Making Headlines (18 page)

Walking the corridor to the newsroom, Rachel felt everyone staring as if she had a sign on her forehead —
WARNING: girl about to read news bulletin for first time.

Could she call herself a newsreader yet? She'd read updates, but never an entire bulletin.

And yet here she was, starting a major new career direction with a new contract. Adam Montague had lived up to the high praise bestowed by Jeannie Friedrich, settling all the finer contractual points with professionalism and efficiency. He'd even managed to win her a decent pay rise. She was officially signed on for a two-year period.

Being a Saturday, the atmosphere of the newsroom was less frenetic. Rachel was glad, the churning in her stomach was enough. Smoothing down the skirt of a new pale-blue suit — the result of a second shopping trip with Vera — she approached her desk, heart sinking as she saw Julia already at work typing up a story. Julia would have started at eight and here she was just arriving, more than five hours later. One of the perks of being a newsreader was a late start, but it was strange turning up to work at twelve thirty in the afternoon.

‘Hi hon, how's it going?' Rachel placed her handbag on her desk.

Julia paused, giving a half-smile. ‘Same old thing for us workers.' She continued typing.

The unfairness of the situation was something they couldn't discuss. The elephant in the room loomed large. Rachel logged onto her computer to check the day's stories so far. She had four updates to prepare and read before presenting the main bulletin.

Julia let out a deep sigh and pushed her chair back. ‘I really don't know if this is the right thing to do or not.' She reached for something under her desk. ‘I hid it at first when I saw the handwriting, being your first day reading and all. But now I think you'd better take a look, in case it's something the police should know about.' She handed Rachel a large box wrapped in plain brown paper.

‘You're kidding, right?' said Rachel. ‘This is the last thing I need. Helmut doesn't want me going to the cops anyway.'

‘Your safety is more important than his concerns about publicity. You should
open it,' said Julia.

She shouldn't open it, but curiosity took over and she broke open the packaging. It was a white cardboard box. She opened the top flaps. Rolls of paper, maybe posters, were bunched together inside. Unfurling them, she placed the images on her desk. Before her lay four collages of pictures that had been cut out and glued together into a montage of murder and torture and rape. Bodies ripped apart by the limbs, hacked with axes; flesh torn, bleeding and hanging. Faces twisted and frightened.

The final scroll was made of tissue paper and had something solid inside. Rachel held it up to let the object drop onto her desk. A black-handled knife — the blade covered in a red substance that looked like paint or even blood.

‘Christ,' Rachel said. ‘I wish you had kept it hidden.' She reached for an envelope at the bottom of the box.

My Dear Heartless One,

Perhaps I should remove your biological heart in keeping with your emotional condition? I have so many reasons to do so and yet that would destroy our destiny, which is, of course, to be united.

So why, my love, do you continue to ignore me? Is it just that we live in a noisy world and the noise is too much for you? Perhaps you can't hear the truth of my passion? Shall I remove your ears as well?

Are you willing to listen now?

I await your answer with anticipation.

Your Devoted Admirer X.

‘That from your soul mate?' A voice in Rachel's ear.

She spun around to see Dan standing there, shaking his head as he stared at the pictures on her desk. ‘What do you think?' she said.

He recoiled, grimacing. ‘That is seriously fucked up. Even if it were Halloween, I'd think it was fucked.'

‘You see?' said Julia. ‘This has to be dealt with.'

‘Look, I just came by to see when you're doing your first update. I'm cutting them this arvo.' Dan started backing away.

‘Of course, sorry Dan.' Rachel turned back to the pictures and packed them back into the box. ‘I'm heading into makeup soon. First one's at 2 pm.'

‘Great, thanks.' He nodded and walked off.

‘What did Helmut say about the last package?' asked Julia.

‘He just laughed it off again.'

‘Well he can't laugh this off. You
must
tell him'

‘I will,' said Rachel. ‘Next week. Got to get to makeup now or I'll be late for my first update.'

‘Sure, you do that.' Julia started typing.

Rachel couldn't stand the unspoken conversation any longer. She sat down, rolling her chair close in to Julia. ‘You know this is hard for me, don't you? I feel awful that Helmut wouldn't let you have a go at reading, and I feel guilty now that I'm doing the news today. I don't want it to affect things between us. If it's any consolation, I'm nervous as hell and am just praying I don't fuck up, big time.'

Julia looked up, her face open and peach pink. ‘To be honest, it is awkward. I am jealous and I shouldn't be. And yes, part of me kind of wants you to fuck up because you seem to get everything you want so easily. But I'll get over it, really . . . I'm sorry.'

‘That's okay. Thanks for being honest. I think.' She stood up and patted Julia tentatively on the shoulder before grabbing her phone to head off.

‘No, come here.' Julia jumped up and pulled Rachel towards her for a hug. ‘I'm sorry, I'm such a bitch. I really do hope you do well. I know you will.'

Squeezing her back, Rachel thanked her. ‘Maybe we could have a drink after the news?'

‘Yeah, that would be great.' Julia waved her away. ‘Go on then, piss off. Read like that and you'll terrify the viewers.'

Rachel carried out her duties like a robot. First wardrobe, then makeup. Thank God for Rex. He presented her with a rose in honour of her first proper bulletin and propped up her confidence with compliments. Then she headed to the production desk for a chat with Ned about the main stories of the day, before returning to her desk to read scripts on her computer. Time moved in an errant fashion, speeding up one moment then not moving at all. Nausea stirred in her stomach.

When Rachel looked at the clock and saw it was five thirty, a tingling rose from her toes up through her body and her fingers, her mouth, to the very ends of her hair. In just half an hour she would be reading the news, live to air, for the first time in her life. This was the real thing, with more than four hundred thousand people watching.

She studied her reflection in the computer screen. Her makeup was intact — a
carefully constructed concoction of colours and creams masking any flaws. Her suit was immaculate — stylish, yet conservative — the usual newsreader uniform, allowing the viewer to absorb the bulletin without distraction.

Not like the image from a bad dream the night before. She'd been running late for makeup, due to read the news in a matter of minutes. No time to dress properly or blow-dry her hair, she'd raced from makeup to the studio in a T-shirt and knickers, wet hair dripping down her back. The sense of panic was suffocating. She'd tried to open the studio door but it was locked and wouldn't budge. She was knocking and thumping and calling out, then woke up in a sweat.

But now she was fully dressed. Her hair was dry, coated with a thick layer of hairspray, sitting like a solid helmet on her head. Rachel reviewed her scripts for the hundredth time. All in order. No tricky names to pronounce. The most difficult challenge would be convincing Kevin McIntyre she was a worthy co-anchor.

‘Rachel! Thought I'd drop by to wish you luck.'

It was Helmut. She sat up with a jolt. He was walking quickly towards her, huffing, his cheeks red and ballooning. He didn't usually work on Saturdays. He had one hand behind his back and was smiling weirdly, coming closer and closer.

‘Whack!' Out of nowhere, he slammed a cricket bat on her desk. She jumped out of her seat, her chair tipping over. ‘Whack!' He did it again. Then started laughing. Julia sat frozen, mouth agape.

‘Oh Lord, you should see your expressions! Gold!' he roared like a bull. ‘That's my trademark. Cricket-bat thumping. A good thump always scares the bejesus out of you. It'll take your mind off first-night nerves.' He nodded. ‘Get it? It's all a mind trick.'

Rachel stood there, mute.

‘Oh, come on. It's a joke.' He looked at her like she was stupid.

She forced herself to speak. ‘Right. Okay. I'm sure I'll see the funny side in a minute or two. Just got all these issues about the bulletin on my mind right now.'

‘Ah, nothing to it. You've done updates. You'll be fine. Anyway, I'm going to grab a beer and watch your work. Good luck.' He hitched up his trousers, scratched his balls, seized the cricket bat and trotted back to his office.

Rachel righted her chair and sat back down, then turned to Julia, mouthing, ‘What . . . the . . . fuck?'

‘I have to check my story. I'm not saying anything.' Julia stood up, keeping her face neutral. ‘But he
is
a total nutcase,' she said under her breath as she walked away.

It was time to focus. Hard not to think about the fucking cricket bat. The clock ticked on. Five forty-five. Rachel reread her scripts. Tick, tick, tick. In just five minutes she would make her way down the corridor to the news studio with its glaring lights and imposing news desk. Tick, tick, tick. She should go now. Don't risk living the nightmare of being locked out.

The heavy soundproof door banged shut behind her. She took a seat at the news desk and felt a surprising sense of relief. Strong lights warmed the air and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the glare. She felt cocooned, shut away from the real world, in a haven where she belonged.

‘Right, Rach, you ready to show 'em what you've got?' Mike, the floor manager, gave her the scripts with a reassuring smile. She nodded.

‘And Sue's on auto-cue.' Mike nodded to the corner. Sue gave her a wave, sitting behind a computer that scrolled through the words in time with Rachel's voice.

‘Just relax, Rach. You'll be great, mate.' Jason the cameraman rallied behind Mike.

‘Of course she'll be fine, you dickheads,' Andy, the second cameraman piped up. ‘Taught her everything she knows during her screen test. She'll be fuckin' brilliant!'

‘Too fuckin' right,' Rachel called back.

They all laughed, but then Kevin walked in, cutting the jocularity short. Rachel hoped he hadn't heard. He didn't even look at her as he sat at the news desk with the air of an old-fashioned schoolmaster about to present a formal lecture. Bristling, he shuffled his news scripts in silence.

‘Hi Kevin,' ventured Rachel. ‘Happy with how the bulletin is looking?'

‘Yes, all fine.' Still, he would not look her way.

Mike gave her a rundown on which cameras to face then announced the five-minute call. She glanced at Kevin, thinking about whether to start a conversation, but decided mutual silence was better than trying to force a relationship. Besides, she had more urgent matters to deal with. Exchanging raised eyebrows with the floor crew, she returned her attention to the news scripts.

‘
Ten
seconds,' boomed Mike.

Rachel's head jerked, startled at the speed of time.

‘Don't worry, Rach,' Mike whispered loudly, ‘it's just like an extended update.' His voice was projecting. ‘Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .' And the news theme burst forth.

She was reading the headlines, and watching herself with her mind's eye at the same time. Her voice was high-pitched and she was speaking too quickly. Then Kevin's turn to read. A short break. Her body relaxed a fraction. Then another introduction to read. Still too fast. She felt perspiration beading on her forehead and upper lip.

Rex stepped in during the ad break to powder her down. ‘It's only the weekend news, honey.' He dabbed her nose and under her eyes with a sponge. ‘Just stay calm.'

Easy for Rex to say. But he was right, she needed to relax. At least the ad break gave her some time out. She scanned the next script, reading softly. ‘Police are calling on motorists to slow down on the roads with the Easter road toll rising . . .'

Mike's voice boomed forth again. ‘Ten, nine, eight . . .'

She couldn't believe the ad break was over already. She looked up at the autocue. The words read, ‘Five men had to be rescued . . .' Panic flooded her. This was not the Easter road toll story. ‘Sue! Aren't we doing the road toll?'

‘Three, two, one.' Mike finished and she was on air. Words on the auto-cue were scrolling before her at top speed. A producer spoke into her earpiece. ‘Read off your script. We're going with the road toll.'

Rachel looked down, hands trembling, trying to regain control.

It must have been a gaping five seconds before she began to speak. It couldn't have been avoided, but it left her shaken. Trying to present a calm face she looked into the camera. ‘Police are calling on motorists . . .'

After that, her confidence plummeted. Words tripped over each other and she stumbled on the name of the Fijian Prime Minister. Frank ‘Bigh-nee-marama' was the correct pronunciation. It came out of her mouth like the eighties girl-band,
Bananarama.
Shit.

***

Tiptoeing around cables and out of the studio in a daze, Rachel heard Kevin's footsteps behind her, deliberately keeping pace a few steps back. He would have hated her delivery. She cringed just thinking about it.

In the sports department, Brent was leaning against the door, sneering. ‘Total disaster, Bentley. What a disgrace! Reckon that'll be the last time you read.'

She kept walking.