The Fifth Letter, page 19
Joni also never knew, though, that on a warm Saturday in March of 1997, as she was sitting cross-legged on top of her purple-and-white-striped quilt, in the middle of her bed, listening to her Spiderbait CD and hunching over a long letter to Eden, in which she was explaining in great detail just how annoying Mr. Lawson was being in science lately, especially now that she didn’t have Eden sitting next to her, keeping her sane, Eden was 1,300 kilometers away in Adelaide, feeling self-conscious in her pale pink, spaghetti-strap dress as she followed her parents through the front door of a sleek, contemporary home with an oversized foyer and cavernous ceilings.
Eden had wanted to wear jeans and a T-shirt, but her mum had insisted she dress up for the occasion. She had her mini candy-striped backpack slung over one shoulder. Her Velcro Billabong wallet, some Impulse deodorant spray, and her brand-new Olympus camera were inside.
Dinner at her dad’s new boss’s house. This boss was apparently the reason that they’d had to pack up their life in Sydney and move to Adelaide for half a year. He liked Dad’s work on the something-or-other job and he needed his help with a similar something-else-or-other job. Eden knew very little about what her dad did. She just knew it all came down to her having to leave her school and her friends behind for six long months.
When she first spotted Clarke, her stomach actually did a small flip. His good looks were nothing short of extraordinary. One of those boys who was tall and well built with great cheekbones and a neat short-back-and-sides haircut. Not to mention the piercing blue eyes. He was older and he gave her a great, big welcoming smile that made her melt inside. The crush was instantaneous. She was already imagining what it would be like to touch his hand, to brush her lips against his fingers. Her designs on Clarke didn’t extend much further than that. She hadn’t really had much experience with boys back in Sydney before this. Just a short-lived “relationship” with a boy named Jared. She wasn’t even sure if you could call what happened between her and Jared her first kiss. A clumsy pressing of their lips together that resulted in her cheeks glowing bright red in embarrassment.
It was supposed to be an innocent game of table tennis. Clarke offered to show her around the house so that they could “stay out of the way” of the adults. She found out that he was nineteen—already out of high school. But he didn’t act like he was annoyed at having to look after some “little girl,” as Eden might have expected (especially with her in this stupid damned dress her mum had made her wear). In fact, he treated her like she was his age. Rolled his eyes at her about how annoying were parents?! Made jokes that she didn’t get, but she pretended to laugh anyway. After showing her all the way around the house, they ended up in the downstairs games room, where he suggested a game of table tennis. She’d snapped a photo of him standing behind the table, grinning at her and holding out the two paddleboards, ready for her to grab one.
Eden was nervous. As she stashed the camera back into her bag, she wondered what would happen if she was absolutely terrible at table tennis. What if she couldn’t even return the ball back across the table and it turned into this horribly one-sided and pointless game and eventually they had to give up and concede that she was useless? Or what if she got this stupid look on her face when she hit the ball—maybe a slack-jawed grimace or a tongue poked out in concentration? How was she supposed to play against this model-like Adonis and not completely embarrass herself? As it was, she kept fumbling over her words—not that she’d said much, because what could she say that would possibly be cool enough to impress Clarke?
He said he just wanted to help her with her technique. When he moved around behind her and placed his arms around hers, her body convulsed with two simultaneous reactions: a shiver of delight, he was touching her! He liked her! This was her wildest dream come true! Sure, it was a wildest dream that she had only just conceived fifteen minutes prior when she’d met Clarke for the first time, but still—this was unbelievable! But then that second reaction: But his touch is too much. He’s all around me . . . and so sudden. I don’t know him, I just met him, he didn’t ask if this was okay, and now his hands are becoming firmer and his body is pressing up against me and I’m feeling . . . I’m feeling . . . suffocated!
At first Eden was frozen. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to disentangle herself from his touch? Would he be offended? What if she was overreacting? What if he laughed at her or said, “What the hell are you talking about, I was just trying to show you how to hit the ball!”
But the more he pushed his body up against her back, the more she knew this wasn’t a misunderstanding.
And so she tried to pull away. That’s when his arms wrapped around her even tighter and his mouth was on her neck, wet lips and hot breath—and all pretense of correcting her technique had vanished. His hands crept their way up her arms and then slipped around in front to clutch at her breasts and Eden quivered with fear.
“I don’t . . . I don’t want . . .” she tried to whisper.
“Shh,” was his response, not a gentle whisper but a harsh whoosh in her ear. “I know you want me. I saw the way you’ve been looking at me. You’ve got a little crush, haven’t you, Eden?”
“No!” Again Eden tried to pull away, but she was still trying to be polite. Still attempting to disentangle herself without offending.
“It’s okay,” said Clarke. “I won’t tell. Let’s just have some . . . fun.” And now he reached down to the hem of her dress and started to lift it, sliding the material up her thigh, his hand creeping around between her legs, and all the while still pushing, pushing against her with his entire heavy body.
“Stop,” she said, her shaking voice followed by a tiny sob. “Please, I don’t want to.”
“Yes, you do,” he insisted, his hands continuing to scrabble clumsily at her body.
And finally Eden stopped being polite. She jammed her elbow into his ribs, forcing him backward. It wasn’t enough to push his body completely clear of her own, but it was enough for her to get the leverage she needed to then spin around on the spot, place her hands on his chest, and push him away with everything she had.
They both stood still for a moment, the two of them breathing hard, Eden with her back against the table-tennis table and Clarke just two steps away from her, staring at her with this smirk on his face and a greedy look in his eyes. He made to lunge for her again and Eden tried to sidestep him. Her hip banged painfully against the corner edge of the table, slowing her down, and he caught hold of her arm and yanked her back toward him.
“Stop!” she tried again. But Clarke wasn’t used to being told no. He threw her down onto a couch behind them and then climbed straight on top of her, squeezing his thighs tight to hold her in place and holding on to her wrists to pin her arms at her sides.
“I’ll scream,” she whimpered. “I’ll scream for my parents.”
“If you scream, I’ll punch you so hard that you’ll pass out and then you won’t even know what I’m doing to you,” he replied.
“But I don’t want to,” she tried again, and now she was sobbing outright, the tears streaming down her cheeks, her chest heaving, her entire body shaking. The fight-or-flight instinct was kicking in, but right now she didn’t know how to do either, he had her entire body locked down underneath him.
He let go of one wrist in order to start tearing at her dress and her hand flew up to stop him, fighting him with everything she had, pushing, scratching, hitting. Suddenly he leaned right back away from her and there was just a flicker of relief—he was going to stop. He was going to listen to her. He was going to let her go—and then she saw his head flying toward her, his face about to crash into her own.
It was strange just how many thoughts could tumble through her mind in that split second before he head-butted her and knocked her out.
What’s happening?
What’s he doing?
Is he crazy? He’s going to crash right into me!
And then the realization.
He’s going to knock me out.
Then nothing but darkness and a blank mind.
When Eden woke, she was alone. She tried to sit up fast, but she got dizzy and fell back. Her hands reached for her clothing next and she was relieved to find that she was still fully dressed. Pink dress, bra, underpants—all in place.
Nothing had happened! He’d stopped. He’d decided to leave her alone. But then she shifted slightly as she tried once more to sit up and she felt a searing pain between her legs and she knew that she was wrong. He hadn’t let her be. He’d violated her body and then re-dressed her like she was a life-size doll.
There was a strange taste in her mouth—a taste she couldn’t seem to understand, but before she had the chance to examine it any further, she heard footsteps. She prepared to cower in fear from her attacker, but instead of seeing Clarke appear in the room, she saw her mother. Her mother who was now striding toward her, a furious expression of rage across her face.
She knew! Her mother knew what had happened to her. She had come to save her. Come to comfort her, to tell her it was all right, to make everything okay again.
Instead, though, within seconds, her mother was above her, glaring down at her. “Eden Elizabeth Chester. I cannot believe that you would do this! And here of all places, at your father’s boss’s house! I mean, we knew you were angry about moving to Adelaide, but I never thought you would do something like this!”
The fog in Eden’s brain from having been concussed was making it impossible for her to understand what her mother was saying to her. Why was she so mad? Surely she couldn’t blame Eden for what Clarke had done to her?
And then Eden’s mum reached down and picked up a bottle from the floor.
“Scotch?” she exclaimed. “And how much exactly did you drink?”
“Mum,” Eden pleaded, “please, what are you talking about?” The words came out thick and wobbly, as though her mouth was full of marbles, and her mum shook her head disapprovingly. “For God’s sake, Eden,” she said. “You’re drunk!”
“No, Mum, no! I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . I haven’t had anything to drink!”
“Oh please, Eden. I can smell it on your breath. Clarke already came and told me that you drank so much that you passed out. He said he hadn’t realized you were sneaking it, otherwise he would have stopped you sooner.”
Now Eden understood the strange taste in her mouth. “Mum! No. He must have poured some in my mouth!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why on earth would he do that when he was the one who came and told me what had happened? And he was nice enough to pull me aside so that both your father and his father don’t know about this. Heaven knows what Mr. Arlington would think if he knew you’d done this right here in his house. Come on; up. You’re going outside to get some fresh air and sober up and your father is never going to find out about this.”
Now Eden was crying again. Her head ached where Clarke’s head had smashed into hers and she didn’t know how to explain to her mother that she had it all completely wrong when everything looked so bad.
Her first mistake was waiting so long before she tried once again to convince her mother of the truth. Maybe if she’d pushed, maybe if she’d demanded that her parents take her straight to the police or to a doctor—maybe they could have seen the evidence, the truth, for themselves, like those damp, dark red-brown spots on her underpants that she discovered later that night. The underpants that she had immediately stuffed inside a plastic bag, tied up tight, and thrown straight in the bin so she would never have to look at them again.
Instead she let her mum drag her outside and deposit her on a white wooden swing around the side of the house, among the beautiful flowering hedges and neatly manicured garden beds. Eden was to sit there and stay out of sight until she felt sober.
Eden spent two hours on her own on that damn swing. Despite the warm sun, she was shivering uncontrollably. Any sound made her entire body jerk, her insides flip.
When they finally went back home, Eden got straight into the shower and scrubbed away all traces of Clarke, letting her endless tears mix in with the water. And then later, she finally tried yet again to explain to her mother the truth.
The problem was that Clarke had already taken Jan aside for his own little talk that afternoon. Apparently he’d explained that there had been a bit of a silly misunderstanding—an unfortunate “incident” downstairs in the games room.
“I’m so sorry, but I think your daughter has a little bit of a crush.”
“No, Mum, that’s not true. I mean, at first, I thought that he was cute and stuff, but that’s not what—”
“This is a bit embarrassing to be honest, but well . . . she tried to kiss me.”
“I didn’t! That didn’t happen, I never . . .”
“So of course I tried to let her down easy. I tried to explain that I was just too old for her. I think that’s when she started sneaking the scotch from behind the bar in the games room. And then she got angry and told me she was going to make up a story to get me into trouble.”
“No! I didn’t say that! I’m not making this up!”
“Look, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. But to be honest, I have a girlfriend—she’s at uni with me . . . so you can only imagine how it makes me feel to have her make up this awful story about me. And if my girlfriend ever heard it, well, she’s from a very prominent family. It just wouldn’t be good—these kinds of untrue accusations. Not good for me or for my family.”
“No, Mum! He started to touch me, he . . . he put his hands . . .”
“And perhaps I’m a bit to blame for the misunderstanding. I was trying to make sure she felt at home, trying to be friendly. I made the mistake of giving her a little bit of a hand with her table-tennis technique and I think the wires must have gotten a little crossed. She misinterpreted, you know what girls that age can be like.”
“That’s NOT true!”
It simply didn’t matter how many times Eden tried desperately to tell her mother what had happened down in that games room. Clarke was older. Clarke was charming. Clarke was Dad’s boss’s son. Clarke was polite and apologetic for the misunderstanding, and perhaps, worst of all, he forgave her for her apparent faux pas. When Eden tried to use the lump on her forehead as evidence, her mother told her that Clarke said she’d tripped and bumped her head after drinking too much. When Eden argued further, her mother said she’d been warned by other parents that Eden might try to act out in retaliation for being made to move away from her school and her friends.
And the worst part was not knowing whether Eden’s mum ever would have believed her, even if Clarke hadn’t had the chance to spin his story before Eden explained what had happened.
Maybe she never would have believed Eden’s words. Because maybe she simply didn’t want to. She didn’t want to jeopardize her husband’s career. She didn’t want to know that there was something wrong. She just wanted to get through these six months, support her husband as was her role as the dutiful wife, and then get back to Sydney with the knowledge that his faithful service of the company would cement the upward trajectory of his career path. It was easier to believe Clarke’s version of events because that meant fewer difficult questions.
It was the beginning of the end for Eden’s relationship with her mother. They had always gotten along well enough—as well as teenage girls got along with their mums. But for Eden, her mum’s breach of trust could never be forgotten and it could never be forgiven.
Eden took to that stupid pink spaghetti-strap dress later that night with a pair of kitchen scissors. When she was done there was nothing but torn strips of material left.
Six months later, when the family moved back to Sydney and Eden had her first day back at her old school, she had been so full of relief to see her friends waiting for her right there at the school gate, five minutes before the bell was due to ring for homeroom.
Even though all three of them had written to her so regularly throughout her six months away, she’d still been terrified that they would treat her differently when she got back. That she might not be welcomed straight back into the group. The fact that she hadn’t really replied to any of their letters didn’t help her fears. She knew she should have, and that they would have every right to be angry with her for never replying. After all, receiving their letters had kept her sane while she’d been in Adelaide. But she couldn’t reply because she just didn’t know what to say.
She desperately wanted to tell them the truth. To share what had happened to her in that very first week when she arrived in Adelaide. But how did you write something like that down in a letter? Although, then again, she wasn’t sure that she’d ever be able to speak those words out loud either. Knowing the reaction she’d received the first time she’d tried to tell the truth about what had happened.
Her own mother. The one person who was supposed to believe in her. The one person she should have been able to trust.
But then Joni, Deb, and Trina had all hugged her so tight as they welcomed her back, treating her like she was no different, like she’d never even left, and Eden had decided then and there that she would tell them the truth.
