A Straight Line to My Heart (12 page)

We're at our desks again side by side, but there's a wall of ice between me and the Shark.

I swallow my pride. ‘Is there anything you'd like me to do?'

He crinkles up his nose, shakes his head just once.

A while later I try again.

‘I'm going out to the urn, do you want a–'

‘No.'

I wish he was openly hostile with me, then I could fight back. But I can't do anything with just ‘no'.

It's at least another half-hour before he speaks.

‘Andrew won't be in today so you can't get any work from him, but Joan'll be here after lunch.' He taps away at the keyboard as he talks. ‘She'll probably have something for you.'

‘Right.'

It's a storm and I should keep my head down, let it blow over.

Should.

‘Maybe it would be better if I just wasn't here.'

He lets the words settle for a moment, continues typing, making me sweat it out until I can't take it any longer.

‘Just tell me. Do you think I should go?'

He keeps bashing on the keys, harder and faster as if he wants to drown out anything I might say. I talk louder.

‘Well, I've admitted I can't hack it and I'm pretty certain you're not happy with me, so I don't know what I'm doing here.'

He stops typing and whirls around to face me, his arms folded.

‘I'll tell you what you're doing. You're stoppin' me from working. This isn't daycare. I'm not paid to wipe your nose.'

I wanted him to be angry and he is – his wild eyes burn into mine – but now I'm not able to be angry back at him like I thought I would be. Because I refuse to let him see me cry.

Have to get out of here.

‘Where do you think you're going?'

‘Home.'

‘That'd be right. Run off to Mummy as soon as it gets a bit hard.'

‘I haven't got a mummy! She's dead!'

That shuts him up.

I slump into the chair again, my back to him.

It's stalemate for a moment and then he shoves a box of tissues in front of me.

‘No thanks. Don't need them.' I push them away.

‘Please yourself.'

There's another frosty wave of silence, and then . . . 

‘First thing: you were wrong. I care about that dead kid. Course I do. It's a waste and it's bloody sad. But no matter what you or I say or think or feel, it's still not a story. And that's what we're here for. In case you forgot. I told you first day: this is a newspaper!'

I reach across for the tissues. Grab a handful. Hide my face in them.

He doesn't talk, but I hear his exasperation loud and clear – it's wrapped up in a worn-out crumpled sigh. I can only guess that his anger got hoisted up on that sigh and carried away, because when he finally does speak again, his voice is even and calm and all the spiky edges are gone.

‘Got a stack on today,' he says, ‘so I can't spend any time with you. That's nothing to do with this mornin' – I'm just flat out with Andrew being away. So this is what you do. Take a wander to the post office – grab yourself a coffee if you like – catch your breath. Come back, sort out the mail like I showed you. That'll take you up to lunchtime. After lunch you go out on a job with Joanie – she's always got something planned. The day's bound to improve. They usually do. You don't give it away because of one tough morning. You hang in there. All right?'

I nod. And sniffle.

‘One final thing: you're spot on about me not being happy with you – don't know how you ever figured it out – must be psychic. You gotta toughen up or you just won't make it. But don't worry. I haven't written you off yet – not quite. I've got rules. There's one that says everyone gets a second chance.' He taps my arm with his pen. ‘We'll give it another try tomorrow, you and me. New day. Clean slate. What do you reckon, we good?'

When I look at him my eyes are probably red, but I'm not crying.

I tell him we're good.

‘Tiff?'

It's Nancy on the office phone.

‘Yes.'

‘There's someone out here to see you.'

‘Be right there.'

‘Wait.' She whispers the next part. ‘Hope you haven't been up to any mischief.'

‘No. Why?'

‘It's the law.'

When I go out, I find Zoe waiting for me. I know immediately that there's nothing wrong with Reggie or Bull: her smile tells me that. So what's she doing here?

‘Had to drive out this way for work. I was only a few clicks down the road so I thought, seeing I'm so close, might as well swing by and see if you want to have lunch. My treat.'

I could sure do with some company, and a free lunch is always hard to resist. But not for a minute do I believe that she's turned up by chance. She wants to tell me something.

She's moving in with us.

Bull's moving out to be with her.

They're getting married.

They're splitting up.

No, she looks too happy for that.

Maybe she's pregnant!

I hope the baby hasn't got Bull's big head.

‘I'm starving,' I tell her. ‘Let's eat.'

I'm the vegetarian pizza. She's the fettuccine with garlic prawns.

Zoe is very big on food talk.

‘Oh, this is so good. Yum. What's the pizza like? Can I have a bite? You gotta try these prawns. Wish I had the recipe. They're de-lish.'

There's a lot more, too, but she doesn't say it all in one chunk; it's sprinkled in with her comments about passers-by. That's why she wanted to sit at a table out in the street. She's into people-watching. Says it's the best free show in town.

‘Is that a wig?'

‘He's too old for her.'

‘No one wants to see your navel, darling. Especially while we're eating. Put it away.'

In between all that she manages to squeeze in a question for me.

‘How's your morning been?'

I skip past my run-in with the Shark and concentrate on the girl.

She nods. ‘I heard about that one. Some of the guys at the station were talking about it. So young . . . it's a hard way to kick-off in journalism. You okay with it?'

‘No problems.'

She studies my face carefully, trying to work out where the truth is, but I assure her that I'm all right and she drops it, and then picks up a new subject.

‘Before I forget, I bought something for Reggie.'

She takes a
dvd
out of her bag and gives it to me:
McLintock!
A John Wayne movie.

‘It was only a few dollars. I saw it in a shop and thought he'd like it, especially being in colour. Could you give it to him for me?'

‘Sure, but why don't you bring it over yourself and watch it with us – or do you hate John Wayne?'

She shakes her head. ‘I don't hate him. Don't know the first thing about him.'

‘Then come over.'

‘No, Tiff. It wouldn't be right. You get in some ice-cream and chocolate – watch a movie. It's a family thing. I don't want to barge in on that.'

And it's precisely because she doesn't barge in, that I want her there.

‘Hey, Zoe, if you supply some of that ice-cream and chocolate, you can come over every night of the week.'

I hand back the
dvd
.

‘We'll expect you about seven.'

Her meal done with, she glides a spoon leisurely around a coffee mug, not stirring it, just gliding for something to do, waiting for the right second, to say this:

‘To tell you the truth I really
wasn't
working out this way.'

Knew it!

‘Bull told me about Kayla leaving. I'm sorry, Tiff. I know how close you two are. That's why I called in. Wanted you to know I'm here if you'd like to talk about it – any time at all.'

‘You came all this way – for me?'

‘Don't be ridiculous! It was for the food. I've heard good things about this place. You were just an afterthought.'

Thanks, Zoe.

‘I expected you were going to tell me you were moving in with us.'

‘Good God, no. Do I look that desperate?'

I almost choke on my orange juice. She aims her finger at me like a gun and smiles.

‘Maybe one day that could happen,' she says. ‘If you and Reggie were okay with it. I'd ask you first. But there's no rush. We're trundling along just fine the way we are. But getting back to you, since I'm here – you want a talk?'

‘What about?'

‘Whatever you got – I'm not fussy.'

I've always told Reggie and Bull what's going on in my life, but mostly they get the outside layers. That works best for them, and for me. My secret thoughts and feelings are shared with just Kayla, my journal and Wolfie. They're all very good listeners, although Wolfie spoils the mood sometimes by chasing a flea right in the middle of an earth-shattering disclosure.

But now Zoe is here and willing, and it feels right.

‘Well, it's like this . . .'

It's easy enough telling her about Colin and Bess's good news, all the excitement of the new house and the possibility of Hales and Cody leaving their foster families and coming home. It gets tougher as I move on to Kayla going to Perth.

‘Always knew we'd go our separate ways one day,' I tell her. ‘But it still took me completely by surprise.'

There's a skill in knowing when to meet someone else's eyes with yours, and when to look away. I'm glad that Zoe has mastered the art, so I can blink out the speck of dust in my eyes. Ask anyone who knows me, I rarely do tears. But today, with the Shark, and now here, those specks of dust have been a real nuisance.

‘The thing I've noticed about life–' Zoe pauses to drain the last of her coffee and lick the foam off her lips, ‘is that it just keeps coming at you. And it can be a real bummer. What you need to remember, Tiff, is that you're not alone. You've got friends and family. That's how we get by. We talk and share and eat cake and giggle in the dark, even when we're scared – no, especially when we're scared.'

Wow. Reggie would be really impressed. She's as good as Dr Phil. And not bald.

‘You'll get through this,' she says. ‘You and Kayla will still see each other. Jump on a plane and you'll be in Perth in no time at all.'

‘That's true. And before she leaves we're going to Surfers Paradise, just like we planned – I'm going to find my mum's grave.'

‘That should cheer you up!' She immediately slaps a hand across her mouth. Through her spread-out fingers I hear, ‘Sorry. That was awful . . . but I couldn't resist it.'

‘It was funny,' I say, to her immense relief.

She laughs; not her big uproarious laugh, just a little one, between her and me. ‘Tell you what, Tiff,' she says. ‘I'll make a prediction – no, two predictions. One: Your friendship with Kayla is going to stay rock solid. Two: Your mobile bill is going to shoot through the roof!'

A few minutes later we stand outside the
Eagle
. It's time for Zoe to leave. I sense her hesitancy. The other night I pushed her away and now she doesn't know how to say goodbye. It's not a hard problem to fix. I make the first move – a quick hug and a simple smooch of her cheek; just the normal way you'd treat a friend.

On the bus back to Gungee Creek, I try to write a few lines about the girl in the park. What I come up with is not good – well, okay, it's seriously bad. I cross it out quickly, in case someone looks over my shoulder. All I can do is dig deeper. Have to find the girl I saw when I looked in that car window. I'll keep trying. With a bit of luck one day she might tell me what to write.

‘Somehow she should be remembered.'

That's what I tell Bull when I get home.

For once he listens to every word I say, because it means a lot to me and I show it – and he doesn't give me any of that ‘just a druggy' stuff.

‘If you like,' he says, ‘I'll try to get an address for her parents. When you write the poem and you're happy with it, you can send it off.'

I hug him. It takes us both by surprise.

After I had lunch with Zoe, I went out on two jobs with Joan. Now, over dinner, I revisit the highlights for Reggie and Bull.

‘My picture will be in the paper next week,' I say. ‘Jordie, our photographer, got me to sit on top of a giant pumpkin, while he took photos.'

‘That might pose a problem.' Bull rubs his chin. ‘How will people know which one's the pumpkin?'

Reggie to Bull: ‘Give yerself an uppercut, mate.'

Forging ahead, I move on to the interview Joan did with an old couple, Merv and Eileen.

‘They've been married fifty years.'

‘Not a bad innings,' says Reggie.

‘But not that unusual, either,' adds Bull.

‘No, but get this. They didn't marry till they were nearly forty – and they've still racked up fifty years together! I'm seventeen and I'm thinking it's all over because I haven't got a guy, but now I can tell myself I've got till I'm forty. It gives me hope.'

Reggie: ‘Knock it off, Tiffy. Some bloke'll snaffle you up long before forty.'

Bull: ‘Be a pumpkin fancier, most likely.'

I give him the slow-burn glare. He says, ‘Sorry!' but he still smirks away like the naughty schoolboy he'll always be. Poor Zoe. She doesn't know what she's letting herself in for.

There are things about that interview which I'll write in my journal later tonight. Years from now I'll still be sad to read about Eileen, losing the fight with dementia right before my eyes; but it will be good to remember Merv, who held her hand the whole time as she dozed, and called her ‘Mum'. I'll remember Joan, too. The story really got to her because her own husband died a few years ago. Through the interview she kept dabbing at her eyes.

‘The most important thing I got from sitting in on that story,' I tell Reggie, ‘was realising that by the time it was over, I knew more about those people than I do about you. And that's not right . . . so I want to interview you.'

‘What, for the
Eagle
?'

‘No. For me and Bull – and for you, too, of course.'

‘Why don't you just talk to me?'

‘I'll do that, too, but I want to make it special. I'll type it all up and get Kayla to take some photos – she'll want to help. I'll do it on good-quality paper. It'll be a one-off, collector's edition book – the story of your life. Please say you'll do it, Reggie.'

I expect some resistance but the answer flashes back in a second.

‘Aw, yeah,' he says, casual as can be. ‘I'll be in that.'

‘Excellent. We'll start on it tomorrow.'

‘You're on, Tiffy.'