by Evans, Ilsa
‘He felt it wasn’t really the appropriate time to explain,’ added Ruby. ‘What with Mr Emerson being dead and all.’
‘Yes, but I haven’t spent the entire last six months hovering over dead bodies! There were many moments when I was quite approachable!’
‘Who broke up with who?’ asked Petra.
‘Mutual,’ replied Lucy quickly. ‘He’s a lovely guy, but he’s just not … me.’
I snorted. ‘So your sister decided to try him on for size?’ I registered the double meaning as soon as the words left my mouth, but it was too late to haul them back.
‘Mum, that was totally uncalled for,’ said Scarlet. ‘Frankly I’m shocked.’
‘As shocked as me?’ I snapped, attack being the best form of defence.
‘Scar, please tell me you’re going to keep your own surname,’ said Petra. ‘Because Scarlet Carstairs sounds like an automotive accessory.’
‘Actually, I think it's more like a murder suspect,’ said Quinn, pointing her finger at her eldest sister with a flourish. ‘Like I accuse Scarlet Carstairs in the library with the...’
Red was shaking her head. ‘No, a porn star. Or a dominatrix. Madam Scarlet Carstairs, for all your disciplinary needs.’
‘Thank-you for that,’ said Yen, pushing herself away from the table and rising. ‘However let us put aside the proliferation of Scarlet’s available business opportunities. I think the situation calls for champagne. Nell, do you have any on hand?’
‘I think there’s a bottle in the fridge,’ I replied distractedly. I slipped another blue tablet from its foil and swallowed it with the remainder of my tea. ‘Okay, can someone just explain to me how he was going out with Lucy one minute and engaged to Scarlet the next? And having a baby? Lucy, why did you never tell me you broke up?’
‘I didn’t know either till yesterday,’ said Red. ‘If that makes you feel any better. But then nobody tells me anything. I’m a mushroom.’
‘You never asked,’ said Lucy simply, ignoring her sister. ‘And … well, I thought you liked how I was going out with someone sort of steady, not like my usual boyfriends. And I didn’t want to disappoint you. Again.’
Ruby laughed flatly. ‘Join the club.’
I opened my mouth and then closed it, because the statements contained a jagged kernel of truth. But sometimes honesty is not the best policy. I looked around the table, trying, as far as my limited movement allowed, not to single anyone out. ‘I’m never disappointed in you, any of you. I’m often concerned, particularly when I think you’ve made a mistake.’ I made sure I wasn’t looking at either Ruby or Lucy but then realised I was staring straight at Scarlet, who returned my gaze narrowly. I twisted towards Quinn. ‘But I’m never disappointed. I’m too proud of you all for that.’
Ruby snorted. ‘Yeah, so proud you can’t even make eye contact with me.’
‘Somebody give me a hand,’ called Yen from the kitchen. Petra got up to oblige and moments later champagne glasses were placed before everyone at the table. I stared at mine, which contained orange juice.
‘To Scarlet!’ said Petra, raising her glass. ‘And Matt! And Baby Carstairs-Blake-Forrest!’
We all toasted the happy couple, Gusto taking advantage of the moment to lunge across the table and grab another cracker. Lucy wrestled him back and passed him over to Quinn. Halfway across he farted.
‘Eww!’
‘But you still haven’t told me how it happened,’ I said to Scarlet. I was pleased to hear my voice emerge with an inquiring tone, rather than an accusatory one. ‘Matthew, I mean.’
She put her orange juice down. ‘It just sort of did. I mean, they were only going out for a month or so, it’s not as if they were married. Then a few weeks later I ran into Matt at a function and we just started talking. We do have a lot in common, you know. Not just the police force, but other stuff as well.’
Like your sister, I thought but didn’t say. The extra tablet seemed to have kick-started the earlier ones and together they were creating quicksand.
‘The baby was an accident, granted, but we were heading down that path anyway,’ continued Scarlet. ‘I would have brought him round here sooner or later. He’s a keeper.’
‘Well, congratulations again,’ said Petra. ‘A baby. How wonderful.’
Yen nodded. She turned to Lucy. ‘So when is yours due?’
I whipped my head around, despite the collar, and pain immediately throbbed thickly into the base of my skull. The quicksand surged, enveloped it, turned to sludge.
‘How did you know?’ whispered Lucy.
‘You’re pregnant?’ Petra leant forward, as if concentration would make her niece think twice, undo what was done. ‘How? Who? Oh god, please don’t tell me it’s him as well!’
‘As if,’ said Scarlet, a statement which made little sense.
‘No, not Matt.’ Lucy played with her champagne glass, and then pushed it aside. ‘It happened afterwards. An old boyfriend from Melbourne. A mistake. But I’ve thought it all through.’ She finally met my eyes as she continued rapidly, even enthusiastically. ‘I’ve decided to go through with the pregnancy, have the baby adopted. There are so many amazing couples who can’t have children, I’ll be giving them such a gift.’
‘Lucy, love,’ said Yen softly, putting a hand out and laying it over her granddaughter’s. Creased folds of skin juxtaposed against perfection. ‘Do you realise how hard that will be? Giving up your own baby? Especially when your sister is expecting at the same time, and she’ll be keeping hers? It’s a noble gesture, but …’
‘I know it’ll be hard, but that’s … well, that’s like my punishment. I’ve given it a lot of thought, I want to do this.’
‘Is there anybody not pregnant?’ I asked, because it seemed like a reasonable question.
Quinn screwed up her face, and then nodded sadly. ‘Sorry. It was just once and I couldn’t help it.’
‘What?’
‘Just joking. See you feel better now, don’t you?’
‘Idiot,’ said Petra to her youngest niece. She turned to the other two. ‘When are you due? Both at the same time?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘I’m due on the tenth of Feb.’
‘And I’m on the twentieth.’
‘Oh, happy birthday to me!’ I said, pretending to blow a party whistle. ‘Woo hoo!’
Yen raised an eyebrow in my direction. ‘Number one, neither date is your actual birthday so the comment is largely superfluous. Number two, deflecting the conversation towards yourself is not productive. And number three, I’m not sure what you meant by that odd gesture, but it looked like you were attempting to smoke a joint.’
‘It really did, Mum,’ said Red. ‘I thought you were dropping a hint about what you wanted for your birthday.’
‘Shh, not in front of the cop here.’ Ruby held a finger to her lips.
Scarlet was paying little attention. ‘See, Mum, this is why you have to tell us about Dad. With both Lucy and me being pregnant, well, Tessa can’t be. Can she?’
The quicksand was becoming thicker. It actually felt like I had been smoking a joint, or two. I tried to concentrate on pregnancy and babies and parenthood, but really it all seemed suddenly so amusing that I just felt like laughing. The only problem being that I wouldn’t be able to stop. Grandmother-to-be enters Guinness Book of Records for non-stop laughter. Begs to be put down.
The doorbell rang with a briskness that accentuated my amusement. I thought it might be Darcy, ushering in Tessa, whose hands would be supporting her extended belly. Maybe we could run birthing classes in my lounge room, or a crèche. I realised that somebody must have answered the door because I could hear a great deal of whispering coming from the hall. It got louder, more intense, and then fell away as Scarlet re-entered the room. Just behind her was Constable Matthew Carstairs, in uniform.
The silence stretched as everybody gaped at him. Scarlet stepped forward protectively.
‘Hello, Matthew,’ I said in my best welcoming
tone. ‘Have you come to impregnate another of my daughters?’
He flushed. ‘No!’
‘In all fairness, he’s only impregnated one,’ corrected Yen. ‘Don’t exaggerate.’
‘And they are getting married,’ added Ruby.
‘Actually, I’m here on official business,’ said Matthew, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. ‘I’ve been assigned by Detective Sergeant Armistead to stay here. It’s for your security, Nell. Because your brake lines were cut.’
Voices soared around me as everybody began exclaiming, and questioning, and coming up with their own answers. I blinked, trying to process the information. By now the quicksand had entered my bloodstream and thickened. Even the conversation seemed to come from a distance. I could hear my name being used, several times, but it was another Nell they were talking about. Someone who had had an attempt made on her life and now required security lest it happen again. I felt sorry for that Nell, who on top of everything else was about to become a grandmother twice over, and have to watch her ex-husband revisit fatherhood, and lose her house, and be guarded by her son-in-law to be, who was also her younger daughter’s ex-boyfriend. It was all far funnier than it had been, almost hysterical in fact, but I no longer felt like laughing.
Chapter Fifteen
While I agree with your column about fortitude and resilience, I wonder if sometimes we use these as an excuse for just putting up with things? Maybe we should put more effort into being on top, rather than beneath (and it’s more fun too!).
By Tuesday I was so accustomed to the collar that the few times I took it off, such as for showering, my neck felt thin and exposed. Like a chicken about to become the Sunday roast. The bruises were now at their peak, a miasma of mottled blues that spread across my right shoulder and much of my chest. Even, unaccountably, my left buttock. The good news was that after a Monday spent in a great deal of pain and discomfort, by Tuesday I was feeling considerably more chipper. If I was not yet finding actual strength in the face of adversity, then at least I was starting to look for it.
I have always found this tendency most marked in woman. After the initial shock, if at all possible, a setback is recoloured with a blend of rationalisation and optimism. Storm blew a tree through your window? How fortuitous, now those ghastly curtains can be replaced. Blind date looks like Mr Bean? Yes, but what compelling eyes! And besides, you’ve always wanted to try that restaurant. Offspring drops out of her first year of university? Ah well, no doubt the course wasn’t quite right, or this is all part and parcel of the growing-up process.
Accordingly, by Tuesday I had desensitised myself to much of what had happened and was already beginning the process of reconciliation. There was no denying it was a little scary that somebody had tried to kill me, but at least they hadn’t succeeded. An added bonus being that the clumsiness of their attempt had brought the police on side. Having a security detail was irritating, but it had also given me the chance to get to know Matthew a little better – or rather, have him unable to leave while I asked him a stream of questions. Stable family background: tick. Parents also in shock over this unexpected turn of events: sympathetic tick. Three sisters, which should make for interesting extended family gatherings with my lot but did mean young Matthew should be well-accustomed to females: tick. Genetic history: tick. Career prospects: tick. Ability to make decent coffee: tick, tick, tick... More importantly, it was abundantly clear was that he was very much in love with Scarlet, and over the moon about the baby. And she was right; they made much better sense than he ever did with Lucy. They even complimented each other appearance-wise, brunette against blonde, while Lucy and Matt had always looked a little too Scandinavian; as if they were just about to leap into a hot-tub, or break into a rendition of an Abba song. I was even beginning to get my head around the whole grandmother thing, feeling a little warm and fuzzy about the idea of a baby. That wasn’t Darcy’s.
But where Scarlet was twenty-five, in a committed relationship with a secure job that had maternity leave and career prospects, Lucy was not. She was a twenty-year-old sales assistant who had rebounded from a failed relationship into a one-night stand that left her pregnant. She was also the most sensitive of my children, the most spiritual, and in many ways the most vulnerable. Our Aerie Fairy, her father used to say while shaking his head in bewilderment, because she was the furthest removed from his brand of pragmatism. I knew that giving up her baby would be harder than she could imagine. What I didn’t know was whether she would ever recover.
By Tuesday I was also surrounded by flowers. A beautiful arrangement from my editor, along with a concerned card regarding how the injuries might affect my work output, another lot from Deb Taylor, together with several uneasy emails, and one from Ashley Armistead with a card that simply said You won’t get out of Norfolk Island that easily. Around lunchtime I received yet another bunch, these ones hand-delivered by Elsa Poxleitner on behalf of my Monday book club, who had decided next week’s theme would be near-death experiences, in honour of my wild ride.
Elsa was also able to tell me that my narrow escape was the talk of the town, along with guesswork about who might be responsible. A small faction favoured the serial-killer theory, with me being potential victim number three, but a much larger group were of the belief that I was, literally, my own worst enemy. This theory held that a lack of mechanical knowledge had led to my cutting the brake lines instead of, say, filling the radiator. Simple mistake. The mayor having positioned himself firmly in this group, it was felt that there was still nothing to impede the successful running of the commemoration this coming weekend. Better an incompetent female than an energetic killer; less detrimental to tourism.
I knew differently. I also knew that this latest attempt cleared Ned’s name, proving that he had been murdered also. This was all about the Discovery, with somebody believing that Sam had told me more than he did – and that I was making steady progress on uncovering the rest. The problem, at least one of them, was that this did not narrow the field much. I needed to find out who else Sam had spoken to that evening, or who might have been likely to drop in. I needed a list of the society members. Then I needed to work out which one would be so invested in the Discovery remaining a secret that they were willing to commit murder. Not just once, but three times.
This was one of the reasons that I had been agreeable to Quinn spending the week over at Small Dairy Lane, alternating between family members as required. Sunday night had been spent with her sisters, before Scarlet and Red headed back to Melbourne, and then she had moved over to her aunt’s until they returned on Friday. Her grandmother, to everybody’s relief, was only nominated as back-up.
It was also the reason I was so annoyed that I couldn’t attend Sam’s funeral today. Even though Lucy had offered me her intestinal-pink hatchback, Bendigo was just too far to drive without peripheral vision. I could have hitched a ride with my mother but that would have been a little too much close-confinement bonding for my fragile state of health. And I knew she would want to talk about Lucy, while I didn’t. Instead I had deputised Petra, who was in Bendigo for the day anyway, sourcing some type of Italian granite. Her amenability to this suggestion was no doubt due to guilt over her lack of discretion regarding Darcy. Not that this would be total amends, unless, of course, she managed to finger the perp. Figuratively speaking. Best-case scenario had him or her reveal him or herself by standing some way apart from the general mourners with a foreboding expression. A balaclava would be an added extra.
Matthew had now been replaced by the big-breasted policewoman. Her name was Amber July, which sounded more like she should be gambolling on a nudie calendar than protecting middle-aged women. She had proved herself remarkably versatile, however, making superb coffee as well as taking the insurance representative on a tour of the shed and even reading through my latest column draft and offering fairly sound suggestions.
It was rather pleasant to feel protected. The truth was that despite feeling more chipper
, I still felt battered, both physically and emotionally. Rationalisation was all very well, but it didn’t reduce actual content. And my standard compartmentalisation default was ineffective when there was more content than cupboards. My mind was like the spare closet in the hall, which burst open every so often to regurgitate sleeping bags and sporting equipment and the box of scrapbooking material that had seemed such a good idea at the time. I needed to spring-clean, or at least stop shovelling stuff in. Woman’s head explodes. Family leave mess for her to clean.
With luck, this evening’s get-together at Deb Taylor’s would go some way towards at least a partial cleanse. She had dropped several hints that headway had been made by her husband but would not be drawn on the details. My hope was that this headway was significant enough that we could put our heads together, tie off a few loose ends, and then hand the whole lot over to the police. Who, it seemed, I would be bringing along with me anyway. Then I could concentrate on family. And work, and the upcoming festivities, and living arrangements, and a new car.
Assisted occasionally by Amber, I spent the afternoon working on the latest doll’s house. We threaded electric wire through the joints and hung two miniature sconces and a chandelier in the lounge room, then laid moss-green carpet in the main bedroom. I left the new lights switched on when I closed the house up, letting the glow filter through the leadlight windows.
‘It looks gorgeous,’ said Amber. ‘I’d have another baby if I knew it would be a girl, so I could do one too. But knowing my luck, it’d be another boy.’
‘How many do you have?’
‘Two. Ky is three and Finn’s seven months.’
‘Only little then. My daughter’s pregnant, actually two of my daughters are pregnant. But one of them is in the police force as well. How’s the maternity leave?’
‘Brilliant.’ Amber had pulled her wallet from her pocket and was flipping it open. She passed it over, pointing to a photo of two blond boys, the baby sitting on his brother’s lap. ‘Your daughter’s name is Scarlet, isn’t it? I don’t know her but I know Matty Carstairs. He talks about her all the time.’