by Di Morrissey
‘Absolutely, but I’ve been working on the south coast for a while. I’m just back here now. I’ve been promoted. I’m the local station manager.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Susan. ‘That’s wonderful. You have done well.’
‘Thank you. I’ve followed your career, too, Chris. I’ve so enjoyed reading your columns in the Coastal Star. They are very entertaining and you certainly display an intimate understanding of this area. I suppose you’ll be off to another posting soon.’
‘I’m staying in Neverend for a while longer.’
‘Chris has moved back home. He’s writing a book,’ Susan interjected.
Chris shrugged. ‘Actually, the book deal fell through, so my principal job is driving a courier van for Shaun French.’
Bronwyn cocked her head and looked at him for a moment. ‘Are you really planning on staying in Neverend? If you are, you might be just what I’m looking for. One of our journalists has taken up a position in Canberra, so I’m looking for an experienced journo to replace him.’
Chris hesitated. ‘Unfortunately I’ve had no experience in radio, Bronwyn. I’m a print journalist.’
‘Chris, a good journo is a good journo, regardless of the medium. You can always be trained to do radio.’
‘Are you serious?’ he asked, with an incredulous laugh.
Susan seemed to catch the hint of interest in his voice. ‘Chris, I think that sounds like a terrific idea.’
Bronwyn leaned towards him. ‘Look, why don’t you put in an application? There will be lots of others applying, but you have a great deal of journalistic experience and you certainly know this area. I can give you a try for a couple of months and if it all works out the way I think it will, then you can become a permanent staff member.’
‘Suits me,’ said Chris casually, but his eyes were sparkling.
‘Give me a call at the office after nine. As the station manager, I do the breakfast shift, so I’ll be off air by then. I’d give you one of my cards, but I never have them on me.’
‘Thanks, Bronwyn. I’ll call you after nine,’ said Chris.
‘Great. Gotta go. My kids have probably filled the trolley with junk by now. Talk soon. See you, Mrs B.’
‘It’s Susan,’ she called out as Bronwyn hurried down the aisle to find her children. Susan turned delightedly to Chris. ‘Can you believe that, Chris? Such a wonderful opportunity, don’t you think?’
‘Mum, I may not be suitable,’ said Chris, shaking his head.
‘Don’t be such a pessimist.’
‘All right, I’ll give it a whirl. Local radio might not be Washington DC, but reliable news is important whatever the subject and wherever it’s broadcast,’ Chris said, warming up to the idea. ‘I have to say, Bronwyn seems bright and capable.’
‘She always was a smart girl. I remember that there was a write-up about her in one of the local papers some time back. It seems that although Bronwyn was always being courted to move on to bigger things she and her husband prefer living in the country. Neither of them wants to move to the big smoke.’
Chris didn’t answer, but he was thinking hard. While this offer could be the answer to his problems, would working in local radio be too stifling? He pulled out the shopping list.
‘Have we got everything? Corned beef, tomato paste, laundry detergent, a job for Chris . . . Yep, looks like we can tick those off and head home.’
Susan laughed and tucked her arm through her son’s as he pushed the trolley towards the checkout.
*
Georgia was thrilled at his news when he called her later on. ‘That’s wonderful, Chris. If it comes off, you can retire from the courier business and go back to what you do best, writing and reporting the news. A book can wait.’
‘There’s a lot that could go wrong, Georgie, but I am going to apply for the job. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll be given a try-out and prove to be no good for radio.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be great. Anyway, we’ll keep our fingers crossed that Bronwyn is bowled over by your talents. I’m proud of you, my darling. And I haven’t given up on you as my client either.’
*
‘Are you going to be a DJ on the radio? How cool!’ exclaimed Megan that night at dinner.
‘No, I’ll be one of the station’s journalists, writing the news and reading it on air.’
‘That’s cool, too,’ said Megan, graciously. ‘Wait till I tell everyone at school.’
‘Whoa, I’ve just put in my application. I haven’t got the job yet,’ said Chris with a grin.
For the first time in ages, Chris felt re-energised and enthused. Radio would be a new medium for him to master and he would be a working journalist again, doing what he did best, keeping people informed about the issues that impacted on their lives.
*
One afternoon a few days later, Chris was at Jean’s house chopping some firewood when his phone rang. He lowered the axe, mopped his brow and answered. He felt a thrill as Georgie’s voice came on the line.
‘Hey, you. Where are you? Can you chat?’
‘Georgie, I always want to chat with you. When are you coming up? I miss you,’ he said. ‘And why are you calling me? What can’t wait till tonight?’
Georgia took a breath. ‘I’m actually wearing my agent’s hat, Chris, not my “I love you” one. I was at a book launch earlier in the week and met the new CEO of Port Publishing, an independent outfit that manages to attract some pretty good writers. Paul likes to find people with something interesting or provocative to write about, politicians, academics, former diplomats, those sorts of people. Several of his books have done surprisingly well. Anyway, he agreed to meet me and I went to see him this morning.’
‘What about? A new client?’
‘No, a client I’ve had for a while. You. I pitched an idea for a book that I know you could write and he loved it.’
Chris was silent for a moment. ‘Oh? And what sort of book would that be?’
‘I know I should have run my idea past you and I’m sorry I didn’t, but sometimes you have to strike as soon as you see an opportunity. I showed Paul those couple of sample chapters you wrote for your first book. He really likes your writing style,’ said Georgia, enthusiastically.
‘So what is it I’m going to write about this time around?’ said Chris cautiously, wondering what Georgia was going to come up with.
‘I mentioned some of the stories that you’d told me about your time overseas, not just the articles you’ve written, but the background to them, the digging you did to unearth them. You’ve had some extremely fascinating, funny, scary experiences and I think you should share them.’
‘Who’d be interested?’ began Chris.
‘Don’t be silly, young man,’ said Georgia briskly. ‘The work you’ve done as a reporter around the world is a dream job to most people. Many foreign correspondents are celebrities.’
Chris couldn’t help but smile. ‘Foreign correspondents are supposed to be out of sight, telling the story, not at the centre of it. Anyway, it’s not always as exciting as it sounds.’
‘You’re a terrific raconteur, Chris. You can make anything sound exciting. You can tell the story behind the headlines. I think that the way you tracked stories down could be as interesting as the stories themselves.’
‘I’m not sure. Is this pushing one’s own barrow really me? Your father doesn’t believe in journos thrusting themselves into the limelight. Besides, look what happened to my last book effort. Maybe I don’t have one in me,’ he sighed.
‘Chris, have you any idea how many books get turned down by publishers?’ said Georgia, sounding slightly exasperated. ‘A whole lot more than get published. And it’s frequently the case that a writer’s first attempt ends in failure. But even if it does, just trying to write something is good practice. When you were workin
g on your first book, one of the things you told me you got out of it was that you found your voice. You learned to move from being a newspaper writer to being a book writer, so that experience was worthwhile.’
‘I suppose so,’ Chris said quietly, but he was secretly pleased to know that Georgia had listened to what he’d said.
Georgia ignored his comment and continued, ‘Only in novels does an author have a sensational overnight success. In real life, writing a book is a long, hard slog, and even then there is no guarantee of success. I think that you could make it as a writer, but only if your heart is really in it. So would you please write down a few thoughts that I can show to the publisher?’
‘Hmm. Let me think about it.’
‘An expression of interest from a dedicated publisher isn’t to be sneezed at, Chris,’ said Georgia, sternly.
Chris could hear the excitement in her voice, the eagerness, the enthusiasm. ‘What an ungrateful sod I am. I don’t deserve you. I wish I could kiss you. Okay, I’ll give it a shot, Georgie,’ he said contritely.
‘Fantastic, I’m so pleased. Can you get down to Sydney any time soon and bring your ideas? I’ll set up a meeting with Paul and we’ll go in and see him.’
‘Any excuse to see you! But seriously, I would love to have another attempt at a book. Thank you for this opportunity. I love you, Georgie.’
‘I love you, too.’
Chris rang off and returned to his wood-chopping detail with renewed energy. New opportunities seemed to be springing up everywhere.
*
Chris began to put in long hours on his writing again, gathering together his old stories and looking at the emails that he’d sent his mother over the years, pleased that she had always been reluctant to discard anything. He was often deep in thought as he wandered around the house, out onto the verandah and into the garden before returning to his desk. Even Megan noticed his deep absorption in the task and teased him.
‘Gosh, Dad, you’re on another planet half the time! I hope the new book’s coming together for you.’
‘Yes, honey. I’m having a bit of fun with it, actually. It’s bringing back a lot of memories.’
‘That’s great. When can I read it?’
‘Oh, when I think it’s worth reading, but I have to say that I’m enjoying the project.’
‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I hope so.’ He gave her a hug. ‘How’re you going?’
‘Good, Dad. Really good.’ She held on to him for a moment and then skipped out of the room. Chris grinned watching her go and then returned to the satisfying work in front of him.
*
‘Do you think you could set up a meeting with the publisher?’ Chris asked Georgia. ‘I have something to show you, and the airlines are having a special this weekend, so I thought I might get the earliest flight down.’
‘Yes, I’ll make the appointment for us first thing. After that, do you think you would have time to meet Dad? He wants to catch up with you, and of course he’d rather do that over lunch than on the phone.’
‘And you?’
‘I’ll be making us a special dinner.’
‘I like the sound of that. So next Saturday’s a date, then?’
*
Chris strolled into Greasy Greeks feeling pleased with himself. The meeting with the publisher had gone well. Paul had shown obvious enthusiasm for his stories and there would be no problem publishing them because they weren’t at all controversial. Certainly there wouldn’t be any difficulties like the ones Alan Carmichael and his lawyers had posed with Chris’s first book.
Chris saw Mac sitting at their favourite table. Walking over to join him, Chris glanced around the restaurant, recognising a few familiar media faces, although he didn’t feel like one of them anymore. He realised he’d moved away from the hub of things. He was no longer the harried journo hunting for stories, chasing unpromising leads flung at him by the news editor, always facing a deadline.
Mac rose and held out his hand, a big smile on his face. Chris gave him a bear hug.
‘What’s that for?’ mumbled Mac as he sat back down. ‘I said I’m paying for lunch this time. Or are you trying to worm your way into the family?’
Chris laughed. ‘Maybe, or maybe I’m thanking you for being such a good friend and having such a wonderful daughter.’ He nodded at the room. ‘You know, Mac, suddenly I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. I’m not one of them now.’
‘You and me both, sport. Not a lot of familiar faces around.’
‘No, it’s more than that. Last time we came here, I felt on the outer because I’d left my job. Now I feel as though I’ve moved on.’
‘Driving a van? Or writing the great journo book?’
‘Both, I’m multi-tasking,’ Chris quipped as he started to read the specials scribbled on the front of the menu. ‘The moussaka is always good here. I think I’ll have that.’
‘You always have that. Try something different.’
Chris chuckled. ‘All right, I will.’ Just as he put down the menu, a familiar face joined them.
‘Hello, stranger.’
‘John Miller!’ Chris leapt to his feet to shake hands with his old editor from Trinity Press. ‘How are you keeping?’
‘I can’t complain. Been a few changes at Trinity in the last few weeks.’
‘Can you sit down and tell me what’s happened? I’d be interested in knowing,’ said Chris, genuinely pleased to see his old friend and boss.
After greeting Mac, John pulled up a chair. ‘Well, the best news is that Honeywell has gone. You remember that pompous English twat? Had no idea what he was doing and under him the paper went into very rapid decline. Now the paper has to begin rebuilding quickly while there’s still something there to regenerate.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that piece of news,’ said Chris, with a small smile.
‘Running into you is fortuitous, Chris. We are now on the lookout for more really first-class journalists, of which you are most definitely one, so how would you like your old job back? If you still don’t want to be a foreign correspondent, I would be happy to find you a job based in Sydney. Brad Jones is retiring early. He’s got some serious health issues, and you could easily take his place.’
Chris tried to keep a straight face at John’s surprising announcement. ‘I’m sorry about Brad. Nice chap. John, I’ll need to think about your offer, which I have to say is very generous,’ he said carefully. ‘How long have I got?’
‘Maybe a week or so. But don’t leave it too long. More journos than positions these days.’
‘I’ll think it over, and thanks again, I’ll get back to you with my answer.’
Chris leaned back in his seat after John had farewelled them and gone back to his table. He could hardly believe it. Two job offers in such a short time. Now he had options, but the trouble was, which option should he take?
‘That’s good news,’ said Mac. ‘Will you take the job?’
‘Part of me is keen. I can’t say that I’m not flattered that Trinity wants me back,’ said Chris, slowly. ‘However, that’d mean moving Megan back to the city and getting a bigger place. And Mac, there’s a job available at the local ABC radio outfit and the station manager is sure that, even without radio experience, I’m the best candidate for it. Even though I’d not be making a heap of money, I don’t need all that much, living in Neverend.’ He paused as his thoughts turned over. ‘And I’ve got the bit between my teeth with this book. And you know, I think that if I started fulltime newspaper work again, it’d be very hard on Megan. I know the sort of hours I’d have to work with Trinity. I’d often have to leave her on her own and I don’t want to be a part-time father again. With the radio job, I’d be around for her. I also think I could work for a few hours each afternoon on my book. Coming home at night from the newspaper and th
en trying to be creative . . . well, it wouldn’t work. And frankly, Mac, I’m pretty sure that Megan doesn’t want to leave Neverend, and I’m not sure I do either.’
Mac handed the menus to the waiter, who was standing with pencil poised. ‘Well, bugger me. You’re full of surprises. I’ll have the moussaka,’ he said to the waiter.
‘Lamb shanks,’ said Chris, then grinned at his old friend.
Mac leaned back in his chair. ‘Are you sure you want to work in local radio? Bit out of the mainstream for someone of your abilities,’ he said.
‘I suppose so, but I intend to do the job as well as I would if I were still a foreign correspondent for Trinity Press. As I see it, it’s the best job around that fits in with my present life.’
‘Georgie will be disappointed,’ said Mac, pointedly.
‘I know.’ Chris was quiet for a moment. ‘Am I being stupid, Mac? Six months ago I’d have killed to have this Trinity Press job offer, but now I know that it’s not the right job for me at this point in time. I wish I could be closer to Georgie. Maybe she might be happy living away from the city?’
‘You’d have to ask her, mate.’ Mac leaned across the table and lowered his voice. ‘Chris, I didn’t just ask you here for a chat, you know, although that’s been nice. There’s another reason that I wanted to meet you for lunch. I’ve still got good contacts around the traps, as you know, old journo mates as well as friends in high places, and I’ve heard a rumour that a certain multi-millionaire who has been trying to expand his construction company into the US is in a heap of financial pain.’
‘Do you mean Carmichael?’ Chris said incredulously. ‘Are you bullshitting me?’
Mac put his hand on his heart. ‘It’s true. If you look in today’s financial papers, you’ll see a couple of stories. They’re only small at this stage, but from what I hear, things are going to get a whole lot worse for Carmichael. The word is out that the American banks that were going to back his expansion are pulling out of their deal. Rumour has it that he’s no longer sound.’
