With a doubtful expression I can feel spreading across my face I walk towards the fridge, but as I pass Mase he pulls me in for a single, gentle kiss that lands on my temple and it makes me feel better, a little more secure.
It’s another couple of hours when we’re sitting together on the sofa that my bubble bursts again. The news has just come on and the lead story is Conrad Mathers being charged with countless charges, but that isn’t the pin prick my bubble can’t defend itself against, that’s the additional information of others being formally investigated. The newsreader hands over to a reporter who is outside the police station and then they go to other locations that the police have been raiding, including my former home, if it ever was that, the church, the commune, the compound.
“Shit,” I quietly curse as I nudge forward until I’m sitting on the very edge of the sofa, my chin in my hands and my elbows on my knees.
“Olivia.” Mase scoots forward to sit next to me.
“It’s okay. Ssh,” I tell him and place a hand on his knee while I continue to listen to the news.
There’s footage of people on the screen, some look familiar, others don’t, but they are all telling the cameras, reporters and police to get off the land, that they’re trespassing on God’s property. Calls of innocence and persecution are coming through the speakers and they sound convinced by their own words. Bible quotes come next. I really haven’t missed having them hurled at me at every opportunity, especially when some are so obscure that deciphering them is like being on University Challenge. I hear one man who is clearly an elder or at least high ranking in the church quoting the bible clearly, words that somehow portray Raymond as a victim, an innocent one at that.
“They sound like they believe his innocence, or that they think this is a witch hunt.”
The disbelief in Mase’s voice gains my attention. Turning to face him, I respond, “They do, or they believe what he is doing is acceptable. I really don’t pretend to understand it, babe.”
“Are you okay?” he asks more nervously now.
“Kind of. I know the police are coming and I can only think that Raymond’s connection to the doctor is likely to hasten that. I don’t want the world to know what happened to me, but if Raymond and the doctor deny the charges…”
“Will you tell them what happened, the police?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to, but I don’t want to lie to the police,” I admit. “So, I suppose I will answer their questions honestly.”
“Let’s get through this together then.”
“Thank you.” I smile as the reporter on the TV is shouted over by someone I recognise, another elder, one I always suspected knew what Raymond did to me, Frederick Roche, and his words are of a child’s foolishness and the rod of discipline.
He is looking straight down the camera and he is looking at me, I know he is. Is he warning me that more discipline will be coming my way for my foolishness or simply telling me that I got what I deserved, what God ordered?
The TV reporter is still speaking, rocking me with his next revelation.
“Sources suggest that the head of the organisation here, the church, as its believers refer to it, the leader, a Raymond Daniels is believed to himself have multiple wives, with one source suggesting he might have as many as eighteen wives, the youngest being sixteen, just.”
“What the fuck?” I cry as I reach for the remote control and resist the temptation to throw it at the screen as I consider his child bride. Instead I choose to hit the standby button before slumping back into my seat.
“Eighteen, I thought it was fourteen,” Mase says, and as I turn and stare at him, I am unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“You knew he had all of those wives? How? When?” I demand of my guilty looking boyfriend.
“Only a couple of days. Dad mentioned the wives and I didn’t want to upset you—”
“Upset me! Do you really think that after everything I have been through that I am that bloody fragile that I won’t cope with him calling them wives in order to fuck them legitimately?”
“Sorry I didn’t think, but your mum seems to be the only legal wife.”
“I don’t care about that.” I’m a little calmer, but not much. “I care that you lied to me, that you told me I could trust you, and I did, even though I told you early on that I knew the flip side of it and here we are, you looking guilty as sin and me wondering how many more lies I’ve been told.”
“Baby, please,” Mase pleads as I get to my feet.
Shaking him off, I reply, “No, no baby, no more sorry. I can’t trust you; you’ve proved that. So much for getting through it together. I am going to bed, good night.”
I have no idea how I remain so calm, externally at least because internally I am falling apart. My biggest issue, trust, and I gave it to Mason, not that I had much choice, it just happened. I thought he valued and respected my trust and the enormity of me gifting it to him. Clearly, I was wrong, meaning my trust was misplaced.
Once dressed in a pair of shorty pyjamas I climb into bed and turn the lamp off. I plunge myself into darkness willing it to swallow me up in sleep at least, but it doesn’t, for long, long minutes, maybe hours, I lie there, sad, sorry and alone.
To say I am surprised that Mason hasn’t followed me sooner is an understatement. Even as I imagined what he might say or do I hadn’t thought he’d leave me alone to stew, unless he doesn’t care, except I know he does. So maybe he hadn’t expected me to find out about Raymond’s wives beyond my mother or thought I wouldn’t handle it very well. Maybe he was right because lying in the dark and pretending to be asleep as he walks into the room doesn’t feel like handling it at all.
With my eyes closed I try to lie perfectly still so that my make-believe sleep might be believable. Mason slides in next to me and I can hear him breathing heavily, too heavy for a man ready to sleep. I can feel that he is lying flat on his back and then his hand touches me briefly as he moves it above his head confirming that he is as far from sleep as me. This is his restless pose.
