The Cait Lennox Box Set

by Roderick Donald

  Rishi’s bashing had reverberated through G’s family like a bull in a china shop. It had hit home hard, not only affecting Cait, but also Jools and Dec. Rishi was a family favorite who was always welcome. Cait had befriended him their first week at university when they had met on an orientation tour as they visited a few of the twenty-odd pubs that surrounded Melbourne University. They had clicked from day one, and when they realized they were both studying psychology, that sealed their friendship.

  And now this tragedy had occurred, this senseless act of violence that had not only seen Rishi end up in intensive care, but had turned the world on its head for G, Jools, Cait, and Dec. The shockwaves following Rishi’s bashing cascaded through their family with the power of a cyclone, confronting each of them in its own devastating way, wreaking vengeance on feelings and emotions as its destructive force tore away at the fabric of their relationship with Rishi, leaving them all feeling bereft and drained.

  All week, when G and Jools lay in bed at the end of the day casually discussing the events just past had been dominated by talk of Rishi, his health and prognosis, and its effect on their family unit. Once more, G witnessed Jools’s Gift in action and he listened intently when she explained to him about not only the downstream effects of the physical ramifications of Rishi’s bashing, but more importantly about the way the event was affecting them all. G knew that Jools, like him, felt a deep sadness for Rishi because he had been regularly coming and going to their house for a meal, a chat, and a drink for nearly four years, and now the poor kid was fighting for his life in intensive care. And while they both watched Cait being hit hard, it was Jools who pointed out to G how Dec was also suffering.

  Yes, Jools had said to G, Dec felt sorry for Rishi because he actually enjoyed his company, but The Gift was telling her that he was finding it difficult coming to grips with the closeness of the violence. He may have acted all devil-may-care when Rishi was taken away in the ambulance, but it was all very distressing for him.

  So G decided that a change was needed. Something to cause a distraction, a diversion, and maybe even provide a bit of fun. And a train trip to goldfields around Castlemaine seemed a fair and reasonable thing to suggest, especially since he had to visit there for an hour or two on business in any case, so he could kill two birds with one stone. Catching the train would take the pressure off having to drive, and besides, it was so out of character for him not to take up the opportunity to take his BMW for a thrash down the highway that he thought it would be a bit of a hoot and hopefully brighten up whoever accompanied him.

  But as is the way of things, Jools had patients booked so she was out and Dec had an exam, but Cait was free so just the two of them ended up going. Which in many ways was fortuitous, as it provided G with the luxury of some quality one-on-one time with his daughter in her time of need.

  As the train was sucked into yet another tunnel on its journey north, Cait became pensive, silent. She desperately wanted to say what was on her mind, why Rishi was so important to her, why his bashing had hit home so hard, but whenever she opened her mouth to speak, the words just wouldn’t form.

  “What’s on your mind, Cait? It’s like you’ve got a coiled spring inside your head trying to let loose.” G sensed that Cait was having an internal battle with something she had yet to verbalize.

  “Oh, nothing, Dad. It’s, ah . . . okay. The last few days have been pretty traumatic, that’s all.”

  “Tell me about it,” said G in an almost matter-of-fact tone. His mind was elsewhere, thinking about how he could get through to Cait without it seeming like he was prying. So he thought it best to let the moment percolate for a bit while he said nothing.

  As thoughts of Rishi continued to simmer on the back burner of Cait’s mind, midway between the conscious and the subconscious, she let the minutes roll past along with the scenery until she finally plucked up the courage to speak her thoughts.

  “Dad, Rishi and I . . . well, I don’t quite know how to say it. We were sort of . . . you know . . . an item about to happen.”

  “Funny you say that. Jools and I had our suspicions, especially over the last couple of months as Rishi’s visits to our place seemed to be becoming more frequent. And the way you seemed to well, just light up whenever he rang.

  “Yeah, it’s all falling into place. I can understand now why you’re so upset about Rishi’s bashing.”

  G paused momentarily to gather his thoughts.

  “Oh Caitie, I’m so sorry that you’ve got to go through this. No wonder you’re so distraught.”

  With that, G put his arms around his daughter in a protective bear hug, pulling her into him as she nuzzled her head into his shoulder, softly whimpering like a frightened puppy.

  “Yes Dad, as usual you’re right,” Cait whispered hoarsely.

  Cait lifted her head off G’s shoulder and looked up at her father, her eyes bloodshot and her right cheek reddened where she had been rubbing against the fabric of his jacket.

  “Does Mum know?”

  “No darling, these are just my private thoughts. Although you know what Jools is like. She’d know what’s going on in your head before you’re even aware of it yourself. So yes, I’m sure she knows.”

  “Oh Dad, I love you and Mum just so much.”

  “Cait, you make us very proud. You’re such a beautiful person. Rishi’s very lucky to have experienced your affection.”

  But there was more to it than what G was seeing or hearing. This was an iceberg, and G was only witnessing a small part of it. He knew his daughter and could sense she wanted to say more. He could see it in her eyes, read it in her body language, but he couldn’t push or probe as whatever the secret was, it had to come out naturally, or not at all. So G let it slide until the moment was right for her to reveal it.

  The scenery flew past as quickly as the time and as Cait continued to off-load and reminisce about Rishi, now that G understood the depth of feeling behind her emotions, he let her go and lent an understanding ear.

  “Caitie, you’re aware no doubt that the answer lies in the problem. You, and all of us, have got to work through this and help and support each other every step of the way.”

  “Yeah, how true. I need you and Mum right now more than ever.”

  The train’s PA system rudely interrupted their conversation. A monotone voice broadcasted a crackly message that was spoken way too fast for normal comprehension, reading from what was obviously a set script: “May I have your attention again, please. The next stop is Castlemaine. We will be arriving in approximately ten minutes. Please remember to check your seat pockets and to take all your belongings with you. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for traveling with VicRail. I hope that you have enjoyed your journey and we look forward to having you travel with us again soon.”

  G stood up to grab his briefcase from the overhead parcel shelf, and as he had his back to Cait, she said, “Dad, there’s something else . . . I don’t really know how to tell you, but . . .”

  G sensed the importance of the moment and sat down, placing his briefcase on the seat in front of him and then leaned back and crossed his legs, patiently waiting once more for Cait to off-load. He recognized that she needed space, or she would clam up and the moment would be gone.

  A silence dominated the air between them as Cait silently sat there, gathering her thoughts as she tried to place them into a sentence.

  “Dad, remember how I said Rishi and I were an item about to happen?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Well, it’s a bit more serious than that.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Dad . . . I can’t say it any other way . . . I think I’m pregnant to . . . to . . . to Rishi.” As she forced out the last two words she broke down, dropping her head into her cupped hands and started sobbing tears of frustration, tears of concern, tears of doubt.

  “Dad, I’m just so churned up inside I don’t know what to do.”

  G may have been
shocked by his daughter’s revelation about her pregnancy, but he did his best not to show it.

  “Caitie, if you are pregnant, remember I’m here, we’re all here, to support you. Now are you sure?”

  “I don’t know! Don’t you understand? Are you that stupid?”

  Cait’s vitriol dissipated with her tears when she realized that she had snapped at her father when he was only trying to come to grips with her situation.

  “Oh Dad, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap your head off like that . . .”

  Cait’s outburst brought her back to reality in a millisecond.

  “Look, to answer your question, I don’t know, Dad. But I’m ten days late. My periods are normally as regular as clockwork.”

  She looked at G and he could see . . . sense . . . that she was silently screaming for a guiding hand to take her back to where everything was all joy, love, and happiness.

  He moved over to his daughter and enveloped her in a loving embrace, drawing her into him once again, but this time he squeezed tightly and didn’t let go as he gently stroked the back of her head, feeling the softness of her hair run through his fingers as they gently rocked backward and forward in sync with the motion of the train.

  “Oh Caitie, no wonder you’re so upset. My poor girl. You must feel terrible. So alone.

  “But Cait, surely it’s a bit early to say whether you are or aren’t? A big shock like you’ve just had . . . it could well have affected your cycle. You must know that.”

  The tears had stopped and were replaced by a concerned stare as Cait looked back up at G.

  “Look, as soon as we get back, for your own piece of mind you need to confirm it one way or the other. You have to go to the doctor for a test.”

  G may have been an understanding father, but he found it difficult to say the word”pregnant” for fear of upsetting Cait any more than she already was. If only he had been able to get inside Cait’s head, he would have seen that the word had been bouncing around inside her brain like a ball on a string for the last week, so she was now almost immune to the sting in the tail that it carried.

  “Thanks for the advice, Dad. Yeah, you’re right. I have to know whether I’m pregnant or not. It’s killing me hanging in there, not knowing what’s happening to my body. I’ll do it as soon as we get home.”

  “You realize Jools has to know, Cait. She’s your mum and loves you dearly. Plus, you’ll never be able to hide it from her. You know that.”

  “Yes, Dad.” Cait knew her father was only trying to help, but he now was becoming too much in her face.

  As the train pulled into Castlemaine station, Cait thought to herself that it was time to change topics. She needed to break the samsara of what was going on in her life and start to look ahead again.

  The portly man with the natural swagger and the snappy clothes jumped out of the cab before the others and headed straight for the roped-off entrance. He suffered from Small Man’s Syndrome and had an air of confidence about him that tried to say,”Hey, I’m really tough, you know,” but it somehow missed its mark. The man known behind his back as The Human Clotheshorse didn’t look tough, he just looked like he was trying too hard.

  “Leave it to me,” said The Human Clotheshorse, a.k.a. Tony, over his shoulder as he walked toward the doorway as if was a VIP, leaving one of the others to pay the driver.

  “I’ll get us in and start things happening inside.”

  Downstairs at the Stokehouse certainly wasn’t the cheapest watering hole in town, but it did have the wow factor when the sun was setting as it was absolute beachfront, fringed picture-postcard fashion by palm trees, with an uninterrupted view of the setting orb as it sizzled into the western horizon. It was classic trendy St Kilda, complete with a well-worn terracotta tiled floor and an almost shabby-chic feel. The huge bar running almost the length of the inside area was surrounded by the usual Friday night crowd milling around, talking and laughing. The sound of conversation had reached a fever pitch, , making it difficult to talk without almost yelling. It had a vibrant, friendly, but definitely in-crowd feel about it.

  And it was POETS day—piss off early, tomorrow’s Saturday—Tony was paying, the drinks were flowing, and all was good.

  Tony had arranged to meet Paul and Steve there at six thirty, as he wanted to introduce his three business acquaintances to them, whom he was trying to tip into Paul and Steve’s student apartments.

  “Good-aye guys, how goes it?” Tony had spied Paul and Steve in a quiet spot near the walkway to the beachside seating area and caught them unawares.

  “Tony,” acknowledged Paul. “Where’re your clients? Leave them behind?”

  “No, they’re outside fixing up the cab driver. Time they paid for something. I just spent six hundred on lunch for the pricks.”

  “Jesus, some spend on a casual Friday afternoon feed. Hope they’re worth it.”

  “Mate, look what I do for you.” Tony was being smarmy, his eyes dancing with feigned sincerity.

  “You want some properties sold, Tony delivers.” Tony shrugged his shoulders as if he were an Italian bargaining for fruit at the local market.

  “Oh, here they are. The three tipsy farts coming in the front door. You don’t have to do anything. Just be yourselves . . . and don’t forget to tell them how fucking good the development’s going to be. But leave the sales pitch to me, okay? I’ve got them in the palm of my hand. I reckon the deal’ll be decided tonight.”

  Ever the opportunist, Tony was always after the dollar and his meal ticket had just arrived.

  Sean and Steve gave each other a surreptitious”I’ll believe it when I see it” glance as Tony left to grab his clients and steer them in the direction of the bar.

  “No matter how hard he tries, he just doesn’t cut it, does he. Don’t like the prick. Never have,” Steve said to Paul as Tony walked off. “He really is a little turd, isn’t he?”

  Paul laughed.

  “An apt description, mate. Mind you, it perfectly describes Tony. Hate to say it, but like it or not, we need him.

  “I’ve just finished crunching the numbers,” continued Paul, “and it’s not looking good if we don’t up the presales. The investors are becoming gun-shy and looking for an excuse not to buy. Rishi’s bashing in the papers hasn’t helped boost buyer confidence, I can tell you that.

  “And then when they want to purchase something, they can’t borrow the money. The banks are becoming clamming up.”

  Paul paused to gather his thoughts before continuing, “And that little ‘turd’ as you so aptly described him has already sold a shitload of properties for us . . . ah, pardon the pun.”

  ”Maybe so,” replied Steve. “Just don’t invite him along when we’re out to impress. The crass prick’s worse than a used car salesman.”

  “Yeah well mate, we need that twenty mil from China or the development’s out the back door and on the streets,” replied Paul with a concerned edge to his voice. “I did a discounted cash flow this week and we’ll be out of cash reserves by Xmas, and then we’re spent. The whole project could fall over.”

  “Oh fuck,” said Steve, totally disregarding Paul’s dire warning as if he never even heard it. “Here we go, he’s bringing the drunks over to meet us.”

  “Here, wrap your laughing gear around this,” said Tony as he passed Japanese Slippers all around, regardless of whether anyone wanted a cocktail or not. He introduced Paul and Steve, who immediately noted that while Tony was still compos mentis, the other three were half shot, which apparently is just where Tony wanted them.

  Primed and pliable.

  Tony had already done his homework, and by his reckoning his thousand-dollar investment tonight would turn into a commission of fifty grand or more when he convinced his clients to buy a few of Steve and Paul’s apartments for their respective superannuation funds.

  Not bad odds, and worth the punt as far as he was concerned.

  To Tony, every social dollar spent was really a blue-sky investm
ent, and when it paid off for him it could be in spades, just like tonight hopefully. And showing his clients a good time—getting them drunk, coming across as a good guy with their best interests at heart—was all part of his master plan to get them to hand over their hard-earned dollars.

  In fact, six-figure dollars, if all went well.

  “So what’s happening, guys?” Tony said to his clients, just as an extremely attractive thirtysomething female was flashing her wares as she strutted across the room toward the bar.

  “Yeah baby! Will you check out that piece of eye candy,” Tony exclaimed a little too loudly, mentally undressing her as she sashayed by. “How’d you like to get your knob polished by that bit of flesh?” Nodding in her direction, his three clients turned their heads in unison.

  “Holy shit, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. That’s sex on a stick!” said the tall client that vertically challenged Tony had nicknamed”Stretch” earlier in the afternoon. Paul and Steve cringed at Tony’s crassness, but they were under strict instructions to let Tony guide the conversation and to just be there for the sake of credibility, so they continued to talk between themselves, leaving Tony to entertain his clients.

  “Hey guys, gotta go and have a squirt. I’ll leave you with Paul and Steve to have a chat.”

  With that, Tony hightailed it to the toilet. Seeing that sexy bit of arse walking across the floor started his juices flowing.

  I need a fuck. And since I’m just around the corner from”The Club” . . . The thought of sex had been Tony’s constant companion since he had woken this morning with a hard-on and Elle had knocked back his passionate advances.

  Bitch! No wonder I stray, he justified to himself.

  As he walked to the toilets he felt the inside pocket of his jacket, searching for the umpteenth time for that familiar three centimeter by two centimeter outline he had slipped in there before he left for work this morning.