Each Way Bet (10 page)

Race One, 10.30 am

‘They’re off! They’re off!’

‘Quick! Which one’s mine?’

‘Look, look! My horthy’s thtuck! My horthy’s thtuck!’

Emily froze in the doorway on her way to answer the front door and, with a tea-towel dangling by her side, watched as all the horses except one broke out of their stalls and then split into two groups on their way down the straight, one group to the far left and one to the far right. Big, thick clods of turf flew behind them as their hooves thudded into the grass and the whips smacked against their shining flanks. Well-dressed spectators lined the track barriers thickly along the stadium side, waving hats in the air and screaming encouragement. As the two groups of horses got closer to the finishing line, the race-caller’s voice became almost hysterical with excitement and his words ran together in their haste to exit his mouth.

Somebody knocked on the front door again, this time a trifle more impatiently, and Emily slipped out of the room just as Matt and Kate leapt to their feet and, fists shaking, started shrieking at the television. She opened the door and, to her
absolute delight, was rewarded with the sight of her only brother.

‘
Adam
!’ Emily grabbed one of his hands happily and then stepped back to examine him. Adam, looking a good five years younger than his thirty-seven years, was a Keanu Reeves lookalike with a
Matrix
sense of dress to match. For once without his ankle-length overcoat, he was currently dressed in designer jeans, black slip-ons and a silky black T-shirt that bore the words: ‘Veni Vidi Vici’.

‘Well, do I pass?’ Adam leant forward, delivered a quick kiss to his sister’s cheek and then stood back and frowned. ‘Although you look like crap.’

‘Cwap, cwap! Someone said cwap!’ Cricket poked her head around the corner, saw who it was at the door, then launched herself at him with a running jump. Adam, who had a champagne bottle in one hand, grabbed her awkwardly and hoisted her up against one hip where she settled contentedly, arms linked casually around his neck.

‘Hello, sweetie. What happened to your hair?
And
your clothes?’ Adam held the child out slightly so that he could examine her outfit of light blue skivvy and yellow shortie overalls over hot pink tights and yellow sneakers. ‘You look like you’re auditioning for a job at Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory!’

‘I dressed myself!’

‘No kidding!’

‘Never mind about that.’ Emily took the champagne before Adam dropped it and then tugged on his sleeve, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the noise coming from the lounge-room. ‘I
so
need your help. This is a disaster! Jack vanished an hour ago to go to the TAB and pick up Mum and he hasn’t come back. The kids have gone totally hyper, his parents are sitting in the lounge-room just glaring at me, and some
strange bird turned up with Charlotte and has taken herself off on a personal tour around the house!’

‘A friend of Charlotte’s?’

‘No, a cousin of Will’s. So she said,’ Emily replied, lowering her voice as the screaming in the lounge-room came to an abrupt end. ‘Apparently, she met us all years ago at Corinne’s wedding. Like I’d remember that – there were three-hundred-odd people there. Anyway, I think she’s supposed to be babysitting but I get the feeling she’s handed that job over to me.’

‘
You
?’ Adam looked at her with astonishment. ‘Where’s Jill then?’

‘Good question!’

‘Okay, enough said.’ Adam readjusted Cricket against his hip. ‘I’ll give you a hand – temporarily! C’mon, onwards and upwards!’

Emily led him into the lounge-room, which was almost vibrating with the volume level of the television set. All eyes were glued to an extremely sweaty looking horse being ridden slowly down the straight by a beaming jockey who was standing up in the saddle, waving his riding crop in the air. Emily turned her back on the celebration and gazed at the occupants of the room instead. On the three-seater couch were Jack’s parents, both sitting stiffly at attention, his father clutching a large plastic-wrapped platter of assorted sandwiches. James and Margaret Carstairs were both in their late sixties, both plump and of slightly less than medium height. Both had identical shades of grey hair, and both looked like they would rather be having every last tooth in their heads pulled than be where they were. With or without anaesthetic.

How Jack, who was a perfectly normal, pleasant type of bloke, had sprung from these loins was something that had always astounded Emily. Even the thought of these particular
loins in action was enough to generate a sense of disbelief. And the desire for an immediate lobotomy. Because James Carstairs was probably the most unpleasant man she had ever had the misfortune to meet, and his habitual rudeness was only alleviated by lengthy periods of broody, irritable silence. On the other hand, Margaret was a jittery, jumpy, apologetic woman who looked like she had been faded in the wash one time too many. And she had a grating politeness that made it difficult to feel sorry for her, despite her husband’s overwhelming revoltingness. Yet Jack and his siblings, who not surprisingly lived either interstate or overseas, were really nice people. The only theory Emily had been able to come up with was that their parents had sort of neutralised each other. James’s rudeness versus Margaret’s excessive politeness, his arrogance against her insecurity, his aggressiveness against her nervousness. Whatever, it had seemed to work.

Next to the Carstairs was Emily’s niece, Corinne’s eleven year old daughter Charlotte, sitting neatly with her legs crossed as she intently watched the post-race rundown on the television. With her long dark hair secured by an Alice band and dressed impeccably in a chocolate-velvet pleated skirt with a matching top that was adorned by a white Peter Pan collar, she looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her little rosebud mouth. In front of her, sprawled across the carpet and dressed considerably more casually, were Matt and Kate, the former now helping himself to a huge glass bowl full of corn chips and setting up some type of dice game, and the latter glancing from the television to a newspaper form guide she had spread out before her, every so often frowning as she made miniscule notations in the columns.

‘Hi, guys!’ called Adam gaily, waving with his free hand and grinning broadly. ‘Good to see you all.’

‘Uncle Adam! Cool!’

‘I didn’t know
you
were coming!’

‘Well, I was – and I am.’ Adam plopped Cricket down on the carpet with an exaggerated sigh then pretended to ruffle Kate’s newly gelled spikes.

She ducked automatically before realising it was a sham, and smiled at him. ‘Ha, ha.’

‘Nice outfit,’ commented Adam, glancing at her black jeans and T-shirt. ‘We could be twins. Apart from the hair, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Kate, sneering at his neat, dark-brown cap before reading the logo on his T-shirt: ‘Veni Vidi Vici – what’s it mean?’

‘It’s Latin for I came, I saw, I conquered. It’s my new motto.’ Adam looked at his only nephew and grinned again. ‘Matt, my mate. How goes things?’

‘Cool, thanks. You missed the first race.’

‘I’ll live.’ Adam turned to Charlotte and his eyes widened slightly, then he glanced back at the other two briefly before settling once more on his eldest sister’s daughter. Emily knew exactly what he was thinking because it was precisely what she had thought when Charlotte first arrived this morning and stood near her cousins. Even Megan looked like she was coming apart at the seams next to Charlotte, whose serenity created an aura more reminiscent of a Tibetan monk than an eleven year old female.

‘Hello, Uncle Adam,’ she said politely, adjusting her skirt slightly. ‘How are you?’

‘Ah, fine, thanks,’ Adam said feebly. ‘And you, Charlotte? Enjoying the day so far?’

‘Oh yes. Certainly.’

‘It looks like it.’ Adam nodded at her and then moved, almost gratefully, to her companions on the couch. ‘Margaret, James – so, you were invited too?’

‘No,’ said James contemptuously, as he clutched his platter
firmly. ‘We were just taking these sandwiches for a stroll and thought we’d drop in.’

‘Adam!’ Margaret blinked several times and then smiled nervously. ‘How lovely! We haven’t seen you since – oh, when was it, Jim?’

‘Dunno,’ said James, glaring across at Adam accusingly, ‘bloody long time.’

‘Oh.’ Margaret blinked again. ‘It must have been Cricket’s christening. My word, that’s years ago!’

‘Too long,’ Adam nodded politely as he started walking towards the kitchen, ‘but we’ll make up for it today. I’ll just say hi to Megan and I’ll join you.’

‘And perhaps we’ll turn this down a tad.’ Emily adjusted the volume on the television before following Adam. ‘God, that’s better!’

‘Now
I
can’t hear it.’ Megan looked up from where she was busily decorating a plate of pikelets with dollops of jam and cream. ‘Uncle Adam, you’re here!’

‘In person.’ Adam gave her an enthusiastic hug and then, taking the champagne bottle from Emily, deposited it in the fridge. ‘Now, what do you want me to do, Em? Please don’t say you need me to keep the gruesome twosome company.’

‘Shh . . .’ Emily glanced across at Megan, who appeared oblivious to the slight on her grandparents. ‘No, I wouldn’t do that – yet.’

‘Hah!’ Adam spotted a schedule of events sticky-taped to the side of the island bench and squatted down to read it. ‘Okay, that’s race one over with. So now for flapjack. Hey, did you guys do this? You’re just as bad as Corinne.’

‘That’s because she did it,’ replied Emily ruefully, ‘and sent everything over. With the prizes, and the food, and everything we could possibly need.’

‘That’s our sister. So, where do you want me to start?’

‘Um . . .’ Emily looked around helplessly and then, lowering her voice, turned to Megan: ‘That woman who came with Charlotte – ah . . . Sybil – where is she?’

‘Oh,
her
,’ Megan sniffed and rolled her eyes. ‘I’m calling her Cruella. Anyway, she went up the passage. Said she always likes to look at strange houses – finds them fascinating, you know.’

‘Christ,’ Emily muttered crossly, ‘I’d better go find her.’

‘Megan?’ asked Charlotte politely, materialising in the doorway and making Emily jump. ‘Would you happen to have any lip-balm? I can feel my lips chapping.’

This request stopped the conversation cold as everybody stared at the little girl with varying expressions of bemusement. While Charlotte, with her hands linked casually in front of her, waited patiently for a response, Emily made her escape and ducked down the passageway, opening bedroom doors as she went in search of the missing guest. She finally found her standing in the middle of Jill’s bedroom, coolly surveying the unmade bed. The dusky-grey Persian cat was lolling on one of the pillows, and looked extremely unimpressed. Certainly the name ‘Cruella’ seemed to suit Sybil. She was a tall woman, probably in her mid-thirties, with long silky dark hair, a rather sharp nose and piercing blue eyes under beautifully shaped eyebrows. Thin to the point of anorexic and with not a hair out of place, she was dressed in a slim, just-above-the-knee black skirt and coral silk blouse. But what drew the eye, whether the eye wanted to be drawn or not, were her legs. Because, length-speaking, there was an
awful
lot of them. Tanned a golden-honey colour and propped by a high-heeled pair of strappy sandals, they were almost insect-like in the amount of body space they commanded. Emily dragged her eyes up to the woman’s face and coughed pointedly.

‘Oh,
there
you are!’ Cruella turned and waved one beautifully manicured hand in Emily’s direction. She spoke with just
the faintest English plummy inflection in her rather husky voice. ‘I was just taking a little tour and
hoping
I would find you.’

‘In the bedroom?’

‘Well,’ she smiled conspiratorially, ‘you never know your luck, hey?’

To her surprise, Emily found herself grinning back. ‘So if I had been, as you say,
lucky
, then you would have wandered in to watch, would you?’

‘Only if I had been invited.’

‘Not likely,’ Emily laughed. ‘I’ve never cared for an audience.’

‘Don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Emily looked at the other woman pensively. ‘I can’t quite believe that you’re Will’s cousin.’

‘And I can’t believe you’re Corinne’s sister.’

‘True,’ Emily nodded. ‘I’ve always found that hard to accept myself. But Will’s so –
quiet
, and you’re so . . .’

‘Yes? So .. .?’

‘So not quiet,’ finished Emily lamely, as she glanced down at the expanse of leg, ‘and aren’t you, um, cold?’

‘Cold? Heavens, I’ve just come back from seven years in London.
This
is a heat wave.’

‘Then how did you get –’

‘Fake tan, darling. Indispensable.’ Cruella smiled and then walked over to link one arm through Emily’s companionably. ‘But, more importantly,
please
tell me – this party will get more lively, won’t it? Corinne promised me I would meet some
stimulating
people. Adults. Surely Mr and Mrs Happy out in the lounge-room aren’t
it
, are they?’

‘But they’re terribly interesting when you get to know them,’ said Emily sweetly, patting Cruella’s hand. ‘
Stimulating
, even. So, how about we drag you out of the bedroom and rejoin everybody else?’

‘Sounds fascinating. I shall place myself entirely in your hands.’

Delighted that she had met such an engaging sparring partner, Emily led her new friend back out into the family room from where Charlotte, with or without her lip-balm, had disappeared. Adam was leaning against the island bench, regaling Megan with anecdotes about life in the city. He turned as they entered and gave them both a grin.

‘Why,
hello
there,’ said Cruella, visibly surprised as she looked Adam up and down. ‘And what might your name be?’

‘Adam,’ said Adam, holding out his hand. ‘And you are?’

‘Sybil. Sybil Simons – at your service.’ Sybil slid her arm out from Emily’s so that she could shake Adam’s hand and then, without letting go, she glanced down at his T-shirt and grinned. ‘So you came before you conquered, then? Is that an ongoing problem?’