Making Headlines (26 page)

‘A charity ball. There's a lot of those on Rachel's calendar these days.' Mitch sat Josh down next to him.

‘La de da da,' sang Lou from the kitchen, dishing up. ‘You'll be way too fancy for us lot soon.'

‘Oh, no, Lou, Rachel didn't enjoy it at all. Believe me,' Mitch said firmly.

‘Darling, why ever not?' said Margaret.

She shrugged. ‘We had our photo taken by a social snapper and I know I'm going to cop it if it's in the paper.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘If my picture is ever in the social pages, Helmut goes berserk. Says a newsreader shouldn't try to be a celebrity.'

‘He's even accused Rachel of
trying
to get her picture taken,' said Mitch. ‘It's crazy. He should welcome the publicity. Rachel spends all night trying to dodge cameras. And you can't say no to them, or they think you're a stuck-up wanker.'

‘Oh, well, you can relax tonight,' said Lou, plonking large servings of pasta in front of them. ‘No cameras here.' She winked at Rachel who picked up a fork, trying to look enthusiastic.

When Mitch left, Neil took Josh to have a bath and get him ready for bed. The women took their wine into the sunroom, where an open fire dappled the walls with flickering light. The coffee table was littered with crayons and paper. It was a comforting space, but Rachel felt restless. The stalker's threats were weighing heavily. She'd even taken up smoking again, much to Mitch's disgust. He'd made her promise she'd give up when they finally moved in together. She sipped her wine, trying to forget the last three letters she'd received, and listened to Lou talk about her work.

‘And that's the most rewarding part. When you can see you've actually made a breakthrough with someone. It means I have to work back late sometimes, but Neil has been great with Josh and I will cut the hours back soon.' Lou sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, her face earnest.

Rachel wanted to soak up the warmth from the flames, so she moved to a cushion by the fireplace. Flashes from the explosion at the Collins Street bombing caught her unawares and she leaned against the coffee table. Reaching for the crayons, she started
doodling. She'd always loved art at school. Perhaps she would take up classes. Not Lou's, of course.

The lines grew darker and heavier. Angular and harsh. A man's face emerged. He looked like the devil. Smiling to herself, she drew flames that swept up around his cheekbones and changed his mouth to an anguished scream. It was a while before she realised the conversation had stopped.

‘That's pretty telling stuff,' Lou said gently. ‘Are you getting more of those letters, Rach?'

‘Oh, this has nothing to do with the letters.' Rachel scrunched up the picture and threw it in to the fire. ‘Just doodling. I'm in front of a fire so it's pretty obvious.'

‘Rach, it's just us. Me and Mum. You don't need to pretend. Last time we had coffee, you started to share your feelings about this. I promise you'll feel so much better if you do.'

Rachel stared into the flames a while then closed her eyes. Her head felt heavy. Would the letters also lead to flames? Why did she attract such violence? She needed to know.

Shifting to the couch, she turned to Lou. ‘Okay, here you go. Since the bombing, I do have nightmares about flames. Now I've got a nightmare boss on a mission to get rid of me and some weirdo sending me threatening letters.' She paused and looked directly at Lou. ‘So go ahead, Ms Counsellor, solve that for me. How come all those things are happening to one person? To me?'

Margaret sat down next to her, squeezing her shoulders. ‘Darling girl, none of that is your fault. It will all be okay, really it will.'

On Rachel's other side Lou put her arm around her. ‘Rach, they are all separate and unrelated incidents. And the situation with your boss can be repaired. Maybe you just need to try harder with him? Why not try and be his friend?'

‘No, Lou, you don't understand.' Rachel pulled away from her. ‘I've tried that already and it doesn't work. It's got to the point where I genuinely hate him. Really. I mean, if he spontaneously combusted and was writhing in agony, I wouldn't reach for the fire extinguisher. And if his charred bones fell to the floor I would happily stomp on them and relish the crunching sound under my feet.'

Lou looked at Margaret. ‘I think we have a problem . . .'

***

Rachel woke the next morning feeling surprisingly happy. No disturbing dreams. She
hadn't woken once during the night. Maybe Lou was right. Maybe it was cathartic to talk. She sprang out of bed early, managing to go to the gym, the shops and check out two apartments before arriving at work half an hour early.

Her good fortune continued when she saw Helmut's door closed and he was nowhere to be seen. Even Julia happened to be free so they had coffee in the canteen before Rachel headed to makeup. And Evie was rostered on, so they could catch up on their weekend news.

As Evie was finishing her hair, a booming voice brought her crashing back down. Helmut was at the door, thumping a newspaper against the wall.

‘Bentley? In the social pages again?'

‘But Helmut, it was a charity event the network wanted me to attend.'

‘That doesn't mean we want you swanning around pretending to be some kind of a social butterfly!'

‘I tried to avoid the cameras—'

‘Rubbish. You and Mitch are well and truly posing.'

‘Only because we were caught at the table. Isn't it good publicity?'

‘Bentley, what kills a skunk is the publicity it gives itself.' He slammed the newspaper on the bench and walked off.

Evie and Rachel looked at each other wide-eyed in the mirror.

‘So I'm a skunk now?'

***

When Rachel looked up from her computer that afternoon, Helmut was again outside his office with arms crossed, staring at her. She reached into her handbag for a bottle of perfume and started spraying herself from top to toe. After all, a skunk should at least try to cover its odour.

In fact, after her talk with Lou Rachel had decided she was going to step up action over the stalker letters. Her first move was to raise the subject again with Helmut. She knew he had contacts high up in the police force, surely they could do more than the local members, who'd come up with nothing. She pulled a pile of letters from her filing cabinet and placed them on her desk.

Helmut walked in the door, waving a hand before his face. ‘Phwoar . . . bit heavy there on the perfume, Bentley.'

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘But I'm glad you popped in. I need to talk to you about these.' She placed a fist on the stack next to her. ‘Remember three months ago I showed you
letters from that weirdo? Well they've started up again. It's getting more serious. I thought you should take a look.' She pushed the pile towards him.

Helmut grabbed them. ‘Yeah, I'll take a squiz later. Look, about your update roster next week, you're going have to do a couple of extra shifts to cover for Jack. He's coming with me on a company golf tournament. So you'll have to do Tuesday and Thursday as well.'

Rachel blinked and raised her eyebrows. ‘Sounds fun. Did you know I play golf? Maybe I could come as well?'

He glared. ‘I told you it's a
blokes'
tournament. Or are you going to have a sex change?'

‘Silly me, mustn't have heard you properly. Well, I hope you boys have fun.'

‘Ditch the sarcasm, Bentley. Sounds like you're jealous of my friendship with Jack.'

She coughed into her hand, to stop herself screaming with frustration. ‘No, (cough, cough) . . . I just meant . . . (cough, cough) have fun.'

‘And the week after, Jack is being flown up to Sydney to make a news promo for a couple of days, so you'll have to cover his updates then too.' He lifted his double chins and looked down his nose.

Rachel stood up so she could look down on him. Her high heels gave her the advantage. ‘If you're making a promo for the news, shouldn't I be in it too?' Her mouth smiled but her eyes couldn't.

‘Don't be ridiculous, Bentley. The only reason the news does well is because of Jack. Jack Nolan is popular with the viewers. He's a legend.'

‘I agree he's popular, but we're a team and that should be represented in the promos.'

Helmut leaned forward and shook his head slowly. He started poking a finger at her, almost close enough to hit her in the eye. His voice was controlled but menacing. ‘How . . . dare . . . you. How dare you, Rachel Bentley, expect to be treated on the same level as Jack Nolan! Get real. This is commercial television!'

She sat back in her seat. There was nothing she could say.

He turned back one more time before he left. ‘And Bentley? Remember that bit of advice I gave you? Never,
ever
think you're irreplaceable.'

He walked off and she sank back in her chair, drained. This was supposed to be her dream job. She was supposed to be involved in the exciting challenges that came
with presenting and writing about the biggest stories that were making news in the world. Instead, it was all about her hair and office politics. And stalkers. Lola and Rex had been right to warn her about this job.
Be careful what you wish for.

It was time to call HR. She phoned Rosemary and asked for a line to Sydney. Then she'd go outside and have a cigarette.

***

On Saturday, Rachel drove straight from the gym to meet Mitch at a house open for inspection in Port Melbourne. It was a quaint semi-detached in a narrow street of weatherboard fishermen's cottages. She could tell straight away it was too pokey for them. Dozens of couples were wandering through, some offering above the weekly rental in the hope of securing the property. Competition was rife. Each week they looked, the houses were less appealing but the rents higher. Deflated, they went for a drink at the upmarket Albert Park Hotel in the neighbouring suburb.

Armed with a vodka, lime and soda, and Mitch with a light beer, they wandered upstairs to the outdoor courtyard so Rachel could smoke. A cold grey sky stretched over rows of slate-tiled rooftops and chimneys. Mitch zipped up his jacket to ward off the winter breeze. She was glad she'd worn her duffle coat.

They found a table against the balcony and took a seat.

‘I think we need to up the price we're expecting to pay.' Rachel lit up and exhaled a thin line of smoke.

‘Rach, we've talked about this. I earn less than you and I can't afford more than we've budgeted for.'

‘I know, but if I'm earning more, then I can afford to pay more and we can get the sort of home we're looking for.'

‘The sort of home
you're
looking for or
we're
looking for?' His face was grim.

She sighed. ‘I just want it to be perfect. I don't mind paying more.'

‘But I do. Especially if we want to save at the same time so we can buy our own place one day.'

‘We can still do that. Oh, Mitch, we've been looking for months! I just want us to live together. I'm tired of waiting.'

‘Maybe if you gave up smoking, you'd save some cash . . .'

‘Oh, shut up. I'll give up when I'm ready.' She blew smoke in his face, which he waved away.

‘That's fine. If you don't mind an early death.' He shrugged.

She recalled her dream with the prophet. ‘I already know when I'm going to die.' As soon as she spoke, she regretted opening her mouth.

‘Really? Could you be so kind as to let me know?'

She paused, taking another puff. ‘Oh, no, it's silly. Just a stupid dream I had. Forget it.'

‘No, I'm curious. Tell me.'

‘Just this prophet telling me I'd be dead next month. It freaked me out at the time. So much so, I actually got out of bed and wrote down the date. It's July eighteenth.'

Mitch shook his head. ‘That's crazy. Dreaming the date of your own death? Only you, Rachel . . .'

She laughed awkwardly. ‘I obviously had Josie's death on my mind, and more letters from the stalker . . . So it's a reactionary dream, not a prophecy. And I'm not superstitious or anything. Not like Evie.' She rolled her eyes.

‘July eighteenth. Hmm . . . Glad you're not superstitious 'cos that's my next surfing weekend away with the guys. I cancelled the last one because of your dinner at Silks, so I don't want to miss this one.'

‘Surfing in July? Sounds horrible. You'll freeze,' she said, butting out her cigarette.

‘Nah, that's what wetsuits are for. And besides, you get the best waves in winter, especially down at Torquay. It'll be brilliant. You sure you're okay with it?'

‘Of course.' She smiled brightly. ‘It was just a dream. I'll be fine. Really.'

‘Oh no, I just remembered. It's your birthday on the sixteenth. Maybe I should cancel.'

‘No, don't. It's not an important birthday. We can celebrate on the actual night and go out to dinner mid-week.'

‘You sure?' Mitch took her face in his hands, looking at her intently.

‘Of course, silly. You already organised that dinner at Silks, we don't need another party. You need to surf. I get it.'

He pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.

The clouds broke up and hazy sunshine cut through the gloom. They ordered some antipasto and bread and sat there debating where they should live. After three drinks, Rachel began to feel light-headed. She'd skipped lunch and only picked at the olives, so the vodka was taking its toll. Mitch suggested she leave her car and he drive her home.

‘Excellent suggestion.' She rubbed her leg against his under the table. ‘That way you can put me to bed, because I think I'm going to need a nanna nap before dinner.'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘All the more reason for me to get you home as soon as possible.' He downed the last of his beer. ‘Let's go then.'