The Favour

by Rebecca Freeborn

  ‘You’re home early.’

  ‘Benefits of being a tradie. We start early but we also finish early. How was your day?’

  ‘Bit boring. Do you have Netflix?’

  He chuckled. ‘Yeah, sorry. I should’ve told you. I’ve got ’em all: Netflix, Stan, Prime, even Disney+.’ He flushed momentarily. ‘For Star Wars, of course. Not much else to do when you’re single out here.’

  Quinn noticed his use of the word ‘single’, and wasn’t sure how to interpret it, but she was relieved when he didn’t attempt to correct it. ‘I can think of a few things,’ she said instead.

  ‘All in good time.’ He grinned and strode over to kiss her. His body smelled of earth and crushed grass and sweat, a combination she never would’ve thought could be sexy before now. She wanted to inhale him. He kissed her a few more times, then withdrew with a smile. ‘I’m going to have a shower. Then I thought we could go down to the pub for a while. Maybe have dinner there.’

  Quinn had rather hoped they might stay in and find some other ways to entertain themselves, but she was going a bit stir crazy after being stuck here all day, the image of the locked box in the shed turning over and over in her mind. Besides, there was something insufferably erotic about drawing things out like this. So she just smiled back and nodded.

  The next few days passed slowly. Each night they cooked and ate together, drank wine and went to bed together. They kissed, their hands roamed, but they held back, waiting for the time to be right. It was frightening and amazing and calming and frustrating and satisfying all at once. It was simple, undemanding, effortless. Quinn had never felt this way before.

  But when Patrick left for work each day, her thoughts turned to Simon, and she would think again about the garden shed. It was then she found herself watching YouTube tutorials on gun handling. When that happened, she would throw on her bathers and run all the way down to the beach. The ocean carried her body, held it, tossed it, embraced it. She would swim and swim until her limbs were weak, trying to wash away the feeling of powerlessness that spread through her veins like toxic sludge, and exhaustion banished the bad thoughts from her mind. Then she’d walk back on wobbly legs in time for Patrick to get home.

  On Saturday morning, Quinn woke to find Patrick still asleep in the bed beside her, no work to go to, and their bodies were warm and soft, and she knew. He stirred as she kissed his chest, his hands reached for her, their bodies pressed together, barely awake, his fingers tangled in the hair she hadn’t bothered to straighten in days. They kissed and his hands began to move over her body, leaving a tingling trail that made all her nerve endings light up. It was slow, so slow, almost unbearably slow, but Quinn’s body was coming alive. He kissed every centimetre of her, went down on her until she was ready to explode. She pushed him onto his back and climbed astride him. It seemed they’d been waiting for this moment for so long, and when he was finally inside her, they both moaned together. And then, like a storm coming, she saw Simon’s face, looming over her.

  She withdrew, gasping. Patrick’s brow furrowed. He held her, waited.

  ‘It’s OK, Quinn. I’m here. Stay with me.’

  She waited for the feeling to pass. And when it did, he was inside her again, and she wanted to go hard and fast but also draw it out forever. Then the fluttering in her belly began again, the melting, warm, tingling feeling that filled her entire body. She panicked, fear sifting through the pleasure, trying to obliterate it, but she held on, held on, slowed down even more until she was barely moving. Patrick’s hazel eyes held hers, steady and sure.

  ‘Do you want to stop?’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  She leant forward and rested her weight on him. He wrapped his arms around her body and held her as they kissed, their bodies melding together. And this time, when the tsunami built inside her once again, the fear was still there, but he was there too, holding her so she couldn’t be swept away.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Stay with me.’

  And she did. She let go, let herself be carried on the wave, knowing he was there, knowing it would be OK. The spectre of Simon receded with each second, leaving only the two of them, until everything was clear and calm and good.

  Afterwards, she lay in Patrick’s arms, her body still tingling, full of a weird feeling she couldn’t identify. As she drifted back into sleep, she realised that the feeling was contentment.

  It was a good weekend. They hardly left the bed, getting up only to eat. Quinn tried to make shower sex happen, but the space was too small, Patrick hit his head on the shower head and they almost fell over, so they retreated to the bedroom, wet and laughing, to cover each other with kisses and ride the wave until they were both spent and sore and happy. For those precious two days, Patrick was all Quinn needed, and she was happier than she could remember being.

  But when she woke up on Monday morning to an empty bed, she began to feel restless again. She roamed aimlessly around the house, looking for chores to do, anything to keep her thoughts from straying to the gun, to the comments on the video that she hadn’t been able to wash from her brain.

  What a disgrace.

  What was she even doing here? She liked being with Patrick; everything felt good and right when they were together, but she couldn’t continue like this, binge-watching Netflix all day and waiting for him to get home.

  They should fire the lying slut.

  She needed to start thinking about finding another job, but who was going to employ her now? People didn’t just forget stuff like this in Adelaide. She’d forever be the slut with the dildo. All this interlude had done was delay the inevitable. She’d have to leave Patrick and Hannah behind, move interstate and be alone again.

  God, who would want to rape that?

  She went to the beach and swam for an hour, but when she got back, her mind was still teeming. And though she’d already committed all the insults to memory, she got her phone out and went looking for the articles anyway. There were no new comments: the trolls had moved on to new topics, new people to mock from behind their screens. But just as she was about to shake off her agitation, a new headline caught her eye: RAPE ACCUSED BOSS SPEAKS OUT.

  Dread filling her belly, she followed the link and read the article with rising agitation.

  Senior PR executive Simon Mandalay, who was recently accused by former employee Quinn Stafford of multiple sexual assault offences, has spoken out about the video of the staff member’s behaviour at the agency’s recent Christmas party.

  Ms Stafford, seen in the video above, publicly groped a man in a bar in front of several of her colleagues, while brandishing a sex toy, then left the bar with the man.

  ‘This troublesome behaviour has been going on for quite some time,’ Mr Mandalay said yesterday.

  ‘I have cautioned Ms Stafford about her lack of professionalism in the past, but clearly the warning has had little effect on her.

  ‘I categorically deny all of Ms Stafford’s accusations – in fact, Ms Stafford has herself acknowledged her mistake and dropped the charges against me.

  ‘I don’t know why she has chosen to target me, but her unhinged rant has caused deep injury to my family and myself.

  ‘I regret that it has come to this, and I encourage Ms Stafford to seek the help she needs to address her issues.’

  Managing partner of Big Sky Public Relations Alistair Shepherd declined to comment on the matter.

  Quinn read the article three times, and she let the darkness pool inside her. And she imagined taking Patrick’s gun and walking into Big Sky and shooting Simon in front of everyone.

  What a fucking idiot she was for thinking she’d moved past all this. All she’d done was run away from it, but sooner or later she was going to have to go home and face up to the wreckage of her life; face up to the anguish she’d caused the other women Simon had assaulted with her impulsive and ultimately pointless rant.

  It’s women like her who ruin everything for the real victims.

  Quinn knew
she was spiralling, but the anger was building within her like a hurricane. It had been ridiculous to think that coming out here would erase all the mistakes she’d made. She imagined Simon kissing his wife and kids goodbye, swanning into the office like some kind of fucking hero, accepting their sympathy for all that Quinn had put him through, calling Total Care Insurance personally to apologise for that troublesome staff member, to assure them that Big Sky shared their conservative values, to ask them respectfully and humbly to give the agency another chance. All while she hid from the world out here. Her blood burned. She couldn’t stand it. She wouldn’t stand it.

  I want you to help me kill him.

  She went outside to Patrick’s garden shed and stood in there for a long time, staring at the lock box in the gloom. It was a hot day; sweat gathered between her shoulder blades and rolled slowly down her back. Finally, she took the keys down from the nail behind the shed door and opened the box. She took out the gun and one of the little cardboard boxes, locked the box and replaced the keys. Inside, she opened up the cloth on the kitchen bench and looked at the gun. She’d never used one before, but she’d watched enough YouTube videos by now that it took no time at all to load it. She left it sitting on the bench, darting a nervous look at it from time to time.

  I’d like to shove that dildo where the sun don’t shine.

  She put on a load of washing, hung it out, waited for it to dry, took it off and folded it. She checked on the gun. Still there. Patrick would be home in an hour: she’d have to make sure she put it away before he arrived or he’d think she’d lost the plot. At three thirty, she packed all her clothes back into her bag, retrieved her toiletries from the bathroom, put everything in the car. Inside, the gun still sat on the bench. Cold. Unjudging.

  You’re up for anything, aren’t you?

  She should lock it back in its box. She should text Patrick to tell him she had to go back to Adelaide for a while. She should put the gun back before he got home.

  Didn’t hear you complaining when I had you up against the wall.

  She should put the gun away. She should bring her stuff back inside and try to forget about Simon again.

  You like it rough. I could tell.

  She thought about the moment, crystal clear now, when fear and pain had combined with pleasure as Simon had violated her and her body had disobeyed her mind and she’d enjoyed it.

  Didn’t think I noticed, did you?

  Patrick would be home any minute, with his maddeningly cheery voice and his earthy smell and his sexy arms. She should put the gun away, but the beast was growing larger inside her now, howling for revenge, crying out for blood.

  I want you to help me kill him.

  She picked up the gun, wrapped it in its oily cloth, and slipped it carefully into her handbag. Then she went out to her car, started the engine and drove away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  HANNAH

  Hannah was on the couch with Ethan when her phone rang. The boys had started back at school, and the return to routine had left her feeling more relaxed than she had over the six weeks of school holidays. She smiled when she saw Quinn’s name on the screen. Her friend had been staying with Patrick and seemed happy – content, even – and Hannah was pleased for her. It made her feel more tender towards Ethan, too. After she’d come home from Quinn’s that night, he’d apologised for the things he’d said, and Hannah had asked him point blank whether he’d ever cheated on her. He’d reacted with genuine shock, and they’d made up soon after. Things had been better between them in the last couple of days than they had in months, even if there was still a tiny part of Hannah that wondered whether she wished he’d answered differently.

  ‘Don’t tell me you managed to get off Patrick long enough to make a phone call?’ she joked when she picked up.

  ‘It’s time, Hannah.’

  Quinn’s words sent a shiver through Hannah. She glanced at Ethan, then got up from the couch and left the room. ‘Time for what?’

  ‘Payback.’ There was the muffled sound of a man’s voice in the background, then Quinn shouted, ‘Don’t you fucking move!’

  The savagery in her voice set Hannah’s heart beating fast. ‘Quinn, what have you done?’

  ‘I’ve got him,’ Quinn said. ‘You need to come now.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘I know what you did, Hannah!’ Quinn interrupted, her voice sharp and cutting. ‘Do you want Ethan to know too? Your old firm? The police?’

  Icy fear washed through Hannah. She’d known. All this time, she’d known.

  When she closed her eyes, Hannah could still feel the swooping sensation of the car as it had weaved up the road; could still feel the fear, strong and bright.

  She hadn’t planned to do it. She’d just wanted him to stop. He’d made her feel small, worthless, so immature and stupid, like an infatuated child. And when he’d told her she’d be a bad lawyer, the humiliation, the anger, the feeling that she was never going to be enough that had coiled inside her for weeks had fought to spring free, and she’d known in that instant she wasn’t going to take all her carefully collected evidence to the Dean. She’d looked down at the seatbelt crossing his lap, and almost without thinking, she’d reached over, pressed the button and released the seatbelt.

  And then she’d ripped up the handbrake.

  She struggled to breathe, to banish the memory from her mind. ‘Quinn,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t do this.’

  ‘You owe me, Hannah. You come now, or everyone’s going to know what really happened to Harris.’

  Hannah gripped the steering wheel tight as she pulled into the car park behind Quinn’s former workplace, where she knew her friend was inside with Simon. It was impossible not to recall the only other time she’d been here, at a similar time of night. If only Quinn had let things be. If only she hadn’t shown Simon her hand too early. But then, hadn’t Hannah done the same thing with Joseph? And hadn’t Quinn been the one to get her out of that situation?

  She got out of the car and entered the office, her heart beating hard, sweat prickling under her arms. The door closed softly behind her.

  ‘In here.’ Quinn’s voice echoed down the hallway, and Hannah stepped reluctantly towards it.

  They were in an office; Simon’s office, Hannah realised, noticing the photo on the wall of him with his wife and two daughters. He was smiling, his arm around his wife’s waist, one child resting comfortably on his hip … the warm, family-man image he presented to the world that hid the monster within.

  Her gaze turned to the man himself, standing against the wall, his face white, wide eyes fixed on Quinn, who was sitting in the high-backed chair behind his desk. In her hand was a gun, and it was pointing directly at Simon.

  ‘Where did you get that gun?’ Hannah whispered.

  Quinn got to her feet and crossed the room to Hannah, leaning close so Simon wouldn’t hear. ‘It’s Patrick’s. I don’t think he’s ever used it. He shouldn’t miss it.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to get justice.’ She waved the gun in Simon’s direction and he flinched. Hannah noticed she was wearing gloves. ‘I’m going to shoot him in the head, and then we’re going to put the gun in his hands. And after his little sob story, it’ll look just like suicide. This has caused deep injury to my family and myself,’ she parroted in a high-pitched voice.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Quinn,’ Simon said. ‘We can talk about this.’

  ‘You think all those women you raped weren’t deeply injured?’ Quinn snapped.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry.’ Simon’s voice wobbled. ‘I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve got a problem, I know I do.’

  Quinn gave a short laugh. ‘Too right you’ve got a problem. You took so much from me that now I’ve got nothing left to lose. I’m not going to do it right away, though. I want to hear you beg, like I begged you to stop. But I’m not going to stop.’

  ‘Quinn!�
�� Hannah said sharply. ‘This is not the answer. It’s not going to change anything.’

  ‘It’ll stop him from doing it again, though, won’t it?’ Quinn said.

  ‘I won’t do it again, I promise,’ Simon implored. ‘Just let me go. Please.’

  ‘If you kill him, you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your life,’ Hannah said. ‘Hasn’t he done enough? Don’t let him do that to you too.’

  ‘If you let me go, I won’t go to the police,’ Simon said. ‘I’ll never tell anyone about this. I promise.’

  Quinn exploded forward and fixed her hand around his throat. She brought the gun up to his head. ‘You won’t tell anyone because I’m going to kill you. It’s the only way I can be sure you’ll never hurt anyone ever again.’

  Simon’s face turned even paler. He looked like he was going to pass out at any moment. ‘Please don’t do this. I’ve got a family.’

  She jabbed the gun against his head. ‘Don’t you dare bring them into this! Having a family does not allow you to do bad things to people and get away with it. Stop using them as protection – I’m fucking sick of it.’

  Adrenalin shot through Hannah’s limbs and she began trembling uncontrollably. She knew Quinn had never used a gun before; one wrong move, and she could kill him, and then it would be all over. If she didn’t do something to defuse this situation now, it might be too late.

  ‘How old are your daughters, Simon?’ she asked, her voice shaking.

  ‘Twelve,’ he bleated. ‘And ten.’

  ‘What are their names?’

  ‘Anna and Jacie.’

  ‘Anna and Jacie,’ Hannah repeated. She looked to Quinn. ‘His daughters are innocent, Quinn. They don’t deserve this.’

  ‘So he should get away with what he did?’ Quinn demanded. ‘I’m doing them a favour, anyway. They won’t have to grow up with such a shithouse example of manhood.’

  ‘But they won’t know,’ Hannah said. ‘If you stage a suicide, he’ll be celebrated as a hero. You’ll be blamed. You’ll be the vindictive bitch who drove him to it, while he’ll be eulogised.’