‘That’s because you’re bringing your left-leaning woolly-minded arsey liberal principals from hoity-toity London and trying to apply them to our little home in the sticks. It’s just not the same. We’re a local paper. If you stop interacting with everyone we’ve ever written about you’ll starve to death and your house will fall into disrepair.’
‘So you’ve no firm opinion on my predicament.’
She laughed – good throaty laugh, he thought – and said, ‘Sorry, I’ve had a glass of wine.’
‘On a week night?’
‘Those are the best nights.’
‘Drinking alone isn’t right.’
‘Who says I’m drinking alone?’
‘Uhm, good point.’
‘I have a cat, you know.’
‘Ah, that’s okay, then.’
She said, ‘So, tell me about your interview with Anna. How’d it go? Slip into the old routine easily enough?’
‘Ah, sure, any idiot could conduct an interview.’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘I mean...’
‘Just tell me, you eejit...’
‘I really don’t think you should be calling me—’
‘Tell me!’
He laughed. He told her. Anna Ng had been very surprised to see him. She was being kept in a cell at the local police station. She had spoken to a solicitor appointed by the Chinese Community Association, she was tearful and apologetic and was beating herself up about her own stupidity in not getting her visa renewed. She didn’t want Rob to make a fuss about her in the paper; it would be sorted out. Rob told her sometimes you have to make a fuss because otherwise you had no influence on your fate. He told her he would like to launch a campaign in the paper to free her.
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Alix. ‘And my idea.’
‘I wasn’t taking the credit...’
‘I believe you were, but continue...’
‘So she still wasn’t keen, but I think I talked her round... I got lots of stuff about her life back at home in Beijing, why she came here, what she thinks of the town, the college, her hopes for a career – she’s studying law!’
‘Oh, the irony...’
‘Lots of good personal stuff anyway.’
‘And when are you going to write it up?’
‘Well, I thought I could give the facts to you and you could...’
‘Hey – your story, you write it up!’
‘I’ve a paper to—’
‘Just do it and stop making excuses!’
Rob sighed. He said, ‘So, was it a bit of a shock seeing my wife there?’ He was on his own fourth glass of wine.
‘Why would it be a shock?’
‘No reason. Just wondering.’
‘Do you mean because you hadn’t actually mentioned that your wife from whom you are estranged was coming?’
‘I—’
‘There was no reason to. Your personal life is your own.’
‘Yes, absolutely, but—’
‘So. Enough. Anyway – better fly. My taxi will be here soon.’
‘Taxi?’
‘Oh yes, out on a date. Wish me luck.’
‘Well—’
‘That’s it now! Talk to you tomorrow.’
The line went dead. Rob looked at his phone. He took a long drink of his wine. He had enjoyed talking to her. And now he was slightly annoyed. She had finished the conversation abruptly. That was his fault for dragging it back round to Rebecca. That wasn’t smart. He wasn’t convinced that she was actually going out on a date. She was just pissed off with him. In fact, he should phone her back and apologize. Or, no, he shouldn’t do that at all. They had to work together. She was very pretty. It would be a disaster. Or wonderful. Maybe she wasn’t interested at all. If she was interested, she wouldn’t be going out on a date. Or maybe she wasn’t going out on one. Perhaps he should walk round to her house and check if she was still there. He could just knock on the door and say he was passing and thought he’d say hello.
That wouldn’t be weird at all, your boss calling on you, late at night, half cut.
No, wise up, Rob, grow up, Rob.
*
With their big competition coming up, the Aztecs were practising every day. Patrick Donegan was pacing the edge of the court, shouting instructions, not looking very happy with their performance. Alix fell in beside him.
‘You again,’ he said.
‘I have new and vital information.’
‘Do you know how to beat a crack Scottish team that hasn’t lost all year?’
‘No, but I know how Anna got busted.’
He stopped and studied her. ‘And what’s that got to do with the price of fish?’
‘Well, nothing for sure.’ The number had been burning a hole in her handbag all night. She had tossed and turned trying to decide how to use it, while weighing up what Rob had told her about Anna. ‘But I have a theory.’
‘A theory. Right. Will that theory help us beat—?’
‘Just hear me out. Someone called the authorities about Anna. From what I’ve learned about her, she basically has no life outside of her studies and her netball. Now – what if there was someone on the team who didn’t like her, or who was actually being kept out of the team because of Anna?’
‘That’s just ridiculous.’
‘No, think about it – who would have the most to gain by squealing on her?’
‘I’m not even going to answer that. I know my girls, they just wouldn’t... I mean, they’re together so much, they’re like a big family.’
‘Exactly. Families are always falling out.’
‘No, that’s balls. You’ve been watching way too many movies.’
‘Do you not want her back?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘Then is it not worth supporting our campaign?’
‘What you’re saying is that this so-called campaign is the lesser of two evils.’
‘Remind me what the first evil is again?’
‘Me buying into your nutty idea about someone in the team shopping her to the authorities. I mean, if Anna didn’t know her visa had expired, then how on earth would one of her teammates know?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘See?’
‘Isn’t it worth a try?’
‘Isn’t what worth a try?’
‘Gathering the girls together once they’re changed, then I call the number, see if any of their phones ring.’
‘Jesus, you’re like one of those conspiracy nutters. Are you sure you’re a journalist? Do you have, like, ID or anything?’
He was laughing though, and so was Alix. He was very cute, she thought. He turned back to the game, shouting more encouragement, and then swore as Caitlin’s attempt to net the ball from close range went badly awry. He glanced back at Alix, standing there smiling expectantly.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s discuss a campaign to get her out. We really do need her.’
‘Excellent,’ said Alix.
‘Come back in twenty minutes when we’re done here – I’ll put it to the girls, see if they’re willing to get on board.’
‘Won’t you have to check with the college, or the netball author—?’
‘Once it’s out there, they won’t be able to do much about it. But one condition.’
‘Uhuh?’
‘You take me out for dinner.’
‘I take you out?’
‘I coach netball, it’s not exactly Premier League football. Put it on expenses.’
‘You clearly have no idea about working for a local newspaper.’ She pretended to mull it over. ‘How does a man end up coaching netball anyway?’
‘Because we have no basketball team.’
‘Okay. Maybe the more pertinent question then is – why do you coach it?’
‘For the girls,’ said Patrick.
*
Janine slipped outside for a fag and was surprised to find Pete there, cigarette in hand, pacing up and down,
looking very pissed off. She said, ‘Thought you were off them?’
‘I am.’
He showed it to her – unlit.
‘Fair play,’ she said, lighting her own and taking a long drag. When she eventually exhaled she said, ‘So, what’s up with you and Michael? I heard youse having a barney.’
‘Ah, nothing. He’s young. He’ll learn.’
‘I didn’t,’ said Janine.
‘Well, you were always a lost cause.’
‘Thanks a bunch.’ But she grinned, and inhaled. Pete was what her mum would have called a funny-wonder. She had known him for years, and he had always displayed the same hangdog expression, now emphasized by the beginnings of a double chin and receding hair. She nodded across the car park as Rob came driving in in her smart car. It had been several weeks now, but they were still sharing the same vehicle. ‘Here comes trouble,’ she said.
‘Fucking blow-in,’ said Pete.
‘Easy tiger,’ said Janine.
As Rob came towards them, he made a show of tossing the keys to her, underarm like a child bowling at cricket; except they fell short. He apologized. She stepped forward and bent to retrieve them just as he did exactly the same, and their heads collided and they both reeled away clutching their brows.
Rob was full of genteel apologies.
Janine was swearing like a fucking trooper.
Pete finally lit his cigarette.
Five minutes later Michael looked up from his desk to see Rob and Pete come through the swing door and head straight into Rob’s office. They began what appeared to be an animated conversation. Occasionally one or other of them came to the window and looked out at the newsroom. Michael wasn’t sure if they were looking at him, but he made himself look busy, just in case. When they turned away again, he opened his desk drawer and examined the very few personal items within: some Tic Tacs, a half-eaten packet of Starburst, a graphic novel he had still not returned to the library and was somewhat embarrassed about taking out and reading when anyone else was around, and a copy of Middlemarch by George Eliot because he’d heard on the radio that it was the greatest novel ever written in the English language. He had been battling through it for more than a year. Or not battling, as the case generally was. Either way he would not even need a box to carry his possessions home when he was inevitably sacked, he would just put them in his coat pocket and slope out. Nobody would even notice him leaving.
Then Pete was standing in Rob’s doorway, calling him in.
He walked across; his legs felt numb; his face was a mask of trepidation.
He loved his job, he didn’t want to lose it. He immediately launched into, ‘I just want to say that—’
‘We’re launching a campaign to save Anna Ng,’ said Rob.
‘Anna...?’ He looked from Rob to Peter and back.
‘Yes, absolutely – we’re all going to work on it, see if we can get this poor girl out. It would break your heart to see her. I need you to work the phones, get on to every councillor, MLA, everyone you can think of... This is a girl who is going to college by day, working every night, sending half her money home to China, paying for her own apartment and doing this country proud at a sport she only took up six months ago, and now we’re trying to throw her out because she forgot to fill in a form...’ Rob punched his fist enthusiastically into the palm of his hand. ‘Do you get the picture?’
‘I get the picture. But what... about...?’
Pete moved beside him – and slipped an arm around his shoulders.
‘Michael – we want you to use your initiative.’
‘But what about...?’
‘Just concentrate – one thing at a time, eh?’
Pete gave him a friendly squeeze and began to lead him out of the office, then right across the newsroom until he plonked him down at his desk. Michael, a little stunned, just looked up at him.
‘You didn’t...?’
‘No. Now fucking prove you can do this properly. Okay?’
‘Okay. And thank you.’
Half an hour later Janine came into the kitchen for coffee and saw Pete sitting at the table with his, leafing through a paper. She said, ‘He’s working like a fucking dervish in there.’ Pete gave a smug nod but didn’t look up.
*
The girls returned to the gym in dribs and drabs, the unity of their netball gear replaced with the sartorial inelegance of student fashion; they chatted happily and teased and flirted with Patrick. He returned it with expertise. Alix was looking forward to taking him out for dinner – it would be fun. But she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw a netball. Which wasn’t very far. She’d been rubbish at sport – apart from running; she could do that for ever. Now she sat on a bench just behind Patrick as the last of them trailed in.
Patrick started by praising them, their work ethic, how they were gelling together as a team, how he had high hopes for them at the championships in Scotland. He said, ‘As we’re all sadly aware, Anna isn’t with us – she’s languishing in a cell somewhere, her only crime is she forgot to have her visa renewed and now she’s being threatened with deportation back to China. Now, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do – we’re going to get behind a campaign to have her released. Not because she’s a great netball player, though she is. Not because her presence will increase our chances of winning the championships. Though it will. But because she’s a friend of ours. Because we have a laugh together. Because it’s just wrong that she—’
Caitlin’s phone began to ring. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said as she opened her sports bag and began to search for it. ‘Sorry.’
Patrick glanced back at Alix. She had her phone up and raised to her ear.
Caitlin found her phone and turned away to answer it with a whispered, ‘Hello?’
Alix raised an eyebrow at Patrick, and then cut the line.
Caitlin turned back to her teammates. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.
Patrick continued to urge his players to get behind the campaign – not only would there be newspaper articles, there would be posters and publicity stunts and balloons would be released to represent whatever releasing balloons represented. The players began to throw in their own ideas – a 24-hour netball match, picketing the college to get it to support their student, shaving their heads... They were enthusiastic and determined. And Caitlin as much as any of them. At the end Patrick confirmed the time of their next practice and then dismissed them. As they moved en masse towards the doors at the back of the gym, he called out to Caitlin and asked if he could have a word. She waved back, and then began a series of hugs and kisses with the other girls.
Alix said, ‘How are we going to...?’
‘We’re not. I am. You shouldn’t have done that. Now I need to speak to her alone.’
‘But...’
‘But nothing. You can’t prove anything, and I need to keep this team together. So, if you don’t mind?’
Caitlin came skipping up, all smiles.
Alix held her hands up to Patrick. ‘Okay. Understood. Does this get me out of dinner?’
‘No,’ said Patrick.
★
Rob thought the front page was looking pretty damn good. There was Sean’s photo of the Aztecs, looking concerned, but also fit, and there was one he’d taken himself, on his phone, of Anna in custody, looking tear-stained and desperate. Michael had thrown himself into the story with surprising enthusiasm and had recruited a long list of politicians and minor local celebrities in support of the cause. Alix came rushing in, her end of the story to write and deadline approaching. She said through Rob’s open door, ‘I was right, it was one of her teammates called it in.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yup. She admitted it. Broke down. People do the daftest things. Wasn’t even about the netball – she had her eyes on the coach and thought he was more interested in Anna, so thought she’d give her a bit of a fright by calling Immigration on her. But she had no idea her visa was up.’
‘And she told you a
ll this?’
Alix shook her head. ’Fraid not. It’s all second hand.’
‘Is she likely to tell you all this?’
‘Sure. Just after hell freezes over.’
‘So it’s of no use to us at all?’
‘No, but it is fabulous gossip.’
‘Pity. Did the team not tear her to shreds?’
‘They don’t know – yet. The coach has just lost one of his star players, this would tear the rest of the team apart. So he’s holding onto his water until we get Anna released and the championships are over, then he’ll deal with it. Pity, but not much I can do about it.’
She’d come into the office by now and was looking down at the front page. She nodded her approval. Then she got to work. When her story arrived, within the hour, Rob worked at melding it together with Michael’s, cutting, pasting, weaving, the best of both worlds. By four he had sent the finished pages to the printing works and by six the first bundle arrived back at the office. Thousands more were already being distributed to newsagents and supermarkets across the borough.
Rob always loved the moment when the first copies of the new paper arrived. He loved the smell of a freshly printed newspaper, the crispness of the pages and the blackness of the ink. He revelled in it when it was like this – an exclusive story put together by a talented team, with excellent photographs and a design that drew the reader in. And a story with an immediate impact. Within thirty minutes of the papers hitting the streets the calls of support began coming in, the Facebook page bulged with comment and debate, and other media outlets began calling for more details, which was always a sign that a story had hit the mark. This was why he loved journalism, and this was why he loved small-town papers – the chance to make an impact, the opportunity to change things. You could do the same on a larger, daily, national newspaper, but then you were always a small cog in a large machine; here he was... the boss. He loved being the boss. He loved that the buck stopped here. Usually first in, mostly last to leave. This night he locked the door to the newsroom, then moved down the steps, set the alarm, switched the lights off and stepped outside. As he turned after locking the door behind him, he noticed Alix standing in the car park. She looked miserable.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Why does something have to be wrong?’
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