Holding Out for a Hero (17 page)

Fine with her; she’d asked him to coach her team to success and so far he was bang on target—the rest was immaterial. And if, late at night, she still woke with a throb between her thighs and an empty ache in her gut, then that was too bad. So he’d ruined her for other men—some things couldn’t be forgiven.

Although her thoughts on what he’d done had mellowed somewhat. God knew she’d turned it over in her mind a thousand times. Jake had been fifteen when he left Huntley. A boy. A testosterone-driven, screw-anyone-who-said-yes teenager. And the entire town knew that Rachel was Huntley’s favorite yes-woman. Most of the guys Ella had gone to school with had paid Rachel for sex—God knew they weren’t going to get it any other way. Why should Jake have been any different?

Just because she’d felt some feeble connection with him back then, didn’t mean he had. But she’d have bet her life on the fact that he’d felt it too. Why else would he have kissed her that night of the dance? Maybe that’s what made her so mad? Okay, it hadn’t been much of a kiss—much of anything, really. It certainly hadn’t meant undying love or eternal fidelity. But it had meant something to her. The fact she was cut up about something that had to have happened over twenty years ago told her how much. Could the lips that had touched hers so gently, so tentatively, at that high school dance really have touched Rachel’s first? Had she tutored him in how women liked to be kissed? Where they liked to be touched? All their secret places? Did she have her mother to thank for that thing Jake did?

Ella shuddered and dragged her attention back to the game. Such thoughts were futile. She’d already let them torture her enough, had already given them too much power.

Thankfully Hanniford chose that moment to score a try and thoughts of Jake and Rachel and Huntley and her screwed up personal life were completely obliterated as the crowd surged to their feet and she joined them.

She spent the next half-hour on the edge of her seat, hiding behind her fingers as the game progressed. With two minutes to go, Hanniford was trailing by four points. The crowd behind her were stomping their feet on the wooden floor of the stands and her heart thundered along in time.

Sixty seconds out, Hanniford scored a try, leveling with the Sabers, and the supporters went wild.

“So, if they convert the try, we win, right?” Ella asked Trish, trying to convince herself more than anything. Because of the comp points system, they had to win, not draw, to progress to the finals.

“That’s right.’ Trish grinned.

“Oh God. Tell me what happens,” Ella burying her face in her hands.

Rosie gave her knee a squeeze and the sudden silence after so much noise was preternaturally eerie. Everyone held their breath as the Hanniford center lined up his kick at a very tricky angle.

“What’s happening?” Ella whispered as the silence stretched.

“He’s taking a moment,” Trish assured. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

“See, it’s at times like this I wish I was religious. I guess it’s a bit hypocritical to pray?”

“Jesus,” Rosie murmured. “Do you want the poor kid to convert the goal or be struck down by lightning?”

And then a boot sent the ball flying through the goal posts and the crowd went crazy.

“We did it?” Ella asked, rising to her feet with everyone else. “We did it.”

“Yes,” Rosie yelled crying and laughing all at once. ‘We did it.”

“Oh my God!” Ella wailed as Rosie and then Trish hugged her, “Oh my God! We did it. We did it!”

She turned to the field to see Jake and Pete running on and the team huddling together in a big group hug. “We did it,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes and streaming down her face.

The boys picked Jake and Pete up and carried them off the field. The Hanniford supporters surged forward, the cheer squad swarmed around and Ella, Rosie and Simon got swallowed by the crowd, reveling in the love. Cameron gave her a bear hug that lifted her off the ground.

“We did it,” he said, grinning down at her.

Ella almost fell over from the shock at such a show of affection and was glad he was still hanging on to her.

“
You
did it,” she said, beaming.

Half an hour later Jake found himself standing in a circle with Cameron, Miranda, Rosie, Simon, Pete and Ella.

“Well that does it,” Rosie announced. “I’m making curry—you’re all invited.”

The only one of them to look enthused was Cerberus, who had grown fat on Rosie’s curry treats that appeared regularly under the table from anyone who dared to sit and attempt it. He gave an ecstatic little shudder and whined appreciatively at her.

“Ah, count me out,” Jake said.

Ella glanced at him and he felt the tension between them again. He hadn’t set foot in their house since she’d kicked him out and she didn’t look all that keen for him to do so now either.

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Rosie shook her head vehemently. “It’s not a celebration without the coach.”

“She’s right,” said Pete.

“Yeah,” said Cameron. “Please, coach.”

“Please, Jake,” Miranda said, her arm around Cameron.

Jake looked around at the eager faces knowing that part of their motivation was how much less curry they’d all have to consume with one more at the table. Ella’s face, however, was carefully neutral and, today, it irritated him more than usual.

“Please, Jake,” Miranda said again. She was bouncing from foot to foot like she always did when trying to suppress her excitement, and he knew he was beat. One of the women in his life was probably going to stick arsenic in his curry but he’d never been very good at saying no to the other. He gave a grudging nod. “Looks like I’m outgunned.”

“Hah!” Rosie whooped triumphantly. “I’ve sourced this great new spice that adds that little extra zing. You’re going to love it.”

Jake glanced at Simon who was looking more than a little alarmed. If Rosie’s curry had any more zing it’d need to be classified as a poison.

“I’ll go and get it started,” she grinned, and dragged Simon with her toward the car park.

“I’ll stop off and buy yoghurt,” Pete offered.

“Buy extra,” Jake ordered.

They all nodded, despite knowing not even yoghurt was going to save them from death by curry.

*

The sun was dipping below the skyline, gilding the violet-blue with streaks of fiery tangerine as everyone sat to eat. The chatter and screech of hundreds of rainbow lorikeets drowned out the collective gasps as the first tentative nibbles had a predictable effect. Simon took a large gulp of his water and passed around the yoghurt bowl for second helpings.

“Delicious.” He smiled at Rosie.

Miranda and Cameron excused themselves, taking their meals into the lounge room to play the Wii. Cerberus followed them in and Ella wondered how long it’d take before the curry found a canine host.

Daisy, a light cardigan covering her inked arms, shoveled a large spoonful of curry into her mouth. Iris, rugged up even further, tucked in heartily too. The two sisters were the only people Ella knew who could stomach Rosie’s spicy food. Daisy always said growing up in a circus had given the Forsythes cast-iron constitutions.

Iris asked about the game and the conversation turned to football. “I still can’t believe it,” Ella said, shaking her head. A part of her was sure she was going to wake up to find it had all been a fantasy conjured up by the anxious principal that lurked just beneath the surface.

“Believe it.” Pete grinned. “We did it.”

“Just,” she clarified. They were in last position on the finals board.

Ella had to remember that while they were another step closer to their goal, they were still a long way off. Even if they did win, they still had to go on to play in the Schools Cup. It wasn’t the end, she had to remind herself. But it was the end of the beginning.

Pete shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We wipe the slate clean now and start all over again.”

Ella wanted to hug him. His glass-half-full optimism was just what she needed. Jake, on the other hand, sitting opposite her brooding into his curry, was not instilling confidence at all. He was in his pub clothes—jeans and a black T-shirt—ready to skedaddle off to work at the first opportunity. The shirt, as usual, showed off his magnificent biceps and she wondered absently if he was cold. Not that it was remotely possible for any of them to be so at the moment. The heat from the thermonuclear reaction of the curry was likely to keep them warm to the end of their days. Ella wondered if Rosie secretly laced it with plutonium. Maybe she should get Iris and Daisy to see if they could win a Geiger counter; the last thing this place needed was glow-in-the-dark residents. The neighbours thought there were enough freaks at number twenty as it was.

“But we go in as underdogs,” Rosie pointed out.

Simon shrugged. “That can work in our favor.”

“What do the cards say, Iris?” Pete asked.

Iris jumped like a small animal caught in the headlights of a very large all-terrain vehicle. After a moment of everyone looking at her expectantly, she put down her fork, moved her bowl aside, shuffled the worn, ever-present pack and laid out a twelve-card spread. She pursed her lips.

“The cards are favorable,” she murmured. Then she tsked. “But it’s going to come at a cost.” She gave an involuntary shudder.

Ella knew Iris and Daisy had been worried for months now. Between the screws being turned by the council and the developer hounding them with offers, they’d been earnestly searching for answers in the cards. None of the answers had satisfied them. And the mysterious dreams of yellow gold still taunted Iris her with their elusive meaning.

Ella knew deep down that Iris’s unease came from a gut feeling that was far from frivolous and she felt a corresponding itch up her spine. She trusted Iris’s intuition—she’d trust it with her life. As someone who drew the eight of swords on a freakishly regular basis, Ella the math geek had learned that there were some things you just couldn’t quantify. But for now she chose to latch onto Iris’s statement about the cards being favorable.

“You should both come to watch the final matches,” Pete said to Daisy and Iris. “The Demons need all the support we can muster.”

Daisy cackled. “I’m sure Cam would love that, his two freaky old pseudo aunts showing up.”

“We could rustle you up some jerseys, couldn’t we, Jake?”

Jake nodded and took a long gulp of his frosty beer. “Sure.”

Iris shook her head. “Can’t.”

“We need to stay put,” Daisy elaborated. “The council is sending around some inspector.”

“What the fuck?” Rosie interjected. She saw Simon’s mid-eyebrow crinkle and ignored it. “Why didn’t you tell us? What now?”

Iris and Daisy traded a look. “It’s nothing. They say they’ve had complaints about the structural integrity of the house. They claim it may not be safe for habitation.” Daisy waved a dismissive hand. “They’re clutching at straws.”

Ella wasn’t so sure about that. In the years she’d been living here the house had become more saggy; the floorboards shifted alarmingly and the kitchen seemed to sink a little each year. The house was always needing something repaired—a leaking roof, recalcitrant plumbing, dodgy wiring—which they could keep up with, but major renovations were beyond them, financially. The double mortgage was crippling even with two incomes. A prickle of alarm burst the precarious bubble that had formed around her since the big win. First her school and now this. What on earth had she done to the universe to bring two such ugly threats down on their heads?

“That’s harassment,” Rosie fumed. She turned to Simon. “Can’t you do something about this?”

Simon, who’d been surreptitiously feeding a returned Cerberus, looked at her, alarmed. “Rosie …”

“Your father works for the mayor, for God’s sake! You must be able to pull some strings.”

Simon looked at her. Rosie had come to mean so much to him. But he couldn’t compromise his integrity. He just couldn’t. “Rosie … I can’t … everything my father does has to be above board. Above reproach.”

He squirmed in his seat a little. He’d never hated being a part of a high profile family more. But being raised in a political dynasty and, in particular, by a scandal-phobic mother, had entrenched certain absolutes.

“Some journo would find out and the papers would have a field day.” Not to mention his mother breaking out in hives. “My father could lose his job. Not to mention any whiff of impropriety could be used against me in the future.”

Rosie could see that she’d put Simon on the spot and felt immediately guilty. “Sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his sleeve. The sensual side of her, seduced by the softness of his cashmere knit, overruled the carnie chick who was demanding Simon man up.

Simon gave her a gentle smile. He knew how much her aunts, this crazy old house meant to her. “Do you think they have a case?” he asked Daisy.

“Well, it can’t be denied, the house could do with some work.”

Jake glanced at Ella. “I take it there’s no money to fix what needs to be fixed?”

Iris shook her head. “We stopped taking in boarders when the girls arrived. The house has been mortgaged twice since. Thank the stars for Ella and Rosie. They pay that.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “The only reason you have it is because of us.” The way she saw it, she owed them big time.

Iris waved her suggestion away. “That’s only part of the reason. Don’t forget little Stevie’s treatment cost a bomb and anyway, you both needed an education.”

Simon frowned. “What about the competitions? If you don’t mind me saying, you ladies are extraordinarily lucky. Why don’t you enter some money-based ones?”

Iris, whose attention had been snagged by Cerberus scratching at the patch under the wattle tree again, snapped her head back, looking at Simon as if he’d just sacrificed a lorikeet at the table.

“We never enter cash comps,” she said, utterly scandalised. “It’s very bad karma. Very bad.” She picked up the deck and rubbed the top one with her thumbs. “We don’t want for anything. We have a roof over our head and food in our bellies. We only enter the competitions the cards tell us to.”

Simon blinked. The cards told them to enter for twelve refrigerators, five big screen televisions, hundreds of clocks and three sets of ceramic flying ducks? “Maybe if you entered some car comps? Then you could sell them?”

Daisy’s brow wrinkled. “But we don’t drive.”

Rosie gave his thigh a squeeze beneath the table. She knew better than anyone that her aunt’s logic was more mystical than practical. “So when are we expecting these council dudes?” she asked.

Daisy shrugged. “They don’t tell you. But we’re going to be here when they do. If they’re going to erect razor wire and keep out signs, they’ve got to drag us out kicking and screaming first.”

“It won’t come to that,” Ella said vehemently. “I promise. If we can save a school …” She glanced at Jake and saw him watching her with his steady green gaze. She couldn’t have done it without him. “We can save a house.”

*

Half an hour later Jake stood to leave. He didn’t want to, he was enjoying himself too much. The company was great, laughter flowed. Daisy had put on an old Ella Fitzgerald record and now  the colorful parrots flown away for the night it was just “Mack the Knife” and the crickets. It was decidedly mellow. After three beers, the mood fit the buzz quite nicely.

But Ella hadn’t stopped chewing on her damn lip and it was driving him nuts. Her hair was loose, her skivvy tight. Just because he was still pissed at her didn’t mean he didn’t want to take that bottom lip between his own teeth and devour it.

Libido had no pride.

He needed to get the hell away. He made his goodbyes nodding to Ella as he left.

“Wait up. I’ll see you out,” she said.

Jake stiffened a little, giving a mighty internal groan before gesturing for her to precede him. Her bottom swayed all the way up the hallway in front of him. The same bottom he dreamed about—soft and smooth beneath his hands in this very house. Dragging his thoughts back, he called goodbye to Cameron and Miranda.

Ella flipped off the sensor light on her way out the door and they walked to the front gate. The night was darker beneath the loom of the towering poincianas. There were things to say and she didn’t want to say them in the full glare of the spotlight. Jake stopped at the gate and she knew he was waiting for her to say something.

 Jake could hear the faint strains of “A Fine Romance” reaching around to them from the back of the house. He had the craziest urge to take her in his arms and waltz her along the darkened path. He curled his fingers into fists. “Ella Fitzgerald, huh?”

Ella nodded. “They play it for me. They know Rachel named me after her, that she was a huge fan.”

It was on the tip of Jake’s tongue to tell her he knew. How many times had he been to Rachel’s while Ms. Fitzgerald crooned the blues? But given what had happened last time he’d mentioned being at the house, he didn’t feel so inspired.

“You didn’t have to walk me out.”

Ella gathered her wits. His voice was low in the quiet shadows and he smelled just like she remembered. “I know. I just wanted to say … thank you. I didn’t get a chance to say it after the match.”

Jake nodded. “There was a bit of a crush.”

“Well … thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Jake paused for a moment. “Oh, I think I do.” If he hadn’t before, he did after tonight.

Ella glanced at him. His face was in complete shadow making him look even more forbidding than he had in the previous months. But there was something else she needed to tell him. “I also wanted to say that I’m okay with the … you know … the Rachel thing. It was a shock … I never thought … Anyway. You were a teenager and … that’s what teenage boys in Huntley did.”

Ella was surprised, even years later how much the knowledge still hurt. Trying to reconcile the woman who had danced with her to the dulcet strains of Blue Moon when she’d been little to the woman the town knew her as, was a conundrum she’d never really wrapped her head around.

Jake stiffened, even more insulted now than he’d been six months ago. He looked down at her for the longest time before reaching for the gate. “Goodnight, Ella.”

*

As if Ella’s mood wasn’t flat enough, Bernie delivered another yellow envelope to her on Monday morning. Her fingers shook as they opened it and she took a deep breath before unfolding the single white page.