Marissa paced small nervous circles around the lounge room while Frank made a big deal of boiling the kettle and clattering cups and saucers in the kitchen. Why had she done this? Why was she here? She held a hand out in front of her and was amazed to see that it was absolutely still, for she felt as though every part of her were trembling. Staring at the closed front door she momentarily contemplated slipping quietly out and away into the night.
Frank masked his own discomfort by searching for herbal tea. ‘I’ve got green or chamomile,’ he called, ‘both, amazingly, still within their use-by date.’
‘Chamomile, please,’ she said, overcoming that sudden urge to flee. But what next? ‘Can we talk?’ she’d said, but talk about what? About the fact that his message had touched a nerve so raw it sent her crazy? Can we talk? A line from a soap opera, the line before the commercial break that made sure you wouldn’t change channels. Can we talk? Not an invitation to a chat about the cricket or the weather, but a question charged with meaning: about us, about what happened, about why I’m a nut case, about why I treated you like shit, about why this could never work.
‘There you are,’ Frank said, ‘you probably need to leave the tea bag in for a bit.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking it from him. ‘Are you drinking coffee at this time of night?’
He nodded, switching on a couple of table lamps and turning off the harsh central light. ‘I need it, and it’s things other than caffeine that keep me awake. Sit down, Marissa.’
She sat awkwardly at one end of the sofa and they looked at each other in silence; a silence charged with embarrassment and anxiety.
‘This is a nice place,’ she said. ‘First time I’ve been here.’
He managed a smile but his face looked crushed. It was a look she’d seen only once before, at the hospital, when she’d told him to leave.
‘I want to apologise for the way I treated you at –’ she began.
‘No apology necessary,’ he cut in. ‘My fault, I was way out of line and –’
‘And about what I did –’
‘Marissa –’
She held up her hand. ‘You have to let me say some things without interrupting.’
He nodded and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ‘Sorry, go on.’
‘I said I wasn’t grateful to you; well, that’s not true. I just couldn’t say so at the time.’ She paused and dropped her head, closing her eyes and then inhaling deeply. ‘You and I . . . I felt we understood each other. I thought I understood about Vietnam, about how it must have been for you. After all, I’ve read about it, the things you’d have been through, the things you saw and probably still see. I suppose I felt I understood but, of course, I don’t. I can’t. Only someone who’s been there can know what it was like then and how it affects you now, and only you know what triggers it for you. Am I right?’
‘Exactly right.’
‘But it’s different for you. You see, I felt you understood that I . . . well, that I was also haunted by something, and I lost sight of the fact that while you recognised trauma you had no idea what my demons were, while I could tread carefully around areas that would obviously be hard for you. You had absolutely no signposts. Anything you said, anything you did, had the potential to blow up in your face.’
Frank nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘That’s right, that’s how it felt. I was being so careful and then . . .’ His voice trailed away.
‘And then you left your message. Just once, you stopped walking on eggshells and it did blow up in your face.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Marissa, I’m so sorry . . . I didn’t want . . .’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, please don’t apologise.’ Her hands were shaking now, very obviously shaking, and her teeth were starting to chatter just like they had that night. ‘Let me go on, I didn’t mean to tell you this now but . . .’
Frank got up to move towards her but she held up her hand. ‘Don’t! Please don’t touch me.’
He dropped back into his chair.
‘I told you I was worried about going to Port Hedland. I was on a tightrope, and part of me thought going back there might settle something. I needed to make something happen to either get to the end of the tightrope or fall off. So I went back to the house where I . . . where we stayed, the people I was travelling with. I’d had this on-off thing with that guy I told you about.’
‘Blue?’
‘Yes. He was strange, a real macho bloke, and sex to him was like a way to constantly keep proving himself. He was young, younger than me, and perhaps that explains some of it, but he didn’t seem to have any sense of how anyone else might feel. And he was really only interested in me when he couldn’t pull anyone new. So I was over it, and waiting to get away, trying to make up my mind where to go next.’ She paused again; talking about it was making it hard to breathe.
‘Are you sure you want to go on?’ Frank asked.
‘Then there was a party,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘A lot of people around, people from the pub, the backpackers’ hostel, from god knows where else. Lots of booze, hash, LSD – probably other stuff too, I don’t know. Well, you can imagine how it was: music, noise, smoke, people groping each other . . . I’d had a few drinks more than usual and Blue rolled a joint. He had a lot of good quality hash, really strong. I couldn’t handle it, and I thought this roll-up was just leaf, but I think he’d souped it up. Anyway, you must know how it is, a few draws and everything begins to feel soft and floaty and . . . sort of safe, as though the world’s backed off to a safe distance. And then he started to get very affectionate, which was unlike him – he couldn’t really relate to women other than through sex. So I was in this dopey state and he was stroking my face, kissing me and then he said he’d had enough of the party.’
Her breath was coming in short bursts now, and she struggled to slow it down. Frank was looking at her but she could no longer look at him, and she stared down at the floor, twisting her hands together in an effort to stop them shaking.
‘So, he said, “I just want to be with you, Marissa. I love you, I really love you.” Any other time I think I would have laughed at him but the drink and the dope . . . it was all so seductive, and although I’d felt it was all over between us, in a way I was still connected to him because of how we’d met and what all that meant. We were out in the garden, everyone was out there drinking and dancing, it was a lovely warm night and I was really stoned and it suddenly all seemed quite romantic. Anyway, he said, “Let’s get away from the others and go to bed.” We went inside and were heading for the room he was sharing with a couple of other guys and then he said, “I’ll just get us a couple of beers, you go on in, I’ll be there in a minute.” So . . . so, I went into the bedroom and I didn’t put the light on, just pulled off my gear and got into bed. And then someone switched the lights on.
‘At first I didn’t realise what was happening, but then they were on me, dragging off the bedclothes, holding me down, one of them’s unzipping his fly and they’re cheering him, egging him on, and I started yelling, but the music was so loud. I tried to kick him off but they were holding my legs . . . and he . . . he . . . he . . . climbs on top of me and he’s yelling out, “Come on, line up, who’s next . . . ?”’ She stopped, unable to repeat the words.
‘And then the door opens and there’s Blue standing there in the doorway, and I think, thank god, thank god he’s going to stop them, and I yelled for Blue to help me, to stop them, but he just stood there watching . . . And then he climbed on the bed and hit me across the face and put his hand over my mouth and held me down . . . and . . . and they all . . . they all . . .’ The tears were pouring down her face now, and her throat was burning. ‘And Blue, him too . . .’ She was gasping for breath, she could feel them closing in on her again, feel the hands gripping her, holding her down, smell the sweat and the booze, feel Blue’s hand over her mouth, her teeth biting into his flesh and the salty taste of blood and sweat.
‘He set me up,’ she finally cried, ‘he told me he loved me, then set me up . . .’ Violent tremors racked her body, and she gulped for air and began to tear at her inner wrists with her nails, scoring red weals onto her skin.
Frank moved to sit beside her but she recoiled, drawing back into the corner of the sofa, turning her face away from him. He paused and waited before reaching out to put his hand on her shoulder.
‘It’s okay, Marissa,’ he said softly, ‘it’s okay. It’s over now, it’s over.’ He slid his arm very slowly around her shoulders and drew her to him, and then he was holding her, rocking her very gently.
‘He set me up,’ she said again. ‘He told me he loved me, he planned it all . . . he set me up and he . . . they . . . all of them raped me.’