Each Way Bet (4 page)

Once the image was in place, she fantasised she was sauntering in a leisurely fashion over to the cane setting, wicker picnic basket in hand. When she got there, she tossed her hair back with a shake of her head and gave her companion a slow, seductive smile before starting to unpack the hamper. All the while he watched her, a smile flickering around his chiselled lips. Then, when the table was laden with delicacies, she poured them both a glass of wine and, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, they entwined their arms and drank deeply. Some of the wine spilt and they laughed – hers an effervescent tinkle of merriment, his a deep-throated chuckle. Without letting her gaze leave his, she picked up a cloth and proceeded to wipe up the spillage . . .

Damn, Jill thought with disgust, even in my fantasies I’m still the one doing the housework! And why a cross between Bing Crosby and Al Pacino? She refocused her eyes and
immediately the swarthy stranger was transformed into a three year old redhead systematically snapping pencils into position while muttering fiercely under her breath.

And now, on top of everything else, she had a headache. Probably caused by the intense focusing required to change Cricket into somebody she actually wanted to spend time with – or by the incessant high-pitched whirring of the damn beaters. This thought was followed, lightning-quick, by the realisation the high-pitched whirring of the damn beaters had been going on for quite some time. Sure enough, a glance confirmed she was now vigorously beating a bowl full of thick, pale yellow butter. She flicked off the mixer.

‘Shit!’

‘Hey! You thaid thit! How come you can thay thit and not me?’

‘What have I told you about enunciating?’

‘Okay then – you
said
shit! How come you can
say
shit and not me?’

Jill was saved from replying to this by the shrill tones of the telephone on the kitchen wall. On her way to answer it, she picked up the texta and made four large black crosses on the whiteboard, narrowing her eyes threateningly at her daughter while she did so.

‘Hello?’

‘Jillian!’ Corinne, her eldest sister, shrieked down the line. ‘Thank the lord you’re home!’

‘Where else
could
I be?’ asked Jill with feeling.

‘I don’t know and I don’t care. Now listen.’

Jill could see Cricket’s mouth moving suspiciously but couldn’t actually hear anything, so she put the marker down, turned her back on the child and leant against the wall. ‘What’s up?’

‘What’s
up
? You
ask
what’s
up
?’

‘Well –’

‘Let me
tell
you what’s up. You won’t believe it. First Charlotte’s recital was cancelled this morning.
After
we’d got all dressed and ready! Then, to make her feel better – the poor child was dreadfully down – I took her out for a latte and, while we were there, some
idiot
rammed my car and left a filthy great mark down the side.
And
they had the damn cheek to leave a note under
my
windshield saying it was
my
fault for taking up two car parks in the first place! I ask you – have you ever driven one of those four-wheel drives like mine?’

‘No, I can’t say that I –’

‘Of course you haven’t. But they do need a
dreadful
lot of room. Any
fool
can see that, but
two
car parks? I ask you – do I
look
like an idiot?’

‘I can’t really –’

‘Of course I don’t. Then we get into the car and
naturally
I’m fuming – so I reverse out and there’s a scrunching noise and you wouldn’t believe it. Somehow Charlotte left her retainer under the back tyre! Five hundred dollars! I ask you, can you
believe
that?’

‘Actually, no. What was it – gold-plated?’

‘Unbelievable. So then the poor child was even
more
distressed and I had to buy her a new chemistry set to make it up to her and of
course
she’s much too advanced for those kits they sell in the ordinary toy shops. So we had to go all the way in to Box Hill to this speciality store. And the lady couldn’t
believe
Charlotte was only eleven years old. But that’s not why I’m ringing.’

‘It’s not?’ Jill stretched the phone cord out so that she could reach the medicine cabinet and find some desperately needed Panadol. ‘Then, what’s up?’

‘What’s
up
? What’s –’

‘Shit!’ Jill yelled. ‘Corinne, we’ve been through this!’

‘You said it again!’ Cricket shrieked happily. ‘You said –’

‘No!’ Jill turned to face her daughter and in one fluid motion dropped the Panadol and picked up the black marker and waved it in the air menacingly. ‘Don’t even think about it!’

‘Don’t even think about
what
? And what are you yelling at
me
for? The one thing I
don’t
need after the day I’ve had is one of
your
moods!’

‘I’m going to tell Daddy what you said!’ Cricket folded her arms across her chest and looked narrowly at her mother. ‘I am!’

‘So?’ Jill looked just as narrowly back. ‘Do I look worried?’

‘Well! If it
weren’t
for the fact that I
need
to talk to you, I’d hang up right now,’ Corrine said tersely, ‘and I wouldn’t be ringing back for
quite
some time!’

‘Not
you
, Corinne!’

‘Yes, me – what, do you think I can’t live without ringing
you
up?’

‘And he’ll be
really
croth, he will.’

‘Because I
ask
you, do you –’

‘Stop!’ Jill dropped the marker and put her hand up. ‘Stop! Both of you!’

‘
Both
of us?’

‘Yes – both of you!’ Jill took a deep breath and then lowered her hand, and her voice. ‘Corinne, just a moment, please. Cricket, do your drawing and we’ll talk when I get off the phone – and no more interruptions no matter what, do you understand?’

‘But you –’

‘I said: do – you – understand?’ Jill enunciated each of the words slowly and waited until her daughter reluctantly nodded her head before turning her attention back to her sister. ‘Sorry, Corinne, you were getting caught between two conversations. I was talking to Cricket at the same time.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Corinne said slowly, sounding slightly mollified.

‘So, what can I do for you?’ Jill watched Cricket clamber down from the chair and send one last glare in her mother’s
direction before leaving the room, the tin of pencils tucked firmly under her arm.

‘Well, it’s about tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Jill stopped with her hand halfway to the Panadol packet and felt a sudden surge of hope for the future. ‘Don’t tell me you’re cancelling?’

‘How did you know?’

‘You
are
?’

‘I am.’

‘What happened?’ Jill could feel her headache dissipating as she spoke. ‘I mean, you’ve
never
cancelled!’

‘I know,’ said Corinne regretfully, ‘and, I can tell you, I feel
absolutely
sick about it. But it’s unavoidable. And all part and parcel of the sort of day I’ve had. You see, when we got back, there were
all
these messages on the answering machine. Because it seems William’s idiot father up in Queensland has gone and had a heart attack.’

‘My god! Corinne – is he all right?’

‘Oh, yes – just a mild one,’ said Corinne airily, ‘and it’s his own fault, anyway.’

‘What?’

‘True. The stupid old man had a possum up in the ceiling, and he’d been laying traps but couldn’t get it. So last night, when the possum was running around overhead, he decided to shoot at it. Or at where he thought it’d be, anyway.’

‘He
shot
at it,’ Jill said disbelievingly, ‘from
inside
the house?’

‘Yep. Sat in his armchair and took pot-shots at the ceiling whenever he heard it move. But one of the bullets ricocheted off the metal light fitting and took off his left ear.’

‘What?’

‘Clean off. I ask you, have you
ever
heard of such a fool? And
this
is the man William wants to come and live with us. Over my dead body.’

‘And that’d be pretty likely given that you’ve got a double-storey house,’ observed Jill wryly. ‘You’d have to install bullet-proofing.’

‘And I’ve just had the upstairs recarpeted – so it’s
out
of the question.’

‘But hang on. Didn’t you say he had a heart attack?’

‘Yep. When his ear landed in his lap.
Total
overreaction.’

‘Corinne, his ear had just landed in his lap!’

‘Humph,’ said Corinne dismissively. ‘And now William
insists
that we have to fly up there tonight and see him.
And
stay a few days to see if anything can be done about his living arrangements.’

‘So . . .’ Jill spared a fleeting moment of sympathy for Corinne’s father-in-law before moving to her own immediate future, which was now looking considerably brighter. Which just went to show guns don’t
always
bring chaos.

‘So obviously I
can’t
host Melbourne Cup Day.’

‘What a pity.’

‘
And
I’d just finished all the arrangements.’

‘What a shame.’

‘So you’ll have to instead.’

‘What a –
what
?’

‘Obviously, Jillian,’ said Corinne crossly, ‘Emily can’t because that place of hers is
totally
unsuitable, and Adam can’t because. . . well, because he’s inept. So that leaves
you
.’

‘But I’m inept too!’

‘True. But haven’t you at least got a
chance
of carrying it off? I’ve already left a message at Adam’s telling him about the change in venue, and I’ll ring Emily as soon as I’ve finished with you. Not that
she’ll
be home, of course. And I’ll be sending William around in a couple of hours with everything. There’s the games, the prizes, the sweep draw and tickets, and . . . let me see, oh – I’ll send you my punchbowl. And I’ll send over
everything I’ve prepared for lunch, and for morning tea – you might as well use it up. So you see, it’s
all
done and you won’t have anything to worry about. And I’ll even write out a list of instructions –
foolproof
instructions.’

‘Oh good,’ muttered Jill, her head starting to throb again.

‘And don’t forget that Mum has to be picked up from Twilight Haven at ten. Oh, and Charlotte’ll be coming of course, she wouldn’t miss it for the
world
. And before you offer to have her while we’re away – it’s already organised. She’s staying at a friend’s house. And, yes, I know that you would have been
more
than happy to have the child, but I
know
how busy your house gets, so I thought it best if she stayed somewhere . . . else. William’s cousin will be bringing her over. Please make her feel welcome.’

‘I
always
make Charlotte feel welcome!’

‘Not her! The
cousin
. I mean, I ask you, how can you ask someone to bring a child over, and collect her, and not invite her to stay? What an idea. Besides, she was coming when it was
here
, so I couldn’t very well tell her she wasn’t welcome anymore. Ridiculous. I’m sure you’ll cope with one extra. Although she’s a bit . . . but she’s a doctor, so one
must
make allowances. And she needs to meet people – only been back in the country a little while. Nasty divorce. Name’s Sybil. So, you see, it’s all taken care of. Except for the dessert, of course.’

‘What?’ repeated Jill, looking wide-eyed across at the bowl full of congealing butter. ‘Dessert?’

‘Yes, dessert. Which you were kindly supplying so I’m assuming it’s all taken care of by now. Correct?’

‘Oh, sure.’ Jill tried nodding to give her words added assurance. ‘All taken care of.’

‘Excellent. Then I’d better go and pack. And start your list. And I’ll give you a ring tomorrow to see how it’s going. Goodbye.’

Jill replaced the receiver slowly. Then she grimaced across at the mixing bowl and flipped a tea-towel over it so that she
wouldn’t have to look at it. Unfortunately, she reflected as she gazed around the debris that was the family room, she couldn’t cover the whole damn lot in similar fashion. Melbourne Cup Day. Here. Tomorrow. She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘I heard that!’ Cricket popped up from the other side of the island bench and, with her arms akimbo, glared at her mother fiercely.

Jill looked at her daughter expressionlessly for a few moments and then, deciding that she was the least of her problems, reached for the Panadol.

‘That looks
fantastic
on you!’

‘Mmm . . .’ Emily twisted herself around so that she could see her behind in the full-length mirror. As she turned, the blood-red silk of the skirt flared out momentarily before settling sheath-like around her thighs and buttocks. She grimaced.

‘You don’t
like
it?’ asked the saleswoman incredulously, raising her pencil-thin eyebrows and making it sound as if Emily would have to be demented to pass up this opportunity. ‘But it looks fantastic!’

‘So you said.’ Emily stepped back into the cubicle and shed the skirt. ‘No, it’s too clingy.’

‘Clingy’s good!’

‘Only in small doses.’ Emily pulled her jeans back on and slipped her feet into her shoes. ‘But I’ll take the cargo pants, thanks – in the black.’

‘Certainly.’ The saleswoman clipped the skirt back onto the hanger and then held it out as though she were auditioning for a spot on the Spanish bullfighting team, so that Emily just about had to push past it as she exited the cubicle. ‘And you’re sure about the skirt? You know, it really
did
look –’

‘Fantastic?’ Emily walked over to the counter and took her purse out. ‘No thanks.’

‘Well, all right then, if you’re sure,’ the saleswoman said, shaking her head and sighing.

‘Not only am I sure,’ said Emily, closing her purse, ‘but do you know what? I think I’ve changed my mind about the pants too.’

Suddenly the saleswoman moved with lightning speed. Before Emily could even tuck her purse into her bag, she was over at the counter with the satiny black cargo pants folded and bagged. She held them out with a smile.

‘Great choice – they look fantastic.’

Emily paid with her credit card and then left the store, swinging the brightly coloured plastic bag at her side. She window-shopped all the way down Chapel Street, enjoying the tepid spring sunshine and the fact she had a day off while so many others seemed to be working. Fortunately, one of the few other free souls had arranged an impromptu picnic by the Yarra, and then done a ring-around. So Emily had spent the last three hours reclining on a grassy verge by the river, indulging in kabana and cheese and antipasto while catching up on the latest news and marking the passing joggers with scores out of ten.

And while it was all pretty enjoyable and a few fairly decent scores had come past, about an hour ago, Emily had started feeling rather bored with the whole thing. Accordingly, while the others started discussing the possibilities of a pub run, she had made her excuses and left. On the way home she had purchased not just the cargo pants but also a lovely little ribbed tank-top and a new pair of Bolle sunglasses. Then, on the spur of the moment, she decided to buy some delicacies for a Melbourne Cup bash platter that would impress even Corinne. Perhaps. So a stop at a deli provided some delicious
looking sour cream crispy rye crackers, an array of gourmet cheeses and a dollop of hommus, while the fruit and veggie store next door contributed an avocado and a handful of cherry tomatoes for colour. Emily wasn’t sure yet how all these were going to come together, but she was confident something would occur to her.

It was nearly four by the time Emily reached her building, and the Fitzroy traffic was starting to build up with the standard peak hour early shift. Keeping pace with the increase in traffic, the footpaths were slowly being transformed from a place to stroll and leisurely check out racks set up outside shops, to a push and shove battle to keep to the left and avoid being elbowed into the road. Where one would no doubt promptly be plastered onto the front of an oncoming tram and then fined for not having a valid ticket.

But as soon as she manoeuvred herself and her bags over her threshold and shut the front door securely behind her, all the outside noise was cut off as if by magic. Emily leant against the wall for a moment, feeling almost spooked by the sudden surge of silence. Instead of being invigorating, the stillness felt deadening and heavy, like it had sucked some of the oxygen out of the room and affected the gravity. For a brief moment she deeply regretted leaving the little party by the Yarra so early and had to remind herself exactly how bored she’d been feeling by the time she’d left. Which didn’t help much now that she was faced with an evening of boredom here. At least by the Yarra there had been visual stimulation and a chance to improve her marksmanship. Accordingly, Emily felt a strong urge to dump her purchases and immediately retrace her steps.

Instead of giving in to her urges, which seemed destined to frustration today anyhow, Emily took her bags into the kitchen and unpacked them. The deli purchases went into the fridge for transformation at a later time and the avocado and
cherry tomatoes tumbled into the fruit bowl, to join a lonely looking banana and a brownish-black apple. Emily regarded the mixture for a minute, then fished out the apple and, opening the cupboard door under the sink, drop-kicked it into the stainless-steel rubbish-bin within.

The phone rang just as she was taking her non-perishable purchases up the stairs to her bedroom, so she dropped them halfway up and jumped down the stairs two at a time to answer it. As she plucked the handset out of its cradle, Emily experienced a brief surge of hope it was Tim on the other end, having second thoughts about company for the evening – perhaps even having decided he was ready to throw his virginity to the wind. Or, if not Tim and/or the promise of sex, just about anybody would do – as long as they were ringing with an invitation for the evening.

‘Hello?’

‘You’re home! What a surprise!’

‘Jilly!’ Emily dropped down onto the couch and curled her legs up. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

‘Have you heard from Corinne?’

‘God, no,’ said Emily with feeling.

‘Oh.’ Jill sounded disappointed. ‘Well, have you checked your phone messages?’

‘Hang on.’ Emily leant over to look at the display panel of the answering machine. ‘There’s a few. Why, what’s she after?’

‘You’ll never guess,’ Jill groaned. ‘Go on – guess.’

‘Must I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay . . .’ Emily closed her eyes and tried to think the way her eldest sister would. Surely, she reasoned, she’d seen enough episodes starring FBI profilers to have learnt something somewhere. So she imagined herself with Corinne’s dark-green eyes instead of her own brown ones, and then opened them
slowly. And immediately noticed her apartment lost all of its lovely, warm, mid-colour hues and became crisp black and white – not a grey to be seen anywhere. Emily shuddered and blinked her own eyes back.

‘Well?’

‘Christ,
that
was scary.’

‘C’mon – have a guess.’

‘Okay, okay. How about Will’s seen the error of his ways and is leaving the marital home in search of someone more – well, humanoid? Or Charlotte’s lost her retainer and they’re too embarrassed to be seen in public without it?’

‘Hey – that’s good!’ Jill sounded impressed. ‘And closer than you think, but no cigar.’

‘Okay, I give up.’

‘Then I’ll tell you. It seems Will’s father – you know, he lives in Queensland – decided to try and shoot some possums. Only problem was that he was in his lounge-room at the time, and the possum was in the roof. Anyway, eventually a bullet ricocheted off something or other and took off his left ear, which fell into his lap and he had a heart attack. You with me so far?’

‘Ah, yes,’ Emily answered slowly, her mind attempting to digest this news, ‘but I have to say, I don’t think I’d have guessed that.’

‘No, probably not,’ agreed Jill, ‘and I haven’t got to the best bit yet.’

‘Better than an ear in a lap?’

‘Yep – Corinne’s not having tomorrow at her place now.’

‘My god!’ Emily sat back against the couch in shock. ‘That’s amazing! You mean she’s cancelling tomorrow altogether?’

‘Well, no, not even Corinne has those sort of powers.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ Emily replied darkly. ‘Besides, you know what I mean – so it’s off?’

‘Unfortunately, no. Just transferred.’

‘Are you
serious
? Who else would be stupid enough to go to all that trouble?’

‘Perhaps you’d better rephrase that.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Once again – unfortunately, no.’

‘Actually,’ Emily tucked her legs up more securely and thought ahead quickly, ‘this is great news. Do you know, I’d much rather go to your place than hers. Last year I ended up with a subdural haematoma on my left Achilles tendon.’

‘I’m glad you’re happy,’ replied Jill. ‘
That
makes it all worth-while. When I take delivery of the boxes of activities and rules and goddamn prizes in a couple of hours, and spend the rest of the evening sorting them all out, and baking, and beating, and cleaning, and screaming – well, I’ll just stop and remember that it’s making you happy, and then I’ll be happy too.’

‘Do you want me to come and help?’

‘I want you to come and take over,’ said Jill with feeling. ‘In fact, I tell you what – I’ll come over there and spend the night at your place, and you can come here and spend the night at mine. How does that sound?’

‘That bad, hey?’

‘Worse.’

‘Is this husband problems? Or kid problems?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Jill said in a wavery voice. ‘And that’s the truth – I really
don’t
know. But, Em, everything just seems to be getting on top of me.’

‘Lucky you,’ muttered Emily.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing – tell me.’

‘I wasn’t actually going to say anything yet . . .’ Jill hesitated. ‘No – it doesn’t matter. I’ll sort it out.’

‘Jilly, tell me,’ Emily said firmly. ‘C’mon, you know it won’t
go any further. And I might be able to help.’

‘Huh,’ said Jill resentfully. ‘You? With your perfect life? You wouldn’t have the faintest.’

‘Actually, it’s you who doesn’t have the faintest,’ Emily replied dryly, ‘and you proved it with that last comment. But that’s beside the point – just tell me.’

‘Okay, you really want to know?’

‘I really want to know.’

‘I think I’m going to leave Jack.’

‘I see.’

‘You don’t sound surprised!’ said Jill, who
did
sound surprised. ‘Why don’t you sound surprised?’

‘Because anyone with two eyes could have seen that you haven’t been yourself for ages now. And because, well, you don’t act with him the way you used to act with him.’

‘I know,’ wailed Jill, ‘and it’s not fair! I mean,
he
hasn’t done anything – he’s still exactly the same. It’s me – and I just can’t help it!’

‘So where are you going to go? And what’s happening with the kids?’

‘I don’t know – and I don’t know,’ Jill said shortly, ‘and this is the worst thing. I think, I
really
think, I’d prefer if they all just stayed with their father – and I left.’

‘Even Cricket?’

‘Especially Cricket.’

‘Well, and why not?’ Emily said heartily. ‘Plenty of blokes just leave the whole kit and caboodle and nobody says diddly squat. What’s the difference?’

‘I’m supposed to be their mother.’

‘So?’

‘So everything. The fact that I’m even thinking about it makes me feel disgusted with myself.’ Jill took a deep breath and then sighed hugely. ‘But I can’t help it. God, Emily, I’m
just so sick of it. Day after damn day – the same bickering, the same everything. Do you know, sometimes I don’t even think they like me. And I’m damn sure that sometimes I don’t like them. I’ll bet Matt’s done badly at his VCE – he didn’t do
any
studying for his exams at all. And it’s not like he’s one of those brilliant kids who can afford to sit back and relax – far from it! And he just doesn’t care! I mean, what’s he going to do next year? Sit around and have me clean up after him, that’s what! And Megan’s so in her own world at the moment, I can’t seem to reach her anymore. And she obviously doesn’t want me to either. Then Kate – Kate’s
always
been in her own world, and she never wants
anybody
to reach her. And I love Cricket, I
really
do, but she’s just so much work, and the thought of another kindergarten year next year . . . I just can’t do it. I just can’t!’

‘But have you –’

‘And god! I mean, I’m holed up here in my bedroom and I can
still
hear them carrying on in the family room!’ Jill’s voice rose, and then cracked as she continued: ‘As for Jack . . . Oh, Em, he walks in the door at the end of the day, has tea, watches TV and goes to bed. That’s it. Day after day after day.’

‘Well, why don’t –’

‘And what’s even worse is that I don’t really care. I mean, I don’t have anything to say to him either. And if he touches me . . . well, I just flinch. I feel so bad but I can’t help it. As for sex –’

‘Whoa,’ Emily yelled quickly, ‘enough, I get it!’

‘So now you know. Pitiful, aren’t I?’

‘Not really,’ said Emily truthfully, ‘but what exactly is it you want?’

‘Your life,’ replied Jill without hesitation. ‘I want your life. I want to go to work – every day – and not have to worry about child-care, and what’s for dinner, and who hasn’t done
their homework. And I want to come home to silence, and order, and neatness. And I want to pick up the phone and order a meal, or go out for one instead – and not have to worry about playgrounds and spilt drinks and whose turn it is to sit in what seat. And I want to wear white, and heels, and make-up. And I want to sit in a bath with the door open, or sit on the toilet with the door shut. And I want to be able to listen to music –
good
music – or watch the TV, or even watch a damn sunset in peace. And I want to go to bed early, with a glass of wine and a good book and just curl up. And I want –’

‘I think I get the picture,’ Emily interrupted, having listened to most of her sister’s speech in stunned silence, ‘but, Jilly, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know. In fact, and I know you’re not going to believe me, I’m feeling a bit fed-up with my own lifestyle.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Told you. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener . . .’

‘That’s another thing I’m sick of – damn grass.’