How Not To Commit Murder

Chapter 3-1

CHAPTER 3

‘Don’t turn the sausages any more, they’ll go all leathery.’

Wayne hovered beside Alec, as he stood at the barbecue presiding over a sizzling array of chicken wings, steak and the unfortunate sausages. The aroma filled the chilly evening air.

Alec poked Wayne’s beer gut with his tongs. ‘Listen mate, I won’t tell you how to tile roofs if you don’t tell me how to cook.’

His tone was good-natured and Reuben admired his forbearance. In the short time he’d known his brother-in-law, he’d discovered Wayne was like a jalapeño chilli – to be taken only in small doses. He had opinions on every conceivable topic and ignorance was no hindrance to his expressing them.

Reuben took a cracker from the crystal dish on the table, and piled it with hummus and goat’s cheese. Carlene was in the kitchen helping Nancy with the salads. A child’s shriek floated out through the open French doors.

‘Brayden, come here this minute or I’ll slap your bum!’ Carlene’s sister Jolene yelled. How could she be close enough to slap his bum unless he did what he was told? In which case he wouldn’t need to have his bum slapped. It was a no-win situation for Brayden, who at eighteen months was too young to argue the toss, unlike his older sister Indya, who always came out on top and was far too precocious for her four years.

Reuben got up from the table and wandered over to the pool. Large and kidney-shaped, it shimmered in the blazing lights of the patio – as Nancy called it. She made it sound like a quaint little courtyard when, in reality, you could fit his and Carlene’s cottage into it and have space left over. In the corner of the lush expanse of lawn, the Balinese rotunda where they had married hulked in the shadows.

The house was in Hamilton, only ten minutes drive from Kedron, but a world away in lifestyle. Perched at the top end of a short, hilly street shaded by jacarandas, it was a sprawling Federation-style Queenslander, immaculately kept, with a double front staircase, a fountain gracing well-behaved gardens and a security intercom on the front gate. From the front verandah, you could glimpse through the trees the shiny ribbon of the Brisbane River and the jumble of boat masts at Portside Wharf.

The original name plaque of the house was still attached to the front gate. Karrawa. According to Nancy, it was aboriginal for ‘that will do’ – a modest name, suitably nouveau poor.

‘There’s a lot of old money in Hamilton,’ Alec had told Reuben, with a note of pride. Who cared about the age of the money? It was just another way of being a snob. Reuben gazed down at the pool and saw himself spring off the edge, a poised torpedo of rippling muscle, scarcely making a splash as he dived into its aqua-cold depths. Lucy had been constantly on his mind and here she was again, waiting for him in the pool in an emerald bikini that matched her eyes, her hair floating on the water like seaweed. Soft, clean-smelling seaweed. He bobbed up beside her and their eyes met. He held her tightly to him and slowly kissed her tender mouth, his hand tracing the curve of her cleavage and on to her nipple...

A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder and he jumped. ‘How’s the job hunting going, mate?’

Wayne was grinning at him, his meaty hand clasped around his stubby of beer. In his wedding photos he had the athletic, fresh-faced looks of the surf lifesaver he had once been, but over the years his features had coarsened and his body had gone soft. Reuben noted with satisfaction that although Wayne was the same age as him, he looked much older.

‘Great! I’ve had six job offers this week. I just have to decide which one I want.’

Wayne narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

He leaned closer to Reuben. ‘I’ve got one for you.’

‘A job?’

‘Yep. I’ve just had one of my boys resign, so the job’s yours if you want it.’

‘Roof tiling?’

He looked at Reuben incredulously, as if he had just offered to perform brain surgery. ‘No mate, that’s a specialist’s job. You’d be unloading the truck, carrying tiles, cleaning up – basic labour. You’re okay with heights, aren’t you?’

Reuben blotted out of his mind memories of plane flights pretending to be asleep so he couldn’t see out the windows, and during his wealthy phase (new money of course), holidaying in a penthouse apartment at the Gold Coast and downing a stiff bourbon, before he could admire the view from the balcony. It would be different at work – he’d be too busy to worry about heights.

‘No worries. When do you want me to start?’

‘Monday. I’ll pick you up, six o’clock.’

‘Thanks, that’d be great.’ He tried to muster a tone of enthusiasm. His body was not built to function before eight o’clock in the morning; even three years in prison of getting up at six o’clock hadn’t altered his body clock. He’d blamed his disastrous performance at the building site on his early morning start, but at least that was on solid ground. He poured himself another glass of red wine to drown the niggle of apprehension in his gut.

As they sat down to eat, Reuben found himself wedged in between Jolene and Brayden in his highchair. Brayden was naked from the waist down, drumming his chubby legs against the highchair as he pulled apart a bread roll and threw pieces on the ground. He didn’t seem to feel the cold, and in any case, two large gas burners at opposite ends of the table emanated a cosy warmth.

‘Hey, young fella, where are your duds?’ Alec said, as he placed a tray of glistening, aromatic meat on the table.

‘He won’t let me put his nappy on,’ Jolene said. ‘He screams every time I come near him, so I’ve given up.’

Two years younger than her sister, Jolene was a thinner, angular version of Carlene, with the same unruly dark hair. Her face had the tired, defeated expression often seen on the mothers of small children.

Nancy cast a pretend-disapproving glance at her grandson, as she coordinated the passing of serving dishes along the table. ‘Grandma will have to smack your bare bottom.’

Brayden squealed with excitement at the prospect and threw another piece of bread on the ground. Indya, perched opposite Reuben, wore a pink, sparkly dress and a tiara. With her blonde hair and dainty features, she was an angelic-looking child, but it was obvious that the wheels of her mind were in constant motion. She chewed half-heartedly on a sausage, gazing at Reuben with large, solemn eyes.

‘Are you a fairy, Indya?’ he asked.

Indya’s expression turned to disdain and she drew herself up in her chair. ‘I’m Princess Marvella. Don’t you know anything?’

‘Indya, that’s very rude,’ Jolene said. ‘Say sorry to Uncle Reuben.’

‘No,’ Indya said. ‘He’s dumb.’

Nancy pursed her lips. ‘It doesn’t matter how dumb he is, young lady, you apologise to him this instant!’

Indya cast her eyes downward and muttered, ‘Sorry.’ Then she threw her sausage on to her plate. ‘I can’t eat this, it’s too tough!’

Wayne cast a sideways glance at Alec. ‘I’m sure you can, sweetheart.’

‘I can’t! I’m going to watch TV.’ She slid off her chair and ran inside.

Wayne shook his head with a resigned grin. ‘Four, going on twenty-four.’

Reuben grimaced inwardly at the thought of Indya after twenty more years of perfecting her haughty look and condescending tone. She was certainly the most disagreeable child he’d ever met. Not that he’d had a lot to do with children, but those he had met warmed to him instantly, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit. He’d been accused by more than one girlfriend of not having grown up.

An awkward silence followed. Alec cleared his throat. ‘So, Reuben, any luck on the job front?’

It was through Alec’s contacts that Reuben had scored the jobs as waiter and bricklayer. Since then, he hadn’t offered any more help, much to Reuben’s relief. He was sure Alec disapproved of him as much as Nancy, but he overcompensated by playing the role of the matey-you-can-confide-in-me-father in-law, that didn’t quite come off.

‘Up until a few minutes ago, not much,’ Reuben said. ‘But Wayne has just offered me a job.’

Carlene, sitting opposite him, glanced at her sister then reached across and grasped his hand. ‘Oh, honey, that’s great!’

‘I’ll be cracking the whip though,’ Wayne said. ‘No special treatment because he’s family.’

‘Of course not,’ Carlene said. ‘It’s so good of you to offer him the job.’

‘Cause for celebration,’ Alec said. ‘Let’s crack another bottle.’ He fetched another bottle of red from the bar, uncorked it and filled all the glasses. He raised his glass. ‘Let’s drink a toast to Reuben’s new job.’

The others clinked their glasses. ‘To Reuben’s new job,’ they chorused. Except Nancy, who chose that moment to get up and start clearing away the plates. The wine was like liquid velvet sliding down Reuben’s throat. There was something to be said for old money after all.

‘What do you reckon, Reuben?’ Alex said, nodding at the bottle. ‘Hardy’s Merlot 1980 vintage?’

Reuben shrugged. ‘You’ve got me there. All I know is it’s a good drop.’

Alex picked up the bottle and pointed to its plain label. ‘Three dollars – from the bargain bin at Liquorland. Would you believe it?’

He looked around the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

‘I’d believe it,’ Wayne said. ‘There’s a lot of bullshit about wine. Bouquets and palates and the rest. I read somewhere about a wine-tasting – they blindfolded a panel of so-called connoisseurs who couldn’t tell the difference between the el cheapo wines and the top of the range! I say if a wine tastes good, it is good. I don’t want to write it a poem or make love to it.’

As he took another sip, Reuben felt something warm and wet on his foot. He looked down. A yellow liquid arc was streaming onto his shoe from the direction of Brayden’s highchair.

‘f**k!’ he yelled and sprang out of his chair. His glass toppled over and a river of red seeped into the white lace tablecloth. Indya appeared in the doorway and surveyed the scene. She looked at Jolene, who was ineffectually dabbing at Reuben’s shoe with a linen napkin.

‘Mummy,’ she said in a loud, high-pitched voice, ‘Uncle Reuben said fuck.’

***