Double Take (8 page)

It wasn't until after her shower when she was standing at her barren wardrobe that she remembered the photo of Rachel. “Hey, I saw Rachel in yesterday's paper. She was at that newsreader's wedding. She's so lucky.”

“Lucky? Why?”

Candice walked into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. “Oh, I don't know. To go from the shy teenage tomboy you told me about to the woman she is now, I guess she's been lucky.”

“It's not all luck.”

The instant he said it, he looked like he wanted to retract his statement. “Really? Why do you say that?”

The toaster popped and he plucked the hot toast out and onto a plate. “No reason. It doesn't matter.”

“Jack, tell me. I thought we had no secrets.”

“It's not a secret, it's just… I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone.” He placed the buttered toast on the table with jars of both vegemite and strawberry jam.

“You mean Rachel? When did you promise her?”

“When we were kids. She told me something and made me promise not to tell anyone.”

“That was a long time ago, Jack. You know I won't tell anyone.” Candice placed the two steaming mugs of coffee on the table and slid into the seat. She watched Jack's face as he grappled with his thoughts. He'd obviously made up his mind, because by the time she'd taken her first sip of coffee, the tangle of emotions that worried his forehead had disappeared.

“I was fifteen. Rachel had just turned fourteen. In fact it was her birthday. We'd been hanging out at the shopping mall with our friends, like we usually did, and eventually there was just her and me left.”

Candice wondered if she was about to hear about Jack's first sexual experience and suddenly felt foolish for pushing him into telling her.

He spread vegemite over his toast. “She used to brag about her father all the time, how smart he was, the designer clothes he wore, stuff like that. Anyway, she told me they'd been…sleeping together.”

“What? Oh, that poor girl.” Candice put her toast down. She wasn't hungry anymore.

“But that wasn't the worst part. I told her to go to the police but she wouldn't. I couldn't understand, but Rachel said she actually wanted it. She said she was glad, because it meant he was finally interested in her.”

“Did you do anything?”

“Rachel made me promise not to tell anyone, so I didn't. Maybe I should have.”

“Did she talk to you about it again?”

He nodded. “About six months later. She told me she was pregnant.”

“Oh dear.”

“She was distraught because she couldn't get hold of her father.” He looked at his hands in disbelief. “I'll never forget this. She actually thought he'd be happy about it. I tried to tell her he might not want the baby, but she wouldn't listen.”

“Did you tell anyone this time?”

“No. A couple of weeks later she told me she'd lost the baby, and I guess I just let it go. It wasn't until her sixteenth birthday, when she rocked up with a brand-new car, that I found out the real truth.”

Candice frowned as she waited for him to continue.

“Rachel had contemplated running away, but then she realised that was exactly what her mum and dad would've wanted. So she sought revenge instead. She videotaped her father demanding she get an abortion. She managed to get him to admit to everything he'd been doing to her and she recorded it all. Rachel had the abortion, but after that, whenever she wanted anything she just sent him another copy of the tape.”

“That's just terrible.”

“Yeah. I wonder if she still has those tapes.”

Candice recalled the most recent picture of Rachel in the paper. Rachel could be a model, her smile radiated off the page. She didn't look like a woman who had ever suffered, let alone been through something so calculating and horrific. “She seems completely in control.”

“I'm sure she is.”

The way he said it made Candice wonder if there was something else Jack hadn't mentioned. But he didn't say any more. Soon he stood up and started clearing the dishes off the table. Candice stood as well, but she did it too quickly and before she knew it she was on the floor. When she opened her eyes it was like looking at the world through clear jelly.

She felt herself being lifted up and heard the panic in Jack's voice. She wanted to say she was okay, but her tongue wouldn't move. Even drawing a breath was a struggle. Aware that she was only seconds away from passing out, she squeezed onto Jack's leg. She knew he would be scrambling with her medication kit. The syringe was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

T
he police station was an old workers' cottage in the historic suburb of Coorparoo. The quiet neighbourhood had developed around the small building and, other than the fluoro police sign displayed at the front, it resembled nearly every other house in the street. The building looked every bit its age with the tin roof covered in brown rust stains, the paint on the weatherboards peeling and the wheelchair ramp leading up to the front door needing attention. Gemma had never been in a police station before and was unsure what to expect. As she went through the front door, a bell sounded somewhere in the back of the building.

An elderly woman was seated on one of the untreated wooden benches in the waiting room staring at a dog-eared copy of the Brisbane
Star
. Gemma smelt lingering odours of talcum powder and mothballs. The woman looked up with drooping, uninterested eyes, and she seemed to see straight through her as she twirled a thread of white beads in her papery, frail hand. Gemma walked to the front counter and waited for assistance. Nobody was around, and just as she began to wonder if there was a button she should have pressed, a tall yet rotund police officer waddled up to the counter.

“Morning, how may I help you?” His name badge identified him as Detective Bryant. He had remnants of food on his lower lip.

Gemma licked her lip in reflex. “I'd like to report a crime.”

“What's the nature of the crime, madam?”

“Well, it hasn't actually been committed yet.”

“I see.” His two bushy eyebrows drew together. “How do you know it's going to happen?”

“My boyfriend's children overheard some people talking about robbing a bank.”

“I see. How old are these children?”

“They're twelve and fourteen, but they—”

“Madam,” he interrupted, “sometimes children tend to exaggerate things.”

“I'm pretty sure the boys aren't making this…” But something made Gemma pause and glance over her shoulder. The frail old woman was now staring at her hands as if they were completely fascinating. Gemma thought of the tape in her bag, and her promise to Murray, and how thrilling the last couple of days had been. She made a snap decision. “You know what? You're probably right.” She could drag this robbery excitement out for a few more days. What harm could it do? The Melbourne Cup race was still eleven days away. Heaps of time for a little more fun. “Sorry to bother you.” She collected her bag and stepped back from the counter.

“No bother at all. Have a good day.” He seemed relieved she was leaving.

Gemma quickly exited the station, grappling with her thoughts.

By the time she arrived home, she knew what she was going to do. And she knew exactly how she was going to convince Murray to help her. Fortunately for her, Trent and Max were at a sleepover tonight so she had Murray all to herself. Exactly how she liked him. When they had time alone it was good. Better than good, it was great. They talked and laughed and thought about the future together. And occasionally, when all the busy aspects of their lives were in place, they had sex too.

She touched up her hair, applied a little makeup and chose a dress she'd never worn. Gemma had bought the beautiful halter-neck dress on a whim, just after she'd met Murray. But so far they hadn't been anywhere suitable to wear it. The silky floral fabric was just a little too fancy for the movies.

For the first time ever she didn't wear any underwear. It felt exhilarating—and just a little bit naughty—cooking dinner with practically nothing on. She had to be extra careful not to spill anything on her dress but it was worth it. Michael Jackson's ‘Black or White' was playing on the radio when she heard the front door open. She started to sing along, pretending she didn't know he was home.

He whistled. Exactly the reaction she was hoping for, and she turned with the wooden spoon in her hand and smiled.

Murray walked to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, bending to kiss her. “You look lovely,” he said. “Got a date?”

“Yes, with you. The boys aren't home, remember?”

“How could I forget?” He cupped her cheek in his warm palm. “How did you go with the police?” Damn, she'd hoped to get at least one glass of wine into him before he asked. She handed him the glass that she'd poured earlier, but as she told him what happened he didn't even take a sip. This wasn't going exactly to plan.

“You should have seen the way he looked at me. I felt like a fool.” She turned away and ran the spoon around the pot. “When I told him their ages he said kids were known to exaggerate.”

“But what did he say when you showed him the tape?” She didn't reply, and he reached for her arm. “You did show him the tape, Gemma?”

“I was so embarrassed. I didn't get that far.”

Murray moved to the kitchen table and sat down. She had deliberately left the tape in the middle and he picked it up now. “I don't understand. He wouldn't have thought you were foolish if you'd shown him this tape.” He ran his fingers over his moustache.

“I thought about that and realised we have no proof the tape is real.”

His face screwed into a frown. “What do you mean? Why wouldn't they believe this is real?”

“I don't know. I just thought it would be more convincing if we had more proof.”

“Proof. Like what?” Finally he sipped his wine, a big sip actually.

“Photos.”

“What?”

“Well, I thought we could get photos of the robbers going in or out of the boatshed… See what they look like.”

“What? How?”

She shrugged. “Maybe we could hide under the shed?”

“My God, Gemma, that's dangerous.”

“The boys did it.” Gemma turned off the hotplate and walked over to him. She slipped her bottom onto the table, facing him, forcing him to move his chair back a little.

“This isn't a movie, you know. This is actually happening.”

“I know, and it's so exciting. Come on, Murray, it's more than a week until the race. We have heaps of time to go back to the police. Can't we have a little fun first?” She reached up, undid the knot at the base of her neck and let the front of her dress fall, gradually exposing her naked breasts. Murray's tongue flicked across his bottom lip. Now she had his attention. Her nipples hardened and a flutter tickled her insides. She couldn't wait to see his reaction when he realised she wasn't wearing any underpants. Murray reached up to squeeze her nipple and she arched her back to greet him.

He sucked the air between his teeth and she parted her legs, wanting him to explore beneath her dress. She leant forward and unbuttoned his shirt. It was her turn to tweak his nipples, first one then the other. It was impossible to miss the bulge in his pants.

His eyes had taken on that lustful look, slightly glazed, pupils enlarged. She couldn't wait any longer. Without taking her eyes from his she lowered a hand beneath her silky dress and touched herself, right there. She almost came on the spot. Never before had she done this in front of a man and it was probably the most erotic moment of her life. With her other hand she lifted her skirt up her thighs so he could see what she was doing. His breath hitched.

He stood and as he removed his trousers she noticed his trembling fingers. Gemma used her own finger to touch herself again. She closed her eyes now and heard her own erratic breathing. His hand joined hers, and when he slipped his finger inside, her sexual coil that had wound up so tightly exploded and she came right there on the kitchen table. Suddenly he was inside her, thrusting with more intensity than she'd felt from him before. She came again, riding his rhythm with matching groans. But it finished as quickly as it had started. Less than a minute, she figured.

When it was over, Murray flopped back onto his chair, breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

“So, what do you think, honey, can we take some photos? Please?”

T
rent couldn't believe their father was coming to the shed with them this time. He adjusted the pack on his shoulder. It was much heavier than usual because his dad had made him pack a bucket load of extra water. Six bottles to be exact. It's a wonder he could even pick it up. As Murray clutched the bulky camera dangling around his neck, Trent wondered why he bothered to bring it. He'd already told him it'd be impossible to get any decent photos from under the shed.

Right from the moment they set off out the door, Max was his typical chatterbox self and Dad kept telling him to hush. His father didn't look so good. “Are you all right, Dad?” He looked like he was about to puke.

“Not really, mate. This isn't the brightest idea.”

“Why are we doing it, then?”

He didn't answer straight away. The only sound was their feet crunching on the gravel. Finally his dad put his hand on his shoulder. “Gemma thought the police would find it beneficial if we had pictures of these people.”

“Cool,” Trent said. “But we may not get any.”

“I know. We'll see how we go.”

Max skipped ahead and just about vanished in the high grass.

“Max.” Dad's voice was a forced whisper. “Come back.” But Max didn't stop.

“It's okay, Dad, we're nearly there. You can see the roof now.”