Nobody Knows

by Rebecca Barber

  “Where the fuck is she?” he screamed.

  Giving up, Joel headed home, stopping on the way for another bottle of bourbon. All his hard work putting their home back together wasn’t appreciated by his so-called wife. She wouldn’t even come home. The bottle didn’t even make it home unopened. Instead, as soon as he was in the car, he was taking long swigs straight from the bottle.

  It took barely twenty minutes for it to be half empty. Joel sobbed as he drank alone in the middle of the day. But the sadness was soon replaced by fury and Joel grabbed his phone. First he rang Gillian’s mobile, and when she didn’t answer he left a toxic message on her voice mail. He demanded that she return his call immediately and come home. They had things to discuss. When she hadn’t called back half an hour later, Joel, having downed another quarter of the bottle and clinging to consciousness, sent her a scrambled abusive text message telling her what a whore she was and that he couldn’t believe he had been so dumb to marry her. He added casually that she deserved whatever she had gotten and if she didn’t make it home in the next twenty minutes there would be more of that where it came from.

  His ranting over, Joel finished the bottle and passed out on his bed. He was awoken hours later by two burly policemen in uniform standing over him.

  “Get up,” the larger of the two instructed.

  Joel tried to sit up but his head was spinning. He could barely focus on anything, let alone the two towering over him. Joel was still too drunk to even begin to guess what was going on.

  “How can I help you gentleman?” he slurred, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “You need to come to the station with us for a little chat,” the smaller one directed, reaching out and taking him by the arm and helping him up. Joel was wobbly on his feet. “Have you been drinking today, sir?”

  “Have you?” Joel asked, cocky.

  “Go and wash your face and sober up. And hurry up about it. We don’t have all day,” the bigger cop commanded.

  Sensing there was trouble brewing, Joel shut up and went and did as he was told. He washed his face and suddenly felt scared. Why were the police in his house? Then he remembered. It hit him like a tonne of bricks. Where was Gillian? She had done this to him, instinctively he knew it.

  “Hurry up!” came the roaring voice through the rooms, carrying with it a sense of authority.

  Joel staggered back to the bedroom. “You ready?” one of the police officers asked. Joel just nodded. The serious look on their faces told him it wasn’t a joke and it was in his best interest to shut up and behave, but inside he was seething. Gillian would pay for this.

  Sitting in the back seat of the marked police car, Joel felt like his whole world was crashing down around him. Someone had said something and now his mind was racing as he tried to come up with excuses and alibis to counter whatever they thought they knew. His head was still woozy and as much as he wished it wasn’t the case, Joel was still drunk. A bottle of bourbon didn’t just magically evaporate out of your body when the boys in blue came knocking. Or in Joel’s case, just helped themselves and came on in.

  By the time he arrived at the station Joel was sweating profusely. When he tried to open the door and get out he was absolutely shitting himself when the door wouldn’t open. The child-lock must have been on. The larger of the officers chuckled with delight as he watched Joel fight with the handle. He opened the door and Joel fell out on the asphalt, scraping his hands. The officer just smiled a coy, cunning smile. They had travelled in complete silence, not even the radio quietly in the background. It was enough to drive a person mad. Satisfied that Joel was sufficiently terrified, they led him up the stairs and into the station. Although he wasn’t handcuffed, Joel might has well have been, with one officer either side of him guiding him up the stairs one by one. It was as much for his own safety as it was for intimidation, but it worked for both.

  He was led straight into a tiny, bare, windowless room. Joel had seen enough cheesy cop movies to know that someone would appear any minute in a cheap suit, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup, and begin asking him the same questions over and over again until they got the answers they wanted. But the truth was Joel had no idea what they wanted. He didn’t know what they knew or what they thought they knew. Did he do something dumb at the pub the other night that they had only just found out about? Or were his worst fears justified? Had Gillian blabbed about their personal lives?

  “Mr. Matthews,” a stick figure of a man announced, poking out his hand and offering it to Joel. He was a rather odd looking man, with a cheap toupee of matted grey hair and eyes that were too close together, giving him the resemblance of a bug. “I’m Senior Sergeant Butcher,” he introduced himself. “Have a seat.” He dropped a manila folder on the metal table between them.

  Joel slumped into the uncomfortable folding metal chair and waited as patiently as he could, his eyes not wavering from the folder between them even once. He was desperate to know the contents, but he already knew asking wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He would just have to wait.

  “So,” he said, opening the file and glancing through it before closing it again and placing it between them. He paused and took a sip of his coffee before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Joel was repulsed and tortured. The not knowing was the worst part. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he tempted.

  Gulping, Joel was trying desperately to sober himself up. He didn’t want to say anything in case it wasn’t what they were talking about. “I’m not exactly sure what it is that you want to talk to me about,” he dodged, sweating openly now.

  “Your wife,” the Sergeant hinted, leaving the words hanging.

  Joel swallowed his terror and only managed to murmur, “Can I please have some water?”

  Frustrated, but not surprised, the Sergeant stood up and left the room to grab Joel a plastic cup of water. Joel knew that this too was a stalling tactic. With a smirk, Joel waited with his arms folded. He had seen enough cop shows to know that the idiot cop was hoping the longer he left Joel alone the more likely he was to crack. Spill his secrets and confess to everything. “He obviously doesn’t know me,” Joel congratulated himself as he found his feet and began pacing. It was only six steps across and six steps back, but Joel was counting them like a man overcome by some unknown and unexpected force.

  “Can we continue?” Sergeant Butcher asked, returning to his seat. Joel finished the contents of the glass in one large mouthful but still felt thirsty. Maybe he wasn’t thirsty, maybe he was just scared.

  Not trusting himself to speak, Joel just nodded pathetically. He was twitchy now and felt like his skin was on fire. Everything had started to get to him. First the car door that wouldn’t open, then the escort on either arm up the stairs, and now the windowless room with the tiny bug man; things were definitely not looking like this was going to be a good day. And on top of that the pounding headache that was slowly but surely consuming him.

  “So, Mr. Matthews,” he began formally, “would you like to tell me what happened between you and your wife?”

  Taking a deep, measured breath, Joel looked up. His years in real estate had taught him many things, avoidance and confidence being his favorite lessons. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but I strongly believe that what happens between a man and his wife in the confines of their own home is a private and personal matter and should be kept between them.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. However, when we have a complaint as serious as the one we have received, we must act. Unfortunately, your beliefs do not put you above the law.” Joel looked at the bug man and knew he was in trouble. This guy was good.

  Joel hesitated, carefully measuring his next move, determined not to be trapped into saying something he didn’t want to. He needed to know what the complaint was and who had made it. Probing wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the best option he had. “I understand where you’re coming from,” Joel said, flashing the lopsided grin that had once made the girl
s swoon, but as he watched the Sergeant’s face droop he knew he was just pissing him off. “Maybe if I knew to which complaint you were referring I could sufficiently answer your questions. I would like to be as helpful as I can be on what sounds like a very serious matter.” Joel folded his hands on the table and sat up straight, reverting to his days as a successful business man.

  “Mr. Matthews,” the Sergeant began.

  “Please, call me Joel,” he offered with a wave of his hand.

  “Joel, then. Let’s cut the crap. You and I both know that I’m not going to tell you who made this complaint and the exact nature. Now I just want to hear your side of it.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me, aren’t you? How am I supposed to give you my side of the story if you don’t tell me what you are referring to?”

  “Your wife is in hospital with a broken wrist, concussion, and some interesting art on her neck. Would you like to offer any suggestions of how that might have happened?” he teased.

  Joel sat frozen to the spot. With those few words his worst fears were confirmed. Gillian had blabbed. “It’s not what you think,” he panted, clinging to any truth he could remember.

  “It never is,” Sergeant Butcher replied heartlessly.

  So Joel began the longest three hours of his life. Twice he asked to use the bathroom and twice he was told to keep going. As the minutes ticked over to hours, Joel told the Sergeant more than he intended. He confessed about the broken wrist and the kick to the knee and slamming Gillian against the wall and holding her there by her neck.

  After a while Sergeant Butcher blurted out, “Why did you do it?”

  “At the time, it made me feel better. Like I had some control again. Like I mattered. Like I was important,” Joel admitted, smiling sadly up at the officer in front of him. “So, what happens now?” he asked, not really fazed.

  “You will be charged with assault. We have offered your wife an AVO against you,” he stated plainly.

  “Did she take it?” Suddenly the world snapped back into focus and Joel realized the size of this mistake. Then he was wondering if he could ever come back from his.

  For a long time he had been sinking into a black hole with no one to pull him out. He had tried different women and bottles, but nothing had been able to pull him out of the endless funk. For the first time in years his world was no longer blurry. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the seriousness of what was happening, but rather simply appreciated it. Someone was going to help him, not that he would admit that he needed it, but these charges could make things better. Make him a better man. A better father. A better husband. A better person. Better for everyone.

  “We couldn’t speak to her when we went to the hospital. She was still in surgery,” Sergeant Butcher said blankly.

  The sergeant just watched the words sink in and the light come on in Joel’s eyes. He had baited him into asking, “If you haven’t even spoken to Gillian, how do you know about this?”

  Smiling, satisfied, the sergeant said nothing. He just stood up, scooped his things, and headed for the door. Just before he slammed it behind him, he looked at a very confused and bewildered young man. “Your daughter,” he offered, with an eyebrow cocked quizzically as he walked away.

  For a long time Joel just sat there picking at his fingernails, still shocked at the revelation. He had assumed that his big mouthed wife had reported him, but was gobsmacked to discover that it was actually his own daughter who’d blabbed. He wanted to ask why. He wanted to understand it but the more the thoughts bubbled and stewed in his head the more he realized he didn’t want to know. There could be nothing more heartbreaking than hearing the reasons why your daughter reported you to the police. Even though he knew he deserved it, hearing it aloud would make it real. And as much as he hated himself in that moment, hearing that was too much torture even for him to bear. Gillian had brainwashed his kids against him.

  After more than forty minutes alone with his thoughts, a prospect more terrifying than a cramped jail cell with a big tattooed guy named Rocco, Sergeant Butcher reappeared to collect him. He was fingerprinted, formally charged, and then released until his court date.

  Standing alone on the concrete steps of the police station, Joel felt more ashamed than he had ever been before. Being humiliated and fired from his job was nothing compared to this all-consuming guilt and torture. Payback would be his. Even if it was Charli who had contacted the police, Joel knew Gillian had put her up to it. She was stupid. How could she think Joel wouldn’t put it all together? Gillian was so afraid of him she would use his own daughter to run to the police and squeal on him. Revenge would be bittersweet. Hurricane Joel was coming and no matter how low Gillian ducked, it wouldn’t be enough.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  Gillian

  As I started to come out of the anesthetic I felt like I had not only been hit by a bus, but that it had backed up over me and run me down time and time again until I was well and truly squished. My mouth was dry and my tongue could have been substituted for sandpaper. And I was alone. I wasn’t scared to be alone, the silence was eerily comforting, but at the same time it was lonely. I didn’t expect anyone there, but I wished someone was. My mum. Most days I was okay, even with everything that was going on in my life. I tried not to think about the fact that I had no family and how I wished my dad was here to kick Joel’s arse. Or that Mum was here to help me when the kids got sick and tell me that it was okay. And I hated that my children never knew how wonderful their grandparents were. That they were brave and they had adventures and they loved. They never saw what love was supposed to be like. But lying there, alone in the unflattering hospital gown, I wanted nothing more than my mum to curl up beside me and whisper stories to me. Stories of faraway places with people I would never know and things I would never understand. Instead, I only had the incessant beeping of machines and shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor in the hallways to keep me company.

  Feeling sorry for myself, I closed my eyes and tried to drift off to sleep. I knew I should have been grateful for the time to myself—being a single working mum with three young kids wears you down—but I missed my kids. I didn’t want them to worry about me. But I didn’t have time to worry for too long. There were still enough drugs in my system to send me back into a deep slumber.

  A bony elbow to my stomach woke me hours later. Lucas was climbing up on my bed, not really sure where to tread or where to touch. One arm was in a plaster cast and the other had tubes coming out of it.

  “Mummy?” he asked, wiggling up my chest.

  As I came out of my daze I was surprised to find how heavy he was these days. He had grown up so fast. “Hey,” I murmured with a smile, genuinely happy to see him. “I missed you guys,” I told them, forcing my eyelids apart. I opened my arms up and Bianca and Lucas dived in. I hugged them tightly to my chest, feeling a mixture of relief and appreciation. It was when I opened my eyes and spotted Charli leaning sadly against the door frame with tears streaming down her face I knew something had happened. Something major. Something bad. I felt it. It wasn’t just written all over Charli’s beautifully tormented face; in the pit of my stomach I just felt it.

  “Who brought you down to visit me?” I asked nervously, needing to get to Charli as soon as I could.

  “Nana did,” Bianca explained. “We went for ice cream then we came to see you.”

  “Did you really? Bianca, Mummy needs a drink very much. Would you be able to take Lucas and go see if you can find Nana and ask her to get Mum a drink?” I asked pathetically, knowing there was a jug of ice water on the table behind Bianca’s head.

  “Okay, Mummy.” She grinned, one of her teeth still missing. I watched as she reached out protectively and took Lucas’s hand before skipping off down the hallway with him.

  Charli didn’t move. She watched them go in stoic silence. Then she turned back and looked at me and burst into tears. She crumpled. I watched in horror as she slid down the door fram
e a broken girl. “Charli,” I cried as my heart broke. “Please, sweetheart, come here,” I beckoned. I was trying to get out of bed, fighting the sheets and the blankets and the gown and the tubes but they were winning. My daughter needed me and my bed was holding me hostage. “Charli,” I begged, as tears took hold of me.

  I watched and prayed as she climbed up off the floor and used the bed to steady herself. She was as white as a sheet. Her usually captivating, wide innocent eyes were now just haunted and hollow. Something had stolen the life from her and I was paralyzed with fear. As soon as her trembling hand reached the bed, I reached out with my broken wristed arm and pulled her to me, pushing through the excruciating pain as it coursed through my arm.

  “What is it?” I asked, clutching her to my chest, stroking her hair, doing anything I could think of to calm and reassure her.

  “I…I did something,” she gasped between gut wrenching sobs.

  “It’s okay, Charli. Nothing you have done can hurt you. I promise,” I said, sucking in a deep breath and silently praying that I could live up to that promise. “Just tell me what’s happened.”

  “It’s Dad.”

  “What about Dad? What did he do?” I asked, completely blindsided.

  I was sure the kids had been with either Adele or at school since I had been in hospital. Adele knew how I felt about Joel being alone with the kids and, as she had seen firsthand what he was capable of, I would have bet my life on it that she wouldn’t have taken them to see him. I doubted even Adele would have seen him. I was at a complete loss as to what could have happened.