Each Way Bet (9 page)

Somewhat cheered by this thought, Emily sat up and took another sip of her scotch while she ran through this afternoon’s conversation with Jill. And it was true – there had never been any actual mention of (a) secrecy and (b) Jack not being told. How could she be expected to do the right thing if she wasn’t given the full story? And anyway, it was odds on that Jill wasn’t sitting around worrying about anything at the moment like she, Emily, was. No,
she’d
walked into a clean house that had a bed all waiting for her, with no blokes around to cause any upsets, while Emily had not only been cleaning all evening, but didn’t even have any idea where she was going to sleep that night.
And
she’d had to endure a rather upsetting conversation without full knowledge of the facts, so that she was virtually guaranteed to make some minor errors of
judgement. Not only was she totally vindicated, but
she
was the one who was hard done by.

Now all she had to do was convince herself of this and everything would be just fine.

Jill emerged slowly from a deep, dreamless sleep that seemed as reluctant to release her as she was to leave it. Once awake, though, she automatically glanced across at the clock to check the time: 1.15 am. She groaned and flopped back onto the pillow, feeling bruised by the injustice of having to deal with insomnia on top of everything else. Because it had been happening a lot lately. Waking up in the middle of the night stifled by darkness and a whirlwind of thoughts that never slept. Slow, lingering minutes that tiptoed into hours, while Jack lay beside her, snoring happily, totally unaware of the turmoil percolating only a foot or so away. And then finally stumbling out of bed in the morning bleary-eyed and thick with tiredness. Jill sighed and glanced at the clock again – and suddenly realised that it wasn’t, in fact, her clock at all. And what’s more, her gaze flew from the clock to the bed to the room itself. They weren’t hers either.

As soon as this sank in properly, a huge smile spread itself across Jill’s face. No clock, no bed, no room, no noise, no mess – no worries. What did it matter if she didn’t get back to sleep for a while? All she had to face was a long, lazy morning filled with silence and solitude. Time for her to do some thinking, some soul-searching, and come to some decisions about what it was she wanted, and needed, to do. But not just yet. Instead, Jill stretched herself out across the bed and groaned with pure
pleasure. And it was this groaning, in this bed, which created an unpleasant little frisson of déjà vu that in turn sent a particular memory shooting up her mental cortex. A memory of a certain starring role she had played earlier – in
Foreplay to Adultery
Act 1. And, as this memory jostled for prime position, Jill’s smile faded somewhat. But she quickly rallied and, before the smile disappeared entirely, decided to concentrate on the positives in life, which currently read like a list of negatives, but were quite definitely not. Like, no Jack, no Matt, no Megan, no Kate, no Cricket – yes, no worries at all. And no need to get up for hours either.

‘What sort of stuff do you put in a punch, anyway?’

‘Um . . . juice and, like, fruit and veggies, I think.’

‘Euw, sick.’

‘Sounds like cwap.’

With a considerable amount of effort, Emily lifted up her head and looked blearily in the direction of the voices. But they were obviously coming from the kitchen area – so she could only guess that they belonged to her three nieces, and she was reasonably certain the last one had been Cricket’s. Emily groaned softly and tried to get more comfortable on the couch but, as she had continually discovered during the course of the night, this was not easy. After a few minutes she gave up and hefted herself into a sitting position, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders and looking miserably at nothing in particular. She estimated that she had enjoyed, although this was probably not the most appropriate word, about four hours’ sleep. None of which were consecutive.

She had swapped the two-seater couch for the three-seater in order to maximise stretching space, and because the two-seater was positioned in front of the lounge-room window and therefore attracted a hell of a draught. But the change had
made little difference to her overall comfort. The deep-brown faux fur blanket that had served as her sole covering she had found shoved behind the couch, where it looked like it had been used for nesting purposes at some stage. Nesting purposes of a tribe of wild animals with a poor sense of personal hygiene, judging by the smell. But at least it was warm. Pillows she had done without, instead gathering together a few of the scatter-cushions and shoving them under her head. She had repeated these two actions numerous times during the course of the night – gather and shove, gather and shove – until at some point in the wee hours she had simply thrown them into the darkness in disgust.

Continuing her weary surveillance of the opposite wall, Emily allowed herself to picture her own bed briefly. Queen-size comfort that was roomy yet snug, satin sheets that were crisp yet silky, pillows that were firm yet accommodating. Decadence on a mattress. And with Jill wallowing in the middle of it right this very minute, no doubt. Emily rubbed her eyes and stood up, still holding the blanket around her. Her head thumped, her bones ached, and her eyes felt like they had just been sandblasted – twice. And, if this was what she felt like after just one night in this place, it was no wonder that Jill was pretty depressed after twenty years. In fact, it was a miracle she hadn’t thrown herself under a train a decade ago.

With some effort, Emily got herself going and hobbled through into the kitchen, where the discussion regarding punch ingredients was still taking place.

‘D’you reckon it needs another carrot?’

‘Nah, let’s give it some other colour – like, how about some parsley?’

‘How about not.’ Emily shuffled over to the bench and looked curiously into the punchbowl. ‘Is that corn in there?’

‘Sure is!’ said Megan proudly. In three-quarter denim jeans
and a pink floral shirt, she was the only one of the sisters not in pyjamas. ‘And apples, and strawberries, and bananas.’

‘And we’re going to put those baby tomatoes in as well –’ Kate, looking remarkably normal with her hair somewhat flattened from sleep, gestured at her younger sister – ‘that is, when Cricket’s finished playing with them.’

‘
Playing
with them?’ repeated Emily with a frown, glancing over. Sure enough, Cricket
was
playing with a pile of cherry tomatoes. Indeed, they looked remarkably like the ones Emily had brought with her yesterday to give colour to her dip platter. Cricket, sitting at the island bench and looking extremely engaging in a pair of Piglet pyjamas with built-in feet, had five of the mini-vegetables lined up in front of her in regimental order with the remainder all reclining on tissues. Individual tissues, like little personal beds. One thing was for sure, each of the tomatoes looked a lot more comfortable than Emily had been.

‘Can’t have them,’ said Cricket decisively, shaking a cloud of mussed red curls and moving a cherry tomato from the head of the line to an empty tissue bed. ‘They’re all thleeping.’

‘Aunt Emily,’ Kate said, regarding her aunt with interest over the top of a steaming mug, ‘is that how you
always
look in the morning?’

‘What’s in the mug?’ Emily ignored the implied criticism and, pulling one of the stools over, sat down with a sigh. ‘And how much will it cost me for one of the same?’

‘You can have mine for –’

‘Kate!’ Megan sent a fleeting frown towards her sister before turning back to Emily. ‘
I’ll
make you one. For free.’

‘And I shall be forever in your debt.’ Emily folded her arms on the bench-top and laid her head down on them. ‘Wake me up when it’s ready.’

‘Bad night?’

‘The worst.’

‘You look it,’ commented Kate helpfully. ‘Your hair’s all sticking up – but not in a good way – and your eyes are all red, and –’

‘You look like a thick teddy-bear.’

‘I gather you mean sick, and not actually
thick
,’ mumbled Emily, squinting at her niece, ‘as in either overweight or just plain stupid.’

‘Thick, thick,’ giggled Cricket, ‘and a little bit thilly too!’

‘Cricket,’ admonished Megan, ‘she’s
silly
, not thilly. Remember to enunciate.’

‘And,’ continued Kate, ‘why are you wearing the dog’s blanket?’

‘Don’t care,’ mumbled Emily, who really didn’t. ‘Leave me alone. I’m thick.’

‘D’you, like, want to have my bed? To lie down on, I mean.’

‘Thanks, Megan.’ Emily raised her head enough to look gratefully at her eldest niece. ‘That’s very kind of you. And very tempting. But I don’t know that I’ve got time – haven’t we got a fair bit to do if we’re having people over soon?’

‘Dunno – Mum usually does everything.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about.’

‘And don’t forget we need to talk.’

‘What about?’ asked Kate curiously, looking from her sister to her aunt and back again. ‘Anything interesting?’

‘Mind your own business, freak.’

‘Look!’ Cricket proudly displayed her row of tissues, where each of the cherry tomatoes now had another one resting on top of it. ‘They’re all having thex!’

‘Cricket!’

‘Gross.’

‘Then they’ll have to change their name.’ Jack, fully dressed in a pair of bone cargo-style trousers and a navy polo shirt– and looking remarkably fresh and dapper and completely
unlike the rather depressed, angry man who had slammed off to bed the night before – came into the kitchen and grinned at Emily, sending her a wink that was obviously supposed to be surreptitious but wasn’t even close. ‘Because they wouldn’t be
cherry
tomatoes anymore, would they? Get it?’

‘No,’ said Cricket, wrapping a red curl around one of her fingers and frowning down at her vegetable orgy. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘Yeah, Dad.’

‘I don’t get it either.’

‘Me neither.’ Emily, deciding to pay him back for looking so rested, smirked across at him from her position resting on the bench. ‘Please explain.’

‘Oh, um . . .’ Jack narrowed his eyes at his sister-in-law before looking at his offspring and mumbling, ‘I don’t know. Stupid joke. Don’t worry about it.’

‘You’re, you know, really weird, Dad,’ said Megan dismissively, playing with the ends of her blond plait. Then the kettle boiled, so she tossed the plait over her shoulder and, turning her back on her father altogether, started organising the coffee.

‘But why wouldn’t they be tomatoes,’ frowned Cricket, picking up a tomato and examining it for clues, ‘just coz they had sex?’

‘Enough with the sex!’

‘That’d be right,’ mumbled Emily, moving her head around and getting more comfortable. ‘Story of my life.’

‘Pardon?’ said Jack nastily. ‘
What
did you say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘And why the hell are you wearing the dog’s blanket?’

‘Milk, Aunt Emily? Sugar?’

‘Yep, white and one, thanks.’

‘Megan,’ Jack sniffed appreciatively, ‘that smells good! What about one for me?’

‘On one condition, Dad.’

‘What?’

‘No more jokes for the whole day.’ Megan slid Emily’s mug over the bench until it rested against one of her elbows. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Emily lifted her head with some effort and, letting the blanket fall away from her shoulders, wrapped her hands around the steaming mug of what looked like hot chocolate. ‘Thanks, Megan. I
really
need this.’

‘Christ, Emily!’ Jack looked at her and recoiled melodramatically. ‘Is
that
what you look like in the morning?’

‘I had a bad night,’ Emily answered defensively, taking one hand away from the mug to try to smooth her hair down. ‘A
really
bad night.’

‘Bloody hell. Picked the right sister, didn’t I?’

Instead of answering, Emily glared at him and then took a deep gulp of the hot chocolate, groaning as she enjoyed the feel of the creamy liquid running down her throat and warming her insides. Then she put her head back onto the counter and closed her eyes.

‘Okay, enough slacking off! There’s work to be done. C’mon, Em, I need your help!’

‘No.’ Emily opened an eye and regarded her brother-in-law tiredly. ‘Go away.’

‘Can’t,’ Jack rubbed his hands together and looked around enthusiastically, ‘because what we’re going to do here, gang, is show Mum that we
can
do this. That we don’t need – um, any help. So we’d better get stuck into it. Kate, I want you to go wake up your brother and tell him to clean up the backyard. All of it. Then you need to get stuck into the lounge-room and passage. I want all the furniture polished up and the floor vacuumed. Cricket – you’re in charge of decoration. You’ll
need to get your pencils out and I want some posters of horses and stuff like that. If you need any writing on them, see Kate. Megan – what the hell is that you’re doing?’

‘It’s the punch, Dad.’ Megan dropped a half-squished cherry tomato into the punchbowl and grinned. ‘Like it?’

‘Um, yeah. Interesting. I think we’ll put your aunt in charge of food. You can clean up in here and the family room and then set the table up with – oh, I don’t know. Serviettes and stuff. And give your grandma and grandpa a ring and invite them over. If we’re having Nannie, then we’d better invite my parents, otherwise I’ll be off their Christmas list quick-smart. And ring Uncle Adam too. Tell him it’s at our place now and if he doesn’t turn up, he’ll be hosting the next one. Now, Em – Christ, you really
do
look like crap.’

‘Daddy, you said cwap!’

Jack turned to his youngest daughter and examined her critically. ‘And you don’t look much better. Like you’ve put your finger in an electric light socket.’

‘Really?’ Cricket looked interested. ‘What’s a socket? Where are they?’

‘Christ!’ Jack looked at her with exasperation. ‘It’s an expression! Listen to me: You. Are. Not. Ever. To. Put. Your. Finger. Near. A. Socket. Understand?’

‘Not really.’

‘Oh, for god’s – just
don’t
, all right?’ Jack waited till he received a rather dubious nod from Cricket and then pointed his finger at Kate. ‘Now for you. After you get your brother going, I want you to brush Cricket’s hair and lay out some clothes for her. Here you go.’ Jack picked out a hairbrush from a pile of paraphernalia at the end of the bench. ‘Here’s a brush. No spikes or anything weird, just normal. Now get to it.’

‘
Me
?’ Kate stared at the brush and then at her sister. ‘You’re letting
me
brush
her
hair?’

‘Yes, of course. Why not?’

‘No reason,’ Kate smiled helpfully. ‘You can rely on me. Hey, Cricket! Where are you going? Come back here, I have to brush your hair!’

‘You know, Mum doesn’t let her do Cricket’s hair,’ Megan commented mildly as they watched Kate run after her little sister, waving the hairbrush before her. ‘She’s a bit rough.’

The accuracy of this comment was emphasised by a sudden piercing shriek from the opposite side of the house that was quickly followed by the sound of furniture falling. Megan nodded complacently and returned her concentration to the punchbowl, the contents of which were starting to resemble regurgitated fruit salad. Emily pulled the blanket up over her head and, ignoring the canine smell, tried to block out the sound of Jack’s voice. But it didn’t work.

‘So perhaps you’d better have a shower before you get to work, Em. Spruce yourself up a bit, heh? And give the dog back his blanket. But snap to it – there’s a damn lot to do and not much time to do it. Everyone’ll be here in a couple of hours and I’ve still got to get down to the TAB and put the bets on and pick up your mother on the way back.
Kate
! Be gentle! C’mon, Em – move it. Jill’d already be dressed and have everything organised by now. Christ almighty, I really
did
pick the right sister, didn’t I?’

Jillian stretched, yawned and then opened her eyes slowly. The reflected light from the stained-glass lozenges was splattered across the bedspread in a rainbow of gold-dappled emeralds and rubies. After watching it for a while without moving, she
stretched out a hand lazily and let the rainbow play across the skin of her palm. She wondered fleetingly what her family were doing right at this very moment, and whether they had missed her last night. Then, smiling with a profound contentment that warmed her from the inside out, Jill closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.