Jacob turned off the main onto the side road towards Tranquil Waters, glad The Palace had called shotgun, leaving Rachel to sleep in the back seat. Every time he’d looked in the mirror over the past three hours of the drive home, he’d seen her sleeping upright, her head tucked against the seatbelt and the side of the car, her eyes shut. She looked so peaceful, the opposite of the churn in his gut.
‘I reckon you were right about that punter’s club, mate.’ The Palace’s voice suddenly turned serious, after three hours of jests about Rachel, and life in general. His charm had made the hours pass quickly, musing on everything from what they could have done better in their semi-final loss, to the latest news story he’d seen on the net.
‘Why’s that, mate?’
‘There have been a couple of big losses over the last two weeks. I mean, I guess it was too good to last forever, but the dude on the email reckons we should invest more for the upcoming big spring races. Really hit them hard.’
Jacob gritted his teeth. Why would a fake punter’s club falsify a loss deliberately?
‘What’s your gut feel?’
‘I don’t know, mate. I mean, I’ve already put a bunch of cash in, and had some profits back, so I kind of want to keep the good times going. But—’ The Palace paused, a note of uncertainty underlining his usual charm.
‘But what?’
‘All the betting ads say “don’t chase your losses”, except doesn’t that mean that I’ll lose everything I’ve put in already?’
Jacob flicked a glance at his friend to see the deep furrow between his brows.
‘Can you withdraw your initial cash?’ he asked.
‘What? Like pull out completely?’ The Palace scratched his head, the sound of his fingertips on his skull resonating loudly in the car.
‘If you think it’s going bad, isn’t that the best way?’
‘But what if he’s right, and they win big on the next few weekends?’
Jacob sighed, trying to concentrate on the road rather than shake some sense into his friend.
‘And what if your gut feel is right, and the whole thing is fucked? What do you have to lose if you pull out now?’
‘All the next winnings.’ The Palace sounded completely rational as he said the most irrational, unlikely thing. Jacob blinked.
‘Your choice, mate, but I tell you one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You can’t trust anyone in horse racing. They are all dodgy.’
‘Is that right?’ Rachel’s voice flowed across the back of his neck, making his hair stand up. He cleared his throat as The Palace laughed mercilessly.
‘Not you. I mean … well, shit.’ His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He’d grown up with the legends of horse racing, the rumours in the paper, the betting scandals, the same as anyone else in Australia. He’d never realised just how personal his assumptions could get, or how deeply he believed it with no real evidence.
‘Jacob, you idiot. Not everyone in racing is dodgy, Fine Cotton was a one off.’ The Palace kept laughing under his breath. ‘I’m sure your girlfriend and her family are cool.’
‘Fine Cotton was decades ago, surely no one remembers that anymore. The rules have changed since then anyway, so you can’t do that type of ring-in, not with DNA testing and microchips.’
‘See, just like she said.’ The Palace chuckled. Jacob’s jaw ached, and he tried to relax it.
‘Besides, you can’t judge a whole industry on one scam forty years ago, especially when they got caught. Is the entire AFL dodgy because one team got caught drugging their players?’ she asked.
The Palace barked out a hard laugh, making Jacob’s head throb, ‘She’s got you there. As soon as you have a competition to win, some asshole is going to try and cheat. Happens in all sports.’
‘That’s why we have the stewards, and why you have some sort of governing body,’ Rachel said.
‘Okay, okay. There’s no need to gang up on me!’ Jacob wiped his palms on his jeans, one hand at a time, alternating his grip on the steering wheel. ‘I guess it’s just that it sounds dodgy, the idea of giving someone your money to bet with it, and not telling you the bets until afterwards.’
‘Yeah, but if it was a scam, why did he lose for the last two weekends?’ The Palace asked.
Rachel laughed, a loud raucous cackle, ‘Because he wants you to think it’s not a scam. I’m sorry, Palace, this punter’s club is totally a scam.’
‘Didn’t you just defend horse racing?’ The Palace asked the question Jacob wanted to.
‘Horse racing—not betting. I know they are intertwined, and people are always trying to beat the bookies. The horses are solid. It’s virtually impossible to cheat nowadays, the underworld of the pre-computing era is gone. Too many regulations now,’ Rachel said. The Palace twisted in his seat to stare at her, while Jacob slowed the car as they came towards an intersection.
‘You sound like you miss it,’ The Palace asked.
‘No. I like it the way it is now. I like knowing that I’m as safe as possible when riding, that’s why I’d never ride in America, their drug rules are nuts. It’s just me and a horse versus other horses. I don’t have to stress that another jockey might be being paid to get in my way, or that my horse might be not completely fit for the job. The stewards have access to all the records. It’s much fairer now than the old days when no one had computers to track betting trends, and when drug testing was hopeless. What I miss is the stories—the way everyone used to do the form and follow the horses. Back when everyone was a fan, and the horses were superstars. Now we have to compete with a million other types of entertainment,’ Rachel paused, ‘—like the AFL.’
‘I understand and apologise for the assumption. I guess it’s just one of those things, the legend is different to reality.’ Jacob still couldn’t shake the worry that being involved with Rachel would have an impact on his clean reputation. If he’d assumed, probably wrongly, that racing’s reputation was real, then so would everyone else, and that might rub off on his reputation.
‘Blah, blah. None of that helps me work out what I should do,’ The Palace spoke into the awkward silence which had descended on the car.
‘It depends,’ Rachel said.
‘On what?’ Jacob spoke in unison with The Palace.
‘Assuming this club is a scam, and not just some blokes having fun, you need to decide if you want to get your money back quietly, or if you want to bring the whole scheme down.’
‘Assuming?’
Rachel sighed, a loud exhale, ‘I think it’s a scam. I trust Toshiko’s view on this, however, if you are unsure, then you have the third option.’
‘Which is?’ The Palace’s voice rose hopefully.
‘Carry on. See what happens. But if you are wrong, and if it’s a scam, you risk losing everything.’
‘I don’t like that option.’ The Palace sounded a bit petulant. ‘Are you sure about this? I mean, what if it’s all good, and they win big over the carnival, and I miss out?’
‘It’s a possibility.’ Rachel rolled her eyes, and Jacob smiled as he caught her expression in the rear-view mirror. ‘An impossibly slim possibility.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Gossip.’
‘It is a scam. Holy shit, I have to get my money out now. What have you heard?’
‘Okay, so that’s the crux of the issue. There is virtually no racing gossip about this at all. Racing loves a pro-punter, and if this guy running the punter’s club was actually a success, everyone would be talking about him. The only people who have shown any sign of weirdness are that tosser Driscoll, and …’ Rachel gasped. ‘And my agent, Matthew. That was pretty odd actually, he didn’t mention the punter’s club specifically, but he did warn me to stay away from Driscoll. But then, that could be simply because Driscoll is foul and Matthew doesn’t want me to get hurt.’
‘So it’s this Driscoll guy who is running it, then?’ Jacob said. He turned into the driveway of his parent’s small farm, the tyres rattling as he drove over the cattle stop.
‘He’s the best bet.’
‘Tell me about him.’
Rachel breathed in sharply, ‘You remember at the races the other day, when Darnation won, you said you recognised him after he had a go at me after the protest.’
‘Is he the guy who was standing beside you? Yeah, I’ve seen him somewhere before.’ The Palace started rubbing his eyebrow.
‘Where?’ Jacob asked.
‘Mate, if you badger me about it, I’ll never remember.’ The Palace shrugged tightly.
‘Yeah, give me something concrete, and we can take it to the stewards. They can investigate.’ Rachel waved her hand in a dismissive action, and Jacob wondered if she cared about anything except herself. He still didn’t understand how Allira could be such good friends with her, unless it was simply her bold energy that attracted Allira. His sister was just like his mother, nurturing, caring, full of empathy for everyone, while Rachel had a don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about people, seemingly only caring about her career and success. Luckily they were just having great sex, a bit of fun, nothing too serious, because Rachel was nothing like the person he’d imagined he’d end up with.
‘Why is the field all yellow?’
‘Oh, Dad experiments with growing local plants for market. There are loads of restaurants in Melbourne who want bush tucker, so he’s figuring out which ones are best to grow, and which ones people want to eat.’ Jacob wondered if he should go into any detail about the yellow daisy yams in that field, or the purple Glossodia orchids that Dad was trying to grow in commercial quantities.
‘Cool. Yeah, bush tucker is going to be the next big thing, I reckon,’ The Palace said.
‘What would you know?’ Rachel asked. Could he hear a sneer in her voice? It matched the one in his head, wondering if the world would ever value his culture like he did.
‘Mate—I eat. I read the paper.’ The Palace slapped him lightly on the shoulder, a gesture of solidarity. ‘Laugh as much as you want, but I reckon it’s cool that the world finally wants to understand.’
‘Just the digestible bits, though,’ Jacob scoffed.
‘Ha, nice pun. Sure, small steps, though mate.’
Jacob ground his teeth, he didn’t want this conversation right before getting out of the car to see his parents. And the idea of introducing Rachel to his folks had seemed easy back in Melbourne; right now his stomach tightened. Maybe he should have dropped her at her farm first, not invited her to lunch with his parents.
His parents stood on the front porch of the small wooden cottage, his dad’s arm casually slung around his mum’s waist. They’d always been solid, his parents, the perfect loving relationship, even in the hardest times. He remembered the arguments they’d had when he’d won his scholarship—both of them trying to work out what was best for him—stay close with the family for loving support, or take the opportunity. Every weekend, they’d taken the bus into the city to spend time with him, dragging Allira with them, so he’d never missed out on family time while he lived away. And every holidays he’d come home to their little rented place on the edge of Tranquil Waters; his dad working as a farm contractor, and his mum cleaning people’s houses, all to give him and Allira the best chance at a good life. Life had been tough for them, and good for him because they’d cared for him. Seeing them together was a stark reminder that their life was the life he wanted—the good life wasn’t about success on the sporting field, or a clean reputation and a law degree. It was about a nurturing relationship, true love, and finding someone who cared deeply about you. Rachel bounced out of the car, and he followed her as she virtually ran up the steps to see his parents. His mum threw a hug around her.
‘Rachel Bassett, how are you?’ Mum said. Rachel’s answer was all muffled.
‘Is Allira looking after you?’
Rachel stepped back out of the hug and shook Dad’s hand. ‘I can look after myself, Mrs Mullagh. Your place is looking great.’
‘Son.’ Dad stepped forward and threw his arms around him. Jacob loved the way his parents were so openly affectionate, with each other, and with him. He hadn’t given much thought to the future of his burgeoning relationship with Rachel, but seeing his parents made him want what they had.
‘How’s the knee?’ Dad stepped back a bit, glancing down at the injured MCL.
Jacob smiled, ‘It’s fine. A minor tear, nothing that time won’t heal.’
‘How much time?’
‘Doc says about ten weeks.’
‘And he’s given you a program to work on?’
‘She. The team doc is a she, Dad. And yes, she’s put together a program to strengthen up the support system while letting the ligament heal. It should be fine for the pre-season.’
Dad shook his head, ‘Allira would be mad at my assumption.’ He smiled ruefully.
‘Probably.’ Jacob grinned, seeing his sister’s expression last night in the hallway, which naturally brought the image of Rachel, nude and feisty, to the front of his mind. He swallowed.
‘Let me introduce Willem Grandhomme, Dad, we call him The Palace.’
‘Hey.’ The Palace waved his hand awkwardly, then shook Dad’s hand as he stuck it out. ‘Great to meet you.’
‘The Palace? And what does the team call Jacob?’
‘They call me Lawless.’ Jacob spoke with quiet resignation.
‘Is that one of those ironic names?’ Mum interjected.
Rachel laughed, a deep throaty one, ‘Yeah, like how Melbourne’s memorial to Harold Holt is a swimming pool.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Who is Harold Holt?’ The Palace asked.
‘He was the Prime Minister, ages ago, like way before I was born. Anyway, he drowned while swimming at the beach, so of course, we now have the Harold Holt Memorial Swimming Pool,’ Rachel said.
‘I thought everyone knew that,’ Jacob said. ‘I used to swim there for school carnivals. You’ve been there, Mum.’
‘Not all of us went to a fancy private school, Jacob.’ The Palace said with an over-the-top wink.
‘Scholarship. Look around, Mr Grandhomme, you think we could afford a school like that without some footy club wanting sports stars?’ Mum said.
‘It’s okay, Mum, The Palace is jesting. He always makes dumb jokes whenever he’s uncomfortable.’
The Palace shoved him on the shoulder, ‘Says you. Lawless here always refers to the data and the precision of language whenever he’s bothered by something. He’s the worst to argue with—why do you think we call him Lawless? Because he’s a goddamned lawyer about everything.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’
‘Hey, you two. Stop bickering. Come inside for lunch.’ Mum disappeared inside the cottage, and Rachel followed, stopping to take off her boots and leave them beside the front door in a neat pair.
‘And take off your shoes, just like Miss Bassett here. Her manners are excellent,’ Mum’s voice called out from inside the house.
‘Just well trained, Mrs Mullagh.’ Rachel followed his mother inside the house, leaving him standing next to The Palace and his father on the dusty driveway.
‘We’d better go in as well. You know your mother, she heard you had two friends coming and she’s gone slightly overboard with the lunch. I hope you are hungry.’
‘Always, Dad.’
‘Jacob says you grow Indigenous foods. Do we get to sample some?’ The Palace asked.
Jacob couldn’t make out his dad’s expression. ‘The Palace is a big foodie, he follows all the trends.’
‘Excellent. Let’s talk some shop, and after lunch, you can taste-test some new fruits I’ve been growing in the greenhouse.’ Dad thumped The Palace on the back, then waved them both inside. ‘Don’t forget your shoes, boys.’
‘I wouldn’t dare, Mr Mullagh.’ The Palace had a little tinge of awe in his voice as he walked up the three wooden steps onto the porch. Jacob saw one of the steps wobble, and he turned to his dad.
‘Dad, do you mind if I stay out here in a few weeks. I can do some maintenance around the house for you.’
‘I’m capable of fixing my own stairs, son.’
‘I know. But I also know you’d rather be in your greenhouse and your fields. Let me help a little with the boring stuff, free you up for the things that matter to you.’
‘You’re a good son, Jacob. Just as your Rachel is a good friend to Allira,’ Dad said.
‘She’s not my Rachel.’ Jacob’s mouth suddenly parched as he realised he might want her to be.
‘That’s not what Allira says.’
‘Ha, you can’t trust gossip, Dad. Rachel and I are just having a bit of fun. It’s not serious.’
His father roared with laughter, throwing his head back, ‘That’s what I said about your mother, and now I get to look back at thirty amazing years with an incredible woman.’ ‘Hmmm.’ Jacob made an uncommitted sound. His parent’s relationship had stood the test of time and thrived even during the toughest of days. It set an impossible benchmark for himself—he’d long ago figured he’d never find someone to love in the same way his parents found each other.
‘She’s got a lot of energy, she’ll be good for you.’
‘Let’s go and eat. We don’t want to disappoint Mum,’ Jacob said awkwardly, as his father continued to laugh. He wanted to know when Dad had known Mum was the one—he’d always assumed it’d been instant. He’d chased that instant connection, kind of, enjoying the thrill of the new beginnings over and over. Maybe it took time, like Dad said, it hadn’t been serious at the start, not until he fell. He followed him up the steps, taking his time to remove his shoes. He doubted he’d ever be as lucky as Dad.