A Parcel for Anna Browne

by Miranda Dickinson

  But . . . the young woman sitting next to him interested her. She seemed to have an air of calmness around her – and also appeared to be becoming increasingly embarrassed by the questions of her colleague. So far she had only spoken to give her name and say hello. According to the journalist, she was on some kind of work-experience programme, although she looked too old to be a college student. Vanessa found herself drawn to the woman’s kind eyes. And that was when the idea occurred.

  ‘I think we’re done here,’ she snapped, registering with no small satisfaction the shock that laid siege to Ben McAra’s smugness.

  ‘What? You – you can’t!’ he protested. ‘You promised me an exclusive.’

  ‘I promised the Daily Messenger the exclusive, not you.’ A thrill of returning power fired through her backbone as she focused on his female companion. ‘So I’ll talk to her.’

  It was the young woman’s turn to be shocked. ‘No! I’m just shadowing . . . I’m not a journalist . . .’

  ‘All the better for me then. I might get some sense out of you.’

  The journalist had abandoned his self-assured air and was glaring at her with barely concealed rage. ‘No,’ he growled. ‘Absolutely not.’

  Oh, this was becoming more enjoyable by the second! Vanessa raised her chin to give the floundering reporter the full weight of her superior stare. ‘That’s the deal, McAra, take it or leave it. Either I talk to her or I find another paper that’ll buy my story. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of offers.’

  It was a lie, of course, but the journalist didn’t know that. This way, Vanessa could say what she wanted, get her money and move on with her life – with the added bonus of getting one over on the annoying young man who had insulted her for the past half-hour.

  Observing the aftermath of her verbal bombshell with delight, she leaned back against the unforgiving velvet of the chaise longue and waited . . .

  This was the worst possible thing to happen.

  Anna looked at Ben helplessly, not knowing what to do. It was exactly this sort of situation that she had dreaded, and she found herself wishing she had never agreed to the work-shadowing project. It was one thing to be challenged by Juliet Evans in a room of editorial staff, but this was another prospect entirely. This was Ben’s story; from what he had told her, she knew how much it mattered to him. It was the big one – the rare kind of bombshell that he craved, the kind of exposé that could boost his career.

  Anna could see that the interview wasn’t going well. Part of her understood Vanessa Milburn’s frustration – the woman’s livelihood depended on her story being handled well, and she needed assurances. Whether it was a simple personality clash or Ben was too eager to get his story, Anna couldn’t tell, but she’d been taken aback by some of the remarks he had made this morning. It seemed at odds with the charming, quick-witted person she had seen in other interviews she’d sat in on. But she never expected that his bumpy beginning to the interview could lead to this . . .

  She knew Ben was affronted: his huge exclusive snatched away and offered to a receptionist, of all people! She wasn’t even a newsroom intern, which in itself would have been enough of a snub to him. His eyes darted between her and the well-dressed woman on the chaise longue. What was he thinking?

  She realised her fingers were gripping the silk scarf around her neck as she desperately tried to regain the sense of confidence that had surrounded her whenever she’d worn it previously. But the magic eluded her.

  ‘No. You promised me the story, Ms Milburn. I’m a journalist; Anna isn’t.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Then we have no deal.’

  Anna saw abject panic fill Ben’s eyes as the woman stood.

  ‘Wait!’

  She paused, realising it was her voice that had summoned Ben’s and Vanessa’s stares. Her heartbeat crashed in her ears, making her dizzy as she gathered her words. ‘I’ll do it – but only if I can ask you the questions Mr McAra has already prepared.’

  Though she was thinking on her feet, it seemed to make sense. Asking Ben’s questions would mean the interview was still his – she would merely be a mouthpiece for him. At least she could help Ben get the story he’d worked so hard to win. But would Vanessa agree?

  She could feel the weight of Ben’s eyes on her: was he offended or impressed?

  As Vanessa considered this suggestion for several dragging moments, Anna fought the urge to run from the room. Why had she ever thought she could do this? How had she come to be in this situation?

  And then –

  ‘Fine.’ The woman resumed her seat and turned to Ben. ‘You can go.’

  Ben nodded slowly. ‘I will. But I need a moment with my colleague.’ He caught Anna’s elbow gently and led her towards the hallway of the hotel suite.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ Anna hissed, panic setting in.

  ‘Yes, you can. You have to.’ He pressed his black leather notebook into her palm as if conferring the Holy Grail. ‘Just ask these questions and . . . and you’ll be fine.’ He was clearly improvising as much as Anna had been moments before – unsmiling, his eyes were insistent on her. ‘And if something else occurs to you, ask it. She likes you: that’s an advantage you can use.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say or how to do this.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Think of it as a conversation with a new friend. And don’t worry if you stumble – she won’t be expecting you to be professional, which means she’ll tell you more than she would me. Just do it. I’ll be waiting outside.’

  Ben didn’t wait to hear her protest, slipping quickly out of the room, leaving Anna alone, frantically studying his unkempt scrawl across the notebook pages. She felt sick and reached out to steady herself on an ornate plaster pillar.

  You can do this, she repeated, pushing away her concern about Ben’s true feelings. There would be plenty of time to deal with that later. She understood how important this interview was to him: she couldn’t let him down. Her fingers found comfort in the cool silk of the scarf, where minutes before there had been none. She knew this must be her imagination attributing such power to an inanimate object, but right now she was willing to take strength from anything, however unlikely.

  Vanessa Milburn was a different woman when Anna returned. Gone were the hard lines across her brow, her firmly folded arms now unfurled and resting on the aubergine-velvet seat of the chaise longue on either side of her knees.

  She smiled as Anna resumed her seat. ‘So. Shall we start again?’

  An hour later Anna was still shaking. But this time nerves were not to blame. She had taken a risk and succeeded. It had been a long time since she’d been so brave. The thrill that shook her now was the same as she’d last experienced as a teenager, when a friend persuaded her to dive from a cliff near her home on a balmy summer’s day. So all-encompassing and invigorating had that risk been that she’d been rendered speechless for several hours afterwards as she and her friends gathered on the beach around a fire, with a blazing red sunset spreading across the sky.

  She felt alive, as if awoken from a sepia-toned dream to find herself in a Technicolor world. Her solo interview with the politician’s mistress was little more than a fog in her mind, the questions of her own that she had asked only coming back to her now as she and Ben leaned over the voice recorder at a table tucked back from the main hub of the hotel’s restaurant. Hearing her own confident voice coming from the speakers was a surreal experience, as if listening to a version of herself she hadn’t yet met.

  Ben had said little when she’d emerged from the hotel suite and Anna still couldn’t tell what his true reaction was. Instead he had fiddled with the notebook and voice recorder in the lift down to the lobby and had busied himself with talking to the stern-faced maître d’ in the elegant restaurant, to secure a secluded table. He’d ordered coffee without asking Anna’s preference, his face betraying none of his emotions. Anna waited: she would find out soon enough how he felt. For now, she wanted to capture this moment and hang it
on her wall – this self-assured, other-Anna-Browne, improvising questions and even sharing jokes with the woman she was interviewing. It was proof of what she could be – and of what she could be again . . .

  The recording came to an end and Ben clicked off the recorder. The sound of clinking cutlery and muted conversation rushed in between them like a wave, as Anna stared at Ben and he kept his eyes on the pressed white linen tablecloth beneath his hands. Finally she could bear it no longer.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘You did it.’ His voice was flat, neither angry nor triumphant.

  ‘Did I ask the right questions? I mean, I asked all the ones you’d written, but then we carried on and I just went with what felt right at the time . . .’ Realising she was jabbering, she took a breath. ‘Ben?’

  He gave her a half-smile when his eyes met hers. ‘You did a great job. I mean it. Thank you.’

  Anna felt the tension in her shoulders release. ‘That’s good. For a moment I thought you’d be angry with me.’

  ‘Angry? Why? You saved the exclusive – surprisingly well, considering it was your first interview. Juliet Evans will be over the moon . . .’ His eyes strayed to the curled edges of his notebook. ‘Speaking of whom, we should be getting back.’ He raised his hand for the bill, signalling the end of the conversation.

  They spoke little in the taxi back to the Messenger building, Ben checking emails on his phone as Anna gazed out at the greyness of the city passing by. His reaction irked her a little, but it couldn’t take away the thrill of what she had achieved today. She was determined to enjoy it, just as she had all the unusual things that had happened to her since the scarf arrived. When today was over – and she returned to the warm familiarity of her real life – she would package up her extraordinary memories and store them safely where she could revisit them like keepsakes whenever she wished. It was another, even more precious gift than the sender of her scarf could ever have anticipated. It made her all the more determined to find out who the sender was. One day she would thank them in person.

  Back at Ben’s desk, Anna assisted quietly while he typed the story. Tomorrow morning, as her life resumed its usual rhythm, the story she had brought into being would rock the country from the news boards of the nation’s newsagents. She could hardly believe today’s turn of events.

  ‘I should give you billing on this,’ Ben said, so suddenly that Anna nearly spilled coffee over his desk.

  ‘No, you shouldn’t. It’s your exclusive.’

  He turned to her. ‘By rights, it’s become yours. The questions you asked brought about the biggest revelations – some of this stuff is so explosive Vanessa Milburn would never have offered it if she hadn’t felt at ease. You made it happen.’

  He had a point, but Anna couldn’t let him lose the story that he had told her was so important for his career. However the interview had gone, it had been Ben’s dogged pursuit of the subject that had brought about the meeting. He couldn’t have foreseen the personality clash that threatened to scupper it. Besides, the uplift Anna had experienced was enough. Despite the thrill-ride of today, she didn’t want to be a journalist. Her experience of Ben’s working life had been enough to convince her of that: his strange working hours, his ability to shelve his conscience as the job required, not to mention his reliance on far too much caffeine than could ever be healthy. It was not for her.

  ‘It’s your exclusive, your story. I don’t want to be credited for it.’

  Ben sat back in his chair. ‘You are a genuine surprise, Anna Browne. Anyone else I know would jump at the chance of a front-page byline.’

  ‘I’m not like that. It doesn’t matter to me.’ She looked at the clock hung high on the newsroom wall. ‘And, as of five minutes ago, I am no longer work-shadowing you.’ She offered her hand to him. ‘Thanks for an enlightening fortnight.’

  Ben stood and shook her hand. ‘So. I . . . guess I’ll see you around?’

  Gathering her bag and coat, Anna smiled. ‘I hope so.’

  She walked from the newsroom as if propelled by air, surprised by how different she felt from her hesitant arrival, two weeks ago. As she turned in the lift, she noticed that Ben had returned to his work, the scurrying bodies of the newsroom staff blurring him from view as the lift doors slowly closed on the strange chapter of Anna’s life.

  That night Anna slept soundly, the memory of her day mingling with the sense of being surrounded by billowing lengths of rose-printed, sugar-scented silk, feeling completely at ease with herself and utterly at peace.

  Ten

  Saturday morning was warm and bright, flooding Anna’s apartment with light as she emerged from her bedroom in search of breakfast. Her work-shadowing fortnight over, she was exhausted but happy, the kind of bone-tiredness she remembered feeling after childhood Christmases spent with her grandmother and brother while her mother worked at the local pub. It was past nine o’clock – far later than she would normally wake up on a Saturday – but this morning her lie-in had felt like a reward.

  She opened her front door to retrieve the carefully folded weekend paper from the doormat outside. Seamus, the caretaker, let the local paperboy deliver to Walton Tower residents’ doors, rather than stuff the thick newspapers into the bank of apartment post-boxes in the entrance hall.

  ‘The last thing anybody needs is post-boxes gummed up with paper and newspapers they can’t read for creases,’ he would intone, his deep Belfast brogue making the statement sound like a matter of dire importance. ‘Plus, the kid needs the exercise. Have you seen the gut on him?’

  Hot buttered toast and tea in hand, Anna settled at her dining-room table to read the Travel section of the paper. She was admiring a photograph of an Indian Ocean archipelago when a knock sounded on her door.

  The smiling man on her doorstep was a sight for sore eyes.

  ‘Jonah! You’re back!’

  Her friend patted his faded blue T-shirt with suntanned hands as if checking his existence. ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘Come in! The kettle’s just boiled. Have you had breakfast? I can make you some toast if you like.’

  Jonah Rawdon watched Anna dashing around her kitchen with amusement. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever been this chuffed to see me before.’

  Anna laughed, but Jonah was right. He had been away on a filming assignment for a month now and she had missed his company. They had been friends for several years, from the day Jonah had moved in when they’d met in the hall as the removal men were bringing in the last of his furniture. His no-nonsense Yorkshire outlook and laid-back attitude were a breath of fresh air to Anna: he, like her, was an ‘outsider’ in the city, unaffected by the conventions of London life. This had drawn them together, and Anna valued Jonah’s friendship more than anyone else in her life.

  In nature, he reminded her of her brother Ruari – Jonah’s love of the outdoors and wry sense of humour were infectious and Anna felt better for spending time with him. Furnishing him with a mug of tea and a stack of toast, she thought of how much had happened in her life while he had been away. There was a great deal to tell him, but where to begin?

  ‘How was Spain?’ she asked, revelling in the sight of her good-looking and delightfully unkempt friend reclining on the sofa. It was so good to have him back.

  ‘Hot. Spanish. I’ve eaten enough paella and chorizo to do me for life.’

  ‘Seriously, though, did you enjoy the assignment?’

  ‘I did, aye. For what it was, it were good enough. The money was good, too, so at least I’m not panicking about the rent for the time being. Nice bunch of blokes, though. I met a fella who works for the BBC and he said he’d put in a word for me when we got back. So, you never know.’ His grey eyes narrowed slightly. ‘All good with you?’

  ‘Yes. And for a change I’ve got quite a lot to tell you.’ She noted Jonah’s surprise with satisfaction. ‘What are your plans for today? Fancy lunch out somewhere?’

  ‘Funny you should mention th
at. I’m heading out to the sticks for a bit of location-scouting this morning and wondered if you fancied tagging along? It’s been a while since we did any weekend field-yomping and I thought you might like it. There’s a half-decent pub near the place, so I’ll shout you lunch, too?’

  Anna didn’t need any further convincing. The prospect of being outside on a beautiful morning with her best friend was wonderful. An hour later they were driving out towards Hampshire in Jonah’s ageing VW camper-van. The air grew sweeter through their open windows as urban sprawl gave way to fields and pretty little villages snuggled between rolling hills. It was a beautiful part of the world, and Anna relaxed against the warm vinyl of the front seat as sunlight bathed the road ahead.

  They parked in an innocuous-looking lay-by beside a field of tall, wild grasses.

  ‘What a lovely day,’ Anna said, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back as she climbed out of the camper-van. Although it was spring, the weather had more of a feel of summer about it, unseasonably warm for the time of year. It seemed strange to be without layers of woollens today, with the damp chill of winter still only a recent memory. While she loved her job and the building in which she worked, a part of her would always long for the countryside. Senara had been right about one thing: the country was in Anna’s blood, and no amount of living in London would change that.

  ‘I don’t know how you stay indoors all day. It would have me climbing the walls in minutes.’ Jonah handed her a pair of mud-splattered wellington boots. ‘Here, you’ll probably need these. They might be a bit big, but I’ve spare socks in the van to pack them out a bit.’

  Anna giggled as she pulled the boots on, their generous proportions dwarfing her feet. ‘I never realised your job was so glamorous. There. Will I do?’

  ‘Aye.’ He gave her an appreciative smile. ‘Very nice.’

  Jonah’s faithful Border collie, Bennett, jumped out of the back seat and bounced around their feet as they set off across the lush grass of the wildflower meadow, his barks and yelps mirroring Anna’s mood today. She found a stick and threw it high for the delighted dog, laughing out loud as he jumped to catch it mid-air. The lazy hum of bumblebees surrounded them and clouds of midges rose from the grass as they walked. It wasn’t yet midday but the morning had a promise of heat about it, the expanse of cloudless sky above them suggesting a beautiful day ahead.