by Ilsa Evans
‘Mum, these are Matt’s parents,’ said Scarlet. ‘Jack and Jill.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ said Jill, with a tired edge to her voice. ‘And believe me, it’s not that amusing when you have to live with it.’
I smiled, unsure how to respond. I would have changed my name. Or got divorced.
‘So I hear you’re famous,’ said Jack in a deep voice. ‘Not that I’d know. Haven’t read a book since I left school.’
‘I don’t write books.’
‘And he’s exaggerating anyway,’ put in Jill. ‘He was reading a Matthew Reilly last week.’
‘Pfft,’ said Jack, waving a hand dismissively. ‘But I’ve never met someone who had their road named after them. Very handy.’
‘And very temporary,’ I replied briskly. ‘So how’s the big move going?’
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Your daughter has a lot of stuff. A lot of stuff.’
‘I brought a pavlova,’ said Jill, holding out a foil-covered plate. ‘I’d like to say I made it but really it’s from the patisserie near Matt’s place.’
‘Good,’ said the younger girl. She seemed to have a permanent scowl on her face.
‘Meet Cricket.’ Scarlet nodded towards the child, and then pointed at the older one. ‘And this is Kate.’
‘Cricket’s real name is Sara,’ added Matt, as if eager to make up for the Jack and Jill angle.
‘Lovely to meet you all at last.’ I took the pavlova and stood back. ‘Come in, make yourselves at home. We’re all out the back.’
The family shuffled inside and followed me through the house. It was like playing follow-the-leader with a vow of silence. I opened the sliding door. ‘I’ll leave Scarlet to introduce you to everyone. There’s soft drinks and beer in the esky. Unless anyone wants a glass of chardonnay?’
Only Jill opted for wine. They filed onto the decking, looking a little overwhelmed. I didn’t blame them. Already seated around the new outdoor setting was Uncle Jim (minus Rita, who was apparently unwell), Yen, Petra, Quinn (with Gusto on her lap) and Griffin Russo. My father was basting the meat while singing ‘Waltzing Matilda’. I wasn’t sure why.
The front door opened as I began fixing the drinks, and Lucy came through, followed by Red. She came over to give me a brisk hug. ‘Surprise!’
‘Hello, honey. I thought you couldn’t make it?’
‘Lucy needed company,’ she said shortly. ‘I’m staying at her place tonight.’
I looked at Lucy. She had dark smudges under her eyes and her skin seemed almost translucent. I silently cursed Amy Stenhouse.
‘But, hey, congrats on the renaming of your road! I took a photo for Facebook. But wouldn’t you have been better with a plain lane?’ She grinned at her accidental rhyming. ‘Or a street or something? I mean, Nell Forrest Close sounds a little like a –’
‘Warning? Yes, I know. And it’s getting changed. Soon.’
‘Good-o. My god, what smells so nice?’ Red strode towards the sliding door. She was wearing gym pants and a tank top featuring Buffy the Vampire Slayer wielding a wooden stake. A speech bubble proclaimed: Suck on this! I raised my eyebrows disapprovingly but she ignored me. ‘Mum, your backyard looks amazing! Hey, is that your father?’
‘Yes, aka your grandfather.’ I suddenly realised that I hadn’t introduced Scarlet but a quick glance through the window told me that he had taken care of that himself. He had one arm around her and the other around Matt. Yen said something to Quinn and both she and Griffin jumped up to come inside. Gusto ran over to the spit, his tail wagging furiously.
‘Mum, Grandma said we’re to grab the dining-room chairs. Hey, Red.’
‘Hey, short stuff. Is this your boyfriend?’
Griffin flushed, the mottled red only serving to showcase his acne. He was a tall, gangly boy with a shock of tawny hair that was styled to wave across his forehead. Quinn, who was not prone to flushing, glared at her sister.
‘Don’t tease,’ said Lucy, the first words she had spoken. ‘Hello, Griffin. Hey, Q.’
Quinn turned to him. ‘She calls me Q after those new barbecues. You know, the Weber Qs? I’m the Baby Q. Get it?’
‘Funny,’ he mumbled. His eyes were fixed on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Red’s chest. As if suddenly realising this fact, he jerked his gaze away and flushed even more.
‘I do know you, actually,’ said Red more kindly. ‘I went to school with your brother Jackson. How is he these days?’
‘Okay.’
‘Good to hear. I’ll give you a hand with those chairs.’
I continued making drinks as Red helped the younger pair lug the dining-room chairs outside. Lucy grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and stood by the sliding door, looking out. I went over to lay a hand on her arm. ‘What did the lawyer say?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.’
I gave her arm a squeeze before letting go. Outside, Red was being introduced around the table. I noticed that the spiky-haired girl was sitting off to the side, looking bored. ‘Luce, could you do me a favour? Could you and Red sort of include Matt’s sister?’ I pointed. ‘She’s around your age. I don’t think she wants to be here. Be nice.’
Lucy nodded as she left. It had been a long day and I felt very, very tired. This wasn’t helped by a thick concern for Lucy and her situation. I poured myself another chardonnay and sipped it slowly, postponing the moment that I would have to socialise.
Scarlet pushed the door open and came in, walking heavily. ‘You didn’t tell me your dad was so nice.’
‘I didn’t know,’ I replied truthfully.
‘Fair enough. Hey, we should have done your birthday now as well, got it out of the way.’
‘Oh, well. Too late now.’
She looked at me searchingly. ‘Are you okay?’
I nodded. ‘Just tired.’
‘Oh. Listen, I wanted to talk to you anyway. This is a bit awkward.’ She leant back against the counter and rested her hands on her belly. ‘Um, you know Ashley Armistead?’
‘Yes.’ I tensed, but tried not to let it show.
‘See, it’s like this. My friend Tony’s cousin is up in Darwin as well, and she put this status on Facebook that, well …’ She hesitated, as if waiting for encouragement. ‘Well, she said that she’d met this really nice guy. A detective sergeant from Melbourne.’
‘Ashley.’
‘Yes,’ said Scarlet. She hurried on. ‘Look, it mightn’t mean anything. Probably doesn’t. But, like, I thought I should tell you.’
‘Quite right,’ I said. ‘On a different matter, I was thinking that someone should let Ruby know what’s happening here, now that it’s escalated. Otherwise she might hear it on the news. Oh, and you can give her the basics about Lucy’s situation, but keep it positive. No point stressing her when there’s nothing she can do. Would you mind?’
‘No problem. But are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Absolutely. Here, can you take this drink out for Matt’s mother?’ I gave her a broad smile and then watched as she carried the drinks outside. I thought of Ashley, of our weekends away. Champagne and strawberries on hotel balconies, white terry-towelling dressing-gowns, breakfast in bed. No commitment, no exclusivity. No right to an explanation.
‘Grub’s up!’ called my father. He was sharpening a knife on a butcher’s steel, sparks flicking into the air.
I drained my glass and began transferring all the salads from the fridge to the counter. Red and Quinn came in to collect them, followed by the spiky-haired girl. They were all laughing about something that Red had just shown them on YouTube. I sliced a baguette and followed them outside with my refilled glass.
My father was in his element. With the rolled roasts now on a large platter, he was brandishing his knife as he took orders. Requests for ‘just a little’ were brushed aside as he loaded plates with generous slices of chicken, or pork, or beef, or all three. Jack and Jill Carstairs seemed to have warmed to the company, both eng
aged in relaxed conversation. The smaller girl was sitting on the ground beside her mother, playing with Gusto. She was still not smiling, but I suspected that might be a normal state of affairs.
I sat down on the side of the deck, facing those seated around the table, and sipped my chardonnay. I wasn’t hungry at all.
‘Lovely family you have,’ said Jill Carstairs.
I nodded, fixed my sociable smile in place. ‘And you too. We really like Matt. You’ve got the three children?’
‘No, four. Our eldest girl, Megan, lives in Brisbane with her husband and little boy. Josh.’
‘So you’re a grandmother already.’
‘Yes.’ She regarded me for a moment. ‘I wasn’t really ready for it, but I’m loving it now. All the benefits of having your own, but you can hand them back.’
‘Sounds good.’ I glanced inadvertently towards Lucy. She had pulled her chair back and formed a circle with Red and the spiky-haired girl. The trio resembled a photo shoot for hair colours; blonde, dark and red. They suddenly rose, almost as one, and headed across the backyard to the spot where Dallas Patrick had been buried. Lucy gestured expansively, as if she was a game-show hostess introducing a prize. Or a tour guide. Murder tours half-price. Chilling atmosphere an added extra.
‘We really like Scarlet too. She’s so good for Matt. He needs someone to organise him.’
‘And she needs someone to organise.’ I turned my attention back to Jill. ‘So it’s perfect.’
The younger girl, Cricket, stood up to lean against her mother and tug at her jeans. ‘Mum, I’m hungry.’
‘So go and help yourself. There’s plenty there.’
‘No, I don’t wanna by myself.’ She tugged again, her voice petulant. ‘You come with me.’
Jill grinned at me apologetically. ‘Excuse me.’
Over by the spit, my father was in deep discussion with Uncle Jim and Matt’s father Jack. Judging by appearances, he seemed to be demonstrating the correct way to hold a cricket bat. Petra came over to grab one of the chairs vacated by the three twenty-somethings. She dragged it towards me and sat down. ‘You’re very quiet. What’s up?’
‘Nothing, really. I’m just feeling a bit blah.’
‘But it’s going well, don’t you think?’
‘Who’s got a deck of cards?’ called my father, surveying the company as if somebody might whip a deck out of their back pocket. He finished with Quinn. ‘How about you, young lady? Go grab some cards from inside, would you?’
Quinn was staring at him. She stood slowly, uncertainly.
‘In the box marked Games, in the garage,’ I said. She gave me her thanks-for-nothing look, and then strode inside.
‘Life of the party,’ commented Petra, her eyes on our father. ‘Does it ever occur to you how differently our childhood would have been if he had stayed around?’
I nodded, because it was easier than answering. We sat in silence, sipping our drinks, then I drained my glass and stood. ‘I’m going to tidy up a bit.’
I spent the next hour or so taking dishes inside, washing up, replenishing drinks and dip platters. It kept me busy and the obligatory conversation was superficial at best. Petra was right, though; it did seem to be going well. On receiving his deck of cards, my father had proceeded to entertain the smaller girl, Cricket, with a variety of card tricks. It was the first time I saw her smile. The magic tricks had since progressed to a game of poker, using rice crackers as poker chips. Scarlet appeared to be doing the best but it was difficult to say, given the winnings were being simultaneously devoured.
I took the remains of the roasts inside and put them into plastic containers. Then I replenished my glass and stood by the kitchen window, watching the proceedings. Cricket was leaning against my father’s knee, holding his cards. He whispered something and she flung a card onto the table, beaming. He did seem to be good with children.
‘We’re off, Mum,’ said Red, coming through the sliding door. Behind her Kate held the door open for Lucy and then followed her through.
‘Off where?’
‘Down the pub for a bit and then Lucy’s place. Kate’s never seen Game of Thrones.’
Neither had I, but I wasn’t sure what this had to do with anything. ‘So will your parents pick you up from next door then, Kate?’
Lucy answered for her. ‘Nah, she’s staying over. Why squish everyone at Matt and Scarlet’s when Kate can stay with us?’
‘Fair enough.’ I felt a little bemused by the speed at which these three seemed to have bonded. Nevertheless I was pleased, and I knew Scarlet would be too. Plus Lucy needed company, and the more the better. If I were writing a book, I would make this new acquaintance suddenly turn out to be a lawyer specialising in custody issues, or a private investigator with compelling evidence about Amy Stenhouse, or just a contract killer willing to give discounts. Something useful.
They headed off, Red pausing to help herself to a packet of crumpets from the fridge. I glanced at the clock. It was almost nine o’clock, but felt much later. I topped up my glass, a little surprised that the wine did not seem to be having any effect. When I returned to the window, it was to discover that Cricket was now sitting on her father’s lap, and my own father was not there. I tensed, because if he was not …
The sliding door shot open and he came inside. ‘There you are! Hiding, are we?’
‘No, of course not!’ I swept some dishes into the sink with a clatter. ‘Just washing dishes. Can I get you something? A drink?’
‘Nah. All under control.’
I kept washing dishes, acutely aware of him watching me.
‘Stuffed up, didn’t I? Letting you two go.’
‘Shit happens,’ I said. ‘Life goes on.’
After a moment, he came over to stand beside me, gazing through the window. ‘They make a good couple, don’t they?’
‘Who?’
‘Jim and your mother.’
I stared at him, surprised. ‘You know about that?’
‘Of course.’
‘But then … it started before you left?’ I took a step backwards. ‘It was why you left!’
He was already shaking his head. ‘No, no. Nothing like that. That is, no.’
‘I don’t understand.’ I wiped my hands on the tea towel, watching him. This was my chance. ‘And what about Dallas Patrick?’
His face went blank with surprise. ‘What about her?’
‘That’s who was buried here. The wife of the chemist next door. She came back here two weeks after they left Majic.’ I took a punt. ‘To meet you.’
‘I wish. But, unfortunately, no.’
‘You knew though. I can tell. That she came back here.’
‘Yes, I knew that.’ He put his head on one side and grinned. ‘Quite the detective, aren’t you? The police only made the formal identification today.’
‘Process of deduction. So you met her that day? Before she died?’
‘No, afterwards. Bit awkward.’ His grin widened and then abruptly vanished. ‘Christ, that was inappropriate. Sorry.’
I was still focused on the meeting. ‘You met her here?’
‘Yes. Well, actually next door. I’d just come over from the ceremony – for Anzac Day, you know. Actually, it was a bit of a fizzer. Rained all bloody morning and only stopped long enough for them to scuttle up with the wreath.’ He hesitated for a moment, as if remembering. ‘That priest from back then, whatever his name was, turns to me and says, “God’s hand at work.” And I felt like saying, “Mate, if your God wanted to lend a hand, maybe he should have done it when all these blokes were being killed. Clearing up the rain for seven and a half minutes doesn’t quite cut the mustard, in my book.” Damn Bible-thumpers.’
‘So you saw her car from the cenotaph?’ I prompted.
‘Yeah. Well, not quite. Probably saw it when I was halfway to the shop. I’d parked over there see, because I had to pick up the cash register and take it round to your mum’s. I had one of those old ones, all scrolls
and brass. It was my uncle’s. Bloody gorgeous. Does she still have it?’ I nodded. ‘Well, that’s a family heirloom. Make sure either you or your sister gets it when she falls off the perch.’
‘Duly noted,’ I said. ‘So … you saw her car?’
‘Yeah.’ He gazed through the window. ‘I thought she’d come to see me.’
‘Why would she have done that?’ I asked, keeping my voice gentle.
‘She didn’t. She was next door, upstairs, looking for something or other.’ He laughed humourlessly. ‘I reckon I was the last person she expected to see.’
I hesitated before asking the crucial question. ‘But were you actually the last person?’
‘Which brings me back to my first comment.’ He turned to look at me. ‘You only ask that because I stuffed up. If I hadn’t, and you knew me better, then you wouldn’t need to.’
‘Who are Rex and Clare?’
After a moment, he transferred his gaze back to the window. I could see Yen watching us, her mouth a thin line. My father shook his head, just slightly.
‘What was going on back then?’
‘This isn’t a conversation we should be having now,’ said my father. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘I won’t be fobbed off.’
‘I know.’ He smiled, a slow lazy grin that made my breath catch. ‘And I won’t do that to you. But for now, Christ knows I’d kill for some coffee.’
Chapter Thirteen
Can you answer me a concerning question? Your column and blog are all about middle-age for women, so what happens when you’re not middle-aged any more? Does The Middle-aged Spread become The Elderly Spread? Or will you be like a midlife Peter Pan and let us age alone? Please say it ain’t so – we need you!
