Making Headlines (3 page)

‘Oh, I'm so sorry,' said Evie. ‘But I guess it hasn't been good for a while, has it? Does he know? He'll be shattered.'

‘I haven't decided yet,' said Rachel. ‘I'm just
thinking
about it.'

‘I thought your sister was living there with Neil and their kid?' said Kate.

‘They are while they're renovating, but Mum has always left my room intact. She never thought of me as having fully moved out, so I'm always free to go back. In fact, she likes the idea of Lou and I spending more time together.' Rachel grimaced. Lou had become increasingly prickly since Rachel started her job with Network Six.

‘But how long is your mum away?' asked Kate. ‘Is it really worth the hassle of moving all your stuff?'

‘Well, she'll be gone for at least six months. She and Brian are taking a European cruise, then stopping in Italy for a bit.'

Evie squirmed in her chair. ‘But what about Tim? I mean, apart from being out of work, has he done something wrong?'

‘Well, no . . .' Rachel hesitated. ‘Actually, yes. He's just not there when I need him. He won't come to things like Josh's third birthday, or work dinners. Even when I got the job at Six and wanted to celebrate, it was like he didn't care. And then last night I found out he's growing dope in our backyard.'

‘How much?' asked Kate. ‘I mean, just one or two plants is no big deal, is it?'

‘Yes it is!' declared Evie.' That's terrible, Rach, that could really get you into trouble.'

While her friends argued, she realised she couldn't bring herself to tell them there was another big, fat reason for some space. It was her fault, as well as Tim's. Guilt. A big, fat rock of guilt pressing down on her and making time with Tim unbearable. Sometimes she blamed Mary Masterson, even though she knew that was irrational. But if Mary's child hadn't suddenly needed an operation, Rachel would never have been asked to go in her place to Sydney to compete in
Celebrity Battlefield
. Then she would never have met Damien. ‘Let's not talk about it right now,' she said. ‘What about you, Evie? How's work?'

‘Still on
Les Mis
and loving it.' Evie leaned forward, smiling. ‘I've been meaning to ask you, have you talked to anyone at your makeup department yet?'

Rachel shook her head. ‘Not yet. All us regular reporters do our own makeup, so I haven't had the chance.'

Evie looked disappointed. Rachel knew she had to make more of an effort. She brightened, leaned forward and whispered, ‘But I've heard the makeup guys take
an hour and a half
to get Mary Masterson done.' Rachel meowed like a cat

‘Gawd,' said Evie, impressed. ‘She must have a rough head. She'd be worried about you, hon.'

Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘I doubt that. We barely speak. However . . .' She smiled, twisting a strand of hair around a finger, ‘I'm getting to know the guys in the newsroom a little better. And let me tell you, there's one editor you'd all like to meet. Mitch Allan. Dirty blonde hair with a better butt than Channing Tatum.'

‘Then we're coming in for a personally guided tour!' squealed Kate, known for having a different boyfriend every two weeks. Not fussy, like Evie, who was on a never-ending hunt for old-fashioned love and romance.

‘What star sign is he?' Evie said.

Kate and Rachel groaned. Evie's obsession with horoscopes had turned them all into unwilling experts on matters astrological.

‘Not sure, but if I was single, I'd change my star sign if it made us compatible.' Rachel gulped down more of her wine.

‘Sounds like Tim really could be on the way out?' asked Kate.

‘I'm getting jealous. I think he's about to marry his computer.' Rachel glanced at her watch, wondering where he was.

‘All this talk about men is making me hungry.' Working in the hospitality industry hadn't diminished Kate's love of fine food. She pushed away the near empty plate of antipasto and signalled a waiter, ordering a range of calamari, arancini balls and pizza. The girls didn't mind. Kate was the expert.

Hours later, her girlfriends and copious glasses of wine had helped soften Rachel's frustration with Tim, her Anzac story disappointment and the pressure to make some serious decisions about her future. They continued drinking, eating and laughing, until Rachel remembered she had to work the next day. Time to leave, unless she wanted to wake up with a massive hangover. Tim had failed to show, but by that stage she hardly cared.

***

As Rachel sank into bed, Tim was still tapping away on his computer in the next room. She had thought that a slow, sensual session together might cap off a pleasant evening. But Tim had to conquer those dragons and lock them up in dungeons. Not to mention smoking a few joints. She was sure she'd caught of whiff of some leftover smoke in the kitchen that would have wafted in after he sat on the back doorstep – his usual puffing spot. As she dozed, rolling restlessly from side to side, she remembered her mother's reaction when she'd told her about her job with Channel Six.

‘Darling, this is fabulous,' her mother had cried. ‘And it's just the start. From here, anything is possible. The world is your oyster!'

Rachel drifted into a deep wine-induced sleep, wondering whether it was possible for oysters to produce fake pearls.

***

More than a week later on a Sunday evening Rachel began nightshift, already exhausted. Sitting at the COS desk, she listened intently to the police radio as it spat out spasmodic two-way monotone chatter. It was almost hypnotic. She could feel her head lolling forward and her eyelids fluttering from the need for sleep.

Just before dawn, Rachel was startled awake by a sudden loud advertisement from a TV monitor. It was just after quarter to six. She cursed herself for dozing. Time to look lively before Rob arrived with his usual barbs.

Urgent conversation chopped with static from the police radio caught her attention. Something about a search warrant. She turned up the volume and listened closely.

‘It's an 86. Warrant in place. Car 23 directly to Footscray.' A male police officer's voice, sharp and fast.

‘Roger. On the way. Suspect's name?'

‘Malcolm Kent. Recently released. Paedophilia convictions. Sighted near the Torquay area last Thursday.'

‘Okay and out.'

Rachel sprang out of her chair. Shit. Which crew was starting at six? She had to get to Footscray urgently. This could be the story she needed to finally earn her stripes as a serious reporter.

Just as she was scanning the roster, Rob walked in. ‘Morning, Miss Bentley. Call Buzz in early, would you? Just had a tip-off from homicide. Seems like we have a lead on that missing kid case.'

‘I was just getting the details, I'm on top of this one. Just send me out.'

Rob looked at her with mild contempt. ‘No can do, love. You've been up all night. Besides, Buzz is, after all, our police reporter.'

‘Jesus Christ, Rob. You often assign other reporters police stories. When are you going to give me a break?

‘Not today. You head home for sleepy-byes, love. See you tomorrow.' He moved into the COS area and began scanning the morning newspapers.

‘What is it with you? Why don't you ever give women in this newsroom a chance? Just look at your rostering system. How come it's the female reporters who get all the shitty night and weekend shifts and early starts?'

Rob lifted his head in slow motion, rearing up to his full height and staring at Rachel like a viper ready to attack. ‘How
dare
you? You little upstart! Do you know how many other girls out there would kill for your job? And all you can do is fucking complain.'

Rachel stood like prey stunned in the headlights. No one had ever roared at her like that. Not knowing what to say, she turned and walked slowly back to her desk, fighting an urge to run off and hide somewhere.

She sat there, trying to breathe evenly when she heard a voice softly calling her name. It was Julia. She kept her head down, her heart still pounding.

‘Rachel? Rach, are you okay?' Julia sat next to her, drawing near. ‘I came in on the tail end of that. He can be a brute, old Rob, can't he?'

‘Yeah. I'm fine. Gotta toughen up, I guess.' She looked sideways at Julia, smiling weakly.

‘Well, you were right about him giving the girls the crappy shifts. Look at me, here at 6 am on early shift
again
.'

Rachel gave a half snort. ‘Except that being right doesn't seem to change anything.'

‘We'll get there. It's a matter of chipping away though, not going into battle. Especially with the likes of Rob. But good on you for trying. Wait here and I'll bring you a cuppa.' She patted Rachel on the knee and stood up.

‘Thanks, Jules. You're the best.'

‘Nah, I can be a real bitch sometimes.'

Rachel smiled as Julia headed to the kitchen. She didn't think that was possible.

A short while later, as she sat sipping on her tea, she noticed the morning news presenter arrive to read the early updates. Her ever-polished appearance always made Rachel feel bedraggled, reminding her of her own ambition to become a newsreader.

Julia looked up from her newspaper. ‘Feeling better?'

‘Yes, thanks. Although it just occurred to me that with Tony leaving, I'm probably going to have more of an uphill battle trying to get an update shift.'

Julia put down her paper. ‘Oh, no. Don't tell me you want to be a newsreader?'

She picked at her fingers. It was probably time to tell Julia the truth. ‘Well, yes, it's something I've been working towards. And I know it could take some time but I've spoken to Tony about it and he was supportive. Although he did say I needed more experience on the road. I just hope, now that he's leaving, I get a break before I'm considered past my use-by date.'

‘I don't think that's going to be a problem. How old are you?'

‘It's my twenty-third birthday today.'

‘Lucky you. Happy Birthday.'

‘Thanks. Now can you understand how disappointed I am that Tony's leaving? Do you think I'm mad?'

Julia leaned in close so she could whisper. ‘No, I get it. You'll just have to make sure you talk to him as soon as you can. Get him to lock in some updates or something before he jumps ship.'

Rachel clutched her hands and squeezed, nodding quickly. ‘Yes, yes, you're right. Thank you.' She gripped Julia's arms again. ‘Thanks for everything.'

***

Worn out from nightshift and emotionally drained, Rachel struggled to keep her eyes on the road as she drove to her mother's house. It was bad timing that Lou had asked her to babysit, but she couldn't turn down a chance to spend time with her nephew. She took the winding beach road to Hampton, driving past Brighton's elegant mansions with vast windows and balconies offering sweeping views of Port Phillip Bay. As she headed inland, the houses grew smaller and less ostentatious, until she reached a narrow street lined with Californian bungalows. Her mother's home was in the middle, shadowed by a towering gum tree.

The front door was unlocked so she let herself in. Betsy, the family's much-adored black Labrador bounded up the hallway, giving her an enthusiastic welcome. A whistle from the kettle came from the kitchen.

‘Hi, Lou,' she called out.

‘Oh, Rach. You got here in plenty of time.' Lou was by the fridge, pouring Josh an apple juice. ‘Happy Birthday, sleepyhead! Wanna cuppa?'

‘That'd be great. Thanks.' Heavy with exhaustion, she sat at the table. Josh ran over with his sip-cup, reaching for a place on her lap. Rachel hoisted him up, pinching his cheeks and making him giggle. Lou was humming as she made the tea and appeared happy. In the past few weeks they
had
been getting along better. Perhaps living together might be feasible after all?

Placing a mug on the table, Lou frowned. ‘You look wrecked. Are you okay?'

‘Ah, just a few things going down at work. Had a run in with Rob about the rosters. Not a great day.'

‘Well, all the more reason I appreciate you babysitting. And on your birthday! But we couldn't find anyone else. I'll be home after lunch, with your present, of course!'

‘That's okay,' said Rachel. ‘I love seeing Joshie. Now shouldn't you get going?'

‘Yes, thanks so much. You're a lifesaver.' Lou smothered Josh's face with kisses before popping him in front of the TV. ‘This way you can rest on the couch, but don't fall asleep, okay?'

When Lou left, Rachel sang along with Josh to The Wiggles to keep herself awake. When he went down for his morning nap, she pulled out her phone. Shirley, Tony's secretary and the mother hen of the newsroom, took her call.

‘Hello, dear,' said Shirley. ‘You must be tired after being up all night. What can I help you with?'

‘I wanted to see if Tony had any free time in the next day or so for a chat. I was wondering if you could book me a spot in his diary? Maybe if I came in early for my shift tonight after a sleep?'

‘Oh, no, I'm sorry, dear. Tony's gone to Sydney. How about we set up a meeting for later in the week? How about Thursday at five?'

‘That's be great. Thanks Shirley. Locked in.'

‘Just as well, dear. He's only got another week after this one and then it'll be time for his farewell party. A sad day that will be too.'

‘Yes, it will. Very sad. Thanks Shirley.' There. She'd done it. The first step towards her biggest ambition. A thrill ran through her veins. Perhaps, just maybe, there was a skerrick of a chance that it might be realised. Just the thought was a damn good birthday present. The only other gift she needed was sleep.

It was late in the afternoon but an early start for Rachel. She'd come in before nightshift to meet with Tony. He'd always been her mentor, but now he was leaving she was concerned he might not be as keen to help her along the career path she so desperately wanted to walk. If only she could get him to assign her a newsreading shift before he left, she might have a chance. She walked into his office full of trepidation.

‘Hi Tony, how was Sydney?' Rachel smiled politely. It was 5 pm but it looked like he'd already packed his briefcase and was about to head home. Unusual, given he normally stayed to watch the news.

‘Ah Rachel, good, yes, good. Just in time. Take a seat. So, what is it you wanted to chat about?' He half-sat on his desk, tapping a pen against his palm.

‘Well, firstly, I just wanted to say congratulations on your new job, though everyone is really sorry you're leaving. Especially me. I mean, because you gave me my first break and all . . . I guess you only have a week or so left now, and ah . . . um . . .'

Folding his arms, Tony smiled as she fumbled to find the words. ‘Rachel, that's very kind, but I get the feeling you came here for a reason?'

She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I did. Look, you know how much I want to be a newsreader and I'm just worried with you leaving, that your replacement might not have the same faith in me that you've had. The opportunity to try reading updates might take another year while the next news director gets to know me. Is there a chance you could put me on an update roster before you go?' She looked at him cautiously.

Tony adjusted his glasses, like he was taking in the changes to her appearance for the first time. Not that Rachel had done anything drastic. She'd taken up jogging and lost a few kilos. Perhaps he thought her nose was too big? She hoped he liked her hair, now that she'd added blonde streaks to liven up the mouse brown and was making an effort with blow-drying. It was a challenge trying to look the part but she was doing her best.

‘Right. Okay.' Tony paused. ‘Well, that's a bit out of the blue, but I will see what I can do. Don't get your hopes up, though. Reporters usually do at least a year on the road before getting a chance at reading. Good to see you're ambitious It's good to aim high.' He took off his glasses, polishing them with the corner of his jacket.

‘So there might be a chance?' she asked, clutching at the end of her seat.

‘Definitely a chance. I'll take a look at the rosters tomorrow and let you know.' Tony was already standing, collecting his coat and briefcase. Her cue to leave.

‘Thanks Tony, that means a lot. Thank you.' She smiled gratefully and walked back to her desk, buzzing. Tony was a man of his word so there really was a good chance she might get her first crack at newsreading. Her excitement grew as the possibility became bigger.

Rachel had several hours to fill before she was officially on nightshift. She thought about Tim and picked up her phone. They needed to talk. Their relationship was about as vibrant as a bowl of porridge. Was she being paranoid, or had Tim distanced himself from her even more since her trip to Sydney? Or was it just his growing drug problem? He'd made little effort to acknowledge her birthday. His gift, a pair of silver earrings in the shape of two gum leaves, was given as a half-hearted gesture. She stared at his name on the screen and put her phone down. No, they needed to talk face to face.

She began sifting through a pile of mail on her desk. She picked out an invitation to the opening night of the musical
42nd Street
for Saturday week. She'd RSVP'd ‘yes' but had yet to invite a guest. Judging from the glossy card, it was sure to be a gala evening. Tim hated A-list functions. Worse still, he made no effort to hide his complete disinterest when introduced to some of the minor celebrities she had come to know. Still, it was a musical and he enjoyed the theatre. She picked up the phone, paused and changed her mind again, sighing. No, she
would
phone Tim. She picked up the receiver for the third time and began dialling. They would talk. Over lunch. This weekend. Finally, she'd made up her mind.

***

The next morning, Julia bounded back to her desk from the COS area.

‘Someone's in a good mood,' said Rachel.

Julia's smile was unstoppable. ‘Oh, well, had a fantastic night. Things are great with Derek. I can't thank you enough for introducing us. Did you know he's a lapsed Catholic too?'

‘Well, no, I didn't. Is that important? Are you planning to marry the guy already?' Rachel smiled to herself, secretly hoping Julia might so she could claim success as a matchmaker. Rachel had introduced them at an industry function two weeks ago. After his rubbishing her move into television, she found particular pleasure in his now developing relationship with Julia.

‘No, don't be silly,' said Julia. ‘It's just that, well . . . if that was a consideration down the track, it
would
make things so much easier with the family.' Two pink dots grew larger on her cheeks.

‘Oh gawd, you really are in deep.' Rachel was fascinated by Julia's glow. It was a while since she'd felt like that.

Julia continued. ‘And we both like bushwalking. And red wine. And the same restaurants. And we hate gyms. Isn't it amazing how fate works? Imagine if I hadn't got this job? I wouldn't have met you and then I wouldn't have met Derek.'

‘Amazing.'

‘And now Rob's given me this major court case. Mafia-related. One of the gangland shootings. This is the stuff I need if I'm ever going to make it as official court reporter. Well, that's what I'm aiming for.' Julia smiled a little sheepishly.

‘Wow, that's great.' Rachel tried to sound enthusiastic. She wouldn't have the patience for court stories. She'd sat in on a few, but loathed being stuck in one place for hours trying to focus on convoluted legal arguments. ‘I wish I could cover something with a bit more depth. I'm just so sick of being given fluff pieces. Perhaps I should focus on politics. You know, just an exclusive with the Prime Minister about widespread industry closures across the nation or something?'

‘I can picture the interview, but I can't see you moving to Canberra to become a political correspondent.' Julia collected her notes and handbag.

‘Hmm, true. At least you're getting what you want. Tony couldn't give me any guarantees he could help get me on the update roster before he goes.'

‘Well, I suppose that's to be expected.' Julia paused. ‘Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get a break soon. If I'd done better in the looks department, I might have asked myself.'

Rachel wasn't sure what to say. Julia had a pleasant, solid face with sharp green eyes that warned of a toughness behind the ready smile and quick wit. Yet she had heard some of the editors cruelly describe her as having ‘a good head for radio'. That was much too harsh.

Whack!
A small red football hit Rachel squarely in the face. Raucous laughter followed from the other end of the newsroom — the sports department.

‘Gotta learn to mark betta 'an that, Bentley!' yelled Jeff, the sports producer, scooping the ball from the floor and torpedoing it back to the sports office. As he bent over to pick up the football, she couldn't help but notice his well-formed rear.

‘You guys have to learn to take your games outside. This is supposed to be an office.' Rachel rubbed her cheek.

Another of the sports reporters, Brent Garrison — chubbier and less attractive with a large and forgettable butt — kicked the ball back at her. ‘No way, baby,' he puffed. ‘You gotta join in and learn to play ball — preferably ours.'

Rachel shuffled her feet. Garrison was a buffoon who loved nothing more than stirring up a testosterone-charged whirlpool to take over the space he occupied. She needed to rally. ‘Oh, witty as well as athletic,' she shot back. ‘Pity I prefer books to ball sports — especially football, which, quite frankly, involves nothing more than a bunch of grown men chasing after a piece of inflated leather.'

As soon as the words left her mouth, she cursed herself. Never criticise someone's religion, and in Melbourne football was indeed a religion for thousands. Even more for sports reporters — it was their life. Even Julia looked at her as if she was a little weird.

‘Well, perhaps I'm over-stating it. I mean, I
do
really like football,' said Rachel. ‘And I barrack for Richmond too. I just think that ball knocked me in the head a bit hard and . . .'

There was no point. The sports boys were retreating, muttering something about a snooty bitch. Damn. She
had
sounded like a snooty bitch.

‘Wallis, this is not a coffee shop!' shouted Rob.

Julia rolled her eyes and raced out the door. Rachel sat down at her desk to pack up and head home. She really needed to think more before she opened her mouth. She pondered over Julia's comments about fate and meeting Derek. Had fate intervened with her trip to Sydney to compete in
Celebrity Battlefield
? She shook her head. Enough of the guilt. She was going to sort everything out with Tim this Friday.

Her reverie was interrupted by Rob. ‘Bentley, come in off the bench. In fact, just grab your notepad and get out the door, pronto. With News Two. Multi-fatal on the Monash Freeway. It's a big one. Scoot.'

‘But I was just about to head—'

‘You'll get overtime. Just get out the door. Now!'

Rachel picked up her notebook and bag and ran.

As their news car approached the accident scene, Rachel could see the wreckage beyond the surrounding emergency vehicles. Long skid marks led to where three cars
had collided. Metal debris, shattered glass, and mangled engine parts were scattered across the road. Listening to the police radio, it sounded like five people had been killed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she were elsewhere. Anywhere. She had to steel herself. ‘You know, ah, this is my first fatal,' she said to Charlie. The cameraman's portly face was grim, his mouth set in a hard line amid a bushy hipster beard. Rachel had worked with him before and knew, despite his girth, he was quick on his feet and a sharp thinker.

Charlie parked and turned off the ignition. ‘You're lucky,' he said. ‘No sheets over the cars. Looks like the bodies have been removed already.'

She was relieved. But she was hesitant to see the carnage close up and stayed put while the crew unpacked.

A tap on her window. Charlie. They were set to start filming. Rachel approached the police officer who appeared to be in charge, a burly man with a hooknose protruding under his police cap. His stance was taut as he shouted orders to those under his command.

She didn't want to intrude. The timing wasn't right. But given the circumstances, it would be difficult at any point. Best get it over and done with. Deep breath. ‘Hi, I'm Rachel Bentley from Channel Six. Just hoping we could have a word to you about the accident.' She tried to appear professional.

He stuck out his hand. ‘Senior Sergeant Bob Holder. You're the first of the media pack to arrive. Didn't take you long.' Then he turned aside to speak into his two-way, ordering more vehicles and asking when the coroner was due to arrive.

‘Coroner?' she said when he'd finished. ‘I thought the victims had been taken away?' She looked over at the smashed up cars.

‘Oh, they're here all right. Just next to you on the ground. Under those tarps to your left.'

Rachel jumped. Just centimetres from her feet were five bodies, covered with green plastic sheets. She was standing on the edge of the tarpaulin. Light-headed, she felt the ground move beneath her feet and she stumbled, tripping on the tarpaulin and exposing a victim's head — a young man with dark hair, his forehead a battered, bloody pulp, his mouth twisted. She grabbed the sergeant's arm to steady herself. ‘Oh God, I'm so sorry.' Another policeman moved in quickly to cover the body.

‘Just watch yourself, all right?' Sergeant Holder stared at her as if she was an imbecile.

Rachel put a hand to her mouth, breathing deeply, trying to quell her rising nausea. She turned back to the news car. Charlie looked up expectantly.

‘Did you line up an interview?' he asked.

‘No . . . um . . .' She exhaled, trying to catch her breath. ‘Soon. Oh God.' She squatted on the ground, leaning her back against the cool metal of the car.

Charlie knelt beside her. ‘What's going on?'

‘Saw the bodies. Nearly fell on them.' She put her head between her knees.

‘Oh, for Christ's sake, Rachel, they're dead. They're not going to bite, you know.' Despite his reproach, Charlie's voice was gentle and he patted her arm awkwardly.

Rachel couldn't reply. She walked to the back of the news car then bent over to hide as she dry-retched. If only Tony could put her on the newsreading roster. It was becoming obvious she didn't have the stomach to make it as a hardened news reporter.

***

Rachel sat outside at Café E Cucina, looking at her watch. Ten past one. She peered through the steady stream of shoppers milling in and out of boutiques along Chapel Street, rugged up in coats and scarves. It was a crisp, grey day and she pulled in closer to the overhead radiator glowing above. Vibrations rumbled under her steel chair as a tram rolled past blocking her view across the road, and then she spied Tim in the distance, dodging through the heavy traffic.

‘Sorry, Rach,' he puffed. ‘Couldn't get a park.' He ran a hand through tousled hair, trying to put it back in place. He looked healthier, smarter — his red check shirt and jeans, crisp and new.

‘Looks like you've been shopping,' said Rachel.

‘Well, thought I'd make an effort. Not often we actually go
out
to lunch,' he said, smiling as he took a seat.

A waiter arrived, handing them tall leatherbound menus.