‘It’s just in case,’ said Logan to Troy. ‘Dad doesn’t even want a lawyer.’
‘In case what?’ cried Troy. ‘In case he’s guilty of murder?’
Jacob was frozen on the spot, his hands slippery under the baking dish.
‘She’s my mother too,’ hissed Brooke. She slammed her fist so hard on the table that it rocked and Logan had to catch the side to stop it falling. ‘You live half your life in America and don’t even call her for weeks on end!’
‘I call her all the time!’
‘You do not!’
‘Well, the truth is none of us had called her lately,’ murmured Amy at the same time as Logan sighed heavily and said, ‘This is getting us nowhere.’
Troy stood up abruptly. He did a double-take when he saw Jacob standing on the lawn like a loon. ‘Hi, Jacob.’
‘Sorry,’ said Jacob idiotically. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt. Mum asked me to bring this casserole for your dad.’ He held it out as proof and the glass lid wobbled alarmingly. My mother overcooked it on the off-chance your dad is a murderer.
‘Whoa.’ Troy stepped off the veranda and grabbed the baking dish from him. ‘That’s really nice of your mum, tell her thank you.’
‘I’ll get Dad for you,’ said Amy. ‘We’re all just waiting for him to clean up. He’s inside, uh, painting the bathroom.’
‘Like you do,’ said Troy. He held the baking dish easily under one arm like a football. ‘When your wife is missing. Great time to renovate.’
‘Jesus, Troy,’ said Logan under his breath.
‘Don’t disturb your dad. I’ll leave you to it.’ Jacob backed away fast. ‘I hope – I hope you get good news soon.’ He held up two tightly crossed fingers. Like a fool.
The four Delaney siblings looked back at him gravely. They did not look like people expecting good news anytime soon. They looked like people waiting for a funeral to start.
As he walked back to his mother’s place he wondered what could have happened last Christmas that was either relevant or irrelevant to the police.
He’d been here visiting his mother at Christmas. He had not heard or seen anything untoward from across the road.
His thoughts turned to a long-ago Christmas Day, when he was around ten or eleven and he somehow ended up at the Delaneys’ place, umpiring a late-afternoon doubles match between the four siblings, who had all received various types of tennis gear for Christmas that they wanted to try out.
‘Don’t let my awful children take advantage of you, Jacob!’ Joy had called out, but Jacob loved umpiring the Delaney matches. He knew all the rules because his dad was a sports nut, and so Jacob was a sports nut too. He felt as powerful as God up there on the high umpire’s chair, with a bird’s-eye view, able to see every mistake. He put on a loud, grave voice, imitating the umpires on TV, and the Delaneys didn’t even make fun of him. They appreciated the effort.
It was Logan and Brooke playing Troy and Amy, and at that time they were evenly matched, although they shouldn’t have been, because Brooke, although clearly talented, was just a little kid and Amy was a teen, an incredible player, but Amy was hampered by Troy, who made stupid errors in between flashes of brilliance, and they were up against Logan, who at fourteen had the power and speed of a man, and made the court look small.
The match went on and on, until Jacob’s dad came over to collect him because dinner was on the table, but then his dad, being his dad, got caught up in the match.
Joy and Stan set up picnic chairs. The two grandmothers tottered out in high heels carrying gin and tonics and cigarettes. Stan gave Jacob’s dad a beer. The sky turned pink. The four children played as if lives were at stake.
Jacob couldn’t remember who won. He just remembered their passion and their talent. He still loved witnessing the combination of passion and talent, in any endeavour, whether it was sport or musical theatre. The grown-ups were respectfully silent during each rally and then applauded like they were watching a grand slam. The Delaney kids fed off their applause. They punched the air. They roared with delight. They fell to their knees. It felt like Jacob was part of something big and important.
‘Remarkable family,’ Jacob’s dad marvelled on their way back across the road to a cold dinner and a rather cross mother. ‘Your umpiring was top-notch, Jacob.’
It occurred to Jacob that a man who could take such pleasure in watching someone else’s children compete in a backyard tennis match would probably have quite liked at least one athletic child of his own, rather than the two uncoordinated, academic kids he got.