The drunk man pulls away roughly, beer spilling everywhere.
“Easy now!” Terry cautions.
I stand up, anxious. I can’t be around men like these; my throat’s too tight, my skin itches. My dad feels too close, and I need to leave. Heath follows me to the bar, a steadying palm on my shoulder. I reach for my pocket to pay, but he says lightly, “I got this.”
I feel guilty as hell as Heath hands the cash over. Money. Shit. What am I going to do for money now? I’m a journalist but it’s useless in a town like this. Worse than useless. It’s aproblem.
A hazard, even.
This town only respects men who are bloody and silent. I respect anyone who ignores the anxious voice that warns:He won’t like it if I speak up. I can’t do this!and listens instead to the smaller, steady voice that whispers,Yes, you can. Because you must.
Journalism: What better way to piss off my father and honor my mother?
But after ten years in the industry, all I’ve done is write thousand-word blog posts about feuding celebrities or the miracle of rose hip oil, and cast my eyes down when Joy belittled me.
Surely my degree is still worth something, even after I threw that mic pack at her head.
Chris…Cooper. Works for theDaily.
You know him, Min?
Of course I know that bastard. There are only two national newspapers in Australia. An industry so small it’s incestuous. Plus, before he got the big job at theDaily,he was the assistant news editor for theMill,a tabloid paper in Melbourne. The same one I interned at. I spent four months smashing out non-stories about D-list celebs while Chris smoked cigarettes with the editor in chief and smugly pointed out a rare spelling mistake.
It’s‘accidentally’,Melanie. Not‘accidently’.Make sure to use a spellchecker next time.
After that, I proofread my articles until my eyes burned. By thesecond month, he had nothing to criticize me for, and he’d sign off my work with a laconic,Good to go.
It was no secret he was gunning for a role at theDaily.I still remember his goodbye email:
All the best, Melanie.
Accidently yours,
Chris.
Dickhead,I thought, deleting his email. I’ve barely spoken to him since, preferring to avoid him at industry gatherings. He always seeks me out, though. Marches up, smooth and confident, shaking hands a bit too aggressively with Oliver.
He rocked up here the other day, askin’ questions.
He has questions. And I have answers…
I’m full to the brim with secrets about this town, which makes me just as complicit as anyone here. Just as dirty.
I did what I had to do to survive this place,I tell myself, hoping it will drown the other word that always follows.
Coward.
Terry chats with Heath and the bartender in their shared language, while I think about meeting up with Chris Cooper. I feel like I’m betraying him. The town. Maybe even me.
Because I have secrets I need to keep, too.
What if I share a secret with Chris? Let him uncover one dark truth about this town? I’ll use his connections to find a job…Heath and the town don’t have to know.
Uneasy, I glance around the pub at these dirty men and their dirtier deeds. I’ve seen what they do to rule breakers. Outsiders have no idea, but I do.
My dad used to say,You’re either the shark or the food.
I stare up at the sharks covering the walls, a fluttery feeling in my stomach.
