Grand Slam (4 page)

Jack considered that for a moment and nodded. ‘That's safe enough. You shouldn't have it at your parents'.'

First thing in the morning, I'd move it to the drawer. After I'd used it tonight to shoot potential murderers. I just hoped the gas man didn't knock on the door at 3 a.m. wanting to read my meter.

It was after ten thirty when we left the restaurant and I'd had most of Emilio's champagne and half the wine while the responsible driver opposite me had refrained. We walked to his car side by side. Well, I staggered a bit. I took his arm, and he tucked mine firmly under his.

‘Stay with me tonight. I'll take you home tomorrow.'

‘
You'll
take me home?'

He nodded.

‘Well, I'd like to but I need to be there for Steve.' I looked up at him. ‘You could stay at my place.'

Did he wrinkle his nose? I stopped walking, staring at him, and he stepped away from me.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing.' I kept walking. ‘Let's take a raincheck.'

We drove the few minutes from Southbank to Richmond in silence and I brooded over the wrinkled nose. My house wasn't that bad. My bedroom was clean and tidy. Well, not that tidy. I crossed my arms, shitty, but couldn't help glancing at him, wondering what he was thinking, admiring his beautiful profile, that perfect mouth I longed to spend my life kissing. There was something about the way Jack kissed me that turned me to jelly, or set me on fire, sometimes both. But I wanted more than his occasional kisses, and I wanted them all for myself. Was that very greedy?

We pulled up outside my house. I wanted to invite him in – even for just an hour – but I couldn't trust myself not to say something mushy when we were in the throes of passion. Instead, I said, ‘You still want to do the beach tomorrow?'

‘Sure. Unless you've seen enough of me for now.' His mouth smiled but his eyes didn't.

‘Hmm. I could stand looking at you a bit more.'

He got out of the car to open my door. Jack might be infuriatingly hard-hearted but his manners are impeccable. He wanted to come inside to make sure my house was secure. I opened the front door and he stared at the mess before him – my passageway full of boxes, dust, crap, muddy footprints, etc. Axle climbed his leg, as he's always done. It's his special Jack greeting.

‘Jesus,' said Jack, lifting Axle by the scruff, holding him in front of his face. ‘You're too big for this shit. I keep telling you that.'

‘You're his favourite human, you know. Apart from Mum who gives him roast chicken.'

Jack put Axle down, walked along the passage, out the back door (without looking through the cat flap first), and across the yard to the back fence. He peered up and down the road, checked the padlock, came back inside saying everything looked okay. At my front door I stood on tiptoe to peck his cheek, but he turned his head and, with his arm around my waist, I couldn't escape the hard, closed-mouth kiss. Not that I wanted to escape it.

He released me abruptly and I stumbled back. He caught my wrist, righted me.

‘Thanks for dinner.' I smoothed my hair, an attempt at nonchalance. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

‘You're drunker than I realised.'

I tried to think of something a sober person would say. Nope. Nothing came.

‘Goodnight, Erica.'

He stepped away, and I watched him walk out my front gate. He looked up and down the street several times, got into his car and drove away.

It turned out I didn't need my gun overnight because I fell into such a heavy wine and lack-of-sleep induced coma, I wouldn't have known if someone came in anyway. And besides, I forgot to take it out of the laundry hamper. But as my head hit the pillow, I thought that in the morning, before I did anything else, I'd secure my gun in my under-bed drawer. I'd definitely remember to do that.

Steve swung his sledgehammer like a pro-golfer and smashed my dunny to smithereens. He emerged from the mist, pulling his mask and protective glasses off as I peeped around what was left of the bathroom wall.

‘That's it. You're officially homeless.'

‘Can't live here without a toilet.' I waved at the dust and coughed.

We moved to the spare bedroom, which had doubled as my kitchen and living room for the past week. What used to be my kitchen and living room was now outside. The plans for my house were laid out on the dining table.

Steve put the kettle on. ‘Cuppa?'

‘Sure.' Anything to avoid packing and moving. ‘Or I could make you one.'

‘This is a building site, buddy. My space now. I make the cups of tea.' He poured the water and looked at me. ‘Get the hint? Time to move out.'

‘Don't suppose I can stay here without a bathroom. Where would I throw up when I'm drunk?'

‘You've got a hangover?'

‘A bit.'

‘What'd you get up to?'

‘Dinner with Jack.'

‘In public? Impressive.'

Steve handed me a cup of tea and as he examined the renovation plans, I stood there gazing around the dim little room. It was the room I'd put Jack in after I found him in my front garden, bleeding to death from a bullet wound. My front garden attracts all kinds, it seems.

‘You know, I could live here and use the shower at work.' Axle circled my legs, rubbing against me. ‘I've got this one for protection.'

‘What about Jack?'

I shrugged. ‘He's got some new Team recruit from Sydney staying at his house.' Steve knew about the Team. He didn't know about my gun. Which reminded me, I still hadn't moved it.

‘There was a security guy out back when I got here.'

‘Really? Jack said he didn't have anyone available last night.'

‘I don't understand why you can't just live at Jack's while I do the reno. So what if his spare room's occupied?'

‘He didn't offer.'

‘He's worried you'll move in and never leave.' Steve grinned. ‘You could stay at my place but I've got the kids most weekends. I know you hate them.'

‘I don't
hate
them. I just don't understand the crying and vomiting all the time.'

‘It's what little kids do. And it's not
all
the time.'

Steve took his tea and beckoned me to follow him outside, which now included the space where my bathroom had been an hour ago. The dust was still settling. We stood in the middle of the backyard, and I thought about the footprints, and he pointed to where my kitchen used to be, where the new one would roughly sit.

‘The layout's not that different. You'll need to choose appliances. Stan needs them before he builds your kitchen. Or at least the specs.'

I checked my watch and sighed. ‘I suppose I should get going. I've got a couple of trips to make.'

‘I'd give you a hand but I've gotta get back to Mum. She's with the kids.'

‘It's fine.'

‘So, you'll move out today?'

‘Yeah.' Sigh.

‘You'll like being back in Chadstone. Just think of the shopping.' He was trying so hard not to laugh, the bastard.

‘Very bloody funny.' I turned and went inside, tackling the obstacle course to my bedroom.

‘Say hi to your mum,' Steve called after me.

Without looking back I gave him the finger. I could hear him laughing.

I made a trip to Mum's with stuff to store in their garage. Dad's car was in the driveway in its usual spot, right near the gate, which made it hard to squeeze by, especially with armloads of stuff. The driveway is long with a garage at the end but he never puts his car up there in case someone parks behind him and blocks him in — I don't know who would do that — or in case he needs to dash out for Mum's prunes at three in the morning.

When I walked in the door, Mum flapped the newspaper at me. The
Herald Sun
.

‘I suppose you've seen this, young lady.'

‘No, but I'm sure you'll show me.'

Mum set the newspaper on the kitchen counter and opened it with flourish to the social pages. I had a guess at what might be in there. Emilio Méndez's first social appearance. Yep. And me, leaning into him, hand on his chest, looking surprised at whatever dirty thing he was seemingly whispering in my ear.

‘This looks very unsavoury, Erica, I must say. What on
earth
did you do to your hair? Why are you in that photo?'

‘We're one of Emilio's sponsors. That's the Dega executive team.'

‘You're not an executive.'

‘I'm looking after the tennis sponsorship. Just don't worry, okay?'

‘But what will I tell the neighbours?'

‘Tell them how proud you are of your daughter, that she's doing a wonderful job managing Australia's biggest company's sponsorship of the Australian Open, which is one of the world's biggest tennis tournaments. How about that?'

She pursed her lips. ‘I suppose.'

Dad was watching
Mega Constructions
. I went to speak but he held up a hand. I waited, watching the telly. Wind rocked a bridge so hard it flapped like Steve's tarp, clinging desperately to the earth either side of a ravine until it finally gave up, let go, and plunged into whatever was below. An ad came on but still, it's important to be careful about interrupting. Your life might not be worth living if you dive in with a ‘Hi Dad,' in the middle of an ad for The Good Guys or something.

Dad looked at me, his silent permission for me to speak.

‘Can you move your car so I can unload mine in the driveway?'

Mum called from the kitchen, ‘The car's broken.'

‘What's wrong with it?'

‘Something to do with the radio.'

‘Radiator,' Dad mumbled.

‘Are you getting it fixed?'

‘No need for now,' Mum said. ‘You can do the shopping for us while you're living here.'

Yeah, sure, just get me to do whatever because I've got so much spare time. I left to get the rest of my things. By the time I got back to Richmond, Steve had packed up and gone. I threw some clothes into a gym bag and looked for my favourite high heels. I might need them, I thought, if Jack wanted to have dinner again. It was ambitious thinking, wishful even.

But I couldn't find them. In my drunken haze, who knows what I'd done with them? Did I wear them last night? They were probably rolling around the floor of Jack's car, and he'd have them for me when I got to his house. I shivered with excitement at the thought of seeing him again so soon. With my bag packed, I left my bedroom and closed the door firmly against a potential change of mind. Living at my mother's for the next few weeks would be no picnic and I really was tempted to cancel, to keep living at home and just use the bathroom at work. But, quite apart from the potential for murder, the only running water now was from a tap outside (that used to be inside) and there was no toilet, which meant squatting in my backyard where the entire world could see me. Unless I got Steve to rig up a screen but couldn't imagine having that convo with him: ‘Hey, Steve, can you put up a screen over there so I can bury my poo in privacy?' He'd never go for it. He'd be too worried about my safety – and my sanity for suggesting such a thing.

I found Axle out back, crouched behind the pile of stumps, munching on a really big mouse. I felt suddenly happy to be moving out, with big mice now having easier access to my bedroom via the cat flap, but not so happy at the thought of Axle the big-mouse muncher sharing my single bed at Mum's. Maybe he could sleep with Mum.

As I pulled up at Mum and Dad's again, Mrs Booth, their rear neighbour, drove by and waved. She looked like she was slowing down, maybe for a chat or to cast a spell, so I gave her a wave, a look of regret, and hurried on up the driveway. Not that I'm usually rude to Mum and Dad's neighbours but Mrs Booth was especially strange. The strangest of them all, even more so than Mary up the road, who is currently in minimum security prison for Tupperware thievery.

I walked in the front door carrying Axle in his cage. I put the cage on the floor and Axle dashed out of it, leaped onto the kitchen bench where Mum had roast chicken waiting for him. I wouldn't have minded a bit of roast chicken, too, but it wasn't offered to me. I unloaded my car, squeezing past Dad's with my stuff, then showered and shaved bits that needed it, ready for the beach. Or rather, for what might take place at Jack's house
before
the beach. With that in mind, I went to his house an hour earlier than we'd agreed.