Making Headlines (8 page)

‘Great. Give them a call then.' Rob handed her a media release with phone numbers scrawled next to names.

She whistled softly. Rob had actually helped her with a little research of his own. She looked up from the list to meet his eyes. He shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Well get on with it. The news does go to air at six o'clock, you know,' he said, frowning.

Rachel went to work.

The story fell together like a jigsaw puzzle that had been thrown in the air and landed in one picture-perfect piece. Three interviews with milliners, swirling shots of
models posing in beautiful hats, a fashion editor of a magazine giving her views, then back to the newsroom in time for a tape editor to be creative. She even managed to nab Dan, who in the last month, had started shooting ahead of his peers on the technical front and was proving a genius with special effects and music.

As Dan finished up, Mitch stuck his head in the door. ‘Hey, Rach, you got a minute? There's something I wanted to talk to you about.'

Dan ejected the disc and stood up. ‘Come on in, mate. We're done. Good job, Rach.' He walked out and Mitch swung inside, taking a seat.

He looked at her directly. A bolt of attraction kicked in as their eyes met. He turned to close the sliding door. ‘Look, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you before now, but I wanted to sort out what happened over the posters.'

‘Sure. What did you want to say?'

‘Well, you made a good point and you're right — they're not appropriate, and as head editor I have to accept some responsibility. So I've issued a memo to the guys explaining some new rules. They may see the edit suites as their own personal offices but other people have to work in them so they have to remove any offensive stuff. Just thought I'd let you know, and I'm sorry you were upset by it.'

He sat, hands pointed upwards together under his chin, waiting for her reaction. It was the last thing she'd expected from a man she'd assumed too arrogant for apologies.

‘Oh. I see.' She paused, caught by those blue eyes that seemed to know her. A flush swept over her cheeks. ‘Well, thank you. That's one small step in the battle for equality. And talking about that day, I should say I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions about the edit suite being yours. I made some pretty rash comments, so I apologise for that.'

‘That's okay,' Mitch said, smiling slowly. ‘All sorted then? Well, I'll get back to work. Guess you'll be heading home soon after your early start?' He stood up to open the door.

‘I probably will. Need to get to bed early to cope with these early starts.'

‘Sleep well,' he said, smiling suggestively.

Just those two words set her mind racing. Sleep, bed, Mitch . . . As he walked away he reminded her of the actor Matthew McConaughey with his languid charm. Then a wave of guilt swept over her as she thought about Tim and Damien. She had enough going on right now without additional complications.

Unsettled, she returned to her desk, watching Julia frantically typing a court story. She sensed someone behind her and she turned around.

Mary Masterson smiled from under her thick black bob and fake eyelashes. ‘Oh, Rachel dear, just wanted to congratulate you on your reading attempts this morning.'

‘Oh.' She paused. ‘Well . . . thanks.'

Mary's smile widened. ‘I heard it was a
bit
of an ordeal, but you survived without suffering a
complete
anxiety attack.'

‘Thanks, Mary.' She sighed. ‘Look, I agree it was complete crap. Thank you for being the only person in the newsroom honest enough to tell me.'

‘That's fine, dear.' Her mouth continued its upbeat dance, her eyes steely. ‘I'm just glad you realise newsreading isn't as easy as everyone thinks. So many young things these days think they'll be instant stars.' She gave a half-snort and walked off.

Before she got too far, Julia piped up. ‘Hey, Mary, ever think of volunteering for the education department's mentoring program?' She looked at Mary pointedly.

‘Not in the job brief, darling.' She continued walking, stilettos stabbing the floor.

‘Guess that says it all,' said Rachel flatly. ‘You're hilarious, Jules.'

‘No, she's the joke,' Julia said. ‘Such a bitch. Although, still not a patch on Helmut Becker. I heard that last week at Channel Three work drinks, our soon-to-be news director had a right hissy fit. A reporter complained about the cheap wine they were drinking. Made Helmut so mad, he grabbed the glass and threw the wine in his face. Now
that's
nasty.'

Rachel picked up her phone. ‘More like scary,' she said. ‘What an arsehole.' She tried calling Tim for the tenth time that day. She needed to see him to explain herself, to see if there was any hope for them at all. For the tenth time that day, he didn't answer.

***

By Friday, each time she read an update Rachel's nerves settled to a low jangle instead of a roar. After the nine o'clock went to air, she went to her desk to sort out some mail and prayed she could leave early so she could catch up on sleep. The week had been draining. Tim still hadn't returned her calls.

Sifting through the mail, she opened one letter with old-fashioned handwriting on the envelope.

Dear Rachel,

I've admired you from afar for quite some time. I've watched you this week with great interest as you've made the complicated transition from reporter to newsreader seamlessly and with much aplomb. Already you have become my preferred newsreader. Not only due to your impeccable delivery, but because of your intoxicating eyes, your beautiful hair and charismatic smile.

I would be delighted if you could send me an autographed photo to place on my mantelpiece. I feel a wonderful connection to you and hope that one day we will meet. Only then, all my dreams will be realised.

Much love, your Devoted Admirer, X.

Thrusting the letter under Julia's nose, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or be alarmed. ‘Jules, quick, take a look at this!'

She scanned the page and screwed up her face. ‘What a nutter. They're the sort of fans you can do without.' She crumpled up the page. ‘And this is what you need to do.' She threw it in the bin.

‘Such a hard heart! That could have been the start of a beautiful relationship,' said Rachel. ‘Shouldn't I at least reply?'

‘Don't be ridiculous!' said Julia.

Rob's roar sliced through their conversation. ‘Bentley, get your butt over here. You've got a helicopter to catch. Grab your overnight bag.'

Julia nodded towards Rob. ‘I reckon he went to the same management school as Helmut Becker.'

Mitch was leaning against Rob's desk. God, he was good-looking.

‘Rob, I've been doing early updates all week,' said Rachel. ‘Isn't there anyone else who could go?' she asked.

‘No one else left. You can sleep on the chopper. A young couple went missing on Mount Buller last night. The man's been found, but they're still searching for his wife. Hopefully you'll get some happy reunion shots.'

Rachel took the police media release he handed to her, wondering how long she'd be away.

‘They've got editing facilities at Buller. Maybe you should send an editor too?' Mitch said.

Rob frowned. ‘Don't think that will be necessary.'

As her eyes met Mitch's, she saw a mutual disappointment that an overnight stay
hadn't been given the green light. Ridiculous. She had no plans to pursue any relationship with anyone she worked with.

‘Right,' said Rachel. ‘I'll get moving then.' She picked up her bag and was heading outside when Mitch chased after her, carrying a large navy parka.

‘Hang on, Rach. You might need this.' He handed her the coat. ‘We keep a pile of these out the back.'

‘Oh, thank you,' she said. ‘I should have remembered . . .'

‘Thought you looked a bit off your game.' He eyed her curiously. ‘Bad week?'

‘Something like that. Thanks for the coat. That's really thoughtful.' She took the parka, avoiding his gaze.

‘No problem. Shame I'm not coming too. Could have had that drink I mentioned last week. Schnapps by an open fire would have been a nice option.' His lop-sided smile was inviting.

‘It would have,' she said, letting his eyes hold hers for a moment.

Stay safe.' He patted her shoulder and walked off, humming.

Rachel watched Channel Six become smaller and smaller as she was swept into the sky. Further away from Tim and into a snowy wilderness. The lost seeking the lost.

Funny how she thought she'd wanted to break off with him and then as soon as he didn't want her, she wanted him more than ever. She clasped the parka. At least she had a work buddy to look after her if there was a chance she'd be left out in the cold.

‘And the winner is . . . Rachel Bentley from Channel Six News.'

It wasn't exactly a Walkley Award, but it was a start. As applause broke out, Rachel walked through the crowd at Melbourne Town Hall, legs shaky. The Lord Mayor shook her hand and gave her a wooden plaque with a shiny metal insert inscribed with her name, while the Master of Ceremonies continued speaking into the microphone.

‘That's Rachel Bentley from Channel Six taking out “Best Melbourne Fashion Television Story” for her report on this year's Melbourne Cup Millinery designs. Congratulations, Rachel!'

Rachel smiled as the cameras flashed.
Try to relish the moment
. There were only four stations competing in the state-based competition, designed to promote everything Melbourne, but it was still something to be proud of, wasn't it? Her story was being played on a large screen before the audience. All she could feel was embarrassment that something so trivial was being given so much attention. If only she'd been recognised for her story exposing Leon Pannikos and his visa rort. Not to mention that it was Dan who really deserved the accolades for his bells and whistles editing job that gave the story its award-winning panache.

On the stage she felt a sense of detachment, as if time had slowed down. This was a moment to share but she had no one. Her girlfriends were all working, her mother was overseas, and she was definitely single.

Getting over Tim was taking longer than she'd imagined. It was two months since their argument at Bistro Thierry, and while they'd finally spoken on the phone, he still refused to see her. Their relationship was over. Rachel knew she could celebrate her award with girlfriends, but it wasn't quite the same. And there was a rising sense of panic as she contemplated her future. Her mother was due home with Brian in about three months, which meant she needed to find somewhere to live.

When she returned to the newsroom, she placed the plaque on her desk shelf.

Shirley approached, wearing her stock standard pussy-bow blouse and pencil skirt. ‘Congratulations, dear. You've done really well, haven't you? When you have a moment, Rob would like to see you in his office.'

Rachel signed inwardly, wondering what she'd done wrong now.

Rob stood up as she entered, giving her a lop-sided smile. ‘Miss Bentley. Well done with your award. Good job.' He reached out to shake her hand, his grip firm.

‘Well, yes, I guess any award, however small, is better than none.'

‘Well said. Now, take a seat.' Rob registered her concern. ‘Don't worry, everything's fine. I think you'll be pleased to know why you're here. Tony mapped out a budget for this new financial year before he left and he included you on the wardrobe list. He thought that if you were getting on top of reading the updates, you might want a bit of help with some extra suits. All you have to do is make an appointment with Vera, the head of wardrobe, and she'll take you shopping.'

‘Wow, that's fantastic! Thank you.' A clothing allowance sounded like nirvana.

‘There is one more thing.' Rob leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk, looking serious. ‘Now, I don't want you to get too excited, because this will just be a trial run for the moment. When he eventually gets here, Helmut will the one to make the final call. But as it turns out, Sarah will be leaving us suddenly because her husband's been promoted to some job in New York. Which means we need someone to read the late morning update shift permanently. From nine till twelve.' He paused to gauge her reaction.

Rachel shuffled in her seat, waiting expectantly. This was sounding too good to be true, which made her nervous.

Rob continued. ‘It really is a bit soon to be giving you the job, Rachel, but you have been making people sit up and take notice, so I thought we could put you on for a two-month trial period. How do you feel about that?'

A bubble of excitement tripped in her stomach. She gasped. ‘Oh, thank you. I can't believe it—'

‘It's not permanent yet. You must remember that.'

‘Yes, yes, a trial period. And I'll still be reporting too, won't I?'

‘Of course. They'll be long days, though. You happy to keep up the pace?'

‘Oh, yes. I love doing both. Thanks, Rob. Really. Thank you.'

‘Well, you've got to prove yourself first. So the trial shift will start next month, when the new rosters come out.'

Walking out of Rob's office her feet felt light. Her personal life might be collapsing like a tent but her career was slapping mortar on strong foundations. She could focus on her job and put all her energies into that without any distractions.

Back at her desk, she picked up an overturned frame on her shelf. A photo of Tim and herself, his arms holding her tight.

‘Still pining?' Julia sat down next to her.

Rachel shook her head. ‘No. I was just thinking it's probably time to dump this.'

‘Good idea.' Julia took the frame and jammed it in the bin. ‘About time you moved on.'

Rachel smiled. ‘You're right.' Just for good measure, she gave the bin a kick. It rolled to the side, landing at a pair of feet, the photo falling out.

Mitch. He picked up the frame, handing it to her. ‘Redecorating, Rach?'

‘More like spring-cleaning.' She flushed, taking the picture and straightening the bin.

‘Good to see such enthusiasm.' he said, walking on.

Julia gave a low whistle. ‘Yep, out with the old and in with the new.'

***

A week later, Rachel walked into the house armed with a truckload of shopping bags, Buying clothes with Vera had been heavenly, apart from one frightening revelation. On Monday, she would buy Vera some flowers to thank her, but right now she needed to make a phone call. She dumped the bags on her bedroom floor and picked up her mobile.

‘Hey, Kate. Listen, can we get moving on that gym plan of yours? Like, today.'

‘Absolutely. Why the sudden enthusiasm?'

‘I've just been taken on a shopping trip for work. All good except that we mostly had to buy size twelves. Which will make me look like a size sixteen on air.'

‘Oh, you poor thing! My heart bleeds. Jesus, you get designer labels and I get stuck with aprons.'

‘Oh. Guess that sounded bratty, huh?'

‘Just a little. But if you're willing to join the gym with me, I'll let it pass. Just this once. Long as you don't go chewing my ear off over Tim the whole time.'

‘No. I'm letting all that go. New gig at work, new clothes and a new me.'

‘Really? Thank Christ. Okay then, let's meet at the gym tonight at six so we can sign up.'

Rachel hung up and lay back on her bed. It felt good to be moving on.

***

Dressing carefully in her new yellow silk dress with black flowers, Rachel turned this way and that in front of the bathroom mirror. It was still hard to believe someone else
had paid for her new wardrobe. The girl in the mirror looked fresh and polished, almost out of place in the outdated bathroom with its pale apricot basin and cracked terracotta-tiled floor.

Lou walked past and did a double take. ‘Wow, can't wait to borrow that number.'

‘Hands off. This is Channel Six property.' Rachel started applying her makeup.

‘Bummer. It looks really good on you, Rach.' Lou leaned against the doorjamb. She spoke like she really meant it. ‘You're starting to look like you really could be a newsreader.'

Rachel nearly dropped her mascara. ‘Thanks. That's a change of tune.'

Lou clasped her shoulders from behind. ‘Well, I was wrong. Maybe you're not aiming too high after all.' She smiled ruefully and walked off.

That was a big statement coming from Lou. Maybe their mother was right. Living together was helping to bring them closer together after all.

***

When Rachel arrived at work, the newsroom conveyed the usual Monday morning hubbub. The reporters were always keen to start the week with a decent story. As she approached, Julia and Gerard were debating the merits of a political yarn.

Julia looked up and whistled. ‘So the shopping trip was a success?'

Rachel put her hands on her hips, striking a pose. ‘Glad you like.'

Then Julia's face dropped. ‘Oh gawd,' she said in a hushed voice. ‘I don't think you're going to . . .'

Someone tapped Rachel on the shoulder. She spun around to face Mary Masterson wearing exactly the same yellow and black dress.

‘Rachel, it seems we have a dilemma.' Her voice was steely.

‘Oh my God, I am so sorry, I had no idea you had—'

‘Well, now you do. And I hope this will be the last time you wear it to work. I can solve the problem today by changing after my photo shoot, but it would probably help if you only wear the dress outside of Channel Six in the future. Understand?'

‘Well, yes, of course. I'm just not sure why Vera would have let me buy this—'

‘Vera doesn't buy my clothes, I have a separate stylist. Never mind, the problem is solved. Just don't dye your hair black, okay?' She snorted at her own joke and strutted off.

‘What a cow,' said Julia.

‘Mega bitch,' said Gerard.

Rachel just stood there.

Mitch walked by, looking her up and down. ‘I know who wears it best.' He winked and kept walking. She wished he'd stayed.

Gerard leaned close. ‘Looks like he'd rather see you
without
the dress, honey.'

‘Rachel Bentley, would you stop pretending to be a newsreader and get over here!' Rob shouted.

‘Triple mega bitch,' said Rachel under her breath, pulling a face at her friends before doing as she was told.

‘Okay, Rachel.' Rob handed her a photocopy of a typed letter. ‘It's a note from the kid's family. His name's Liam Riley. Nine years old and dying from some rare neurological disease. Apparently there are doctors who specialise in the U.S. and the family is trying to raise funds for his flight and treatment through a public appeal.'

Rachel felt her heart tighten. So young and already battling the grim reaper. Of course she wanted to help. ‘So what are his chances if he gets to the States?'

‘About fifty-fifty.'

‘Worth fighting for.'

Rob placed his hands on his hips. ‘Just try not to get too involved.'

‘Thanks. I appreciate that.' She walked off, thinking how ironic it was, to be given emotional advice from the gruff Rob Kingsbury.

‘You're with News Two,' he called out after her.

With tyres screeching, the news car sped out of the car park. Rachel gripped her armrest. ‘Jesus Christ, Charlie, we're not heading to an emergency, you know.'

Charlie hunched over the steering wheel, his beard jutting forward. ‘Always got to get to the story first, Rachel, whatever the subject. Gives you the edge.' He grinned, staring at the traffic ahead.

Rachel grabbed for her seatbelt as they swerved to dodge another vehicle, giving Charlie a clear laneway so he could race through an orange traffic light.

‘Yes!' he cried. ‘Made it!'

Rachel sat back and closed her eyes. There was no point arguing. When they pulled up outside the yellow brick-veneer in Altona, they were clearly the first to arrive. It wasn't exactly what Rachel had wanted. No wonder the Rileys needed financial help. Their tiny home was in a street lined with similarly rundown houses. The gate squeaked as she pushed it open. The garden was neat, but the windows were framed with peeling
paint. The postage-stamp veranda was a square of grey concrete; the front door shadowed by a fly-wire screen torn down one side.

A short pretty woman with a round face and hopeful eyes answered Rachel's knock. ‘Oh, hello,' she breathed nervously. ‘I guess you're here to do a story about Liam? I'm his mum, Kath Riley.'

‘Yes, hi Kath. I'm Rachel Bentley from Channel Six. Sorry if we're a bit early.'

‘Oh no, that's fine. Liam's a bit weary of course, with the illness, so it's probably best that he meets you in small groups rather than all at once.'

Rachel heard Charlie cough behind her. She got the message. She followed Kath down a narrow hallway into a sunroom at the back of the house. A neat, over-crowded room with a round dining table and mismatched chairs squashed into a space in front of a worn kitchen bench. Two men stood to greet her, introducing themselves as Liam's father, Sean, and a medical specialist, Colin Griffiths. Both tall and oddly alike, with long thin faces and serious eyes. To her left, a large couch and two armchairs, that seemed too big for the room, looked out to a tiny backyard. Kath gestured to the sofa.

‘And Liam's over there.'

Rachel turned to find a young boy propped up by pillows — his small frame hardly denting the heavy brocade. Sunlight streaming through the window backlit what was left of his hair. She imagined it had probably been strawberry blond like his mother's.

‘Hi, Liam, I'm Rachel. How are you today?' She sat down close to him.

‘A bit tired, but I'm okay.' He smiled; his eyes wise for a nine year old.

‘Do you mind if we have a chat with you? On camera, I mean. We're hoping we can help you, Liam.' She reached out to pat his leg.

‘I know why you're here. It's kind of exciting, you know. About being on television and all that.' He smiled again, his pale face gaining just a hint of colour. His skin was almost translucent.

‘Ah yes, well, that makes you pretty special doesn't it? At the moment I live with my three-year-old nephew, Josh, and I know he'd love to be on the TV, but he's a bit young. So I'm thinking, if you're happy to start straight away, we might have a chat on camera now, so we don't tire you out.'

‘Sure. I'm not
that
tired,' he said.

She turned to Charlie who nodded, ready to roll. The camera clicked and Rachel began by asking Liam simple questions about school and his family. She knew she had
to get to the point and ask him directly about his disease. It seemed heartless, but an emotional story would inspire more viewers to donate.