Each Way Bet (8 page)

‘Emily?’ asked a hesitant masculine voice. ‘Emily, are you, um, all right?’

In mid-poise for flight, Jill froze and turned her head towards the source of the voice. It was deep and husky with a slight American accent – and certainly didn’t sound like a murderer but, as Jill was reasonably sure she had never actually spoken to a murderer, she was not altogether sure of how one should sound. Then there was the fact that he seemed to know her sister’s name.

‘Ah – Emily?’

Jill leant towards the bed and, tucking the sheet securely around her, slowly began to lever herself upwards. When her head was level with the top of the mattress, she took a deep breath and quickly popped up – and saw another head popping across from the other side a split-second before they collided with a short, sharp crack.

‘Christ all-bloody-mighty!’

‘Shit! Shit!
Shit
!’

Jill collapsed again, nursing her head in both hands and groaning. The force of the collision had sent huge, throbbing shockwaves across her skull and her entire head felt like it was going to explode. Tears ran down her cheeks and, when she opened her eyes, her vision blurred and then snowed just like a badly programmed television set. After a few minutes of this, the pounding eased off to a dull, echoing roar and she realised there was a strong chance she would live. Consequently, the existence of the intruder on the bed began to occupy her thoughts once more and she raised her head again – this time keeping a considerable distance between it and the bed.

And saw a man. A totally naked man. About early-thirty something and rather good looking in a tall, dark and handsome, naked sort of way. Naked enough to make her forget all about the throbbing of her head, anyway. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, which made the nudity even more apparent, and was holding his head in his hands and moaning. As if he sensed her staring at him, he lifted his head slightly and then, when he saw her, started violently.

‘Christ!
You’re
not Emily!’

‘This is true,’ agreed Jill, trying without much success to keep her eyes focused on his face. ‘Um, I’m her sister. And who are you?’

‘Her
sister
!’

‘No, you can’t be,’ said Jill pragmatically, ‘that’s me.’

‘No – I mean you . . . I mean –’

‘So you
know
Emily?’ Jill had begun to register that the intruder could well be, in fact, a legitimate intruder. And that what had just happened, including the fractured skull, was the result of a misunderstanding rather than the foreplay to murder. Accordingly, she began to relax somewhat, although her head was still vibrating with a steady, incessant beat. Also, she dearly wished that he would place a pillow on his lap or something.

‘Yes! Of course I do!’ He frowned at her. ‘I’m her boyfriend!’

‘Ah!’

‘But where
is
she?’

‘At my place.’ Jill pulled up her sheet and tucked it around herself modestly, hoping he would take the hint. ‘She’s staying there for the night. And I’m staying here.’

‘But I left a message! On the machine!’

‘Look, perhaps we’d better introduce ourselves.’ Jill leant forward and, holding her sheet securely with her left hand, offered her right one across to him. ‘I’m Jill.’

‘Tim.’ He leant across and shook her hand. ‘Very pleased to meet you.’

‘Pleasure’s all mine,’ said Jill politely, focusing intensely on his face. As they released each other’s hands after a perfunctory shake, Jill was suddenly struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. That one of them was naked, the other semi-naked, and barely ten minutes ago they had been rolling around a bed together being . . .
intimate
, yet here they were shaking hands and acting politely, as if by manners alone they could take the edge off the situation and make it more formal.

‘So what happened?’ Tim waved a hand, encompassing the bedroom and then her. ‘Why the swap?’

‘Oh, it was just a spur of the moment thing,’ explained Jill, ‘and I’m sure she didn’t get your message. She certainly never said anything about you.’

‘What – nothing at all?’ asked Tim, looking rather dejected – all over. ‘You mean, she never mentioned me?’

‘Oh, um – maybe . . . Look, do you want a coffee or anything?’ Jill, falling automatically into her hostess role, struggled to her feet, holding the sheet firmly in place. ‘I mean, not
anything
. You know.’

‘Thanks.’ Tim grinned at her discomfiture and then abruptly stopped, his face going pale. ‘My
god
! I’m so sorry! Christ almighty!’

‘That’s all right,’ mumbled Jill, knowing exactly what he was referring to, ‘don’t mention it.’

‘No –my
god
! I mean, I thought you were Emily! I would have never – that is . . .’

‘I said don’t mention it,’ said Jill through gritted teeth.

‘And when you started cheering, I thought I was – I thought that –’

‘When I started
cheering
?’

‘Yes! When I . . . just after I – anyway, I was beginning to
think you didn’t want to but suddenly you started cheering! So I thought, well, naturally . . .’

‘I get the picture,’ said Jill tightly, deciding it wasn’t worth trying to explain that she had actually been applauding her daughter’s efforts at scoring –
not
his, ‘and let’s put it down to a misunderstanding. And never mention it again. Ever.’

‘I’m with you,’ Tim said with relief. ‘That is, I mean I agree. Totally.’

‘So, are you up for some coffee?’ asked Jill, immediately flinching at her choice of words.

‘No, I’ve taken enough of your time.’ Tim clambered off the bed, totally unselfconscious about his nakedness, which was eminent. Extremely eminent, Jill noticed, now that he was upright. In fact, he was a fine specimen of a man, in more ways than one, having what Jill’s eldest daughter would label an excellent six-pack, with biceps and thigh muscles to match. Damn Emily, she thought bitterly.

‘Sorry again.’ Tim glanced over just in time to catch Jill in her visual stocktake. She immediately snapped her eyes up and flushed before waving her hand airily, as if being pawed by a complete stranger were an everyday occurrence.

‘Forget it.’

‘Wish I could.’

Jill wasn’t too sure how to take that last comment. Did he mean it was too memorable an experience to forget? Or simply that the very memory was making him feel nauseous but he couldn’t get it out of his head? Sort of like the first time you see your mother or father naked – or, heaven forbid, both at the same time (which, in Jill’s case, had been exactly what happened when she had wandered innocently into her parents’ bedroom early one morning only to witness what was most probably, according to the timing, the conception of her youngest sister). Mercifully free of this image at the present moment, Jill watched
ruefully while Tim looked around for his clothing and then bent over to retrieve his pants. Oh, merciful heaven!

‘Um, do you know anything about this do tomorrow? A family thing?’ Tim turned to face her and tugged on a pair of faded Levis. ‘I was supposed to be taking Emily.’

‘Oh!’ Jill took a deep breath and refocused. ‘She was meant to call you! You’re to take me instead, and meet her there. Is that all right? I mean, if you don’t want to . . . after, you know –’

‘No – that’s fine! I’ll need directions, anyhow.’

‘Thanks. Um, what time?’

‘I’ll leave that up to you. You ring me when you’re ready. The number’s in Emily’s directory. No rush.’

‘Okay.’ Jill massaged her right leg, which was starting to go numb. ‘Listen – if you don’t mind my asking, how did you get in here? Do you have a key?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Tim sat on the bed to pull a pair of black boots on. ‘But as I said, I rang earlier – left a message saying that I was ready . . . um, that I’d drop around later. Anyway, when I got here I saw that all the lights were off –’

‘I went to bed early,’ interrupted Jill defensively, ‘I was tired.’

‘No worries. But I thought I’d try the door, just in case – and it was only latched. So I thought . . . um, I thought .. .’

‘You thought it was a message from Emily,’ Jill finished for him.

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘And instead it was me being an idiot. See, I left the door latched before – because I don’t have a key either – and I guess I must have forgotten to unlatch it. Damn it.’

‘All’s well that ends well,’ said Tim brightly, standing up and pulling on a navy windcheater. ‘Could have been worse.’

‘Yes!’ Jill had a sudden series of vivid images depicting precisely how, and why, and where, it could have been worse. She blushed again.

‘So I’ll catch you tomorrow.’ Tim was starting to edge towards the door, obviously keen to make his escape now that all the explanations were over. ‘Just ring. Anytime.’

‘Fine. Good.’ Jill watched as he backed through the doorway, giving her a last wave as he disappeared. She heard his boots thumping down the staircase and then the front door open and close again behind him. She waited a few minutes to make sure he was gone before dropping the sheet and scrabbling through Emily’s drawers until she found a large T-shirt, which she pulled on. Now decent, she padded down the staircase herself and went over to the front door to latch it. However, it seemed Tim had already done it for her, so she just added the security chain for good measure.

Then she leant against the door, just as she had done earlier that evening. But this time she wasn’t feeling the overwhelming light-heartedness that had filled her on that other occasion. This time she felt dreadful. One night away from the house, only one night just to give herself a break, do some thinking, clear the air. One night – and already she had managed to stab both Jack
and
Emily in the back, and even if a great deal of it had been while she was half asleep – that was no excuse. There was no denying that she had given him a certain amount of encouragement – even if one discounted the actual cheering, which she most definitely did. Regardless of that, though, there was no getting away from the tacit willingness of her participation right up to the point of the hand. The hand! She could still feel the weight of it burning into her right breast like a red-hot brand. And the brand spelt out the word ‘guilty!’ – because that’s exactly what she was. Guilty as sin.

And it was little consolation that the only actual banging had been with her head.

‘She’s met someone else.’ Jack ran his hand through his hair, slid lower into the armchair and stared morosely at the blank television screen opposite. ‘I know it.’

‘Balls,’ replied Emily heartily. ‘What do you think – that she’s with someone else right now rolling around in
my
bed doing the dirty on you?’

‘Yep.’

‘No way. I bet you she’s fast asleep right at this very minute. Besides, she would have told me if she was having some sort of fling and she hasn’t, so she isn’t.’

‘I reckon she is.’

‘And I reckon you’re wrong.’

‘Seriously, Em,’ Jack lifted up his half-empty tumbler of scotch and pointed at Emily with it, ‘it’s the only thing I can think of that explains the way she’s been acting lately.’

‘How about she just wants a break? Some time by herself without all –’ Emily paused while she waved an arm around the lounge-room – ‘all this?’

‘Time by herself?’ Jack repeated, obviously giving this innovative idea some serious consideration for a moment before shaking his head dismissively. ‘Nah. It’s another bloke. I know it.’

‘Hell, Jack. Where would she find the time to fit in another bloke?’

‘She’s got plenty of time. She’s not working, you know.’

‘Yeah, but she’s got Cricket, doesn’t she?’

‘Hmm, that’s true.’ Jack visibly brightened. ‘You’ve got a point there.’

‘See?’

‘And I reckon you’re right! Yeah, she wouldn’t have the time. Not with Cricket around – no way.’

‘Exactly.’ Emily nodded emphatically, although privately she thought Jill wouldn’t have a problem fitting in a fling or two. Surely Cricket had friends she visited, which would leave her mother with plenty of free time. And it wasn’t as if she did a lot of housework, after all.

‘So what’s it all about then? Has she told you?’

‘Sort of. But I don’t know that she expected me to discuss it with you, you know?’

‘Look, Em . . .’ Jack leant forward and waved the tumbler in her direction again. ‘Something’s been going on for a while. And if it’s not another bloke, then I need to know. Because if I don’t know, how can I fix it?’

Emily took a sip of scotch and tried to remember if Jill had actually used the words ‘in confidence’ when she spoke to her this afternoon. Anyway, surely it was in her sister’s best interests if she filled Jack in and gave him a chance to work things out with his wife before she left – or not. Emily sighed, leant back against the couch and regarded her brother-in-law pensively. He was staring at the blank television screen again, obviously lost in thought and looking pretty miserable.

Not that the evening itself had been all that depressing. After the boxes had been unpacked, Emily had helped Jack and the kids do a fairly good clean-up job around the house and they’d laid out the prizes, stuck up the various lists for
tomorrow, thrown Cricket in the bath and then settled down to choose their bets. The form-guide had been passed around and scribbled all over and there was now a decent pile of completed betting slips all filled out and waiting for someone to take them down to the TAB first thing in the morning. Before all the other Melbourne Cup once-a-year punters found their way down there and formed long, snaking queues that took over an hour to negotiate.

At about ten o’clock, there had been a great fuss when someone spotted Cricket still in the bath, having set up an intricate game that involved some small figurines who were regularly leaping into the watery depths to their doom. She had been immediately, and forcibly, removed by her father and stuck in front of the heater to thaw out. However, even when she was finally deposited into bed half an hour later, her skin still had that peculiar wrinkled sausage look reminiscent of anaemic corpses.

No doubt realising that he, and nobody else, was in charge at that point, Jack turned into a rabid dictator for a short period of time. He harassed Megan and Kate off to bed forthwith and finally seemed to notice that his son had done a disappearing act hours earlier. While he sorted out his offspring, Emily replenished their drinks and retired to the lounge-room where she curled up in one of the two coffee-coloured crushed-velvet couches and reflected on the evening.

One thing was for sure, she now had a much better understanding of what was getting her sister down. Life in the Carstairs household could not be called relaxing by any stretch of the imagination. Not with a constant stream of kids to feed, dishes to do, animals both to feed and medicate, clothes to wash, rooms to clean, arguments to mediate, dishes to do, kids to bathe, homework to supervise, and then, just when you thought
everything was done – more dishes to do. And Emily was guessing that there was a hell of a lot more to do when the tribe all had school and work the next day, instead of a day of rest.

On the positive side was the company. The kids were a nice bunch, and all so different that it was pretty interesting just watching the varying personalities at play. Matt so basic and transparent, Megan so helpful and intuitive, Kate so reserved and prickly, and Cricket so . . . well, try as she might, Emily couldn’t think of any fitting adjectives that accurately summed up her youngest niece. She was still sitting in the two-seater couch and musing about the family dynamics when Jack came in to join her. And it wasn’t long before the conversation turned to what was obviously uppermost in his mind – Jill.

‘It all started with Cricket.’ Jack sighed heavily and ran his spare hand through his hair again. ‘We never planned to have another one, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘Not that we don’t love the kid.’ Jack looked across at Emily earnestly. ‘Don’t know what we’d do without her now. She’s a real character, that’s for sure.’

‘True. Very true.’

‘But Jill never sort of . . . bounced
back
like she did with the others. It was all a lot harder with Cricket. And then there was giving up her job.’

‘Why did she?’ Emily looked at him curiously. ‘I mean, she was enjoying it so much, why didn’t she just take maternity leave and then pop Cricket into crèche so that she could go back?’

‘Ask her,’ Jack said morosely, ‘
I
don’t know.’

‘Come on! You must have some idea!’

‘No, I don’t. I mean, we never really spoke about it, that’s just the way we’d done it with the others, so why not? I thought it was what she wanted.’

‘Are you serious?’ Emily looked at him disbelievingly. ‘You know your wife loves her job, then she gets pregnant accidentally, then she has the baby – and you never discuss whether she’s going back to work or not? You just go with the flow?’

‘Works well for me.’

‘Really? You
sure
about that?’ Emily asked derisively, raising her eyebrows. ‘And if it’s working so damn well, where, may I ask, is your wife?’

‘Point taken.’ Jack slid even further down into his armchair and took a gulp of his scotch. ‘Mind you, there are some advantages to the situation, you know. If she
was
here, what with people coming round tomorrow, she’d still be cracking the whip and making us scrub the joint up. Stupid stuff like picking up all the dog crap or cleaning the windowsills or something. I mean, who the hell looks at other people’s windowsills?’

‘Not me,’ said Emily truthfully, taking a sip of her scotch and avoiding the compulsion to leap up and examine the windowsills now that she knew they were an issue, ‘though maybe we
should
have cleaned up all the dog stuff. Someone’s bound to step in it.’

‘Whatever. So what do I do? You’re the bloody expert – give me some advice.’

‘Pick it up in the morning?’

‘Not the bloody crap, you idiot!
Jill
! What do I do about
Jill
?’

‘Hey, there’s no need to yell!’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Jack held up a hand in apology. ‘I’m just wound up pretty tight about all this. So can you, dear sister-in-law, give me some advice about my wife? Like, what’s she upset about and what can I do about it?’

‘Here’s a novel idea.’ Emily tapped a finger to her head melodramatically and then pointed it at him accusingly. ‘Talk to her!’

‘Talk to her?’

‘Yes! A bit extreme, I know, but you’d be surprised at how many answers you get when you actually
ask questions
.’

‘Okay, okay – I get the hint.’ Jack gave her a wry smile. ‘But you could still help me know what to ask. Come on, give me a few directions.’

‘Hmm, don’t know about that.’

‘Come on. I’ll make it worth your while.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Another scotch?’

‘Done.’ Emily watched as Jack heaved himself out of the chair and, with a grin at her, picked up her near-empty tumbler and took it out to the kitchen. In an admirably short period of time he had deposited a fresh drink by her side and was back in his chair, waiting expectantly.

‘Come on, spill the beans.’

‘Well . . . I’m not telling you everything she told me, okay?’ Emily frowned at him sternly. ‘That’d be breaking her confidence. I’ll just tell you the highlights.’

‘They’ll do me.’

‘Okay. For starters, if you think we spend a lot of time talking about whether she’s unhappy or not, you’re wrong. The first I heard of it was today – although I must say I wasn’t altogether surprised.’ Emily looked over at Jack apologetically but he just nodded and waited for her to continue. ‘Maybe it’s like a mid-life crisis – you know, when you look around and everything isn’t how you expected it would be. But I think you’re right about this all being a flow-on from Cricket. Not Cricket herself, but her birth, and the job, and everything. And I think she’s just tired. Tired of the kids bickering, tired that they’re such hard work, tired of not having any time to herself, tired of being so needed, and tired of – yes, she did mention it – of you not communicating much.’

‘She said that?’

‘Basically. Not nastily, you know, just sort of – resigned.’

‘Oh.’ Jack lapsed into silence, staring moodily at his drink.

‘But, Jack, seriously, how long has Jill been doing this? The housewife bit, the staying home with kids thing. I mean, when you add it up, it must be nearly twenty years. And then, when she finally starts getting her own life together, she falls pregnant again! No wonder she’s depressed. And I can’t believe you guys never spoke about it.’

‘It wasn’t deliberate,’ Jack said defensively, ‘it just never came up!’

‘Sure,’ Emily replied sarcastically, ‘
that’s
understandable.’

‘Let it go, Em – it’s over and done with now.’

‘Very true.’

‘So how bad
is
it? Do you reckon she needs . . . I don’t know – therapy, or something?’

‘Therapy!’ Emily shrieked with laughter and then looked at him derisively. ‘She doesn’t need therapy, you fool, she needs a rest! Or a life!’

‘She’s
got
a life! And a bloody good one too.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says me!’

‘Then if it’s so damn good, Mr Expert, why does she want to leave?’

The minute the words escaped her mouth, Emily closed her eyes and froze in horror, unable to quite believe that she had said what she had just said. After a minute or two of silence, she opened her eyes slowly and uneasily looked across at Jack to see how he had taken this revelation. He was staring at her expressionlessly, nursing his scotch and obviously waiting for her to elaborate.

‘God, I’m
so
sorry, Jack – that just slipped out.’

‘But she said it, didn’t she?’

‘Look, she was upset. She probably wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘But she said it.’

‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it. Talk to her, Jack,’ said Emily beseechingly, leaning forward and putting a hand on his knee, ‘talk to her. I
know
you guys can work it out – all you need to do is talk it out.’

‘Bugger that.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You heard.’ Jack glowered at her. ‘You keep saying that
I
need to talk but it takes two to tango, you know. She doesn’t exactly bloody-well communicate either. Except with you, obviously. She carries on like I’m some sort of villain but what do I do? I’ll
tell
you what I do. I drive to work in bumper-to-bloody-bumper traffic, work all bloody day, come home in more bloody traffic. Walk into a house full of bickering teenagers, a three year old who swears like a trooper, and a wife who grunts in my direction a few times over the course of the evening and then goes to bed.
That’s
my bloody day. So if she decides she’s had enough – good on her. I’ll remember to thank her tomorrow for having the bloody decency to let me be the first to know.’

‘Jack –’ Emily pulled her hand back and looked at him with horror. ‘Jack, I –’

‘No, not your fault.’ Jack stood up, drained his scotch and banged the empty tumbler down onto the coffee table. ‘I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.’

Somewhat stunned, Emily watched as he left the room without a backward glance. A split second later his bedroom door slammed shut and she was alone. Officially abandoned. But this wasn’t worrying her as much as the fact that she had just managed to tell her brother-in-law that his wife, her sister, was considering leaving him in the very near future. Emily took a gulp of scotch and wondered what the chances were of
being able to convince Jack not to let on that he knew. After a few minutes’ contemplation, she reluctantly concluded that they were slim. Very slim. And Jill was going to kill her.

Emily tucked her legs up, leant back in the couch and surveyed the room around her. For the first time she wondered where she was expected to sleep tonight, and where she might find some bedding with which to do so. Nobody had thought to mention these little details during the course of the evening. She toyed briefly with the idea of knocking on Jack’s door and asking him, but dismissed this on the grounds that she simply didn’t want to see him again. Not just yet, anyway.

‘I shouldn’t be allowed to open my mouth,’ she said to herself with disgust. How on earth was she going to be able to explain to Jill that she had only been trying to help? Instead of which, things were now probably one hundred times worse than before she had arrived with her big mouth in tow. Then again, Jill had never actually
said
it was a secret, nor had she
specifically
said that Jack didn’t know as yet. So for all Emily knew, he had already been well-informed of his wife’s intentions.