Page 28 of Love, Just In

I nod, wanting to tell her how worried I am that I’ll miss my friends at St Teresa’s, even though that super-strict school never felt like me and I’m glad to be getting out of there. But the words cling to my throat. The unexplained beeps of the hospital machines, the sickly smell of disinfectant, the freezing temperature and bright ceiling lights—nothing in this room feels like my aunt.

‘Do you know anyone at your new school?’ she continues croakily.

I shake my head. ‘Maybe I’ll see someone who went to my primary school.’

‘Maybe you’ll meet some cute boys there,’ she counters with a smile.

I embellish a grossed-out look, but when I think about going to a school with boys at it, my face turns weirdly hot.

Silence slips into the room, and Aunt Susie’s stare drifts to the drawn window blinds before her eyelids sink shut.

Her little sleeps are my opportunities to look at her without worrying I’ll burst into tears and make her feel even worse. With my stomach in knots, I trace my gaze over her dark-rimmed eyes, the thin tube poking from her nose and stretching across her hollow cheeks, and the flowery scarf wrapped around her bald skull. Every visible part of her is tinged with yellow—even her eyes, I noticed earlier.

Aunt Susie blinks awake, and I glance down.

‘Do you think you could pass me some water?’ she asks, fluttering her fingers tipped with coral-pink polish at the table beside the bed.

‘Sure.’ I get up to reach for the plastic cup, ensuring the lid is on properly before carefully bringing the straw to her cracked lips. Her face strains as she takes a small sip, but when the water seeps into her mouth, she relaxes. When she lifts her hand to gently pat my wrist, my fingers fold around hers.

‘Don’t be afraid, Jojo,’ she whispers.

At first, I think she means to not be afraid of her … of how unwell she looks, of how painfully obvious it is that she’s going to die soon.

But she holds my hand a little tighter and says, ‘I know you’ll miss your friends at your old school, even though you didn’t like it so much there. But you keep looking forward, OK? Not back. Because, my baby girl, take it from me … when we become very afraid of something ending, nothing else can really begin.’

CHAPTER 10

Today

Over the next week, my phone fills with texts from Lindsay that become increasingly flirtatious with each day that passes. We end up agreeing to a Thursday night date, and I suggest a cool bar in Honeysuckle that Lola took me to a few nights ago with Isabella, the operations manager.

On Thursday morning, after a sunrise FaceTime with my sister in London, I stroll into work early, ready to make a start on a feature story about flood prevention that I hope will shine up my showreel.

The newsroom’s already throbbing with energy, and thirty seconds after I plonk down at my desk, Man-Bun-Colin waves me over and hands me a police statement. Late yesterday afternoon, a mother from West Wallsend was charged with murdering her five-month-old baby and released on bail. Lola does most of the court and police rounds, but she’s off today for her nan’s funeral.

When Colin suggests I drive out to West Wallsend with a cameraperson, my pulse quickens. It’ll likely be the biggest local news story of the day, and with Meghan Mackay eyeing us off from her computer, I need this to go well. Last week, while I covered a public spat over bicycle lanes in Minmi, Meghan reported on a record-breaking march against domestic violence and the new state budget.

I tell myself that no part of the thrill I feel about winning the story over her is down to her gushing to me all week about her dates with Zac. There was the dinner at the authentic Vietnamese restaurant, the cocktails at the live music bar, and the big-hit comedy movie.

Yes, I get it, Meghan. He really likes you. You don’t have to tattoo it on your forehead.

I reset my focus on the news story and wince when I’m paired with Gus, who never wants to shoot anything. He drives at a snail’s pace towards West Wallsend while I scroll through articles on my phone about the accused woman. I keep asking myself if I’m game enough to knock on her door, or if I should play it safe and only approach the neighbours. Christina would tell me to go for gold, and I bet neither Lola or Meghan would hesitate either.

‘Let’s try the accused woman’s house first,’ I say to Gus. ‘Just stay close to me in case she starts losing it.’

He blanches at that possibility and pulls over outside a decaying fibro shack with a lawn that looks like it’s never met the sharp end of a mower.

‘You ready?’ I ask over my shoulder as we pace up the footpath.

‘Rolling,’ he says behind me.For once.

I knock three times with progressively more force, but there’s either no one home or the woman’s hiding inside. A voice yells, ‘Fucking vultures!’ from a passing car before it screeches up the street.

Zac’s words crash into my mind.If it bleeds, it leads.

I know he was just teasing, but it’s enough to tip me off balance. I’m generally thick-skinned when it comes to criticisms of my job, but anything remotely negative from Zac and I turn into a wounded bird.

Why do you still care so much what he thinks, Josie? Think only of that newsreading desk in Sydney.

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