by Anna Willett
Harper tried to talk to her about it, but Judith always laughed it off. “I’m not getting any younger. I’ve got to keep in shape so you don’t run off with some pretty young thing.”
But Harper could see through the trite remarks. Judith worked her body like a fighter getting ready for the match of her life. Always at home because Harper hated to be left alone. I’m part of the stress, Harper thought bitterly. I’m always terrified and she’s trying to turn herself into super woman for me. But self-knowledge meant nothing when the panic set in and she couldn’t hide her fear.
Now, standing at the grand entrance to one of the most breath-taking wineries in the South West, she felt the familiar claws of terror shredding her gut. Her inner voice whispered warnings, urging her to run. She battled against the desire to bolt down the private road and hide somewhere until she could phone Judith.
A fine sheen of sweat broke out on Harper’s forehead. Her lips felt dry and rubbery. The parking lot to the side of the sprawling building was at half capacity. So many people, Harper wondered if one of the diners might be watching her. Maybe crouched down behind a car. What am I doing here? She became certain that the meeting was a bad idea. What good would it do to relive what happened?
“Hello, you must be Harper.” Her heart jumped before her mind recognised the voice belonged to a woman.
“Sorry. Did I startle you?” The woman asked, no doubt noticing Harper’s terrified expression.
“No. I mean yes.” Harper took a deep breath and tried again. “Yes, I’m Harper.” Looking into the woman’s calm green eyes framed by red rimmed spectacles, the panic began to subside. “I’m glad you came.”
The woman nodded. “I’m Rebecca Walterson. Shall we go in?”
Rebecca asked for a table on the terrace overlooking the vineyard. Once they were seated, an awkward silence settled. Harper searched for something to say, but where did she begin? Fortunately, the waitress arrived and saved her from the problem.
“I’d like a glass of white wine,” Rebecca told the waitress. Turning her attention to Harper, she asked, “Will you join me?”
Her voice, the formality with which she spoke, like an echo of those moments Harper spent with the woman’s father, William.
“Yes, thank you.” Harper could feel herself relaxing. It seemed like an eternity since she’d really relaxed.
“This place,” Rebecca said a moment later, waving her long, slim arm towards the gardens. “It really is quite lovely. My father enjoyed dining at the local wineries. Civilised he called them.” She gave a wistful smile. “I suppose he was right.”
The table was draped in a thick white cloth. A small bowl of freesia sat in the centre. The sweet fresh scent reminded Harper of something she’d almost forgotten.
“When I met your father, I noticed he smelled of humbugs.” Harper laughed nervously. “I’d almost forgotten that until just now.”
Rebecca grimaced. “Oh how those humbugs annoyed my mother.” The grimace turned into a smile that lit up her otherwise sharp features. “She’d always tease him about the sucking sounds he made. What a pair they were.” She shook her head and her muddy blonde bob bounced against her jawline.
When she spoke again, her expression turned sombre. “I do miss them.” She pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. “What is it you want to talk to me about, Harper? I’m sure it’s not what sort of sweets my father ate.”
It was the moment she’d been dreading and at the same time needing. Harper took a breath before answering. She looked down at the table and swallowed. “I’m here for a few reasons. First, I wanted to say sorry for not coming to the funeral. I won’t make excuses. It was selfish of me not to show up.” When she looked up, Rebecca’s eyes were trained on her. She reminded Harper of a librarian, sensible and no-nonsense in her white blouse and camel-coloured cardigan. “I should have been there.” Harper bit her lip and waited for Rebecca to answer.
She surprised her by reaching across the table and patting Harper’s left hand. Her fingers were long and elegant, like her father’s. “What a goose you are. Fretting over that.” She gave Harper’s hand a light squeeze and then let go and pushed her glasses up her nose. “The police told me some of what happened to you and your partner.” She folded her arms around her thin frame. “Surviving something so horrific is not just a physical challenge, it takes every bit of strength you have just to push through each day and not let the ghosts take over.”
Harper watched Rebecca’s face as she spoke. The look in her eyes when she talked about ghosts reminded Harper of her own expression. A raw look she saw regularly staring out from the bathroom mirror. She wondered what haunted Rebecca. Judging by the steel in her voice when she talked about pushing through each day, Harper guessed it must be something horrific. Losing her father to such a violent death, how that must have added to her burden.
“I hope meeting me like this isn’t making things worse for you?”
Before Rebecca had a chance to answer, the waitress approached with their meals.
“Mmm. It looks marvellous.” Rebecca picked up her knife and fork. “This is a treat. My father and I lunched together regularly. At least once a week. After he retired of course.” She seemed about to say something else, but hesitated.
They ate in silence for a while, before Rebecca spoke. “Tell me, what is it you want to get off your chest?”
Harper put her fork down. “I wanted to tell you about the moments I spent with your father. I only knew him briefly but he’s been on my mind so much lately.” Harper took a sip of wine. The sharp tanginess tasted fresh and clean. “He came along when I was at my most terrified and desperate.” She could feel a tightness in her throat. She took another swallow of wine, determined not to let herself cry. She’d done too much of that over the last four months.
“I don’t know how much the police told you, but I just wanted you to know how kind and brave he was.” She looked down at her plate afraid that if she met Rebecca’s eyes, so like her father’s, she’d lose control. “He took care of me and when …” She took a shaky breath. “And when Archie came along. He stepped in front of me.” Now the tears built in her eyes. “He’d only just met me, but her told me to get behind him and stepped between me and a madman with a knife.” Harper could feel her whole body trembling. “It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. I wanted you to know that.”
Harper swiped at her eyes and looked up. Rebecca’s eyes were shiny with tears but a wan smile creased her face. “Thank you, dear.” She sniffed. “Look at us. Two women crying over their lunch, talking about how brave and wonderful he was. He would have loved it.”
Harper laughed and sniffed. It was kind of funny. Funny and lovely. She found herself feeling an unexpected pang of affection for William’s daughter. And with that realisation came a little spark of happiness. The anxiety that had loomed over her for four months like a dark bird, shifted. It didn’t fly away, maybe just ruffled its wing as if thinking about taking flight.
“A toast,” Rebecca said raising her glass. “To a gentle man from another time.” She paused. “And the women who adored him.”
Harper picked up her wine glass and clinked it against Rebecca’s. “To William.”
An hour later, they made their way to the parking lot, walking slowly savouring the spring sunshine. When they paused to say good bye, Harper turned her face up to the sun. She felt warm and relaxed, unburdened by dread or panic.
“Well,” Rebecca said, searching through her handbag. “I’d best be off.” She nodded to Harper’s arm still clad in a thick nylon splint. “I hope everything’s healing as it should.”
“Yes.” Harper looked down at her arm. “Two surgeries and a lengthy rehabilitation. William was spot on.”
“He usually was. Aha, found them.” Rebecca held up her car keys.
“He said it was nothing a strong, healthy girl like me couldn’t manage.” She touched the splint wondering if William had overestimated her ability t
o heal.
“As I said, he was usually right.” Then as if reading Harper’s mind, she added. “Trust his prognosis, he was a very good judge of character.”
Harper nodded. She wanted to believe she had the strength to leave the fear in the past and focus on the future. Maybe Rebecca was right, Harper had to trust not just William’s belief in her, but her own.
“Judith and I are looking for a property here in Margaret River. When we get settled would you like to have dinner with us?”
A smile lit up Rebecca’s face and changed her features from sharp to radiant. “I’d love to. Now, I must fly.” With that, she loped off towards the parking lot.
When Judith pulled up five minutes later, Harper realised she hadn’t thought about being alone in the carpark.
Chapter Thirty
Nora Coates twirled a ball-point pen between her fingers and flipped through a stack of patient notes. Of the one hundred and twenty beds in the Fiona Stanley Rehabilitation Centre, ninety-six were currently occupied. Not quite filled to capacity but getting there. Nora checked the clock over the nurses’ station against her wrist watch: 6:55 pm. Her shift didn’t officially begin until seven o’clock, but she made a habit of getting in a bit early and checking the notes. It gave her a better idea of what the evening shift held.
Evenings were quiet in the centre, almost peaceful. Despite the unsociable hours, Nora preferred working at night. Besides, with Joe long gone and her daughter married and living in Sydney, the house seemed emptier at night. By the time her shift started, physio and group sessions had finished for the day. With the evening meals out of the way, the only traffic consisted of a few last minute visitors. Alright, she told herself. You’ve put it off for long enough. She slapped down the pen and picked up Archie Crowell’s file.
Nora knew it was ridiculous, bordering on unprofessional even, but the patient in room 81 gave her the creeping jitters. It’s all in your head, she reminded herself. Yet each time she approached his room, her stomach would shrivel up like a soggy Kleenex. You’ve heard the stories about what he did and you’ve built him up in to some kind of Hannibal Lecter. He’s only twenty-four, for God’s sake. But no matter how many times she tried to put her feelings in perspective, she couldn’t shake the fear that wrapped around her like a snake whenever she found herself in Archie’s room.
She rubbed her hands together and opened the file. As expected, Archie had made little progress. The commotion of shift change-over ramped up around her as ward nurses arrived for the evening.
“How you doing, darl?” Lorna Simms brushed past Nora’s chair and dumped her oversized handbag on the desk.
“Pretty good,” Nora looked over her shoulder and gave the woman a brief smile. “Just reading through the notes before I start.”
“Well, I need a coffee. Didn’t get a wink of sleep today.” As Lorna prattled on about her selfish husband and two noisy kids, Nora’s attention wandered back to Archie.
His stint in the centre was nothing more than a mandated step in the process to committing him to permanent ongoing care. Somewhere far away from here, Nora thought. Then, when did I become such a nasty cow? She knew exactly when, the day that creep show rolled in. It wasn’t like her to think about one of her patients in that way. She’d been nursing for almost thirty years and in that time she’d dealt with some real slugs. But in Nora’s experience, most of the abusive or demanding behaviour could be put down to one of four things: pain, fear, substance abuse or mental illness. She wanted to believe Archie fell into the final category, but that didn’t quite explain the man lying in the room three doors down from where she sat.
Archie was most likely mentally ill, of that Nora felt quite sure. The resident psych visited him often enough so there had to be something. But madness didn’t quite gel. She was no psych, but she’d been around enough mentally ill patients to know the signs and in her opinion, Archie didn’t fit the bill. He was a different kettle of fish from anyone she’d nursed. Maybe that’s why he scares me. Or maybe I’m too old for this place?
She’d been thinking a lot lately about her friend Angie. She made the move from general nursing two years ago and now worked in a nursing home in Subiaco. According to Angie, she’d never been happier. The work was dull compared to being in a large public hospital and the patients never got any better, but maybe dull was what Nora needed as she approached her fiftieth birthday.
“They’re all yours.” Lance Borrows shrugged into his jacket. “I’m off.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her thoughts had been so focused on Archie, she barely noticed the comings and goings. “Err, Lance.” She paused not sure how to ask the question. “Did everything go alright today?”
Lance had only been nursing for three years and still viewed every patient with an intense optimism that Nora barely remembered. “Yeah.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders, moving them up and down in a jerky shift. “Doctor Jones was a bit shitty because we were two nurses short and he had to help reinsert a catheter.” He pushed his bike helmet down on his shiny, bald head and clipped the straps under his chin. “Not much else going on. Except…” He paused and looked around then lowered his voice. “I heard Lisa’s husband walked out on her. Poor girl.” He grimaced exposing a row of slightly crocked teeth. “Don’t say anything to her though, she doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“No. No. I won’t. Hmm, that’s a shame.” Nora nodded. “I meant did everything go alright with,” she paused and jerked her head towards the rooms. “Him?”
“Oh.” Lance stretched out the word. “You mean our little friend in 81.”
Nora nodded again, this time with more vigour. “Yes. Him.” Getting Lance to the point bordered on painful. She began to wish she’d never asked. Not to mention the real risk that he’d now tell everyone that Nora kept asking about Archie. She was about to tell the young ward nurse to forget what she asked when he said something that sent shiver down her spine.
“He asked about you.”
“What’d he say?” She heard the alarm in her voice and immediately moderated her tone. “I mean what did he ask?”
Lance chuckled. “He asked me where you lived.”
Nora could feel her stomach curling in on itself. “What did you tell him?” She tried to keep her tone light, but the words came out too fast.
Lance held up both his hands motioning her to settle down. “Don’t worry, I don’t know where you live and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell him. Besides,” Lance said zipping up his hi-vis jacket. “It’s not like he can get up and visit you.”
No, Lance was right. With the catastrophic brain injury Archie had sustained, he’d probably never walk again. And if he did improve, the police were waiting in the wings to have him transferred into custody. Still, the thought of him lying in his bed thinking about her, made her insides feel squirmy as if she’d eaten something bad.
“Yes, I know.” She forced a smile that she hoped looked more convincing than it felt. “Take care on that bike of yours.”
Lance gave her a wave and headed for the exit.
Nora pushed her chair away from the desk. She could leave Archie until last or check on him now and get it over with. He’s just a kid, she told herself and pulled her shirt down over her hips.
The curtains stood open. The glass, like a black mirror, reflected Nora’s slim frame as she entered the room. A low murmur came from the television over the bed. For a moment, she thought Archie might be asleep and the chance to slip out and come back later presented itself. Nora held the door and took a shuffling backwards step when she noticed his eyes were open.
“Hey Blondie,” his voice, like a phlegmy wheeze, stopped her in her tracks.
“Evening, Archie.” Nora moved to the window and pulled the curtains. She could feel his gaze crawling over her backside like a slimy worm. “How’re you feeling?” She kept her tone cheerful and made a show of checking her watch.
“I’m chugging along. Feeling better now my favourite nurse is here.”
When she let her eyes meet his, he smiled. At least that’s what he seemed to be doing. One side of his mouth curved upwards while the other dragged down giving him the look of a half-frozen clown.
Nora felt a quiver of revulsion tickle her throat. I’m over sensitive, that’s what my dad always said. A little bit fey, like your Irish grandmother, that had been another of his favourite sayings. She gave the man in the bed a tight smile. “Do you need anything?” Please say no.
He drew in a wet breath. “I need to take a piss.” Although unable to walk, Archie still had plenty of feeling below the waist. He could move his left arm with enough dexterity to click the call button. His speech, though slushy, was clear enough to make himself understood.
“Right.” Nora reached up to the shelf above the bed and grabbed a plastic bottle.
She’d known this was coming. It was as if he waited for her each night saving up his urine. Probably holding it in listening for that moment when the door whispered open just so he could force her to touch him. He’s young enough to be my son, she reminded herself and pulled down the front of his pyjama pants.
The air in the room smelled stale with a hint of something sour. She kept her gaze averted while he filled the bottle. The liquid drill of Archie’s urine drowned out the low hum of the TV. After what seemed like an eternity, the steady stream dried up.
Nora stole a glance at his face and immediately wished she hadn’t. His right eye, paralysed by the trauma to his brain remained half closed while his left bulged unnaturally from its socket and roamed from her face to her breasts. The dark orb seemed to glitter with excitement.
Fighting the urge to flinch, Nora drew the bottle away. Her fingers brushed against the side of his penis which immediately squirted a spray of dark yellow urine over her wrist. “Urgh.” Nora gasped, a mix of horror and revulsion.
