Sticks and Stones (24 page)

Something acidic surged from her belly and Maddie rushed to the sink, bracing herself with a hand on either side. She retched, heaving herself forward, but all that emerged was a string of spittle which dangled over the sink as she gasped for breath. Head throbbing, she lowered her head against one arm and closed her eyes. Six years of independence, six years of growth, six years of
empowerment
, and she had learnt nothing. From the moment he had made contact again, Jake had been calling the shots. And, just like any good foot soldier, she had immediately fallen into position one step behind. Always one step behind.

Maddie groaned, and the sound came out with a self-accusatory edge that made her feel even worse. Deserving of all that came her way. She pinched off the spittle and let it drop soundlessly into the sink. Then she lifted her head and stared at the reflection in the window. She looked like a far older, swollen version of herself. With eyes like gunshot wounds.
Staring into the barrel until everything became blurred. And seconds before the trigger clicked she saw, with her mind's eye, the flash along the muzzle and then, almost immediately, the neat round hole between her eyes. Black, and deep, with tiny wisps of smoke lacing the edges. And then the trigger really did click, an abruptly dead sound that held no echo except within his laugh. No muzzle flash, no bullet wound. No death.

Maddie closed her eyes, shutting out both recollection and reflection. Now she existed purely inside her headache, the throb echoing through the membrane of her eyelids. She knew she couldn't keep this up, that at some stage she had to pull herself together. Not just in order to confront Jake with any hope of success, but for the sake of her own self-respect. Despite knowing that, and even thinking it through, she made herself a cup of coffee and then went back to bed.

Mattie? Are you there? Pick up if you're there. Mattie? Look, I was thinking that maybe it'd be a good idea if you came down here after work today. You can stay the night. I think it's really important that you not spend too much time alone. And then we can talk about what to do next. Diana said we can apply to vary the orders so we need to discuss that for starters. Ring me.

This is Badgerton Mowers. Yeah, there's a bit of a delay with your Victa as the component we need has to come from Adelaide. 'Bout a week, give or take. But I'll call you when it's ready.

Maddie? It's Carol here. From work. Um, we were expecting you back yesterday? But maybe I got it wrong. Can you give me a ring when you've got a minute? Hope everything's okay.

Letting you know that the kids may not be able to come this weekend after all. Such a shame but they're both feeling unwell so it'd be best if they rest up at home. Hopefully they get better in time but you never know. Oh, and just in case there's any confusion, by home I mean here.

Um, hello this is Georgia, is Ashley still at her dad's? Can she please give me a ring? I just wanted to know if she did that project for Mrs Edgell that's all. Um, cool.

Hello Mrs McCourt, this is Badgerton Real Estate. Ah, the owners of your rental have contacted us about the grass. Apparently it's rather long and they were a little concerned, what with the fire season approaching. Is there a problem? I'll try you again next week.

Hi Maddie, it's Kim again. I meant to say this morning that Ryan's at his dad's all weekend, so if you want any company, I'm totally free. Just ring me.

Mum? Mum, are you there? . . . She's not there . . .

FIFTEEN

‘T
o be honest, I didn't think we were going to see you again,' said Jenny cheerfully, leading the way down the passage.

Maddie followed, rather reluctantly. Still feeling quite ill, she had sat in the car for a good ten minutes, wanting to go home again so much that it just added to the nausea. But also knowing that she had to do
something.
And while this might not count for much of a step, at least it had direction. Perhaps that was all she was capable of just now. What she
wasn't
capable of was missing another call from her children because she was in bed sodden with alcohol and misery.

‘Yes,' Jenny continued as they entered her salmon-pink lounge room, ‘when you didn't come last week, we just thought it wasn't what you wanted.'

‘Or that you'd gone back to him,' added Lyn from the couch. She smiled apologetically. ‘Don't take that the wrong way. I'm not having a go at you, but it happened with two women in our first group. They both went back.'

For some reason an old image of Jake popped into Maddie's head, one that she hadn't seen for years. He was sitting on their patio, one hand pressed against the bricks as he tipped his chair back and attempted to balance a wineglass on his flat stomach. White teeth flashing as he laughed.
Such a shame that you won't be able to see them. But it's for the best, I'm sure you agree.
Maddie shook her head emphatically. ‘Not a chance.'

Fiona nodded slowly, as if observing something familiar.

‘Well, it's good to see you back anyway.' Jenny waved Maddie towards an armchair. ‘Now, we only just got started so you haven't missed anything. Coffee wasn't it? White and one?'

‘Thanks.' Maddie sank into the armchair and dropped her handbag by her side. There was a new pastel abstract opposite, behind the couch, its gilt frame slightly crooked against the wall. She dragged her eyes away and then licked her lips, glancing from Lyn to Fiona and back again. ‘Um, how are you both?'

‘Good thanks,' replied Lyn, shifting herself on the couch. She was wearing a large floral smock over a pair of black leggings. Once again she made an odd companion for Fiona, who epitomised smart casual in crisp trousers and a thin cream jumper with three-quarter sleeves. Jenny, with her blue-black hair and flowing, slightly hippie-ish clothing was like the missing link.

‘Have you been ill?' asked Fiona suddenly in her husky voice.

‘Pardon?'

‘You look a bit pale. Tired.'

Maddie stared at the other woman. ‘No, I'm fine thanks.' She gave a laugh. ‘Probably just age. Catching up with me at last.'

‘Yes, you're
so
over the hill,' said Jenny, coming back in with a tray. She put it down on the coffee table and passed a teacup to Fiona and mugs to Lyn and Maddie. She offered around a plate of chocolate wafer biscuits and then finally settled herself in the other armchair, smiling around the room. ‘Okay then, everyone happy?'

‘You tell me.' Fiona flicked her gaze away from Maddie to give Jenny a slow smile. ‘How was the second date?'

Jenny flushed, then put one hand up to her cheek. ‘God, I feel like I'm in high school.'

‘That good, hey?' Lyn sat forward.

‘Let's just say . . . yes.' Jenny slapped her cheek lightly as if that would dissuade the extra colour. ‘And leave it at that for now. I don't want to jinx it,' she grinned, that in itself speaking volumes. ‘And now for a change of subject. Fiona, how're the wedding preparations going?'

Fiona rolled her eyes, leaning back on the couch. ‘Lord save me! What a nightmare. I feel so sorry for poor Sara. Trying to keep everyone happy and stuck in the middle.'

‘She should just elope,' said Lyn. ‘Bugger everyone else.'

‘I actually suggested that. Not the buggering part, mind you. But she's got this image of her father walking her down the aisle. It's amazing how modern, liberated girls hang on to all those old-fashioned traditions.'

Jenny looked pensive. ‘Yes, but I can see where she's coming from. I mean, I remember my own dad walking me down the aisle. It was a really special moment.'

‘But I'm betting your dad hadn't spent the past twenty years being a total arsehole,' said Lyn, rather snappishly for her.

Fiona smiled. ‘Succinctly put. And I must admit I hate the thought of him
giving
her away. It's all so patriarchal. And so
him
.'

‘But it's
her
wedding,' commented Jenny mildly.

‘Yes. Quite right.'

Maddie wanted to say something, add to the discussion, but it all moved too quickly. Too fluid, with an ebb and flow that had built up over the years. She felt awkward, sipping coffee just to have something to do. Staring at the abstract, its crookedness at odds with the lines within.

‘Oh, and I've got something good for today,' said Lyn suddenly, proudly. ‘Compliments of Oprah.'

‘Oprah Winfrey?' Jenny frowned. ‘I thought she was all for raising community awareness, empowerment for victims, that sort of thing.'

Lyn was already nodding. ‘She is. This isn't about that, it's about forgiveness. And really it's more because I'd like to get your take on it. I think I know how
I
feel, but then I started wondering if maybe I'm in the minority.'

Fiona moved sideways slightly so that she could face Lyn. ‘Shoot.'

‘Well, I was just walking past the TV the other day and Oprah happened to be on, this segment about forgiveness. Like I said. Anyway, she had all these guests who'd been through trauma of some sort. Horrible stuff. And they'd all forgiven the perpetrators. And she had some psychologist guy on as well, who said the same thing. That they
had
to forgive otherwise they'd always be stuck in the past.'

Maddie snorted, and then immediately flushed. ‘Sorry! That just came out.'

‘Don't apologise.' Fiona was grinning, her amusement clearly tinged with approval. ‘I couldn't have put it better myself.'

‘That's what I thought!' Lyn breathed out noisily, as if she had been holding it in since the show. ‘I was sitting there all gobsmacked. I mean, why the hell should
I
forgive him? Why's the pressure all on me again?'

Fiona nodded. ‘And there's another angle to this as well because there's usually a cycle of violence in most cases. Where you have the abuse, then this honeymoon period with flowers and forgiveness and what have you. Then after that the build-up begins all over again. So isn't forgiving just buying into all that? Again?'

A huge colourful arrangement of burnt-orange and egg-yolk blooms that clashed badly with the lounge room drapes. She put them in the laundry, on top of the washing machine, and closed the door so that she wouldn't have to see them or smell them. There was something about the particular aroma of flower arrangements, perhaps from the little foam inserts as they aged, that she found unbearably depressing.

Maddie closed her eyes and imagined shredding the flowers, pulling them apart bloom by bloom, crushing them. Pallid plant juice dribbling down her fingers. She opened her eyes quickly, wiping her hands against her pants.

‘But then I started thinking that maybe this,' Lyn waved around the room, taking each of them in, ‘maybe me still wanting to come here means I'm stuck in the past. So that they're actually right.'

‘Let me ask you this.' Fiona gazed at her for a moment, letting her words hang. ‘If you forgave him, and I mean made a
conscious
decision to forgive him, do you think you wouldn't need this sort of support? That you'd be able to move forward without it?'

Lyn took a deep breath. Finally she shook her head. ‘No. It's two different things. Even if I did forgive him, and I don't really see how, then I'd still need some ongoing support because of what went on before. Forgiveness isn't going to erase that, or cure my insomnia, or my PTSD, or get rid of the bloody headaches.'

‘Unless they're psychological maybe?' said Jenny, speaking up for the first time in a while.

‘Nah, they're from neck damage. From being throttled. Forgiveness won't help there.'

‘Nietzsche once said that forgiveness is just sublimated resentment.' Fiona spoke in such a low voice it was almost gravel, and then looked up with a wry smile. ‘Which means that it eats at you. And that those who forgive too easily simply don't set a very high value on themselves.'

Maddie jumped in eagerly. ‘Anyway, how can you forgive someone who doesn't show any remorse? Is that even
possible
?'

‘I forgave Deiter,' said Jenny suddenly. ‘Once.'

Lyn stared across at her, clearly surprised. ‘But you never
sound
like you have.'

Jenny smiled ruefully. ‘No, that's because I wasn't very good at it. This was a long time ago, when I was still with the church and for guidance they gave me that whole “to err is human, to forgive divine” spiel. So in the end I wrote him this long letter, where I made this grandiose forgiveness gesture. Spent ages composing it. Let him off the hook to go start again; mainly for my own sake I admit, because I
so
wanted a new life. And after I posted it I expected this sort of wonderfully spiritual release, but I just felt . . . sick.'

‘Did he get the letter?' asked Lyn, fascinated.

‘Don't know,' Jenny shrugged, rather sadly. ‘But it was never really about him anyway.'

‘And maybe that's the thing.' Fiona straightened herself again. ‘It works for some people down the track because it
is
a sort of release, but for others it's actually detrimental. Instead of being told to forgive, somebody should be validating their anger. Telling them it's okay to be resentful, they've got a
right
to be resentful. Or maybe even those that do forgive don't really
forgive
. How can you?'

‘You can't,' said Lyn firmly, as if she had just then made the decision.

Fiona nodded slowly, still thinking. ‘Besides, the whole thing is built on a premise that you can't move forward without it, which isn't really true. Peter doesn't even factor into my life nowadays. The
repercussions
of what he did will always be with me – but him?' She shook her head. ‘He's a nonentity. I'll talk to him at this wedding next year, probably even sit at the same table, but forgive him? Not a chance. And I think you can just as easily make a decision that something simply isn't forgivable, and then put it to one side and go on with your life.'