CHAPTER TWELVE

Half an hour later Jake found himself standing in a circle with Cameron, Miranda, Rosie, Simon, Pete and Ella.

“Well that does it,” Rosie announced. “I’m making curry. You’re all invited.”

The only one of them to look enthused was Cerberus, who had grown fat on Rosie’s curry treats that appeared regularly under the table from anyone who dared to sit and attempt it. He gave an ecstatic little shudder and whined appreciatively at her.

“Ah, count me out,” Jake said.

Ella glanced at him and Jake felt the tension between them again. He hadn’t set foot in their house since she’d kicked him out and she didn’t look all that keen for him to do so now either.

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Rosie shook her head vehemently. “It’s not a celebration without the coach.”

“She’s right,” said Pete.

“Yeah,” said Cameron. “Please, coach.”

“Please, Jake,” Miranda said, her arm around Cameron.

Jake glanced at the eager faces knowing that part of their motivation was how much less curry they’d all have to consume with one more at the table. Ella’s face, however, was carefully neutral and, today, it irritated him more than usual.  

“Please, Jake,” Miranda said again. She was bouncing from foot to foot like she always did when trying to suppress her excitement, and he knew he was beat. One of the women in his life was probably going to stick arsenic in his curry but he’d never been very good at saying no to the other.

He gave a grudging nod. “Looks like I’m outgunned.”

“Hah!” Rosie whooped triumphantly. “I’ve sourced this great new spice that adds that little extra zing. You’re going to love it.”

Jake’s alarm was mirrored in Simon’s face. If Rosie’s curry had any more zing it’d need to be classified as a poison.

“I’ll go and get it started,” she grinned, and dragged Simon with her toward the car park.

“I’ll stop off and buy yoghurt,” Pete offered.

“Buy extra,” Jake ordered, despite knowing not even yoghurt was going to save them from death by curry.

The sun was dipping below the skyline, gilding the violet-blue with streaks of fiery tangerine as everyone sat to eat. The chatter and screech of hundreds of rainbow lorikeets drowned out the collective gasps as the first tentative nibbles had a predictable effect.

Simon took a large gulp of his water and passed around the yoghurt bowl for second helpings. “Delicious.” He smiled at Rosie.

Miranda and Cameron excused themselves, taking their meals into the lounge room to watch Netflix. Cerberus followed them in and Ella wondered how long it’d take before the curry found a canine host.

Daisy, a light cardigan covering her inked arms, shovelled a large spoonful of curry into her mouth. Iris, rugged up even further, tucked in heartily too. The two sisters were the only people Ella knew who could stomach Rosie’s spicy food. Daisy always said growing up in a circus had given the Forsythes cast-iron constitutions.

Iris asked about the game and the conversation turned to football. “I still can’t believe it,” Ella said, shaking her head.

A part of her was sure she was going to wake up to find it had all been a fantasy conjured up by the anxious principal that lurked just beneath the surface.

“Believe it.” Pete grinned. “We did it.”

“Just,” she clarified. They were in last position on the finals board.

Ella had to remember that while they were another step closer to their goal, they were still a long way off. Even if they did win, they still had to go on to play in the Schools Cup. It wasn’t the end, she had to remind herself. But it was the end of the beginning.

Pete shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We wipe the slate clean now and start all over again.”

Ella wanted to hug him. His glass-half-full optimism was just what she needed. Jake, on the other hand, sitting opposite her brooding into his curry, was not instilling confidence at all.

He was in his pub clothes — jeans and a black T-shirt —ready to skedaddle off to work at the first opportunity. The shirt, as usual, showed off his magnificent biceps and she wondered absently if he was cold. Not that it was remotely possible for any of them to be so. The heat from the thermonuclear reaction of the curry was likely to keep them warm to the end of their days.

Ella wondered if Rosie secretly laced it with plutonium.

Maybe she should get Iris and Daisy to see if they could win a Geiger counter; the last thing this place needed was glow-in-the-dark residents. The neighbours thought there were enough freaks at number twenty as it was.

“But we go in as underdogs,” Rosie pointed out.

“That can work in our favour,” Simon said dismissively. 

“What do the cards say, Iris?” Pete asked.

Iris jumped like a small animal caught in the headlights of a very large all-terrain vehicle. After a moment of everyone looking at her expectantly, she put down her fork, moved her bowl aside, shuffled the worn, ever-present pack and laid out a twelve-card spread. She pursed her lips.

“The cards are favourable,” she murmured. Then she tisked and gave an involuntary shudder. “But it’s going to come at a cost.” 

Ella knew Iris and Daisy had been worried for months now. Between the screws being turned by the council and the developer hounding them with offers, they’d been earnestly searching for answers in the cards. None of the answers had satisfied them. And the mysterious dreams of yellow gold still taunted Iris with their elusive meaning.

Ella knew deep down that Iris’s unease came from a gut feeling that was far from frivolous and she felt a corresponding itch up her spine. She trusted Iris’s intuition — she’d trust it with her life. As someone who drew the eight of swords on a freakishly regular basis, Ella the maths geek had learned that there were some things you just couldn’t quantify.

But for now she chose to latch onto Iris’s statement about the cards being favourable.

“You should both come to watch the final matches,” Pete said to Daisy and Iris. “The Demons need all the support we can muster.”

Daisy cackled. “I’m sure Cam would love that, his two freaky old pseudo aunts showing up.”

“We could rustle you up some jerseys, couldn’t we, Jake?”

Jake nodded and took a gulp of his frosty beer. “Sure.”

“We need to stay put,” Daisy elaborated. “The council is sending around some inspector.”

“What the fuck?” Rosie interjected. Simon’s brow crinkled. “Why didn’t you tell us? What now?”

Iris and Daisy traded a look. “It’s nothing. They say they’ve had complaints about the structural integrity of the house. They claim it may not be safe for habitation.” Daisy waved a dismissive hand. “They’re clutching at straws.”

Ella wasn’t so sure about that. In the years she’d been living here the house had become saggier; the floorboards shifted alarmingly and the kitchen seemed to sink a little each year. The house was always needing something repaired — a leaking roof, recalcitrant plumbing, dodgy wiring — which they could keep up with, but major renovations were beyond them, financially.

The double mortgage was crippling even with both her and Rosie’s incomes.

A prickle of alarm burst the precarious bubble that had formed around her since the big win. First her school and now this. What on earth had she done to the universe to bring two such ugly threats down on their heads?

“That’s harassment,” Rosie fumed. She turned to Simon. “Can’t you do something about this?”

Simon, who’d been surreptitiously feeding a returned Cerberus, looked at her, alarmed. “Rosie...”

“Your father works for the mayor, for God’s sake! You must be able to pull some strings.”

Simon shook his head, his frown deepening. “Rosie...I can’t ...everything my father does has to be above board. Above reproach.”

He squirmed in his seat a little and Ella felt sorry for him being put on the spot. It couldn’t have been easy for Simon being a part of a political dynasty, being raised by a scandal-phobic mother.

“Some journo would find out and the papers would have a field day. My father could lose his job. My mother would break out in hives. Not to mention any whiff of impropriety could be used against me in the future.”

“Of course, sorry,” Rosie said, suddenly contrite as if she too knew that she’d been unfair to him.

Simon gave her a gentle smile. “Do you think they have a case?” he asked Daisy.

“Well, it can’t be denied, the house could do with some work.”

“I take it there’s no money to fix what needs to be fixed?” Jake asked, directing his query to the aunts.

“We stopped taking in boarders when the girls arrived,” Iris explained. The house has been mortgaged twice since. Thank the stars for Ella and Rosie. They pay that.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “The only reason you have a mortgage at all is because of us.” The way she saw it, she owed them big time.

Daisy waved the statement away. “That’s only part of the reason. Don’t forget little Stevie’s treatment cost a bomb and anyway, you both needed an education.”

“What about the competitions?” Simon suggested. “If you don’t mind me saying, you ladies are extraordinarily lucky. Why don’t you enter some money-based ones?”

Iris, whose attention had been snagged by Cerberus scratching at the patch under the wattle tree again, snapped her head back, looking at Simon as if he’d just sacrificed a lorikeet at the table.

“We never enter cash comps,” she said, utterly scandalised. “It’s very bad karma. Very bad.” She picked up the deck and rubbed the top one with her thumbs. “We don’t want for anything. We have a roof over our head and food in our bellies. We only enter the competitions the cards tell us to.”

Simon blinked and Ella almost laughed out loud. She could tell he was wondering why in hell the card told them to enter comps for twelve refrigerators, five big screen televisions, hundreds of clocks and three sets of ceramic flying ducks.

“Maybe if you entered some car comps?” he persisted. “Then you could sell it?”

The explanation only seemed to confuse him further so he lapsed into silence as Rosie asked, “So when are we expecting these council dudes?”

Daisy shrugged. “They don’t tell you. But we’re going to be here when they do. If they’re going to erect razor wire and keep out signs, they’ve got to drag us out kicking and screaming first.”

“It won’t come to that,” Ella said vehemently. “I promise. If we can save a school...” She glanced at Jake who was staring at her with his steady green gaze. She couldn’t have done it without him. “We can save a house.”

Half an hour later Jake stood to leave. He didn’t want to, he was enjoying himself too much. The company was great, laughter flowed. Daisy had put on an old Ella Fitzgerald record and now the colourful parrots had flown away for the night it was just “Mack the Knife” and the crickets.

It was decidedly mellow. After three beers, the mood fit the buzz quite nicely. But Ella hadn’t stopped chewing on her damn lip and it was driving him nuts. Her hair was loose, her skivvy tight.

Just because he was still pissed at her didn’t mean he didn’t want to take that bottom lip between his own teeth and devour it.

Libido had no pride.

He needed to get the hell away. He made his goodbyes nodding to Ella as he left.

“Wait up. I’ll see you out,” she said.

Jake stiffened a little, giving an internal groan before gesturing for her to precede him. Her ass swayed all the way up the hallway in front of him. The same ass he dreamed about — soft and smooth beneath his hands.

Dragging his thoughts back, he called goodbye to Cameron and Miranda as Ella walked out the door. He followed her outside and along the path, the night darker beneath the loom of the towering Poincianas.

She stopped at the gate. So did he. A weird vibe descended. She seemed like she wanted to say something. Part of Jake urged him to run but the message didn’t seem to be getting through to his legs. The faint strains of A Fine Romance reached them and he had the craziest impulse to take her in his arms and waltz her along the darkened path.

He curled his fingers into fists. “Ella Fitzgerald, huh?”

She nodded. “They play it for me. They know Rachel named me after her, that she was a huge fan.”

It was on the tip of Jake’s tongue to tell her he knew. How many times had he been to Rachel’s while Ms. Fitzgerald crooned the blues? But given what had happened last time he’d mentioned being at the house, he didn’t feel so inspired.

“You didn’t have to walk me out.”

Ella gathered her wits. His voice was low in the quiet shadows and he smelled just like she remembered. “I know. I just wanted to say...thank you. I didn’t get a chance to say it after the match.”

“There was a bit of a crush.”

Ella half-smiled at the understatement. “Well, anyway

...thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Oh, I think I do.” 

Yeh. It wasn’t exactly something she’d been quiet about.

Ella swallowed, suddenly nervous. Jake’s face was in complete shadow making him look even more forbidding than he had in the previous months. But there was something else she needed to say.

She took a breath and plunger in. “I also wanted to say that I’m okay with the...you know...the Rachel thing. It was a shock...I never thought...Anyway. You were a teenager and... that’s what teenage boys in Huntley did.”

Ella was surprised, even years later how much the knowledge still hurt. Trying to reconcile the woman who had danced with her to the dulcet strains of Blue Moon when she’d been little to the woman the town knew her as, was a conundrum she’d never really wrapped her head around.

Her apology was not greeted with the relief or rapture she’d hoped for. It may have been dark but she could still see the sudden stiffening of Jake’s frame as he looked down at her for the longest time. “Goodnight, Ella,” he said, his lips terse as he yanked the gate open and stalked away.

***

As if Ella’s mood wasn’t flat enough, Bernie delivered another yellow envelope to her on Monday morning.

Dear Ms Lucas — blah blah. We note your numbers have dropped by a further six — blah blah. You need to present to Education HQ in two weeks — blah blah. Show cause as to why Hanniford shouldn’t be shut at the end of the year.

Blah, blah, blah. Blah.

Ella’s heart thundered in her chest. No praise for her vastly improved truancy figures. No mention that the reason her numbers had dropped was that two of her families had parents who were in the armed forces and had moved to another post.

They couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t let them. Not when Hanniford had come so far.

Before she could fully think it through she lifted the phone. “Bernie, can you find me a number for the Western Suburbs Post please.”

She’d promised Jake no press but this was just a local free paper, not big enough to make a fuss though popular with the locals. It was time to tap the fledgling support the Demons had birthed and get the wider community involved.

It was time to go public. Jake would just have to suck it up.