by C. A. Larmer
“How did you find my place?”
She smiled. “Kostas told me. Not that I asked, mind you. He insisted on giving me directions when I got up this morning.”
“God I love that guy.” He chuckled. “So, can I make you a coffee or get you a drink of—”
“No, thank you.” She waved at the seat next to her and said, “Can we talk? I need to explain—”
“You don’t have to explain anything.”
“Oh, I think I do.” She waited as he sat down, then chose her words carefully, starting with, “You already know what happened to me, about how I was attacked.”
“Yes and now you know who did it, maybe now you can get some justice.”
“I had already worked it out, Nico.” He frowned. “It was a guy I was travelling with back then, an Australian. I didn’t realise it at the time.”
He looked surprised. “So it wasn’t a local?”
“No. It was not.”
“Okay, but that’s a good thing, right? You know his name. Now you can track him down in Australia and—”
“I already tracked him down. I saw him last week. I know exactly where he lives.”
He stopped, stunned. “Really?” So why was she here? Why was she asking Effie about him? “Did you call the police? Did you confront him?”
“No.” She gave him the ghost of a smile. “I just got on the first flight to Greece.”
“What?” Now she’d really lost him.
She sighed and tucked her feet up under her. “Last week, I stumbled across the truth. It’s a long story and I don’t have the energy right now…” She sighed again. “Anyway, I finally realised who’d attacked me and I had to get back here as fast as possible. I caught the first flight to Greece. Didn’t tell anyone, only my mother, only because I knew she wouldn’t try to stop me. I just took off.”
She was still surprised by what she had done, still baffled that she’d had the courage, but he was looking at her like she was insane, and there was something else in his expression—was it worry? Disappointment?
“Don’t fret,” she said quickly, “it won’t all fall apart without me. They’ll all survive.” Although she had once told herself they wouldn’t.
“What about your son?” he said, his tone darker. “Will he survive?”
“My son?”
“Yes, your boy back in Sydney. I hope you told him you were coming.”
She stared at him, bemused. “I don’t have a boy back in Sydney, Nico.”
“But you said…” He brushed a hand through his hair. “You told me on the trip to see Zoe, you said you had a kid…”
“Ah,” she said, understanding now. “I did. I do.” She swallowed. “This is what I’m trying to tell you, what I should have told you days ago.” She got to her feet and stepped across to him. Knelt down at his legs and placed her hands on his knees. “It’s the reason I stayed at the convent for so long.”
“You were hurt. You were depressed. You were—”
“I was pregnant.”
He stopped, his breath catching. Yes, Catalina had tried to tell him this. He had refused to listen. “I heard something…,” he began. “I know there were rumours, but I don’t listen to rumours.”
“Well you should.” She offered him a grim smile and stood up. “He… my attacker, he left me pregnant. By the time I came out of the coma and found the will to live, it was too late to do anything about it and I didn’t want to anyway. I felt…” She swallowed again. “I felt like it was just punishment—”
“No, you can’t—”
“Nico, please, let me finish.” He nodded. “I wanted to stay hidden away on Sarisi. I wanted to have the baby and then I never wanted to see any of it again. And so I did, I stayed in the convent and Agnetha cared for me, and then, one day, one very painful, bloody day, I had my baby. A beautiful, beautiful boy.”
Her eyes flooded with tears, and she caught one as it trickled down her face.
“I had him for two weeks, Nico, two glorious, unforgettable weeks, and then I let him go.”
She returned to her chair and looked out at the bay beyond as though that was the end of the conversation and he couldn’t help the frown that was forming on his forehead.
“But how? How could you…?” His frown deepened. It was unfathomable to Nico.
She glanced back at him. “I loved my baby, Nico.”
“Then why?”
“Because I was terrified I’d grow to hate him!”
He gasped at that and she seemed winded, too. She hadn’t ever said it out loud, had never fully articulated this fear. He went to get up but she held a hand out to stop him.
She needed to say it, if only for herself. “I wasn’t lying about him being beautiful. So cherubic, you could have put him on the cover of a baby magazine. But I knew that would change. I knew that one day I would look at him and I wouldn’t see him anymore, I’d see someone else.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“That man, the man who hurt me.” Her voice choked, she swiped at more tears. “I knew that every time I looked at my boy I would not just be looking at my son, I’d be looking for signs of that monster. And then one horrifying day it would happen! I would see. And then how could I unsee that? It terrified me!”
“But Millie—”
“No! You don’t understand! It’s not how a mother should look at her child! It wouldn’t be fair to him. I couldn’t bear to hate him. And I couldn’t bear for him to see that hate. I thought it was better… better for him to grow up with only love in his mother’s eyes. He needed a new mother. And so I gave him away.”
She hugged her torso and let the tears stream freely now. He nodded, he understood that, but he didn’t know what to say to her, he didn’t know how to stop her tears, and he feared that if he went to her she’d suddenly crack.
He reached for a box of tissues and held them out.
She sniffed and took one. “Sister Agnetha said she’d find a good home for my boy, a loving home, a loving mother.” She stopped to blow her nose. “That’s why I’m here, Nico, not to find my rapist but to find my son.”
Okay, it was finally starting to make more sense. “So last night, when you were talking to Effie, you weren’t asking about your attacker, you were asking about your boy? You wanted to find your son. I thought…”
“I know that’s what you thought.” She sniffed again and tried to smile. “I thank you for trying to help me, for sending me to Artemis. But I already knew, deep down, who did it to me, and that’s what makes it all so unforgivable.”
He blinked back at her. Now he was lost again.
“Don’t you see? What I did to that poor little baby? I left him here, floating in the wind. He’s not Greek, Nico! He’s Australian—both his parents are Australian—and I abandoned him to strangers! There’s a boy somewhere on one of these islands and he’s missing a mum and he’s missing a dad—”
“He’s better off without that monster!”
“I know that, but it doesn’t change the facts. He’s not Greek, he never was. He must feel so out of place… He must feel so, so different.”
Nicholas stared at her, his spine tingling, thinking, I know someone just like that. Someone who has never fitted in. He jumped up like he’d been bitten. “I think it’s time to get that drink.”
He strode into the kitchen, Effie’s last words circling his brain, echoing Catalina’s: “Just forget you ever met this woman. She’s no good. She is dangerous!”
He opened the fridge and stared inside. What did they mean by that? Why was she so…
He heard the door slam and looked up.
“Millie?” he called out.
Nothing.
He returned to the living room to find it empty, and he glanced around. What just happened? Where did she go? He stared at her armchair. Had she found Catalina’s bra after all? Is that it? Then he spotted one of the picture frames sitting facedown on the table next to the chair and frowned. Had Millie t
urned to look at it while he was fetching drinks? He strode across and picked it up. He turned it around. It showed a young boy with sparkling green eyes and a hint of red in his dark brown hair, smiling and laughing and squinting into the sun as he held a fish up for the photographer to capture.
It was his favourite photo of Theo.
EVE
The wave of relief that rushed through Monty was her first mistake. Her steady pace, the fact that she didn’t bolt for her life, was her second.
She had only just stepped out into the inner-city laneway when she heard a click behind her. Her heart constricted but she was too slow to react. Thomas had one hand around her throat, the other pulling her back. She tried to scream, but she could barely breathe, and he was panting so loudly now. He pulled her inwards, but she kicked him from behind and managed to escape, but only briefly. She was barely a quarter of the way down the lane when he caught up, grabbing her again, this time slamming her against a brick wall with no means of escape.
“Thomas!” she cried, but he slapped her hard across the face, causing her to fly sideways and land in a huddle beside a cluster of rubbish bins. It was the back of the Italian restaurant, but the door was bolted shut.
“You and that stupid bitch,” he said, looming over her. “Why didn’t you both leave me the hell alone? You think you’re so damn hot. But you, you never even came close to her, so how dare you even try to reject me.”
“I… I’m not… rejecting you, Thomas, I’m…”
“Shut the fuck up!” She recoiled, sinking back towards the bins. “You don’t get to reject me! I reject you, right?”
She nodded, breathing quickly, trying to look around, hoping to God someone was close, but all she could see was an empty laneway and just one dark shop front. Whatever they were selling, they clearly weren’t selling it now. Then she remembered; it was a jewellery store! Her heart sank lower. Jewellery stores didn’t open at night.
“You were always sloppy seconds,” Tom continued, stepping closer, kicking a small metal bin out of his way, the lid rolling towards Monty, “so don’t act like you’re better than me.”
“I’m not…,” she managed and then found herself saying, “But she was.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said it and neither could he. He stopped, fists clenched.
“What the fuck did you say?”
Monty recoiled again, waiting for a kick of his boot, wondering if this was how Amelia felt on that dark lonely beach thirteen years ago. And instead of terrifying her, she felt emboldened by the thought.
Millie had survived then and she would survive now. Somehow she had to survive.
The kick came hard and heavy, straight towards her chest, but Monty managed to get her knees up in time so they took the bulk of the blow. She felt a pain shoot through her right leg and wondered if he’d fractured something, wondered how she could possibly flee with a broken knee.
That’s when she remembered the article. Mel’s stupid SOS story.
It was too late for step number one: Run, ladies, run for your lives, and she knew the second step—something about screaming—would cop her a boot in the throat, so she moved to step three: Keep the bastard talking.
She took a ragged breath. “You were angry with her for jumping off the ferry, Tom. I don’t blame you.”
He was leaning down then and stopped, frowned at her.
“You were angry with me for hooking up with Angus. I get that.”
It was the wrong thing to say, his foot lifted again and this time it hit its target, smashing into her jaw and sending her flying again, back to the brick wall, writhing in agony.
“You dumb bitch,” he said, stepping back and wiping his forehead. “I didn’t give a shit about you! You honestly thought I was sobbing on a Santorini beach. Over you?”
She shook her head madly. No, of course not. He only had eyes for Millie.
She croaked: “So that’s when you went back? When Angus and I were together?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You caught the ferry back to Sarisi. You found Millie… You… you… raped her.”
“It wasn’t rape!” He pulled Monty up by the shoulders and spat his words out. “She owed me. She led us boys on a merry dance, and then she ditched us both like we didn’t matter! Jumped ship for some wog she met for five fucking seconds! She was more like my mother than I realised. Both stupid sluts, both not worthy!”
Monty wasn’t sure what he was on about now but she had to regain control of the conversation. She said, “Did Angus know? Did he—”
“He didn’t want to know! Didn’t want to do anything about it, but I sure did. You don’t get to bat your eyes at us for a week and then just waltz away.”
Monty held her nerve, staring him in the face as she said, “She had to pay.”
He smiled suddenly, his teeth gleaming white. “You know what they say, Monty? Someone’s got to pay the ferryman.”
The words were almost as painful as the boot and she recoiled, feeling sick to the stomach, but she couldn’t avoid his sneer. He had his face close to her now and was pushing her back up against the brick wall, wedging his body against hers. It was so tight she couldn’t lift her legs to kick him where it hurt, and she wondered idly why Mel hadn’t thought to include that step. Why Alex hadn’t edited it in.
Probably for this very reason; probably because it so rarely worked.
“And you were the ferryman?” she managed to say.
He snickered as his eyes began to run down her body, and she ignored the bile that was rising in her throat. Keep talking, she told herself. Just keep talking.
“How did you find her?” she croaked again, trying to see behind him as his eyes kept roving downwards. There was still no sign of life. Where were all the residents now? Where were the fucking hipsters and their fucking lattés?
“Wasn’t hard,” he said, his eyes flickering back. “She was with that wog on the black beach. But then he just took off. Didn’t even want her after all that! Can you believe it? She betrayed us and all for nothing. I saw my chance. I took what was mine.”
He had one hand at Monty’s neck again, his face was centimetres from hers. “And now I’ll take some more.”
Then he pushed her back towards the bins, lodging her body between a green recycling bin and the old metal one, as Monty tried desperately to remember step number four.
What was SOS step four?
Think, Monty, think!
Then it came to her in a whoosh, and she grappled behind her, reaching out for something, anything. When she produced the metal bin lid he didn’t flinch, just looked amused as she held it up.
“Who do you think you are? Wonder Woman? You think that’s gonna save you?”
She nodded and gasped. “SOS step four. In case of emergency… just break glass.”
“What?”
“Don’t bother screaming,” she added, slowly twisting her wrist, “nobody cares.”
This surprised him and he stepped back a bit, laughing. “Fuckin’ right they don’t. Nobody gives a shit about you or your friend.”
“No… but they do care about… their stuff.”
Then she took another enormous breath, twisted her wrist and flung the metal lid like a frisbee towards the jewellery shop window opposite them, and they both watched with awe as the lid hit the glass and then bounced off without shattering it. And for another horrifying moment Monty realised the game was up, there would be no more steps for her tonight, when a scream suddenly pierced the night air.
The shop’s burglar alarm had been activated.
If Tom had hung around a second longer, he would have seen the faces appear at the windows above, the people running down the laneway, the siren that came soon after. But he had already scuttled off and she was left slumped against the bins again, gasping for breath and sobbing like a child.
By the time the police reached her and the paramedics after that, Tom had long gone, probably via the fire exit at the ba
ck of his building.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” a soothing policewoman told her. “We know where he lives. We’ll find him.”
She nodded, wiping her wet eyes and holding the icepack to her jaw. But it wasn’t Thomas she wanted to find. Amelia was still missing. Amelia was her priority. And now she had to wonder what she didn’t want to contemplate.
Had that monster found her first? And had he finished her off properly this time?
TOM
Harry Wilson sat in his dusty station wagon and waited. He’d been here for hours, not looking forward to uncovering the truth but needing to anyway.
He had spent an entire life covering for Tom, but there would be no more cover-ups. He had seen that backyard. He knew what was what. Tom was the laziest bastard this side of Sydney. It was one of the many reasons their father had left the land to Harry.
He couldn’t remember the last time Tom had mowed his own bloody lawn let alone cleaned up about the place, and he certainly wouldn’t bother replenishing any of Phil’s old play spaces.
The only reason Tom ever got that writing cabin built for Amy was because Scarlett had insisted on it—she thought it would cheer Amy up, give her some much-needed purpose, a place to hide out, not that she’d mentioned that last part to Tom. But Harry had done most of the work. Tom just stood around, sinking beers and telling him which bits he wasn’t getting straight.
But what would he know? He couldn’t even pull off a stupid jewellery tree. Had been working on the bloody contraption for months.
Harry shook his head, felt a lump in his stomach. Wished life had turned out differently. Wished he’d never offered his brother a house. Maybe then…
But he couldn’t think of that. Not yet. He needed proof, and there was one man who could provide it.
When Jimbo’s shiny four-wheel drive finally swept into the car park of Shepperdin Building Supplies, Harry waited a few minutes, giving the guy a chance to gather his gear and unlock the place. Then he pulled his shoulders back and stepped out of his vehicle.
There were some difficult questions to ask, but somebody had to ask them.
