Monkey Business (26 page)

The following afternoon, as my plane descended bumpily through grey clouds onto the tarmac at Tullamarine, I squeezed my gold monkey foetus for luck, thinking about everything I was about to face. My mother, Rosalind, JD. I wasn't ready. I sighed, wishing once again that I was in Bali instead, frolicking with dolphins and Jack.

At home I took in the cold silence of my house and decided I needed to get Axle straightaway – he made me feel better about everything – but also I knew I needed to see my mother and get that over with. She was expecting a wedding. Holy crapola.

I unpacked my backpack, remembering my confiscated bullets and that I was yet to confess to Jack about what had happened. Maybe I didn't need to. I held up the palm-tree vibrator, wondering what I should do with it. Give it to someone? I propped it in the centre of my bedroom mantel. That would do for now, I decided. A reminder of where I'd been, what I'd been through, and what I thought of the whole business. In fact, sitting there like that it kind of looked like it was giving me the finger. Good on it.

I drove to my mother's. I should have called first, to soften the blow, but I knew that whatever she had to say to me on the phone she'd repeat when I saw her, so I thought I'd save her the bother and me the pain.

‘Erica!' she screamed as I walked in the door.

Dad was watching telly. He peered at me over the top of his glasses. ‘Hi, Dad.' He kept peering. ‘It's me, Erica.'

He grunted and turned back to the TV. Axle ran across the room and headbutted my leg. I picked him up and cuddled him, and he purred loudly, rubbing his head on my chin.

Mum said, ‘Oh, I don't know what to say to you! You haven't called. What did you do to your hair? I've been trying to get hold of you because you won't believe what happened.'

I followed her to the kitchen and sat at the counter while Mum put the kettle on, telling me that she really needed a new one and maybe she could get it at Myer's homewares sale, or that maybe
I
could get it because it would make a nice gift from a daughter. She gave me a look.

‘What happened, Mum?' I said, not wanting to hear about it, but knowing I couldn't avoid it.

‘Well, more Tupperware was taken! The cupboard was padlocked, but she came with boltcutters this time.'

‘She?' My face grew hot. Mum knew it was Lucy?

‘Yes. The police found all the stolen Tupperware in her garage. She's been stealing and hoarding it for years.'

‘Wait a minute. Who are you talking about?'

‘Mary!'

‘Mary up the road?'

‘That's right.' Mum opened the cupboard with the shiny new padlock and produced a box. It was a special-edition lettuce crisper, the same as hers but even I knew that Mum's didn't have ‘Mary Taylor' written on the box. ‘She stole the celery one from my fridge, can you believe it?' Mum produced a celery crisper.

I sat there, mute.

‘Close your mouth, dear. You'll catch flies.' Mum continued, ‘Mary carried on a treat, saying these things were hers, that she'd had them for years, but of course I know my own Tupperware. The police found these ones in her kitchen. They weren't in the garage with the rest of it.'

‘Was she arrested?'

‘Oh, yes. All the neighbours have been going through her garage, finding their precious things.'

Shame Dwayne didn't know about Mary. He could've saved his thieves a lot of time and effort.

Mum put a bag on the bench in front of me. ‘Now, I think you and Jack will love what I've chosen. Do you have a date yet? But it doesn't matter. I've spoken to Father and he's got plenty of dates available.'

‘Ah, Mum —'

‘I thought a winter wedding might be nice. Winter white, you know. You can go to the solarium.'

She pulled the wedding stationery from the bag. It had a cross as the watermark, and a cutesy-pie bride and groom in the right-hand corner that I suppose was Mum's idea of young and fashionable.

‘And here.' She put a pile of magazines in front of me. ‘I saved these from when I got married. Bride books! You can have a look and see if there's something that takes your fancy —'

‘Mum —'

‘Will you have children straightaway? Because I've got these knitting books I've been saving —'

‘Mum!'

She looked at me. ‘Yes, dear?'

I leaned across the counter and gave her hand a squeeze. An action designed to comfort, something I don't think I'd ever done before, even when I'd told her Danny and I were divorcing.

‘I . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘I got you something.'

I fished the beetroot container from my bag and gave it to her.

She said, ‘But I've got one.'

‘You said it was stolen.'

‘Well, it was found in Mary's garage of course.'

‘Okay, well, I'll keep this one.'

She clutched it to her chest. ‘I need two.' She lifted the lid. ‘The thing's missing!'

I said, ‘I got you something else as well,' and pushed the gold monkey foetus across the counter. ‘Sorry it's not wrapped.' How to wrap a golf-ball sized lump of gold-dipped shrunken foetus? I should have put it in the beetroot container as a surprise.

‘It's solid gold!'

‘Er . . . well . . .'

‘Oh, how divine! Janice will be so envious.' She rushed from the room, putting it around her neck. I'd had it mounted on a gold chain. I made a mental note to stop using Luce's credit card and work out how much I owed her. I could hear Mum from her bedroom. ‘I must call Janice straightaway.' She rushed back to the kitchen, monkey foetus bouncing on her chest, and picked up the phone. ‘It's so unusual,' she cried, admiring it as she dialled. ‘What is it?'

‘It's a . . . lucky charm. From Bali.'

‘A lucky charm! From Bali!'

‘Mum, before you do that,' I reached out and took the phone, returning it to its cradle. ‘There's something I have to tell you.'

I was twelve years old the last time my mother chased me up the street with a wooden spoon. Back then she was wearing an apron and had a perm. But she could still run fast. I kept calling over my shoulder, ‘Mum! I'm thirty-two years old.'

I'd tried to soften the blow as much as I could, starting with the fact that Jack was in a serious condition in hospital, having been bitten on the leg by a shark while rescuing a drowning older lady ‘who reminded him of you!' I said he was delirious when he proposed, and took it back later, just like Mr Sheffield did in
The Nanny
and that turned out okay.

Mum had stood there for a while, still and stony-faced, then slowly opened the drawer, took out the wooden spoon and walked around the counter with it. She smacked me across the shoulder and kept doing it until I realised she intended to never stop.

As we raced up the road, she yelled things like, ‘It's because you cut your hair! Men like long hair! You need to get a wig!' and ‘You must have done something terrible, something to make him take it back!'

I yelled, ‘I don't want to marry him anyway, Mum. He was flirting with women in Bali!'

And Mum screeched, ‘You
will
marry him, Erica Jewell, if it's the last thing you do!'

The next morning, Friday, I switched on the telly to watch the news while I had breakfast. I was surprised to see that one of the top stories was about Saint Sebastian. I hit the volume and leaned in. It seemed some sort of infighting had broken out, and that the local Australian troops were getting involved, with more being sent over. Well, I thought, looks like we got out just in the nick of time. As if it wasn't dangerous enough!

On the train going to work, wondering if I'd be allowed into the building to pack up my things, I got a text from Kate.

He's awake.

I called her straightaway, squished against the door of the train trying to hear her soft voice; she told me he'd woken for just a minute, knew who she was, asked about me and Joe and had then fallen asleep. But he was out of the coma, she said.

I asked her what he'd said about me – most important of course – and she said he just seemed to need to know I was okay. Joe was up and about, and had moved into the motel with Kate. I now felt free to get a bit excited about those two being together. I wondered if they'd keep on hiding it. Maybe we could double date? Yeah, right.

I stood in front of Rosalind's desk. Would she chase me up the street with her ruler? She sat there po-faced, blinking (can vampires blink?), not saying anything. She didn't ask how my stress levels were now that I'd had a relaxing break.

‘Look, Rosalind —'

‘Don't speak. I can't look at you. Go away.'

With pleasure. I backed out of her office and sat at my desk, not knowing if I even still had a job. When Marcus had seen me earlier he'd whistled long and low and said, ‘Honey, you is in capital T trouble.' He'd said, ‘Roger and I'll take you out tonight, yes? I want all the goss.'

‘Thanks, but I don't really feel like socialising.' I'd given him a quick smile before entering Rosalind's crypt.

Celia called me. ‘JD wants to see you straightaway.'

Why not? My life was over anyway. My mother would never speak to me again, Rosalind would fire me, JD would take out a contract on me. I wondered if I should have the annual report file with me. There was no update since the last time.

On the executive floor I passed two guys in dark suits, one sending a text message and the other flipping through a business magazine. They checked me out, but I didn't bother saying hello or anything. I didn't feel like it.

I stood before Celia, cringing. ‘Hi.' It had been almost two weeks since I'd last stood in front of her desk, unable to tell Celia why I was there to see her boss. This time, JD had summoned me and presumably she still didn't know the reason.

She looked up at me, but didn't smile.

I said, ‘Look, I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you on the phone, but it really was life or death.' I gave her a pleading look. I was running out of friends.

She nodded briefly. ‘Okay. I don't know what's going on, but I believe you.'

‘Thanks. I'm not feeling very loved at the moment.'

‘I like your hair.'

‘No one else does.'

She gave me a small smile and thumbed over her shoulder. ‘Go on in.'

‘Thanks.'

I pushed open JD's door and froze. John Degraves and the Prime Minister were standing there looking official and serious.

‘Come in, Erica,' said JD, but it took my feet a few moments to respond.

He pointed to the meeting table. ‘Have a seat.'

I aimed for the nearest chair, needing it.

JD and the PM sat also.

The Prime Minister said, ‘I'm sure you're surprised.'

I nodded.

‘I'll explain,' he said.

Mr Prime Minister went on to tell me that I had intruded on a top-secret mission undertaken by a small team of elite military experts. That is, Jack and Joe. A mission that had been requested by England's PM, who was embarrassed to learn that one of Her Majesty's own military elite – a Mr Rupert Berringer – had turned mega evil. The team's mission had been to apprehend this criminal, who had stolen weapons from the Australian military with the intention of establishing and training a team of terrorists for ‘God knows what terrible purpose'.

‘Weapons?' was all I managed to say.

‘Fortunately, in spite of the potential problems associated with your interference, our team's mission was successful,' the PM went on. ‘There are some local issues as a result, but that's something we'll deal with quickly.'

‘Interference?'

JD said, ‘It's important you understand the confidentiality of this matter.'

I nodded.
Interference
?

PM said, ‘We'll need your word on that. We can't have confidentiality agreements floating about.'

‘What about the Tupperware?' I said.

JD and the PM glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. JD said to me, ‘You should probably get some rest, Erica. I'm sure you're very tired.'

JD then made me stand, hold my hand up witness-stand style, and repeat a whole lot of crap that would apparently ensure I never uttered a word about the top-secret mission I'd
interfered
with. And while I did that, I wondered again why JD was involved with an Australian military mission, and the only conclusion I could come to was that the PM knew about the Team and had sought JD's help in having Rupert Berringer quietly eliminated. I decided also that I needed to write that letter in case I disappeared or was found dead under not very suspicious circumstances. And let JD know about that letter's existence.

The PM left, and JD sat down at his desk.

I stood opposite him, waiting. There was more, I knew. I still hated him. But now I was back and I kind of needed a job. And I didn't want to be some assassin's target.

‘I didn't mean what I said, Mr Degraves.'

He glared at me.

I ventured, ‘I would never have carried out those threats, but —'

‘I know that,' he snapped.

I nodded, my mouth shut.

‘You will never threaten me or my team like that again,' he said, his voice even and calm but laden with ice.

‘No. I won't.'

‘How dare you.'

‘I'm sorry,' I said, my head bowed, but I didn't mean it.

‘Rosalind is snowed under,' he said suddenly and I looked up. ‘She's behind on the annual report production.'

‘You mean . . .'

He checked his watch. ‘I need a media release ready to go by three this afternoon. That blasted business in Western Australia. Environmentalists are giving us a terrible time. Rosalind has the details, but she doesn't have the time. You'll need to get a draft to me as soon as possible.'

‘So, I still have my job?'

‘Not if you're going to keep standing there, wasting time.'

‘Okay, well, thank you.'

He nodded and I walked to the door, feeling like skipping.

‘Oh and Erica?' he said.

I turned, my hand on the door. ‘Yes, Mr Degraves?'

‘Good work.'