How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (32 page)

He opened his eyes and sat up. He was clutching the sheet between his fingers as if it were the Holy Grail. The strains of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ floated into the bedroom from the living room. He groaned and flopped back onto his pillow. Why did Carlene have to be so goddamn Christmassy at Christmas?

The aroma of bacon and eggs wafted around him. He looked at the bedside clock. Seven o’clock. No sleep-in today. He dragged himself out of bed, threw on some clothes and staggered into the kitchen. Carlene was standing by the frying pan in red shorts, a green t-shirt embroidered with a Christmas tree and a piece of tinsel sparkling in her hair.

‘Merry Christmas, baby! Breakfast is just about ready, then we have a heap to do before the others get here.’

In the tradition of quaint family customs, Carlene’s family took it in turns to host the Christmas festivities and this year, as luck would have it, it was their turn.

‘I think we should have a casual, low-key affair,’ she’d said initially, ‘I want to relax and enjoy our first Christmas together.’

She then spent the next few weeks in a frenzy of preparation, with Reuben as her sidekick. She had a real Christmas tree delivered (‘for the kids’) and decorated it till you could hardly see the greenery. The fridge groaned under the weight of food and drink crammed inside it, and the house sparkled like something out of a cleaning ad. And they still weren’t ready.

‘What happened to our relaxing first Christmas together?’ he asked.

‘It will be relaxing once we’ve finished these chores. Can you hose down the patio again and put the drinks in the tub with ice?’

At eleven o’clock on the dot, the rest of the family arrived, laden with more food, alcohol and presents. There was much hugging and kissing from the women and backslapping from Alec and Wayne. Even Nancy gave Reuben a peck on the cheek, albeit as if she were performing an unpleasant but necessary task. Jo, carried away by the Christmas spirit, gave him a one-armed hug, the other arm being full of Brayden. Indya offered her cheek to Reuben, saying, ‘Have you got me a present, Uncle Reuben?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ he said. He presumed Carlene had done the Christmas shopping for her family – it had taken all of his ingenuity (and money) to buy her present. It occurred to him as he’d walked aimlessly around the shops on Christmas Eve in a last minute shopping panic, that despite being married to her for almost six months, he hadn’t a clue what to buy her.

Reuben got drinks for everyone and they all settled in the living room to perform the present unwrapping ceremony. The children had already unwrapped their presents from Santa and brought their favourites with them – Indya’s was a Barbie campervan complete with a travelling Barbie and Ken, and Brayden’s was a huge dump truck with an assortment of levers and switches. As soon as he spotted the Christmas tree, he abandoned his truck, waddled towards it and began to taste test the baubles.

Alec volunteered to be Santa. With a Santa hat perched rakishly on his head, he dipped into the pile of presents under the tree and began handing them out. There was a strict protocol to the present unwrapping – each person took turns to unwrap a present while everyone else watched, followed by the requisite ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ once the gift was revealed. ‘Deck the Halls’ boomed from the stereo. Reuben felt a headache coming on.

A growing sense of irritation crept over him. As a child he’d looked forward to Christmas, but every year it proved to be a disappointment. He gave Mum something he’d made at school; and she gave him something he needed, like new shoes or a schoolbag. They ate roast chicken and home brand plum pudding in front of the TV watching
Miracle on 34th Street
. Mum insisted on watching it every Christmas, and every Christmas the tears ran down her cheeks when, at the end, the judge declared that yes, there really was a Santa Claus.

Afterwards they visited a musty old aunt or uncle she’d dragged out of the family closet, which was excruciatingly boring. When Reuben was old enough to be left at home on his own, she sometimes worked on Christmas Day. He preferred that option, to spend the day on his own with the freedom to do whatever he wanted.

Indya and Brayden refused to stick to the present-opening protocol and tore into their presents simultaneously. Indya was more taken with Carlene’s present to Brayden, a school bus full of movable plastic children, than with her own present of a purple My Little Pony with its own grooming equipment. She raced the bus around the living room, over feet and under legs, while Brayden chewed on her pony’s plastic hoof before ditching it to play with the box.

Then it was Carlene’s turn to open her present from Reuben. It was a small, square box; jewellery was the obvious guess. Her fingers fumbled with the wrapping. She seemed nervous. Why? Was she afraid his present wasn’t up to scratch? That she’d be embarrassed in front of her family?

She lifted the lid gingerly from the box, as if expecting a scorpion to leap out at her. She reached into the tissue paper and pulled out a necklace – single strand sterling silver with a diamond-edged heart. Of course they weren’t really diamonds; he couldn’t afford them. The shop assistant had assured him that cubic zirconia were the next best thing, and it was impossible to tell unless you were an expert.

‘Oh, Rubie, that’s lovely.’ She held it up to show the others who responded with suitable exclamations. She leaned over and gave him a quick hug. ‘Can you put it on for me?’

He breathed a sigh of relief as he fixed the clasp at the back of her neck. She seemed to like it. Although in this situation it was hard to tell, because she’d have to pretend in front of the others, even if she didn’t like it. Maybe that was the real rationale behind the present-opening ritual.

‘Can’t go wrong with jewellery,’ Alec said.

Nancy gave Reuben a look that said she suspected it had fallen off the back of a truck. Alec opened his present from Carlene and Reuben – a box of his favourite imported cigars and a bottle of Gentleman Jack bourbon. Reuben looked at the bottle enviously. Carlene had shown it to him after she bought it, and he’d hoped she’d buy one for him as well, to replace the bottle Wayne and Thommo had drunk.

‘Your turn, Reuben,’ Alec said. ‘Lucky last.’ He handed him a small, flat package. ‘To Rubie, xxxxx,’ read the gift tag in Carlene’s large, sprawling handwriting. No bottle of Gentleman Jack.

Reuben opened the package. Inside was an envelope. He opened it. There was a hush, filled with a chorus of angelic voices. ‘All I want for Christmas is you…hoo.’

Out of the envelope fell a card. ‘Gift Certificate. Inner Radiance Life Coaching. Ten sessions, valued at six hundred dollars.’

He opened the card. ‘Welcome to Inner Radiance. We help you to formulate your goals, chart the course of your life’s journey, get rid of excess baggage and weed out unnecessary distractions. You will achieve the serenity and inner radiance of someone who feels good about themselves and is in charge of their life. This is our personal guarantee.’

Two faces shone out from the card, a male and a female, sparkling-eyed and glossy-haired, glowing with evangelical zeal. Their signatures were underneath. Molly Adams and Bradley Curtis.

‘What is it?’ Wayne asked.

‘It must be good,’ Alec said. ‘He’s lost for words.’

‘It’s a gift certificate for life coaching sessions,’ Carlene said. She looked anxiously at Reuben. ‘What do you think, honey?’

‘He’s thrilled, obviously,’ Wayne said. ‘About as much as I’d be if someone gave it to me.’

‘Shut up Wayne,’ Jo said. ‘No one asked you.’

‘Daddy, what’s life coaching?’ Indya asked. ‘Is it like tennis coaching?’

‘Sort of, sweetheart. Only without the racquet and balls. Or the net. Or the tennis court.’

Carlene gave him a dark look and Wayne got up, holding his hand out to Indya. ‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s see if we can find some more of those candy canes.’

Reuben met Carlene’s gaze. He wouldn’t spoil the day by saying anything now, but he wasn’t going to pretend, either.

‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he said and stuffed it in his pocket. ‘Anyone for more drinks?’

***

Christmas Day was not a success. No brawls or even arguments, just a simmering tension that threatened every now and then to boil over until someone – usually Nancy with one of her looks – clamped a lid on it.

Carlene darted around all day like a dragonfly, two red blobs burning on her cheeks as she prepared food, served and cleaned up. She refused Reuben’s attempts to help her with a curt, ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

They all crowded around the small table on the patio and ate stuffed turkey breast with cranberry jus, glazed ham, goat’s cheese quiche and salads containing a dozen varieties of lettuce. For dessert, there was the traditional Christmas pudding, citrus tart with double cream and brandy snap baskets with cognac-drenched strawberries and chocolate jus. The children sat in front of the TV and ate peanut butter sandwiches, with Brayden sampling a papier-mache angel from the Christmas tree for dessert.

The weather matched the mood of the day, sultry and heavy with the threat of rain. Even the crickets could only manage a desultory chorus. The day had a strange, breathless quality about it, as if this Christmas Day marked the end of the world. Reuben set up a pedestal fan outside to cool them down as they ate, but all it did was blow hot air around, with Jo complaining that it was making her food go cold.

After they’d finished dessert and were doing the obligatory groaning and patting of stomachs, Wayne said, ‘How about a game of cards, euchre or five hundred?’

Nobody answered. Carlene had already begun clearing the table, assisted by Nancy, whose help she didn’t refuse. Reuben went into the living room. Indya was still glued to the TV, Brayden asleep on the floor with his head in her lap, clutching a decapitated angel.

Indya jumped up. Brayden’s head flopped onto the floor and he woke up with a wail. ‘Uncle Reuben, can you take me for a ride on the Barbiemobile? You said you would! Please, please, please?’

It was hard to resist her when she did the big pleading eyes bit. And at least it would get him out of the house for a while.

‘I’d love to, but I don’t know if your mother will let you.’

‘Yes, she will,’ Indya said. She opened her mouth and screeched at the top of her voice, ‘Mummy!’

Jo came running in with a tea towel over her shoulder. ‘What’s the matter darling?’

She bent down and picked up Brayden who was still howling. ‘What’s the matter with your brother?’

‘Nothing, he’s just being sooky,’ she said. ‘Mummy, can I go for a ride on the Barbiemobile with Uncle Reuben? Pretty please?’

Jo hesitated. ‘I don’t...’

‘It’s Christmas, you said I could have anything I wanted!’

Jo’s shoulders sagged. ‘All right.’ She looked at Reuben. ‘It’s okay with you?’

‘It’s fine by me. I’ve got a spare helmet.’

‘Yippee!’ Indya scooped up her Barbie and Ken dolls. ‘Can they come too?’

‘Have they got helmets?’ Reuben said.

She shook her head. ‘They don’t have to at Christmas because it’s a special day.’

She had an answer for everything; she was destined for politics. Reuben fetched the extra helmet and slipped his mobile phone in his shorts pocket. On his way out, he darted into the bedroom and pocketed the mobile phone Frank had given him. It was well-hidden but he wasn’t taking any chances. He wouldn’t put it past Carlene to do some snooping if she got half a chance.

They rode up and down the surrounding suburban streets – Indya perched behind him, her little head swimming in her crash helmet and her arms gripping his waist. Her Ken and Barbie dolls were stuffed down the front of her dress, with their heads peeking out so they could enjoy the view. In reality, the only view they had was the back of Reuben’s sweaty t-shirt against which their faces were rammed.

The streets were deserted, steeped in post-Christmas-lunch torpor. The lifelessness and the oppression of the heat weighed him down. This was life in suburbia, the life he’d chosen. Same city as he’d live in before, geographically, but so different to the one he’d known before, that he may as well be living on another planet. His life stretched before him like an endless desert.
If I get out of Operation Luce End alive, I should be thankful to be living anywhere, even in a desert.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t conjure up any gratitude. He couldn’t even conjure up a Lucy fantasy to cheer himself up.

A shrill ringing made him jump. It was from the mobile phone Frank had given him. It could only be him. Or Bomber.

Reuben pulled over to the side of the road. By the time he’d dismounted, helped Indya off and taken off his helmet, the ringing had stopped. He checked the number of the missed call. It wasn’t familiar, but Frank had used a different number each time he called Reuben. The ringing started again.

‘Just got to take this call,’ he said.

He wandered up the footpath, away from Indya, but she followed him, unstrapping her helmet.

‘Merry Christmas, Littledick,’ Frank’s voice boomed at him. He sounded as if he had been indulging in some Christmas cheer. Probably Gentleman Jack, the bastard.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Reuben said, frowning at Indya, who was right beside him, unashamedly listening.

‘Just wanting to check in re our operation. All still on track?’

‘Yes.’ He felt around for the volume switch on the side of the phone. ‘The … er patient is still away as per the schedule. As far as I know, she still gets back on the 29th, so I can confirm then.’

‘Excellent. Stuff this one up, mate, and you’re up shit creek without a paddle.’

Frank’s voice bellowed through his head. He’d turned the volume up instead of down. He jabbed at the switch again.

‘Yes, you’ve already reminded me of that. Everything’s on track. The only thing that will prevent it, will be if the patient changes her mind about going to ... the hospital.’

Silence. ‘You’re not alone,’ Frank said, in more subdued tones.

‘No.’

‘Okay. Talk to you on the 29th.’

‘Hang on. What are you drinking?’