Making Headlines (9 page)

‘So Liam, tell us about what's happening to you. What's your illness called and how is it affecting you?' She cringed, hearing herself say the words.

‘Well, it has a really long name and I don't really know how to say it, but what it means is that my brain and nervous system are not talking to each other and I'm getting sicker and sicker. I can't walk very well and the doctors say it will get worse if I don't go to America. I want to go on a plane. That would be cool.'

‘Your mum and dad would be really happy if that happened, wouldn't they?'

‘Oh, yeah, that would be the best.' Liam's face glowed, then clouded. ‘The worst part is that me being sick makes my mum really sad. I want to get better so she doesn't cry anymore. And so I can play footy with the other kids at school. And I feel bad that we don't have any money left because of all the doctors' bills. That's why we live here. We used to have a really nice house.'

Rachel glanced at Kath seated at a table behind her son, biting her lip, looking down at her hands. ‘Thanks Liam, you've been great, you're a star.' She put out her hand to shake his. It was frail and cold. She held it for a little longer than usual, willing some of her warmth to flow through to him.

As they left the room, she turned back at the door to give him a final wave. His head had already rolled to the side, resting against the cushion. His eyes were closed, his face holding a gentle smile. She walked down the broken footpath hoping she'd be back to cover a story about Liam's miraculous recovery.

A brand-new week and a brand-new boss. Rachel pulled into the car park at Network Six, her mind in overdrive. She had never met Helmut Becker, and first impressions were vital. It had been difficult to choose what to wear. Even though it was winter, it was a mild day and the sky didn't seem to know whether to rain or not. She'd opted for a more conservative look than usual, with a ruffle-collared shirt under a beige suit. As she clipped down the long corridor to the newsroom, Rachel realised she didn't know what Helmut Becker looked like. She slowed down, placing her stilettos tentatively, one after the other, as she neared the entrance.

Rachel was still rostered on the general reporting shift until her trial run presenting late morning updates began next week. It was an exciting opportunity and she was looking forward to it. She just hoped Helmut's arrival wouldn't jeopardize her chances of keeping her career trajectory on track. Tony's support had kick-started it in the right direction but a new boss arriving at such a critical time could throw everything off course.

She walked into the newsroom, sensing a subdued air of expectation — reporters talking to each other in respectful, moderate tones; desks tidier, with newspapers and notebooks in neat piles. Even the usually overflowing trays of media releases and invitations on the COS desk were orderly. She placed her handbag next to her computer and looked at what used to be Tony's office. The door was ajar and a battered brown briefcase lay open on the desk, its contents overflowing. No Helmut. Bare hooks hung on the walls where Tony's framed news awards and photographs had been.

Rachel went over to Rob to find out what story she'd be covering. He'd traded his lumberjack look for a stiffly ironed business shirt that didn't sit well on his restless frame. He'd even tried settling his bristly grey hair with some gel.

‘Morning, Miss Bentley. Got a story today that needs the kind of sensitive touch only you are capable of.' He pressed his hands together in a prayer-like fashion and bowed slightly.

‘Why thank you, kind sir.' Rachel primped, turning her head to the side. ‘I can't wait to hear all the details. And pray tell, have we had the pleasure of meeting our new lord and master this morning?'

A booming voice came from behind. ‘He certainly has, babe. We go back a long,
long way, Bobby and me.'

Rachel turned to face her new boss.

Helmut Becker.

She took in sharp eyes, black as a shark's, deep-set in a fleshy white face framed with dull coppery hair. His mouth was a thin smirk. He was holding a steaming coffee and blew the vapour towards her.

‘You're Rachel?' Helmut raised his eyebrows and didn't wait for her answer. ‘Happy for you to keep calling me “lord and master”. Suits me fine. Keep up the good work.' He nodded, chins shuddering, then turned on his heel and strolled off.

‘Yes, I am Rachel. Rachel Bentley . . .' she murmured. ‘Charmed, likewise . . .' She stared as Helmut dropped himself into Tony's chair, swung his feet on top of the desk and grabbed a newspaper.

Behind her, Rob started laughing. ‘Yeah, Becker and me go back to the old Channel Eight days. Plenty of good times we had together back then.' He chuckled again. Rachel repressed a shudder. She didn't want to imagine. ‘I'll be putting a notice on the board soon. We're asking staff to stay back after the news tonight so Becker can introduce himself. Tell you lot how he's going to whip your arses into gear.'

‘I'm sure he will. So tell me about that story,' she said.

‘Sure. Young woman, early twenties, has cancer. Wants to do good while she's dying, so she's visiting schools to help teach teenagers a bit about death, grieving and coping with all that shit. Her name's Josie. Oh, and we've got it on our own, too.' He handed Rachel a sheet of paper. ‘She's visiting a high school in Berwick. You need to be there at ten. With News Seven.'

Rachel sat at her desk preparing questions and packing a notebook in her bag. With time to spare she tried reading the newspaper but it was hard to concentrate. She could hear Helmut making his way around the newsroom, greeting the other journalists with gruff banter. At least he wasn't carrying a cricket bat. Finally a horn beeped in the distance. News Seven calling. Josie was waiting.

***

A large gathering stood watching the news in the producer's bay. Unusual for a Monday. They'd stayed back to hear Helmut's address after the bulletin. Mitch stood next to Rachel. They'd worked together on her story about Josie and it was their baby. Both had kept the communication professional in the edit suite, leaving aside the mild flirting exchanges they occasionally enjoyed to focus on what was a sad and moving story.
Rachel felt they'd produced something unique and was hopeful Josie would be proud of the final result.

On the screen, Jack Nolan was reading the introduction. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. His voice conveyed empathy — just enough, not too syrupy. Then came her voice and Josie's story. There was Josie in the classroom with the school children, talking and laughing, a dark Cleopatra-style wig framing her petite face. She was pale, her green eyes full of wisdom as she spoke matter-of-factly about her work. Then her face filled the screen. ‘Cancer is sadly a big part of my world. But it affects so many people, and for young kids, especially, it can be difficult to deal with. Not just those who suffer from cancer but those who lose family and friends. I just want to help kids understand that it's a part of life and how best to cope in that situation. And to give them hope. Many types of cancer
are
treatable. There's always hope.' And then, her luminous smile. Beautiful. Soft music rolled gently under dissolving images of Josie and the children. And it was over.

Rachel looked at Mitch, mouthing ‘thank you.' The usually chatty crowd of reporters was silent.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to face a grinning Helmut. ‘So I guess you're now the resident death-row reporter? Rob told me about that boy, Liam, and now this chick.'

‘I suppose that's one way of putting it.' She kept her voice neutral, warnings sounding in her head.

‘Nah, come on love, just kiddin' you!' He punched her playfully on the shoulder and his face settled into a more serious expression. ‘No, you did a great job with that. Really good. Not too mushy, but enough to give viewers an emotional hit and maintain credibility. Well done.' He looked at Mitch. ‘You too, mate. Good stuff.' He called over to Rob. ‘Hey, Bobby, can you get some beers out? I know it's Monday, but we're celebrating, aren't we?'

‘Sure boss, no complaints about that. Bar fridge's in your office.' Rob was out of the COS desk in a flash, leading the way.

Julia sidled up to Rachel. She wore a new grey suit with a deep purple top underneath — businesslike yet stylish. ‘Jeez, what a shock! Words of praise from that notorious bastard.'

‘Maybe he's not such a bastard after all?' Rachel frowned. The unflattering stories about Helmut Becker outweighed the complimentary, but she should keep an
open mind. He was definitely unusual, of that much she was sure.

A booming voice caught their attention.

‘Okay folks, gather around. Grab a drink and let's get into it!' Helmut marched back into the throng armed with six packs of beer. Rob added a couple of bottles of wine into the mix. Helmut waited while staff served themselves, leaning up against the COS desk.

‘Well, greetings, fellow newsmen. Just wanted to say I'm very happy to be here at Network Six. I think you guys put a great bulletin together and I know we can make it even better. It's a team effort though, and as you may have heard, I crack down hard on any slackers. Cricket bat and all!'

There were a few titters from the crowd, all familiar with the infamous stories about Helmut.

‘I know you're a talented mob because having been with the competition I kept a close eye on you. I know your potential and I know we can get even better ratings than we've had before. The figures did slip a bit last week, so we can't rest on our laurels. I've got some special projects in mind to attract viewers and I have a good idea who'll be the best people to take on these challenges. I also want us to have weekly meetings to workshop ideas, and I want everyone contributing. And I mean,
everyone
. I expect you all to read the newspapers thoroughly — even the local rags. Listen to the radio bulletins and talk to your contacts. If we're going to stay ahead in the ratings, we need to work harder than ever. We need lots of ideas and plenty of exclusives. And I reward hard work. That's my philosophy — work hard, play hard. And we do it together. Let's make a toast to that. To better ratings and a team effort!'

A mixed response of ‘Cheers', ‘I'll drink to that', and ‘Bottoms up' mingled with applause. Rachel watched Helmut swig his beer then wipe his mouth. He hitched up his belt so that it stayed in place under the rolls of his belly. His legs looked spindly under the sizeable stomach, probably the result of many a long lunch searching for exclusives.

Mitch wandered over and slipped his arm around her shoulder. ‘We did a good job for Josie,' he said, giving her a squeeze.

‘Well, just look at you two.' Julia let out a slow whistle. ‘If I didn't know you were work buddies, I'd have to say you make a fine looking couple.'

Mitch dropped his arm from Rachel's shoulders like she'd burned him. ‘Oh God, no. You've got to be kidding? Rachel's far too intelligent for me. I prefer my women with big tits and no brains.'

‘Exactly,' said Rachel. ‘And I prefer a man who knows how to make a relationship last more than a week.'

‘Hmm, a shame. You would have made gorgeous babies together.' Julia smiled mischievously.

‘Ah, yes, what a life,' sighed Rachel. ‘Mitch, me, our brood of ankle-biters, traipsing around the countryside in our vintage Kombi, living on cans of baked beans and the smell of the ocean.'

Mitch shook his head. ‘See? There's another problem. I prefer canned spaghetti. It would never work.'

‘You're right,' said Rachel. ‘Sorry Jules, it's not happening. If you want to be a matchmaker, you're going to have to find better material.'

‘I'll put my mind to it.' Julia put down her wine glass. ‘But not tonight. Being one of the lucky ones who
has
found her soul mate, I'm off to dinner at his parents'. See you guys.'

Mitch turned to Rachel. ‘Actually, I came over to congratulate you on your story about Josie. It came up really well, Rach. I mean it. There aren't many reporters with your kind of compassion. I listen to the way you chat with your talent before you start the interviews, so I hear how you are with people like Liam and Josie. You have no idea how many journos haven't got a clue. You do. Don't ever lose that.' He reached out, clasping her shoulder, looking at her with his sea-blue eyes.

It wasn't often she received praise for her work, and coming from Mitch it was high praise indeed. She squeezed his hand. ‘Thanks. That means a lot. You're a good friend,' she said quietly.

‘Sure,' he said, pressing her hand in return. Abruptly, he turned and left.

***

On Wednesday, Shirley walked into the newsroom carrying a huge bouquet of flowers — white lilies and tuber roses. Rachel was wondering if they were for Mary Masterson when Shirley started heading her way.

‘Surprise!' she said, placing the flowers on Rachel's desk. ‘And it's not even Valentine's Day! They're beautiful.' She patted her on the shoulder and left.

Rachel reached for the small envelope pinned to the tissue paper. Her heart sank as she saw the familiar old-fashioned handwriting.

My darling Rachel,

As soon as I spied these wondrous blooms, I knew they were meant for you. I think about you constantly, watching with delight every day as you grow and mature into the most exceptional newsreader. You have become such a real part of my life, my exquisite one, that I could touch your rosebud mouth on the screen when you appear in my living room.

The only disappointment that pains my heart is that you have failed to reply to my correspondence. Please write soon, my love, to reassure me that my attentions and feelings are reciprocated. Only then can I reveal my true identity to you. I long for the day where we will lie together in each other's arms, as God intended. When that day comes, my life will be complete.

All my love, Your Devoted Admirer, X.

Rachel threw the letter on her desk. ‘Just what I need.'

Julia leaned across and snatched it. ‘At least he sent flowers this time. Quit complaining, would you?'

Mitch walked past and took the letter from Julia. ‘What is it?'

‘Just Rachel's secret admirer. Read it and weep. I need coffee, see ya.' Julia grabbed her bag and ducked away.

‘This is pretty creepy,' said Mitch.

Rachel sighed. ‘It's nothing, just some weirdo who writes every couple of weeks. That's probably the fifth letter. First time he's sent flowers though.'

‘You don't reply, do you?' Mitch frowned.

‘Of course not!'

‘Did he leave his address?'

‘Just a post office box number.'

‘That's even worse, Means he doesn't want to be found. You should keep those letters in case.'

‘In case of what?'

‘Just keep them. Look, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.'

‘Fire away,' she said, eyeing him curiously.

‘Not here. In my edit suite.'

‘Sure.' Rachel kicked herself for feeling a frisson of delight at having a private moment with him.

Once inside the booth, Mitch sat back, tapping his fingers on the bench. ‘Look, I hope you don't think I'm interfering, it's just that I remember you saying you didn't get any training before you started reading updates. And I know you start your late-morning update trial next week. Would you mind if I gave you a couple of pointers?'