‘Yeah, sorry. That guy’s a fucking prick.’
‘You don’t have to tell me.’ They were still standing in the open doorway. Quinn knew she should step back, let him in, but she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. ‘Why are you here?’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘You wouldn’t answer my calls.’
‘Ever occur to you that there might be a good reason for that?’
He reached out for her again. ‘You don’t have to be ashamed, Quinn.’
Heat prickled through her and she moved away from him. ‘Don’t patronise me, Patrick.’
But she was ashamed; desperately, devastatingly, painfully soaked in shame. She hated that he’d seen that supercharged, over-sexed version of her, and she fucking hated that she cared what he thought of her.
He raised both hands, palms towards her. ‘Whoa, I’m not trying to patronise you.’
‘Well, you need to know,’ she said hotly, ‘that’s what I’m like. That’s who I am, and if you don’t like it you can fuck right off. In fact, fuck off anyway, I didn’t invite you here.’
Patrick’s expression cracked. ‘I’ll go if you want me to.’
Quinn crossed her arms. ‘I do.’
‘OK.’ He nodded. ‘Sorry to turn up like this. It was out of line.’
As he turned away, despair welled up inside Quinn. ‘You’re just going to drive home again?’
He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘What else am I gonna do?’
‘So you drove all the way here, even though you didn’t know whether I’d let you in?’
‘Well, yeah.’ He turned back to her. ‘I was worried about you.’
Quinn’s determination sagged. She wanted him to hold her again but she couldn’t bear to say the words; couldn’t bear to admit even to herself that she needed anyone. He was watching her, waiting for her to tell him what she wanted, but she had no idea. No idea at all.
‘So are you going to let me in, or should I go?’ There was nothing about his body language that was demanding. He simply stood there, waiting for her to make up her mind. His passivity made the agitation swirl inside her. She wanted to grab him by the arms and shake him into action, but she knew he wouldn’t rise to it.
‘I’m not sure.’
They stared at each other.
‘I’m not forcing my company on you,’ he said. ‘But if you want it, I’m here.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake, just come in.’ Quinn took his hand and pulled him inside.
He looked around her living room as if seeing it for the first time. After a moment, he strode over to the dining table, peered at the screen of her laptop, then snapped it shut. His jaw worked. ‘Stop looking at that shit!’
Quinn went to the fridge and got two cans of beer out. ‘Pretty hard to ignore.’
‘Well, try harder. It’s not going to change anything.’ He took the beer from her, cracked it open and took a swig.
‘If you’re here to try to protect me, then you can go,’ Quinn said, her teeth clenched.
He took a breath, steadying himself. ‘Sorry.’
Quinn sat down at the dining table and motioned to the other chair. Patrick sat down after a moment. They drank their beers in silence.
‘I didn’t even go home with him,’ Quinn said eventually.
Patrick gave her a quizzical look. ‘Who?’
‘The guy in the video. That’s the irony of the whole thing. I didn’t go home with him, and yet that’s the example they’re using to call me a slut.’
‘It doesn’t make a difference what you actually did,’ he said.
‘No, I guess not,’ Quinn said gloomily. ‘Once a slapper, always a slapper.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
Quinn shrugged.
‘How does your family feel about all this?’ Patrick asked.
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t spoken to them. I can’t. How can I?’
‘From what you’ve told me about them, they seem like they’d support you through anything,’ he said. ‘They sound like good people.’
‘They are,’ Quinn said. ‘That’s why I can’t face them.’
‘You have to let people help you, Quinn. It’s the only way.’
‘Oh, is it?’ she said sarcastically.
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Can we not talk about this now?’
‘But that fucker is back at your work tomorrow. How are you going to deal with it?’
The can in Quinn’s hand crumpled inwards. ‘Can you drop it? I just want to go five fucking minutes without thinking about Simon. Is that so much to ask?’
‘No. Of course it’s not. Sorry.’
He took her free hand and squeezed it, sending a jolt of electricity through Quinn. Almost without knowing she was going to do it, she climbed onto his lap, sitting astride him, kissing him, and he was kissing her back. He felt solid and real and completely separate to all the horrible things that had happened to her over the last few weeks, and she inhaled him, trying to absorb him into her. She fumbled with the button of his jeans then shoved her hand inside, finding him, stroking him. He groaned, his arms tightening around her. She raised herself from his lap, pushing her own jeans down, kicking them off one ankle, lowering herself again, reaching for him, guiding him to her. Then his hands were on her waist, raising her away from him. ‘Quinn, slow down. Not now. Not now.’ He set her on her feet, regret written across his face.
Her desperation was at fever pitch. ‘Yes, now!’
She tried to kiss him again, but he was holding her away from him. He wouldn’t let her get any closer. His eyes looked into hers, pleading with her not to go further. She stood up and pulled her jeans back on, her face hot with embarrassment and fury.
‘Am I too dirty for you, is that it?’
‘No, of course not.’ His own face was flushed.
‘Then why won’t you fuck me?’ Quinn felt close to tears. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Quinn,’ he said in exasperation. ‘And I do want to, but not like this. It’s not what you need right now.’
Anger shot through Quinn, so savage it almost took her breath. ‘Don’t tell me what I need, Patrick!’
He re-buttoned his jeans and stood, then reached for her. ‘Please don’t take this personally. When we do it, I want it to be right.’
‘Oh, fuck off with your romantic bullshit!’ Quinn snapped, pushing his hand away. ‘There is no right here. I’ve told you a hundred times that I don’t want a relationship. I’m not your fucking rescue puppy. Is that what you want? Some kind of special project to make you feel like more of a man?’
He looked crestfallen. ‘I just want to support you, Quinn. But if you keep pushing people away, you’ll end up with no one.’
‘Get out.’ Quinn pointed at the door. ‘I’ve had a gutful of your crap. Just leave.’
He didn’t move, as if waiting for her to change her mind. Quinn couldn’t stand to see the hurt on his face.
‘I said leave, Patrick! Get out!’ She lunged at him and shoved him in the chest. ‘Drive back to your hick town, find your ex and let her emasculate you a little bit more. I never asked for this.’
Finally, he moved. He turned away from her and slowly walked towards the door. She wanted to stop him, to pull him back, apologise for the acidic words she’d poured over him, but she could only watch, helpless, as he walked out of her apartment and her life and left her, just as he’d warned, completely alone in the world.
Quinn spent all day in bed on Monday, getting up only to go to the toilet and read more comments on the video. She tucked each one inside herself where they adhered to her, calcified, became part of her. A few other new stories popped up, with quotes from past employees of the agency attesting to Quinn’s loose ways. Quinn could barely remember the people in question; considering her general practice of discretion, she doubted they even knew anything about her. One guy she’d apparently hooked up with from Tinder (she had no memory of hi
m) weighed in as well, describing her as being a wild girl who was ‘up for anything’. After reading that one, Quinn drank three quarters of a bottle of wine on an empty stomach and passed out.
She thought often of Patrick, sometimes with anger, sometimes with damp sentimentality, sometimes with desire. And, behind it all, the constant soundtrack of his voice played over and over in the back of her head: The only thing I’ve got left of him now is his old gun.
Alistair rang her at ten o’clock on Tuesday morning. She thought about ignoring him. She still had no idea what she was going to do tomorrow, whether she could face going back to work, being in the same room as Simon, speaking with him and Alistair in a conciliatory meeting that would mean taking on part of the blame. In the end, curiosity won out. And hope, that maybe he had done the right thing and got rid of Simon after all.
‘Things are getting a bit rough, Quinn,’ Alistair said once he’d asked after her welfare. ‘Total Care Insurance have pulled their account. That was a huge boon for us, and we lost them before we even got a chance to start on their campaigns.’
Quinn groaned. ‘Why?’
‘Well. They’re a company that prides themselves on their family values. They saw your video, and can’t be seen to associate with that sort of behaviour.’
‘But they didn’t have a problem associating with a rapist,’ Quinn shot back.
‘Quinn.’ Alistair’s voice was pained. ‘I thought we’d moved past all that.’
Impotent rage bubbled up inside Quinn again. ‘Do you want me to tell you what he did to me? In my office, on the premises of your company? The way he—’
‘That’s not why I called, Quinn.’ Alistair’s smooth voice silenced hers. ‘Two more clients pulled their accounts this morning. They weren’t big accounts, but they were all yours. I could have overlooked those ones, but Total Care was a big one for the company. It’s only a matter of time before others follow suit. I need to stem the flow.’
‘But … but I was the one who brought them in!’ Quinn protested.
‘And you’re the one who chased them away.’ His words were blunt; the amiable peacemaker was gone, the ruthless businessman firmly in place. ‘I’m sorry, Quinn, I really am, but I need to do the right thing for my business.’
Panic bled through Quinn: she’d known this was coming; she’d expected it, but now the realisation that she was unemployed – and probably, now, unemployable – tightened around her like a vice. ‘You’re really firing me this time.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I have no choice but to terminate your employment with Big Sky. You were a valuable member of the team, Quinn, but—’
‘I was the best!’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘And you’re punishing me instead of Simon, who was responsible for all this in the first place.’
Alistair gave an uncomfortable laugh. ‘Well, he hardly forced you into the behaviour in that video, did he?’
Quinn exploded. ‘You fucking arsehole! You’ve been covering up his behaviour for years. Who’s going to be next, Alistair? Who’s he going to—’
‘Goodbye, Quinn.’
Quinn tried to get in another insult before he hung up, but it was too late. She lay back against the pillow, her head pounding with her hangover. She’d lost everything. Everyone.
Silvery fury trickled through her bloodstream like mercury. And by the time evening fell, she had come to a decision. This was not the end, and it was way past time for payback.
She hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but she had to admit it had always been there, at the back of her mind, crouching in wait. Why else had they remained friends for all these years, when their lives had gone in such different directions?
Hannah owed her. It was time to call in the favour.
But when she called her, there was no answer. She waited ten minutes and tried again, and once again Hannah didn’t pick up. Quinn’s limbs were jumpy and agitated as she paced her apartment. She had to get things moving. She threw on some clothes and was about to walk out and drive over there when her phone rang. She leapt on it, answering on the first ring. ‘Thanks for calling back.’
‘How are you doing?’
Hannah’s voice was soft and laced with compassion. Just the sound of it brought tears to Quinn’s eyes. For a split second, she reconsidered her plan. She loved Hannah. She always had. How could she threaten someone who had done nothing but support her over the last few horrible weeks?
But she had no other choice left. Simon had to pay, and Hannah was going to help her. Whether she wanted to or not.
Quinn told her what had happened, stumbling over her words as tears streamed down her face, explaining how there was nowhere left she could turn now that Simon had taken everything from her. She didn’t want to do this, she couldn’t do this. But before she knew it, she was doing it; she was invoking Hannah’s guilt, naming what she’d once done for her, something she’d been holding onto for all these years, waiting for this moment. And there was something liberating about it, as if the weight had been crushing them this whole time and now there was a chance to lift it off, to make things right, to make them equal again.
‘And do you remember how I was there for you?’ Quinn’s words were stronger now. ‘How I made it go away, how I never said a word to anyone, not a soul?’
‘Yes.’ Hannah sounded like she was crying.
The fear in her voice sliced into Quinn, but it was too late to back out now. She was tired, so tired of resenting Hannah for the perfect life that she’d made possible – that she’d orchestrated. It had been her idea; Hannah had done nothing other than blindly obey her orders. Quinn had broken the law so Hannah could one day practise the law. It was time to even the score.
‘Well, now I need you, Hannah.’
Hannah didn’t say anything straight away, but Quinn could hear her breath, faster and shallower than normal. ‘What do you want me to do?’ Despite the dread Quinn knew must be shivering inside her, Hannah’s voice was calm.
Quinn clamped down on her fear so that her words came out steady and sure.
‘I want you to help me kill him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO
QUINN
Hannah was huddled on the floor of the phone box when Quinn pulled up outside the darkened service station.
‘I left my bag in his car,’ she said numbly as she got in.
‘It’s OK,’ Quinn said. ‘We’re going back there. Don’t worry, I’ve brought everything we’ll need.’
Hannah winced as she twisted to look at the items in the back seat of the car, and Quinn waited for her to react, to tell her that this was wrong, that it wasn’t what she’d asked for when she’d called her. But Quinn had known. As soon as she’d heard the panic in Hannah’s voice, she’d known that her friend needed her to take control, to make the bad things go away. And she would do anything for Hannah, anything. So she’d got out of bed, gathered a bottle of disinfectant, a large bundle of rags and two pairs of dishwashing gloves, and she’d driven the two hours out here.
‘I’m going to take care of it,’ Quinn said. ‘But we need to be quick. It’ll start getting light soon.’
She turned the car around and pulled out onto the highway again, slowing to a crawl when they got close so Hannah could watch for the break in the fence line.
‘There,’ Hannah said, pointing.
Quinn pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway, switched off the engine and the headlights then grabbed the cleaning gear out of the back. It was still dark, but there was a faint greyish light on the horizon and she could make out the dark shape of the car in the paddock.
‘Come on,’ she said.
There was a slight chill in the air and Hannah shivered so violently that Quinn could hear her teeth chattering. They stepped over the rusted barbed wire where the car had ploughed through the fence and crossed the paddock. The coarse soil was deeper and softer than it looked and it quickly filled Quinn’s sneakers, rubbing against
the bare skin of her heels.
‘This is what we’re going to do,’ she said as they walked. ‘We’re going to remove all trace of your presence in his car. Then I’m going to take you back to my place and you’re going to pretend none of this happened. You stayed with me last night and we watched Buffy and got smashed together, OK?’
Hannah nodded numbly.
‘We’ll have to close this passenger window when we’re done.’ Quinn pulled on one pair of gloves and held the other out to Hannah, but Hannah seemed frozen to the spot. After a second, Quinn shoved the second pair of gloves into the back pocket of her jeans and got to work. The smell of disinfectant cut through the early morning air as she started soaking one of the rags, blotting out the sweet, earthy scent of the freshly cut crop.
She was approaching the car when Hannah suddenly cried, ‘Wait!’
Quinn paused to look back at her.
‘Let me get my bag out first,’ Hannah said.
Quinn watched as Hannah leant in through the open window. There was a rustling and a creaking sound from within, then Hannah re-emerged, her bag over her arm, and stepped away, avoiding her gaze. Quinn took Hannah’s place in the window then began rubbing down all the surfaces of the dashboard and the console before moving around the other side of the car. Daylight was starting to creep across the sky, pale blue and glints of gold, but she didn’t hurry as she cleaned the indicator knob and leant across Harris to clean the interior light switch. Her nose wrinkled with the competing smells of metallic, congealing blood and burnt rubber from the car tyres. She glanced over at Hannah from time to time, but her friend stood back, arms crossed over her chest, her summer dress flapping against her long legs in the breeze.
When Quinn was done, she surveyed the handprint of blood on the outside of the door. ‘Is this his blood or yours?’
‘It’s his,’ Hannah whispered. ‘But it was on my hand.’
Quinn scrubbed it off thoroughly. ‘Did he touch you at all?’
Hannah stared at her.
‘Did he touch you? Is any of your DNA on his body?’ She could tell Hannah was on the verge of a panic attack, but they couldn’t afford to be sloppy now. ‘Hannah, come on!’ she shouted. ‘We need to get out of here before we’re seen!’
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