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Authors: Kathryn Ledson

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BOOK: Monkey Business
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CHAPTER SIX

Saturday night had most certainly
not
ended the way I'd hoped. Jack took me home, walked me to my front door and kissed my forehead before driving away. I didn't think he was going home. I was pretty sure he was going back to JD's.

So now it was Tuesday and Lucy was having her Tupperware party. I decided not to tell her about Mick Jansen. She needed to forget about that bastard. Besides, tonight would be girly and fun and we were both looking forward to it. I didn't know if Jack was playing squash with Steve because I hadn't heard from him since JD's party. But when I got to Lucy's, I asked innocently, ‘Is Steve playing squash tonight?'

‘You just want to know if he's playing with Jack.'

‘Who?'

She laughed. ‘Yes, he's playing squash and I think Jack was going.'

‘Oh. Good for him. Who cares?'

She shook her head and answered the door to the Tupperware lady, who asked for help with some of her boxes. It was hard to carry boxes with champagne in my hand. So I held the door for them instead.

Women piled into Lucy's little apartment. Giggling women who all wanted champagne. That was good. They'd spend more if they were drinking and I knew Lucy would get a nice present from Tupperware if people spent a lot.

Lucy walked past with a bottle. I held out my glass.

‘More champagne, please! Oh, sorry,
sparkling wine,
' I said, mimicking Jack's deep voice. I gulped the drink down. I liked it. It was kind of sweet. I asked for more – how much had I already had? Maybe I shouldn't drive home.

The Tupperware presentation rolled on. There were so many things I wanted. I didn't really need anything because at home I had a cupboard full of cheap plastic containers from the supermarket. But Tupperware is the best, I knew, and lasts a lifetime. Just look at my mother's collection. It had to be a hundred years old.
Must remember Mum's order.
I picked up the brochure and flicked through it again. Whoops, knocked over my glass. All over my lap. Probably shouldn't have tried to balance my glass on my knee. Better get more
sparkling wine
. Lucy came past.

‘More please!'

‘Think you've had enough, hon.'

‘Never enough!'

She laughed and poured me some more. ‘You won't be driving home.'

‘Bah.'

The Tupperware colours were so pretty. I liked all the pink things. They'll match my Ugg boots, I thought. I laughed when I saw some of the funny things in the kids' section. Monkeys! I love monkeys. I love spider monkeys. I love Axle. I looked closer. Not monkeys. Mickey Mouse. I hate mice.

I asked Lucy for another drink. She said I'd had enough. I got up to get my own – who did she think she was? I tripped on someone's something. Who left that there? I poured bubbles. Whoops. Spilled some. I poured more to make up for what I'd spilled. Lucy tried to take my glass. I was trying to get it to my mouth and she was pulling it away. The glass flew across the room. I sat on the floor.

Jack's face swam before me. What a nice dream. Not a dream! I think he was really there. Where? I looked around the room. Still at Lucy's, but everyone had gone. They'd been replaced by boys. Boys wearing singlet tops with nice muscles. The singlet tops didn't have nice muscles. The boys had nice muscles. How did they get here? Maybe aliens took all the ladies and left Steve and Jack in their place. How funny was that? I laughed and fell off the couch.

‘Whoopsie!' I got on all fours.

‘Let's get you home, missy,' said a familiar voice. ‘Or should I say “messy”.'

Jack stood me up. I elbowed his chin as I flung my arms around his neck. He was frowning at me. Was he? I couldn't tell. He was too far away. No, he wasn't. His arms were around my waist, holding me up.

‘Bloody hell, Erica. You're wasted.' Was that Steve?

‘You're not my mother,' I said to Lucy, flopping toward her and poking her chest.

‘I didn't say anything!' she said.

I stuck my nose in Jack's armpit. ‘You shmell nice.'

‘Right,' he said and threw me over his shoulder.

‘Careful she doesn't throw up on you,' said Lucy.

I hung down Jack's back. Smacked his bottom. ‘Nice bottom.'

‘Say goodnight, Erica.'

There were two pairs of shoes looking at me. One big pair and one small pair. ‘Night, Erica,' I said to them and the shoes got higher and higher until they disappeared at the top of some stairs.

There was Jack's face again, smudgy.

‘Is it tomorrow?'

‘No, I just put you to bed.'

‘I'm a bit drunk.'

‘A bit!' He laughed. ‘What time do you need to get up? I'll set your alarm.'

‘You're my malarm.'

He was smiling and then he wasn't smiling. ‘I can't stay,' he said.

‘But whyyyyyy?'

I yawned and he was talking. What did he say? I reached up and put my hand on his face. Poked his eye.

‘Shorry.'

‘I've set your alarm for seven. Remember, your car's at Lucy's.' He leaned in and kissed my nose and my eyes, one, two, three. And my cheek. And my lips for a long time. He stroked my hair.

I closed my eyes. ‘I luff you, Jack. Soooo much.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

I walked into the bar of my local, the London Tavern, full and noisy because it was trivia night. Wednesday trivia was new in my life and I usually loved it but of course I didn't feel like being there this time. It was better than being alone at my house though. Alone with my thoughts and snippets of memory. I'm sure my memory bank erased all the good, funny, nice things I did and said and kept only the ridiculous, embarrassing ones.

Steve was grinning at me from the bar. He mouthed,
Champagne?

Ugh. My hangover was horrible. I mouthed back,
Very funny
.

Beer?

What a day it had been at work, with Rosalind hovering and demanding. I gave Steve the thumbs up – yes to beer – and he pointed to where Lucy was sitting. As I approached, I saw with some horror my tiny friend lean across a table, poke the air, and shout up at some really big, angry-looking bloke, ‘If you even
think
about taking that chair you'll be limping home!' Unsurprisingly, he returned the chair and skulked away. Lucy threw her arms around me. ‘I'm
so
happy!' she said.

‘Great! Why?'

‘Because I've got three days off and we're going shopping.'

I sat heavily. ‘I thought that wasn't for another couple of weeks.'

‘I can be excited about it now, can't I?'

She scowled at my lack of enthusiasm. And I felt pleased, as I often do, that I wasn't a patient at the Epworth Hospital. I could well imagine Luce full of nurse attitude, storming into a patient's room when that patient wasn't doing what he or she was supposed to be. Like sleeping or getting better or something. In fact, I have an agreement with the Law of Attraction: I'll try very hard not to get hurt on the proviso that if I do, I get sent to the Alfred Hospital.

‘Have you got a hangover?' she said.

‘Yeah.'

‘Did you notice we brought your car home?'

‘No, I didn't. Thanks.'

‘Why are you looking so miserable?' she demanded. ‘You're supposed to be happy.'

‘I know.' I sighed. ‘Why am I supposed to be happy, by the way?'

‘Because it's trivia night and we're hanging out.'

‘I know. Sorry.'

I watched Steve approach, smiling as usual. He towered over most people in the room. Six foot four, same as Jack. Sigh.

Steve pushed my beer across the table and gave Lucy a glass of red wine. ‘Hey, buddy,' he said to me.

‘Hi.' More sighs.

He said to Lucy, glancing over his shoulder at the big angry bloke who was lucky not to be limping home and who was giving us dirty looks, ‘Geez, Luce, pick on someone your own size.'

She blew Steve a kiss.

I said, ‘I agree. I'm still a bit antsy about that night.'

She said, ‘You haven't told me why you're looking so miserable.'

I shrugged, my mouth turned down. It was hard to talk over the noise in the room. They leaned in. ‘I think I told Jack I love him,' I said, ‘and now he seems to have disappeared.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two-and-a-bit weeks later . . .

My hair sucked and I wanted to chop it all off. I needed to blow-dry it to make it straight but blow-drying hurt my arm muscles and made me sweat. And the sweat made my hair frizz. It's a no-win situation.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, frowning at my hair, munching Vegemite toast, and an image of Jack, naked, popped into my head. I realised I hadn't given him a single moment's thought yet today. Which was miraculous. Usually I woke to delicious memories of him and his sexy bod and that was me for the rest of the day. Sometimes I
can't
think about him because it might cause me to lose my job or get run over.

I'd chosen denial over the likely reality, in relation to Jack, I mean. This way, I can pretend Jack's away on business and that, when he comes home, we'll resume our working relationship with hopefully the occasional ‘social' time together. And denial stops all the pain. More people should try it.

Admittedly, I hadn't heard a word from him since he left and reality-check thoughts like that made my stomach squirm. Where do they come from? Those thoughts? Like the ones I keep having about the Tupperware night. As soon as I'd woken the next morning I knew something had changed. I'd lain there in bed, going over and over the night before in my mind, horrified by my behaviour and making a mental note to email all the ladies at the Tupperware party and apologise.

But mostly what I remembered about that night was telling Jack I loved him. And now he'd run away. He didn't just not answer my calls, no. He's too mature and decent for that. His phone was switched off. I'd wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I was an idiot, and to please ignore my carrying on. I'd driven by his house, rung the doorbell, and even though he could have been inside, hiding from me, I knew he wasn't there. No one was there. The house
felt
empty. And not just empty because they might have been at the supermarket, it was long-term empty. I suspected he'd gone on his mission, and God knows how long that would keep him away.

Meantime, I just had to be brave and wait for him to come back. But even when he finally did return, he might not call me. He doesn't want girls falling in love with him. He's too nice to string someone along when there's no possibility of a future with him. He'd remove himself from her life before he'd do that. Finally and forever.

Axle strolled into the bathroom and wound around my legs, purring like a chainsaw, and this interrupted the unhelpful thought processes. I moved to the kitchen and dug around in the fridge for Axle's food, scooping it into his bowl, more snapshot images of Jack appearing, horror thoughts of all kinds about Jack not being here and maybe even
never
coming home. Damn you, denial! Where had you gone? I shook my head to get rid of the growing anxiety.

‘Stop it!' I said out loud. It was Friday, and I'd been looking forward to spending the weekend with Lucy while Steve was busy with his kids. I tried to focus on the fun we'd have tonight at the pub and a weekend of hanging out together – shopping and lunch on Bridge Road, movies and pizza, my favourite things in the world apart from being anywhere with Jack Jones.

CHAPTER NINE

My mobile rang, waking me up, pissing me off. Where was my phone? I got out of bed, staggered around, tried to work out where the ringing was coming from. Kitchen? Who'd call me at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning anyway? Oh! Maybe it was Jack! I ran down the passage and snatched up my phone.

‘Hello?'

‘Erica!'

‘Jack!'

The line was breaking up.

‘. . . need you to . . .'

Not Jack.

‘. . . tell J.D. . . .'

‘Joe? Joe, is that you?' There was a terrible noise in the background.

‘. . . M.I.A. . . .'

I could barely hear him. ‘What? Who's M.I—
what?
'

The line dropped out and I redialled. But that stupid recorded woman told me the phone was ‘either switched off or out of mobile range'. I dialled Jack's number for the four-hundredth time since he'd left. Same infuriating message.

Axle clawed my bare foot. ‘Ow!' He galloped across the living room and I followed, letting him out, staring at my phone.

That was definitely Joe on the phone and I thought he said Jack was M.I.A. And all I could hear was my mother's voice telling me about her favourite cousin who went M.I.A. in Vietnam. How sad she'd been and how awful it was that he was never found.

I went to the dining table, needing a seat, racking my brain for some innocent meaning behind Joe's words. Maybe he meant a different M.I.A. Of course! Maybe there's a hotel called M.I.A. somewhere? I rushed to my bedroom, opened my laptop and googled ‘M.I.A.'. Migration Institute of Australia and Malaysian Institute of Accountants came up. I remembered that Jack owned businesses and either option was preferable to the obvious. Denial tried hard. What else? I scrolled down. Miami International Airport. Maybe he was in Miami. I wanted it badly. I scanned and scrolled. What else, what else? But as I scrolled I could sense denial dissolving like an Aspro. Common sense kicked in and smacked me around the head. I tried to stand but slumped to the floor instead, my back against the bed.

Jack was Missing In Action. No doubt about it.

I had John Degraves' secret business card in my hand, still stained with Jack's blood from that romantic first meeting. The card had just a number on it, gold-embossed; no name.

I took a deep breath and dialled, but hung up before the phone started ringing. I needed more courage for this. JD didn't know I knew anything about Jack's mission. Would it hurt Jack if JD knew? But what did I know? Nothing, really. It was a mission of four men, but Jack had sacked two of those men. I had no idea if he and Joe had gone ahead, just the two of them, or if Jack had recruited others. And if he hadn't, how could he and Joe achieve whatever they were meant to achieve with just the two of them?

I made a cup of tea. Axle crawled onto my lap and head-butted my hand. He clawed my lap and purred so loudly I couldn't hear myself think. I put him outside.

JD didn't answer and there was no voicemail. I followed the prompts to send my number, hung up and waited. Calling JD's secret mobile was a bit like calling the bat phone. It was used for Team business – emergencies only – so I thought it wouldn't be long before he called back. But he didn't. After an hour I sent a text – 
Pls call Erica. Urgent.
I waited. And waited. Another hour. I needed to get ready to meet Lucy for breakfast. But should I be going for breakfast if Jack was missing in action? What else should I be doing?

I opened the fridge door and stood there, not really seeing anything. Would JD do something?
I
needed to do something. What? Axle wanted to come in, Lucy was meeting me for breakfast at ten. Washing needed doing. The bathroom needed cleaning. Jack would be all right. Surely he would. This was what he was good at, whatever he was doing. Maybe he ended up taking the redhead and Mick Jansen after all. No, definitely not Mick Jansen.

Another cup of tea and I turned on the TV, sitting on the sofa, flicking around the stations to see if there was anything on the news. On Channel 9 racial violence had turned Sydney into something unrecognisable. On CNN bullets rained down on American soldiers somewhere and I watched hard to see where it was and if anything rang a bell. Somewhere in the Middle East. Not where Jack would be. No. His mission was secret and this didn't look very secret. Channel 7 reported on the recent flood of house break-ins. Great to know when you live alone. I flicked over to Foxtel. On
Bewitched
, Samantha kissed Darren goodbye as he left for work. Lucky Samantha – at least Darren would be coming home. I turned off the telly and put my face in my hands.

BOOK: Monkey Business
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