Today
I’m two minutes from Honeysuckle—barely seeing the road in front of me—when my phone blasts, sending me out of my skin. My whole body turns rigid when I see the name ‘Natasha Harrington’ flashing on the screen. I answer the call on speaker.
‘Have you seen that the video has hit the comedy talk show circuit?’ are the first words out of her mouth.
The awful feeling in my stomach grows. ‘Yes.’
She sighs deeply. ‘I was hoping it would be missed, but it’s out there now.’ I can feel her shaking her head. ‘It will all blow over, but right now, I need you to lie low.’
‘Lie low?’
‘You’ve still got a month left on your contract, so take the next two weeks off, starting today. We’ll manage, and I cannot risk another one of these clips right now.’
‘Natasha, I promise you, it will not—’
‘I’ve made my decision, Josie.’
A moments of tense silence passes between us before her tone softens a touch. ‘Look, if there’s anything you want to talk to me about, you can give me a call, OK? Otherwise, I’ll see you in two weeks.’
‘OK,’ I mumble. ‘Thank you.’ She sounds like she can’t get rid of me fast enough.
After we hang up, I pull into a driveway and sit with my forehead against the wheel, reliving that disastrous on-air moment. A desperate need to call Zac surges up my spine and takes hold of my throat. But when his stricken face from the other day slides into my vision, I force away the impulse.
I kick on the engine and drive towards Nobbys Beach, where I sit on the damp sand in the wintry wind with my arms curled around my knees.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Stay calm, stay calm.
Then I catch my face in my hands and cry.
I last for two more days moping around Zac’s house before I crack and begin stuffing random bits of clothing into my suitcase. It makes no sense that Zac’s crashing at his cousin’s while I’m swanning around the house he pays for. But it’s more than that. Everything that surrounds me here belongs to him and reminds me of him. Trouble’s empty dog bed is enough to stir up my stomach, let alone the sight of Zac’s untouched sheets. I can’t be here.
My mind is also on a mission to torture me, constantly picking apart our last conversation and recalling the gutted look on Zac’s face when he left. If only I could reverse time and fix things and feel less hideous than I do right now. But as much as it hurts, I refrain from calling him. We both need time in our respective corners, like we agreed. Impulsive-Josie needs to take a damn breath.
I call Christina and put the phone on speaker while scrubbing the guest bathroom, determined to leave this place as clean as I found it.
‘Hey, you,’ she sings.
‘Hey.’
She gasps at my broken tone. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Can I come and stay with you for a few days? I need to get out of Newcastle.’
‘Of course. What’s happened? Is this about the video?’
My throat constricts on the words I haven’t been able to say aloud until now. ‘I’ve been put on forced leave for two weeks. The news director up here wants the dead-air story to die down before I’m allowed back at work.’
‘Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.’
I scrape the sponge across the granite countertop. ‘Thanks. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my job entirely. But I can kiss goodbye the idea that Oliver Novak is going to call, begging me to be your replacement.’
A deep sigh leaves her lungs. ‘He hasn’t said anything to me. But never say never; it’s possible he hasn’t heard about it.’
I snort a mirthless laugh. ‘Keep dreaming, my friend. Even my parents saw it on the internet in Thailand.’ When Mum and Dad called about my on-air breakdown, I told them I hadn’t been feeling well and spaced out, which was at least partly the truth.
‘Well, I’d love you to come down and stay,’ Christina says gently. ‘Pete’s actually in Melbourne for work this week, so you can keep me company. I’m in the middle of setting up the nursery. I’d love your input.’
I catch my reflection in the mirror, my haunted expression and puffy eyes proving that there’s more to my Sydney escape than my work suspension. But Christina assumes that’s all there is to it, and if I bring up Zac’s name right now, I’ll probably burst into tears.
I finish packing and slide my suitcase into the back of my car. My chest twists sharply as I tap out a message to him.
ME: Hey. I’m officially off work for two weeks, so I’m heading to Sydney today. I can’t put you out of your house, it’s not fair. Please move back home. I’ll find somewhere to stay temporarily when I get back, and I’ll get the rest of my stuff then if that’s OK. Thank you so much for offering your home to me.
I add the words ‘Miss you’ at the end before deleting them, my stomach shrinking into itself. I can’t play with Zac’s feelings right now—or my own. I have to keep things simple and civil.
When he replies while I’m flying down the motorway, I pull over at a rest stop just so I can read his message.
ZAC: OK
My heart crawls into my throat as I spin the wheel back towards the motorway.
Simple and civil. That’s how things need to be right now. But the problem is that the first person I want to call and moan to about my sore heart is the same person who’s causing it. Not that any of this is Zac’s fault. He’s done nothing wrong, whereas I can’t seem to make a right decision to save myself.
A second message from him pings five minutes later. Waiting until I reach Sydney to read it feels torturous, so I find another rest stop.
ZAC: What about your test? Isn’t that tomorrow? I was going to ask if you still wanted me to go with you.
A wave of nausea throbs through my body. I don’t know how to tell him that I cancelled my breast ultrasound this morning. He’ll never understand that I just don’t have the mental strength to face the possibility of bad news right now, and I don’t want him to blame himself. I’m planning to rebook the test as soon as I feel capable of handling the possible results, but that’s one hundred per cent not going to be this week.
At a loss for what to say, I swipe out of the message and resume my drive to Sydney, trying to keep my zombie eyes from glazing over and causing an accident. The traffic gridlock sets in the minute I reach the city’s outskirts, and it takes just as long to crawl to Christina’s terrace in Kirribilli as it did to drive more than one hundred kilometres down the motorway.
Christina greets me with a gorgeous baby bump and a comforting hug, and we carry mugs of hot chocolate outside to her courtyard garden. We chat about her baby, Pete’s work stint in Melbourne, a new historical bestseller we both loved—everything other than the lump growing in my breast and the fact that I had sex with my best friend and damaged both our hearts in the process. I know I need to get better at opening up to people about my issues, but giving those words airtime will trigger my anxiety. I’m starting to realise I keep my lips sealed for the same reason I run in the opposite direction from medical tests: if I pretend bad things aren’t happening, maybe they’ll just disappear.
Christina has to say my name twice to get my attention back.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks with a pout.
‘Yeah. Sorry. What was it you just said?’
She swallows tightly. ‘I got a call while you were on the way down here. Do you remember Dev Parvin, the chief Melbourne reporter for Channel One? He’s moving to Sydney, and I’m wondering if it has something to do with my maternity leave. I can’t think of why else Oliver would move him up here.’
I nod sadly, still coming to terms with the fact that I screwed up my one shot at my dream job. But if I can’t even face an ultrasound, what chance do I have of being trusted to read the nation’s most watched news bulletin? I don’t deserve the promotion.
‘That makes sense,’ I finally say, inhaling a calming waft of milky chocolate before taking a sip.
‘To be honest, I’ll be ticked off if they replace me with a man,’ Christina adds, and I hold up my mug in a ‘cheers to that’ salute.
‘Do you want to talk about what else is bothering you, my love?’ she asks. ‘You seem so unhappy. And while I know this job means a lot to you, I’m wondering if there’s another reason you’ve run out of Newcastle so suddenly.’
I absently turn my gaze to the tendrils of vines coiling up the trellis.
‘There’s been a lot going on,’ I murmur, wondering where to begin.
Stop avoiding everything, Josie. Try telling the truth for a change to someone who cares about you.
‘You already know that Zac and I hooked up,’ I say with a sigh. ‘More than once. And I was really hoping it was the right thing, but it’s already screwed everything up between us.’
‘In what way?’ she asks softly.
When I struggle to answer, she hazards a guess.
‘One of you wants it to continue, and the other one doesn’t?’
I slowly shake my head, digging for the truth, but I can’t seem to find it. ‘I think we both want it. But he lives up there, I’m moving down here, and I don’t see either of us budging on that. I have no interest in doing long distance, and I don’t think he does either.’
‘But if you have feelings for each other,’ she says, leaning forward, ‘shouldn’t there be a way to figure something out?’
A slow, shuddery breath leaves my lungs. ‘I think because we’re already so close, this feels much bigger than it would if we’d just met. I don’t want to hurt him. I’ve told you what he’s been through in his life.’
‘But why would you hurt him? I can see how much you care about him.’
My fingers make an instinctive shift closer to the left side of my chest. ‘Zac can’t lose another girlfriend,’ I say in a strained voice. ‘I won’t do that to him. And the truth is I’m not sure how long I’m going to be around.’
Even to me, the words sound exceedingly premature, but I can’t take risks with Zac’s heart. I won’t.
Christina’s face has tightened up. ‘What are you talking about?’
A tear slips down my cheek as I open up to her about the breast lump. Her eyes widen when I remind her of my family history and bring her up to speed on what the doctor said—including the test I was meant to have tomorrow.
She gets up and reaches for me, pulling me into as best a hug as we can manage over her swollen belly. When her worried eyes rake over me like I’m already on my deathbed, I ask if it’s OK if we drop the health topic for now. More than anything, I want to help her as much as I can while I’m here. Christina’s family all live up in north Queensland, and while they are planning a visit, it won’t be until the baby’s born.
We agree to drive into the city to take my mind off things and shop for some nursery furniture that Christina and Pete still need. Her caring eyes keep landing on me as we browse the department store’s baby section, but she doesn’t push me to talk further. I’m sure she’s ready to drag me to that ultrasound clinic with her bare hands, but she keeps silent.
We stroll along George Street, my arms loaded with Christina’s bags, the smell of exhaust fumes and suits hurrying in all directions making me pine for the slow, easy hum of Newcastle. A few metres ahead of us, an approaching flash of neat blonde hair stops me in my tracks.
‘Is that Meghan Mackay?’ I say, my mouth open.
Christina slows beside me. ‘Who?’
‘Zac’s ex from Newcastle. The one I work with.’
Christina holds a hand to her brow in search of a face that would be vaguely familiar to her at best. But to me, the tall, willowy figure and sleek blonde hair are unmistakeably Meghan’s. She crosses the road up ahead, then disappears into a clothing store.
‘I thought she was reading the news up in Newcastle this week,’ I say to Christina. Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been pulled off presenting duties.
If Meghan had been nicer these past few months, I’d probably send her a message to ask if everything was OK. But ever since Zac broke things off with her, her iciness towards me has become outright glacial.
After we arrive back at Christina’s place with an early takeaway dinner that I don’t really feel like eating, she disappears into her room for a lie-down. I stretch out on her guest bed and flip on the TV to distract myself from anxious thoughts before pulling out my phone. I jerk up against the pillows. I’ve got two missed calls from Zac and three texts.
ZAC: You didn’t answer my question about the test tomorrow … is it on? Pls let me know, because I can take the day off if you want me to come with you.
ZAC: Jose, please reply, I’m getting a bit worried.
You have 1 missed call from Zac Jameson.
ZAC: Is there a reason you’re not talking to me? Because the last I heard, you were driving down to Sydney, and right now, I’m freaking the hell out that something happened. Please reply or call me.
I hurriedly tap his number, my heart racing. I hadn’t even considered that he might believe I was in a car accident when I didn’t respond to his text. He’s likely on shift, and the phone rings out, so I type out a message.
ME: I’m so sorry. I’m absolutely fine. I was at the shops with Christina and didn’t check my phone until now. I’m sorry I scared you.
I leave my phone out where I can hear it and rest my head against the pillow, a little buoyed by the fact that he was so concerned about me, even though I hate that I did that to him.
My exhausted eyes sink shut, and when they drift open again, the sky is a curtain of black through the window and the credits are rolling on the evening news. I scoop up my phone, my heart skittering at the new message notification.
ZAC: Phew. You still haven’t answered me about the test?
ME: Thank you so much for offering to take time off and come with me, but it’s not needed. Please don’t freak out, but I cancelled the test. I will go, but I need to work up the confidence first.
A speech bubble appears before disappearing and reappearing like he’s figuring out how to respond to my lunacy.
ZAC: I’m sorry to hear that, but of course it’s your decision.
Just know I’m still happy to come with you when you decide to go (which I hope will be soon).
ME: Thank you.
ME: How are you doing?
I stalk my phone, but this time he takes ten minutes to reply.
ZAC: I’ve seen better days.
ME: Me too.
When he goes silent, I send another message.
ME: I miss you.
My stomach dips and dives while I wait for his reply. Several painfully long minutes pass before an alert pings that he’s ‘liked’ the message, but nothing else follows.
After overanalysing that in my head for a good fifteen minutes, I mope out to the living room, finding Christina watching a documentary about the French Revolution.
‘Hey,’ she says with a smile.
‘Hey.’ I flop beside her and hand her my phone, the message chat with Zac still open. ‘So, I told him I missed him, and he just “liked” the message instead of replying. What do you think that means?’
She reads through the messages before her eyes widen a fraction.
I snatch the phone back. ‘It’s the kiss of death, isn’t it?’
‘He probably doesn’t know what to say back,’ she offers. ‘It doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the same way.’
But as I stare at Zac’s lack of response to my message, a horrible feeling grips my lungs, suffocating me.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ I say, catching my head in my hands.
Christina reaches out to stroke my arm. ‘Nobody does who’s in love.’
I keep my palm pressed to my forehead as I look back at her. ‘In love?’
One side of her mouth slants up. ‘I can see it in your eyes, Josie. You’re mad about him.’
I blink at her. ‘I feel hideous. Like I could actually vomit. I’ve never felt this way about a guy.’
She chuckles softly. ‘The classic symptoms of love. And I don’t mean friendship love, not even best friend love. This is romantic love.’
I sigh into my hands. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. Out of all the men I pictured myself feeling this way about, none of them was anything like Zac.’
She shifts to face me. ‘And what were they like?’
The words fill my head instantly. Corporate, fancy, wealthy. God, yuck. How unforgivably superficial. No wonder I’ve been locked up in singledom prison forever—it’s what I’ve deserved.
I try to make sense of it all to Christina. ‘I guess the men I’d imagined being with were more like my sister’s husband or your husband—and don’t take that the wrong way. What I mean is, I’ve always felt like I have to have “the perfect job” and “the perfect man”. Someone successful and distinguished. Someone who lives in a big city and works in the corporate world and fits into this life.’ I wave a hand at her priceless Sydney home.
A laugh sneaks out of her, and I narrow my eyes.
She lays a hand on my knee. ‘Darling, I’m not making fun of you. But I am thinking that you might be confused about why Pete and I are together. It’s got nothing to do with our jobs, our lifestyle or our home. Yes, I love living here, but you also know I buy most of my clothes from op shops. Pete and I aren’t together for money or status; it’s because we love each other. Because we couldn’t bear to be apart. Because we make each other feel wonderful and supported. We could be living on the street and we’d still be together. In fact, we became a couple long before all this.’ It’s her turn to wave a hand at the room. ‘So, instead of this checklist you’ve had in your head, why don’t you tell me a little more about Zac?’
The question wraps me in a warm blanket, and my lips twist up. ‘He’s a hard person to describe. He’s really not what you’d call “fancy”, but just for the record, I’m hugely proud of what he does for a living—I think it’s amazing. His medical knowledge is incredible.’ She smiles as I continue. ‘He’s very real, very unpretentious, very smart, very thoughtful and very kind.’ I could go on for hours, but I spare Christina and stop there.
Her eyes sparkle. ‘Maybe love is a checklist, after all. Just not the list you thought it was.’ She flips the volume down on the TV and rests her hands on her baby bump. ‘OK. You already know what I think about this, but I’m going to ask you this question. You love Zac, there’s no doubt. He is a very special person in your life, and he means a lot to you. But are you in love with him, Josie?’
There’s still a part of me that wishes I could say no—or even hesitate. But the answer already lives deep inside me, where it’s tattooed over my heart.
‘Yes,’ I say with a heavy sigh. ‘Yes, I’m in love with him. Maybe I have been the entire time and I’ve been in extreme denial—I don’t know.’ I clutch my stomach, trying to settle the nerves swirling there. ‘All I know is that I feel like driving up there right now and telling him how much I want him. But I’m so scared of something going wrong. It’s the weirdest situation. I’m caught between wanting to protect him fiercely and being the one who could hurt him.’
‘Love is scary,’ Christina replies. ‘And I bet it’s even scarier when it’s with someone who’s been your best friend until now. But, darling, these aren’t feelings you can just switch off. If you’re in love with him, and he’s in love with you, I don’t think either of you has a choice. You’re going to have to take the risk. Either that, or stay completely away from each other, which sounds painful and unnecessary.’
I bite down on one of my fingernails. ‘I don’t know if he’s in love with me.’ Just saying those words crowds my chest with longing.
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out. You have to tell him how you feel, Josie. You have to roll the dice. Just remember that when you’re afraid, the fear is often worse than the danger itself.’
A heavy fog drifts over me as my thoughts travel from my heart to another part of my chest.
Not when it’s cancer.
The sky is barely lit when Christina yanks open the guest-room curtains. I cry out in protest before pulling a pillow over my head.
‘I have an idea,’ she says with a zing in her voice that no one should have at this time of day.
I open one eye. ‘It better involve me going back to sleep for a year.’
The bed dips with the weight of two people when she sits beside me. ‘I’m having breakfast with Oliver Novak this morning.’
‘What?’ I gasp, sitting up on my elbows. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’
‘He only texted this morning—just before six am, mind you—saying he has a meeting in Kirribilli at nine, and do I want to meet for breakfast. So very Oliver.’ She laughs knowingly, like it’s normal to have the CEO of Channel One News think of you as an ideal breakfast date.
‘Anyway,’ Christina continues, ‘you’re going to come along and convince him to give you a screen test for my maternity gig.’
My lungs fly into my throat. ‘Oh god, no. No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the reason I’m even down here is that a gaffe I made on live TV went viral, and there’s no way Oliver doesn’t know about that. I do have some dignity, believe it or not.’
‘Yesterday’s news,’ she scoffs, knowing full well that’s a load of crap. She flings the striped quilt off me. ‘Now get up. This opportunity has dropped out of the sky like it’s meant to be, and you’re not missing it. The worst that can happen is you get to know Oliver a little better, which is a great thing for your career. And you just never know, darling. If he likes you, he will consider you, I guarantee it. Oliver does what he wants; always has.’
It’s painfully clear that she’s not going to back down, so with a terrified sigh, I crawl out of bed and head into the shower to get cleaned up.
My stomach turns into a washing machine on spin cycle during our short stroll to Christina’s favourite café. When Oliver strides in ten minutes late, I nearly throw up into my coffee, but at least I made Christina text him to give him a heads-up that I was coming.
She plants an air kiss on his cheek, and I mirror the move, my lips landing on the edge of his ear as he turns his head. Oh, Jesus.
Oliver brushes it off with a gruff chuckle and orders himself a double espresso, speaking at a million miles per hour and freaking out the waiter with his authoritative tone. He’s so ripe for one of my impersonations that I have to school my features not to slip into one by accident.
For the first ten minutes, Oliver angles his designer jacket towards Christina and chats with her like I’m not even here. She keeps trying to bring me into the conversation, but it’s evident that Oliver couldn’t care less what I have to say, and I work hard to not let the disappointment show on my face.
‘Have you given more thought to who you’ll get to replace me?’ Christina asks him boldly, and I nearly make a run for it.
Oliver dabs his mouth with his napkin. ‘I’m considering options. Dev’s coming up from Melbourne to screen test, but I don’t know. I’d like someone with a bit more pop. You know you are a hard act to follow, my dear.’
She smiles, blushing. ‘Thank you. But I know someone who would be excellent. Smooth delivery, beautiful voice, lovely face. Plus, she has gravitas and empathy.’
He twists his blindingly expensive watch. ‘And that would be?’
‘Josie Larsen,’ she blurts through an awkward half-laugh before lifting her mug to her lips.
I want to slide right through the floor, fall through the centre of the earth, and into the pits of hell where no one can find me.
Oliver glances at me through ice-cold eyes, then back at Christina. ‘Ah. I’d figured that’s why you brought company.’ Why does he keep talking like I’m not even here?
I need to say something, but Christina cuts back in. ‘Just think about it,’ she says to Oliver. ‘I’m not saying this because Josie’s my friend. I have a lot of friends who are reporters, and I’m not here to do them professional favours. Josie is young, yes, but she’s got it. She’s been doing an incredible job up at NRN News for the past few months, and the audience loves her up there.’
‘It’s OK,’ I burst out in a nervous breath, grateful for Christina’s kind words but too aware that Oliver is looking more irritated than impressed. ‘You’re so sweet,’ I add to her, but when Oliver leans back in his chair and gives me an up-and-down look, I realise this is my opportunity to pounce. Yet, for some reason, my sales pitch comes out a little half-hearted.
‘I didn’t come here to railroad you about this,’ I say to Oliver. ‘But I’ve been reporting for a number of years now, and while I won’t deny that I love being out in the community and telling people’s stories, I believe I have what it takes to present. I’m comfortable on camera, and I’ve been told that I read well—’
A waiter swoops in with our breakfasts before I can finish. Oliver sprinkles pepper over his poached eggs and speaks without looking at me. ‘Look, I appreciate you saying that, Elsie, but it’s not a decision I can make right now.’
‘Of course,’ I reply quickly, shrinking into my seat as I fumble whether to correct him about my mistaken name. When I catch Christina’s eye, I find a flicker of sympathy in her gaze.
‘I heard about the slip-up last week,’ Oliver adds between bites. ‘And then there was that hiccup last year, too. Or that time you misnamed the Minister for Housing on live TV.’
Actually, it was the Minister for Lands and Property, I think, but I keep that to myself. Looks like I’m not the only one who slips up now and then.
‘To be honest, any one of my reporters can read an autocue,’ Oliver continues gruffly. ‘What I need is someone who can present the news when there is no script, or when the lights blow, or when there’s breaking news with no warning.’
My cheeks catch fire. ‘That’s not going to happen again,’ I say, faking the assurance in my tone. There’s still a lump in my breast that I’ve done nothing about, and if I think I have a handle on this situation, I’m living in a fantasy world.
‘We’ll see how things go,’ he mutters before switching the topic to Christina’s baby plans.
Oliver doesn’t pay me an ounce of attention for the rest of our breakfast. The guy doesn’t even know my bloody name. When his colleague strides in ahead of their meeting, Oliver introduces the smiley-faced guy to Christina but not me. That’s when my slightly awed stare at Oliver morphs into a thinly veiled glare. Why am I trying so hard to impress this rude man who remembers every mistake I’ve made, but not my name? Why am I so desperate to be back under his watch in the frightening pressure cooker of his newsroom, which feels more ruthlessly competitive than the Olympics, and where I’d probably have to work until I die if I ever want to afford to buy my own place in Sydney? Why am I putting such high expectations on myself about something I’m not even sure I want anymore?
And if my life is going to end prematurely, does any of this really matter?
After Oliver pays for our meals on his platinum credit card and dashes away with his colleague, I turn and look at Christina. ‘That was the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me, and I love you to death. But I’m not getting that gig. There’s no way in hell he’s going to hire me as your replacement.’
She makes a big sigh of empathy, but the strangest thing is, all I feel is relief.
*
You have 1 new message.
ZAC: I’m in Sydney. A work thing.
You still here?
I lurch up in the bed, which I’ve barely left, apart from the horrible meet-up with Oliver that I’ve since dubbed breakfast-gate. My fingers can’t type fast enough.
ME: Seriously? Yes, I’m still here. Do you have time to meet up?
He doesn’t reply right away. I pace Christina’s house like a caged animal, giving the place a clean for her and wondering how the hell this is even happening. I used to share all my most embarrassing secrets with Zac. Now I’m losing my stomach over the prospect of even seeing him.
My next thought strikes without warning. What if I saw Meghan in Sydney because she’s here with Zac? What if they’re together again? Oh my god, I’d cry a fucking river.
My phone pings again, and I scramble to open the message with my stomach in my throat.
ZAC: Sorry, I was in a meeting. And sure, given I’m here.
Drink or a bite after I’m done at work? I’m staying in Circular Quay and should be done around 5.
ME: Perfect. I can meet you at the Opera Bar? 6 pm?
ZAC: See you there, sunbeam.