You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (best fiction novels .TXT) 📕

their eyes. They would not be permitted to openly sympathise. Megan knows – from her own job – how hard it can be to maintain that veneer of professionalism.

‘I’m starving,’ her brother says, his long arms raised in the air as he yawns. ‘What are we doing about food?’

Eating at home is out of the question: no tables or chairs, an almost empty fridge. Roslyn is going to a friend’s sixtieth tonight, so they’re on their own. The friend is a close one and Roslyn couldn’t pull out, despite being distressed to learn that they’d had yet another visit from police.

‘They came again? I’m their suspect? Me? Oh my God, they’re hopeless.’

Roslyn was wearing her work uniform: white blouse, navy trousers, wild eyes.

Megan asked her about the motorcycle café.

‘Never set foot in the place,’ Roslyn declared. ‘Don’t tell me they think I paid one of those bikies to knock off William Newson? Hopeless! No idea what they’re doing. Then or now!’

Megan has to agree. The idea of her mum consorting with bikies is preposterous. The suggestion that she paid for a contract killing is beyond preposterous; it’s impossible.

‘There’s no money,’ she explained this morning. ‘Our financial situation is dire.’

‘It can be surprisingly cheap to hire these people,’ Bridget Kennedy countered.

‘There’s no money. For anything.’

Bridget and her colleague understood by the time Megan finished explaining. Sympathy was written on their faces; they didn’t need to express it with words.

‘You choose the restaurant,’ Megan replies now to her brother. ‘But there’s somewhere I want to go after we’ve eaten.’

Seb raises an eyebrow. ‘The pub? Sounds good to me.’

She laughs and shakes her head. ‘Not the pub. There’s a fight I want to see …’

It’s been on her mind since Vince mentioned it last weekend, with Jess chiming in. Something shifted in Megan. Everything had been dredged to the surface: her repressed shame, sadness, anger. The invitation felt like a new door opening up. The invitation felt like it was originating from Jess, not Vince.

‘It’s at the community hall in Artarmon. Just two amateurs, as far as I know, but it means something to Jess, and I wouldn’t mind going along …’

Seb holds her gaze in the murky light of the garage. He knows what this is. A step towards reconciliation. A show of solidarity. He always had time for Jess, and she would be stoked to see him, too.

‘I’m up for that,’ he says with a crooked smile. ‘Just need a shower before we head out.’

*

Megan is waiting for him when he comes out of the shower, the pieces of paper – evidence – laid out on the kitchen countertop. She found them in the recycling bin, the distinctive font catching her eye: the AVO, in roughly torn pieces.

‘Seb, in here,’ she calls when she hears the bathroom door.

Her brother materialises, bare-chested, droplets of water on his shoulders and chest. She has the sudden sensation of not knowing who he is, what thoughts are in his head, what he is capable of doing. She feels stupid, for so readily dismissing the AVO, her actions belatedly approving the violence.

Megan indicates the jagged pieces of paper. ‘Why did you tear up the AVO? Were you trying to hide it from the police?’

He’s startled, caught off guard. His eyes jump around guiltily.

‘No. The cops would have it on their database, if they looked.’

‘Why then?’

He thinks for a moment. ‘I heard the knock on the door, the warrant being read out, and I knew the cops would find it pretty quickly – there’s not much here, is there? I didn’t care about them, I cared about Mum; I didn’t want her finding out like that. So, I hid it in my clothes, recycled it later on.’ He grins, more sure of himself now. ‘Great detective work, Megs. Maybe you should change career.’

55

JESS

Natasha gives Jess and Alex a lift home. The atmosphere in the car is horror-stricken. Nobody makes a sound, not even Lucy. Some situations can’t be adequately responded to with words. Waking up naked on bloodstained sheets. A sombre-faced doctor stating that you’ve suffered too many concussions to continue fighting. The sight of a sniffer dog wandering around your parents’ back garden, trying to detect the smell of a decaying body.

‘See you tonight,’ Natasha says, squeezing Jess’s arm before she gets out of the car.

Jess is confused, before remembering that her sister is coming to watch the fight. What seemed like an excellent idea yesterday is now bordering on absurd. Right now, Jess can’t even see herself at the fight. She can barely think straight, see-sawing between incredulity and horror.

Inside the apartment, she checks the time. Less than two hours to go. How can she coach Billy in this frame of mind? How can she remind him to keep his knees over his feet, and not get lazy with his hands? How can she assess the technical weaknesses of his opponent?

Alex is as shaken as her. He begins pacing around the living room. ‘Your mum and dad kept looking at me like I was some kind of fuckin’ murderer.’

This isn’t true. Jess knows because she was watching them carefully. Margaret behaved like she always does when she’s under threat: she goes cold. Richard was unnerved, yes, but his reaction was justified and not specifically directed towards Alex.

‘They weren’t, Alex, they really weren’t.’ Jess has collapsed on to the sofa; she doesn’t have the strength to stand. ‘Anyway, they’re under just as much suspicion as you are. In theory, any one of you could be out to avenge what happened to me.’

Alex is circling; she has never seen him so agitated. ‘I’m not denying I wouldn’t smash O’Shea in the face if I ever met him, but murdering and burying him …’ He shudders at the thought. ‘Fuck’s sake, I can’t even handle it when I stumble across a dead animal.’

Alex has upended the grave of many a deceased pet during the course of his work. He’s a lot softer than his appearance would