Kayla reached across the table to take her hand, her own eyes glistening. ‘We never stopped thinking about you. I was so worried when I saw the thing on the news about your job. How’s Tom?’
Ali gave up trying to blink back her tears. ‘Tom and I have separated. He’s moved to Sydney.’
Kayla put her hand over her mouth as Ali told her everything that had happened over the months they hadn’t been in contact. And with each confession, Ali felt a little lighter, as if she were shedding an old skin. ‘Sometimes I still feel like giving up,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got Hazel now. If she can do it, I can too. And I hope I’ve still got you.’
‘Of course you do, always.’ Kayla squeezed her hand. ‘Sisters forever, remember?’
The two women clung to one another, remembering the little girls they’d once been, and Ali’s back grew straighter, her heart stronger.
Tom
The apartment in Walsh Bay was spare, modern and stylish, but it wasn’t home. Tom wondered if it ever would be. He tried to picture Ali living here, but the image wouldn’t come, and he banished the thought. She might never want to leave Adelaide, especially now she’d begun mending her relationship with Hazel. Tom was glad that the two had found one another again, but he couldn’t help being frustrated at the timing. An interstate move could have been the perfect opportunity for Ali to cast off her past and begin a new life, but he couldn’t ask it of her now.
But he didn’t have much time to dwell on these things. His job kept him busy from early in the morning until late in the evening. It was only at night, when he lay awake, spreadeagled over the firm mattress of his bed, that he was besieged with regret and longing. He relived that night with Ali over and over again, wondering what he could have said to change her mind. And the conclusion he came to, every time, was that she had been right to stay. What would she have done, rattling around this empty apartment, alone for the twelve hours a day he was at work? He couldn’t even contemplate the answer.
And as much as he enjoyed the challenge of his new work, he couldn’t shake the feeling that all this was temporary. He filled his spare hours with early morning runs around Circular Quay, dinner and drinks in the Rocks with his new colleagues, and a few vacant hours of Netflix when his brain was too fried to do any more work. He’d settle in soon enough. He just had to give himself time.
Ali
The recruitment consultant was kind, but blunt. She could convince potential employers that the actions that had destroyed Ali’s career had been out of character and the result of a tragedy, but it wasn’t going to be easy to find her another job in the industry. Anything with the same pay or level of responsibility would likely be out of the question.
But Ali didn’t care. She couldn’t imagine working anywhere but in the fast-paced world of the media, and she was willing to do anything, even if it was as a low-level reporter with a local paper. And so, she left the office feeling more positive than she had in months.
Her confidence boosted, she stopped at her old coffee haunt on Pirie Street to grab a takeaway latte, glancing around nervously as she waited. The chances were high of running into one of her old colleagues. But then she stood up straighter, lifted her chin higher. She’d made a mistake, and she’d paid the price for it. She wasn’t going to cower in the corners anymore.
‘Ali!’
She looked around reluctantly. A hand was waving to her from one of the small tables near the back of the cafe, and trepidation rushed through her as she recognised Charlotte, her former colleague and the one who had broken the Twitter story.
‘Bloody Adelaide,’ she muttered.
Ali knew how the world of journalism worked, but it still hurt that Charlotte had been so willing to throw her to the wolves for a front-page story. And though she was now the editor of the careers section and no longer worked on the politics round, Ali was still worried that she could be looking for an opportunity to breathe life back into the Twitter scandal right before the election.
‘Latte.’ The bored barista slapped the paper cup down on the counter.
Ali thanked him and glanced back over at her old colleague. Charlotte waved again and gestured for her to come over and, after a brief hesitation, Ali made her way between the tables. Charlotte’s laptop was open in front of her; a half-drunk cappuccino sat beside two empty cups laced with dried, brownish froth.
Ali raised her eyebrows. ‘On a deadline?’
‘Yeah.’ Charlotte laughed. ‘The newsroom is nuts this morning. I had to get out for a while.’
Ali took a sip of her latte and grimaced at the bitterness. ‘I’ll let you get back to it then.’
‘No! Sit down, sit down.’ Charlotte gestured at the chair opposite hers. ‘I could do with the distraction. How are you? I still feel bad about that story… Well, you know how it is at the paper.’
Ali was grateful she didn’t shy away from the topic, but the resentment still stiffened her spine. ‘Yeah, I know how it is.’
‘If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else, you know that,’ Charlotte said. ‘I tried to put a sensitive spin on it for your sake.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ Ali couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.
Charlotte grimaced. ‘Yeah, fair call. I am sorry. So, what’ve you been up to lately?’
Ali’s reservations remained. ‘Are we off the record here?’
Charlotte laughed self-consciously. ‘Seriously, you’re old news now. And you got too much public support after that whole episode to be able to make anything of it at this point, anyway.’
‘Support?’ Ali almost choked on her coffee. ‘I thought they would’ve been baying for my blood?’
‘Dude. Didn’t you read the paper?’
‘I kind of went off the radar for a while there.’
Charlotte leant over the table, eyes shining with eagerness. ‘We got about a squillion letters to the editor after your story broke. Turns out the public appreciated someone calling it like it was. They were angry that you had to take the fall for that giant arse.’
‘But… but I called them stupid,’ Ali stuttered. ‘It was unprofessional. I deserved to be fired.’
‘You know how much the public loves to stick it to the government. As far as they’re concerned, you’re the real deal, and you were unfairly punished for someone else’s fuck-ups.’
Ali leant back in her chair. ‘Well, that’s the last thing I expected.’
‘It didn’t end there,’ Charlotte went on. ‘The same day, someone leaked what happened with your baby. Well. You should’ve seen the letters after that story! Saunders made a statement that they hadn’t done enough to support you through a difficult time and he regretted how things turned out. You were the public’s hero! For about a week anyway, before they forgot all about it and went back to being outraged by cyclists.’
A mixture of regret and exhilaration battled within Ali. Even if Tom had told her these details, she wouldn’t have believed him. Geoff’s had been one of the many missed calls she hadn’t returned after the incident, but she’d assumed he’d been calling to express his disappointment in her. His implied forgiveness was a balm for the still-raw wound.
‘Anyway, what brings you here?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Have you started a new job?’
‘No, I’ve just been to a recruitment agency to see what’s out there.’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Anything, as long as it’s in the media. It’s not going to be easy with my past, but—’
‘Oh my god, you have to come back to the office with me right now!’ Charlotte snapped the laptop closed and stood up. ‘Jules has just gone on mat leave and Davo’s looking for a new journo. He’d take you back in a second.’
Ali stared at her in surprise. ‘Davo never gives journos another chance once they’ve crossed to the dark side and gone into politics.’
‘Jesus, woman, did you even listen to what I just told you? All Davo cares about is sales. Put the spurned government adviser
back on and the papers will fly off the shelves.’
A sliver of excitement wormed its way down Ali’s back. She’d loved working for Geoff, but there was nothing that beat the feeling of nailing a story and making the front page. And now she might have the opportunity to find that feeling again. ‘Thanks for the heads-up.’
Charlotte shrugged. ‘It’s the least I could do after that story. Come on, let’s go.’
Ali took another mouthful of her coffee and wrinkled her nose, then left the almost-full cup on the table.
‘Not taking your coffee?’ Charlotte glanced back at the cup.
‘It’s too bitter,’ Ali said. ‘Must be a new blend.’
‘Tasted the same as always to me,’ Charlotte muttered as they left the cafe.
* * *
David Lewkowicz, editor of the paper and better known as Davo, had the red face and purple-veined nose of a lifelong heavy drinker. His short-sleeved shirt perpetually hung out of the back of his shabby trousers and his jowls were always peppered with stubble, no matter what the time of day. He was of the old school of journalism, which rewarded the blokes and expected the women to work twice as hard for the same rewards. You had to be tough to work for him, but Ali had had his number from day one, and he’d always respected her—a fact that had been reinforced by the string of vitriolic articles about Geoff that had appeared in the paper shortly after she’d gone to work for him.
‘Well, fuck me dead,’ he drawled when she followed Charlotte into his office. He leant back in his chair, exposing a triangle of hairy stomach where his bottom button had come undone. ‘What brings you here, young lady?’
Ali shifted nervously. Charlotte’s brazen enthusiasm had given her a confidence that dissolved now she was here in Davo’s office. The curious gazes of her former colleagues had followed her across the newsroom floor, and she’d felt herself shrinking a little more with each step.
‘Ali’s looking to get back in the game,’ Charlotte said from behind her. ‘Thought she’d be a perfect replacement for Jules.’
‘You want to come back and work for us?’ Davo was staring at Ali as if Charlotte had never spoken.
‘I’m done in politics, as you may have noticed.’ Ali allowed herself to smile as Davo guffawed in response.
He tapped a pen on his desk. ‘I can’t put you on politics. Not with the fuckin’ election coming up. It’ll look like we’re taking sides.’
Ali scoffed. ‘Because you’ve never done that before.’
Davo tipped his head back and bellowed with laughter. ‘You’ve still got spunk, kid. You can have property. I know it’s not exciting, but it’ll have to do for now. After the election, we’ll work out what to do with you.’
‘Wait. You’re giving me a job?’
Davo shrugged. ‘You were a fuckin’ good journo, and I need someone now. It’d take me bloody forever to find someone new, and they wouldn’t be half as good as you. Can you start tomorrow?’
She gaped. ‘Yes. I’ll be here. Thank you.’
He laughed again. ‘You won’t be thankin’ me this time tomorrow.’
Ali floated out of the office and into the lift. It’d been a long time since she’d felt like this. The salary would be lower than she’d been on working for the government, but it didn’t matter. She was going to be a journo again.
A wave of exhaustion swept over her as she waited for a bus. It’d been a big day already, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. She would have to toughen up quick once she was back at work tomorrow.
Tom
Tom was just leaving the office to get some lunch when his phone rang.
‘Ali!’ He couldn’t curb the excitement in his voice as he answered.
‘Hi,’ she gushed, and pleasure surged through Tom at the sound of her voice. ‘I’ve just had the most amazing morning. I went to a recruitment agency and afterwards I ran into Charlotte—do you remember Charlotte?—and she said Davo was looking for another journo, and, long story short, I got my old job back at the paper!’
Her words came out in an excited rush, but they had the opposite effect on Tom. His spirits sank down around his ankles as he walked up the street. He should be happy for her, but all he could think was, She’s never coming to Sydney now.
‘That’s fantastic,’ he said. ‘I’m really pleased for you.’
‘I start tomorrow, can you believe it?’ She sounded so excited. More excited than Tom had heard her sound since before they’d lost Elizabeth. ‘It’s almost like starting a new life. A few weeks ago, that wouldn’t have made me happy. But I’m starting to think I actually deserve it.’
Tom sat down heavily on a bench by the footpath. ‘Of course you do. Congratulations.’
‘How’s the new job going?’ she asked. ‘Busy?’
‘Yeah. It’s good.’ Tom tried to sound enthusiastic but there was a heaviness in his chest. ‘Well, I’d better get back to it. Congratulations again.’
He didn’t get up from the bench after they’d hung up. He rested his elbows on his knees and raked his hands through his hair.
Ali had moved on, and she was happy. He hadn’t expected her to find a job so quickly. In fact, he’d been counting on it being so difficult that she’d be willing to give it a go here instead. But now she was going back to being a journo, and Tom’s last chance had slipped away. He should’ve said something earlier. Or maybe he should have put off starting this job for another few weeks.
‘Hey, Tom.’
He looked up to see Steve, one of his colleagues from the firm. ‘Hey.’
‘Hard day?’
Tom smiled. ‘You could say that.’
‘A few of us are knocking off early tonight and going down to the Rocks for a drink. Want to join us?’
Tom knew that ‘knocking off early’ meant finishing at seven rather than nine. He was exhausted from the long hours he’d been working, and he was tempted to skive off and go home instead. But then he thought of all the empty hours, filled only with regret for things he should have done differently.
‘Sounds great,’ he said.
* * *
After-work drinks became evening drinks and then late-night drinks, and soon Tom began filling every night with social engagements. It was the only way to keep his mind off Ali.
He weaved a little as he walked up the street towards his apartment. He couldn’t remember leaving the bar, or whether the other guys had still been there. His colleagues had done all they could to help him settle into the Sydney life, but Tom felt no less lonely, no less wrong. It was like being on a holiday for far too long.
This move was supposed to be the start of something new. But every day it felt like more of a mistake.
Before
Ali was already at the top of the ladder, paintbrush in hand, cutting in at the cornice when Tom returned from the hardware store. He paused in the doorway, watching her in silence. Her faded jeans hugged her buttocks and thighs and her white T-shirt had ridden up a little, exposing a tantalising band of bare skin with a tiny tattoo of a star. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in a knot at the back of her head, but some tendrils had escaped and she kept pushing them back with her free hand.
Tom leant against the doorframe and gave a low whistle. Ali looked over her shoulder with a smile.
‘I knew you were there,’ she said, turning back to her work.
‘So why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Thought I’d give you a bit more time to check this out.’ She wiggled her backside and threw him a cheeky grin. There was a smear of paint on her forehead.
‘Marry me,’ Tom said.
The paintbrush fell to the ground with a splat, and for a moment Tom thought Ali was going to follow it. She turned around to face him, clinging to the top of the ladder.
‘Marry me,’ Tom said again. The shock on her face filled him with satisfaction. She was notoriously difficult to ruffle, but he’d succeeded this time. He wondered when his own shock would set in. He hadn’t planned to propose
to her, not today anyway, but it felt good. It felt right.
‘OK,’ she said numbly.
They stared at one another for a long moment.
‘Well, come down here and kiss me, future wife!’
She moved then, skidding down the ladder at such a speed that Tom feared she would fall, and threw herself into his arms. Their kiss was long and deep.
‘You know I’m not going to change my name, right?’ she said when they came up for air.
Tom rubbed at the paint on her forehead with his thumb. ‘I’d be disappointed if you did.’
Ali
Her first week back at the paper was hectic. Even though she wasn’t on the political round, the whole staff was under pressure to produce stories on the election campaign, many of which weren’t even used. Ali ended each day wiped out with exhaustion but happier than she’d been in a long time.
The hardest thing to deal with was the constant stream of invitations to the pub. She’d forgotten how much journos drank, and there were only so many times she could get away with saying she had other plans without seeming rude. She went along to the Friday night drinks and stood at the edge of the group, sipping on her lemon, lime and bitters and eyeing the bottles of spirits behind the bar. Every fibre of her being lured her towards taking up the repeated offers of beer or wine from her colleagues, or going to the bar alone and tossing back a few shots, but she knew it would be a long time before she would be able to handle a single drink. Perhaps she might never be able to.
It was only in the evenings, when she was home alone, that she had the mental space to think about Tom. His dismissive manner when she’d told him about the job had hurt. He’d acted like he didn’t even care. Like he was anxious to get back to work as quickly as possible. She’d hoped that after the night they’d spent together there would remain some warmth between them, but he’d treated her with a respectful distance.
Nevertheless, she enjoyed her work and thrived on the ever-present deadlines, despite her exhaustion. No matter how early she tumbled into bed, she always woke feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her dreams were vivid and strange, sometimes disturbing. She often dreamt of Elizabeth, sometimes as a normal, healthy baby, crying or smiling; sometimes as a twisted monster. It was these dreams that haunted her the most, that had her leaping out of bed and into the shower, casting off her exhaustion to tackle a new day. She had gone off coffee since the dodgy one she’d had in the cafe, and put her tiredness down to this. At the same time, all her usual clothes began to feel too tight as she regained the weight she’d lost during her long drinking jag.
Misconception Page 24
