The Best Man

by Dianne Blacklock

  Her initial findings did reassure her. Alcoholism was a very serious condition, not a term to be bandied about lightly. It was classified as a disease: people lost their families, their jobs, they couldn’t get through the day without a drink. None of that applied to Madeleine – well, except that she was going to lose Henry, but maybe alcohol wasn’t the culprit.

  The sites were littered with links to numerous questionnaires used by health professionals to diagnose the disease. She wasn’t afraid to answer the questions, quite confident the results would prove once and for all that she didn’t have a drinking problem.

  Have you ever been treated by a physician for your alcohol consumption?

  No.

  Do you drink to boost your self-confidence?

  No.

  Does your drinking cause you to have difficulty sleeping?

  No – it was the opposite, she usually slept better.

  Do you ever feel like a drink the next morning?

  Oh my God, you’re kidding, aren’t you?

  Madeleine obviously wasn’t an alcoholic. But then . . .

  Has drinking ever affected your work?

  Has drinking affected your home life, your relationships?

  Have you ever had a loss of memory after drinking?

  Have you ever done something after drinking that you would never have done sober?

  Holy shit.

  Madeleine tried to rationalise it. Okay, she might have a slight problem; certainly she didn’t seem to be able to handle drinking too much. It might even be said that that actually made her the opposite of an alcoholic.

  Then she came across the term ‘functional alcoholic’. And a whole lot more literature debunking the myth that alcoholism was a one-size-fits-all condition, and the notion that you were an alcoholic from the first time you took a drink, leading Madeleine all the way to the uncomfortable truth that you could develop alcoholism at any stage of your life.

  But what had probably left her most unsettled of all were the articles about alcoholics in relationships. Not the violence and other extreme behaviours, though they were certainly discussed at length; more typical and insidious was the alcoholic’s need to deflect attention from their own actions, by finding fault, picking fights and casting blame. This helped reassure them that the problem was not theirs, also giving them an excellent excuse to drink – spawning the notion that you could be ‘driven to drink’. The only way an alcoholic could deal with their deep shame and guilt was to make it about the other person. Madeleine realised she had turned Henry into her scapegoat.

  The taxi pulled up outside her office building and Madeleine roused herself into action. When she stepped out onto the kerb and into the cavernous wind tunnel of the CBD, it was even colder than before. But it was only a quick dash to the door and she was inside the air-conditioned foyer – still a little too cool for what she was wearing. She only hoped she’d left a cardigan behind at her desk sometime.

  When she walked into the publicity area it was surprisingly quiet; there was no sign of the shitstorm that Liv had alluded to. She couldn’t even see Liv. A couple of the girls were working quietly at their desks, while Amy was on the phone, speaking in hushed tones. Madeleine dumped her bag on her desk and yawned. She felt a little light-headed, and realised she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

  ‘Hey,’ Stacey said, appearing around the wall. ‘Liv will be pleased to see you.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Not sure. She might be in a meeting, but she won’t be far.’

  ‘I thought things were supposed to be crazy in here?’ said Madeleine, as she started to hunt around her desk for any items of clothing that might be lurking.

  ‘That was an hour ago, it’s settled down a lot since then,’ said Stacey. ‘Are you looking for something?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Madeleine said vaguely. ‘You wouldn’t have a spare cardigan, would you?’

  ‘Sorry, no,’ Stacey said. ‘I thought you seemed a bit underdressed.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I was in such a rush, I didn’t even look out the window before I left the building.’

  Stacey nodded. ‘Let me go and check in editorial, there’s sure to be a cardigan floating around there somewhere.’ She turned to walk away. ‘Oh, and have you had coffee yet?’

  Madeleine gave her a pitiful look.

  ‘Or anything to eat?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ said Stacey, charging off.

  ‘Thank you,’ Madeleine called after her, and dropped down into her chair. She felt exhausted already, and she had a headache. Not a real headache, just a caffeine vacuum, which left her head feeling hollow. She yawned again as she pulled her chair up to her computer to log in.

  ‘Hey, Mad, I didn’t see you come in.’ It was Ren, popping her head around the nib wall.

  Madeleine swivelled her chair to face her. ‘Oh, hey, Ren.’

  ‘Have you recovered from Friday night yet?’

  She was never going to recover from Friday night. ‘Sort of.’ She attempted a weak smile.

  ‘Have you seen Aiden?’

  Don’t blush, don’t blush! ‘Of course.’ She really didn’t want to get into an Aiden gabfest, but she had a feeling it was going to be hard to avoid. ‘He’s staying with us, so, you know.’

  ‘He’s amAHZing.’ Ren gushed, propping herself against the wall. ‘Did he say he had a good time? We didn’t overwhelm him, did we?’

  Madeleine shook her head. ‘No, I’m sure he really enjoyed himself.’

  ‘We put heaps of pictures up on Facebook. Have you seen them?’

  ‘Oh? Um, no, I haven’t.’ Madeleine felt queasy. What kind of pictures? It wasn’t as though Henry was likely to see them, he wasn’t on Facebook, but she didn’t like to think that there were potentially compromising photos of her and Aiden on display to the world, indeed, any photos of her and Aiden, compromising or otherwise. She would have to log on later and untag herself. For now she needed to change the subject. ‘Where is everybody, anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘I know Sarah and Katie are off at events, but Nat is totally missing in action.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She didn’t show up for work, and no one’s been able to reach her on her mobile or at home. Liv’s pretty pissed off.’

  That had to be at least part of the cause of the crisis this morning. Before she could think much about it, Madeleine spotted Stacey coming back into the office, carrying a coffee and a paper bag, and some kind of knitted garment over her arm.

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ Madeleine swooped, relieving Stacey of her booty. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, and took a sip of the coffee. She opened the bag and tucked straight into the muffin, suddenly aware of how famished she was.

  Stacey held up the cardigan. ‘Sorry, this was all I could find. And I’m not surprised nobody’s claimed it before now.’

  ‘Lucky for me, then,’ said Madeleine, pulling it on. It was a big, chunky long-line cardigan in the drabbest of browns, with a heavy rollover collar. ‘As long as it keeps me warm, I couldn’t care less about making a fashion statement.’

  Stacey’s expression as she took in Madeleine’s appearance was somewhere between a smile and a grimace. ‘That’s just as well then.’

  The brown didn’t go with the blue tones of her floral sundress, and she was sure she must look bizarre, especially with bare legs and sandalled feet. But she was warm now, and the coffee was good, the muffin filling. She was starting to feel human again. As long as she tried not to think about the train wreck that was her life, she might just get through the day.

  ‘I wonder where Liv’s got to?’ she said after she’d demolished most of the muffin.

  ‘I’m right here,’ Liv said, marching briskly into the open office. ‘What the hell are you wearing, Mad?’

  ‘I had a wardrobe miscalculation. Stace found this for me so I wouldn’t freeze to death.’

  ‘Rightio,’ said Liv.
‘Anyway, you want to come to my office?’

  ‘Sure.’ Madeleine got up, wiping crumbs from her mouth. ‘Thanks again, Stace, I owe you.’ She grabbed her coffee and followed Liv into her office.

  ‘Shut the door, would you?’ said Liv, sitting down at her desk.

  Madeleine did so, then took a seat opposite Liv. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Before we get into all that, I just want to let you know . . . Dylan had his appendix out on the weekend.’

  ‘What?’ Had Madeleine been so caught up in her own problems that she’d forgotten Dylan was having an operation? ‘I didn’t know that was happening.’

  ‘No, none of us did. It was an emergency.’

  ‘Cripes, Liv. What happened?’

  ‘Remember the boys were at a sleepover? I got a call at six on Saturday morning.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Oh yeah. He’d been throwing up, severe pains in the stomach, fever . . . Anyway, long story short, I picked him up and took him straight to casualty, he was diagnosed with appendicitis, and they had it whipped out within a few hours.’

  Madeleine was shaking her head, stunned. ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s fine – bounced back the next day, he was eating last night, and he’ll be home tomorrow.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing here then?’

  ‘It’s all right. Mum was going to see him today, and I will leave early, but I have to get things sorted out here first.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ said Madeleine.

  ‘Well, I did, this morning.’

  ‘No, I mean when it happened?’

  ‘Thanks, Mad,’ Liv smiled. ‘But really, what could you have done?’

  There was more truth to that than Liv could have realised. Madeleine would have been absolutely useless if Liv had called her for help this weekend.

  ‘After the initial shock, it was really okay,’ Liv said. ‘The staff were amazing. I don’t get why people complain about public hospitals.’

  ‘How did Lachie cope with it all?’

  ‘He was just gorgeous, so protective. You know, he offered to give Dylan his appendix.’

  ‘Bless.’

  ‘I know, break a mother’s heart,’ Liv sighed. ‘So, onto what’s happening around here. Natalie has thrown the cat among the pigeons, and then decided to run off and leave us all to clean up the mess.’

  ‘Ren said she hasn’t shown up this morning.’

  ‘And she’s not answering her phone,’ Liv said grimly.

  ‘What did she do? What’s the cat, the mess?’

  Liv sat back in her chair, interlocking her fingers. ‘Well, on Friday, just before we went to lunch, the stupid girl decided to fire off emails to two of her authors who have erotic books coming out next week, telling them there had been a change of plan and she was going to have to cancel some of their publicity. And that was it. Then she left the office for the day.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘Wish I was,’ said Liv. ‘I just can’t understand it, she must have literally sent them off moments before we all walked out of the office.’

  ‘Which authors are we talking about?’

  ‘Cal Olson and Jennifer Finch.’

  ‘Well, Jen’ll be fine,’ said Madeleine. ‘She’s experienced, and she’s sensible. But this is Cal’s debut, she wouldn’t have known what to make of it.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Liv. ‘They both replied to Natalie’s emails – Jennifer left it at that for the weekend. But Cal was understandably confused and probably a little thrown, so when she didn’t get an answer, she tried to call Natalie to find out what was going on. But of course Nat was too busy mooning after your best man to bother answering her phone. That’s all I can assume, because this morning the shit really hit the fan. Natalie hasn’t turned up, and she’s still not answering her phone, so I had to field calls from both of them. Jennifer was okay once I explained a little – I promised to call her later to have a longer chat about it.’

  ‘And Cal?’

  ‘Here’s where it gets interesting,’ Liv drawled. ‘You see, Natalie forgot to inform the journalist who was scheduled to interview Cal over the phone this morning.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Madeleine groaned. ‘Which journalist?’

  ‘Anne Reynolds.’

  Unfortunately, Ms Reynolds fell into the camp of journalists who would make a story out of anything.

  ‘So of course, not knowing any different, Anne phoned Cal at the scheduled time, and from what I can understand, confusion reigned, with Cal playing straight into her hands, and Anne managing to prise the details of the email out of her, pretty much verbatim.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘Next thing, I get a call from Anne, wanting some kind of scoop about the death of erotica, and the implications for the ailing publishing industry.’

  Madeleine winced. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I fudged some of the facts, and I think I’ve put her off for now.’ Liv said. ‘But she’s determined to run a story on this, and she’s going to, whether I cooperate or not. So naturally, if I don’t cooperate, that will make up part of the story: “Head of publicity at Amblin Press refuses to go on the record, will not even acknowledge the existence of an email”, et cetera, et cetera.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I have until tomorrow to pull something together,’ said Liv. ‘I’ll have to let Jane know what’s going on, though I would like to have my department under control before that.’

  ‘But isn’t this all on Natalie’s head?’ said Madeleine. ‘Have there been any other slip-ups like that?’

  ‘No, and I want to keep it that way,’ said Liv. ‘What I’d like you to do today is sit with any of the girls who are handling the relevant authors, and go over their strategies with them, just to make doubly sure. Try not to get into what Nat’s done. I’ve already alerted them that a journalist is sniffing around, and that they should have strictly no comment.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get onto it.’ Madeleine was glad to have something to focus on.

  ‘How are you doing?’ said Liv, watching her. ‘No offence, but you look a little beat.’

  She nodded. ‘My sleep is all over the place.’

  ‘You were at the flat last night?’

  ‘I was there the whole weekend,’ she said.

  ‘With Aiden?’ Liv frowned.

  ‘No, he left on Saturday.’

  She couldn’t get into it with Liv now, she would find out soon enough, everyone was going to find out soon enough – but Madeleine was dreading telling Liv in particular; after what she’d been through with Rick, Madeleine couldn’t expect any sympathy or understanding from her. Not that she deserved either.

  There was a single knock on the door and Stacey popped her head in. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said, holding up Madeleine’s phone. ‘This has rung out about three times. It was sitting on your desk. I didn’t answer it, but “Genevieve” came up on the screen every time.’

  Madeleine groaned: that was all she needed. ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the phone from Stacey. ‘I better call her back.’

  She went to get up but Liv stopped her. ‘Stay here. Unless it’s private?’

  ‘No, it won’t be anything important.’

  Stacey ducked back out as Madeleine tapped the screen to return Genevieve’s call.

  ‘Where are you?’ Genevieve demanded before Madeleine could even get hello out.

  ‘I’m at work.’

  ‘Well, why aren’t you here?’

  ‘Where’s here?’ Madeleine asked blankly.

  ‘At the Cake Walk, for your tasting!’

  This could not be happening. ‘Genevieve, I’m really sorry. Something’s come up at work –’

  ‘Don’t you give me that,’ she returned. ‘This is your cake tasting, for your wedding! What could be so important that you forgot?’

  If only she knew. ‘I’m really, really sorry, but I just don’t think I can get away.’

&
nbsp; ‘Are you serious?’ Genevieve growled. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? Yes, Mum, I said the F-word! Deal with it.’

  Oh crap, her mother was there too.

  ‘I’ve taken the kids to school, dropped Archie off at the babysitter’s, picked up Mum, and driven here to Glebe, taken half an hour to find a park in these shitty little back lanes, and you’re going to tell me you can’t get away to come to your own wedding cake tasting?’

  ‘Genevieve, I’m really sorry, you don’t understand –’

  ‘I understand all right. You are so unbelievably self-centred . . .’

  Madeleine was distracted from Genevieve’s rant by Liv waving madly at her from across the desk. ‘Just a minute – can you hold on just one minute, please, Gen?’

  She groaned loudly in response, and Madeleine muted the phone.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Liv asked her.

  ‘I’m supposed to be at my cake tasting, of all things.’ Madeleine sighed wearily.

  ‘Then go.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s fine.’

  ‘Madeleine, go.’

  ‘But you want me to meet with the staff . . .’

  ‘Listen to me,’ said Liv, leaning forward. ‘How long’s it going to take, an hour? You’ve got the rest of the day to talk to the staff, but I assume you can’t put this off any longer – your wedding’s less than two weeks away.’

  Madeleine was dumbfounded. This was not only absurd, it was a complete waste of time. But how the hell was she going to get out of it? She was trapped between an angry sister on one end of the phone and an understanding boss on the other. She didn’t have a choice.

  ‘All right, thanks.’ She took the phone off mute. ‘Genevieve, I’ve talked to my boss. She said it’s fine, I can come.’

  ‘I should think you can bloody come!’

  ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can.’

  ‘Make it faster,’ Genevieve snapped, hanging up.

  Liv was removing her jacket. ‘Ditch that horrible grizzly bear coat. You can wear this,’ she said, passing the jacket across the desk.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘You can’t go out in public looking like that,’ Liv said. ‘This doesn’t really go either, but at least it’s an improvement.’