The Girl in the Yellow Vest (19 page)

Not the silent treatment again!

Her mother had certainly left her with one colossal mess to clean up. How many years had they spoken about the day they would tell her? How they would do it properly, sit her down and let her ask questions. Maybe have Luke there too. Zara was never meant to find out by accident. In fact, at one stage that had been her mother’s worst fear.

Charlotte angrily opened the Vegemite. The jar scraped loudly on the countertop before she dipped in her knife and then proceeded to mascara her slice of bread.

‘Lottie, is everything all right?’

‘Fine,’ Charlotte snapped, looking up to see Virginia watching her. Her mother’s eyes were round and bright, indicating she probably wasn’t in the present.

‘I hope that sandwich is not for me.’

She looked down at what now looked more like a piece of dough. ‘No, this is mine. What would you like?’

‘I want to know what’s bothering you.’

‘Nothing.’

She doubted her mother was thinking about the same thing she was. And if she didn’t remember what had happened with Zara the week before, she wasn’t going to burden her with it. The doctor had been very clear about not putting her under any sort of stress, as it could lead to aggressive behaviour.

She couldn’t help but wish that they’d concocted a better story to cover Zara’s father’s absence . . . like he was in Africa on safari – an environmentalist with a passion for the Earth. It had been her mother’s wish to embellish as little as possible so when the time came it would be easier. But at least a well-thought-out lie would have invited fewer questions . . . and less heartache.

Now her sister seemed even more unreachable than ever. She had barely spoken to her in days. She had no idea what she was thinking or feeling, except for the fact that she was bloody obsessed with Mark Crawford’s turkey, visiting it every afternoon after school and on the weekend at the Barnes Inc work site. She would make the trek up the road and stay there till it was almost dark.

She talks to that turkey more than she talks to you. This can’t go on.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to find her mother’s watery eyes gazing at her with some concern.

‘It’s about the baby, isn’t it? You don’t want me to have it?’

Charlotte swallowed. A yucky feeling slipped down her spine like pond slime on rock. They were back in the past again, only this time it was not far enough.

‘Do you think I don’t feel dirty? Like my own body has betrayed me?’

Charlotte chewed desperately on her lower lips. ‘Mum, please.’

‘I know it’s hard for you to understand. I’m forty-five. I never thought I would fall pregnant either and now it’s too late.’ Her eyes looked sad. ‘I’ve seen the ultrasound, Lottie. I heard its little heart beating.’

‘Mum,’ she choked up, ‘there’s no need to explain.’
Not again
.

‘Then what is it, Lottie? Are you worried about your brother?’ She shut her eyes. ‘I am too.’

Wow. How much did she
not
want to have this conversation again? Slowly, she put the bread back in the cupboard. ‘Mum, perhaps we can talk about about this later?’

‘I will tell him.’ Her mother looked away, determination and anxiety marking her face. ‘I’m just scared of what he’ll do.’

Well, she’d been right to be scared. Her brother had disappeared for days when he’d found out. They were worried that he’d gone on a manhunt because their dad’s rifle had been missing from his gun cabinet as well. Then one night, two weeks later, he’d returned home and passed out drunk on the front doorstep.

‘Actually, I’m afraid of everything.’ Her mother’s voice was small and childlike. ‘I’m terrified of the questions people will ask when they see I’m pregnant and I’m ashamed to answer them.’

Her mother had really retreated into herself after Zara was born. For ages she hadn’t been able to go into a supermarket even without feeling paranoid. It was why Charlotte had quit her job in Brisbane and come home to help raise Zara and run the business. As a young woman she had thought it would be a temporary thing. It was now fifteen years later and she was still here.

‘What do you think, Lottie?’ Her mother grasped her hand almost desperately. ‘Tell me what you are thinking?’

‘I think . . .’ she swallowed and blinked hard. ‘I think your favourite show on television is just starting.’

‘Is it?’

She led Virginia around the kitchen counter to the couch, gently pushing her onto the cushions. Grabbing the remote, she turned on the television.
Judge Judy
. It was indeed her mother’s favourite show. Thankfully, after a moment, Virginia was completely absorbed. Charlotte turned away, pressing the wetness in the corner of her eyes with thumb and forefinger.

She had crawled her way through that part of her life by her fingernails. As for Luke, he eventually calmed down and turned into a rock for them both. She didn’t know how they would have got through it without him.

It was Luke who had found their mother a therapist in Mackay when she wouldn’t talk to Charlotte about it. He who had taken Zara into his arms the day she was born and uttered the one thing they all needed to hear.

‘She’s beautiful, Mum. I love her already.’

He was a quiet pillar of strength and, but for him, she knew her mother would have lost all faith in men.

She’d always meant to return to Brisbane eventually – to go back to her career in psychology. But when the business started going downhill from neglect and then her mother developed Alzheimer’s eight years later, a good time never seemed to come. And now she had to wonder whether her career was over before it had really begun.

Her mind spun to the present as the door swung open and Zara walked in. She was home from school, lugging a big blue backpack, which she unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

‘Hi, love,’ Charlotte began tentatively. ‘How was your day?’

‘Fine.’

‘Learn anything interesting?’

‘Nup.’

‘Any gossip to share?’

Silence.

‘Zara?’

Her sister looked up, a kind of spacey expression on her face. ‘I’m getting changed,’ she announced. ‘I’m going to see Augustus.’

No surprises there.

As her sister left the room, she glanced at the couch. Her mother was still fully absorbed. She decided to put the kettle on: perhaps a cup of tea would wash off all this angst.

Just as it finished boiling, the back door opened again and Luke walked in. She’d never been happier to see anyone.

‘Luke!’ she cried, coming out of the kitchen to throw her arms around him.

‘Thought I’d better check on you,’ he said gruffly and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘How are you holding up, Lottie?’

‘I’ve been better, that’s for sure.’

‘I should come around more often.’

‘It’s all right.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to disrupt your family.’

‘You guys are my family too. How is Zara coping? Is she okay?’

She had told him over the phone what had happened with Zara the day Mark Crawford had adopted the turkey. She threw up her hands helplessly. ‘I have no idea. She won’t talk to me about it.’

He released her, running a hand through his dark messy hair. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Getting changed. She’s off to see that turkey again.’

‘And Mum?’

She indicated the couch. ‘Watching
Judge Judy
.’

He was silent for a moment, taking on that thoughtful look he always had when making a decision. ‘I’ll stay with Mum, Lottie. You go with Zara.’

‘To visit the turkey?’

‘It might help to open her up.’

‘Couldn’t hurt, I guess.’

Just then Zara came flouncing back into the room. ‘Luke?’

‘Hey, Freckle-face.’ He hugged her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Her tone was suspicious.

‘I came to see Mum.’ He turned away from her.

‘Oh.’ She was silent for a moment and then headed for the back door. ‘Okay, well, I’m off to visit my turkey. I might see you later.’

Charlotte followed her to the door. ‘I’ll come too.’

Zara spun to her. ‘No, I don’t need you.’

‘Okay.’ Charlotte tried not to let the hurt creep into her voice. ‘But I want to see how Augustus is healing up.’

‘Why?’

‘Aren’t I allowed to care?’

Finally, Zara shrugged and walked out the door. Charlotte glanced at Luke.

‘Good luck,’ he mouthed.

She nodded and went out.

At first, they walked in silence. They crossed the car park, passing several dirty white utes, before hitting the main road. They turned out onto the gravel verge and headed towards the Barnes Inc work site. For a moment, all Charlotte could hear was the scrape of their sneakers on stones. Thoughts bounced around in her head as she searched for an icebreaker. Surely, there was some innocuous way she could start the conversation.

And then Zara sucked in a shaky breath. ‘Did he . . .?’ Her voiced cracked. ‘Did he rape Mum?’

A muscle twitched in Charlotte’s jawline. For a moment she couldn’t answer her. The shock of hearing the question on Zara’s lips was far worse than imagining it. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘He did.’

‘Is that how she got pregnant with me?’

‘Yes,’ she said again. She wanted to say more, but there was a tightness in her throat that squeezed her voice box into silence and made her body seize up.

Zara burst into tears, both hands immediately covering her face. ‘No, no,’ she moaned. ‘I didn’t want you to say that.’

Charlotte felt wetness on her face and realised she was crying too. She put an arm across her sister’s shoulders, pulling her in tight. ‘I didn’t want to say it.’

Zara tried to shrug her arm off. ‘You must hate me.
I look like him
.’

Resolutely she held on tight to Zara, chewing heavily on her lower lip. ‘You do. And it was hard for Mum at first but she had therapy to deal with triggers that may remind her of the rape.’

‘Great,’ Zara hiccupped, ‘that just makes me feel sick.’

A fist squeezed Charlotte’s heart. ‘I’m sorry.’ She laid her head against her sister’s as they continued to walk. ‘But if you think looking at you makes me feel anything but love you’re wrong.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Because you’re you. You’re Zara. You’re my sister. You’re Mum’s daughter. That’s how
she
feels.’

‘What if I’m like him? What if I turn out like him? Did she consider that?’

‘Listen to me.’ Charlotte stopped walking to grab her by the shoulders. ‘You are nothing like him. You’ve always been such a special person. Even when you were a toddler you were warm, kind and giving. You couldn’t even let that stupid scrub turkey die! You inherited nothing from him but nose shape and hair texture.’

‘I’m scared, Lottie. I feel dirty and terrible for Mum. Just terrible.’

Before she’d succumbed to Alzheimer’s, her mother had said almost exactly the same thing to her once, except with reference to Zara. It only seemed to prove how much they loved each other.

‘Zara, you need to remember, none of this is your fault.’

An echidna stirred in the undergrowth; they momentarily took their eyes off each other to watch it roll in the dirt. Its elongated, slender snout brushed through patchy bits of grass hunting for food.

She took her sister’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘I want to know how it happened,’ Zara whispered.

Charlotte hadn’t spoken about the rape in years. She didn’t like to think about it and hadn’t asked her mother for a lot of detail. Even now she felt a lump forming in her throat.

‘Lottie?’

Sweat broke out on her upper lip. ‘I was in Brisbane at the time. She was at a pub in Mackay celebrating her birthday with friends. He was there, a friend of a friend so to speak. He bought her a drink. She was really flattered because he was a younger man and she hadn’t had any male attention since Dad died. They chatted for ages and most of her friends went home. They were sitting by the bar and she decided to have just one more drink before finishing up for the night and then . . . I don’t know. She says it’s all a blur. Her next coherent memory is waking up in a hotel room the following morning. He wasn’t there. She was naked from the waist down. She doesn’t remember anything. That’s the worst part.’

Her sister considered all this. And, bless her, was silent for a moment, seeming to act with a maturity beyond her years. ‘So she was drugged,’ she finally said.

‘We assume so,’ Charlotte responded. ‘Back then she didn’t have Alzheimer’s and she’d never lost her memory from alcohol like that before. But she didn’t get tested or anything.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When she woke up she just got dressed and went home.’

‘Why would she do that?’ Zara demanded. ‘Wasn’t she angry? Didn’t she want him to be caught?’

‘Actually she was ashamed.’ Charlotte grimaced.

‘But it wasn’t her fault.’

‘Unfortunately, that’s not how she felt. She didn’t want to go to the police and be examined and questioned. She just wanted to forget that she’d ever been so stupid. It is actually how a lot of rape victims feel. They partially blame themselves.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Zara said stubbornly.

Charlotte patted her arm. ‘I know it’s hard to see from where you’re standing. But try to put yourself in her shoes for a second.’

After her mother told her what had happened she’d gone back over some of her uni notes and read everything she could about rape victims. She had wanted to be across it all, to help her see why her mother’s spirit was deteriorating before her very eyes. Her mother had always been such a strong woman. When her father had died, she had run the resort on her own for nearly three years before this happened. Charlotte just hadn’t been able to understand how such a strong will could lose its way so fast.

‘Did she eventually report him?’ Zara asked at last.

‘Yes. But not for at least a couple of weeks. They didn’t catch him based on her statement and description. He’d paid for the hotel room with cash and there weren’t any CCT cameras in the pub she was at. He was a professional. He’d thought of everything. That newspaper clipping you saw came out a couple of years later when he resurfaced in Melbourne. Mum actually had nothing to do with him being put away. It was some other victims who brought him to justice.’