Inconsolable (39 page)

“I'll be a phone call away.”

He was grinning insanely at her. “Go on. You want it. I know you do.”

She did want it. Her gut was churning, her head was whirling. A job this big, this scary, it called all her ambition to attention at a time when she had absolutely nothing to distract her from focusing on work. Yes. Yes. Yes. “I want it.”

Hugh pushed his chair back and propped his feet on the desk, folding his arms behind his head. “You need to sit on this for a day or two, let me work the details out.”

A day or two and she might get to keep Adro, and Nat's suspicions were still in play. She blew Hugh a kiss and left him to his self-satisfaction. Other than her dad, he was the best man she knew and it was such a bummer they'd been in lust not love.

She floated back to the department high on the possibility of a future where she wasn't Frustrated Foley anymore, where her professional life was miraculously on track. And her personal life, well, it was a work in progress, and so long as she didn't think about Drum, it wasn't too terrible.

Mark was sweet and he wore clothing that fitted and he didn't make her hang out in a cave. They did normal things together like eat in restaurants, play video games, watch movies and fall asleep in front of the TV. He was contactable by phone, he was presentable to parents, he did admirable work and he cared for her. And if she wasn't in love with him, maybe it didn't matter because she'd ached with love for Drum and that hadn't been enough to make him stay.

Gabriella pounced before she got back to her desk. She cornered Foley in the empty corridor. “I want you to know I won't tell anyone what I saw.”

She could try to explain, but what the heck, she'd leave it to Hugh. “Thank you.”

She hoped that would be the end of it but Gabriella said, “I only want to know how long it's been going on?”

Foley made a noise of annoyance. “There's nothing going on.” She stepped to the side and Gabriella blocked her.

“You don't think I'm going to buy that, do you? Hugh is protective of you, now at least I know why.”

“Wait a minute. Hugh and I are friends, we go way back. That was me congratulating him on a private matter. You should've knocked.”

“Does Roger know?”

All it would take for Roger to know a whole lot more than he already did was Y. “Know what?”

“That you and Hugh are such good friends, in inverted commas.”

Foley smirked. “You just said inverted commas.” She made finger quotes the air either side of her head.
Who did that?

Gabriella fumed. “Does he?”

“He knows we've worked together for a long time. He knows we're friends outside work. All Roger cares about is everyone doing the best job they can.”

“Excellent, well, you won't mind doing your best working with Walter Lam on the dog park proposal. And perhaps you could do your best to stop the Beeton house disintegrating.”

Foley flinched. Rats had taken up residence in the house. She'd authorised exterminators to fix the problem because neighbours complained.

Gabriella did an about face and headed back to the department and Foley smacked her hands together prayer style. It was the only way to stop from racing up behind Gabriella and throttling her, then stabbing the Y repeatedly on her phone. There was no valid dog park proposal, there was just Walter to placate, and she'd do anything to see Sereno restored to glory.

The rest of the workday was wonderfully uneventful and, except for an itchy index finger, Foley managed to keep her head in the game. She didn't think about Drum once and that had to be a personal best. Every time she felt the inclination, she thought about sitting behind Hugh's desk with her feet up instead.

The rest of the evening was another matter. It started with an event Foley would never be able to unsee. Nat and Nathan going at it on the sofa of love. She'd never sit on that sofa again without recalling what their tangle of limbs looked like. It forced a stilted shriek from her before she could back out of the room calling, “Sorry, sorry.”

The answering two-tone swearing, the sounds of two people scrambling about, followed her to her bedroom where she shut the door and leaned on it.

It should've made her laugh, so unexpected and so comic. Nathan wore snakeskin underwear around his thighs and Nat was bent so far over the sofa arm her face was almost in the carpet. It was the most unsexy thing she'd ever had the misfortune to glimpse, but it had the opposite effect, it pricked an internal bubble of sadness she'd been storing. It burst and wretchedness overflowed, making her heart bob around in the kiddie pool of her ribcage.

She should've been feeling triumphant after Hugh's vote of confidence, but seeing that unrestrained semi-naked tussle made her feel so God-awful lonely she felt like crying.

She hid in her room until Nat smacked on her door. “If you think you can keep a straight face, it's safe to come out.”

She wasn't sure she wouldn't bawl. She arranged her lips into the semblance of a smile and opened her door. Fortunately Nat looked so badly slapped together, her top on inside out and back to front, it was easy to grin at her. “Are you sure it's safe?”

“No,” Nathan shouted from the other room. “I'm deeply traumatised.”

Foley followed Nat to the lounge room to find Nathan fastening his belt. He otherwise looked immaculate, although now she knew about the underwear, she couldn't quite think about him the same way. She gave an involuntary shudder.

“Oh stop it,” Nathan said, looking miserable. “That will never happen again, I promise.” He pointed a finger at Nat. “You're moving in with me as soon as possible.”

“Oh really,” Nat said, sounding annoyed, but Foley saw the flush of pleasure on her face. Who'd have thought these two would make it. They'd seemed so unlikely, such a flash-fire infatuation, a clash of opposites destined to burn fast and turn to ash. But here they were talking about living together.

“This is your fault,” Nat said. “You should've answered the text.”

Foley looked from Nat to Nathan. “No fair. You're ganging up on me.”

“That's one way to put it.” Nathan sat on the love sofa. Foley chose a dining chair. Maybe Nat could take the sofa with her when she moved out.

“Is Walter Lam a creation of council?” Nat said, still standing.

Foley sighed. Despite how tantalising Y was, there was no way to say yes without making Roger, Hugh and the whole council look complicit. Walter was no puppet dancing on Gabriella's string; he was a marlin thrashing on a fishing line. He could swamp the boat and drown them all.

“Are we off the record?”

There was a look between the two lovebirds, no lust, totally professional. “Yes, this affects the paper too,” said Nathan.

“It affects you,” said Nat.

Nat went to sit with Nathan and Foley blinked furiously to crush the memory of Nat's bare pink butt cheeks wobbling in the air. “Okay,” she said, cautiously. It could only affect her in that it affected council's general reputation. “Tell me what you already know.”

Another shared look and Nathan said, “Someone at council instructed Walter to lobby against Trick Drummond.”

Foley winced, not at the truth, at the use of Drum's name.

Nat said, “Was that someone you, Fole?”

“What? You think I instructed Walter to start a protest?”

“It's what Walter is saying.”

“What!”

“Did you?”

She stood. “Hell, no.” Where was this coming from? This could change things. She'd never had a conversation with Walter and until she had to talk dog parks with him, she didn't intend to.

“But someone did. If you tell me it was Hugh, I might have to have instant angry sex with Nathan.”

“Baby,” Nathan muttered.

This was lunatic. “It wasn't Hugh. It wasn't me.”

“But it did happen and you know who it was.”

She nodded, reluctantly. “Are you running a story?” At least she could warn Hugh, he'd warn Roger, they could have the media team prepare a statement.

Nathan answered. “No, makes the paper look stupid too. We don't like being played.” Foley's breath swooshed out of her. “But I'm not happy. I've spent years building a relationship with council. If astroturfing is the new game plan, don't expect us to play ball. Next time there's a hermit squatter you want protected, we might not be so co-operative about not running photos.”

“Was it Gabriella?” Nat asked.

Foley frowned. It had to be Gabriella who told Walter to use her name. There was a high road, paved with dignity and respect, but the low road, for all its speed bumps and axle cracking, career derailing potholes, was so much more appealing. She closed her eyes. If she was going to be general manager, if she was going to be Gabriella's boss, she couldn't very well throw her under a speeding bus at the first opportunity. The second maybe, but the first, she had to be better than that.

She looked from Nat in her inside out shirt to Nathan of the snakeskin undies and made what promises she could. “There won't be any more astoturfing. Walter won't be easy to shut down. He likes being a local hero. I'll talk to Hugh, we'll do our best.”

Next morning she did talk to Hugh, and Hugh talked to Roger and Roger wanted to talk to her.

“He wants to talk to me,” she said to Hugh when he called her desk.

“The one and only.”

“I'm scared.”

“That's probably a good idea. He ripped me a new one for keeping him out of the loop and then I reminded him about plausible deniability and I'm back in his good books, and then I quit, and the whole process started again.”

“That must've been fun, but it doesn't explain why he wants to talk to me.”

“He's on your side, Foley. Now get your tail into his office and convince him he's right to be.”

She did it quickly, no bathroom pit stop, no lingering for lipstick, no one more email. If she thought about this too much, she'd chicken out. There was always a chance Roger's assistant, Donna, would turn her away anyway. Donna waved her right through.

Roger waited till she'd taken a seat and then got down to business. “Do you want Hugh's job?”

She nodded. She could feel adrenaline jittering in her body. She'd had hundreds of conversations with Roger, none so important to her future. “I do.”

“It'd be a big career jump for you.”

“Same kind of jump Hugh made.” Argh, that sounded aggressive, defensive, despite being true.

Roger smiled. “He said the same thing.” He leaned back in his big leather chair. “I owe you an apology, Foley. That amalgamation agenda had me running scared. I hired Gabriella in place of you and that was a mistake. She interpreted my interest in her experience in rather an odd way, in fact for a while there I thought she must've fancied me.” Roger grimaced. “Imagine that. My wife thought that was hysterical.” He shook his head.

“Anyway, after this last revelation, well, I can tell you confidentially I'll be asking her to pack her bags. You'll have to clean up her mess I'm afraid, your department has become dysfunctional. Then I want you in Hugh's job, same conditions he has, you'll start on a three month probation, but that's a formality, I hope.”

He stood and walked around the desk. “Congratulations, Foley.” She stood to meet him and took his hand. “We're going to make a great team.” If she'd been smiling any broader, she might've split her lip.

She was half out the door before he said, “What happened to our caveman? I know you tried to help him out.”

It was as if Roger hijacked her sun by mentioning Drum. Foley felt like she was suddenly stumbling in the dark. She pulled it together to say, “He left the area.”

Roger went back behind his desk. “Do you think he recovered from whatever put him in the cave?”

She shook her head. Drum had run from any chance to build a better life for himself. He'd been unable to face his father and his days were ruled by guilt and mental imbalance. She tried not to think about how he'd discarded her. She hated him for not being stronger, for not being prepared to try a different way.

And then she hated herself for thinking that way, the way his father did.

She tried not to think about him. She missed him. She mourned him. But mostly she still loved him.

34: A New Edge

Drum booked into a hotel. A two star near the railway, a cheap backpacker hotel, but still his appearance shocked them. They asked for the whole price of the room up front rather than a deposit and he didn't quibble.

When he put cash on the counter the desk clerk looked at him as if he'd rolled someone for the money, and when he got a good look at himself in the bathroom mirror, he laughed. The scraggy beard, the hair, the colour of his skin, the dirty looking, ill-fitting clothing. He looked like the down and out, the hobo, bum, the homeless hermit squatter he'd tried to be.

It was a wonder anyone had offered him an Anzac biscuit, or listened to his ravings, let alone agreed to hire him a room without charging him double.

He slept in a bed for the first time since the night with Foley and he hadn't slept much that night. He slept sixteen hours, waking only once to send housekeeping away.

He went out the next morning and got a haircut and a shave, bought moisturiser to take the wind-burned weathered look off his face. Then he hit a menswear store. He was their best customer in months. He outfitted himself top to toe. Shoes, socks, underwear, jeans, casual pants, a selection of shirts. He hovered over the ties. He'd always hated them. He left them off the growing mound of gear. But he added a suit. He'd still need one of those from time to time.

That was oddly exhausting, not only the amount of people he had to talk to but the noise and movement of the city. He went back to the hotel, ate a meal in their coffee shop and slept again.