Kathryn Fox - Without Consent

“So it came from there?”

Mrs. Willard nodded. “We have to make do. When he came out of prison, he had nothing but a donated pair of trousers and a shirt. They didn’t even fit properly.”

Desiree returned from the bathroom, wiping her hands on the oversized Black Sabbath T-shirt she wore over black leggings. “What’s the good news?”

“The police have got some evidence that Geoff didn’t kill Eileen Randall or that other woman.”

“What?” she said, clutching her belly. “But he did it. He even broke into our place. God knows what he would have done if Nick and Luke hadn’t come in. We all know what he’s like.” Her voice became shrill and she began to hyperventilate. “Oh my God, it’s a contraction.”

Anya couldn’t believe the histrionics. “It’s probably the baby moving.”

“I know you had a scare.” Mrs. Willard led Desiree to the lounge. “But he didn’t hurt you. He wanted somewhere to hide out for a while. Maybe he has changed after all these years.” She straightened out her apron. “I’ll just check the dinner. After that, I’ll help with your folding and we’ll get you home.” She turned to Anya.

“Doctor, would you mind staying with Desiree for a few minutes, to make sure she’s all right?”

In the few days since they had met, Geoff’s mother looked like she had aged years. Nick seemed annoyed and left the room. His aunt followed him to the kitchen, and Desiree calmed down.

Anya wanted to run out the door more than ever, as a crowd of people shouted and made hand movements on the screen.

“Got a boyfriend?” The woman opened her mouth and revealed what looked like a piece of food clinging to a tooth.

Anya felt her face flush and became flustered. “I really just came to drop off Nick’s dog.”

The sound on the TV became louder, with members of the audience shouting and gesturing numbers at the pair on stage.

“Wouldn’t blame you if you were shit-scared of getting involved. Men can be real bastards.” She rubbed her abdomen again and her shirt moved with what was probably a kick. “Lucky I got a good one. We got married once we knew the baby was on its way, before I lost my figure.”

Judging by the size of Desiree’s arms and the broad hips, the figure she referred to was full. The tooth didn’t have food on it, either. It was some kind of crystal embedded in the enamel.

“Congratulations,” Anya managed, backing toward the entrance.

“Nick’s a great bloke,” Desiree continued. “You could do a lot worse. And he’s a great kisser.”

“I’m sure he is,” Anya blurted, wondering why the words came out of her mouth. “I really have to go.”

Desiree propped herself to get up and Anya gestured to stop her.

“I’ll let you out.” The woman smiled and lumbered to the door, which had been deadlocked. As Anya stepped out onto the porch, Desiree said quietly, “From one woman to another, I hope you find someone.” Looking weary, she arched her back and rubbed her belly. “I know this little one’s gonna cause me pain. God knows, it already has with the morning sickness, reflux and backache. And don’t start me on about the hemorrhoids.”

Anya had no intention.

“And from what everyone says, the birth is going to be agony. But I’ve gotta go through it to have this baby.” She rubbed the back of her neck, as though massaging out another sore spot.

“You know, my friends back home used to have a really wise saying. ‘If you can’t feel pain, you can’t feel love.’”

Before Anya could respond, the door clunked shut.

Once outside, Anya stood at her car.Desiree’s words repeated in her mind. If you can’t feel pain, you can’t feel love .

It was just like If you can’t be hurt, you can’t be loved.

Did Desiree somehow know what the rapist said? Was she sending Anya a message? Had she, herself, been raped? Was she saying that the baby was a product of the assault?

The words were disturbing. It wasn’t something expectant mothers would normally come out with. She drove off, wondering whether Desiree was warning her about Geoff or Nick. The thought made her check her rear-view mirror to make sure no one was following. A few minutes passed and, after running an amber light, the hairs on the back of her neck relaxed. She wondered why she’d felt so threatened. Why did Desiree say “friends back home?” What friends, and where exactly were they from? Fisherman’s Bay?

She thought back to the minimal conversation they’d had. Desiree had said something about men being bastards but that she’d found a good one.

Anya turned on the radio and a news update rapidly faded into the background. Desiree’s comment could have been innocent. The woman was not far off giving birth. The labor would be on her mind already. To increase the focus, a pregnant woman was a magnet for everyone with a birthing horror story. Even strangers felt the need to regale mothers-to-be with the most horrendous tales of excruciating agony culminating in third-degree tears, stillborns or permanent incapacity.

At least that was Anya’s experience and that of her friends. Not once had any of the well-meaning scaremongers bothered to say that pain relief was available and that there were no prizes for being a martyr in the delivery room. Or that most women who gave birth chose to do it again.

If either Geoff Willard or his cousin was the serial rapist, and Desiree had spent time with them, it was possible she’d picked up the phrase, having no idea of its sinister meaning. Maybe it even came from Lillian Willard. It was a strange “tough love” sort of expression. No, it couldn’t have been just a coincidence, she decided. There was no such thing.

Anya hit the indicator and pulled into a breakdown lane on the M2. Immediately she put her hazard lights on to save anyone running into her. Multiple cars passed. No one slowed or stopped. Thank God, she thought, that chivalry was dead. The last thing she wanted was some man or men stopping. She’d seen rape victims fall for that one many times. Locked in, she dialled Hayden Richards.

“Jesus Christ! She really said that to you?”

Great. The detective didn’t come out with comments about over-reacting or panicking for no good reason.

“Where the hell are you now?”

“On the M2. I’m fine. Just heading back home. Look, it was said in innocence, I’m sure. They were trying to hook me up with Nick Hudson.”

“Christ! How did you get out of that one without ticking him off?”

“I behaved like a professional and sneaked out the door.”

She could hear Hayden’s voice go up half an octave. “Nothing like the rejection of a woman. I wouldn’t have picked you as the skulking-away type, not until the end of the game-show, anyway.” His voice returned to normal, much to Anya’s relief.

“How about you go straight home and get some sleep and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

Something in his tone suggested he was more concerned than he wanted her to know. She was about to hang up when he spoke.

“Can you do one thing for me? Promise you’ll lock all your doors and windows.”

Anya felt as though someone had just walked over her grave.

The following morning, Anya felt hungoverfrom tiredness. She’d had nightmares again, just like she used to have when she had oral exams at medical school. In the recurring dream, she’d sit in the exam and watch, helplessly, as two examiners dissected her body with scalpels.

She leaned against the kitchen bench, sipping herbal tea, and made an effort to think things through rationally. Dismally, she admitted to herself that there was a lot to worry about.