Grand Slam (17 page)

‘I'm most certainly not leaving him outside at night. Goodness knows what he gets up to! He brought a bird home the other day. A budgerigar!'

Oh crap. Someone's pet. Jack's hands moved over my back and bare bottom. I gave a little shiver. I wondered if he'd wait while I went Axle-hunting.

‘Okay. Give me a minute and I'll come.'

Jack was still in my bed when dawn washed my room with pink light. We were spooning – no choice in a single bed – Jack behind me. When I opened my eyes, I knew he was already awake. I could tell by his breathing and the, um, tension in his body.

‘Can't hide you if she comes in now.'

He ran a hand over my stomach, pulled me against him. ‘I can think of a few places to hide.'

Axle was curled up on top of us, exhausted from his midnight garden romp.

‘I'm taking them to church this morning.' I flipped onto my back. ‘Maybe you should come.'

‘Yes, I should come.'

‘Really?'

‘Not to church.'

He lay on top of me. Axle hit the floor with an angry meow. I prayed my mother wouldn't hear more moaning and come to investigate. I really should get a lock for my door.

Dad wanted me to drive them to church.

‘Why don't you get your car fixed?'

‘We don't need it,' said Mum. ‘You can drive us.'

‘I can't drive you around forever.'

‘Oh, stop fussing, Erica.'

‘But you'll want to hang around after the service and have cups of tea. I need to go into work.'

‘It's the least you can do. We're providing a roof over your head, food in your mouth —'

‘Okay, okay.'

‘And you shouldn't work on a Sunday. It's blasphemy.'

I drove fast, wanting to get it over with. Dad instructed me like I was on L plates while Mum sat in the back saying, ‘Too fast, missy!' Maybe I could just chuck them out of the car at church and keep driving to Jack's? But no, I needed to make amends with God, just in case. I parked down a side street and we walked slowly through the church gates. Everyone walks slowly into church. No-one ever rushes, running late. Maybe it's not allowed.

St James in Brighton was how I remembered it on my wedding day – the last time I'd been there. It'd been a happy day and everything was perfect except that my husband took off soon after with some blond woman, all my money in his pocket. Mum likes to go to the Brighton church so she can pretend she lives there. Not because Jack lives in Brighton (which, according to Mum, is good enough reason for me to marry him), but because Brighton has superior snob value. Mum loves the ‘effluence', as she likes to tell everyone. Chaddy, even with the greatest shopping centre in the universe, just doesn't cut it.

‘I remember your wedding day like it was just a few years ago.'

‘It
was
just a few years ago.'

‘Your dress was so beautiful. Remember Aunty Betty made it for you?'

‘Yes, it was lovely. Let's talk about something else.'

‘Maybe Jack would like to marry here,' she mused.

I stood in front of her, hands on hips, forcing her to stop talking. ‘Don't ever,
ever
say that in front of Jack.'

She pouted.

‘Mum, promise!'

‘Hmph.' She scowled at me – a scowl that said we weren't finished with that discussion – and we entered the stately building. The priest was there, greeting his flock. Mum gushed, invited the priest to lunch, which she probably always did and he probably always had an excuse ready. Today's excuse surprised me though.

‘Ah, Mrs Jewell, I'm afraid you're too late. Mrs Booth has already invited me.'

Our Mrs Booth? The witchy weirdo?

‘You remember Erica, my daughter?' said Mum. ‘She's living with us for free while her friend Stephen renovates her house in Richmond. You remember Stephen? Such a nice lad to do Erica this favour.'

‘It's not a
favour
, Mum —'

‘There are such unsavoury types in Erica's neighbourhood. I am concerned, Father. She hasn't been to confession in such a long time and I'm in a constant state. I lose sleep, you know, worrying about her forthcoming device.'

The priest welcomed me, hoped that my
demise
could be averted, commented that he hadn't in fact seen much of me since my wedding, and I thought that was very discreet considering he hadn't seen me at all. I told him visiting his church brought back terrible memories of the day my husband abandoned me.

‘We have a church in Richmond,' he said. ‘Saint Ignatius.'

I hurried inside. I could see Mrs Booth. She was wearing normal clothes: black slacks and jacket with a plain cream blouse. Not a purple dress or anything with mirrors. What was she up to, disguising herself like that?

Mrs Booth stood in a pew near the front, talking to some people. She saw me and gave a surprised look — very suspicious — and a little wave.

‘Let's sit over there.' I indicated the row behind Mrs Booth.

‘We like to sit here.'

‘Well, I want to sit there.'

Mum said to Dad, ‘Erica's being difficult, Tom.' Dad headed to where I wanted to sit. Good old Dad. Mum followed, saying, ‘You were always difficult when we came to church, Erica. Your father was forever having to take you outside.' She added loudly, ‘And you always dirtied your nappy.'

Mrs Booth said, ‘Well, hello, Jewell family! So nice to see you all.'

I bet it's nice to see us all. Probably imagining us in a big pot of soup, ready to serve with crusty bread.

‘Erica, you remember Mrs Booth?'

‘Hi, Mrs Booth,' I said, feeling twelve. ‘I saw you at the supermarket.'

She smiled and nodded. ‘Are you still working for that company?'

‘Yes.' Why? What do you know?

‘I've been having visits from your pussy cat.'

What? Axle going to Mrs Booth's? ‘Oh, I don't think it's mine. He doesn't leave the backyard.' But then I remembered the goldfish.

‘Oh, yes, he does. He and my Minx are good friends. They're quite alike, in fact. I find it difficult to tell them apart.'

I'd have to do something about that. She might try a switcheroo — keep Axle and give me her voodoo cat.

‘So, I'm sorry we couldn't chat at the supermarket the other night.'

‘That's all right. You were busy on the phone.'

‘And then I saw you in the car park after.'

‘You did?' She looked thoughtful, but it was thoughtful like she was pretending to look thoughtful, when she was probably trying to work out how to get around the fact she stole Emilio's lucky charm. I tried to peer through Mrs Booth's blouse to see if she was wearing the amulet underneath.

‘Actually, Mrs Booth, I wondered if you found a token I left in my supermarket trolley?' I watched her carefully. She looked surprised. It was fake surprise, I could tell.

She gave a little fake laugh. ‘Why, no, Erica. I had no reason to look for anything in your trolley! Although, now that you mention it . . .' I leaned in. Was she going to confess? ‘. . . it's a very good idea. One could collect some coins that way!'

Aha!

Mum elbowed me in the ribs and we all sat, ready for the proceedings. Mum wanted me between her and Dad, in case I needed to be corrected, or taken outside, or have my nappy changed. I closed my eyes, tilted my face up, and asked God for help with every aspect of my life. Was that being too greedy? That I wanted him to fix
everything
?

Mum whispered, ‘Father will lead us in prayer, Erica. Although it's not a bad idea for you to get in some extra time with the good Lord.'

We stood. We sat. We knelt. We stood. We sat. We knelt. I watched Mrs Booth's back, her frizzy black hair, which she'd obviously dyed. I wondered if there was a chain around her neck. Perhaps if I just lifted the back of her hair, I could see under —

Mum slapped my wrist.

We did the sign of peace. I waited for Mrs Booth to face me but she didn't. I tapped her on the shoulder and she had no choice but to turn, and I gripped her hand.

‘Peace be with you,' we said in unison. I held her hand. With a forced smile she tried to shake me free. I released her.

Time for communion, and we all stood and made our way to the aisle. I stood behind Mrs Booth. There was a sharp poke in my back. Mum reminding me to be good.

I took my bread and wine, hoping the good Lord noticed but hoping he didn't notice that I had more wine than I probably should. And that I hadn't been to confession. It occurred to me, as I watched Mrs Booth pretending to be a good Catholic, that she wouldn't tell me if she had the lucky charm. I knew she wouldn't tell. She had one of those I'm-not-telling faces. So, I needed to go to her house and find the lucky charm. I just had to do it when she wasn't home.

‘When do you usually go to the supermarket, Mrs Booth?'

We stood in the church hall, having had tea and Arnott's Family Assorted biscuits and having sucked up to Father in an appropriate manner. Dad stood with some old blokes. Mrs Booth didn't seem to want to hang around. Was she trying to avoid me?

‘Oh, it's quite ad hoc, Erica.' Mrs Booth edged away.

‘Why do you want to know?' said Mum.

Why? Why? ‘Because . . . Mrs Booth might be able to do some shopping for you.'

‘But we've got you to do the shopping!'

‘I'd be happy to help with your shopping, Margaret.'

‘Perhaps we could go together one day, Imelda?'

‘Great idea!' I said. ‘When will you go?'

‘Well,' said Mum, ‘we've got a full cupboard.'

‘Mine's full also,' said Mrs Booth.

‘I think you need more prunes, Mum. I only got a small packet the other night.'

‘I'm sure it can wait.'

Mrs Booth checked her watch. ‘Must dash.' She waved to us all.

And as I watched Mrs Booth hurry away, I saw Jack and Sharon Stone cruise by in his Audi, probably off to lunch at some flash place or more wineries. Maybe this time they'd go to the Yarra Valley. It's pretty romantic there with all those rolling green hills. Hurt stabbed me in the chest. Oh, dear God, weren't you listening?

I hurried Mum and Dad into my car and sped away, nearly running over old Mr Bennett and his wheelie walker in the process.

‘Heavens!' said Mum.

I could see Jack ahead, ready to turn left down Nepean Highway toward the city. I followed. Dad pointed straight — he wanted me to continue along North Road.

‘We can go this way.'

Dad was fully alert to the fact that I was up to something, but didn't comment. From the back seat, Mum told us about the most amazing game of bridge she'd ever played.

‘I won that game. It was so satisfying.'

It wasn't until I turned off Nepean Highway onto Hotham Street that Mum had something to say about my driving. ‘Which way are you taking us, dear?'

I ignored her and followed the Audi all the way along Hotham to Toorak. I glanced at Dad. He was onto me.

‘Erica,' said Mum. ‘Where are we going?'

‘Sunday drive, Mum. It's such a nice day for it.'

‘But I have to get the roast on!'

‘Won't be long.'

Dad said, ‘Settle, Margaret.'

Mum huffed.

Jack turned right at Toorak Road, left at Lansell, then down a small cul-de-sac. I now knew where he was taking Sharon Stone for lunch. John Degraves's house. I pulled up at the end of the street and watched the Audi park. Jack emerged from his car and jogged down the road. Toward us.

‘That's Jack!' said Mum. ‘Yoo hoo!'

Jack came to my window and I wound it down.

My face burned so hard I thought it might ignite. ‘Fancy seeing you here.'

He smiled at me, looked at Dad and Mum. ‘Hi everyone. What a coincidence.'

‘Amazing!' said Mum. ‘Would you like to come for lunch? We're having a roast.' Mum's tone changed suddenly. It dropped from a squawk to quite low. ‘You and . . . your friend.'

I could see Sharon Stone waiting by Jack's car.

‘I have lunch plans, thanks, Margaret. Another time?'

‘You're welcome any time, Jack. You and . . . your friend.'

Jack looked at me. ‘Everything all right?'

‘Yep. All good.' I searched for some secret love signal from our night together. Some sign that he, too, was feeling all mushy about us. Nope. Just amusement in those telltale eyes. ‘We're going for a Sunday drive after church. Thought we'd check out the big houses in Toorak.'

‘I'll let you get on with your tour, then.'

‘Okey doke.'

‘See you soon.' No secret winks or mouthed sentiments.

‘Yep. See ya.'

He jogged away. I wondered what he told Sharon. That Erica was jealous and stupid? I wouldn't mind if he said that because I'd deserve it. Because it was true.

Mum grilled me about Jack's ‘friend'.

‘She's a lesbian,' I said and Mum stopped the interrogation in case I said other rude words.

Mum's roast was the best thing I'd ever eaten in my life. Why didn't I get any of her cooking genes? Maybe because I'd spent my childhood in the garage with Dad and my teenage years avoiding Mum. If I'd spent my teenage years in the garage with Dad, I might have learned something like how to check the oil in my car, which I had to ask Dad to do for me.

After lunch I drove into work and spent the rest of the day there. It was a relief to be able to get things done without phones ringing and people (Rosalind) harassing me. But mostly I found I was thinking about Jack. To say that I wasn't seething with hurt and jealousy that Jack had taken Sharon to JD's house would be a big, fat lie. Should I call him? I checked my watch. Three o'clock. Not yet. They were probably having after-lunch drinkies, laughing and chatting with Mr and Mrs Degraves. Sue Degraves probably thought Sharon was a much better girlfriend for Jack. Better in every way.

I heard the lift ping, which meant someone had arrived on my floor. I watched the end of the hallway, waiting to see who it was. Please, God, not Rosalind. Although God might well send me Rosalind to get back at me for being such a liar and a hypocrite. A lying, jealous, stupid hypocrite.

I was surprised to see John Degraves approach. Shouldn't he be pouring after-lunch drinks or doing the dishes?

‘Afternoon, Erica. Working hard as always.'

Well, that was something good. JD reckons I work hard. ‘Just catching up on a few things. And you, Mr Degraves? Not at lunch?'

‘I'm hoping to catch Rosalind. She's often here after hours.' Hanging upside down.

‘Not today.' I smiled.

‘Yes. Yes, I see that.' He stared thoughtfully at Rosalind's closed office door, then glanced around. ‘Anyone else working as hard as you?'

He wanted to know if we were alone. I also looked around for show, even though I knew I was the only one here. ‘No, I'm the only hard-working employee at Dega Oil.' I gave him a big smile to show I was joking, and he returned it.

He lowered his voice. ‘I've met with our mutual friend.' Code for Jack.

‘Yes?'

‘He's concerned about your safety while working with Emilio.'

He said that? In front of Sharon? ‘Oh?'

‘Do you feel threatened, Erica?' JD was looking suddenly serious as he perched his bum on my desk, just like Marcus does. Except Marcus does it with more flair.

‘Not really, Mr Degraves.' Apart from nearly being run over by a car, and a train, and assaulted in a shopping centre brawl, and caught in a heist with gunmen, although the guns apparently weren't loaded so that doesn't count. ‘I think Emilio wants me around.'

‘Yes, he does. He's come to depend on you.'

‘I'm happy to continue working for him.'

He stood suddenly, gave me another big smile and said, ‘Well, let's leave things as they are. I'm sure our mutual friend will come around when he realises you're quite safe.'

Nice that JD felt so confident about that.

‘Any more news on Western Australia, Mr Degraves?'

‘Only that the Russian men involved are being investigated. As much as one can investigate a deceased suspect.'

‘Right. Well, let me know if you need me to do anything.'

‘Just concentrate on getting Emilio across the line.' He started to leave, but stopped. ‘That new girl seems to have everything else under control.'

I mustered up a small smile.

‘Have a good day, Erica.'

‘You too, Mr Degraves.'

I watched JD walk away. After I was sure he'd gone, I mimicked, ‘That new girl seems to have everything under control.'

So I was to keep being Emilio's slave. That's apparently all I was good for. I thought about Emilio and wondered if he
was
under threat in any way. Jack had said that yesterday, that Emilio could be a target and shouldn't have gone to Chadstone. Pfft. Yesterday. Emilio had talked a security guard into following us around, and the guard seemed pretty happy to do so but had done a lot of texting. The day was a complete waste of time, except that Emilio bought me a whole bunch of new clothes from David Jones. Actually, the clothes Emilio bought me were really nice. Ones I'd never have bought for myself because they were so expensive. He wanted me to buy some nice lingerie for ‘later' – ‘later' presumably meaning after the tournament when we would finally be able to consummate our relationship, one that was already several days old (where does the time go?) – if the lucky charm re-emerged, as he was so sure it would with my so diligently seeking it. But I'd said no to the lingerie. I shouldn't have let him buy the clothes either, because I supposed it was encouraging him. I justified it by reminding myself that he's got stacks of money and I'm not paid for the time I spend with him out of office hours. I am a hussy, like my mother says. A lying, jealous, stupid, hypocritcal hussy.

After finishing our shopping at Chadstone, with the borrowed security guard carrying our bags, a new driver was sent to collect us. Not a stretch limo, this time, and I made sure I wouldn't be locked in before I agreed to go with him. Then this morning Emilio had called quite early and told me, ‘Unfortunately, I will be with my coach all day. But we will have dinner, yes? You will come to my hotel.'

I lied and told him it was my mother's birthday dinner with the family and he wanted to come. So I told him we have a tradition where only people related by blood are allowed to come to family birthday dinners. He wanted to know what that meant for the future husband of my parents' daughter. I said I'd have to cross that bridge when I came to it. ‘
Si
, one day you must cross that bridge.' So that got me thinking about how much I really cared about Emilio winning the tournament and the potential of a public lynching and getting a promotion and being away from Rosalind. Maybe Emilio would want to marry me, like he has with past girlfriends, except they turned out to be
putas
. Would I be so mercenary as to take advantage of and marry a famous, gorgeous, rich tennis player with well-filled undies, just because I could? In which case I wouldn't need my job because I'd have access to so much money. But I'd still want to work. And anyway, I reckoned if I slept with Emilio, he'd dump me straight after, as I suspected was his pattern, so I'd have to wait until the wedding night, when it was too late for him to dump me. But what was I doing having silly thoughts about marrying Emilio Méndez when, really, there was only one man on the planet I'd ever consider marrying?