Michelle Vernal Box Set

by Michelle Vernal

  “Of course. Um, Jen—what’s happened? Why are you back so early?”

  “Jack obviously wasn’t coping with Mark and me both being away. So I caught a late flight back last night and stayed in a motel in Christchurch.” She shot her sister an accusatory look concerning her son’s ongoing refusal to come to the telephone, picking up her case once more and dragging it up the stairs. “Alright if I put you in with Melissa?” she called over her shoulder.

  “I could have handled Jack. We’ve made it this far; he would have been fine. You didn’t need to come back because of him,” Rebecca called after her, but Jennifer either didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear her. Rebecca had a feeling it was the latter.

  “Where is your other half then?” Jennifer asked, flicking the kettle on ten minutes later. She grabbed two mugs, adding, “I’ll have a cup of tea with you then I’ll pop down and tell Betty I am home. I can greet the new guests before I go and pick Hannah up.”

  Rebecca bit her lip. Her sister had been home half an hour and already she’d taken charge, leaving her feeling surplus to requirements. “If by other half you mean Melissa, she has gone into town for the day to meet some friends for lunch and contrary to what you seem to think, we are not joined at the hip.” She took a deep breath and told herself to play nice. “I’ll come with you to get Hannah, if you want?”

  Jennifer waved her hand dismissively before picking up the squealing jug. “No, there’s no need. Why don’t you read a book and relax or something?”

  Her sister was such a bossy boots. “Jen, I didn’t fly over ten thousand miles just to sit and read a book for the week. I was supposed to be here helping out, remember?” Rebecca saw Jennifer’s shoulders stiffen, and she sloshed boiling water onto the bench as she put the kettle back down with more force than was necessary.

  “I’m sorry about the way things have worked out, Rebecca. I didn’t know Jack would react the way he has to Mark and me being away.” Her voice was low and controlled as she turned around. “But I am home now, so you and I just need to make the best of it, okay?”

  “That’s not what I was—” Oh what was the bloody use? Rebecca thought, scraping the chair back and standing up. Jennifer just didn’t get it. All she wanted was to feel useful, not like a houseguest. “Look, don’t worry about the tea. I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to go and check my emails.” She hovered in the doorway. “If that’s alright with you?”

  Jennifer didn’t bother replying to the sarcastic request and as she watched her sister turn and march out of the room, she sat down heavily. Leaning her elbows on the table, she pressed her palms into her eyes in a bid to stop the tears that were threatening. “I will not cry,” she muttered to the empty kitchen, wondering why it was she seemed to be at cross purposes with everybody who mattered in her life. She’d even had words with her mum about heading to Mooloolaba in the first place but then Pamela hadn’t known the circumstances surrounding the trip.

  She pressed harder until her eyes hurt. Sometimes it all just seemed so hard, so damned hard, she thought, and she was just so damned tired. Sleep had gone out the window in the last month since it had all come to a head with Mark. As she released the pressure and dropped her hands onto the table in front of her, she studied her nails for a moment. There was a great big chink in her otherwise perfect coral nail polish. It was almost symbolic, she thought ruefully, knowing that she didn’t have the energy to pop down and see Betty or the new guests. Besides, she was going to have to head upstairs and clean up the panda rings her mascara had no doubt left behind before she went and got Hannah. She couldn’t let anybody see the crack in her armour, the chink in her polish. Jennifer sighed shakily. All her life, people had viewed her as strong, and she had long since learned not to let her vulnerability show.

  Needy wasn’t a role she was allowed to play, or at least not for long. In their family, that space had been firmly reserved for Rebecca. If she were honest with herself, too, she’d always enjoyed being viewed as the more capable sister. The parts they each played in the family dynamic had always been clearly defined. She’d carried that capable big sister role through into her adult life, adapting it slightly when it came to being a wife and then a mother. Look at what an almighty mess she’d made of that initially, too, she thought, flashing back to the mire she’d sunk into after Jack had been born. That was why she’d come back from Mooloolaba early—she wasn’t going to let him down again. To hell with Mark. The tears threatened again, and she blinked them away furiously as she pushed the chair back and stood up.

  She wasn’t going to go there, not today—not when it was all she could do just to muster up the strength to get through the afternoon. Heading up the stairs to repair the damage before she went to collect Hannah, she told herself now was not the time to think about what an awful mess she’d made of her marriage.

  REBECCA FLOUNCED OFF to the computer room, picking her phone up on the way. Bloody Jennifer. She couldn’t believe she was back already. Not when she’d just begun to settle into a good routine with Hannah and Jack, not to mention meeting David at the school gates both morning and afternoon, either. The last few days had gone well, and she had found herself enjoying the responsibility of it all. The children had given her a sense of purpose and yes, okay, she got that Jennifer was worried about Jack. She was his mother; it was only natural. She should have taken her word for it when she said he was doing fine, though, and concentrated on working on her marriage instead of jumping on the first plane home. That was the problem, though—always had been. Jennifer didn’t take her word when it came to anything. She still treated her like that podgy kid sister she’d once been and not as an equal.

  Opening the door to the office, she flopped down in the chair and checked her phone. A text had arrived from Derbhilla and glad of the distraction from her current train of thought, she opened it.

  It took her a moment to scroll through and decode it because her friend, who was obviously three sheets to the wind, had sent her message in separate texts. Eventually, she pieced it all together. Despite the fact that Derbhilla and the gang had left the first day of the races—the Big Bash—poorer, they had a blast, which wasn’t to say that Rebecca hadn’t been missed. (She smiled at that.) Pariah had placed all her bets on Ciaran but so far hadn’t got him past the starting post. She frowned at that, gripping the phone tightly as if the little piece of technology were to blame for the information. Bloody Pariah, she’d snarled, imagining her pulling her dumb blonde act. “Who do you think I should place a bet on, Ciaran?” She’d probably stuck her boobs as well as her racebook under his nose.

  Not adhering to that old saying of don’t shoot the messenger, she gave the phone a look of disgust before tapping out a quick reply. She informed her friend of her sister’s unexpected homecoming and then she turned her attention to the computer. There was another email from Ciaran:

  To: Rebecca Loughton

  Subject: Flatulence when flying

  Dear Rebecca,

  It is a subject close to my heart. Last time I was on a long haul from Dublin to Boston, I got stuck in the window seat next to a middle-aged couple from Sligo—Nora and Ted. They took me under their wing—you know, the way older couples do when you’re a young person travelling on your own. After four hours of listening to Nora and Ted’s life stories, Nora finally dozed off, and Ted put his headphones on and shut his eyes. The plane was in semi-darkness and most of the passengers were either sleeping or trying to when Ted bolted upright and, completely forgetting he had headphones on, yelled out, “Did you fart, Nora?” The poor woman was mortified, and I felt sorry for her until the smell drifted over my way and then it was a case of nowhere to run, baby. I still recoil at the thought of it now.

  Do you think perhaps we should set up a flatulence travel blog? I wonder if they fart in first class? You could always ask your friend Melissa. Galway is a blast. Though, I will probably be working right up to retirement age the way things went yesterday. Still, it could all chang
e in an instant and tomorrow is Ladies Day, traditionally a lucky day for me.

  Now I need to ask you for a little favour. The answer to number 46: “What glam American metal band sang about a rose?”

  Love, Ciaran.

  So she replied:

  To: Ciaran

  Subject: Flatulence when flying.

  Dear Ciaran

  I think a travel blog is a great idea, and I am almost looking forward to the flight home now so I can get some more material to post on it. My mood had improved since my last email because, despite Hannah’s tantrums and Jack’s sulking, they are both still alive. I thought to myself that I must be doing something right, but then my sister showed up an hour ago. She caught an early flight home from Australia and in her usual style has already managed to make me feel like I’m ten years old again.

  Overbearing big sisters aside, I have met a nice man through Jack, though. His best friend Ben’s dad, to be precise. Children do have their uses. Though, Melissa is taking things a bit too far by insisting on tagging along for the school run in an attempt to pull herself a solo dad. As for me and David, well, it’s early days. But you know me, Ciaran: I can work fast when I have to.

  Good luck with Ladies Day, though, knowing you as I do, I doubt very much you’ll need it. As for your query regarding number 46, that’s easy because it still brings a tear to my eye: Poison—“Every Rose Has Its Thorn.”

  Love, Rebecca

  Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Ciaran Cahill, she thought, reading over her references to David before punching Send.

  “SHE’S IN BED,” REBECCA hissed in reply to Melissa’s question as to where her sister was, having phoned her earlier in the day to warn her Jennifer was back.

  “What do you mean, she’s in bed?” Melissa hissed back over the tops of Jack and Hannah’s heads, each bent earnestly over their respective dinners. The poor things were starving. Rebecca had been late in serving up, deciding to wait for Jennifer to come down and join them before she did so—only she’d never appeared.

  Putting her fingers to her lips and shooting a meaningful look at her niece and nephew, Rebecca beckoned for Melissa to follow her through to the lounge, away from flapping ears. “Slow down, you two! Nobody’s going to take it off you!” she tossed over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her. Both children ignored her and carried on shovelling and chewing like half-starved orphans.

  Once the door was shut, she reiterated, “It was weird. Jen went and picked Hannah up. She wet her pants, she was so excited to see her, but Jack wasn’t impressed at all or if he was, the look on his face when he got home from school didn’t give it away. Honestly, I thought it was teenagers who were supposed to cop an attitude, not seven-year-olds.” She shook her head at the thought of her sulky nephew. “She hardly spent any time with either of them before she disappeared off upstairs. I don’t think she’s even been down to tell Betty she’s back yet. I went up to see her about coming down for dinner, but she won’t get up. She says she’s too tired.”

  “But it’s only a three-and-a-half hour flight from Brisbane. It’s not as though she’d have jet lag.”

  “I know that.”

  “And she told you she came back because of Jack?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  Melissa waved her hand dismissively. “Rubbish—I bet things weren’t going well with Mark, so she decided to come home. Jack was a convenient excuse to use until she decides to face up to the fact her marriage is a dead duck in the water.” Her brown hair bobbed self-righteously as she added, “Lying around in bed isn’t going to help make things better, though.”

  “Oh, I don’t know—maybe all the stress of what’s been happening with Mark has taken its toll. Stress can do funny things to you, you know.” Rebecca had once heard someone say this, and it had sounded very wise.

  “Mm, she probably just needs a good night’s sleep, that’s all.” Melissa had a very short attention span when it came to listening to other people’s woes. “She’ll be back to normal tomorrow. You’ll see. I’m off to have a lovely long soak in the bath followed by bed. Jennifer’s not the only one who needs a good night’s sleep. What a day!” She stretched, theatrically dropping her arms back down to her sides as a thought occurred to her. “Hey, have you got any of that yummy Body Shop stuff with you?”

  Rebecca shook her head and bit her lip to stop herself from saying that yes, it must be hard work swanning around town, wining and dining with friends.

  “Oh well, never mind. I’ll have a sticky beak in the cabinet and see what I can find instead. See you in the morning, sweetie.”

  With that, she skipped off up the stairs in a very spritely manner for one so tired, leaving Rebecca to wonder for the zillionth time why it was they were still friends. She knew the answer to that little conundrum. It was because she was scared of being on her own, that was why, and having Melissa around was better than having no one at all. She was distracted from pursuing this train of thought further by an indignant voice yelling, “Auntie Becca, Hannah just threw a carrot at me.”

  Throwing food around was Hannah’s way of saying she was full and with a sigh, Rebecca went back to the kitchen—it looked like she was in charge again. For tonight at least. Melissa was probably right; Jen would be fine by the morning.

  But she wasn’t.

  Chapter Fifteen

  REBECCA HAD TAKEN AN age to get to sleep; her mind had gone into overdrive playing over her sister’s unexpected arrival home, not to mention her email to Ciaran. She’d forgotten all about Melissa’s annoying little snoring habit too, and she was just thinking about smothering her with a pillow when she must have dropped off into a deep, deep slumber. She was in the midst of a most peculiar dream. It involved David, only he was David with Ciaran’s face. The Haglund Ride (an all-terrain Arctic vehicle she had once taken her niece and nephew for a terrifyingly bouncy ride on at Christchurch’s Antarctic Centre) was in there too. David’s voice was growing high-pitched and annoyingly insistent. She popped an eye open to find Hannah’s face looming.

  “Wake up, Auntie Becca—wake up! I wanna MILK!”

  “Sort the rug rat out. Some of us are trying to sleep,” Melissa mumbled, turning over onto her side, so she was facing the wall.

  Humph, Rebecca thought, opening the other eye and rubbing at them both; the hour that the girl had taken herself off to bed last night, she should have been up and at it hours ago. “Go and wake your mummy up, Hannah,” she groaned. Jennifer was home now, so it was only fair she resume her early morning duties; they were her children, after all.

  “I have, but she’s not waking up.”

  Something in the way this innocuous statement was delivered triggered fear deep in Rebecca’s belly. It penetrated her groggy brain as random thoughts about her sister’s strange behaviour yesterday jostled, stirring her into wakefulness. Sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed, she didn’t even bother with her dressing gown and slippers as she stampeded down the hall in the direction of the master bedroom.

  Pushing open the door, she peered into the darkness afforded by the heavy drapes. They were so tightly pulled that not so much as a crack of light could peep through. The musty smell of a heavy slumber assailed her nostrils, and she made her way towards the bed, where she could just make out the huddled form of her sister. Her pace slowed as she drew closer to the bed because she was suddenly filled with trepidation as to what she might discover. Rebecca was dimly aware of hollering coming from down the hall, but she remained focused on Jennifer. Her peripheral vision registered a bottle of pills on the bedside table. Reaching down to gently shake her sister awake, she sent up a silent prayer for her to be alright.

  “Jen? It’s me, Becca. Time to get up—wakey, wakey,” she whispered.

  The lump under the bedcovers didn’t move.

  “Please, Jen, come on. It’s time to wake up!” Her voice took on a note of urgency, but there was still no response. “Jen, please wake up. WAKE UP!” She
bellowed the latter in desperation and gave her sister a good whack.

  “Ouch—what the?” Jennifer rolled over and squinted at her. “Rebecca, what did you do that for? Fuck off!”

  Rebecca took a step back. She was alive and well then. “You’re okay! Thank goodness,” she breathed, unable to stop herself from stating the obvious.

  “Of course I am okay.” Jennifer hauled herself up to a sitting position. Her blonde curls were mussed. She’d have fun getting a hairbrush through that, Rebecca thought. She watched with a sense of relief as Jennifer fiddled around, plumping up a pillow to stick behind her back before asking, “What’s going on?”

  Rebecca’s bottom lip trembled, and the tears that followed were an instinctive release. “I—I thought you’d done something stupid. The way you were yesterday and Hannah said you wouldn’t wake up; then when I saw the pills, I just thought—”

  “Oh my God—Rebecca, you seriously thought I’d taken an overdose?”

  Rebecca nodded and swiped at the tears. It did sound rather silly now that Jennifer was sitting up looking reasonably perky for somebody with a beehive for a hairdo who had found herself been woken up by a screaming madwoman.

  Jennifer’s voice softened. Becca was in a state; she owed her an explanation. “I took a tablet last night to help me sleep, you silly old thing. With everything that’s been going on lately, I just haven’t been sleeping properly, and I decided I needed an unbroken night because things never look so bleak after a good night’s sleep. At least that’s what Mum always says. It’s nice to know you care, though.”

  “Of course I bloody well care.” Rebecca wiped at her nose as a particularly ear-splitting shriek rebounded down the hallway.