‘Could you go through everything that happened on the twenty-fourth of December for us again?’
Haltingly, Quinn told them her story for the second time, from the moment Simon had turned up in her office until he had left. When she had finished, Constable Findlay spoke. ‘You told us in your previous statement that Mr Mandalay ripped your underwear off, but just now you left that part out.’
‘Oh. I … forgot about it,’ Quinn said.
‘And you no longer have the ripped underwear?’
‘I already told you.’ Frustration replaced Quinn’s unease. ‘I threw them away.’
Byrne rested his elbows on the table in front of him. ‘What I’m having trouble understanding here, Ms Stafford, is why you would throw away the only potential evidence you had if you wanted us to bring charges against Mr Mandalay for sexual assault.’
‘It was an impulse,’ Quinn said. ‘I never wanted to see them again.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Findlay said. ‘But every piece of evidence is vital in a case like this.’
‘You have to understand that these are serious allegations, Ms Stafford,’ Byrne said. ‘They could ruin a man’s life.’
Frustration boiled over into fury and Quinn slapped both hands down on the table. ‘I don’t give a fuck whether his life is ruined!’
She immediately regretted her outburst when Byrne responded, ‘I see,’ and looked down at the statement again.
After a heavy pause in which the two police officers watched her quietly, Byrne slid a piece of paper across the table towards her.
‘Can you confirm that you sent this message to Mr Mandalay on the sixteenth of December?’
The print-out of the text message seemed to glow in the dimly lit room, and cold fingers of horror clenched in Quinn’s stomach. Oh, fuck.
‘Yes.’ Her voice came out high-pitched and scared. ‘But it was an accident. It was meant for my friend Hannah.’
‘The same Hannah who’s waiting out there?’ Byrne indicated with his head. ‘The one you say is your lawyer?’
A hot flush suffused Quinn. She felt like she was going to choke, but she managed to nod.
‘I’m sure you can see what this looks like,’ Findlay said. Her expression was far less adversarial than Byrne’s, but she still wasn’t giving an inch.
‘It was a joke,’ Quinn said in a small voice.
‘A joke,’ Byrne repeated. ‘You said you were “coming for his job”. And then a week later you accused him of rape.’
‘It was just a joke. It doesn’t mean he didn’t rape me.’
‘Ms Stafford, did you have sex with Mr Mandalay so you could accuse him of rape and he would lose his job?’
‘No!’ Quinn cried.
‘Did you ever explicitly say no to the sex?’
‘I told him to stop.’ Her voice was shaking now. All she wanted was to get out of this room, right now.
‘Are you sure he didn’t think it was part of the game?’
‘There was no game.’
But there had been a game. There’d been a game for years, and she’d played it hard.
‘I told him to stop,’ she said again, ‘and he didn’t.’
Byrne gave her a bland smile. ‘Did you enjoy the sex, Ms Stafford?’
White-hot shame arrowed through Quinn, and Findlay shot Byrne an irritated look before seeking out Quinn’s gaze. ‘It’s OK, you don’t have to answer that.’
‘I didn’t want it,’ Quinn said. ‘I didn’t want it.’ She felt dizzy.
Findlay’s eyes were soft. ‘We need to know if you’d like us to continue this investigation.’
‘What do you mean?’ Nothing was making sense. ‘Of course I do.’
Byrne cleared his throat. ‘We’ll continue if that’s what you want. But you need to understand that it’s possible – likely, even – that the DPP won’t want to pursue charges. In my experience, a case like this is unlikely to result in prosecution.’
Quinn stared at him, astonished. ‘So he gets away with it?’
‘If you do decide to drop the charges, it doesn’t mean that an offence didn’t happen,’ Findlay said gently. ‘But you have to consider that if he fights the charges and this goes to court, things are going to get a lot uglier for you.’
‘You don’t think this is already ugly as it is?’
‘What Constable Findlay is saying is that your past will be brought up in court,’ Byrne said. ‘Your sexual history, the way you behaved at work with Mr Mandalay. It could end up in the media.’
‘Only you can decide whether it’s worth it for you personally,’ Findlay said. ‘You don’t have to decide straight away. Take a few days and give me a call when you’ve made a decision.’ She pushed a business card across the table.
Quinn stood up, too stunned to object.
The light seemed unnaturally bright when Quinn emerged into the waiting area, as if a whole night had passed while she’d been in that room. Hannah rose to her feet, her eyes searching Quinn’s face. ‘What happened?’
Not until the door to the station had closed behind them, not until they were in Hannah’s car, did Quinn speak. ‘They want me to drop the charges. You remember that text I told you about?’
‘Oh no. He showed them?’
‘Yep. And now they think I was setting him up so he’d get fired and I would get his job.’
‘Oh, Quinn.’
Quinn had expected Hannah to be outraged, to insist that she march back in there right away and demand they continue the investigation, but she just sat there, silent, and Quinn knew then that there was no hope.
‘It’s over, isn’t it?’ she said flatly.
Hannah didn’t speak straight away. ‘It doesn’t mean you haven’t got a case,’ she said eventually.
&nb
sp; Quinn traced her finger through the light layer of dust on the dashboard. ‘You worked for the DPP; you know how these cases go. What would you advise me to do?’
‘I would advise you to weigh up the pros and cons of this ending up in the courts,’ Hannah said.
‘That’s what they told me.’ Quinn jerked her head in the direction of the police station. ‘But what would your gut feeling be?’
‘I can’t make that decision for you.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Hannah, I’m not asking you to make the decision for me, I’m asking for your professional opinion on whether I’ve got even the slightest chance of making him pay.’
Hannah grimaced. ‘I think that it would be a gruelling, painful process for you. You’d have to relive what happened over and over again, and you’d have to put up with a shitload of victim blaming. And at the end of it, even if you win, even if he’s sentenced, you’ll still have to live with what he did to you. You can’t be unraped.’
Quinn sat very still. As soon as Byrne had shoved that text message under her nose she’d known it was the end of the road, but hearing the words come out of Hannah’s mouth hurt more than anything else had.
‘So much for a fucking justice system,’ she muttered.
‘I’m sorry, Quinn,’ Hannah said. ‘If you want to fight, I’ll stand beside you.’
‘Can you take me home, please?’ Quinn said.
She felt Hannah’s gaze on her, but after a second the engine started and they pulled out of the car park.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO
HANNAH
Quinn was in earnest conversation with a guy at the bar at the Exeter when Hannah started thinking about heading home. She’d had a skinful of cheap house wine and she’d already planned to meet up with Joseph tomorrow at the cheap motel on Glen Osmond Road that they frequented. She knew she’d be too hungover to get much out of the sex, but it was the precious half hour afterwards that she craved, when he would run his hands over her body and tell her she was beautiful and brilliant, and his eyes would be for her only. She could convince herself that this time it would be different; this time it wouldn’t end with Joseph hurriedly dressing to return to his family, the sunshine of his gaze dimmed as his mind returned to practicalities. And Hannah wouldn’t be left alone, still naked on the rumpled sheets, unsatisfied and filled with self-doubt and a faint sense of disgust. He’d promised to take her away with him after exams to his family’s shack in the Riverland, and the prospect of a whole day and night with him, to show him the real her, was enough to get her through until the end of term.
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