Scared Yet? (3 page)

Kelly's hand moved gently up and down. ‘I don't know but it will. You just have to hang in there.'

She was so damn sick of hanging in. ‘Yeah, I know.'

Kelly found her a toothbrush and Jason waited in their front sitting room to help her slide awkwardly between the sheets with her sling.

‘Let me know if you need anything,' he said from the hall doorway.

‘Thanks, Pops.'

‘Mr Weeks to you, young lady.' She'd never seen him in his classroom but when he used that voice, she could imagine it –
To Sir, With Love
meets Principal Skinner. He flicked the light off and stood silhouetted by the glow from the hallway.

‘Thanks for coming to get me tonight. I'll have to start paying rent soon.' She hadn't ever slept on their sofa until the night Thomas left. Cameron had stayed on a mattress in their daughters' room and Kelly had curled up beside her while she'd stared at the ceiling wondering what the hell had gone wrong. There'd been too many other nights since then – when she'd drunk too much to drive, when Cameron was with his father and Liv couldn't stand being on her own.

‘You could just move in,' Jason said.

‘There's an idea.'

‘Hmm.' With the light at his back, Liv couldn't see his face. She hoped he was smiling.

She listened as Kelly and Jason moved about at the other end of the house. They murmured to each other as they opened and closed doors and drawers, as the hall light went out, as their bedroom went from bright to subdued. A moment later, the house was enveloped in blackness.

Liv hadn't been frightened of the dark as a kid. Her dad had been big and strong enough that there was no need to be afraid when he turned off the lights. He'd made sure she knew how to defend herself, so when she was all grown up, when she'd inherited his height and build, she'd never felt more than a little creeped out by darkness.

Until now.

A scrabbling, panicking sensation rushed up her spine. She opened her eyes wide as the moment from the car park replayed in her head. Not the whole thing – just the movement in the window, the hand, the arm, the voice in her ear.

You're mine, slut.

No, she wasn't. She was fine. It was over.

5

Kelly stood at the hallway door, wrapped in a cotton robe, long hair in a slightly damp topknot, a hand cupped to her cheek. ‘Oh wow.'

Liv copied her pose. ‘It feels huge.'

‘It
is
huge.' Kelly aimed her next words down the corridor. ‘Get a move on, girls. You're not even dressed yet.' She waited while little feet scrambled on the timber floor then made a face at the cartoons playing on the flat screen opposite the sofa bed. ‘Sorry if they woke you. They're not supposed to watch TV before school.'

‘They didn't put it on. I couldn't sleep.' Liv had flicked it on in the early hours to try to break the cycle of nightmares that had kept circling in her brain – the movement, hand, arm, voice.

‘How are you feeling?'

‘Like someone put me through a tumble dryer during the night.'

Kelly sat on the edge of the sofa bed, the familiar floral fragrance of her soap and deodorant drifting around both
of them. ‘I've got some work I can do here. Why don't you sleep a while longer and I can drop you home on my way into the office later?'

‘I don't want to go to the townhouse.'

‘Then stay here today. You'll have the house to yourself. I can manage the office.' She smiled gently.

Liv didn't like how close it came to pity. And she didn't want to sit around with that moment from the car park on a continuous loop in her head. She needed to do something and it wasn't fair to leave Kelly to deal with everything at the office. Not when the problems they had were Liv's fault. ‘I want to go into work. I'll feel better if I can be useful. Can you lend me some clothes?' She sat up and winced at the throbbing in her cheek.

‘There's no hurry. It can wait a couple of hours. You should try to take it easy.'

Liv rolled her head from side to side, testing her neck. ‘It's mostly swelling. I'll take some painkillers. It'll be fine.'

Kelly looked doubtful. ‘Well, see how you feel once you're up and around.'

When she was gone, Liv stood – and waited. Okay, no spinning head, no tears and the off-kilter feeling from last night had disappeared. Mostly. She'd be fine.

She heard Jason talking to the girls in the kitchen as she made her way to the bathroom, kept her eyes down until she was standing in front of the mirror. She knew it would be black and swollen and ugly, so she took a breath in preparation. It didn't stop the ripple of shock.

Her eye looked like one of Kelly's girls had found a black felt-tipped pen and drawn a pirate patch. The swelling in
the lid wasn't too bad but the internal bleeding had spread far and wide across the temple and cheek, causing a hard lump of blue-green bruising down one side of her face.

Someone did that to her, she thought. A man had pummelled her face with his fists.

She slipped her right hand from its sling, flexed her palm, her wrist, her whole arm. Her muscles were sore but it was only her finger that was damaged.

She'd broken it hitting
him
.

For a year, she'd done nothing but accept what was thrown at her. Striking back had hurt but it felt good. Damn good.

She studied the crazy colouring again, the lopsided bulging of her face, the bloodied cut on her lip. What do
you
look like this morning, you bastard?

Under the shower she took a cautious inventory of her body. She had strained muscles all over and the scratching and bruises were worst on her shins. On her upper thigh and hip there were large, tender green patches, maybe where she'd hit the car and the concrete, and on the insides of her upper arms there were matching rows of small, dark circles.

By the time she walked into the kitchen wearing a pair of Jason's jeans, Kelly's shirt and with her hair still damp on her shoulders, her hand and face were throbbing. She needed painkillers and strong coffee, in that order.

‘Good grief.' Jason stopped halfway through making a ham sandwich.

‘A little powder, a touch of blush, no one will notice a thing,' Liv said.

‘I don't think you can buy that much make-up.' He was a teacher at his daughters' school and was wearing nice trousers, a collared T-shirt and sport shoes – ready to greet parents or run across a playground.

‘I got some make-up for my birthday,' ten-year-old Bess said.

She was sitting next to her seven-year-old sister Emma and the sight of them side by side in their blue-checked school dresses gave Liv a hit of nostalgia. She and Kelly had worn the same uniform and Liv had spent plenty of nights sleeping on Kelly's bedroom floor followed by breakfast in the Burke kitchen. ‘It's mini-Kell and mini-Liv this morning.'

Kelly was dressed for work now – lemon blouse, black skirt, ankle-strap pumps, her thick, wavy hair twisted into a silver clip – and tossing cubes of beef into a slow cooker on the other side of the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder, joined Liv in a quick, silent laugh then switched to pursed lips. ‘Except we ate our cereal instead of playing with it, didn't we, Aunty Liv?'

‘Oh, I always ate mine.'

‘But you're not sisters.' Emma pointed back and forth between her mother and Liv with a spoon.

‘And I'm older than Emma.' Bess sat taller, as though that proved it.

‘We used to pretend we were sisters,' Kelly told them. Although, with her Black Irish dark hair and green eyes and Liv's generations-old Scandinavian heritage, no one ever believed them. ‘And Aunty Liv was ridiculously tall.'

‘That's because I always ate my breakfast.'

‘Didn't Mum eat hers?' Bess asked in a tone that suggested she'd found an escape clause.

‘Well, she did but she was a runt and breakfast didn't help much.'

‘She's still a runt and you're still ridiculously tall, so nothing much has changed really,' Jason chipped in.

He got disparaging expressions from two sides of the kitchen. He was right, though, except back then they used to wonder what they'd be like when they were grown up. Beaten up and alone had never crossed Liv's mind.

‘Can your face be my class news today, Aunty Liv?' Emma asked.

‘I'm sure you can think of something much nicer to tell your class. What about your dad's ham sandwich? It looks great.'

‘Don't be silly, Aunty Liv. Sandwiches aren't news,' Bess explained wisely.

‘Then what about that funny thing on your face?' Liv said to Emma. ‘Oh, it's your nose.'

Emma giggled.

‘Tell them about your nose,' Bess sang.

‘I'll tell them about
your
nose,' Emma sang back.

Their laughter made Liv wish Cameron was here. Being in this house reminded her of hanging out at Kelly's as a kid. There were seven in the Burke family – two boys, three girls and her parents. It had seemed like a small village compared to the flat she'd shared with her father. Liv had loved it and years later had built a house big enough for a village just like it. But a second baby had never happened then Thomas left and that was that. Noisy, laughing, dream family gone.

She ruffled Bess's hair, kissed the top of Emma's head and eyed the phone on the kitchen wall. Should she tell Cameron about the assault? Was there anything positive to be gained from explaining to an eight-year-old that his mother had been bashed? He'd see the results eventually but he was with Thomas until next Monday and he'd had enough to upset him in the last year.

Liv tipped her head back on the seat bolster as Kelly backed out of the driveway and hit speed dial for the office on the hands-free before they were in forward motion.

‘Prescott and Weeks Temp Staffing. This is Teagan.'

Liv and Kelly had been Prescott and Weeks Temp Staffing for five years. It was the only part of Liv's life that was still in place after the past twelve months and she was working hard to make sure it stayed that way. It was the reason she'd left late last night. Seventeen-year-old Teagan was Kelly's niece and had replaced their previous office junior three months ago.

‘Yep . . . Uh-huh . . . Mmm,' she responded while Kelly talked her through the reorganising of their day.

‘Any messages?' Kelly finally asked.

‘A stack of people have rung to ask about Liv,' Teagan said.

Liv lifted her head. People knew already? ‘What are you telling them?'

‘Just what Kelly told me to say this morning. That you're okay, thanks for calling and someone will get back to them later.'

Liv raised her eyebrows at Kelly, impressed with her planning. ‘Great. Keep doing that.'

‘And a detective rang. She wants Liv to call her,' Teagan said.

Liv found pen and paper in the centre console of Kelly's car but quickly gave up trying to write with taped fingers. ‘I'll remember it. Detective Rachel Quest. If she rings again, tell her I'm on my way to see her.'

Kelly disconnected. ‘Maybe they've got him.'

‘Wouldn't that be great? Then I can wipe the night off as a glitch in the system.' Not another test of her resilience.

‘Hey, listen.' Kelly turned the volume up on the radio.

‘
. . . thirty-five-year-old Newcastle woman was returning to her vehicle at a Jamestown car park at around seven-thirty pm when she was grabbed from behind. Police say she hit her attacker with car keys and screamed repeatedly before he ran off. She suffered a broken hand and severe facial bruising but police say her quick thinking probably saved her from more serious injuries. In other police news . . .
'

‘Wow, you sound really clever,' Kelly said.

Liv shuddered at the memory of the fleshy resistance under her hand as she'd slammed down. ‘Yeah, Lara Croft without the boobs.'

The police station was on the way to their office, off the main road and sharing the footpath with old-style weatherboard houses. As Kelly pulled up at the kerb, Liv
eyed the dark-brick building with memories of late nights at her father's side.

As a kid, before she was old enough to stay at home on her own, her father had taken her with him when he came here to collect boys from his gym. Some of them preferred to call him instead of their own parents, others didn't have parents. It had never been a happy occasion. Not that she blamed the police for that. Her father considered it a major offence to be hauled in by the cops, never let them off easy, gave them the lecture –
Hard work brought the only rewards that were worth anything.
He made them scrub toilets and run extra k's. Liv got the same treatment the one and only time she'd deserved it. She'd been caught shoplifting lip gloss, was marched to the police station then faced her father. She'd taken the punishment without complaint because, just like the boys, she'd wanted the tough man's approval.

‘Do you want me to come in with you?' Kelly asked.

‘I'll be okay and you're late enough already. I'll call a cab when I'm done.'

She stepped into glaring April sunlight and winced as her black eye tightened in a painful squint. Summer had stretched way beyond its use-by date this year but today the air felt as though autumn had cracked open the door and was letting a cool draught in.

A uniformed officer led Liv down a corridor to the back of the station. She picked Rachel Quest at first glance – she was the only other woman in the room. She was on the phone and, as Liv approached, lifted an index finger in acknowledgement then pointed to the chair beside her
desk, ignoring her for another minute while she talked at low volume. Liv glanced around as she waited. It wasn't any kind of high-tech, crime-fighting space. It looked like an engineering site office – big, messy room with big, messy desks. She guessed the detective was in her early thirties. The brusque, direct tone of her phone conversation suggested a straight-up attitude and the wisps of dark blonde hair curling over her ears that she hadn't bothered to have her layers trimmed in a while.

‘Sorry about that,' she said as she dropped the receiver in its cradle and held out her hand. ‘Detective Sergeant Rachel Quest.'

‘Livia Prescott.' Liv held up her taped fingers. ‘Sorry.'

‘Ah. Call me Rachel.' She propped her elbows on the armrests of her chair and made a brief, no-comment inspection of Liv's face.

Liv shifted self-consciously. ‘Have you arrested someone? Is that why you called?'

‘No. I wanted to notify you that after preliminary inquiries, your case has been passed onto the Detectives unit. I'll be leading the investigation and I'd like to spend some time going over the incident with you. Can we do that now?'

Rachel Quest had a measured way of speaking, as though she wanted to say it once and have no questions or misunderstandings. She'd skimmed the bad news but Liv hadn't missed it – the man in black hadn't been caught and the police were concerned enough to put bigger guns onto finding him. ‘Yes. The sooner, the better.'

‘So how are you this morning?' It seemed more of a request for information than concern.

‘Sore but getting on with things.'

‘The bruises on your face and the injury to your hand, are they the result of the attack?'

‘Yes.'

She opened a file, checked the top page. ‘The officer's report says your hand was injured when you tried to defend yourself.'

‘I punched him. I got in three good hits.'

The detective tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear as she did another quick once-over of Liv, this time taking in the gold chain at her throat, the French-polished nails, the Italian three-inch heels under Jason's jeans – and a little doubt crept into her no-comment expression.

‘My father owned Wallace's Boxing Gym for thirty years. I know how to throw a punch,' Liv told her.

Rachel smiled briefly. ‘My dad used to work out there. A lot of the cops used to back then.'

‘Dad liked the police hanging around, reckoned it kept the criminal count down.'