In Jeopardy Page 10

  Christine’s senses returned and she wriggled to free herself. Finding her voice she screamed incoherent howls of terror before he shut her mouth with his hand. ‘Shut it – slag.’

  As he blindfolded her, she screamed again and struck out with her arms. He slapped her face. ‘If you don’t shut up I’ll slice you up.’ He ignored her pleas to let her out and drove her to a place beyond the suburbs. When she screamed he turned up the radio to drown out her voice. The car slammed to a halt, he opened the door, pushed her out of the car and out of his life. She heard an object hit the ground, tyres skid on unmade road and the car drive away, becoming fainter until it disappeared.

  The ground was cold and damp. When she removed the blindfold she was surrounded by darkness. She heard insects twitter, nocturnal creatures scurry through the foliage and the hoot of a solitary owl. As her eyes adjusted to the surroundings she saw a ghostly light. She had slipped the blindfold off easily. Despite being hurled from the car she was unhurt and when she stood up she brushed dirt and stones that clung to her clothes. It was difficult to see more than a few metres ahead.

  She took tiny steps before stumbling over a soft rubbery object that she initially thought was the body of a dead animal. When she kicked it with her foot she heard metal clink. She reached down, touched the object and discovered it was her bag.

  She found her keys, flicked on the mini-torch attached to the key ring, shone the light into her bag and pulled out her phone. She used the torch to light the path ahead of her in search of signs that would indicate where she was. Christine picked her way along uneven ground. Ahead she saw a wooden railing – most likely a car park. Beyond this another solitary and ghostly light shone, marking the edge of the road. She wrapped her cardigan tight against the icy night air.

  At the road there were two signs. One read: Welcome to Batman National Park. That’s all she needed to know. She flicked on her phone and called an ambulance. As she waited the night air froze over her. Numb and cold she believed she would freeze to death in the wilderness.

  When the paramedics arrived they asked questions. Christine’s pride and dignity were stripped bare and she was resolute that she wouldn’t explain. She fed them a tale about becoming lost and disoriented after undertaking an overambitious hike. She wanted to forget that night and vowed she’d never speak to a soul about what really happened. She instructed the team to take her to St Andrew’s and not North of the City where she worked. She was admitted to casualty where the whole process became a blur.

  When she caught a shadowy glimpse of herself in a pane of glass she saw a faded figure in mud-streaked clothes. Although she had done nothing shameful she wanted to dissolve into nothingness. She treated enough assault victims, but could not comprehend being one herself.

  A kindly nurse asked, ‘Can you tell me what happened tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  The nurse asked again and Christine returned the same answer. This would remain her secret. She knew what happened that night would change everything and it did.

  Days later she arranged for a termination, severing all ties with her life with Roland. She reasoned it was pointless to involve the police. The best they could do would be to charge him with assault. The evidence would most likely have been too flimsy to expect that the charges would stick.

  By remaining silent Christine held the best card. She would forever remain a skeleton in Roland’s closet. He could push her from his mind, hoping she would remain at bay. Taking no action was her most powerful weapon. The past could only be silenced. Roland would hope it remained dormant and not explode at some unknown point in the future.

  She built a fortress around herself, vowing she wouldn’t allow herself to be vulnerable again. She could take care of herself. As her family moved away she could not rely on them to pick up broken pieces. Julian the expatriate undertook dangerous missions to faraway places, forever living out of a suitcase. Diana forged a new life with her family in Nedlands, a well-heeled suburb in Perth. Christine married Richard to fill a gap in her life, and now he has gone.

  Christine snaps back to reality. ‘I don’t wish to pry into Diana’s past. We all have secrets. Some of them wield a strange power over us.’ Her work exposed her to secrets that patients would never reveal to family and those they were most intimate with.

  ‘That’s a pretty grim view of the world.’

  The past is dust and ashes, rising and transforming into a demon that hovers and becomes a waking nightmare. She worries that he has zeroed in on her troubled mind and intercepted her thoughts.

  He has no idea what she is thinking and dares not delve to find out. However, it is obvious to him that she is emotionally paralysed. This explains why she has deflected his attempts to assist her.

  ‘You need a break from the hospital. It intrudes too much on your life.’

  She holds his gaze without blinking. ‘No more than usual. No more than when I was with Richard.’

  ‘No – really – this situation will become untenable. You’re going to have to do something about it.’

  ‘I have to leave the hospital residence. Richard threatened to come after me. I can’t take any more of his violent outbursts.’

  ‘Don’t worry about him that’s all hot air – he wouldn’t be that stupid. My main concern is that you need to get away from that place – Richard or no Richard.’

  Julian has uncovered a part of Christine’s life that is under lock and key and tried to prise it open. Now that she is free from Richard she is not about to reveal details of their relationship. Julian doesn’t need to know that she turned a blind eye to Richard’s affairs; that she colluded with him by tolerating them and that her work was a safe haven from the torment he caused.

  She doesn’t need to admit that she remained shackled to a stunted man who is little better than a spoilt nasty child. She rationalises that Julian doesn’t need to know that she is little better than Richard. And since he has thrown her out of his life she believes she is worthless. All that remains is her work.

  Julian is right; she lives in an anaesthetised state of existence, where she has shut the world out and slammed the door on relationships. Diana and her family, Julian, even Thornton, have shown Christine kindness and this has washed over her almost unnoticed. Half-ashamed, she wonders: Had I dismissed them without thought or appreciation? Was Julian too polite to express offence? Christine expects Julian is about to wash his hands of her – dismissing her as a waste of time.

  ‘We can check you into the hotel today.’

  ‘I can stay for a few days; a week at most, before the expense eats into my bank balance.’

  ‘Did the creep leave you penniless?’

  ‘Technically, I left him.’

  ‘Don’t make excuses for him.’

  ‘I have enough income to fund my shrinking lifestyle.’

  She catches a flash of the life she was accustomed to. They were driving through the hills in Richard’s Lexus. This is a casualty of her changed circumstances and a raw memory of her privileged, middle-class existence. She was flung from the safety of their stately double-storey home set in a leafy green street.

  She fled to the hospital, remained there for too long, unable to renegotiate a new life and move on. Did she remain in hospital residence waiting for Richard’s new romance to sour? She expected that before now he would have appeared at the hospital with a gift and pleaded, ‘Come home Christine, I miss you.’

  She wouldn’t expect an apology, as he isn’t in the habit of expressing remorse for his actions. Supposing he presents at the hospital any day from now; she would reject his offer. After at least one failed attempt if Richard sent an exotic and expensive floral arrangement and pleaded that she return, she might consider his offer. She isn’t partial to cut flowers, but watching Richard grovel and beg for her to return would make her feel she has some power over him. More importantly, returning to Richard would mean that her status would be restored.

  This was a remote fant
asy that she knows is no longer possible. Richard’s betrayal and abandonment of her has left her damaged. In the cramped space of her temporary residence she drinks herself to sleep. Rather than seizing every opportunity to spend time with Julian she has avoided him on account of the shame and hurt that she feels. She is surprised that Julian hasn’t lost patience with her and written her off as a lost cause. Instead, he’s kept in touch, showing her kindness to the point that it’s insulting.

  His face tightens. ‘As difficult as your situation is, you need to take stock.’ He pauses. ‘What I am about to say is likely to hurt. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?’

  ‘I have avoided it.’ Who want your burnt out mid-thirties self staring back at you?

  He shakes his head without realising ‘Afraid to see what you’ve become, how this situation has worn you down?’

  Since being plucked from a pampered existence I am grappling to find my bearings. ‘What else am I to do?’

  ‘You really have no idea do you?’

  ‘Am I missing something?’

  ‘The situation you have created stinks of self-sabotage. It drives me to distraction.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit melodramatic?’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Seriously – you’re sounding like an advice column I’d expect to read in a women’s glossy.’

  He doesn’t answer and she shuts her eyes. She regrets that last comment and realises that this isn’t Richard she’s dealing with. ‘I didn’t mean that – honestly – I didn’t mean to sound that rude.’

  ‘I’m not accusing or criticising you. What I do realise is that my concern is misplaced. You don’t want my help.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘It’s what you meant though.’

  A gap of silence ensues.

  ‘I extended my stay in Australia partly to support you. If I’m of no use to you and you prefer to avoid me I’ll return to London.’

  ‘Please don’t leave – at least not yet.’

  He looks directly at her. She wears a tight expression. ‘You worry me Christine.’

  He prefaces his revelation with an apology before launching into a blunt assessment of her. ‘Your hair is stringy, dull and thinning – I suspect from falling out and pulling out strands without realising.’ He stumbles through the following commentary. ‘Your face is pale and pinched; your eyes bloodshot and sunken. Look at your hands, they’re wrinkled and blue. Judging by the state of your nails it looks like you’ve been feasting on them.’

  She suspects he realises that she drinks but is too polite to include that in his summary. She has avoided the mirror but loose clothing shows her that she has lost weight. She tells herself that extra shifts, the frenetic pace of the hospital ward and failing to take adequate meal breaks are hazards of life and a result of her changed circumstances.

  His words strike her as cruel; reminding her that she is weak. She attempts to speak, utters a soundless gasp before tears break from her eyes. Ashamed, she drops her head for a painfully long stretch, unable to face her brother and burst of emotion.

  Julian stretches a hand over Christine’s and squeezes it. ‘I don’t want to see you wither away. I want to help you out of this mess.’

  Christine looks up and blinks at the blurred figure in front of her.

  ‘No need for words. I have been where are now. I’ll tell you a story.’

  Christine listens without interruption.

  Julian’s Story

  Chapter One

  My hospital stay was brief. I returned home, but struggled to remain mobile, resulting from a broken leg, wrist and dislocated shoulder. Cracked ribs and bruises were healing. It hurt to cough or sneeze, sending shooting pains through my chest. Bloody London weather rendered me vulnerable to sudden pain and aching numbness. I was unable to work for some time largely because assignments and briefs require travel. As my physical mobility returned I remained confined to the local high street and the rehabilitation program set out by the hospital. In the early days I attended treatment almost daily.

  It was winter in London. The long nights were often ruptured by smashing glass, shouting and flames. Grey days reflected my state of mind. I hated every slow moment, trapped in a damaged body. I woke wishing to die. Some days I drifted into sleep hours after light drained from the mid-afternoon skies. Just as often I would wake up in a sweat, trapped in the sheets, on the floor after reliving the riot over and over again.

  In daylight the nightmare hovered over my life. Since that fateful event I still rely on sleeping tablets. I wasn’t their target or an obvious enemy of the rioters. I had been on their side, I’d spoken out against their disadvantage; defended them only to have them beat the shit out of me. I still berate myself, curse my own stupidity. Had I been fooled into believing these people had a cause worth fighting for?

  The medical staff reassured me that my recovery was remarkable. Days following my release from intensive care were blurred and the medication only managed to dull the pain. I woke up to an aching body. I slept in a drugged, bruised and battered state. When mobility returned to my body after being in a frozen state it surrendered to pain. Raw agony was aggravated by any movement making my recovery seem to slide backwards.

  Fortunately, I didn’t endure this ordeal alone. Lucy was an entrenched fixture at the hospital. She refused to leave me to the mercy of medical staff. I didn’t want to subject her to the broken mess I’d become; I didn’t want my crisis to become hers. She insisted on visiting every second day, often bringing her six year old son Troy, after collecting him from after-school care.

  As I recovered I was able to dress and have a meal with them at the hospital cafeteria. However, Lucy’s commitment to me and my situation rested uneasily. I wondered whether I could repay her kindness. More disturbing, I never imagined I would be dependent on another person, or how it might feel to be alone, helpless, and of no use.

  One afternoon Lucy appeared at the hospital; her hair was messed up. She complained about the aberrant weather, despaired about her appearance. I commented on her smudged mascara, windswept and rain-spattered hair and how actually, she looked stunning. She shot me a look that smouldered followed by that buttoned-up tight expression you see on Diana’s face. The dishevelled, messed up look on short dark hair suited Lucy. She looked impish and you’d be forgiven for mistaking her for a rebellious teenager.

  She walked to the window, avoiding further eye contact, pulled a mirror from her handbag, held it up to the light and vigorously ran a comb through her hair. The mirror shifted and threw me a reflection of myself. This was the first time I came face-to-face with myself following the riot, days before I was to be discharged.

  I couldn’t leave the hospital looking like this. I wanted the earth to open up and suck me into it. I wanted to dissolve and be forgotten as if I’d never existed. I knew my hair had been shaved off, though it was growing back. I had a scar running diagonally down my face. I often ran a hand along the dry peeling scratches and cuts and noted that they slowly atrophied and shrunk.

  Knowing this didn’t prepare me for the face that looked back at me; it was sour and pale. The scar was nastier and ran deeper than I believed. My eyes were sunken and appeared larger on a thin face. Even more confronting was that my once long mane of hair had disappeared. I was a foreigner, a prisoner from a holocaust camp.

  I snapped at her, ‘And you’re worried about a few stray hairs.’

  Lucy dropped the comb in fright, turned and before she was able to respond, I barked, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘That I am a fright beyond recognition. Why, why did it have to come as such a shock? Why has everyone in this f—king place lied? The same lies. You’re looking better today, your colour is returning. You look brighter today. Why all this pretence? You colluded with them didn’t you? Why didn’t you cut through the crap and tell me the truth?’

  Following my vo
lley of angry words the room was filled with a stunned silence. Lucy looked at me in disbelief. I was suddenly overcome by tiredness and it became an effort for me to speak.

  ‘What am I to say? Would you rather I leave – now – today – and not return?’

  Her words struck me as a threat. I snapped back to reality. A multitude of thoughts flashed through my mind. I had offended her, was dismissive of her kindness and showed myself ungrateful for the sacrifices she made. She had dragged Troy, a small boy, to this depressing place. She didn’t complain, nor did the boy. They fought their way along crowded streets under wintery English skies.

  Instead of retreating in horror when she first encountered my altered state, Lucy wore a cheerful face and had obviously primed Troy to be brave. He was his mother’s son and hadn’t, as Lucy feared, taken on his father’s wild traits. I recoiled at my selfishness. Had I trashed a friend’s priceless loyalty and generosity? I thought: what a prick of a thing to do.

  I was shaken, firstly by how the injuries had dropped me down to earth, forcing me to rely on others; then by what the accident had done to my appearance. I resigned myself to accepting Lucy’s kindness and the commitment she made to me with grace and gratitude. Not only would rejecting it bring on more suffering, I risked losing a rare friendship.

  ‘That’s some story.’

  ‘It’s all true – there’s no fiction in this tale.’

  ‘Is this why the Antipodes project has been your first since the accident?’

  ‘I couldn’t work for months before this project. The riot I was caught up in became the epiphany that forced me to reassess how much my work distracted and defined me. Lucy and Troy threw me a lifeline and I was slow to pick up that they not only made sacrifices on my behalf but that they valued my friendship. Up to this point, I lived in a vacuum, disconnected from the world around me. I was absorbed in the projects I undertook. They were adventures that too often cut me off from life and dear friends.