Double Take (12 page)

“I know. I'm just checking it hasn't increased again.”

“Okay, so I'm looking at your details now.” Dr Shaw ran his finger down the screen. “You don't have any medical insurance, right?” He scrunched up his nose. “So, that means with theatre costs, anaesthetists, cardio-thoracic surgical services, pathology, radiol—”

“Just the total please…Doctor Shaw?” Jack interrupted.

“Well, provided there are no unexpected costs that we haven't accounted for, it would be $74,334.” His voice lowered at the mention of the price.

She didn't blame him, the cost was outrageous.
Who has that kind of money lying around?

“And Candice will be in hospital about four days?”

“That's correct.” Dr Shaw nodded in her direction.

“And the results should be instant.”

“Well, not exactly instant. But once Candice recovers from the surgery”—he turned to her—“there's no reason why you can't go back to living a normal life.”

Usually, by this stage of the doctor's visit, Jack would be begging the doctor to move Candice up the waiting list. But for some reason, today Jack had a smile on his face. In fact he was grinning like a man who'd just inherited millions. Candice wondered if her situation was making him just a little bit crazy. The surgery wasn't going to happen anytime soon and all these questions about her potential recovery were pointless. Getting his hopes up like this was only setting him up for a soul-shattering fall.

T
hursday was Gemma's least favourite day at work. The mornings were notoriously quiet, so she scheduled this time to do her bookwork: reconciling statements, preparing tax reports and juggling money left, right and centre. It was one aspect of being self-employed that she despised. Thursday nights were a complete contrast as she was usually run off her feet. Client after client would roll through the door and by the time she was finished she would be mentally and physically exhausted.

This Thursday morning was different, though. She couldn't make her books balance and knew it was because she wasn't focused. She simply couldn't get her mind off the bank robbery. By eleven o'clock she'd made up her mind to take the rest of the day off—something she hadn't done since she opened the doors seven years ago. The next half hour was spent calling her clients to reschedule their appointments. When Tiffany walked in, Gemma faked a killer migraine and seconds later she was out of there. First stop was the local camera shop to see that photo.

It was only twenty minutes before her hopes were dashed. As she sat in her car and went through the prints, she almost laughed aloud at the last one. It had to be the one Murray took. Most of the picture was a blurred brown stripe and it took her a while to work out that it was the side view of the step. Other than that she could only just make out the pizza boxes the guy was carrying. She couldn't even tell what he was wearing, let alone his hair or eye colour.

Well, that settled it then. She would have to take the photos herself. She'd already figured out how and when she was going to do it. But for now she had something else important to do.

Gemma drove into the city and found her way into the Myer Centre car park. The nine-level shopping mall boasted all the major dress shops and department stores. At first she roamed around aimlessly, trying to pull a plan together, but after an hour and a half of shopping she was finally happy.

She went to the women's bathroom and slipped into a cubicle, hanging her shopping bags on the door and closing the toilet seat. Then she began taking off her clothes. When she walked out a few minutes later she was a different woman. At the full-length mirror she chuckled at her reflection. Her black top was too big, but that just made it perfect as it fell over her shoulder to expose her black bra strap. In contrast, her tartan skirt was way too small. Not around her waist, but in length. Never in her life had she shown so much leg in public. Gemma had deliberately put holes and ladders in the cheap black stockings she'd bought and now compared them in the mirror to the tattered ones Tiffany wore almost daily to work. In fact, she was very happy with her whole replication of Tiffany's grunge style.

And in that very instant another piece of Gemma's puzzle slotted into place.

On her feet were a pair of eight-hole Doc Martens boots. The shop assistant had told her all the benefits, but Gemma couldn't see the attraction. And they cost a fortune. Not that she cared; she'd get her money back when she returned them later after a thorough clean.

She applied the final touches: dark eye makeup and cherry red lipstick. When she smiled at herself, the fake diamond on her upper lip twinkled in the bright bathroom lights.

As she walked back to her car, she had to make a conscious effort not to keep tugging the mini skirt down.

After tossing her old clothes into her car, she rode the elevator up to ground level and walked out onto the Queen Street Mall. Gemma found a Dick Smith store and although she was horrified at the price she purchased a six pack of blank cassette tapes. She paid in cash and then went into the 7-Eleven store two doors up. She had considered trying to light up a cigarette, but imagined she'd make a complete fool of herself by choking on it. A packet of bubblegum was the alternative but that was almost as ridiculous.

As she walked the length of the mall, grateful the heavy boots were not heels like most of the women around her were wearing, she tried again and again to blow a bubble with the gum. By the time she stood outside the Eagle Street branch of the National Australia Bank her jaw ached.

She spat the gum into a bin, relieved to be free of the grape-flavoured wad, and pleased to note someone had seen her. People might expect someone dressed like her to do that. Gemma did a quick mental checklist.
Walk with conviction, don't make eye contact, don't smile. Act like you don't trust anyone.

At the top of the eleven marble steps, the glass doors slid open, inviting her into the bank. She stepped onto the royal blue carpet and, after a quick scan, strode to a counter that ran almost the entire length of the branch. Above her left shoulder was a security camera. As one of the robbers had said, the camera angle meant it covered the front door and the tellers' station only. She shook her head.
Silly people
.

Gemma selected a deposit form from the counter and filled it in with dummy details. At the field where the amount was required she put in one million dollars and had to resist a giggle. There were four people ahead of her in the queue and for the first time ever she was actually happy to wait. It allowed her time to look around.

At the end of the waiting area was a solid wall. She knew from the audio tape that beyond the wall was the manager's office. Just as she wondered if she'd see him, he stepped out. He was a fairly short, dumpy guy with a thick head of hair. There was nothing unusual or significant about him except for the collection of keys dangling from a blue lanyard around his neck.
In five days' time you're going to wish you never displayed those keys like that.

She glanced at the three bank tellers, playing a little guessing game with their ages. Blondie was about twenty-eight. Mousy-brown and curly she guessed to be at least fifty, and the dark-haired girl with rosy cheeks and skin devoid of any wrinkles had to be around twenty. Gemma watched them in action, all professional and efficient. Not one of them so much as glanced in her direction.
If only they knew what was coming.

“Next, please.”

Gemma searched for the source of the voice. It was Blondie at the counter closest to the front door. Forcing her gaze to her feet, Gemma approached the teller's station.

“Can I help you?”

“I want to open an account.” Gemma felt awkward not seeking eye contact, and right now wished she had her chewing gum again.

“Certainly, madam. I'll get the forms to fill out.”

“But before you do”—she stopped Blondie before she got too far away—“I want to make sure my money will be safe.”

“Umm…what do you mean?”

“Well, when I deposit my money, where do you put it?” She thought she did a pretty good impression of Tiffany's demeanour.

“Do you mean the safe?”

“Yeah, the safe, where is it?” She twisted her hands like they were rope. “Who looks after it, and how do you stop people stealing from it?”

Blondie stifled a smile. “Well, over there is the vault. It's a fully secure room where we keep the cash safe.”

She was pointing over her shoulder and it was only now that Gemma noticed the ramp the robbers had talked about. She could just see a doorway, and she suddenly realised the vault was a whole room. She'd been looking for something much smaller, like a safe about the size of a fridge, but this was a whole room.

Blondie hadn't finished talking. “But there's no need to worry. Our money is insured. So if the bank is ever robbed, your money and our money is covered.”

Insured? She hadn't thought of that. Gemma looked into Blondie's eyes and quickly shifted her gaze to the woman's fingers. They were long and slender and a decent-sized single diamond adorned her wedding finger. “So, madam, as you can see, your money will be perfectly safe.” Blondie gave her a ‘happy now?' look. “Would you like me to get the forms to open the account for you?”

“Not yet, I'm going to ask all the other banks in this street the same question. And when I'm ready I'll put my money into the bank I feel is the safest.” The teller started to object, but Gemma had already turned her back and begun walking towards the exit. Despite the heavy boots on her feet, she felt as light as a feather.

She walked out the door, down the front steps and towards the street. At the pedestrian crossing she jabbed the button. As she waited for her pounding heart to settle she looked around. The intersection was hectic. Three extremely busy roads merged here, all managed by one set of traffic lights. At this point in time she could see at least thirty cars waiting for their turn. That robber, though, had been certain that come next Tuesday this place would be practically deserted. It was hard to believe right now, though.

As she walked past another bank, the Westpac this time, she wondered why they had chosen that National Australia Bank. There must be a reason why they were specific about that branch; surely all banks would be stocked up on Melbourne Cup day. Was there something she'd missed? Behind this Westpac was a narrow laneway that only went in one direction. It seemed like a dumping ground for boxes and milk crates, along with overflowing industrial bins.

Gemma jumped at the sight of a mouse and carried on walking up the street.

By the time she made it back to her car, it was nearly four o'clock. She still had enough time to change back into her clothes and clean off the boots and return them.

She couldn't wait to tell Murray about what she'd done. On the way home she explored the idea of repeating the kitchen table sex they'd had the other day. Hopefully this time he'd last a little longer.

T
rying to hide his apprehension only made Jack feel worse. His smile, he was certain, would look more like a grimace. No matter how he tried to justify his actions, it didn't make him feel any better. How could he possibly face the four people who were about to have their lives changed forever?

As he hoisted the last plant onto the trolley, it nearly fell from his hands. Worry was sapping the life out of him. He pushed the trolley up the ramp from the car park, having to put all his weight behind it. By the time he reached the top he was crumbling with exhaustion. He sat at the fountain, gazing into the trickling water and trying to clear his head.

This is for Candice
. But no matter how many times he told himself, the anguish still burned through him like acid. He was certain she knew something was up. How could she not? For the last three weeks, he'd been a mess of emotional turmoil. And although he tried to mask it, she had this uncanny ability of almost reading his mind. Without a shadow of a doubt she'd talk him out of it if she knew, even though there was every chance she would die within twelve months without the operation. Hell, it could be tomorrow if she had a massive attack. The doctor said it was lucky she was healthy because her heart was tolerating its irregular rhythm. But the Candice Jack saw every day was no longer healthy. She looked sick. Very, very sick. And yet she continued to rely on blind faith. As for him, faith was gone; nothing short of a booked-in operation date could restore it.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead onto his sleeve and rolled his head from side to side, trying to release the tension. Ready again, he put his weight behind the trolley and wheeled it around the front of the bank and up the service ramp. The glass doors slid open and he welcomed the cool air conditioning.

He did the customary wave at the staff and then set about rotating the plants in the front corners. That done, he pushed the trolley towards the counter access gate.

“Hi, Jack.” It was Pearl who spoke.

He had to swallow the lump in his throat to answer. “Hi Pearl, you're looking lovely today.” Pearl took great pride in her appearance. Her clothes were elegant, her makeup immaculate and her hair was perfectly curled, as if she had it set in place every morning. It was only occasionally that he noticed the odd grey hair. She smiled as she approached to unlock the gate and that only made him feel worse.

“How's Candice?”

Jack felt the blood drain from his face. He clutched his trolley, fearful that his legs would crumble beneath him. These people trusted him. They allowed him access to their secure area and treated him like a peer. For the umpteenth time he questioned what the hell he was doing. He forced himself to answer. “She's good today. Thanks for asking.” Jack hoped Pearl didn't notice the quiver in his voice.