The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 5

Looking at the offerings, G was starting to wonder if they were planning to stay for the week, or if not, then they must have been expecting it to be a big day.

  A really big day.

  “Do you know something I don’t know? Are we expecting an invasion? Jools and Cait have made a shitload of food as well,” said G, meeting them at the front door.

  “Jason and Justin are coming over later. Hope you don’t mind. Didn’t Cait tell you?” Kaz only had eyes for her children, surrounding herself with her kids at every opportunity and she always over catered. Kaz chalked it up to her father walking out when she was a young child, and then constantly moving houses during her teens. She would tell the girls on their Elwood walks that she had memories of a fractured family life and there never being enough food as a child, so she compensated now with a generosity regarding food that was over the top at times. But luckily Kaz lived to cook, so it was never a problem for her.

  “What’s not eaten will end up as leftovers tomorrow.”

  More like leftovers for the rest of the week, thought G.

  “And I’m sure you’ll eat your fair share. You always do.” The girls had nicknamed G”the vacuum cleaner” behind his back because he was well known for saying he wasn’t really hungry, and then promptly eating enough for ten men.

  “G, will you stop talking and please open the door before I drop this?” said Kaz.

  By 3 p.m. the place was pumping. The front door had been as busy as a turnstile at a football match, with a constant stream of people arriving one after the other. And they all bought food and drink.

  Holy shit. There’s enough here to feed a small African nation, ruminated G at one stage as he looked around at the food piling up in their kitchen.

  At last count the magical twenty guests had arrived, with the promise of more people as the assorted kids wandered in over the course of the afternoon, looking for a meal.

  But I’m sure I’ll be proven wrong. Once the kids attack the food it’ll be like a plague of locusts have passed through. There’ll be nothing left, bar the mess.

  “So much for over catering,” G said to Jools, refilling her glass of chardonnay.

  “Thanks, G.” Jools was coming around. G was almost in her good books again.

  Picking up Jools’s”world-famous” potato salad which she had just put the finishing touches to, G then attempted to make a place for it among the other platters, dishes, bowls of this and that, dips and nibbles on the table in their living area.

  I wonder what the poor people are doing? The amount of food here is almost obscene. But the hoard will eat it all, I’m sure.

  “How many did you say are coming? It’s like there’s a small army out there. At least we’ll be able to feed the troops,” G said over his shoulder to Jools as he walked off, food in hand.

  “Just do your usual, G, and light the BBQ. We need the chicken wings cooked. They need something hearty in their stomachs before they all start to get too drunk.”

  “Yeah, cool.”

  On his way outside, G detoured past the stereo.

  Time for a bit of Powderfinger. Gotta hear”Strange Days.”

  G was playing around with his Bose sound system, trying to figure out how to put on the outside speakers when his sailing partner Sean came up from behind and jokingly gave him a gentle kick in the backside, just as G was bending over, looking for the CD.

  Tumbling forward awkwardly, G faceplanted into the wall.

  “Hi mate, I’ve fookin’ arrived,” said Sean in his Irish brogue. Sean and G were the best of buddies and ribbed each other at every available opportunity. It went with the territory of spending so much time together on their racing yacht.

  “Yeah, thanks mate. I’ll be with you as soon as I put my nose back into place.”

  “Ah, you’re a wimp as usual. Just a flesh wound. Now don’t put on any of that shite R and B,” chided Sean. “Let’s hear an Irish jig to get the fookers moving. They’re all standing around like a stale bottle of piss on a cold winter’s night.”

  Sean was as Irish as Paddy’s pigs and made no concession for the fact that even though he was originally from Cork, he had lived in Australia for the past twenty-five years. He was like a six foot four teddy bear. A curly mop of thick hair, once flame red but now dusted with streaks of lightly tarnished silver crowned his ruddy face, his builder’s arms were covered in freckles, and mandatory Celtic tattoos were inked onto each of his forearms. Sean had legs like tree stumps poking out from his cargo shorts and a generous gut that didn’t exactly jump out to meet you, but was there nonetheless.

  Thrusting a stubby of Victoria Bitter into G’s empty hand whether he wanted it or not, Sean roughly slapped him on the back with his paddle-size left hand, guffawed, then promptly turning on his heels, walked off to join the crowd outside.

  G pushed play and thought, The kids will love this, Jools and I will love it, but the others . . . well, most of them probably wouldn’t know who Powderfinger were if they ran into them. But who gives a shit?

  Looking up, G noticed how everyone had migrated outside to enjoy the spring sun that was now casting its warming glow on the backyard, and judging by the snippets of lighthearted conversation he overheard drifting inside, his friends were getting primed.

  “Better get the BBQ happening,” G said to himself: marinated chicken wings, then that beautiful whole snapper they were throwing out for peanuts at the market, and of course the butterflied lamb from the Greek butchers. Best lamb at the market. But that’s what they eat isn’t it, so it’s got to be good?

  G, like Jools, was a foodie. But as much as Jools was a fantastic home cook, G was a frustrated chef. He loved playing with food and constantly had a taste rattling around his head that had to be created, not cooked.

  As G made his way outside, Mia picked up the scent of the chicken and started following him. G overheard Paul, Kaz, and Sean’s wife Bec talking about the same article in the Sunday paper he had brought to Jools’s attention earlier this morning. He was on a mission to cook his chicken wings, but on his way past he couldn’t resist commenting.

  “Hey Paul,” interrupted G, “Saw you made it in the paper today. Read your quote. A bit of bullshit, eh? This bashing of the Indians can’t be good for business, can it? The fact that they’re now burning effigies in India of our prime minister isn’t really a great sign for you guys surely.”

  Paul, Sean, and Steve, and by default their wives Kaz, Bec, and Jo, were all in business together building student accommodation, primarily for Indian students.

  Bec looked over at Kaz with a “Can’t say much, can we?” glance and then, to avoid direct eye contact with G, knelt down and started fondling Mia’s soft ears, who by this stage had conveniently sat at their feet. Picking up on the tail end of their visual words, G thought to himself, Say no more.

  But Paul was more forthcoming, replying, “Yeah, it’s not really brilliant. Especially now that the bloody press have got hold of it. That journo Macillicuddy who wrote the article rang me for a comment last week. Spoken with him before and he’s a real lefty prick. I call him ‘The Nerd’ because he looks like he’s dressed by the Salvation Army.”

  “You didn’t tell me about that,” said Kaz. She’d been too busy feeding their two sons who had”conveniently” dropped by their place for a late breakfast to be bothered reading the morning papers.

  “It wasn’t important, Kaz. I just put the spin on and then The Nerd pissed off. Took all of five minutes.”

  “Look, we haven’t fallen out of love—it’s just that we’ve run out of things to say to each other. A meal with Paul ends up in silence.”

  Kaz was idly chatting to Jools inside at the kitchen bench as they arranged G’s barbecued chicken wings on a platter. Jools was garnishing them with some freshly chopped coriander and a dipping sauce that G had thrown together using tamari, sweet soy sauce, ginger, fresh chili, mirin, and fish sauce, and as if she hadn’t had enough time to chew the fat this morning on their walk, Kaz contin
ued complaining about her”boring” life.

  “They smell so good,” said Kaz, the aroma of charred chicken wafting up from the platter in front of her, titillating her senses and causing her stomach to rumble in anticipation. She stole a chicken wing and popped it in her mouth, returning two stripped bones to her open hand, promptly diving in for seconds before the platter disappeared outside to the starving masses.

  “Once we’ve covered the events of the day—which takes ten minutes tops, we spend another ten minutes or so on what’s happening in the kids’ lives, and then, well . . . that’s about it. There’s nothing left to talk about.”

  Kaz moved over to the sink and rinsed her greasy hands under the hot tap.

  Jools let Kaz ramble on, as was her style, and switched off. She was aware that Kaz was still prattling on, but she may as well have been talking to the bunch of spring flowers G had picked up at the market.

  “Kaz, can you put those into a vase? Thanks. G picked them up at the market this morning as a peace offering,” said Jools, passing her a large, clear glass vase from the cupboard.

  Sounds of laughter wandered inside and Jools’s eyes drifted from the kitchen bench to the gathering collection of friends in the courtyard. She took in the flowering spring buds which would soon add a kaleidoscope of color as they came into bloom, the lacelike shade of the trees casting delicate shadows over the freshly swept paving, Cait talking to Jason, who had just arrived, and G working away at his BBQ, talking to Dec over a stubby of beer.

  Jools gave her first real smile of the day.

  “It’s good to have friends around,” she whispered to herself, admiring their pleasant, familiar faces.

  “So what do you think I should do?” Jools’s momentary daydream had caused her to miss Kaz’s last comment.

  “Sorry? I was off there for a tick. What was that?

  “Paul. And me. Us . . . we never do anything.”

  Kaz was concerned about the fact that, after thirty-one years of marriage, her life with Paul had become predictable, mundane, and quite frankly, boring. Since her last foray in the business world some sixteen years ago, owning and running a boutique clothing shop that floundered more than it succeeded and which Paul had to bail her out of before it imploded in the end, Kaz hadn’t felt the need to work. Paul, the investment banker, earned big bucks, more than enough to allow Kaz to live in the manner to which she had become accustomed, so why work?

  Or as she liked to point out, she did have a full-time job as mother and carer for her busy husband, so she didn’t have time for anything else.

  “Hey Kaz, you’re not Robinson Crusoe on this one. It’s the same with G and me, you know. Sometimes we just run out of things to talk about as well. You’ve just got to ride through it,” Jools replied. “You really need to get a life again so you’ve got something to talk to Paul about other than the kids and his work. Why don’t you get involved in some volunteer work like Bec?”

  “It’s okay for you to say that, but I don’t have time for volunteer work.”

  Convenient excuse, thought Jools. You’ve got all the time in the world if you just care to organize your life instead of running around in circles after your family.

  “And G’s so different from Paul. I mean, look at him.” Peering over in G’s direction, there he was, happy as a pig in poop, beer in one hand, BBQ flipper in the other, playing master chef. “He’s always there with you, and he likes to do things. Paul’s either at work, at his desk at home, reading the paper, or sleeping. That’s it. I can’t even get him to go for a walk with me.”

  Jools thought to herself that Kaz had a point: G was always there, almost to the point of smothering her sometimes.

  “Paul will never suggest that we actually do anything as a couple. It simply doesn’t compute that’s what married people do with their spare time—enjoy each other’s company.”

  “Go figure. G’s not perfect, you know. Not by a long shot. And he’s still in my bad books for last night’s folly down at the yacht club.” Jools was a private person and didn’t want to say any more about her relationship with G. Even though Kaz was her close girlfriend, what happened behind closed doors was none of Kaz’s business. Or anyone’s, for that matter.

  “At least you get to travel with Paul. All I get is a bunch of flowers when G’s feeling guilty and a family holiday for two or three weeks once a year.”

  Kaz smiled in amusement. “Yeah, point taken.”

  “Hi Jools.”

  Rishi had let himself in through the front door. He was a regular visitor and had been coming and going for such a long time that he felt totally comfortable arriving unannounced.

  Jools turned around and was momentarily stunned. Speechless.

  She opened her mouth to the sound of a hoarse whisper instead of her usual familiar voice. Rishi was standing in front of her on the other side of the kitchen bench, looking like he had just gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson: he sported an angry, swollen, and black left eye, a nasty line of about eight to ten stitches across the top of his forehead, a grazed cheek, and purple-black swelling on the side of his jaw.

  He looked terrible. And in pain.

  Jools stood statuelike for what seemed an eternity but was really only the blink of an eye, and swallowed. “My God, Rishi, what happened? Are you all right? Cait didn’t tell me that you’ve been injured.”

  They were alone in the kitchen. Kaz had taken the chicken wings outside and was offering them to the hungry hoard, the partygoers buzzing around her greedily.

  “She doesn’t know yet. No one does.”

  Jools dropped her knife, a metallic crash echoing off the kitchen cupboards as it spun on its handle and skidded across the tiled floor. She rushed around to the other side of the bench, throwing her arms around Rishi in a protective, mothering bear hug.

  “Ah, careful, I think I’ve a few cracked ribs as well.” Rishi winced and pulled back slightly.

  “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? Now tell me . . . what exactly happened to you? Were you in a car accident?” It never occurred to Jools that Rishi had been beaten up. He was such a gentle soul and would never get into a fight. After all, these things only happened to other people, not to the ones you knew and cared about.

  Jools looked up and managed to catch Cait’s attention, calling her inside with a flick of her head and a”come here quickly” movement with her right hand.

  Cait was standing in a group with her brother Declan, her best friend Jason, Jason’s younger brother Justin and Wendy, a pretty Asian girl with long black hair and skin the color of antique parchment who she hadn’t seen before but presumed was with one of the boys. Cait was laughing at something that Jason had obviously just told her and she threw her head back in a slight twisting action, flicking her fringe off her face and beaming a smile that was all happiness and joy. Cait noticed Rishi’s outline through the glass and began to casually walk inside to see what her mother wanted so urgently.

  Cait had been expecting Rishi to come as she’d sent him a text earlier telling him about the get-together. He hadn’t replied, but that wasn’t unusual. She knew he’d turn up, even though they’d had a few cross words last night. They were the best of mates and he never let her down.

  Rishi turned to face Cait, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Cupping her cheeks with both hands, Cait’s stomach knotted and churned. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Oh my God, Rishi, what happened?” Tears welled in her blue eyes. The beginnings of a thin film of sweat, as cold as iced water, appeared on her forehead in glistening droplets.

  Rushing over to Rishi, he stepped back slightly to avoid her direct contact.

  “Careful Cait,” warned Jools. “He’s got some broken ribs as well.”

  “Cracked, Jools, not broken,” said Rishi, stoic to the end.

  “I got mugged. After I left you last night at the Espy, remember I said that I was going to X-Base? Well, I was walking down Robe Street about 12:30 when these guys . . .�
� He grimaced slightly as an electric bolt of pain shot down his face and into his jaw.

  “Come over here, sit down. You’re obviously in pain,” gestured Cait, pushing a stool in his direction and guiding him onto it.

  “Hey, I’m okay, yeah. The hospital gave me some painkillers and I feel fine. I’ve just got a slight headache, that’s all.”

  “The hospital! Oh my God, Rishi, that sounds terrible. What exactly happened?” said Cait, a concerned lilt to her voice.

  “Well, these hoons jumped me. I think I might have got a punch in return, but that’s all I can remember. The next thing I know, I’m surrounded by a group of people and I’ve got a girl and this guy kneeling down beside me, asking if I’m all right and calling an ambulance.” Rishi stopped and took a sip from the glass of iced water that Jools had poured him.

  “According to the ambos, this other group turned the corner just as the thugs were about to put the boots in, and the guys who’d jumped me ran off.”

  “Jesus. That’s not good.” Cait had calmed down slightly and gently took his hand in hers. “Is there anything I can do? What would you like? Shouldn’t you be in bed lying down or something? Where did the ambulance take you?”

  Cait’s mind was like a hall of mirrors. She had so many thoughts and concerns coming from different directions that she was having difficulty establishing where the central source was—what should I be concentrating on? . . . how can I help Rishi? . . . is he going to be all right? . . . I should have insisted that he come with us. Oh it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t had that argument with him. Cait was winding herself up like a bedside clock.

  “Cait, just let Rishi chill. I’m sure he’ll tell you in due course.” Jools recognized this was a real surprise for Cait and that she was only concerned for Rishi’s welfare, but he needed space. He was probably still in shock and dulled by the analgesics the hospital had no doubt pumped him full of.

  Jools felt sick with concern for Rishi, her medical training as a naturopath and bodyworker telling her that he needed to be watched. But it was her spiritual self, her innate gift to be able to read pain and suffering in others, that was screaming out from the deep recesses of her transcendent psyche. Rishi’s aura was flat, dark indigo and threatening, clinging to his body like a protective shield; he had the look of someone who was already defeated.