Ill-Gotten Gains (11 page)

Ever since I read your column on the dearth of middle-aged women on TV, I’ve found myself counting them – much to my family’s irritation! But you’re right, and I don’t know why I never noticed it. So where do all the female hosts and actors and newsreaders go when they get older? I’m serious! Where the bloody hell are they?

The plaque had been replaced, covering Beloved’s inscription once more. The crack was now just a serrated vein of darker grey. Even the crypt had been spruced up, the gravel raked and the wrought-iron fencing spray-painted a gleaming shoe-polish black. I took some photos with my camera and then retreated to the stone bench, where only a week before I had sat, minding my own business, while Quinn performed her little act of vandalism that started it all.

Gusto zigzagged along the path further away, his lead trailing as he sniffed the asphalt. A magpie on the kerb watched him beadily, but the dog continued past without even raising his head. Despite it being a frigid day, and the cemetery part of the great outdoors, I had decided on the spur of the moment to pay another visit because it seemed that Deb and her husband were the ones doing all the investigative work. And my discovery regarding the siblings had given me a taste of success that I would rather enjoy being able to repeat.
Local stalwart provides key to everything. People cheer. Police require mouth to mouth.

I slid the camera into my pocket and drew out a slip of paper. On it I had written
Kata Dragovic, Mate Dragovic, James Sheridan I and II, George Sheridan, Mystery girl (approx. dob 1867)
. These were the occupants of the graves that I hoped to find, and with them, some extra information. However I had been washed with a desire to sit here for a while first, beside Petar, because in an odd way I was now associating him with Sam Emerson and I wanted to make them both a promise – that we’d find out the truth. This was all a little spiritual for my taste, and rather embarrassing, but I also felt like it was something I should do, while I was here.

I was deep in my reverie, eyes closed, and having what really amounted to a conversation with myself, when I heard the noise. It was a sharp crack, followed by a crunchier sound that seemed to echo. Like someone eating cereal. I opened my eyes with a start, just as Gusto froze in the centre of the path with his ears pricked. He barked once, twice, before being distracted by a dragonfly that swooped across the path. Excellent guard dog.

I stood for a better view and then, still not seeing anyone, climbed atop the bench. The cemetery was deserted. With excellent timing, the wind picked up, blustering noisily through the trees and sending icy gusts among the gravestones. I shivered, from both the cold and a sudden sense of isolation. A person could be stalked here, attacked, even murdered, and no-one would be the wiser. I pushed the thought from my mind but remained still for a while, until I was sure I was alone. Then I climbed down, feeling edgy but determined to get on with the task at hand. The sooner it was done, the sooner I could go home.

The original cemetery ran in a thin rectangle from the entry gates to just past Petar’s crypt. Accordingly I started by searching the area around the bench and it wasn’t long before I struck pay dirt. Sheridan graves, four of them side by side with a large stone Madonna perched in the centre, arms outstretched to embrace all. The first grave housed the remains of Mary Frost, along with three baby boys who predeceased her. I felt a shaft of sadness. She had finally delivered a healthy son, only to perish herself shortly after. The grave also contained her grandson James III, who was killed in World War I.

I stepped towards the centre grave, beneath the Madonna, and was immediately flushed with gratification when  I read
Kate Sheridan 1835–1872 Beloved Wife and Mother Sorely Missed
. There she was, along with James I, who died thirty-six years later. He must have really loved her, I realised, to have remained a widower and then instruct that he be buried with her and not Mary. Sharing the grave was their son George, but there was no mention of a daughter.

A dog began barking over towards the highway, a frenetic sound that continued as I moved to the third grave. This one belonged to James II and his wife Victoria. The headstone was simple, with minimal information; although Victoria had outlived her husband, she left no words of endearment here. The final grave appeared to be a communal one, with Mary May, her husband, both her sons and a daughter-in-law. I hoped they had all got on well in life, because eternity was looking pretty cramped.

The barking finally slowed to the occasional burst of sound. I took photos and began to investigate the surrounding graves. If I was hoping for Mystery Girl to reveal herself, figuratively speaking, then I was soon disappointed. Apart from James I, there was nobody who was born in 1867 at all, and nobody who even loosely fitted the bill. However I did find Mate, situated to the side of the Majic crypt and perpetually shadowed by his friend’s success.
Beloved friend and brother. Sleep well.

A few more photos and then I called Gusto over. He came reluctantly, having discovered a concussed bee that he deemed a threat to national security. I took his lead and walked rapidly through the cemetery as the wind swirled, creating a whispering effect that was quite disconcerting. I recalled the odd sound from earlier and my back prickled. I thought of the barking dog, and a recent argument with Quinn about whether or not werewolves were real. Did you get a discount if you actually died in the cemetery itself?

Gusto broke into a trot as I sped up, until our rapid footsteps were almost as loud as the wind. I fancied that I saw the other dog in the distance, loping along the far end of the cemetery, but then it was gone. Now jogging, I brushed past the hedge at the entry and the woody stems were like fingernails clawing at my clothes, not wanting me to leave. I unlocked the car and swept Gusto up as I slid in, pushing him over to the passenger side even as I locked the doors again. My heart hammered.
Graveyard mystery: woman’s corpse found in locked car. No visible signs of injury. Dog useless.

I took a deep breath, feeling ridiculous, and forced my mind to move to the mundane. I was cooking chicken strudels that night, a rather complicated dish that called for a lot of fine dicing and fiddly filo pastry and at least two hours’ preparation time. What had seemed a wonderful idea while Nigella Lawson shimmied around her kitchen, and adventurous when I perused the supermarket shelves, now just felt like a pain in the arse. Besides, Nigella was only making dinner for two while I was serving eight. But it was too late to change things now, which meant I had better get home and get started.

I pulled out of the car park, the soft dirt tugging at my tyres, turning onto the main road where the wind swept furiously across the car. Gusto sat to attention beside me, his tongue lolling as he stared at the darkening sky. I wondered if this wind was the harbinger of a storm, because it certainly seemed a little more intense than usual. And I wondered whether jacket potatoes would be a good accompaniment for the strudels, and whether I had sour cream. I also wondered how the girls would take the news about the house. Most of them might no longer live there, but I knew they still thought of it as home. How would they feel about their father?

I braked lightly as my turnoff approached and was surprised to feel an unfamiliar sponginess. The car slowed with some reluctance so I pressed again, frowning, and this time my foot sunk to the floor with just the merest resistance. After a split-second of numb disbelief, I leapt straight from complacency to panic and started pumping my foot on the pedal. But now it simply slapped flaccidly against the floor. The car began to build up speed again.

I swallowed the panic as best I could, leaving it to batter fitfully in my chest. My road was nearing rapidly and I had to make a decision. Taking my turn risked rolling the car but the alternative meant continuing on to the gentle slope that wound down the hill towards Majic. Speed would build quickly and I would no doubt either rear-end another car or simply fly off the side. Even if by some miracle I made it down the hill, I would then hit the town, literally, at about two hundred kilometres an hour. Commemorate
that
, fellow citizens.

There was no choice. With blood pounding in my ears, I pulled the steering wheel to the right and began a long arc that I figured would be less dangerous than a sharp turn. Gusto stumbled against the passenger door and turned to give me an inquiring look. I pressed the horn repeatedly as I turned, hoping that any approaching cars would take it as a warning. The wind gathered the hoarse bleating that emerged, and tossed it into the trees.

Rubber squealed as I sharpened the turn and at the apex I felt the right tyres lift, just slightly. Gusto scrabbled for purchase on his seat and then smacked against the door, while I was forced into a lean that pressed the gear lever into my left hip. I kept a death grip on the steering wheel as I tried to right myself, but it was like fighting a force-field. Gusto whimpered, clawing at the window. I aimed for the entry to my road, which had never seemed so narrow, the tyres now screeching as the car tilted even more. It was going to flip, it
had
to flip.

But it didn’t. Instead we flew into the road and straight into a blustering head wind that immediately objected to our speed. Finally, someone was on my side. The car slowed but was still going too fast. Gusto made a beeline for my lap, complicating matters even further. I caught sight of Jill Hansen, the mother of Quinn’s friend Caitlin, standing at her letterbox open-mouthed as I hurtled past. Then there was the end of the road swiftly approaching, with my house up a small rise to the right. I wrenched the steering wheel once more, Gusto flying back across the car, and the tyres turned in a billowing cloud of dust. We rocketed up the embankment and hit the driveway with a sickening crunch that wrenched my head back. Nevertheless the impact slowed us even more and we coasted relatively civilly down the driveway, through the fence and straight into the shed.

The car stopped, and stalled. I sat motionless, swirls of dust rolling upwards from the remains of the shed. I could see the far wall, with its painted shadows and hanging tools, but all else had collapsed like kindling. The whipper-snipper balanced on the bonnet, among broken planks and plastic plant pots, its cord trailing into the debris beyond. Gusto scrambled to his feet and glanced at me accusingly, then pawed at the door.
Let me out, crazy driver.
But I couldn’t move. Adrenalin coursed through my veins, heating my blood and mingling with the shock like oil on water. My entire body throbbed. I had survived, and done so without killing anyone else. Amid the relief and elation and emerging pain, there rose two bubbles of lucid but scarcely imperative thought. One, how glad I was that I hadn’t bothered to keep the shed up to Darcy’s standard and, two, now I’d have to get the place valued all over again.

Please never stop writing your column. You are part of my weekend breakfast routine: wholegrain toast with four slivers of Hass avocado, two slices of triple-smoked ham and one free-range poached egg (size 55). Breakfast is on my polka-dot Ikea tray, with a serviette on the left and you on the right, beside the orange juice. It takes me exactly the same amount of time to eat as it does to read the column, so you can see my concern.

The conversation since I arrived home from the hospital had been dominated by questions about my wild brake-less ride, disbelief about the resultant damage, and rather cloying concern about my well-being. Several of the girls had already posted photos to Facebook, dividing their attention between me and updating the situation via their mobiles. In my absence, Yen had taken over the preparation of the meal and was now washing dishes with the assistance of Lucy, who was being rather suspiciously helpful.

Scarlet and Ruby had arrived at the hospital while I was in emergency, being fitted with a thickly padded collar that velcroed in the back and limited my neck movement from its standard one hundred and eighty degrees to an inefficient twenty. It also fluffed my already rather fluffy hair out so that I looked like a Peanuts cartoon character. Apart from mild whiplash, I had also suffered some compression of the chest from the seatbelt and suspected that I would soon have a ribbon of bruises as evidence. The police and ambulance had arrived within minutes of each other, courtesy of Jill Hansen who ran down our road, catalogues in hand, and was first on the scene. I had still been sitting in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead.

The car was no longer parked in the backyard, having been towed away by the police while I was in hospital. Discovering this had come as something of a surprise, and gave me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. However, given the miasma of dull pain that enveloped my entire body, it was relatively easy to ignore for now. Just like the logistics of going forward: getting to work tomorrow, contacting insurance companies, having the fence fixed, relocating any surviving contents of the shed, explaining the damage to Darcy. The medication I’d been given worked well in this regard; thickening life just a little and removing the sharp edges.

Petra arrived late, necessitating another round of explanations and wonderment. Since then she had fallen rather quiet, for her, and was now sitting by the latest doll’s house, idly examining the furniture and casting me the occasional surreptitious glance. In fact, the only family member who seemed wholly unperturbed by the events of the afternoon was Gusto. He was lapping up the extra attention. Some leftover Christmas turkey had been excavated from the rear of the freezer and given to him as a special dinner, resulting in intermittent flatulence. Otherwise he appeared to have suffered no ill effects from our ride, which seemed unfair given I’d been the one wearing a seatbelt.

‘What did you have for dinner?’ I asked, staring at Red because she was sitting directly across from my armchair and I couldn’t move my head.

‘Oh, Grandma made these
delicious
chicken things, wrapped in filo pastry. Absolutely yum! And she did it just out of stuff you had in the fridge!’

‘Really. How inventive of her.’

‘It was nothing,’ said Yen. ‘Just a Nigella Lawson recipe I picked up. Are you hungry, Nell? Do you want some?’

‘No, that’s fine. I ate at the hospital. Some little blue tablets that went down a treat.’

‘So why’d the police take the car?’ asked Lucy, coming over to sit on my armrest. ‘If it was just brake failure, why are they even involved?’

‘Good question,’ said Pet.

‘Precautionary measures,’ replied Scarlet in the authoritative tone she always used when she wasn’t quite sure. ‘And to be honest, I think we need a subject change. Mum needs to get her car checked more often, that’s all. Plus she should buy a lottery ticket while her luck’s running hot.’ She slapped her hands together, as if that was the end of the matter. ‘So how about we get this big meeting started?’

I closed my eyes briefly. There was nothing I felt like less right now; having to deliver the news about the house and then putting up with the questions, providing the answers. I could plead frailty, but it would only be postponing the inevitable. With their father arriving in a matter of days, I wanted them to be forewarned about the house at least. I rose slowly, trying to avoid the helping hand Lucy thrust towards me.

‘Are we having the meeting at the table?’ asked Quinn. ‘Like we used to?’

Lucy was now hovering around me as I made my way across the room. ‘Are you okay for that, Mum? Will you be all right?’

‘I’ve got her,’ said Ruby, pulling out a chair and then guiding me into position.

‘God, I’m fine! Stop fussing. Except someone grab me my tablets.’

Yen put a cup of tea beside me and a platter of crackers, dip and carrot sticks in the centre of the table. Then she made herself comfortable at the other end. ‘How many of those tablets have you had, Nell?’

‘Not enough.’

‘Well, don’t blame me if you make yourself ill. So what’s this meeting about, anyway? Come on, girls, sort yourselves out.’

After some argument about who always sat where and who no longer lived here, they did exactly that, dividing much as they always had. Quinn, Lucy and Red to my left, Scarlett and Ruby to my right. Lucy hoisted Gusto onto her lap, so that his wiry white head was at table height and he could gaze intently at the platter. Only after everybody was settled did Petra come over, sliding into the spare chair beside Ruby.

‘Where’s your hat? Might have helped distract attention from the yoke.’

‘Unfortunately it just made me look like a Tupperware container.’

‘Another yoke!’ Red slapped her thigh. ‘Mum made a yoke! Get it? Yoke? Like Auntie –’

‘I call this meeting to order!’ announced Quinn, suddenly producing the hammer-shaped meat tenderiser and a mouse pad. She rapped the former on the latter and beamed.

‘How come she gets to do that?’ demanded Ruby.

‘I
never
get a turn.’ Red looked at me accusingly. ‘
Everyone
’s had a turn but me.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true –’

‘Yes it is! And she even did it last night!’

I frowned. ‘Last night? We didn’t have a meeting last night.’

‘But
we
did,’ cut in Scarlet smoothly, but not before sending Red a fierce look. ‘Just a sister thing, to talk about what we’ve been up to, new developments. That sort of thing.’

Ruby made an odd noise, which she immediately turned into a cough.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked, moving my body stiffly so that I could look from one to the next and then letting my gaze linger on Lucy, who was always the weak link when it came to secrecy. On this occasion she stared at me guilelessly, her blue eyes huge.

‘Just a couple of bits and pieces,’ said Scarlet. ‘Which we’ll get to after you give us your news. That is, I’m assuming there
is
news?’

‘You’re getting married!’ Red clapped her hands. ‘No! You’re pregnant!’

‘Both are ridiculous,’ snapped Ruby.

‘Actually, both are
unlikely
,’ said Yen. ‘But not ridiculous. Eleanor of Aquitaine, your mother’s namesake, had a baby at forty-five. Mind you, the child did turn out to be a proper arsehole. Murdered his nephew, imprisoned his niece. Used to have temper tantrums where he’d fling himself on the ground and gnaw his own fingers.’

‘Gross!’

‘That seems a little counterproductive,’ commented Petra, examining her manicure. The leopard print had been replaced by honey gloss. She glanced across at me with a smirk. ‘But perhaps you’d best use birth control for the sake of the family.’

I held up my own hand to preclude any further conversation regarding either my fertility or marital status. ‘I think we should move on to something with a little more relevance. Now, as you all know, it’s been about a year since your father and I separated.’

‘You want to celebrate the
anniversary
?’ asked Red disbelievingly.

‘Of course she doesn’t,’ snapped Scarlet. ‘
That
would be ridiculous.’

‘As I was saying, it’s been about a year since your father and I separated, actually it's been over a year. Almost fifteen months in fact. In about a week. Anyway, that’s not important. What it means is that decisions have to be made. For us both to move forward.’ I slipped a finger under my collar to loosen it slightly, just so that I could look around the table without feeling like a badly lubricated robot. My girls stared at me expectantly. One blonde, one redhead and three brunettes – a really nice-looking set. Darcy and I must have been a good genetic match, at least. ‘Like getting divorced.’

‘Ah.’ Scarlett nodded as she exchanged glances with Ruby. ‘That’s what we thought.’

‘And selling the house.’

‘No!’ cried Lucy, a sentiment immediately echoed by at least two of her sisters. She relaxed her hold on Gusto and his head shot forward to snare a cracker.

‘Excellent!’ said Quinn. ‘Can we shift closer to school? Like, I’m so
sick
of the bus.’

‘But … no.’ Ruby stared around the room. ‘This is where we grew
up
. This is our
home
.’

‘Makes sense.’ Yen nodded. ‘No point keeping your equity tied up in a house that’s far too big. Get something smaller, release some funds. Invest them.’

‘It’s not so much the size of the house,’ I continued. ‘Although that’s a factor. It’s more to do with needing to separate our joint assets.’

‘This is all about him, isn’t it?’ Scarlet was staring at me. ‘
He
has asked you to do this. So that
he
can move on. With her.’

‘He may have started the conversation, however he has a point. I admit at first I felt a bit angry, but the more I think about it, the more I feel it’s an opportunity rather than a …’ I paused, having been about to say betrayal but thinking better of it. ‘I mean, I
do
have the option of buying him out but … well, that would mean a
significant
mortgage. Even if the bank approved me for that amount, which is unlikely. Besides, the house really is too big, even with Quinn here, and in a few years she’ll be at university. And being surrounded by memories is sometimes a bad thing as well as good. They can trap you.’

There was silence as everybody absorbed both the information and my response. I felt a little embarrassed, exposed. I took a sip of tea just to have something to do.

Lucy was the first to speak. ‘Maybe you running into the shed was a sign.’

‘A sign that she should watch where she’s going,’ said my mother.

‘Could we move into Grandma’s street?’ asked Quinn. ‘Like, into one of the houses that are being renovated? How cool would
that
be?’

I blinked as an image of life next door to my mother flashed across my cerebral cortex, like a near-death experience. I suspected that Quinn’s suggestion was motivated less by a sense of family and more by the scab-picking Griffo living in the next street. ‘No. And I still haven’t made up my mind about what I want to do. I just wanted to let you all know, give you a heads-up.’

‘Are you going to tell them why?’ asked Petra, examining her nails again so that she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. ‘Why darling Darcy picked this moment?’

Five heads turned as one from Petra to me.

‘No, I’m not,’ I replied, swallowing my annoyance. ‘I would have preferred you mind your own business too. Darcy will tell them himself.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Red suspiciously.

‘Oh my god!
He’s
going to get married!’

‘She’s dying!’

‘She’s pregnant!’

Something in my face must have reacted to this last statement, because another silence fell while everybody, including my mother this time, stared at me. She spoke first.

‘Serves him right.’

‘No way, she’s too old,’ breathed Lucy. ‘Isn’t she?’

‘She’s younger than that Eleanor Aquitaine,’ said Scarlet, without taking her eyes off me. ‘Is this true, Mum? Is she pregnant? Is Dad going to have another baby?’

‘I’m not going to answer that, because it’s none of
my
business.’ I glared at Petra and then turned away to look at the girls. ‘He’ll be down here in a few days and you can talk to him then. But I’m not continuing this conversation now. It’s got nothing to do with me.’

‘Apart from the fact you’re still married to him,’ said Petra, finally meeting my gaze. ‘And you’re the mother of his children, thus far. And he’s the one who instigated the decision about the house. I’d say that gives you a slight investment, don’t you think?’

‘I am so angry with you.’ I tried to keep my voice even. ‘You have no idea.’

‘Oh, I think I do. But I’m tired of you … never mind.’

‘My god,’ said Scarlet. She stared across the table at Lucy. ‘Oh my god.’

‘Now I’m moving on,’ I said, well aware of the loaded meaning. ‘I’ll let you know when I decide what’s happening with the house and if you want to discuss your father, call another meeting among yourselves. Speaking of which, what were your bits and pieces?’

Scarlet dragged her eyes away from her sister and blinked at me. ‘What? Oh, of course. Um, I’m engaged.’

‘You’re
what
?’

‘I’m engaged. But don’t worry, we’ve got no plans to get married for years. If ever. It’s more a commitment thing, because … well, I’m pregnant.’

I stared, gobsmacked. After a few minutes she flushed but didn’t elaborate. My collar was choking me. I dragged it forward as I gazed around the table, from one expectant face to the other. They already knew, even Quinn. I returned to Scarlet. ‘When? I mean, who?’

‘Congratulations,’ said Petra warmly. ‘Are you pleased?’

‘Very much, thanks. It was a bit of a shock at first, but now, well I’m thrilled. And, Mum, I’m ten weeks. You know, you could say congratulations as well.’

‘And you could let me have a few minutes for it to sink in. I didn’t even know you were going out with anyone and now I find out that not only are you engaged, but you’re going to have a baby! Oh god, I’m going to be a grandmother.’