Kick Back

by K J

  Cam curled her fingers around the arm rests. “She wasn’t.”

  Eddie huffed. “Well, you never know these things. Anyway,” he rolled his shoulders, “kind of puts a lid on the whole business, I guess. The season was over from the first day.”

  Cam squinted. “Um. What?”

  He shot her a look. “Come on, Weathers. You’re not an idiot. Your series got you paid, but you know very well that it wasn't positive publicity. Just as well you know how to shut up and do your job.” Eddie smirked. “When,” he pointed into the air, “up there talks, everyone listens, hey? Including a small executive board who always had their eye on the ball, but just for a different gender.” He chuckled. “See what I did there?” He chuckled again.

  Cam felt sick. “You used me.”

  “Nah. That’s how newspapers work. We tell people what to think. Or rather, the owners of the papers tell the people. Sometimes there’s collateral damage, you know?”

  Cam spluttered. “That’s reprehensible.”

  Eddie shrugged again, and began shuffling papers about. “Anyway. Give all your notes to Patrick, so he can write up the death of,” he clicked his fingers, “Louise. He’s got the contacts at the Coroner’s Court.”

  “No.”

  Eddie’s head shot up. “What?”

  “No. Louise is not an exclusive. She’s not a story. She’s a person. And if anyone’s going to write something, it’ll be me.”

  Eddie leaned forward. “You’ll write what I tell you to write. You have for the last three months, girlie. You work for me.”

  They stared at each other for a minute, then Cam stood, startling Eddie who recoiled into the back of his chair. “No, Eddie. I don’t. Not anymore. My resignation’s in your inbox.”

  She spun on her heel, then strode from his office, and headed to her desk, where she yanked out the drawer, tipped the contents onto the surface, replaced the drawer on its runner, and flung it shut. She opened her backpack, made space next to her laptop, and tossed in the various bits and pieces that she’d collected during her five years of employment at The Post.

  “Running away from home?” Bianca rolled her chair around to peer at Cam.

  Cam gripped the backpack, then violently pulled the zip. “I’ve resigned. Right now. But actually I did it this morning. I just needed to say it in person.” She met Bianca’s gaze. “It felt good.” She paused to contemplate that thought, then pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “Fucking arsehole used me. It was all a huge media scam. Fuckity fuck.” She gripped the backpack’s straps so tightly that white lines striated through her knuckles.

  Bianca chewed on the inside of her cheek, studying Cam’s face, then abruptly turned to her desk, slapped her laptop closed, slid it into its case, then stood. “You’ve resigned, right?”

  Cam nodded, her mouth dropping open.

  “Properly? Like forms at HR and all that?”

  Cam nodded again.

  “Good,” Bianca said. “Grab your gear and shit. We’re going for a coffee.”

  Cam still hadn’t moved, the bag now hanging loosely from her hand. “Coffee?”

  Bianca grinned. “Yes. It’s an addictive beverage. You’ll need it if you’re off to conquer the world of investigative journalism.” She gestured impatiently at Cam. “Come on.”

  A walk, one block in length, brought them to a trendy café. Cam, still slightly stunned at Eddie’s revelations, and Bianca revealing yet another side of her personality, settled into the chair. Bianca placed two flat whites onto the little table between them, they made eye contact, and Bianca crossed one leg, enclosed in red ribbed tights, over the other. Her black cut-off overalls pulled on her thighs so she wriggled the fabric away, then reached for her coffee. “So tell me what Eddie said.”

  Cam picked up her coffee and squinted across the table. “Um. You…” She stared at Bianca. “I…” Finally, she shook her head in defeat and huffed out a laugh. “Okay. Well, he said that I’ve been used in this big misogynistic plot to destroy the women’s league.” She gave a close-lipped laugh. “Bit dramatic, but basically true. My series was part of this campaign to trivialise the league so much that people’s attention would be diverted to something more worthy of their time, which was the men’s comp, of course.” She growled into her coffee. “He did this weird gesture.” She put her cup down, and pointed to the ceiling above her head, and Bianca's brow wrinkled in confusion. Cam laughed. “Yeah. He said ‘when he talks, we all listen’, like he was receiving divine instructions.” Bianca paused, her coffee halfway to her mouth, then raised her eyebrows when Cam made eye contact.

  “Sounds like your theory about everything being connected was pretty spot on.”

  “Mm. I think so. But today’s info puts a really nice bow on my story for the Beacon. As soon as I can talk to Tal, I’ll tie everything up. The vitamins, the negative publicity campaign, the sabotage-like behaviour, all of it.”

  Bianca leaned into the back of the chair, and tucked a strand of her shaggy brown hair behind her ear. “Who’s Tal?”

  “Inspector Tal Diamandis, Victoria Police. Freaking scary, Brit accent, looks like one of those gorgeous androgynous menswear models.” She grinned. “I’m getting first bite at her investigation.”

  Bianca nodded in appreciation. “Nice. You’re good at this. The journalisting.”

  Cam laughed. “That’s not a word.”

  “Make it one. You’re a writer.” Bianca sipped her coffee. “How’s Sophia?”

  “Ah.” Cam sighed. “I don’t know. We had a couple of words on Wednesday.”

  “Oh, I can imagine,” Bianca said, a small smile on her lips.

  “What?”

  “You two wouldn’t pull punches, that’s for sure. I bet she was intense, profound and sarcastic, and then you called her out on some of it. Maybe called her an arsehole or something.”

  Cam gaped. “Were there hidden microphones?” Bianca barked out a laugh, then placed her feet on the floor, and braced her elbows on her knees.

  “You’re not going to let Louise’s death create tension, okay? Because that’s stupid. You two are kinda cute as a couple, and you’ve got to remember that you’re both in a state of bereavement.” She tapped her fingers together. “Ever heard of the circles of grief?” She gazed at Cam, who sipped her coffee then put the cup on the table.

  “No?”

  Bianca made a circle shape with her hands, the fingertips touching. “Okay. Circles of grief are situational and contextual. Each one is different. Louise’s parents will have theirs, for example. So, inside this circle is Sophia. She’s the closest to the event causing the grief.” Bianca lifted her eyebrows and Cam nodded. “Okay.” She pulled her hands slightly apart. “Now, in the next circle out is you, and anyone else close to her. You’re looking in on Sophia’s circle.” She moved her hands again. “This next circle is for people who are one layer back from your grief, which would be…?” Bianca raised her eyebrows again.

  “Um, J’aann, Francine. You?” Cam looked over hopefully, and Bianca nodded.

  “Absolutely. Now the thing with circles of grief is that you can’t kick in, you can only kick out.” Bianca waved her hands at Cam’s confused expression. “Here’s an example. Sophia, sitting there in her little circle right next to Louise’s death, is going to be angry at herself, Louise, the situation, but she can’t kick in at Louise, so she kicks out. At you.” Bianca took a sip of coffee. “But you can’t kick back because that’s not the direction your grief gets to travel. Circles of grief are about supporting people who are grieving. So, you’re there to support Sophia. But when you need support, you look towards the circle outside you.” She poked herself in the chest. “Me, J’aann, Francine. And what happens is the validity of the grief doesn’t diminish but the intensity of it does. My grief for Louise is more diluted than yours, but that doesn’t mean it’s not valid.” She sipped from her cup. “However, it doesn’t mean that Sophia gets to be a complete wanker, but it does explain the
context of her shittiness.”

  Cam stared. “That’s amazing. Where on earth did you learn that?”

  “Here and there. Bit of life experience perhaps, that sort of thing.” Bianca shrugged, and Cam sent her a piercing look, holding her gaze for a moment.

  “I’m going to apply for anything that comes up at the Beacon now that I’m thoroughly unemployed.” She gave a start. Unemployed. “Shit.” Then she tossed her hands lightly. “Well, shit. Unemployment is—”

  “Short-term. You’ll be fine. There’s a bus labelled ‘A Great Life’ coming your way, Cam, and you should throw yourself in front of it.” Bianca quirked her lips and Cam sent her a perplexed look, tilting her head to the side.

  “Really? Can’t I just get on the bus?”

  “Well, okay. Boring, but the result’s the same,” Bianca stated blandly, then winked. Cam opened her mouth to make further comment, then stumbled upon a thought.

  “Are you staying at The Post?”

  Bianca delivered a one-shoulder shrug. “Mm. It’s probably time for me to move on as well,” she said casually, holding Cam’s gaze.

  “What will you do?” Cam leaned her elbow on the armrest and cupped her cheek in her hand.

  “Not sure. Probably what I’ve always done. Right the wrongs. Kick back at the patriarchy. Rail against the establishment. Champion minorities and the disenfranchised.” Bianca’s eyes flashed with determination, then she grinned. Cam laughed.

  “Sounds like a lifetime of work.”

  Bianca’s face grew serious. “It does, doesn’t it?” Then her eyes darted to the large window overlooking the street, then back to Cam’s face. She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous gesture which was so unexpected and completely out of character that Cam nearly choked on her coffee. “Thank you for inviting me to your party. I really didn’t say a proper thank you before.” Her gaze bounced around again, then settled. “You invited me because you like…me. That doesn’t happen very often.”

  Cam beamed. “Of course I like you. You’re all layers, Bianca. Just like Sophia. But I see through your sardonic surly exterior.”

  Bianca hummed. “Yes, you do.” She paused, and studied the black nail polish on her fingernails. “Look, I really don’t do this. Ever. But I’d like to think that we’re friends.” She reached into her pocket and plucked out her phone. “Can I give you my phone number? If that’s okay. If you want it.” She twisted the phone nervously in her hand, so Cam reached across, held her wrist, and waited until Bianca met her gaze.

  “I’d like that a lot.” Cam grinned mischievously. “Now. Will you finally tell me if you’re an assassin?”

  Bianca delivered a wicked smile. “You and I have a lot to discuss.”

  ***

  Sophia looked up as Lin, clutching an enormous Tupperware container, let herself into the flat. She padded across the floorboards and relieved her of what looked to be enough Kung Pao Chicken to feed Sophia and all of the inhabitants of the street. Lin shrugged out of her coat and unwound her scarf. “Hi you. Thought I’d do an evening delivery.” She accepted Sophia’s hug. “You good?” Lin peered up into Sophia’s eyes, and before Sophia could answer, she nodded and said, “Yes. You’re good.”

  Sophia grinned, and walked to the kitchen with the container. “I am, actually. It comes and goes, but right now, I’m good.” She tapped the container’s lid. “Thank you for this. Do you want some?” Lin waved her away.

  “Nope. Ate already. That’s all for you. Freeze it or whatever.” She sank into a chair. “Jesus, this pregnancy business is full on. I need to wear a massive sign that tells everyone how very freaking pregnant I am because they sure don’t get the message when they’re looking at my body.”

  Sophia laughed, and filled a bowl with the Chinese food, then put the container into the fridge to deal with later. Crossing her legs, yoga-style, under her on the couch, Sophia cradled the bowl and attacked the chicken pieces with her chopsticks. “So good. Thanks,” she mumbled through a mouthful.

  “You’re welcome. So…” Lin cocked her head, pressed her hands together and twisted her palms. Then she rested them in her lap.

  Sophia froze. “Uh oh.”

  Lin smiled. “Did you tell Cam to leave?” Sophia dropped her head forward, and put the bowl and chopsticks on the coffee table.

  “Is this an intervention?”

  “No, it’s a boot up the arse.” Lin’s dark eyes roamed over Sophia’s face. “So, did you?”

  Sophia twisted her lips from side to side. “No?”

  Lin met that reply with a raised eyebrow.

  “I didn’t tell her to leave.” Sophia suddenly felt about ten years old. “I told her that she makes me itch.”

  Lin’s mouth fell open. “God, I could strangle you.” Sophia grimaced, then pressed her fingers into her eyes, and muttered through her hands.

  “I know. If it’s any consolation, she told me to call her when I’m not so allergic.”

  Lin cracked up, leaning into the arm of the chair. “Ah, shit. That’s awesome.” She looked over at Sophia’s woebegone expression, and shook her head. “You’re now officially loaded with antihistamine. There. Done.” They smiled at each other, then Lin pointed to the bowl. “Eat. I have stuff to say.”

  Sophia whispered another “uh oh” then scooped more chicken and vegetables into her mouth.

  Lin wriggled into the armchair. “Soph, your grief for Louise is valid because it’s yours. It’s important you know that. Louise’s parent’s grief is valid because it’s theirs.” She paused long enough for Sophia to look over. “But Louise’s death is not about your mum and dad, even though it digs into those particular scars in your heart.”

  The food in Sophia’s mouth was suddenly difficult to swallow. After a moment, she managed to speak. “I know. I do know.”

  “Good. Because I wasn’t going to let you wallow in this. It looks like you’re not going to anyway, so, good for you. There are so many people who love you, who need you. Your shelter girls need you. Your team needs you. Ben needs you. Cam needs you. I need you.” She pointed to her belly. “This one needs you, because as much as I adore your gorgeous, kind, wonderful brother, he is the most uncoordinated man alive, so who else is going to teach our kid rudimentary hand-eye coordination?” Sophia laughed, and Lin gave her a beatific smile.

  “I’m not wallowing,” Sophia said. “I’m going okay. Having Cam tell me off was good for me. You being here is good for me.” She pushed the bowl onto the coffee table.

  Lin lifted an eyebrow. “You think?” Sophia rolled her eyes, and Lin laughed. “You can’t listen to your anxiety, Soph. It’s very chatty, and you pay a lot of attention to it. The whole ‘everyone leaves’ thing you have is based purely on your anxiety telling you that everyone leaves, which is completely irrational but you think it keeps you safe. It’s time to let your heart take control, because your head has been driving your choices for too long.”

  Sophia threaded her fingers through her hair, holding it back for a moment, then let it fall in waves to her shoulders. “That all makes sense.”

  “Of course it does,” Lin said, then she made the same pressed-palms gesture from earlier. “Okay. That’s the first part of my visit done. Now we’re up to part two.” She held Sophia’s gaze. “I have a feeling I know how Louise died.”

  Sophia sat bolt upright. “How? What?”

  Lin patted the air in front of her. “It’s just a theory, so don’t go spouting it off, or whacking your cape on and vowing revenge, because that doesn’t do any good for anybody. Besides I have the very distinct feeling that Tal Diamandis has it covered. She and her team marched into the lab on Wednesday afternoon—it was awesome—and nicked off with all the results we had so far. But I can share a little, okay?” Sophia nodded like a school-kid watching their first magic show. “You gave me six pills, and I’d tested four of them by the time we had to hand over the results. But I know what those results were. There was an excessive amount of acetaminophen in eac
h pill. I’m talking super amounts.”

  Sophia opened her mouth to speak, but Lin continued. “Acetaminophen is paracetamol.”

  “So, like Tal was saying. Headache tablets.”

  “Yes. But when formulated into tablets like your little collection, they are a massive concern, because acetaminophen is a common drug used in suicide.”

  Sophia’s breath caught. “What the fuck?” she gasped. Lin nodded.

  “Uh huh. Causes organ failure. Ring a bell?” Her mouth was set in a thin line. “Now, I can say categorically that Louise didn’t attempt suicide, because the results showed other fucked up ingredients as well. Ever heard of selective androgen receptor modulators?”

  Sophia squinted. “Uh, no.”

  “SARMs are experimental. They were initially developed for the elderly to build strength, muscle mass and bone density. Pharma companies reckon that SARMs are less risky than steroids, but SARMs do cause liver failure. More bells ringing?”

  “Shit.”

  “Mm. Your little vitamin pills were loaded with paracetamol and SARMs.”

  Sophia felt sick. “Oh God. This is like some nightmare.” She rolled her fingers into her palms and stared at Lin, her mouth open.

  “When you combine those two compounds with the traces of anti-myostatin antibodies that we found, you get a very powerful, very illegal supplement.”

  “Why would Schimmager have a group of rookie football players try out massively illegal pills for a season? What possible motivation could there be?”

  “Soph, what do you do when you want to get a product into the market, but it’s not quite right yet, but you’re not sure what it is that’s wrong?”

  Sophia shrugged. “You test it.” Her mouth suddenly went dry. “Oh, holy fuck,” she gasped. Her eyes flew open and suddenly the noise in her head was unbearable.

  Lin’s eyes drilled into Sophia’s. “Are AFL players subject to doping tests?”

  Sophia nodded absently. “Yes, absolutely. Well, the men are. It’s all about ensuring the integrity of the competition so they test the guys weekly during the season. The women weren’t, because we’re so unimportant that it wouldn’t matter if a player took something. I mean, to the board, one doped up player wouldn’t have meant anything because our competition was worth nothing this season.” Sophia and Lin stared at each other, then Sophia’s hands trembled.