Each Way Bet (13 page)

‘You can
do
that? From a chemist?’

‘Sure.’ Emily smiled at the amazed expression on Megan’s face and was reminded that the girl was, after all, only sixteen, and a fairly sheltered sixteen at that. ‘And then it’ll be a couple of minutes and we’ll know for sure.
Then
we can talk tactics.’

‘Oh, Aunt Emily, thank you!’ Megan’s face was washed with relief. ‘I
knew
telling you was the right thing to do. Like, I just knew it!’

‘Of course.’ Emily felt curiously proud. ‘But let’s not count our chickens just yet. First, how far’s the nearest chemist?’

‘Only down at the shops. Next to the fish and chip place. Five minutes away.’

‘Is it one of those open-every-day type of ones? Don’t forget it’s Melbourne Cup Day.’

‘I think so.’

Emily grabbed Megan by the hand and hoisted her off the bed. ‘Okay then, here’s the plan. You clean yourself up a bit and I’ll go grab some money. Then you nip up to the chemist. Ask for a home pregnancy kit. They all have them. A home pregnancy kit. Got it?’

‘Do
I
have to?’ Megan looked horrified. ‘I’ll be, like,
so
embarrassed!’

‘Well, we can always send your father,’ Emily said nastily, and immediately regretted it as Megan’s eyes filled with tears again and she flopped back onto the bed.

At the same moment, there was a pounding on the bedroom door and Matt’s voice bellowed: ‘It’s nearly the second race, Megan! Shake a leg!’

‘Don’t care!’ called Megan. ‘Go away!’

‘Megan?’ Jack’s voice replaced his son’s. ‘Are you crying? Megan, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Megan,’ Adam called softly as he knocked politely on the
door. ‘Have you seen your Aunt Emily? And does anybody have any idea when Jill’s supposed to get here?’

‘That’s a bloody good question,’ muttered Jack.

‘Why doesn’t someone give her a ring?’ suggested Matt. ‘Coz she’s missing all the fun.’

‘What’s somebody got to do to get a cup of tea around here?’ James Carstairs’ grumpy baritone chimed in. ‘Asked for one bloody hours ago.’

‘Hey, Gwandpa said bloody too!’ piped Cricket crossly. ‘How come I can’t say bloody when everybody else says bloody?’

At this point, Emily tuned the voices out and, turning towards Megan, bobbed down to give her hand a quick, sympathetic squeeze. As soon as the group at the door took their discussion elsewhere, she would persuade the girl that her only option was to face this thing head on, and get her fertile little butt down to the chemist. After that, Emily was a little less sure. Certainly it sounded as though the test was going to be positive, given that
she
was so positive. And then some hard decisions were going to have to be made, one of which involved telling her parents. This wasn’t just because it was the right thing to do, but because, if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she didn’t want the sole responsibility for something as huge as this. No way. This wasn’t what she had signed on for – a little cleaning perhaps, a bad night’s sleep maybe, but mentoring a pregnant sixteen year old? Not a chance.

And speaking of all that, where the hell
was
Jill? As Emily held Megan’s hand and thought unflattering thoughts about her sister, it suddenly hit her that she had forgotten to ring Tim last night and mention the change in passengers. Although that shouldn’t have had any effect on the timing – unless Tim was still sulking over her response to his virginity,
and simply hadn’t turned up.
That
would explain Jill’s absence. Regardless, it was unacceptable and something had to be done. First, get rid of the lot at the door, whose discussion now seemed to be centred around some plaster crazing that was apparently occurring in the passage architraves; second, get Megan organised and out the door; third – and most important – ring Jill and get her over here asap. Because whether she wanted to be or not, she was definitely needed.

The phone rang just as Jill rose up amongst the bubbles lining the bath and, with scented foam slithering down her body, reached for a towel. She froze momentarily with her hand stretched mid-air as she automatically assessed her chances of getting to it before it stopped ringing. Then she laughed as she remembered where she was. Let it ring, and ring and ring – not her problem. Still grinning, she grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her body, the sheer size of it making her feel unfamiliarly tiny by comparison. At home you congratulated yourself if the towel you used was dry, let alone huge, and thick, and snowy-white without a trace of grubby fingerprints or mascara blotches.

The phone was still ringing as she stepped out of the bath, so she kicked the door shut with one foot to muffle its persistence and then wiped the steam off the mirror to peer at her reflection. She was pleased to see the grey tinge that had stubbornly remained around her lips had now all but disappeared. Apart from that, though, she was still the same, except with a ruddy glow that, whilst not exactly flattering, certainly made her look healthy in a rosy country-wench sort of way. Although Jill
realised that the glow was probably the result of having spent the last twenty minutes reclining in a piping hot bubble bath, she decided to pretend it was actually a manifestation of her current overwhelming contentment. And it was this current overwhelming contentment that had led to her delaying all thoughts of departure, deciding instead that it was well worth risking the annoyance of everybody – ie, Jack – at her nonappearance.

Originally, when she had woken after a leisurely sleep-in, Jill had planned on being up and organised by about nine o’clock. However, when nine o’clock had snuck up, she had still been lying in bed drowsily contemplating her future. Then, in the midst of mentally reorganising her day’s schedule, she suddenly realised that she might not get this opportunity again for a very long time and she would be a fool to waste it. After all, what was the worst thing that could happen if she arrived late? Getting fired? One could only hope. Everyone realising how much they really needed her? Ha!

Deep down, though, Jill knew there was another reason she was delaying her departure. It involved a certain late-night visitor, whose relationship with her right breast had been a good deal more touchy-feely than she would otherwise have wished, and the necessity of ringing him in order to get home. She grimaced as she put the thought out of her head and pulled the plug on the bath, letting the milky water gurgle spasmodically down the plughole. Then, slipping on the oversized T-shirt she had slept in, she mopped up the bathroom with the white towel and dropped it into a cane laundry hamper under the window.

By the time Jill left the bathroom the phone had stopped ringing but, as she turned into Emily’s bedroom, it started up again. She paused on the landing and frowned down at it. Maybe it was Jack, or Emily, or even one of the kids. Maybe,
heaven forbid, something had actually
happened
to one of the kids. But this time the ringing ceased relatively quickly and she decided that had to be a good sign. Surely if Megan had jabbed herself in the eye with her mascara wand and was running around screaming while she wept tears of mid-charcoal black (as had happened only last week), or if Matt had accidentally wedged Cricket’s head between the blades of the ceiling fan whilst giving her a piggyback (as had happened the week before – luckily, the fan wasn’t on), or even if Kate had delivered a near-fatal wound to somebody with one of her stiffly gelled spikes (which hadn’t happened yet, but was only a matter of time) – surely the ringing would have persisted for longer and had a more urgent edge to it, which her mother’s intuition would, of course, have immediately picked up on.

So instead of ringing home to ask about the health of her family (which would naturally have necessitated an explanation regarding her whereabouts and why the hell she was still at her whereabouts), Jill wandered into Emily’s bedroom and commenced a tidy-up in there. After this was done to her satisfaction, she dressed in a pair of denim jeans and black boots that she had brought with her and a particularly attractive dove-grey angora vest that she found hanging in Emily’s wardrobe. It was edged with delicate white ribbing and luckily it fitted perfectly, unlike the seventeen other garments she had tried on before it.

Lastly, Jill threw her own clothing discards into her travel bag and paused to give the bedroom a last, lingering look before heading downstairs. One day, one day
soon
, she would have a bedroom like this with the same aura of tranquillity. Downstairs, Jill shovelled the remainder of her belongings into the bag and left it by the front door for later. Then she made herself a cup of coffee, her fourth of the morning, and settled down on the couch to relax.

But she couldn’t. In between sips of coffee she found herself repeatedly glancing at the phone, wondering who had tried to ring. And if the call had been for Emily and not her after all, then
why
hadn’t anybody tried to ring? Weren’t they missing her? Were they all managing so well without her that they hadn’t even remarked on her continuing absence? Was Emily really doing such a good job in her place that she wasn’t – well,
needed
?

Jill’s hand reached slowly towards the phone and then, as she realised what it was doing, she jerked it back roughly. But almost as soon as she stopped focusing on it again, the hand started to make its sneaky way back towards the phone. She snatched it back again and shook it to discipline it. Then, to make sure that it behaved itself, she wedged it under her thigh.

After all, there was plenty to occupy herself with here if nobody over there required her presence. There were books to read, magazines to peruse, and a pastry to eat. And Emily’s bookcases up on the mezzanine level could really do with a good dusting. She groaned as soon as this thought flickered across her frontal lobe, because the fact she was spontaneously considering dusting as a leisure activity just went to show what a rut she was in. Nevertheless, she was determined to find
something
to enjoy until the phone rang and summoned her back to her real life. Because one thing was for sure – she wasn’t going to be the first to ring. Even if it meant sitting here all day.

Race Two, 11.10 am

‘Ssss,
ssss
,’ hissed Jack excitedly, leaping to his feet and glaring intently at the horses thudding across the television screen.

‘Move it, you goddamn nag!’ Adam, with similar focus, clenched both fists and then pumped them up and down, much as if he were riding the horse himself. ‘
Move
it!’

‘Oh my god,’ Emily yelled excitedly, ‘he’s going to pass them. Look!
Look
! He’s passed them!’

‘He’s won!’ Jack punched a fist into the air and, turning, slapped Emily’s outstretched palm. ‘He’s won!’

‘We won, we won, we really won.’ Emily stood up and did a little butt-wiggle to accompany the words. ‘Hi ho, we really won.’

‘You bloody beauty! Ten bucks on the nose!’

‘And Daddy thaid bloody. Again.’

‘My word, Jack. Language, please,’ said his mother in a mild voice that carried no hint she expected to be taken notice of.

‘Hang on!’ Jack held up his hand for silence. ‘Here’s the dividends. Quick, someone, write this down. Seventeen dollars eighty the win and nine dollars twenty the place. You little beauty!’

‘Congratulations,’ purred Sybil silkily, patting the now empty seat next to her. ‘How exciting.’

‘Hell, Jack, what were you doing with such a long shot?’ Adam looked at the figures on the screen with disgust. ‘Throwing your money away!’

‘Yeah, mate, obviously.’ Jack grinned as he threw himself back down on the couch, an energetic action that caused Sybil to shoot an inch or so in the air before settling back down wide-eyed. Jack continued without even noticing: ‘Actually, it floated right out this morning. Probably a flood of money on yours.’

‘Huh.’

‘I’ll help you spend it, Dad.’

‘You do anyway, Matt.’

‘Hey, how much did I have on it?’ Emily dug into her pocket for the betting slips Jack had passed her earlier. ‘Five each way! Excellent!’

‘Huh!’ Adam repeated, sitting down on the couch armrest and glaring at them both. ‘I’m sure your nag nudged mine back at the turn. So how much did you win, anyhow?’

‘Let me work it out. Where’s my dividends?’ Jack asked of the room in general. ‘Who wrote them down?’

‘Think Kate did.’

‘I thought
you
did.’

‘No, I thought
you
did.’

‘Where’s Megan?’ Jack, looking around the room with a frown, noticed his eldest daughter’s absence for the first time, probably because writing the dividends down was the sort of thing she would have done without leaving it to someone else.

‘Look,’ said Adam sarcastically, pointing at the TV, ‘here comes my horse. He’s just found the finishing post.’

‘Mug’s game,’ muttered James Carstairs scornfully, folding his arms across his chest and sneering at a point on the far wall. ‘Mob of losers.’

‘What you say is what you are,’ said Emily’s mother in a singsong voice, without even looking up from her crocheting.

The immediate response to this statement was dead silence, broken only by Emily’s spluttering, which she turned quickly, and not very successfully, into a series of coughs. With her hand over her mouth, she glanced across at James to see how he had taken this slight on his character and was pleased to see his face was turning an interesting puce as his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. He remained rigidly silent, though, his eyes still focused on the far wall.

‘Hey-ho,’ said Jack diplomatically, which was the signal for the conversation to resume. Sybil rested one of her well-manicured hands momentarily on his knee and then, when she had his rather surprised attention, smiled sympathetically before removing it. Emily coughed again.

‘Did
I
win?’ Cricket asked her brother, who was studying the form guide that they used for the younger tribe’s choices. ‘Mine woth the red horthy.’

‘No baby-talk, Cricket – enunciate,’ muttered her father as he frowned fiercely at the television, willing it to repeat the dividends.

‘Yours was Exotic Princess,’ replied Kate to Cricket, without even looking at the form guide, ‘and it was coming way back. Mine came second.’

‘And mine came
totally
last.’ Matt threw the folded paper back down on the coffee table. ‘So what’s the next game?’

‘I need my dividends!’ said Jack crossly. ‘I
asked
someone to write them down!’

‘Didn’t you say it was seventeen-eighty the win and nine-twenty the place?’ asked Kate with an air of boredom. ‘Well then, that’s a hundred and seventy-eight bucks for you and, if Aunt Emily had five each way, that’s a hundred and thirty-five bucks for her all up.’

‘Oh. Well done!’ Jack looked at his daughter with some astonishment before nodding happily. ‘Excellent start to the day!’

‘I’m impressed.’ Emily looked over at her niece, who shrugged dismissively and continued her examination of her short, black-lacquered fingernails. Emily had a sudden flash of insight and realised that Kate, despite her bored expression, actually thrived on showcasing her quick intelligence and was acutely aware of the responses around her. And that she would never, in a million years, admit it.

‘Hey, did you ring Jill?’ asked Jack casually, glancing at Emily as if it had just occurred to him but he wasn’t really fussed. ‘What’d she say?’

‘Mummy!’ shrieked Cricket excitedly. ‘Mummy!’

‘Couldn’t get on to her,’ replied Emily, narrowing her eyes with remembered irritation. ‘She’s not bothering to answer the phone.’

‘Who’s Jill?’ asked Sybil curiously.

‘Carpet bowls,’ announced Matt, reading from a schedule taped to the lounge-room wall. ‘Excellent.’

‘Set it up in the family room,’ instructed his father, ‘I’ll be there in a minute. Just want to watch the rundown for the next race. Oh, and Matt?’

‘Yeah?’

‘D’you reckon you could remember this time that it’s
carpet
bowls? That means the bowl runs along the carpet and/or floor. It’s
not
tossed overarm at the jack. Okay?’

‘Sure,’ said Matt, rolling his eyes as he left the room with two of his sisters in tow. All three strode crunchily through the remaining corn chips on the carpet without even glancing down. Emily looked over at the mustard-coloured crumbs and decided that it was definitely a vacuum job now. Which meant that it would have to wait.

‘Anyway,’ Jack said to Emily enquiringly, ‘how’s she going to get here if you’ve got her car?’

‘All under control. I’ve got a guy to pick her up.’

‘A guy! What guy?’

‘Just my boyfriend, twit,’ replied Emily fondly. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘Who’s worried?’ said Jack, affronted, as he leant back and stared at the television.

Emily grinned both at his profile and at the small frown that was wrinkling Sybil’s forehead. Then she reached over to grab a spare form guide from the coffee table and, as she did so, noticed that it was covered with empty coffee mugs. She grimaced as she realised that cleaning them up was probably part of the deal she had made. It would be much more pleasant simply to sit here, watch the television coverage and play the occasional game or two. Nevertheless, a deal was a deal and she didn’t need Jill turning up and having a sanctimonious attitude about the mess.

Emily hoisted herself up and started gathering together as many of the mugs as she could carry. She had just managed to fit four handles on her left index finger and was attempting to hook a second onto her right one when a huge crash accompanied by the sound of shattering glass came from the family room. Absolute silence followed as the occupants of the lounge-room stared towards the source of the sound with varying degrees of shock or, in James Carstairs’ case, malicious pleasure and, in Charlotte’s, evident interest. Then the trance, which had probably only lasted a second or two anyway, broke.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Jack leapt to his feet and ran towards the family room, closely followed by Adam and, in a more leisurely fashion, Sybil. Quickly levering the clutch of mugs off her fingers and back onto the coffee table, and ignoring the puddles
of leftover coffee that dribbled out onto the form guides and magazines, Emily rushed after them. She came to a halt by the island bench and took in the scene before her.

The bottom half of one of the far family room windows was broken. Totally smashed, with only one large and jagged piece of glass, which was suspended from the left corner, remaining intact. In front of it was a lone white carpet bowl jack with Kate and Cricket standing on either side, both staring at their father and waiting for his reaction to this turn of events. Opposite them was Matt, his face white with guilt writ large, surrounded by several black bowls that were scattered at his feet. Margaret Carstairs stood to the left of the doorway, wringing her hands and blinking spasmodically. Adam and Sybil, who were both standing near Emily, glanced across at her as she came in, and grimaced. She returned the grimace but remained silent.

‘What happened?’ asked Jack in a low, deceptively controlled voice as he walked across to the window. Nobody answered. He looked at the window in silence and, as if it had waited for an audience, the singular remaining shard chose that moment to fall with a smash, shattering into several pieces as it hit the floor. Jack grabbed Cricket with one arm and, swinging her up and out of the way, used the other to push Kate roughly over towards the sliding door.

‘Ow!’ Kate bounced off the doorframe and glared at her father.

Jack put Cricket back down and spoke in a voice that brooked no argument: ‘Both of you, over by the island bench now. Now.’

The girls came over to join their aunt and she hoisted Cricket up onto one of the counter stools. Jack walked over to the window again and, with his back to everybody, stood staring at it.

‘Not you,’ he said without turning. ‘You, over here.’

Matt, who had just reached the island bench, made a face at Emily and ran his finger across his throat. Cricket giggled then clapped her hand over her mouth wide-eyed.

‘Start talking.’

‘Now, Jack dear,’ said Margaret Carstairs hesitatingly, ‘take a deep breath.’

‘Mum.’

‘It was an
accident
, Dad. Really. Wasn’t it, Kate?’ Matt turned to his sister for support and she nodded noncommittally, which, as their father still had his back to them, did nothing for her brother’s cause.

‘Leave them out of it.’

‘Okay, okay. See, I just rolled it towards the jack there –’ Matt gestured towards the lone white ball – ‘and it seemed to, like, hit the skirting and get airborne. Then it just shot through the window! But it was on the floor, I swear it was on the floor. I
didn’t
throw it.’

‘Then how hard did you damn well roll it?’

‘Oh, shoot, not
that
hard.’

‘I see.’ Jack looked across at his son for the first time since entering the room and took a deep breath. ‘Why, may I ask, did you put the jack in front of the window?’

‘Oh.’

‘You would have to be the single most –’ Jack’s voice rose as he spoke, and then he paused, looking over at the spectators. They gazed back, waiting patiently for him to continue. Jack took another deep breath and turned again to Matt. ‘We’ll talk about this later. For now, get a towel and help me get this cleaned up.’

‘Sure. Cool. No worries.’ Matt, obviously appreciative of the temporary postponement of judgement, hurried out of the room and returned a few seconds later with an armful of towels.
He took them over to his father and they used them to pick up the large shards of glass, laying them on top of each other over to one side. Silently, Kate fetched a dustpan and brush and joined the clean-up team. And something about the efficient way they worked together told Emily that this had happened before.

‘What can I do?’ asked Margaret Carstairs, hovering over the workers ineffectually.

‘Ah, the joys of children,’ said Sybil in a low voice, catching Emily’s eye and winking. ‘And people wonder why I don’t want any!’

Emily had a sneaking sympathy for Sybil’s position.

‘There’s one missing.’ Adam, who had started replacing the bowls in their box, looked over towards Matt. ‘Did it actually go
out
the window, Matt?’

‘Probably.’ Matt stood up, peered out of the hole and did an immediate double-take. ‘
Shoot
! The dog!’

Jack and Kate both straightened and looked outside, whereupon Kate dropped the dustpan and brush with a clatter and turned to her brother, an expression of fury mixed with pure panic on her face. ‘You
bastard
! You’ve killed him!’

‘Christ almighty,’ said Jack wearily, still staring out the window.

‘Kate thaid –’

‘Shh . . .’ Emily clapped a hand in front of Cricket’s mouth as she watched Kate abruptly cease glaring at her brother and instead bolt for the sliding door, which she yanked open with such force that it bounced off its tracks. Without stopping to reset the door, she raced outside and around the corner. Jack took a step to his left, caught the door as it started to topple forward and leant it neatly against the nearest wall. Then, with a towel still dangling from one hand, he followed his daughter outside. Suddenly Emily was aware of a soggy feeling in her
hand and, looking down, realised that Cricket had stuck her small pink tongue through a gap between Emily’s fingers and was waggling it around with considerable dexterity.

‘
Cricket
!’ Emily shrieked with disgust, removing her damp hand quickly and wiping it off on the back of Cricket’s blue skivvy. She looked at her niece with revulsion but was merely rewarded with a huge smile and another glimpse of the dextrous tongue.

‘I licked you!’

‘You certainly did.’ Emily regarded her levelly for a moment and then abandoned the staring contest in favour of following Adam over to the broken window to see what the commotion had been about. She approached with some trepidation and peered through. There, on the ground immediately below, was the missing carpet bowl and the dog, a furry (as opposed to fluffy), bedraggled specimen that looked like a cross between every type of terrier known to man and a few others that hadn’t been recorded yet. It was lying comatose on one side, surrounded by fragments of glass, with its mouth open and tongue lolling and a trickle of blood working its way down in front of one floppy, mangy looking ear. As they watched, Kate squatted down next to it, calling its name over and over as she stroked it. When it became increasingly obvious that it wasn’t going to answer, she paused to glance up at the window and send her brother a truly malevolent look.