Grand Slam (29 page)

On Wednesday I watched Emilio play very badly in the quarter finals. I sat through the first four sets chewing my fingernails. The other guy won the first set, Emilio won the second and third, the other guy the fourth. John the coach swore every time Emilio lost a point. Emilio glanced up at us occasionally – at me or John or Teresa, I wasn't sure – and gave us sad, almost pleading looks. He called for the physio and lay face-down on the ground while the guy massaged the back of both legs. Was he injured? I was busting for the toilet. It was so hot I drank all my water. At the end of the fourth set, I told Teresa, ‘I need the toilet.'

She nodded. ‘Take your time,
querida
. Nothing can help him now.'

‘They're two sets each. It's not over.'

The crowd watched me leave. So did the television cameras. There was a long queue at the toilet. The girl in front stepped aside for me. ‘Here, go ahead.'

‘Really?'

‘Sure. He needs you.'

The next person in line recognised me and gave me her spot. A murmur started up the line and I was waved to the front.

‘Thanks, everyone.'

But by the time I'd been to the loo and grabbed another water and returned, the next set had started. Which meant I had to wait until the end of the first game to be allowed back in. I jigged on the spot, watching Emilio on the big screen. He lost that game. The rope opened and I shoved through the crowd, running down to my seat. John the coach gave me his usual filthy glare, adding a head shake in case I didn't get the message.

Teresa was kinder, patting my knee. ‘Nothing more we can do.'

From his seat opposite, Emilio looked up at his opponent's team. They sat on the corner, like us, at the top end of the court. I leaned forward so I could see what Emilio was looking at, but I didn't need to. They were front and centre on the television screens. People who looked like parents, sister, family.

Emilio looked at me then, gave me a small smile and I felt something inside me change. A pang of . . . what? Pity? Compassion? Yes. I returned the smile, adding a little wave. A few people in the crowd went ‘aww' at how cute we were.

The next game started. I turned my head from side to side, trying to relieve some of the tension. Emilio served a pounding ace down the centre line. The crowd erupted. The other guy challenged. I held my breath as the shot was replayed. It was in. I leaped from my seat, screaming and clapping.

Emilio won that game. And the next, and finally, the match. From the edge of my seat, I collapsed back and put my face in my hands. Was I going to cry? Surely not. Teresa put her arm around me. I cried.

God, what was wrong with me? My nerves were wracked. I had a permanent neck ache from being so tense all the time; 24/7 tense. Everything was on my mind, all the time. The missing amulet, my missing gun, Russians, Martin McGann, death threats, attending to Emilio, worrying about Jack and Sharon and whether or not she might kill me. I was over it – all of it – but for some reason, more than anything, I wanted Emilio to win this tournament. It was no longer for my sake, but for his.

During his on-court interview with Jim Courier, Emilio played the role of relaxed and charming, saying that he really didn't deserve to win that match and that he felt luck, and the good Lord, were on his side.

Jim talked about the tense moment when the love of Emilio's life vanished after the fourth set.

Emilio laughed. ‘Ah, yes, my love, she drinks too much water.'

The crowd laughed and looked at me. I gave a royal wave and shrunk into my seat, my face on fire.

And then later, in the media room, a journo asked Emilio, ‘Did you play badly because of your stolen lucky charm?'

Emilio tried to keep the smile on his face and in his voice when he dismissed that with a wave of his hand. ‘I do not need it.'

‘You were pretty devastated when it went missing.'

Emilio asked for another question. I blew out my held breath.

‘You cannot win without
su amuleto
, my darling,' said Teresa.

I jumped in. ‘Yes, he can. He can do it.'

Emilio stared miserably at his plate. The three of us ate in Emilio's room while Andrew waited for me in the hotel lobby. I wanted to leave after dinner, but didn't trust Teresa not to say anything more to spook him. I watched television with them. Then Emilio said he wanted to go to bed, and I should leave.

‘I am not angry with you, Emily.'

‘It will be all right. I promise.'

‘I do not know what happened today. I am thinking too much.'

‘I know you're worried, but haven't you heard of visualisation? The law of attraction?' I stroked his cheek. ‘You attract what you want in your life, darling.' Oh my God! I said darling.

‘You are right. I will think about you and me together. It makes me happy.'

‘What I mean is, you need to see yourself winning this tournament. See yourself holding that trophy.
That's
what I mean. You can do it, with or without the lucky charm. With or without me.' I gently tapped his head. ‘It's only what goes on up here that stops you from achieving anything.'

He frowned. ‘I do not think so.'

‘It's true. What happened today?'

‘Today, I was thinking . . . I was thinking about my mother.'

‘Ah. And she's not here. That must have been difficult for you.' He nodded. ‘But you have many people in your life who care about you. Who love you.'

Emilio's eyes got watery. He pulled me close, hugging me tightly, burying his face in my neck, which, after a while, he kissed softly, several times. I patted his back, tried to gently extricate myself, and he took my face in his hands.

‘Let me kiss you,
ángel
. I want to kiss you properly.'

I pushed back, hands on his chest. ‘No, Emilio.'

‘Please, Emily.'

‘No. Let's just focus on winning the next round, okay?'

I walked backward, blew him a kiss.

His chest heaved with a sigh.

I found Andrew in the lobby, slouched in a chair with his detective novel, yawning.

‘Sorry. I'm ready to go.'

‘Great. I'm stuffed.'

We walked toward the exit.

‘Are you too stuffed to do something sneaky with me?'

‘Yes.'

‘If you don't come with me, I'll do it later. I'll steal a car and sneak away.'

‘As long as you do it on someone else's shift, I don't care.'

‘Yes, you do.'

He gave me a crooked smile. ‘Yeah, I do. What are you planning?'

Andrew drove by the small jetty in front of Rod Laver Arena, where I'd seen the twin-hulled boat with the fat man. The jetty was empty.

‘Where would they usually park the boat?' I wondered.

‘Docklands, St Kilda, Brighton—'

‘St Kilda! It said St Kilda on the boat.'

Andrew nodded. ‘Probably there then.'

‘Can we go there now?'

He thought about it, staring through the windscreen of his car. ‘You'll go there anyway, won't you?'

‘Yeah.'

‘All right.'

The place was deserted, but brightly lit. We stood at the locked gates, under the arched St Kilda Marina sign.

‘I can climb this.' I looked along the length of cyclone wire.

‘We'll have to.'

We found a part of the fence that was in shadow and climbed. By the time I was halfway up, Andrew was already on the ground on the other side. He held his arms out as I teetered at the top.

‘Don't look up my skirt.'

‘Not interested.'

‘I'll try not to be offended.'

With Andrew's hands on my waist, I found the earth, and looked around again.

‘Are there security cameras?'

‘Can't see any.'

We walked the boardwalk. Each pier was secured by a locked gate and U-shaped section of fence, making access difficult but, I thought, not impossible. I checked each jetty.

‘The boat has a twin hull and two motors.'

‘Outboards?'

‘Yep.'

Andrew had a small but powerful torch. We walked slowly, looking around. He flashed his light along each row of boats.

‘It's called
Iodka
.'

‘That one.' Andrew pointed his light at a boat parked about halfway along. It was twin-hulled and twin-engined.

‘Could be.' I couldn't read the writing.

I inspected the locked gate. ‘Can you get around this?'

‘Of course. You're planning on boarding the boat?'

‘Yeah. I want to see what's on there. I've got a particular suspicion about the guy I saw.'

‘As opposed to a general suspicion.'

‘That's right. Can we get in?'

Andrew checked over his shoulder. ‘Cover me.'

‘What? With a gun?'

He laughed. ‘No. Stand in front of me.'

‘Oh.' I did so while he climbed nimbly around the fence.

He swung the gate open for me and together we jogged along the jetty. We stood in front of
Iodka
.

Andrew drew his gun. ‘I'll go. Wait here.' He stepped silently onto the back deck and disappeared inside the cabin. After a few seconds, he reappeared. ‘Clear.'

Inside the cabin with Andrew's torch I looked around. There were bits and pieces, clothes strewn about – typical messy bloke's pad. I lifted items, put them back. I moved things, looked behind a picture on the wall, looked behind a marine-style barometer and, bingo! Emilio's lucky charm was in a small plastic bag, taped to the wall. I knew it was the fake I'd bought at Chadstone. But this is what I'd wanted to prove: that the man I saw talking to Martin McGann was one of the robbers at the charity lunch.

‘Let's go,' called Andrew from the jetty and I gently replaced the barometer, leaving the lucky charm where it was.

I told Andrew what I'd found, explaining about the fake charm and the missing real one. But I didn't tell him where I thought the real one was, or how it got there.

‘Good work,' he said and we jogged back up the jetty, through the gate, over the fence and into the car.

‘You'd better call Jack. He'll have my balls but he should know what we've done.'

‘Don't be mad with Andrew,' I said when Jack answered.

Jack yawned. ‘The fact that you need to say that makes me mad.'

‘Did I wake you?' Was he alone? Could I hear female snoring in the background?

‘Yes. Tell me what you've done.'

I told him.

‘Put me on loudspeaker.' I did and Jack's voice addressed Andrew: ‘What were you thinking, man?'

Andrew shrugged. ‘She's persuasive.'

I butted in. ‘I said I'd go on my own if he didn't come with me.'

‘Erica, if the police board that boat and find the fake charm, what does that prove? Anyone can buy one.'

‘Yes, but it was a fake charm he stole from me and he fits the description of one of the robbers.'

‘Okay. We'll bring him in. Maybe he'll confess and then everyone on the planet, including Emilio, will know you were wearing a fake charm that day because you left the real one in a supermarket trolley.'

Oh. Hadn't thought of that. I glanced at Andrew.

‘Is that what you want?' said Jack.

‘No.'

‘So?'

‘So, maybe we'll wait another day or two. Until I find the real one.'

‘You're confident you'll find it.'

‘No.'

‘I thought so.' He sighed. ‘All right, we'll watch the boat.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Andrew.'

‘I'm here.'

‘If she suggests anything like that again, cuff her and bring her to me.'

‘No worries.' Andrew smiled, and a small thrill stuttered through me.