‘Or work,’ she sighed, linking the fingers of her left hand through mine. ‘I need two hands to make cakes and garden. But we’ll get by … we always do.’
I shook my head, furious with myself for losing the chance to win five thousand dollars. But if I couldn’t earn that kind of money myself, then I was going to do my best to come up with a solution.
‘What about the library?’ I suggested. ‘Surely they’ll be happy to keep you around?’
‘With this thing?’ Mum asked, pointing at her cast. ‘I don’t know, love, I’m only casual. But I’ll have a yarn to them, okay?’
‘Don’t you get sick pay?’ asked Kat. ‘Brenna Jadenson’s dad fell over at work and scored an awesome payout. Maybe you could do that? He gets to bludge around all the time now.’
‘This is a bit different,’ Mum said. ‘And we’re not bludgers.’
‘There is another option,’ I began, tongue-tied by Mum’s and Kat’s eager expressions. ‘Um … well … we could try to track him down.’
‘Who?’ asked Kat.
‘Dad,’ I forced out.
I’d barely said his name out loud since he’d left and, judging by Mum’s face, I should have kept it that way.
‘That man has done enough,’ she said, lip quivering.
‘It’s just … I’m worried,’ I said. ‘We have to pay the bills somehow.’
‘Yeah, let’s make him suffer for what he’s done,’ added Kat, eyes blazing.
‘Not a chance,’ said Mum.
My mind raced. ‘Well, I’ll get a job — two new jobs — and help out,’ I said. ‘And Kat’s old enough to work, too. We’ll both pitch in and sort this out —’
‘Girls!’ Mum interrupted, her voice raised and face flushed. ‘I’m the parent around here and I’ll pay the bills, you hear me? I want Kat focused on school and you focused on your degree. It’s my house, my responsibility, my choice. Now, I don’t want to hear another word about money, or jobs, or him. We’re done here.’
‘But, Mum —’ tried Kat.
‘End of discussion,’ she said. ‘Now, I’m going to have a lie-down before lunch. Are you two okay to pull something together for us?’
‘Yes,’ we said at the same time, then swapped unsure glances as she shuffled to the couch in the next room. We were going to have to be okay, whether we felt ready or not.
Our first challenge: we had lunch to prepare.
Capsicums, carrots, cucumber, tomatoes, Spanish onion — I mentally ticked off the ingredients for a salad. Ah, rocket! I rummaged around in the fridge until I unearthed a packet of spicy green leaves and tossed them through the bowl, admiring the rainbow of colours.
‘I know Mum’s trying to play it cool on the whole money issue, but I heard her freaking out on the phone to Aunt Julie,’ whispered Kat, frying sausages in a pan next to me.
‘Again?’
‘Yeah, at the hospital. She was rambling about bills and medical fees and being out of work and … This is serious, Jose. I feel kinda helpless.’
I did too, although I couldn’t let my little sister know.
On top of the broken arm, the doctor had told us she had a mild case of situational depression, most likely brought on from the stresses of the past year. He said she needed to eat healthily and exercise. Kat had promised to drag Mum out for an hour’s walk most days and I’d planned to dust off the exercise bike in the garage. But none of it seemed like enough.
I crunched on a piece of cucumber as I struggled to think of a worthy idea.
‘Maybe I should call Aunt Julie?’ I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t suggested it. Aunt Julie was a clean freak and, worst of all, she smelled of disinfectant. I cringed at the thought of her showing up on our doorstop with a list of chores and a suitcase spilling with stinky soaps and cleaning products.
Luckily, Kat thought the same. ‘Argh, no way,’ she groaned. ‘She’s such a freak. You know she irons her underpants? Who does that?’
I let out a sigh. ‘Okay, well … what can we do? There’s got to be something.’
Kat cocked her head, thinking. ‘You’re going to be home for a while, right? Now the internship’s done?’
I nodded. We’d briefly talked about the failed internship at the hospital but I couldn’t bear the thought of reliving it again.
‘Let’s wait and see,’ shrugged Kat. ‘We’ll give it a few days and if we need help, then we’ll call Aunt Julie.’
‘But only if we’re really desperate.’
‘Agreed.’
‘It’s a total Plan B.’
‘Sausages are done,’ said Kat. ‘I’ve nailed this cooking thing. How’s your salad?’
‘Yeah, it’s ready,’ I replied, naively hoping my salad was tasty enough to distract us all from Mum’s health problems, our growing expenses and my firing from Sash.
Something told me it wasn’t, though.
I’d eaten half the cucumber.
No new email messages. Again. I slammed my laptop shut and wondered what was taking Filly so long to get back to me about my article for the Weekly Mail, the internship and my chances of failing the course.
I hadn’t heard a word from him, not a peep. I’d called the uni and one of the tutors had told me Filly had extended his latest fishing trip into a ‘working holiday’, whatever that meant. The longer I didn’t receive a reply, the more I panicked. My mindset had switched from ‘It’s fine, Filly will help me get through this’ to ‘I’m going to get kicked out of university because I annoyed a magazine editor and there’s nothing anyone can do about it’.
I refreshed my inbox for the zillionth time. You know, just in case. And there it was, again: no new emails.
Surely it wasn’t that hard to reply? I mean, you type a few words, throw in some spaces and full stops here and there, then press ‘send’. Easy, right? Apparently not for Filly.
And, like a really annoying song that gets stuck in your head, I wondered what James was doing and whether he’d thought about me lately.
No, I convinced myself. He’d be too busy having sexcapades with Summer.
Sighing, I trudged into the lounge room and collapsed on the couch. Mum was out in the backyard, watching two sparrows dart and prance on the lawn.
She’d seemed happier over the last couple of days. Calmer. The hospital had put her in touch with a counsellor and he had her using phrases like ‘True confidence comes from within’ and ‘Every day, I am grateful to be alive’. She’d repeat them to herself while she was doing her make-up or brushing her teeth. It all sounded a bit lame to me, but I couldn’t complain: it seemed to be working. We had our mum back, and nothing was more important than that. Kat and I had helped her clear out the rest of Dad’s belongings — old faded shirts, workboots, stuff like that — and she’d been humming, admiring the rosebushes, even showing us how to bake banana muffins, ever since.
The ladies at the library had been good to Mum, too: they’d organised a bake sale to help cover her medical costs and even created a new casual role just for her so she didn’t have to worry about carrying heavy piles of books. Her main duty? Reading to kids at after-school care. I think she’d always dreamed of being a film actress or musical-theatre star, so she was delighted to start the following week (and wear a green wig to make even the toughest kids giggle). Money was still tight but Mum had been true to her promise: she’d handled it her way. Kat and I were thrilled to see her doing so well and secretly relieved that we didn’t have to fall back on Plan B.
I was wrenched from my thoughts by someone trying to knock down the front door.
‘Can you get that, love?’ Mum hollered from outside.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I mumbled, and rushed to the door before whoever was bashing on it put their fist through the wood.
I heard Kat call out, ‘Sorry, forgot my keys. Can someone let me in, please?’
Just as I put my hand to the lock, the door burst open, nearly whacking me in the face.
‘Found them,’ Kat grinned, wav
ing her keys in a manicured hand.
I rolled my eyes and walked back to the couch.
‘Hey, Lady Grump-a-Lot, where are you going? You’ll want to see this,’ Kat said, waving a newspaper at me. ‘Josie, did you hear me? This’ll wake you up.’
I turned back to face her. ‘It’s not another story about Billy cheating, is it? I’m not in the mood.’
She laughed. ‘Billy’s probably pashed a dozen girls since you. In fact, Shirley Piper’s hairdresser’s roommate in the city said he asked for her phone number in some club last week.’
I sighed. Clearly Billy hadn’t changed at all. ‘Well, what is it?’ I dawdled over to the dining table where Kat had spread out the newspaper. She pointed to a mediumsized story in the upper corner of a right-hand page. Half asleep, I started reading. It only took one and half sentences for it to click.
It was my story.
My article for the Weekly Mail that Filly had never emailed me back about.
‘Oh my god!’ I shrieked. ‘This is mine! Why didn’t you say so?’
Kat dragged her long hair into a plait. ‘So, am I an awesome sister or what?’
‘The best.’ I stopped reading and looked up. ‘Thank you! How’d you know it was in the paper? I had no idea.’
‘The ugly guy in the newsagent — you know the one with the foul earrings — was reading it,’ said Kat, screwing up her nose. ‘Hey, it’s pretty good — your story, I mean.’
‘Yeah?’ I lapped up the moment; compliments from my little sister were a rare, wonderful thing.
‘So those online freaks were pretty brutal to you, huh?’
‘I suppose you could say they taught me a thing or two,’ I said. ‘Hey, did the Mail editors keep the bit about where to find help for eating disorders like bulimia, anorexia, distorted body image …’ I checked, running my eyes over the words so fast I almost couldn’t take them in. ‘They did. This is amazing. They published it all.’
‘Have you seen what’s at the end yet?’ Kat said. ‘That’s the really cool bit.’
I glanced at the bottom of the piece and there it was: a little dash with my name after it in bold type. I swallowed. This was real. I had an article published in the paper, an article that actually meant something to me, an article with a real message.
Kat cleared her throat. ‘So, like, not meaning to change the subject, but did you hear?’
‘Hear what?’
‘Stacey dumped Pete Jordan.’
‘Serious?’
‘Yeah. And now everyone knows he has a tiny you-know-what.’ Kat wiggled her little finger. ‘Apparently he sent a selfie of it to her phone, but her dad saw it, then accidentally messaged it to all her contacts.’
‘No way!’
‘They all got to see Pete in his … well, lack of glory.’
Speechless, all I could do was shake my head and grin. My luck had changed and it felt wonderful. I wanted to knock on wood, throw salt over my shoulder and avoid black cats to stop it from ever changing back again.
Happy with her good deed for the day, Kat hummed as she retreated to her bedroom for some loud music and texting. The tune was catchy and its cheeky bubble-gum pop sounded familiar. It didn’t take me long to realise she was humming Greed’s new song — I’d heard it on the radio earlier. Despite myself, I hadn’t been able to help tapping along to the beat.
Energy fizzed through my body. I wanted to scream with happiness over my first official newspaper by-line. But mostly, I wanted to thank Filly for the opportunity to write something real and get it published. I had to talk to him.
The phone rang out twice before I gave up; it didn’t go to voicemail either. When my phone burst to life a few moments later, I answered it without checking who it was.
‘Hello, I just had a missed call from this number?’ a gruff voice said.
‘Filly? It’s Josie!’
‘Josie, how are you?’
‘I’m great. I, er, wanted to tell you some news.’
I felt a bit desperate and sad. Actually, I felt really desperate and sad. I’d been waiting days for a response from Filly, and nothing, not even a crummy voicemail message. And here I was, calling him over and over like an annoying salesman.
‘Sorry, are you on holidays?’ I added.
He cleared his throat. ‘Let me guess — you’ve seen today’s paper?’
‘Oh, um, yes. I just saw it.’
‘And?’
‘I’m giddy.’
‘Hey, you wrote it and they loved it,’ he said. ‘And so did I. The part about standing up against body-image bullies was brilliant. My daughter loved it, too. She said she’s going to show all her friends at school tomorrow. Great work, Josie. Easily your best so far.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, my face hurting from smiling so hard. ‘When I didn’t hear from you, I thought you hated it.’
‘Sorry, I’ve been spending long days fishing … er … writing reports, and by the time I resurfaced I figured you deserved a nice surprise.’
I smiled, but then remembered the other thing. ‘Did you, um, read the bit in my email about me losing the internship?’
Filly paused. ‘I did, it’s a tricky one. I may need you to come in to chat about it some more.’
‘Will I fail the subject —’
‘Sorry, Josie, can you hang on a minute? I have another call coming through — actually, can I call you back? This is the third time this number has called today, it must be urgent.’
‘Oh, okay,’ I stammered, but Filly had hung up before I’d finished.
I lay back on the couch and traced my eyes over the by-line: By Josephine Browning. I’d done it. Sure, I hadn’t won five thousand dollars for Mum or a monthly column in a national magazine, but things were moving in the right direction. Who knew, maybe I wouldn’t end up scrubbing tiles or unclogging toilets after all.
I was halfway through reading the feature again when my phone rang. ‘Hey Filly, so I wanted to —’ I began.
‘Josie, it’s Liani.’
‘Oh, hey!’
My heart swelled as I heard her voice. I hadn’t spoken to her since … well, since … you know. I’d been too embarrassed.
‘I know this is out of the blue … really, really out of the blue,’ she said, ‘but is there any chance you can come into the city? I’d love to chat with you about something important.’
I sat up. ‘Oh? When are you thinking?’
‘As soon as you can get here. Is that possible?’
‘I, ah, sure. I’ll get the next train.’
I didn’t ask why or what was going on. Liani had summoned me and that was all that mattered.
When I hung up the phone, I went to ask Mum if she’d be okay on her own. She was concerned about me returning to Sash after what had happened — I couldn’t blame her; I was trembling on the inside myself — but I assured her I’d be fine. I just hoped that was true.
Forty-one minutes later, I was packed, preened and on a train back to the city, unsure what was waiting for me. Was I making a huge mistake? Or was Steph right? Were they reconsidering me for the internship? Would this mean I wouldn’t fail uni after all?
My mind wouldn’t stop racing so I rang Steph to debrief. The chugging of the train was so noisy I had to shout my news down the line. Two kids reading on the seat across from me glowered. One raised his finger to his lips, the international sign for ‘Shut up’.
‘Liani rang me too!’ Steph said. ‘She didn’t mention anything about calling you, though.’
‘What do you think’s going on?’ I whispered, glancing at the guys who now had earphones plugged in. They didn’t look up, so I figured I was in the clear.
‘I have no idea … Maybe they’re going to announce who won the internship prize?’
I leaned against the window. ‘That can’t be it. I’m out, remember? Well, unless they want to rub my nose in it.’
‘What else … Oh! Maybe Rae wants to apologise to you, like in barbershop-quartet style with bell
s, whistles and matching red-and-white striped dresses?’
‘That would be sweet,’ I said. ‘Let me know if you find out any more goss, okay? Hey Steph, am I crazy for going back there?’
‘You’d be crazy not to. What have you got to lose?’ Steph was right: I’d already lost my dignity.
We both promised to call if we heard anything more, then hung up. Alone with my thoughts, my brain got to wondering — a dangerous pastime. If Steph and I had been summoned to the Sash office, did that mean Ava would be there, too?
I was so preoccupied with the excitement and mystery of Liani’s call that I didn’t even notice Filly hadn’t rung back.
23.
The suffocating smell of perfume was the same, and the receptionist greeted me with a smile as always, but something was up at Sash HQ. There was an air of franticness, stress in every voice, worried frowns creasing the glamours’ perfectly made-up faces. I glanced around for Steph; no sign of her yet. Ava wasn’t perched on the reception couch either.
I took a deep breath and walked into the office. Five men in white overalls were taking down posters, frames and books and placing them into black garbage bags. Shocked, I watched them work. The girls typed in silence amid the upheaval, exchanging sneaky glances but mainly glaring at their computers. A quick look at their screens revealed most of them were in the middle of writing lengthy emails that probably weren’t work-related. There’s only so much you can write in an email about calling in oil-free foundations for a beauty shoot.
As requested, I headed for Liani’s office. My palms were sweating and every muscle in my body was tensed. I kept my head down and focused on making it without bumping into Rae. But I couldn’t avoid her dominating presence: she was everywhere — in clippings from newspapers and photos of her chatting with celebrities on red carpets. I’d forgotten that her face was plastered all around the office. Two minutes at Sash and I felt like I was in the enemy’s camp. And it was my fault: I’d walked in voluntarily, like a sacrificial lamb.
‘Hey Liani,’ I said, poking my head through her office door.
The Intern Page 20