Making Headlines (4 page)

Rachel shook her head. ‘It's okay, I already know I want your famous calamari,' she said, exchanging smiles with the waiter.

‘I'll do the same,' said Tim, closing the menu and passing it back.

After the waiter left, Rachel turned to Tim. ‘I'm flattered you've bought new clothes for our date when you haven't even landed a job yet.'

‘And you look lovely too.' Frowning, he leaned back, looking at her intently.

‘Oh, no,' she said. ‘That came out wrong. You look great.' And he did. Maybe her plan was a mistake?

‘Let's cut the small talk, Rach, and get to the point. Why did you so urgently want us to have lunch? This need of yours to
talk
?'

Rachel moved her chair closer to the table, looking down at her hands. ‘Well, this is the bit tricky. I'm not sure where to start really. I mean, things haven't been great between us, but I don't want you to think I'm breaking up with you or anything, because I'm not.'

‘Okay . . . This isn't sounding good.'

‘It's just that I've been thinking we need a bit of space. And you know how Mum and her boyfriend are in Europe right now? Well, they're away for six months and I thought it might be a good idea to move in with Lou and Neil for a bit to help mind the house and Betsy.'

‘Holy shit.' Tim sat back sharply in his chair. Rachel didn't know what to say.

‘Rach, I knew things were bad but I didn't think we were critical. So is this definite? You've made this decision without even discussing it?'

‘It's just to give us a mini-break. I'm sorry.' Oh God, she sounded so heartless.

Tim sat there staring at her. ‘Why don't you tell me what's really going on here?'

Guilt knifed at her gut. ‘Nothing's going on. It just seemed like a good solution.'

‘Why? I thought it was going really well.' He ran a hand through his hair again, his face tight.

‘But I haven't. There's a lot of issues . . .' she said. Only it wasn't his fault. The guilt chewed sharply.

‘Is it because I'm out of work? I'm trying my best, Rach.'

‘No, of course it's not that. The dope smoking is a bigger issue. I just think we need some space.'

‘I can work on that. Cut back. Make it just a thing I do with mates for special occasions.'

‘You've said that before but it doesn't happen. This way we could date again while you try and straighten out. Then it would be special when we have a night together. Like next week when I've been invited to the opening of
42nd Street
. I'd love you to come too.'

‘I don't know. You say we're not over, but it sounds like you're just delaying the inevitable.' He started rocking on the back legs of his chair.

‘Don't be silly. Come on, Tim, you've got to admit we do have some problems. Even though you got rid of those dope plants, just growing them without me knowing was a huge issue. Not to mention you constantly play computer games and we never do anything together. I want a partner to share a life with, not a flatmate.'

He stopped his chair with a bang as the legs hit the pavement. ‘We
do
share a life. What do you think we've been doing this last year? That's what happens when people live together. Reality kicks in and it's not always a Mills and Boon novel. What did you expect?'

‘I don't want roses every day, but just a dash of intelligent conversation that didn't centre on dragons and warlords might be nice.' Her voice grew louder.

‘Don't belittle me. You really can be horrible.'

‘This is what I mean. Too much bickering. We
really
need some space.'

Leaning back, he folded his arms. ‘So when are you leaving?'

‘Tomorrow.'

The waiter arrived with their lunch and there was silence as they began eating, apart from Tim banging the cutlery on his plate as he attacked his calamari.

‘So will you come to
42nd Street
with me?' asked Rachel. She wanted to ease the pain in his eyes.

‘Sure. Guess I'd better take what I can get,' he said without looking at her.

Rachel reached across and clasped his hand. ‘It'll be for the best. I know it will.'

His fractured smile wavered as he pulled his hand away. ‘Of course it will. It'll be just peachy.'

***

As Rachel hauled a heavy suitcase into her mother's home, she felt a lightness she hadn't experienced in years. Yes, she'd been gutless and backed down on breaking up with Tim, but at least she'd taken the first step. It had been a difficult conversation and an awkward twenty-four hours until moving out, but this moment was confirmation she'd made the right decision. She saw Lou striding up the hallway.

‘Don't think just because you've moved in that I'm going to do all your housework for you.' She wiped her hands on a tea towel.

‘Yoo hoo,' Rachel called back. ‘Lovely to see you too and what fabulous weather we're having.'

‘Yes, hi, hi, and all that.' Lou pecked her perfunctorily on the cheek. ‘You can sleep in your old room. I did have Josh in there but thought that might upset things before
we got started, so I've moved his cot to the guest room. At least it's just you. I couldn't stand it if Tim came too.'

‘Well, that's very good of you. Thanks.' Rachel pulled her case towards her room halfway down the hall and shut the door behind her.

It had been left largely untouched since she moved out of home more than a year ago. Her single bed, covered in pale blue floral linen, looked smaller than she remembered. She jumped onto it, snuggling under the doona, breathing in the smell of the eucalyptus washing powder her mother always used. It felt strange after sleeping in a double bed for more than a year. She wondered how her mother felt, sharing her bed with someone after being alone for so long. Brian was a decent man and seemed to adore her mother. He had a habit of making bad jokes, but that could have been his way of trying to impress them at their first meeting. At least he had plenty of money to pay for their holiday, and Rachel hoped they were having a wonderful time.

Here she was in a single bed. No longer would she be cuddling up to Tim, feeling the warmth of his body and the security of being with someone. Their relationship had worked so well in the beginning. And now she was back where she started. She went over to her built-in bookcase, running her fingers along the titles of her old friends. A childhood favourite, a picture book of
The Wizard of Oz
, sat alongside the classics, never to be discarded. A shelf above her desk filled with a collection of ornaments was in need of dusting. She picked up a small china vase with white porcelain roses. Her grandmother had brought it back from England. Coalport china, and very precious, she had said. Rachel stroked it ruefully, wondering what her grandmother would have thought about her trip to Sydney.

Heaving her suitcase onto her bed, she began unpacking. Her clothes were a mess. She'd hastily jammed everything in under pressure after Tim had said he'd leave the house for a couple of hours to give her some space. Even her mobile phone had died. She'd forgotten to put it on charge in the rush.

The house phone rang in the distance and Lou came running down the corridor to her room.

‘Rachel! Rach, it's your reporter friend, Derek Jacobsen. Says he's got a scoop for you.'

The timing was perfect. She'd been searching for a kick-arse story that would help her credibility as a serious reporter. She was impressed Derek was giving her a tip, but wondered why he didn't give it to Julia? Perhaps it was his way of thanking her for
setting them up together. Or was he embarrassed about his tirade on the shallowness of television news when she'd told him about her job at Channel Six?

***

The next day Rachel discovered Derek hadn't been exaggerating. It
was
a brilliant exposé. Back at her desk, her fingers flew as she tapped out the story with gusto.

We were met with an effusive greeting from State MP Leon Pannikos, who was keen to discuss his grandiose plans for the community to celebrate Greek Easter next year. However, he wasn't prepared for our questions about why a certain number of illegal immigrants had been granted visas to live in Australia.

From here, Rachel planned to let the interview do the talking. She'd laid three documents on his desk as evidence. ‘Here are three visas which belong to people who shouldn't be here and are now under investigation. And, to avoid harsh penalties, they've exposed you as the man who stamped their way through. For large sums of money.'

Mr Pannikos had exploded. ‘Nicola, show these people out! They're here under false pretences and want nothing more than to humiliate me! This is an outrage! How dare you, you, you . . .'

‘But Minister, surely you have an explanation for this? How much money were you paid?'

‘You get out of here. You get out of here right now.' Mr Pannikos stalked towards the camera, pushing his hand against the lens.

‘You're being very defensive, Minister. Don't you think some people might interpret your anger as an admission of guilt?' Rachel was flying. So was her notebook. He'd seized it from her hand, tore pages from the spine, and hurled it to the other side of the room. All in full view of the rolling camera.

Next she needed an editor to do the story justice. Warily, she walked into the editors' lounge. She still felt like a junior in high school approaching Year Twelves in the canteen, asking to sit at their table. The striking Mitch hadn't bothered to speak to her yet. Dressed in his regular jeans and a faded T-shirt, he was in his usual spot, leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, watching her. Surfer's arms. She'd heard him talk about weekends down the coast, and his sandy-coloured hair spoke of years in the sun. She'd also spotted his vintage orange Kombi in the staff car park. Rachel tried to avoid eye contact hoping one of the other editors would volunteer to help.

‘Hey, it's the kinder kid.' Mitch's words had an amused edge and she was forced to look his way. His blue eyes held hers and took her to a hot day at the beach.

He sauntered closer. ‘Heard they're putting your story in the first break. Could even make lead, so I might see if I can do something with it.' He stretched out a hand to take her disc. An athletic physique, broken nose and scornful charm doubled the impact of his good looks.

‘Thanks,' she said lightly.

She recorded her voice then joined him in the dimly lit editing booth. The small space had never seemed so intimate. Their thighs were almost touching. Heat seemed to radiate between them. Rachel wondered if he had this effect on all the women he worked with or if it was just her. His hands danced over the complex technology, pushing a myriad of buttons and turning dials. The story was coming together. It was like building a mini-movie, piece by piece. She sensed his excitement as tension built to the crescendo when Leon hurled her notebook against the wall. Mitch's fingers moved faster, and now their thighs were almost rubbing together as they talked excitedly about which shots should go where.

‘Yes!' Mitch cried, as the last frame was locked in. ‘Kicking goals. You might have what it takes after all, Rach.'

He squeezed her knee. Rachel glowed. Their eyes met again, but it was something beyond Mitch's head, on the wall behind him, that caught her attention. In a dark corner was a collection of posters. Playboy posters of women with pneumatic breasts. She removed his hand. His eyes, still playful, became surprised and he turned to see what she'd been looking at. Rachel stood up stiffly and marched out the door.

Mitch went to grab her hand. ‘Rach, we haven't even . . .'

She turned back. ‘You know what, Mitch,' she began, ‘I thought you were some kind of editing guru. But after checking out your taste in interior design, turns out you're just a bogan with the charisma of a lentil.'

Without giving him a chance to respond, Rachel returned to her desk. Damn, she'd done it again — said too much, too soon. Why couldn't she think before opening her mouth? Still, girlie posters in the office? If she ended her relationship with Tim, the calibre of single males on the market wasn't looking great. But that wasn't a good enough reason to stay in a relationship that wasn't working.

She was sorting through some paperwork when her mobile rang.

‘So how's life as a singleton going?' asked Kate.

‘I'm not single. Well, not yet anyway. Although I'm wondering if I should be.'

‘Ah ha! A good enough reason for us all to head to the Dogs Bar next week. Evie and I can help workshop your relationship crisis.'

‘Great,' said Rachel. ‘Advice from two women who can barely hold down a man for more than a month.'

‘Easy, girlfriend. That counts for experience, which makes me a
very
wise counsellor. How's Thursday?'

‘Perfect, I'll see you there.' The news theme began in the background and reporters gathered to watch the bulletin. ‘Got to fly, Kate. My story's about to go to air. My first decent scoop.'

She joined her colleagues and tried to appear calm. Her story had made it to lead. Jack Nolan read the introduction as if they were breaking the Watergate scandal. As it played out, Rachel had to admit Mitch had done a great job. He had good instincts.

When the story finished, there were murmurs of congratulations. Even Ned, the head producer, said she'd done a great job. She felt someone standing beside her. Mitch.

‘Yes, not a bad effort from the new kid on the block,' he agreed, addressing the others around her. ‘Only problem is, as an investigative journo, she'll have to stop jumping to conclusions and get her facts right.' He turned to Rachel and lowered his voice. ‘Like accusing someone of putting up girlie posters when an editor might actually be working in someone else's edit suite.' He stared at Rachel, raising one eyebrow. There were titters among the reporters.