Misconception

by Rebecca Freeborn

  John looked taken aback and Ali realised the other people standing in his group were watching her with curiosity. She could feel Tom’s eyes on her and she knew she was blowing it, so she took another drink and forced a smile. ‘So, Tom’s told me a lot about you,’ she said. ‘I hear you’re his favourite client?’

  John’s laugh sounded confected, but she could tell he was relieved that she’d backed off. ‘I think Tom flatters me too much, but that’s probably more to do with the amount of money he gets out of me.’

  Ali tittered. ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!’

  He bellowed with laughter again, and this time Tom joined in.

  ‘What are we laughing at?’ An arm slung across Ali’s shoulders and the acrid smell of body odour curled into her nostrils. Without looking up she knew it was Cliff.

  ‘Nothing much, Cliff, nothing much,’ John said genially. ‘Ali here is just working her charms on me. Not that I’m complaining, of course.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised, eh?’ Cliff’s words were already slurring together. ‘Have I told you how delectable you look tonight, Ali? Red is definitely your colour, darling.’

  Ali’s teeth were clenched as Tom lifted Cliff’s arm away from her shoulders. ‘Steady on, Cliff.’

  The big man guffawed again as Ali leant gratefully against Tom. The glass she’d sculled in the bathroom had caught up to her and she suddenly felt quite wobbly. How many drinks had she had? Three? Four? She’d better start keeping track.

  ‘Your glass is empty, Ali darling,’ Cliff said, as if reading her mind. ‘We’d better get you another one.’

  Ali glanced down in surprise. She hadn’t even noticed that she’d finished it. There was no time to protest as Cliff thrust yet another drink into her hand. She sipped at it as Tom, Cliff and John began to discuss the case Tom had been working on.

  ‘Now Tom,’ Cliff said, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘We’ve almost nailed this thing, but over the next few weeks I want you to push as hard as you can so we can get the best result for John.’

  The room swam in front of Ali’s eyes and a heavy weight pressed down on her chest.

  When I give you the word, I want you to push as hard as you can.

  It was only the cold splash of champagne on her bare legs that made her realise she’d dropped her glass.

  Tom turned to her. ‘Are you OK?’

  She clutched at reality, trying to banish the image of the hospital room from her mind. Barren. Defective. Useless. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. It just slipped out of my hands, that’s all. I’m sorry, Cliff. I didn’t mean to mess up the carpet.’

  Cliff threw his hand out in a casual gesture, almost knocking Tom’s beer bottle flying. ‘Don’t mention it. We always get the carpet steam cleaned after our functions.’

  Ali pressed her fingers to her temples, pushing the panic down by sheer force of will. When she was able to speak again, her voice came out sounding just like it always did. ‘Well, I am sorry. I must be tired after the day I’ve had.’

  This time it was John who pressed another drink into her hand. ‘Sorry, our work chatter must have bored you to sleep! What do you do when you’re not adorning Tom’s arm?’

  Ali had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She knew that John, as a conservative business leader, had thrown his public support—and sponsorship—firmly behind the Liberal party. If he insisted on treating her like her husband’s arm candy, she’d play with him a bit.

  She smiled sweetly at him. ‘I provide media advice to the state government education minister, so at the moment I’m flat out doing all I can to get the Labor government a third term.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now he looked uncomfortable.

  She eyed him over her glass as she took another drink. ‘I love my job. I couldn’t do something like this unless I was really passionate about it. As soon as I started working for the Labor party I just knew I was in the right place. Know what I mean?’

  ‘Uh yeah, sure.’

  Watching John’s increasing discomfort lit a fire beneath Ali. She tossed back the rest of her drink. ‘So what drives you, John? What good are you trying to do in the world?’

  Tom threw her an annoyed look. She’d deviated from the trophy-wife script and was heading into dangerous territory, but it felt good, and she ignored the way his hand stiffened on her back.

  John’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow.’

  Ali held her glass out to a passing waiter to be refilled. ‘Well, all that money, John. You must have a chosen charity? A cause you’re passionate about?’

  ‘Well, I…’

  ‘Ali.’ Tom angled his head towards her. ‘Why don’t we get you some food? You haven’t eaten a thing tonight.’

  ‘In a minute.’ Ali’s eyes never left John’s. He was shifting from one foot to the other now, as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him. ‘I want to know what John really cares about.’

  Cliff put his sweaty arm over her shoulder again. ‘Why don’t I get you a big glass of water? I think you might’ve had one too many bubblies, darling. Don’t worry, happens to us all.’

  Ali threw his arm away from her. ‘Ever heard of personal space, Cliff? Jesus.’

  Cliff held both hands up, palms facing her in defence. ‘Sorry love, I was just trying to help.’ He leant towards Tom and switched his voice to a stage whisper. ‘Maybe you should take her home, mate?’

  Ali’s jaw clenched. ‘I’m standing right here, Cliff, and I’m not a fucking child.’

  Tom took her hand. ‘Excuse us, gentlemen. Ali, let’s go outside and get some air.’

  Ali could barely keep up with Tom as he towed her towards the doors that led out onto the balcony.

  ‘Thanks a fucking lot!’ he hissed as he pushed the door open. ‘Is it really too much to ask that you lay off the political activism for one fucking night? You’ve probably just destroyed my chances of an equity partnership for another year.’

  The cold night air hit Ali like a solid wall, shattering her fuzzy sense of righteousness. She could barely remember what she’d said to John and Cliff now, but she could tell by Tom’s rigid stance as he leant against the balustrade of the balcony that it was bad. She took another swig from her glass. Her tongue was thick in her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Tom. I must’ve had too much to drink.’

  ‘You think?’ He threw her an accusing look. ‘I know you hate these things. I don’t enjoy them myself, but it’s part of my job.’ He gestured towards the room inside, where everyone was still drinking and enjoying themselves. ‘You think I like these people? They’re not who I’d choose to spend my social time with either, but that doesn’t make them bad people. This is my career you’re messing with, Ali. You shouldn’t have come.’

  He turned to look out over the city lights. There was a football final on at Adelaide Oval and the floodlights illuminated the night sky with a white-hot glow. Ali shivered. She wanted to reach out to Tom, but she didn’t know how, so she took refuge in her drink instead.

  ‘I’ll go and apologise to John,’ she said.

  Tom glanced at her, then looked away again. ‘Don’t bother. You’ve done enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘Should I get us another drink, at least?’

  Again, that disdainful look. ‘Are you kidding me? You’re off your face already. Let’s just go before you manage to offend any more of my clients.’ He turned and walked towards the door before she could say anything.

  Ali caught up with him at the door. ‘You don’t have to be so fucking condescending, Tom.’

  She threw the door open and burst into the room. Several people swung around to look at her. Her face burned as their eyes drilled into her. Judging her. Desperately, she snatched up a glass of red wine from a table and took a sip, but after all the champagne she’d had it was dry and dusty in her mouth and she suddenly felt like throwing up. Then Tom was taking the glass from her hand and putting it back on the table.

  Ali whirled aro
und to snap at him, but lost her balance and found herself sprawled on the ground.

  Stunned, she looked up at the sea of faces that surrounded her, some concerned, some amused and some disapproving. Shock and embarrassment shot through her. Tom helped her to her feet, murmured his thanks to those offering to help, and steered her out of the room, his arm around her waist.

  As soon as the lift doors closed on them, he let his arm drop away from her. She tried to catch his eye. ‘I’m so sorry, Tom.’

  But he wouldn’t look at her. All the way home. Not even once.

  Before

  ‘Mum?’

  Ali stepped into the living room, scrunching up her bare feet against the cold of the brown patterned linoleum. In the shadowy dark, the shape of her mum still lay on the couch where she’d left her last night, motionless. Ali couldn’t even see her chest rising and falling. Cold panic gripped her, and she rushed over to the window and pulled the curtain back to let the morning sunlight into the room.

  ‘Mum!’ She knelt beside the couch and shook her shoulder.

  A deep groan issued from her mother’s throat, and her eyes fluttered open. She squinted at Ali and brought her hand up to her head.

  ‘Jesus, Ali, close the curtain!’ she rasped.

  Relief flashed into irritation. Ali stood up and did as she was told, as her mum pulled herself into a sitting position and sat with her head in her hands.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

  Mostly, Ali was able to withstand her mother’s lapses in memory, but this stung. ‘School’s finished. I graduated last week, remember?’

  Her mum looked up at her briefly before scrubbing at her eyes with both hands. She didn’t even look surprised. ‘Maybe you could get a part-time job or something. We could do with a bit of extra money.’

  Ali’s insides burned. She’d assumed her mother would eventually pull herself out of this mess, but it’d been a year since her dad had died.

  She wanted to lash out, to release her own frustrations, to tell her mum that she was hurting too, that she didn’t deserve to be treated like this. But instead, an invisible armour began to form around her, straightening her back, protecting her. The mum from her childhood was gone forever. She was on her own now. Never again would she depend on someone else.

  Her voice was steady when she spoke. ‘I will get a job, Hazel, but not for you. As soon as I start uni, I’m moving out.’

  Ali

  ‘Alex, what’s up?’ She tried to sound upbeat.

  He slapped the paper down on her desk.

  ‘Seen this?’ His voice had a hard edge.

  Unease crept over her. Normally she would’ve read the paper front to back over breakfast, but she’d been hungover that morning and had run out the door without picking up the paper from the front lawn. She hadn’t even checked the news clippings on her phone.

  Alex stabbed at the headline on the front page and the shouting black words sank into her: MINISTER REFUSES TO SUPPORT EDUCATION HEAD. Her mouth fell open. There were only two paragraphs on the front page before the story diverted to page three, but the second told her exactly why Alex was angry:

  We sought comment from Minister for Education and Child Development Geoff Saunders, but at the time of publication had not received a response.

  ‘That’s impossible!’ She looked up at Alex, eyes wide. ‘I prepared the response yesterday, you saw it!’

  ‘I approved that statement at noon, Ali. The deadline wasn’t until three. So what the fuck happened?’

  She opened her email and clicked straight to her sent items. Her mouth went dry as she scrolled the list. The email wasn’t there. Then dread clamped her throat. An innocent green (1) sat beside the drafts folder.

  ‘You didn’t send it, did you?’ Alex’s voice was dangerously low.

  She clicked on the folder and there it was. Her polite, professional email to her former colleague, Charlotte, which, while not exactly exonerating Dixon, at least defended his credibility.

  ‘I…’ She fumbled. ‘I don’t know what happened. It’s here, I must have forgotten to send it.’

  Alex’s face grew even redder. ‘For Christ’s sake, Ali, this is going to make Dixon look guilty!’

  Anger burned in Ali’s chest. ‘He is guilty! It’s not Geoff’s crime. Why doesn’t he cut him loose?’

  ‘How can you not understand that this reflects on Geoff’s judgement? It’s not as simple as cutting him loose. Do I really need to remind you that there’s an election in six months? What’s wrong with you at the moment? It’s like you’re on a permanent period or something.’

  Ali stared at her boss in shocked silence. The old Ali would’ve ripped strips off him for these words, but she was exhausted deep inside her bones. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It was my mistake. I’ll call Charlotte now.’

  ‘Don’t bother. The damage is done.’ Alex gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m not sure I can depend on you anymore.’

  ‘It was an accident!’ she cried. ‘I stuffed up, Alex. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Mistakes like this could cost us the election.’ The power had gone from his voice now. ‘Getting this government re-elected is my top priority and I need to know you’re up for the task. You’re not seeing the psychologist anymore, are you?’

  ‘Well, I went once, but—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it. You book in more sessions, or don’t bother coming back to work tomorrow.’

  He held her gaze until she relented. ‘OK. Whatever it takes.’

  Alex gave a curt nod, then turned and walked out. Ali seethed with impotent rage as her gaze flicked back to the unsent email on her computer screen. Sure, Alex had been a dick, but she was the one who’d made the stupid mistake in the first place. She’d never forgotten such a basic, important task.

  And then there was Charlotte. They’d once been friends and drinking partners, particularly after Kayla’d had her first baby and all but disappeared from the social scene. She knew Charlotte had resented her when she’d been head-hunted by Alex, but it stung a little that she’d chosen a front-page story over their friendship. Would it have killed her to prompt Ali again when she hadn’t received a response by the deadline?

  Her hand hovered over her desk phone. She was tempted to call Charlotte anyway and explain what had happened, but common sense prevailed. Alex had already told her to leave it, and she knew he was right. Sending a response now would look like back-pedalling.

  She picked up the phone, but instead she dialled the number of the psychologist’s office.

  Tom

  When Tom’s phone rang in the late afternoon and Ali’s name appeared on the screen, he was tempted to reject the call. He was still so angry with her. It had taken him quite a bit of explaining before Cliff finally let him off the hook the morning after the function. He hated using their loss as an excuse, but he hadn’t been able to think of any other way to justify Ali’s actions. Thankfully, John had been more understanding than Cliff. But after that crisis was averted, another edged into his mind despite his efforts to push it out. He’d used grief to explain away Ali’s behaviour, but he wasn’t so sure that was entirely to blame. Ali had always been a big drinker, but she’d never allowed it to take over like that before.

  His phone had almost rung out when he finally answered. ‘Hi.’

  She didn’t speak, but he could hear her shaky breath on the other end of the line.

  He sighed with impatience. ‘I’ve got court tomorrow, I need to prepare. What is it?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘You were right. About everything.’

  His irritation thawed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I haven’t been coping. I’m not over it.’

  Tom breathed out. ‘It hasn’t been easy.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve decided to go back to the psychologist.’

  ‘You have?’ Tom was surprised.

  ‘In fact, I have an appointment this afternoon.
I’m going to make this right, Tom. I’m going to fix everything.’

  Hope leapt inside Tom. This was the Ali he knew. Determined, even as her voice shook. ‘I’m proud of you. And I’m here for you. Always.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I love you, Ali.’

  She hesitated. ‘I’d better go. I’ll see you tonight.’

  Before

  Ali’s toes danced an anxious jig inside her flat black shoes, allowing her to keep her hands and her face still as the relatives and family friends paraded past to give their condolences. She hadn’t realised there were so many. Her dad’s parents had died when she was a child and she’d had little contact with her mum’s, who only ventured out of their home town of Roxby Downs for big occasions. Her family rarely socialised with other people. And yet, now he was gone, they’d all come out of the woodwork, offering meaningless platitudes and rehearsed lines, their hands clammy with nerves as they touched her face and told her how much she’d grown.

  They created a human wall between Ali and her mum, steering one or the other of them away whenever Ali tried to reach her. Her mum had sobbed through the funeral service while Ali had clung to her arm, desperate to let out the feelings inside but not knowing how.

  As soon as they’d got back to their house for the wake, the wife of one of Dad’s former colleagues had pushed a glass of red wine into her mum’s hands, and at last she had something to anchor her. Her eyes had been dry by the time she finished the first glass. More had followed, delivered by a network of nameless women eager to provide material support.

  Ali had been watching her ever since, tugging down her skirt over her bunched-up black stockings, a triangle of tomato sandwich offered by a second or third cousin she couldn’t remember still limp between her fingers. Her mum’s face grew more animated as she unloaded her grief onto these people she’d never made any effort to know before, instead of talking to her own daughter.

  ‘How are you doing, lovie?’ An older woman Ali hadn’t seen before stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m Mavis. I worked with your dad.’