The Ones You Trust

by Caroline Overington

  ‘It’s important for me that I do know that,’ said Emma. ‘That’s why I’m so glad he took that photograph of Fox sleeping. I know it was for the ransom, but it gives me comfort, to know that she was with you, taking a nap as normal, because the things that go through your head . . .’

  She trailed off and Ellen rushed in, saying, ‘I promise you, Emma, we played and she ate – we had toast soldiers in the morning – and she went to sleep, and I was telling her, your mummy is coming soon.’

  Ellen wiped a finger under her eye, smudging some of the perfectly placed kohl.

  ‘But there is one other thing I want to say,’ Ellen said. ‘I feel like I am to blame.’

  ‘But why?’ cried Emma.

  ‘Because the one reason I can think that Liam would have done this was for money, and one thing he needed money for was a house. Not for him, for me. We always lived in housing commission. He’d seen me struggle all my life, and he said to me a few times, “I’m going to buy you a house one day, Mum.” I don’t want to think he did this for me, but . . .’

  ‘No. No. He wasn’t thinking straight,’ said Emma, trying to reassure her. ‘That’s the point.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Ellen, nodding as she wiped her dripping nose.

  Emma leaned forward, again taking Ellen’s hands in her own.

  ‘Oh, viewers will love that,’ said Matty. ‘She’s just picked up Ellen’s snotty hands! She’s not even a little bit of a snob.’

  ‘Do not blame yourself,’ Emma said firmly. ‘I’m sorry any of this had to happen.’ She paused, before adding, ‘That feeling, when I first realised Fox was missing . . .’ She clutched at the silk of her blouse, and took a deep breath. ‘I never want to feel that way again. I felt like I was drowning. And I know that’s how you feel, because now you’ve lost your son . . .’

  ‘I miss him so much,’ Ellen said tearfully. ‘I know he did a bad thing, but he’s still my son at the end of the day.’

  They leaned forward, and held each other. Matty gave the floor manager a signal. The two women – Ellen and Emma – turned to look. A door in the panel behind the two armchairs opened, and PJ stepped out, with Fox-Piper in a party dress and shiny Mary Janes. For a moment, she looked confused. Seeing her mum, she raced across the floor, climbing straight onto her lap, where she hid her face in the silky folds of Emma’s blouse.

  ‘Here she is,’ said Emma, speaking into Fox’s curls. ‘Here’s my baby girl.’ Then, ‘Fox? Can you look up? Can you say hello to Auntie Ellen?’

  Fox lifted her face from her mum’s shoulder, and extracted the thumb from her mouth. She turned towards Ellen. She lowered her face, but lifted her eyelids, and blinked.

  ‘Hello,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Hello, Fox,’ blubbered Ellen. ‘Hello, beautiful girl. I am so happy to see you again.’

  ‘Do you want to give Auntie Ellen a hug, Fox?’ asked Emma. ‘Because remember I told you, she’s feeling a bit sad?’

  Fox considered the situation. Maven could imagine the audience at home – Mum and Dad, all the Cuppa fans – holding their breath, as Fox turned on her mum’s lap and then reached out, happily, for Ellen, and the three of them embraced, with Fox in the middle of a circle made up of the silk of Emma’s blouse and the raw pink of Ellen’s fleshy upper arms.

  Matty yelled, ‘Cut.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ whispered PJ, lightly punching the air.

  ‘Ratings gold,’ Maven agreed.

  Monday 7 December

  Noon

  (Eight Weeks Later)

  Knock-knock.

  Maven looked over her reading glasses. She was sitting at her desk in her corner office, and had been tapping on an iPad screen, with coffee and an electronic cigarette by her side.

  ‘Emma!’ she said, rising.

  ‘May I come in?’

  Maven blew a mouthful of apple-flavoured vapour out of the side of her mouth. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? We could have had lunch.’

  Emma, standing with one hand on the back of one of the visitor chairs, said, ‘I wanted it to be low-key.’

  ‘Sounds ominous.’

  She shrugged one shoulder and gave a wry smile.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this,’ said Maven. ‘You better sit down.’

  Emma pulled the chair out and sat, crossing her legs. She was wearing skinny jeans with expensive leather ankle boots, and she had her hair tied up, but loosely. To Maven, it seemed she had lost at least five kilograms since the kidnap. Her knees under the denim of her jeans were bony and her face more angular.

  ‘You look good,’ said Maven. ‘I was tempted to say we should do this kind of thing more often, but maybe not.’

  Emma laughed. ‘You really are evil,’ she said.

  Maven picked up her electronic cigarette, and took one, two, three puffs. Emma watched, her expression cool.

  ‘They let you do that in the office?’ she asked.

  ‘Not technically,’ said Maven, apparently relieved to change the topic. ‘But it’s better than gum. Only I saw a thing on Facebook where somebody’s face blew off.’

  ‘So it’s die of lung cancer, or have your face blown off.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Emma. ‘I’m just going to spit it out.’

  Maven put both hands up. ‘Oh, no. No, no, no. I’ve read all the rumours, same as you have. You are not leaving Cuppa.’

  ‘No, but I am. You must have known it was coming, Maven. You planted most of those stories yourself.’

  Maven was too surprised to respond, but not for long.

  ‘I did that to enable you a clean exit,’ she said. ‘This way, there’s going to be no big shock.’

  ‘Oh, but there is,’ Emma said carefully. ‘Morning TV, I can’t do anymore. But reporting? Proper reporting? I can definitely do that.’

  Emma’s pale hands were clasped over her denim-clad knee. She was wearing a scarf, and it was artfully knotted. ‘I’ve made my decision. I am leaving Cuppa but not Stellar. I want a job on Investigate.’

  ‘Okay. No. I can’t let you do this. How does Cuppa go on without you? It’s Come and Have a Cuppa with PJ and Emma, remember? We’ve got nobody lined up. Nobody who’s ready. Nobody with your star power.’

  Emma gave a more determined smile. ‘You were testing people before any of this even happened,’ she said. ‘During the cooking segment. That silly girl, Roxie, with the spiralizer? Did you think I didn’t know?’

  Maven blew her cheeks out. ‘Look,’ she said.

  ‘No, you look, Maven. I did eleven years on that couch. Eleven years of 3 am starts. Eleven years of gasping at gadgets and talking to a mute rabbit. I was never late. I was always prepared. My only mistake was to get old. To put on a bit of weight. But you were planning to move me on. You would have done it already, had my darling daughter not been snatched, and held for ransom, an event you milked for ratings. I haven’t been strong enough with you in the past, Maven. But I feel very strong now. My family went through absolute hell while my daughter was missing. They had never known any privacy before, and they certainly don’t have any privacy now. And yet you still want me off the couch. And I’m giving you a chance to do it. But I’m not going the way of Bunny Tasker, to sell vitamins in a shopping centre. I want a first-class gig in a world-class city. I want to be London correspondent for the Stellar Network, filing special reports for Investigate. I want Stellar to pay for Brandon’s MBA at the London School of Economics. I want private school fees for all three of my children. And I want a five-year contract, with no out-clause on your side.’

  Maven sat speechless.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said Emma.

  Maven shook her head. ‘I can’t do that,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, you can. And if you don’t, then I promise you this – I will go to Saturn. They are knocking down my door. In case you haven’t noticed, I now have more Twitter followers in Australia than Hugh Jackman.’

 
Maven put her e-cigarette down. She locked eyes with Emma, waiting for the younger woman to break into a smile. But Emma did not smile.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Maven said finally, her tone weary. ‘Investigate has got a pretty big staff already. And if it’s London you want, people’s noses are going to be out of joint, but we can say it’s a new job, that you’re not taking somebody’s job. Not that it matters. I can handle a few egos. The main problem is going to be your fans. They’re going to wonder why we didn’t try harder to keep you on Cuppa.’

  ‘You tried,’ said Emma, leaning back in her chair. ‘And you won’t believe me – certainly PJ won’t – but I’m going to miss them, Maven. I always liked our audience. Which is more than I can say for PJ.’

  Monday 14 December

  Noon

  (Nine Weeks Later)

  Matty reached out to stroke the smooth dashboard of Maven’s Humvee.

  ‘This is a gorgeous car,’ he said.

  Maven didn’t respond. Her mood since Emma had dropped into her office had been one of unmasked fury. The smallest talk had her on edge, as did getting caught at red lights, taking wrong turns, people parking in her space at Stellar – always an actual sackable offence, she had taken to enforcing the rule – and her errand today had her in an even worse mood. They were on their way to the nursing home where one of Cuppa’s old hosts – the original, Brian Lehmann – had been living since he spat out his teeth on the set.

  ‘Haven’t you been there before?’ said Matty.

  ‘Once,’ she said. ‘The day I deposited him there, having prised him off the Cuppa couch.’

  ‘What state was he in then?’

  ‘Ga-ga.’

  ‘How old is he now?’

  ‘Ninety,’ said Maven.

  ‘He’s not!’

  Maven glanced across at Matty. He was naive but surely, surely not that naive.

  ‘Not literally,’ she said sharply. ‘But since he always used to dye his hair, nobody can be sure. Not professionally, either, despite what we paid him. As far as I could see, he’d dunk his head in the bathroom sink. I’d go in to chat to him in Make-up, and the poor girls would be trying to cover up the chestnut on the top of his ears.’

  Matty guffawed. ‘Never, ever dye your hair,’ he said. ‘Not if you’re a man. Go grey. Be George Clooney.’ He stopped. ‘Or be like you are, Maven. I can’t even imagine you without your silver mane.’

  Maven fished the e-cigarette out of the console and sucked on it. ‘Don’t try to flatter me,’ she said. ‘And we’re here.’

  She pulled the Humvee into a disabled parking space and they alighted. Maven beeped the locks, and they approached the double doors. It was a keypad entry to prevent residents making good on their escape plans. Maven buzzed and a nurse in an old-style uniform and white sneakers gave them access.

  ‘We’re here for Brian Lehmann,’ said Maven.

  The nurse pointed the way, past the lounge room with the fake fireplace and a song bird in a cage.

  ‘Why do they always have a fucking bird?’ asked Maven.

  ‘To remind everyone how trapped they are,’ said Matty.

  They found Brian’s room – it had an autographed portrait of him, taken some time in the eighties, in a frame by the door – and strode straight in. Brian was sitting in a vinyl armchair by a closed window.

  ‘Hey, Brian.’

  Maven positioned herself directly in her former star’s line of sight. He was wearing a chocolate brown dressing gown, open at the neck. He had wild grey hair growing out of his chest and his ears. His eyes were filmy with cataracts, but he knew exactly who was visiting.

  ‘If it isn’t the battle-axe,’ he said.

  ‘Nice to see you too.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Matty busied himself near the dresser, examining photographs of Brian with old politicians, and long-dead stars from back in the day, while Maven explained the concept: Emma was leaving Cuppa. They were going to have a farewell special, so everyone from the Prime Minister down could say goodbye, and all the people in the focus groups had agreed that it would be nice to hear from Brian.

  ‘You need something, in other words,’ said Brian.

  ‘It’s for Emma. You probably saw what happened to her little girl, unless they censor the news here.’ Maven looked around, like that was something the staff might do.

  ‘I saw. And I want to be paid.’

  ‘Sure. Regular rate for a guest, okay? Do they have an account or something I put it in, or are you allowed to handle cash?’

  ‘Don’t disrespect me.’

  ‘Give me your banking details and I’ll get it done.’

  Two days later, the first of the ads began to air:

  Join us for a very special Stellar event . . . as Emma Cardwell says farewell to her Cuppa family.

  The crew began applauding as Emma strode onto the set. Wardrobe had dressed her in what they had described as a ‘serious reporter outfit’ – a chic black suit with a white blouse, and patent shoes with a tiny kitten heel. The Cuppa theme played, but only for a short time, and then came the cymbals.

  Emma winced. ‘Okay, so I was just thinking about how I’m going to miss this, but I’m not going to miss that,’ she said.

  Everyone laughed. From there, the entire program was turned over to Emma’s career, starting with some clips from her early days as a reporter on Stellar, including the One Black Day footage.

  ‘I will never forget that day,’ said Emma. She had seen the footage many times, of course, but felt moved to see it again, in the context of her leaving the show.

  ‘And they’ve never forgotten you,’ said PJ. The cameras turned to the left, to capture footage of the same boy – now a teenager – whose life Emma had unquestionably saved that day, carrying an oversized bouquet of flowers.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said. And although she had promised herself she wouldn’t, she cried again.

  ‘Oh come on, Emma,’ said the Gadget Guy, rushing onto the set. ‘I have just the thing to cheer you up!’ They crossed to a special package of Emma grappling over the years with various crazy gadgets.

  ‘God, that salad spinner!’ said Emma. She was wiping her eyes, and laughing again. ‘And look! A flip phone! My God, we’re all so old.’

  Next from the wings came Bunny, still with her impressive figure and her signature beehive.

  ‘You look incredible,’ gasped Emma.

  Bunny, jutting a hip out, said, ‘I’ll tell you my secret: it’s younger men!’

  Matty, watching from the mezzanine control room, put his hands on his cheeks and pulled them back, drawing his mouth into a tight line.

  ‘So much work! How does she even speak,’ he said. ‘You could watch Netflix on her forehead.’

  ‘Please don’t talk to me about Netflix,’ said Maven. ‘They’ve taken enough of our audience over the years.’

  On it went, with one guest after another praising Emma, to the point where she felt embarrassed, but the last straw, in terms of her trying to hold it together, was the original Cuppa host, good old Brian, a man she’d admired even as a kid growing up in the country. She had visited him a few times in the nursing home – nobody else had – but he had been transformed by Stellar’s wardrobe girls from the doddering man in the vinyl armchair into something like a ship’s captain, in a navy, double-breasted blazer with six gold buttons, tan pants and dark brown shoes.

  ‘Look at him,’ cried Matty, as the prerecord of his farewell message began to play. ‘We should have brought him on set.’

  ‘There aren’t enough rubber mats in the world,’ said Maven.

  In his still beautiful baritone, Brian said, ‘I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Emma, and I respect your decision. And Cuppa’s loss is Investigate’s gain.’

  ‘Okay, so I promised myself I wouldn’t blub like an idiot,’ Emma said, ‘but now I’m going to.’ Speaking directly to Camera 1, she said, ‘Thank you so much, Brian. I can’t tell you how much it m
eans to me to have you beaming in. And to everyone watching at home, I hope you all know how much I’ve loved being part of your mornings.’

  A cascade of yellow balloons began to fall. The blonde weather girl, the blonde newsreader, the blonde Magic Chicken girl, the Gadget Guy, even the giant, silent rabbit came wandering onto the set.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ said PJ, throwing an arm around his old co-host. ‘You’re not really going anywhere. You’re still part of the Stellar family.’

  ‘I know,’ said Emma. ‘But it’s still hard. Bye-bye everyone.’

  The credits began to roll. Everyone was applauding, including the rabbit. The end music was playing. The voiceover man was shouting, ‘Wasn’t that a magnificent farewell to our favourite Emma from Cuppa! But don’t go away because next on Stellar . . .’

  The ON AIR light went off and the cameras powered down. PJ rose from the couch and left the set immediately. A cleaner with a long-handled broom came in to sweep at the yellow balloons that were rolling across the floor.

  And just like that – snap! – Emma’s time on the Cuppa couch was over.

  Friday 15 January

  8 am

  (Thirteen Weeks Later)

  The Snoop has a Scoop!

  Morning TV addicts around Australia have been waiting months to find out who will take Emma Cardwell’s seat on Cuppa and now, here at The Snoop, we have the scoop . . . CLICK BELOW FOR MORE . . .

  Roxie Moore!

  That’s right, kids! Some of you will remember Roxie as the bubbly promoter of the Magic Zucchini Spiralizer machine, and in that guise, you’ve already seen her on Cuppa! But if you’re thinking you’ve seen not just her face but her body somewhere before, you have! Nine years ago, when Roxie was a tender nineteen, she got nude under an outdoor shower for the pilot of a show called Survive the Outback that never made it to air – and we’ve got the RED HOT pix.

  Is this a problem for Cuppa?