What She Left

by Rosie Fiore

  She joined the line outside the coffee shop. Once she got through the door, she scooped up a copy of the day’s newspaper, which still featured her face on the front page. She folded it over, hiding the image. When she got to the counter, she ordered a large, full-fat latte with vanilla syrup, and a croissant. She took a table at the back of the coffee shop and sat sipping her coffee and slowly reading the paper from cover to cover. The picture and story on the front page no longer interested her. It was as if they were talking about some other person. Instead, she focused on international news, on reviews of theatre, books and art exhibitions. She read the round-up of films opening that day. She would go to the cinema, she decided, when she had finished shopping. She’d go to a big multiplex and watch two, or even three films back to back. And over the weekend, she’d go into town and see some exhibitions, or even a play, if she could get a cheap ticket. Instead of an infinite void, she would see the weekend as her first forty-eight hours of infinite possibility.

  Sam

  ‘Helen and Lawrence met at school,’ said Judy. ‘It was him in the picture I sent you. That was their official shot from the school formal.’

  I remembered the picture. I recalled a big, beefy boy with the kind of unfortunate haircut we all had at one point, that unmistakeably ties us to the era in which we were teenagers. He had a wide, friendly face, and I remembered his arm, placed firmly round Helen’s shoulders as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

  ‘So they were childhood sweethearts?’ I prompted.

  ‘Exactly. It was a bit like in the movies – he was the captain of the rugby team, she was a star athlete and top of the class.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Helen got a place at the University of Queensland. She wanted to do a business degree and then work in something related to sport.’

  ‘And Lawrence?’

  ‘Oh, he was never university material. He got a job working in the local gym, and did some construction work. Helen did well at university, as you can imagine. She was an academic star, and she was popular, involved in student activities and sport. She was always busy, and Lawrence found that difficult.’

  ‘Not an unusual story, really – lots of high-school relationships struggle once you’re out of the school environment.’

  ‘Well, that was what we thought, Mum and Dad and me. We thought they’d drift apart and break up, and Helen would go on to date lots of guys at uni. But she was loyal to him.’

  I didn’t have anything to say in reply to that. A year ago, I’d have agreed – Helen did seem like a loyal person.

  Judy continued. ‘They stayed together right through her degree. He used to leave work early if she was training on the athletics track, and he’d go and sit and watch her. He went to every single social occasion. I think half the people Helen knew at university assumed he was also a student.’

  ‘And the other half?’

  ‘Thought he was a creep, actually. I did. He was so clingy. Helen got a chance to go to Sydney for a few weeks to do some work experience and he wouldn’t let her go.’

  ‘Wouldn’t let her? How did he stop her?’

  ‘Oh, the usual way blokes do. Sulked, raged, cried, threatened to go off with another girl. Acted like a child, basically. I told her to go anyway, and tell him to bugger off, but she didn’t in the end. I tried to tell her that he was holding her back, but she wouldn’t listen to a word of it. She said he was the love of her life, and that was that. She stopped speaking to me for a while even. I decided if I didn’t want to lose her, I’d better back down. So I did my best to keep my mouth shut and make an effort with him.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘She graduated, and at the graduation dinner with my parents and me, he got down on one knee and proposed. It was very public, in this big fancy restaurant and in front of her whole family. There was no way she could say no.’

  ‘Do you think she wanted to say no?’

  ‘Hell no. She was so happy, she burst into tears and said, “Yes, yes, yes!” I was the one willing her to say no. She was only twenty-two, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Well, it all happened quite quickly after that. My parents forked out for this lavish wedding, and they gave Lawrence and Helen the deposit on their own tiny little apartment in Rocklea. Helen got her first job as a junior in a sports marketing company.’ Judy suddenly broke off. She pressed her lips together, and with a shock, I realized she was fighting back tears.

  ‘Once he had her in their own place, everything changed. He wanted to control her, you see. To own everything about her. She was so bright and sparky and beautiful, and I think he was terrified to let her out into the world, where other people would see it. And, of course, out in the world she was growing and succeeding and climbing the career ladder, and he was still just a brickie.’

  ‘How did he control her?’

  ‘He phoned her ten times a day, which got her into trouble with her bosses. He met her after work every day to walk her home. And then he got worse. He started pitching up at her office at odd times to check she was where she said she was. It all got rather embarrassing for her. He discouraged her from seeing me, and from seeing our parents. He cut her off from all her friends too. And once she had no support structure at all, the. . . the other stuff started.’

  ‘He hit her,’ I said dully.

  ‘Such a well-worn story, isn’t it? Almost a cliché. It started with a little slap because they had a row when she came home late from a run one day. Then he cried and cried and begged her forgiveness. And she forgave him. Until the time she was asked to work late, and when he tried to ring her she didn’t answer because she was in a meeting room and didn’t hear her phone. He was waiting for her outside the office when she came out and that time he punched her in the stomach. It escalated from there.’

  Judy’s face contorted, and she controlled her anger with an effort. ‘Of course I didn’t know at the time. I didn’t have a clue. I must confess, to my eternal shame, that I didn’t make much of an effort to see her, even. I was so disappointed in her for marrying him. Closing so many doors, restricting her choices. I knew she’d always wanted to travel, see the world, maybe work abroad, and marrying Lawrence seemed to guarantee that she’d be pregnant by the time she was twenty-five, and that’d be it. She’d end up being a dull Brisbane housewife. I didn’t want to see that happen, and Lawrence was always so unpleasant when I rang the apartment or went to see her, so. . . I stopped trying, really. Got on with my own life. If I’d known. . .’ Judy took a shuddering breath. ‘If I’d known what she was going to go through, I’d have prayed for her just to be a Brisbane housewife.’

  ‘So how did you find out?’

  ‘It was inevitable that he’d end up hurting her enough that she had to go to hospital. He drove her there, but he was so out of control and disruptive, and I think the staff realized that what had happened wasn’t an accident – not that Helen would have admitted to it. They called the cops and had him removed. She needed someone to take her home, and very reluctantly she gave them my name.’

  ‘What had he done to her?’

  ‘He smashed her face into a kitchen cabinet. She told the people in the hospital that she tripped and fell. But he’d been holding her by her hair, and he got a finger caught through her hoop earring. He’d ripped it right out—’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I almost shouted. ‘The scar on her ear.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She told me it happened at a music festival when she was a student.’

  Judy laughed bitterly. ‘As if Lawrence would have let her go to a music festival.’

  I thought about Helen’s odd aversion to having her hair touched. If I ever stroked it or tried to gather it up in my hands, she’d shy away. ‘I don’t like it,’ she’d say, laughingly. ‘I’m always scared you’ll pull it.’ And then I thought about the scar, the vertical line on her earlobe. Unconsciously, I reached up to touch my own ear. The thought of ripping right throu
gh the tender flesh of an earlobe – it made me shudder.

  I looked back at the screen and Judy was watching me in silence.

  ‘It’s a lot to take in, I know,’ she said.

  ‘I never knew,’ I said hesitantly. ‘She never told me. . .’

  ‘She never told anyone. I only know about that attack because she needed someone to get her out of the hospital. I know it’s obvious to say that she’s a private person, but she is. She keeps things to herself unless she has absolutely no other option. I can’t tell you not to take this personally, but understand that this is who she is. It wasn’t you that made her do this. It was her. All her.’

  I knew she was doing her best to be comforting and I nodded my thanks. I wished that it was as simple as that, and that I could write off the whole thing to Helen’s peculiar obsessive secrecy. I was about to say something when the doorbell went.

  ‘I have to go, Judy,’ I said. ‘That’s my mum bringing the girls back.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. She seemed a little wistful, and we looked at each other in silence for a moment before we disconnected. I think we both imagined another life, where she might have known my daughters, if only by Skype, where she might have chatted to them over her sister’s shoulder. But it was a life neither of us would ever have.

  I went to buzz up Mum and the girls. They clattered up the stairs and rushed in, chattering excitedly and pulling garments out of bags. Mum followed, slightly more slowly, and when she came into the room I saw her watching me quizzically. I did my best to look happy and to focus on what the girls were saying and showing me, but the enormity of what Judy had told me kept crowding in. I wanted to sit by myself and look at the picture of Helen and Lawrence. I wanted to think about what she had endured, and why she had stayed. I wanted to talk to Judy and find out how she escaped. Clearly she had, and in doing so she’d left Australia and cut all ties with everyone. All of this sounded understandable, admirable even. But in a way, it made what had happened to the girls and me even worse. What had we done that was as bad as what Lawrence had done? Why had she vanished again?

  Mum got the girls to go to their room and put away all their new clothes, then she made me a cup of tea and sat down opposite me in the living room.

  ‘So how are you, my Sam?’ she said, looking at me with her piercing eyes.

  ‘Is that your therapist face?’ I said warily.

  ‘It’s my mum face.’ She looked around the room. ‘The flat’s looking nice. Better than it was. It must be easier to manage than that big house.’

  ‘Is that parent code for “the house was beginning to fall apart from neglect”?’

  ‘Goodness me,’ she said mildly, ‘you’re looking for criticism under every comment, aren’t you? No. I was just saying that this must be easier. What with working full time, and the girls. The house was a big responsibility. Practically and financially.’

  Ah, so that was what she was getting at. What kind of a mess was I in financially? There was no point going there – Tim had told me that she and Dad were already concerned about their pensions. The last thing they needed was to worry about me and the state of my finances. Anyway, as long as I kept my nose clean and didn’t lose my job, we’d be okay, more or less.

  ‘It is,’ I said eventually. ‘I’m doing better.’ This last was, of course, a blatant lie. I thought about telling her about Judy, and her revelations about Helen’s past. But I needed time to think about what I’d learned. The girls were also in the next room, and all I needed was Miranda eavesdropping on the whole story.

  Helen

  Despite her optimistic intentions, the weekend was endless. She worked hard to fill it with films, meals, walks and gallery visits, but in the time between activities, and in the moments when she sat alone in a coffee shop or waiting for a train, thoughts of the girls rushed in, filling her with nausea, guilt and misery. She took to leaving her phone switched off and back at the flat, because the temptation to ring Sam came in almost overwhelming waves. Sunday night was the worst. She sat on the futon at the flat, watching episode after episode of Friends, the familiar lines washing over her, as she mechanically ate her way through a family-sized bag of caramel popcorn and then a gigantic bar of nutty chocolate. The stodgy food offered a dull comfort, and the canned laughter and bright colours of the TV show dispelled the black silence inside her head. She would have loved a drink, but she knew alcohol would lower her inhibitions and she’d end up making the fatal phone call. In the end she fell asleep half dressed, the futon still propped into a sitting position, her hands sticky with sugar.

  She woke suddenly at five on Monday morning. For the first time since she’d left, a tiny sliver of optimism pierced the dread. Today, her new life was to begin. She went to the bathroom and showered and washed her hair. She had hours in which to dry it, apply her make-up and eat a small but healthy breakfast. She packed what she needed into her new black backpack, dressed in the navy trouser suit and white blouse she’d bought on the Friday, and by 7.30 she was ready to go. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. She examined her reflection. She looked elegant, business-like and slightly androgynous with her new short haircut and black-rimmed glasses. She’d chosen a style of suit that hid rather than accentuated her figure. It wasn’t mannish or baggy, just professional. She looked nothing at all like Helen Cooper.

  She washed her breakfast things, threw away the snack detritus of the night before and made her bed neatly. The flat looked as anonymous and featureless as it had the day she moved in. She picked up her bag, locked up and headed for the station.

  She’d researched the journey of course, so she knew she had plenty of time, and, indeed, she’d left so early, she missed the worst of the commuter rush. By 8.15 she was sitting in a coffee shop in Stratford town centre, nursing a decaf cappuccino. She wasn’t due in till 9.30. She felt desperate with jitters. Somehow, she hadn’t anticipated the hours of waiting and introspection these past five days had allowed her. She’d imagined they would fly by. Now that she was in the last hour or so of this time alone, she was desperate for it to be over and for the next chapter to begin. In the end, she decided to be early. At nine she went to the bathroom in the coffee shop, brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she carried in her backpack, retouched the discreet make-up she’d chosen for her new persona, and set off on the short, five-minute walk.

  The offices of Simon Stanley and Associates were in a new, modern building about ten minutes’ walk from the station and the enormous shopping centre that now formed the hub of Stratford. The roads had the bleak, empty look of newly built areas – no trees or gardens lined them, and the streetlights started out from the wide, empty pavements like great, surprised insects. The buildings either side were still under construction, and while SSA occupied the top floor of the building, the offices on the floors below were still unfurnished and empty.

  There was no one in the building reception downstairs, so Helen climbed the three flights of stairs. There was a toilet on the landing, so she stopped to check her reflection one last time. She brushed her neat, short hair behind her ears, straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and walked briskly into the reception area of SSA. It was a wide, light room, with windows on both sides of the building. The rather startling bright red carpet was offset by the equally vibrant electric blue sofa. Huge posters of footballers, rugby players and athletes dominated every wall, and the glass coffee table was covered in a bright fan of sports magazines. A pretty woman of around twenty-five sat behind the shiny metallic reception desk, and two men were leaning on it, chatting to her. They all looked up when Helen walked in.

  One of the men, the taller of the two, whose shaven head made him look older than his years, frowned in confusion as he looked at her. Then his face brightened and he smiled.

  ‘Helen?’ he said. ‘You changed your hair.’

  ‘Yes.’ Helen smiled and touched her hair self-consciously, as if she had only just noticed the change herself. ‘N
ew job, new look!’ she said brightly.

  The bald man pushed himself away from the reception desk and came over to shake her hand. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘It’s great to have you here.’

  ‘Thanks, Simon,’ said Helen. ‘I’m excited to get cracking.’

  Simon turned to the other man. ‘Tony, this is Helen Day, our new marketing executive. Helen, this is Tony Marinelli, head of sales. And this is Sophie Penn, our office manager.’

  Helen shook hands. ‘We’re thrilled to have Helen on board,’ said Simon. ‘She’s taken a few years out of work to travel and study, and she’s ready and raring to go.’

  It sounded to Helen like he’d written her profile on a dating app. She smiled at Simon, and at the other two. ‘I’m thrilled to join SSA,’ she said. ‘I know this is an exciting time for you as a company, with the new energy gel account. . .’

  ‘My baby,’ said Tony, puffing out his chest.

  ‘And I’m sure that together we can come up with some innovative tie-ins and marketing campaigns for them.’ She gave them all her most brilliant smile.

  Simon looked thrilled. ‘Well,’ he said, rubbing his hands together, ‘let’s show you your desk and get you settled in and then we’ll see if you can hit the ground running!’

  Helen followed him beyond the reception desk and into the open-plan office beyond. She wondered if he communicated exclusively in clichés. He showed her to a desk by the window. It had a new Mac, a phone and a view of the building site behind their offices. Helen put her backpack down beside the desk. Simon handed her a sheet of paper. ‘Sophie’s an IT whizz,’ he said, ‘so you should be all set up and good to go. User name and password are here,’ he pointed to the paper in Helen’s hand. ‘All our working files are on the server. So have a good old dig around, and I’ll come and chat to you in an hour or so.’ He smiled at her again. ‘I can’t say how glad I am that we got you, Helen. Your background in sports is so perfect, and I know you’ll bring something great to the company.’