The light shinning through the white lace curtains illuminated the photo of Jean, sitting on the bed stand. A photo of long ago, from good times, innocent times. Jean’s smile always brought happiness into Claire’s cold, dead heart. It was a smile of optimism, of good things to come. A smile of hope. A smile from a time when good things were expected, and life’s prospects were full of wonder. How could life have changed so much? How was it possible that everything after that smile would turn so horribly wrong? Claire knew that it wasn’t fair to blame Lucy for what her father had done. What was that expression? The sins of our fathers? However every time she saw her, it brought all the memories flooding back. She played the role of the aunt as well as she could, if not quite the doting aunt, at least she forced herself to be some sort of a presence in Lucy’s life. Albeit, a minimum one. She just couldn’t do anymore. It was too much for her. Too many memories, too much pain. As usual when she knew that Lucy was going to pay her a visit, she had set up her position out in the garden. All the tools were strewn around, and, with the gardening clothes she wore, she hoped that the general air was that of a person who was busy working away in her garden, as usual. Lucy seemed to buy into the act. It all made it a lot easier for her to get through Lucy’s visits. It was a way to keep their dialogue to a minimum, and more importantly, a way for Claire to not have to sit there constantly seeing Lucy’s father’s face staring back at her. From her bedroom window she had a good view of the approach road, and the driveway into her house. As usual as soon as she would see Lucy’s car approaching, she would rush out into the garden, and assume her position. Gardening, her great passion, or so the cover story went anyway. In reality it was hard to always find something to do out there. Anyway, Lucy would find her pottering away in her garden, as she always did, as she had come to accept as the norm. Claire looked at her watch. It was early. As usual she had prepared things far to early, but that was her way. Lucy was always very punctual, but it was better to be safe than sorry. With a sigh, Claire went through to the kitchen, and poured herself another gin with just a dash of tonic water. She would need a few of them to get through the afternoon. Gin in hand, she returned to the bedroom, and sat back down in her waiting position. Lucy’s visits always brought the memories flooding back, not that they were ever far from the surface. She could remember it all with such clarity, even though so many years had gone by. A secret bottled up inside her, killing her slowly. With hindsight she knew that it would have been better to have told someone what had happened, probably even Jean herself, but at the time she hadn’t known how to cope with it all, the fear, and the shame, and with the passage of time it had eventually just seemed too late to talk about it. And anyway, with who would she talk about it, after Jean had died?
Claire had always been very close to Jean, her only sister, so she had thought nothing unusual about the phone call that evening, from her husband, Albert. A phone call that would change everything, forever. She could even remember the lightness with which she picked up the receiver.
‘Sorry to bother you, Claire, have I caught you at a bad time?’
Albert’s voice was his usual chipper self. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Actually it was nice to hear from him. She was wanting an update on Lucy’s condition. Little did she realise where that phone call would lead her. To the gates of hell itself. And back? No, she had never made it back. That phone call had been a one way ticket.
‘Not at all. How’s Lucy? Does she still have a temperature? Poor thing, she must be suffering so much.’
‘Actually, that’s what I’m calling about. She’s still running a high temperature, and can’t sleep, so it’s all a bit of a fuss over here at the moment. Jean’s been called back into the hospital, double shift coming up I’m afraid, and I was wondering if you would be able to pop over, and give me a hand with Lucy. It’s been such a...’
‘Of course! Listen it’s no bother at all. You hold down the fort, and I will be over as soon as I can.’
‘Thanks so much, Claire, you really are the best.’
Claire, as usual, was only too happy to give a helping hand. She doted on her only niece, and as she and Warren didn’t have any children, she focused a lot of her attention on Lucy. Also, time was no problem. Warren was in the merchant navy, so, as was almost always the case, he was off somewhere on a cargo ship, carrying goods across the open seas. She threw on her shoes, and in a flash was in her car, and off to her sister’s house, only a short drive away. Claire had been terribly worried about Lucy, it must have been so hard on her at only ten years old to have to suffer such a bad case of the flu, with such a very high temperature. At that age it probably felt like the end of the world. When you get older you know that those moments will eventually pass, but at her age it probably seemed so devastating. Poor little thing. Within minutes she was at Jean and Alberts’ house, and she could see Albert waiting for her out on the front steps. Poor fellow, he was no doubt beside himself, what with Jean having been called back into the hospital.
‘Hi Albert, how’s our poor little patient going?’
‘Shhh, let’s keep our voices down. Come in Claire, I think she might have finally drifted off to sleep. I gave her some cough syrup half an hour ago, and it’s effects might have finally kicked in.’
‘Oh, that’s good news!’
In a quiet voice Albert ushered Claire through to the lounge room.
‘Come on in, I’m sorry that I called you now, it seems like the panic is over. I guess I should have waited a bit longer.’
‘Goodness me, don’t worry about that. I’ve been terribly worried about Lucy all day, so I’m more than happy to pop over.’
Claire could smell whiskey on Albert’s breath. He was a bit of a drinker, too much of a drinker, according to Jean, but, what with Lucy’s flu and all, he probably needed a bit of sustenance.
‘Would you like a drink, Claire?’
‘Oh, no thanks. Can I have a look in on Lucy? Just to see how she is?’
‘Of course, come on through. I’ve put her in our bed, so she will be more comfy.’
Albert lead her down the hallway, past Lucy’s room, and the spare bedroom, to the main bedroom. He opened the door, and motioned for Claire to enter. It took a few moments for Claire’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, she could see that the bed was empty.
‘But where’s...’
In a flash Albert’s hand was crushing her neck, making it almost impossible for her to breathe. He closed the door, and forced her down onto the bed. His voice was full of rage.
‘You think you’re so high and fucking mighty don’t you? You’ve never liked the fact that Jean married me, have you? You dirty slut!’
Albert’s face was a contortion of hate. Claire was frightened out of her wits. Her heart was pounding. She had never seen Albert like that before. She had never had anything against his marriage to Jean, so she couldn’t understand what he was talking about. Her state of ignorance didn’t last long. With his free hand, Albert pulled down her slacks, and ripped off her underwear. As Claire lay there fighting with all her might just for barely enough air to survive, Albert unzipped his pants, and lay down on top of her. With one hand still gripping her throat, his other hand forced apart Claire’s legs, and he penetrated her, violently.
‘You slut! You fucking slut! This will sort you out, you bitch! You high and mighty slut!’
He repeatedly penetrated her with unimaginable violence. The brutality of the rape was matched only by the viciousness of his hate filled comments to her. Claire couldn’t even cry out, she was fighting to just breathe. Then she must have passed out. She never knew for how long she had lost consciousness, but when she finally came around, Albert was standing over her, as she lay on the bed.
‘Pull up your pants, you dirty slut, and get the hell out of here!’
Shaking with terror, Claire pulled her slacks up, and got up, heading for the door. Before she reached it, Albert’s hand again grabbed her by the throat.
‘You say one word of this to Jean, and I will kill the both of you. You understand me? Slut!’
The menace in his voice was palpable. Claire was too terrorised to reply, even if she had wanted to. His grip on her throat made sure of that. He pushed her towards the door.
‘Get the hell out of my house, you dirty slut!’
Claire looked at her shaking hands, and looked at the time. She had time for another gin. She went through to the kitchen, and poured herself out a strong one. This time she didn’t bother to add any tonic water. She returned to her spot in the bedroom, overlooking the approach road to her house. She knew that none of it was Lucy’s fault, but maybe the fact that Albert had used her illness as an excuse to entice her over to his house had made her blame Lucy a bit. Which was totally ridiculous, she realised. Why had she never told anyone? Why had she never told Jean? Then, eight years later when Jean and Albert had died in that car accident, it had brought in one way a sense of ending, but also a sense that the whole situation could never be really resolved. It had left everything in a state of uncompleted limbo. In her nightmares she could still see Albert’s hate filled face, and would feel that she was suffocating. She would wake up holding her throat, and gasping for air. Claire knew that Albert had been drinking heavily the evening of the accident, but the police hadn’t made an issue of it. Probably because no one else had been injured in the accident, and they probably thought it was already a big enough weight on the shoulders of their only surviving daughter, without telling her that it had all been her father’s fault. It had been a wet evening, with poor visibility, so they had blamed it on that, trying to alleviate as much as possible their daughter’s suffering. With a start, Claire heard a car out on the road, and looked out the window to see Lucy’s car approaching her driveway. She gulped down the remaining contents of the gin, and ran out to her prepared position in the garden. Let the comedy begin.
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Every now and then Lucy would fulfil her sense of family obligation, and head out to visit her aunty. The visits brought her little pleasure, as the two of them weren’t very close, but the alternative had been to go to Vicky’s for one of her husband’s drunken barbecue debacles. She had been caught between a rock and a hard place. She had been caught between boredom and debauchery. She had chosen the lesser of two evils. She had chosen a cup of tea, rather than drunken hands trying to grope her. Lucy’s aunty Claire had a little cottage out along the coast. The drive up there was always pleasant enough, although nothing spectacular. The back of the cottage had a small patio area, opening onto a small, well maintained garden. Claire’s passion was her garden. Even though it was rather small she somehow always found some work to do in it. Tending the flowers, or planting something or other, for the next season. Claire was a small, robust woman, full of energy, always bustling around. She was the sort of person who would never sit still, there was always some task that needed to be done, and it needed to be done urgently. She had been alone for many years, her husband had died at a relatively young age, and she had learnt to fill the void by keeping herself constantly on the move. The television was always on in the lounge room, and a radio was always playing in the kitchen, even when Claire was out in her garden. She was the extreme version of a multi-tasker, needing to have at least two or three things on the go at any given moment. Lucy sat on a chair in the patio, a small area with brick paving, covered by a wooden pergola. Across the top of the pergola her aunty had grown an evergreen ivy, which provided a pleasant shady area in the summer. From where she was seated she could easily chat with her aunty while she tended to her garden. Lucy felt so at peace with the world. She had never felt such a feeling of tranquility in her life.
‘I’ve always loved the view from here, Aunty. It is just absolutely stunning.’
Her aunty looked up, and smiled.
‘That was what convinced your uncle to buy this place. He always loved it.’
‘I remember. When we would come out on the weekend he was always so proud of it.’
From the back of the house you could see the sea coming into a beautiful bay, surrounded by green rolling hills. The bay was only around a kilometre from Claire’s place, and because her house was slightly up on a hill, you could see it all very clearly. The beauty of the view was breathtaking. The deep blue of the sea, the different shades of green on the hills all around, with light fluffy clouds floating by, and a warm sun shining. Lucy closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. In such a peaceful place she could always manage to slow down, and ponder on her life with a feeling of great serenity. She wouldn’t tell her aunty that she had met someone. They had never been very close, so Lucy didn’t really open up about her private life with her. Not like she did with Vicky and Emma. In any case, her aunt always seemed to be so tied up in her own life, rushing around like a cat with it’s tail on fire, that she never really asked Lucy much about her private life. It was a bit strange to Lucy how two people, family, could know each other for so long, yet never really understand each other. They were almost like strangers who had been told that they must see each other regularly, for some obscure, unknown reason. They had been thrust together merely for genetical reasons. When Lucy’s parents had had their accident her aunty had always been there for her, helping out all she could. She had performed her duties as the ‘good aunt’ should, perfectly but perfunctory. Somehow the two of them had never really formed a close bond. It was sort of taken for granted that they would see each other for occasional lunches and so forth, as families do, but in real terms they were like two people who didn’t really know, or comprehend each other. People who, for some unknown reason, had decided to see each other frequently. The bond of family gripped them, it encircled them, but it had never made them close. The two of them had very little in common, and really just discussed things quite superficially. Lucy felt the family obligation to see her aunt, but really her life would be little different even if she never saw her. It was odd how two people could know each other for so long, yet have formed such a weak bond. Lucy realised that it was probably mostly her fault, she just didn’t know how to open up to people. She was so awkward in all types of social situations. That was why she had so few close friends in her life. Not that her aunty had ever made much of an effort. She had always maintained a very stand-offish attitude. The two of them eyed each other diffidently from behind their barricades. Anyway, none of that really mattered anymore. Things had developed. Lucy’s heart fluttered at the thought of James. She felt that finally her life was on the verge of change. Real change. She wouldn’t even mention having met him to her aunt. She would play it all very casual. That, in any case, was the nature of their rapport. Lucy watched her aunty at work in the garden. God only knew how she could spend so many hours tending to such a small garden, but anyway, it kept her busy, so it was probably a good thing. It occurred to Lucy that maybe she should have developed hobbies, to combat her loneliness. The answer to not feeling so alone was right there in front of her eyes. Keep busy, television on, radio on, rushing around from one insignificant thing to the next. Although Lucy knew that that sort of frenetic hiding from yourself would never have worked for her. She was the sort of person who analysed herself far too much. She would have been acutely aware that it was all just a ploy to take her mind off her loneliness, and it would have probably ended up making her feel even worse. Scurrying around, keeping busy with endless tasks of triviality would never have been a solution for her. Her heightened sense of awareness had always been hard on her. She felt things too deeply. It was hard for her to remember if she had always been like that, or if it was a result of the pain she had been through when her parents had died. She had been so young, just having started at university. It was hard to remember feelings from so long ago. Sitting there, feeling so calm, shaded from the sun, and taking in the breathtaking view, she could effortlessly reflect, with a clear perspective, on the right approach to follow in the life she felt was opening up before her. Lucy was sure that her meeting with James would be the start of a whole new chapter in her life. Finally a happy chapter. The alternative was definitely not enticing. In no way did she want to end up with the sort of life her aunty led. She would never be able to hide from the reality of things, no matter how much running around she did. She had never had any luck with men, not like her two best friends. They both had fulfilled lives. Now, though, it was her turn. The beauty of life had finally smiled on her. Through the dark clouds the sun was now shining.
‘Put the kettle on, will you Lucy? Let’s have a nice cup of tea, and a slice of cake.’
‘Lovely idea. You carry on with your gardening, aunty. I’ll bring it out here when it’s ready.’
Lucy passed through the lounge room, with the television blasting, and into the kitchen, with the radio on, blaring out a talkback station. As she put on the kettle, she realised, with horror, that this would have been her future, if she hadn’t met James. This was the nightmare she had been hurtling towards. It was quite obviously working for her aunty, but it definitely would not work for her. It felt a bit like a vision of a future hell to Lucy. Living a life which was not really a life, merely an existence. Hiding yourself from your reality, by endlessly running in circles. Blocking out your thoughts, with blaring televisions, and radios. An empty existence, filled with endless tasks of irrelevance. By God, she could not end up living a life like this, pretending to not feel anything, pretending all was well when obviously nothing was. Pretending to not feel lonely by keeping busy, and avoiding the circling clouds of reality. How could her aunty cope with living like this? Lucy’s hands were trembling as she prepared the tea. She felt like she had been transported to the future, and had been shown a version of how her life could end up. A version straight out of hell.
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Sometimes Emma found herself to be at breaking point, and that evening was coming in pretty high on the list of those moments.
‘But mum, just ten minutes more pleeeeease!’
‘Listen here Sonny Jim, that’s what you said ten minutes ago, and I let you continue. Now get up into that bathroom, brush your teeth, and it’s straight to bed. Do you hear me? Move it!’
Something about her voice convinced William to leave his game, and follow his mother’s instructions. He disappeared up the stairs. Emma knew that as the oldest, it was always going to be William who pushed the limits. The psychology degree that they award you automatically when you become the mother of two boys had warned her of that, but sometimes the frustration still boiled over. Luckily Michael, two years younger than his brother, at eight years old, still listened to his mother, and he was already in bed. Emma wondered how long that would last. Would he be content to let his big brother be the trailblazer, or would he soon decide to start acting out in his own right? She could barely cope with just one of them pushing the limits, if the other one started as well she would soon find herself pushed way over her limits. It was a terrifying thought. Things could actually get worse. Would she then look back on these as having been the good old days? The worst of times would be looked back on as having been the best of times. She could barely keep things together as it was, what would she be like if that happened? Sometimes she thought of the stress free life that Lucy lived, and felt envious. Lucy had no one to worry about other than herself. How nice that must be. Free to do whatever you wanted to, instead of being everybody’s slave. The unpaid help. The woman who came in to do the cooking and cleaning. The one who everybody just assumed would always sort everything out. Lucy had no idea of how lucky she was. Emma couldn’t even remember how life had been before the onslaught. She felt like someone who had lived through so many years of war that she couldn’t remember how things had been back in the days of peace, before the first bombs had rained down. She shuddered as she thought about how many more years of it all she had ahead of her. Would she be able to survive it? Would she be one of the war’s casualties? She already felt like she was suffering from shell shock. Emma finished cleaning up the various plates, and cups that had been left strewn around the battlefield, and with a heavy head headed up to prepare herself for bed. As she passed the bathroom William was just coming out of the bathroom, dressed in his pyjamas.
‘Look, mum, clean teeth.’
William opened his mouth using the fingers of both hands, to show his mum what a good boy he had been. A pang of guilt passed through Emma. She realised that she just couldn’t imagine life without her two lovely boys. She gave William a big smile.
‘Well done! Come on now, off to bed, and lights out straight away, OK?’
‘Where’s dad? When’s he getting home?’
‘He’ll be home soon, he’s out for the evening with the guys from his running group.’ she lied, ‘He’ll see you at breakfast. Now hop it!’
‘I thought he went out on Thursdays with them?’
‘Well, you can ask him that in the morning, now will you please go to bed, William?’
‘Night, mum.’
With a sickening feeling in her stomach Emma realised that even a ten year old could see through Jerry’s lies. Why did she just keep on putting up with it? Why did she just accept his infidelities? The answer wasn’t far in coming. When she had put on her nightgown, and was brushing her teeth, the answer was staring back at her in the mirror. She was fat, and ugly. Eight years on from having given birth, and she still carried around all the extra weight she had put on during the pregnancy. How could she have let herself go so much, barely in her mid-thirties? No wonder Jerry didn’t want to have sex with her anymore, and was off with who knows who. She hated him for it, but knew that really she only had herself to blame. She hated herself even more. She could barely stand to look at herself in the mirror, and actually avoided looking in mirrors as much as possible. How could she expect Jerry to find her attractive when even she knew that she wasn’t? She had tried all the diets, but always ended up back at the same weight, if not worse. For some reason cake had become her safe place. When she was stressed with the kids, or from running around from one office to another, as a secretarial temp, or with Jerry’s infidelities, what would she do? She would bury her face in as much cake as possible. The sweeter the better. The bigger the better. It was almost beyond her control. How was that possible? Why couldn’t she just stop eating cakes? The answer seemed so simple, yet something, well, a lot of things really, just kept driving her back. It was her form of heroin, although probably heroin would have been a better choice. At least heroin addicts always seemed to be slim. Emma turned off the lights, and got into bed. She looked at the time, just gone ten o’clock. Jerry wouldn’t be back until late, as usual, when he was out with one of his floozies. Her mind went through the usual set of options open to her, for when he returned. Pretend to be asleep? Casually ask him how the evening went? Ask him if he had had a good fuck, and would be wanting a bigger breakfast than usual in the morning, to replenish all that spent energy? Her left hand squeezed the rolls of fat on her stomach. She hated herself so much. She was so tired. Tired of it all. She would so love to get out of it all, and start life anew. However she knew that she would never have the courage to leave Jerry. Probably he knew that, too. No doubt that was why he was so obvious about his womanising. He knew he was risking nothing. They had their informal trade off, he lived in a hotel where all the mundane aspects of life were sorted out by her, and she had the financial security that living in a family unit brought. The kids? Well, who knew where they fitted in to it all. Maybe they were just collateral damage? Or bargaining chips to ensure that no one stepped out of line. In the quiet of the night, Emma heard the front door open. She had decided. She would pretend to be asleep.