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 gotit. 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.
CHAPTER 39
Three years ago
