© Helen McKenna 2013

The right of Helen McKenna to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, re-sold or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without written permission from the publisher.

All characters of this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Email: info@helenmckenna.com.au

Website: www.helenmckenna.com.au

Contents

Stalked!

The Group

Pseudo

From The Author

About The Author

Other Books By Helen McKenna

Preview of The Beach House

.

Stalked!

Patience really was a virtue.

He’d been coming down to his special hidey-hole every Thursday for weeks now, but the timing was never right. Either somebody else came along…or she was holding a cup of coffee that could be flung in his face…or she was wearing sneakers which would allow her to run away.

But today - today the planets had aligned in his favour. Not only was she beverage free but she was also wearing stilettos. Ridiculously high, thin heeled stilettos. Her gait was already compromised as she walked along the gravel verge so he knew that once she hit the grass she would be as vulnerable as a fly on sticky paper.

And to top it all off there was not another person in sight.

Shifting slightly forward, he tried to block out the discomfort in his legs from squatting in such an awkward position. Just breathe, he reminded himself. He was as tense as a coiled spring but knew he needed to control himself for just a bit longer. If he pounced now, there was a chance she might keep walking along the road. No, it was better to wait until she was right in his line of sight – in the secluded spot he had especially chosen.

Her hair was up today, which was a shame. He really preferred it long and flowing freely. And the outfit…well, it wasn’t one of her best. But hey, you couldn’t have it all, right?

His heart started to pound as she approached the northern end of the park. Just a few more steps and she would finally be his…

The throaty growl of her neighbour’s souped up Falcon ute roused Ella from a deep sleep. Annoyed at her slumber being interrupted before the alarm went off, she buried her head under the pillow. It didn’t help much. Although muffled, the Falcon’s engine kept revving.

Rrrrrr… RRRrrrrr… Rrrrrrr…

Jeez do you have to do that every day Greg? she fumed. Why can’t you just turn on the engine and go?

Finally, after some spectacular gravel spinning and several more revs, the noise eased as Greg drove away.

‘Halleluiah!’ Ella mumbled. What’s he doing leaving so early anyway? she wondered. Greg usually hooned off at five past seven on the dot, by which time she was eating her breakfast and could drown out the revving by turning up the volume on the TV.

It was the unmistakable rumble of the rubbish truck that roused Ella next, just as she was drifting back to sleep.

‘What’s with everyone running ahead of schedule today?’ she thought, plumping her pillow with a savage thump. Was it too much to ask for a little peace at such an uncivilised hour?

Dragging her doona up around her head, Ella wrapped herself in it cosily, determined to at least remain in bed, even if not asleep, until her alarm actually sounded. It was a point of principle for Ella, unlike her housemate Natalie who saw no point in lolling in bed if she was awake and could be up doing something.

Thinking of Natalie, she was being surprisingly quiet this morning. A theatre nurse who worked day shift, Natalie usually thought nothing of clattering around the kitchen and bathroom as she prepared for her 6.45am start.

Maybe I’d better go and wake her, Ella thought. But then again it’s not my job she reassured herself. Natalie can get herself up and organised. It would actually be kind of funny to see Miss Cool, Calm and Collected in a total spin. Ella smiled to herself at the thought of it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Natalie, they were just very different people. And the truth was if they hadn’t been thrown together as housemates there was little likelihood they would otherwise be friends.

The realisation finally hit Ella when she heard Greg’s wife hurrying their kids to get to the bus stop. Launching herself to a sitting position, she reached over to the bedside table for her mobile phone. Of course it wasn’t there; she had put it on the charger in the kitchen last night. That’s why her alarm hadn’t gone off.

Bugger!

Wild eyed she leapt out of bed and grabbed her watch from the dressing table. ‘7:22!’ she exclaimed, calculating that she had exactly fourteen minutes to get out of the house if she was to make the train.

Usually a woman who liked to take her time getting ready, Ella was amazed at the speed she could move when she had to. Following a two-minute shower and a blast of dry shampoo, she coiled her slightly greasy hair into a clamp clip, threw on a polyester dress that didn’t require ironing and gulped half a glass of orange juice.

Normally she wouldn’t be that concerned about getting to work on time. It wasn’t as if Ella loved her job at Brown and Blain Constructions. But it was payroll day and if the system wasn’t updated before ten thirty, the pays would be a day late. And a mob of angry construction workers was not something she wanted to contend with.

Sticking her feet into her sneakers for the run to the train station, Ella shoved her work shoes into her oversized handbag and unplugged her phone from the charger. Ignoring the fact it was starting to rain she slammed the door shut behind her and legged it to the train station.

Luckily the train was a few minutes late.

Dragging her GO card over the reader Ella joined the mob boarding the 7.45 City Service and finally slunk aboard just before the doors closed. Hanging onto the handrail, she leant forward for a few moments to catch her breath.

Once recovered, Ella began the long trek to the end carriages. Due to the length of her local platform out in the boondocks, everybody had to embark via the front cars, causing a bottleneck that only subsided when people dispersed through the train.

Finally, she found an empty seat in the second last carriage and slumped onto it, appalled, as always, that she was actually a commuter. How had her life taken this awful turn? Before the GFC Ella had her own apartment in the inner city and earned a substantial income as a PA to an international real estate mogul. Work was a five-minute stroll away, punctuated by a coffee and bagel en route. She’d had a whole extra hour to get ready and would never have been seen dead in her sneakers. Or this dress for that matter, Ella thought glumly. It had been fashionable in its day, but now it looked like something you’d find at Vinnie’s, which was exactly where it was going after today, she decided.

Unfortunately, when the US and European real estate markets crashed, so did her career, and much more quickly than she would ever have anticipated. There was no gentle breaking of the bad news and time to gradually wind the business down. Rather Ella was greeted by a security guard one morning, ordered to hand over her phone and laptop and had been given a box of her belongings in return.

At first Ella had remained optimistic, refusing to downsize or branch out into the suburbs. She was a skilled PA who had worked in a multi-million-dollar company so surely that would hold her in good stead?

As each month passed, however, and no new amazing job offers landed in her lap, Ella had to be practical. With her credit card debt nudging ten grand and on the slippery slope of having to default on her car loan, she finally emerged from the fog of denial. Relying on her rusty secretarial skills Ella had talked her way into a payroll job in Geebung and curbed her lifestyle to suit.

Selling her car had hurt but not as much as giving up the lease on her apartment. Luckily a friend of a friend had just bought a house way out on the fringe of Brisbane and was looking for a tenant at less than half the rent Ella had previously paid. It had sounded too good to be true and of course it was – in Ella’s mind it was simply not possible to be as perpetually positive as Natalie, the commute sucked and she had to deal with Natalie’s moronic boyfriend Marty – but it was workable, at least in the short term.

Fifteen minutes and a quick make-up job later, Ella felt a bit more human. Slicking some lip gloss on, she checked her reflection in her hand mirror. It’ll do for today, she thought, although I really do need to get my roots done.

Kicking off her sneakers Ella pulled her new Italian sandals out of her bag. Stroking the soft leather, she couldn’t help but smile. Yes they had been ridiculously expensive and they were impractical for work but she didn’t care. Just because she’d had to downgrade just about everything in her life, it didn’t mean she had to completely tame her shoe fetish.

Slipping them on she allowed herself to daydream for a moment. I’m still Ella White PA extraordinaire she mused. I spend as much on shoes as some people spend on rent. I eat out just about every night, I get to go on all expenses paid business trips…

The smell of fresh coffee brought her out of her reverie. Ella looked up sharply as a petite young woman in a Cue suit sashayed past, latte held aloft as she chatted into her phone. ‘Yeah, that’s fine, but just make sure we have enough time for both meetings…’

Cow, thought Ella. How did she manage to keep her corporate career and I didn’t? What is she, all of nineteen? Don’t get too comfy sweetie, she thought. You never know what’s around the corner.

A little depressed now, she decided to leave her sandals on. Stuff my grubby old sneakers and their comfort, Ella decided, today I am going to arrive in style. Poking her shoes down the edges of her bag, she then reached in deeper to retrieve the dog-eared Cosmo she’d been reading all week.

Ella was engrossed in an article about hair straighteners when the melodic tone of her mobile announced a text message. Reaching down, she felt around absently, her attention still on the article. Finally unearthing the phone, she hit the unlock sequence, missing it twice before it finally co-operated. Stupid phone!

Making the switch from her employer provided iPhone to a no-frills Nokia was a major adjustment Ella still struggled with. She knew she should be grateful that Natalie had managed to swing them a matching pair in a special two for one promotion that included hugely discounted rates when combined with their internet plan but her fun side was still rebelling.

She frowned as the screen flashed “private number”. Who outside her address book would be texting her at this time of the morning? Hitting the OK key the message appeared. It read, “Hey QT I’m watching you.”

Ella sat up straighter, her curiosity piqued. Doing her best to look neutral she glanced around the carriage at the familiar faces that made the same journey each day. Nobody appeared to be holding a phone. Before she had time to consider any further the Nokia vibrated in her palm and the message icon appeared. “Love your shoes,” it said.

With as little obvious movement as possible she keyed in a reply. “Thanks.”

The screen flashed again about 30 seconds later. “Italian?”

“Yeah.”

“Running l8 2day?”

Ella glanced around surreptitiously before replying. “Who are you???”

The answer came back in a flash. “An admirer.”

“How do you know me?” she typed back.

“I’ve been watching u for months,” said the reply.

“Why not say something?”

“2 shy!”

Thinking for a second, Ella hit the call button and was startled seconds later when a jarring mariachi tune burst into life about five seats in front. Jumping to her feet she followed the sound, amazed to eventually trace it to an elderly woman in a tracksuit. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Ella demanded.

‘What? Oh is that mine?’ the woman asked, opening her bag and rummaging around. Ella glanced at her own phone, only to realise that the call had been rejected already, while the woman’s phone was still ringing. Scratch that idea.

The phone vibrated again just as Ella sat back down. “Tricky, tricky!” it read.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“More fun this way.”

Ella stared at the screen, frustrated again not to have her iPhone. It could possibly have given her more information. But then again maybe it was more fun this way. She hadn’t had a secret admirer since year nine. She could do with a liaison of some sort after almost six months of singledom.

“Why me?” she asked.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Aw shucks.”

“I mean it.”

“Thx :-)”

For the next five minutes they texted back and forth, each message becoming increasingly flirty.

Finally Ella decided to take control of the situation. “Coffee at Central after work?”

The reply was almost instant. “Maybe”.

“Oh, only maybe???”

“I want to REALLY get to know you first.”

Ella shook her head. Technology had a lot to answer for sometimes. Guys these days hid behind text messages and emails instead of getting out there and talking to women. As much fun as this had been, she wasn’t wasting any more of her phone credit on a loser.

“Sorry, face to face or no chance!”

“We’ll see about that!”

At this Ella’s stomach clenched. How was she supposed to take that? Was it meant to be funny and friendly or was it a tad threatening? Hitting the lock sequence, she dropped the phone back in her bag and picked up her Cosmo again.

The message beep came almost immediately but Ella didn’t respond. Then came another beep and another. Ella knew she shouldn’t engage any further but curiosity got the better of her. Checking the screen, her pulse quickened. Each message, accompanied by an angry face, was one word in capitals – DON’T – IGNORE – ME!

Right, thought Ella, you are getting blocked! Holding the phone aloft she scrolled through the menu but couldn’t work out how to activate the block function.

The phone beeped again then and although Ella knew it was her imagination, this time the tone seemed menacing.

“Play nice!”

Ella’s stomach clenched again, tighter this time. This interaction was getting weird. Shoving the Cosmo into her bag, she got up and walked towards the next carriage, studying each face briefly as she walked past. Dan the nerdy guy from the bank would never try anything so forward. Patrick from Qantas was way too tight with money to send frivolous messages. Reg the park ranger didn’t have a mobile phone.

As she stepped into the alcove at the end of the carriage her phone screen lit up again saying, “I know where you live and work.”

Ella was starting to feel faint. Recalling the story about mobile phone stalking she had seen on the news the previous week she strode through the next two carriages and sat down next to a woman with a baby. This carriage was much fuller, providing her with a sense of anonymity.

The messages started coming faster then and Ella decided to turn the phone off. As soon as she got to work she would ring the police and have this fruitcake arrested, assuming of course they could trace a private number.

It was only when she turned the phone over to activate the off switch that she noticed the little orange dot on the bottom. The one Natalie had put on her phone so they wouldn’t get them mixed up.

It’s not my phone! Ella realised. Natalie must have picked up the wrong one this morning.

The relief was so immense she almost burst into tears. True, she felt bad for Natalie, but at least she was safe at the hospital for now. She would call the police anyway and then ring Nat and warn her too.

Natalie always claimed she had an inbuilt radar for sensing how genuine a person was within moments of meeting them. Obviously it had short circuited on at least one occasion thought Ella a tad smugly. She had warned her housemate about being too friendly and trusting of people. Shaking her head, she thought, dear old Nat, living in her little fantasy world. This might just be the shakeup she needed to get with the program and embrace the real world.

Ella bounced off the train at Geebung station, happy to see that the drizzle had dried up and the sun was now shining. It was amazing how your world could be turned upside down and then right side up again in such a short time frame. She actually enjoyed the ten-minute walk to work from the station along the back streets. It was much quieter than along the busy main road and there was a lovely little secluded park where she could sit and catch her breath before facing another day at the coalface.

I really shouldn’t have changed my shoes, she berated herself as she sauntered along, these sandals are not made for walking! It’s lucky I don’t have to run at this end.

Still feeling buoyed by the relief that she wasn’t being stalked after all, Ella forgot she wasn’t carrying her own phone and didn’t even check the screen before answering the phone when it rang as she walked through the deserted park.

‘Hello,’ she chirped.

The voice was low and menacing. ‘Hello, Ella,’ the caller said. ‘Don’t forget to give Natalie back her phone.’

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

The call scared Ella so much she dropped the phone and immediately started running, but of course she didn’t get far in her shoes.

Emerging from the bushland he ran over to where she lay crumpled on the ground clasping her left ankle, which was already swelling rapidly. Her handbag and its contents were strewn across the grass nearby. He had never seen her look like this before, scared and helpless. She was usually so poised and controlled. Yet again fate had intervened, amazingly, to make him the hero.

At the sight of him she immediately burst into tears.

‘Craig!’ she exclaimed, between sobs. ‘Please help me!’

She knew his name! He thought he was just another employee number, a faceless member of the construction crew who visited the payroll office every Thursday morning to sign his timesheet.

Craig had been smitten from the first moment he had laid eyes upon Ella. But he’d always been so shy with women and the office was so crowded that he’d never got the chance to speak to her alone. That was why he had been waiting in hope these past few weeks. What could be more natural than bumping into a workmate and walking with them to the office?

His main aim had just been to speak to her, but something much bigger was going on here and he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

‘Don’t cry Ella,’ he soothed, ‘everything is going to be all right.’

Natalie finally emerged from her room at nine o’clock, sleepy eyed and with crazy bed hair. She wasn’t surprised to see Marty ensconced on the couch, watching TV.

‘Hey sleepyhead,’ he said, ‘Glad you called in sick today?’

‘Yeah, what do you reckon?’ she replied with a grin. ‘I haven’t slept in for weeks and I can’t wait to catch some rays once we get to Mooloolaba. I’m a big believer in the occasional mental health day.’

‘Oh yeah, me too.’

‘So, you been here long?’ Natalie asked, as she poured herself a glass of pineapple juice.

‘A little while.’

‘You weren’t bored were you?’

‘No, not a bit, I’ve been catching up with some text messages.’

‘Okay, great. Just give me a minute and we can get going.’

‘Sure Babe, no hurry,’ he replied. ‘Oh, by the way Ella took your phone by mistake.’

Natalie put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oops! That was my fault. It was still half dark when I grabbed it this morning to call work. I didn’t realise I got the wrong one.’ She raised her right eyebrow questioningly. ‘How did you realise that?’

‘You left it on the couch. When I picked it up to move it there was no little dot.’

Natalie shook her head. ‘Oh no, I feel bad! I hope it doesn’t inconvenience Ella too much.’

‘No point worrying about it now,’ Marty said and then lay down so Natalie wouldn’t see his grin.

From the moment she had moved in Marty had taken an instant dislike to snooty Ella, Miss High and Mighty who used to have such an important job and a place in the city. He was tired of hearing her whinge about the long commute and how primitive life was out here in the sticks so he had taken the opportunity to make her reconsider her long train journey each morning.

It was fortuitous that he had seen her running down the road with the heel of one of her stupid shoes hanging out of her handbag. Having heard her rave on and on about them they lent a great deal of authenticity to his text conversation. He was also glad he had kept the prepaid SIM card he’d bought on his latest trip to Bali. It was totally untraceable.

Oh yes, he had finally solved the Ella problem.

With a bit of luck she would be gone before the month was out.

.

The Group

Beth couldn’t believe how nervous she was.

It was ridiculous – after all she was a successful, confident woman with a corporate career. She had two bachelor degrees and an MBA and she earned a six-figure salary. Yet, as she stood here in the small, run-down community hall facing a rather motley crew of strangers her palms were slick with sweat and her heart was pounding as if she’d just leapt off the treadmill.

The pages Beth held in her hands were dog-eared from incessant handling. She had still been flicking between them making last minute adjustments when she was introduced by Gordon and invited up to speak.

Beth couldn’t believe how different Gordon was in person. Her impression of him from his emails, and his name, had been an older, distinguished gentleman, and she was still struggling to come to terms with the twenty-something guy with his straggly goatee and waist length ponytail. His face was open and friendly, but also slightly puzzled as he eyed Beth now, obviously wondering why she hadn’t yet spoken.

‘Beth?’ he prompted.

Beth nodded and managed a weak smile. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘I’m just very nervous.’

‘No need to be,’ Gordon reassured her. ‘We were all the newbie once.’

Several other audience members nodded their agreement.

Beth took a deep breath and focused her attention on a spot on the timber-panelled wall. Breathe Beth, she instructed herself. If you can speak at a national conference you can speak here. Yeah, but the national conference was business, she reminded herself, this is personal. You are about to expose a side of yourself that has never been publicly acknowledged.

A woman in the front row coughed and a man up the back glanced at his phone. People fidgeting was not a good sign and Beth knew she had to either get on with it or get out.

Taking another deep breath she opened her mouth and finally the words began to flow.

The huge thunderclap and accompanying flash of lightening ended Beth’s hopes of leaving the office to buy a sandwich and a magazine. ‘Damn,’ she muttered, realising she should have gone half an hour ago. Josie from the secretarial pool had already buzzed twice to remind her that ‘lunch hours need to be strictly adhered to so as to ensure the smooth running of Lloyd and Morgan’.

Beth conceded she had a point; after all it was hard to put calls through and schedule appointments when staff didn’t stick to their break times. Even so, did everything about the accounting world have to come down to numbers? She had just wanted to get Mrs Borthwick’s complex tax return done and then enjoy her break.

She clicked on the lodge button and sighed wearily as the file uploaded. It wasn’t accounting that was the problem, it was her. A box containing her newly updated business cards – which now proudly acknowledged her as Senior Associate – caught her attention. This new position and the pay rise that came with it should make her feel happy, right? A decade of study and hard work had finally been rewarded after all. Yet what she felt now was weighed down with expectation and trapped into a future she didn’t want.

The urge inside Beth had been growing stronger for a long time now, it had been there since childhood really but she’d never had the courage to tell anybody. In the past she had managed to squash it by working harder and studying more but now as she approached her thirtieth birthday, well, it seemed if she didn’t act soon she would go crazy.

Boom!

Another rumble of thunder sounded, followed by the pounding of heavy rain on the roof. Well, that was that, it was the lunchroom or bust today. Flicking her computer to hibernate, Beth picked up her water bottle and trudged down the hall.

Considering that Lloyd and Morgan was a prosperous, long-established firm with very fancy office space, they paid little attention to the state of the staff lunchroom. Stuck in a windowless corner of the building, the fluorescent lighting was much too harsh for the small space and the lingering olfactory reminders of thousands of microwaved meals permeated the room, resulting in a persistent, unpleasant odour. Beth could not understand why more of her colleagues did not choose to escape to a nearby café like she generally did.

Fortunately, the staff club kept a supply of basic food items for sale, so Beth paid one dollar for a packet of generic chicken noodle soup mix and selected a packet of chicken Twisties from the vending machine. After mixing her soup she took a seat at the only vacant table and leafed listlessly through the selection of junk mail, accounting journals and ancient magazines on the table.

Adam from IT sat down opposite her, frowning as he examined a bruised Granny Smith apple.

‘Whoa,’ Beth said, ‘that’s a lovely looking specimen.’

‘Yeah isn’t it just? I found it at the bottom of my backpack and can’t quite remember when I put it there,’ he admitted. ‘But my options are pretty limited aren’t they? I see you snagged the last cup a soup and you’ve hogged all the best reading material.’

‘You’ve got to be quick around here,’ Beth laughed. ‘But let me save you some time – Coles have a two for one special on tinned tomatoes, Woolies have rolled back the price on Safe toilet paper and according to this five year old New Idea, William and Kate are never getting married.’

Adam reached over to the next table. ‘Here you go,’ he smirked, handing her the latest edition of the local community newspaper. ‘I’m sure there will be some ground-breaking headlines in here.’

‘My humble thanks,’ Beth deadpanned. She never read the free paper, but in the absence of anything better today she slid it over and started flicking through it.

It was only a small notice, buried in the free classifieds section, but Beth noticed it immediately. It had occurred to her that a group might be a good outlet, a way to test the waters and try something new without having to turn her whole life upside down.

Maybe it was just what she needed to get the idea out of her system for good. Because, in the end, it was a crazy and very impractical desire. She hadn’t studied for all those years and worked her butt off for even longer to throw it all away on a whim.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to check the group out.

Adam noticed her preoccupation. ‘Don’t tell me you’re getting involved in community affairs.’

‘No, nothing that noble. Just checking my stars.’

‘Let me guess…you’re on the brink of a whole new life cycle and destined to meet the man of your dreams?’

‘Yeah, something like that.’

‘He could be closer than you think,’ Adam murmured wistfully.

Beth ignored the comment, having no desire to open that particular can of worms today. Waiting until Adam went up to make himself a coffee she tore the page out and tucked it into her bag. She had never believed in fate before but had to admit it was positively providential that she happened to come across that particular advertisement at this particular point in time.

Beth headed back to her desk five minutes early so she could email Gordon the group co-ordinator and was thrilled when a reply pinged back almost immediately.

“Thanks for your interest Beth,” he wrote. “Please find attached information about the group and our meeting schedule for the year. We’re a bit of an odd bunch and there are no airs and graces, but we’re always on the lookout for new members. Please feel free to email with any questions you may have. Looking forward to meeting you.”

“Thanks Gordon, you too,” she replied then conscientiously dragged her attention back to the pile of work on her desk, as unappealing as it was.

Even though the next meeting was still weeks away, Beth immediately found herself in a much better frame of mind at work. How was it that such a seemingly small step towards a dream could buoy up in her the kind of enthusiasm she hadn’t felt in years?

Yet at the same time she didn’t plan to share her aspirations with any of her workmates. They were all so into accounting in a way that she just wasn’t and she knew they could not possibly understand.

Beth almost died when she nearly let it slip at Friday night drinks. Having enjoyed a few wines she was feeling nicely mellow and got as far as saying, ‘I’m joining a…’, before pulling herself up.

‘Joining a what?’ probed Josie, who always took it upon herself to give unsolicited advice on any topic.

‘A gym,’ she mumbled hoping that the interest would end there.

‘Really?’ Josie replied excitedly, not seeming to notice she had dropped a clump of salsa down the front of her white blouse. ‘I’ve been thinking about doing that for ages too, let’s go together!’

‘Uh, yeah, sure,’ Beth replied, knowing it would probably all be forgotten by the next week. Josie was notorious for embarking on fitness drives she never followed through with.

Unfortunately this was the one time Josie’s motivation was genuine. When Beth arrived at work on Monday morning she found a thick stack of brochures on her desk for all the gyms within a ten kilometre radius. Logging onto her computer she found an email in her inbox with an Excel attachment summarising all of the information in the brochures.

On Tuesday Josie buttonholed her at morning tea and showed her a series of photographs on her phone. Beth expressed polite interest although she did feel she had to ask why they were all exterior shots of the various gyms in question.

‘So you can see what the car parks are like,’ Josie explained impatiently. ‘It’s one of the first things a woman is supposed to check out for safety reasons.’

‘Oh, of course.’

On Wednesday she found a bound document with timetables for various classes arranged in alphabetical order and degree of difficulty.

By Thursday Beth knew she had to speak up. She had no desire to join a gym and it was ridiculous to be forced into it just because Josie was nosey, and because she didn’t want her workmates knowing her personal business.

Taking a deep breath she picked up the phone, then chickened out and started an email instead. “Hey Josie, thanks so much for all the info, particularly the price list you just forwarded. I didn’t realise gym memberships were so expensive! I have just realised I really can’t afford to join now. Sorry.” Just for effect she added a sad face.

Josie’s reply was swift and blunt. “You earn more than twice what I do and I can afford it.”

Beth stared at the screen but managed to refrain from typing what she really thought, which was something along the lines of “so get your degree you bossy cow!”

Instead she took the high road and just ignored it.

The idea of telling her family her secret was just as unappealing for Beth. To an outsider the professional pedigree of her parents and siblings – lawyers, actuary and systems analyst respectively – was outstanding. How could she risk messing up this perfect picture? It wasn’t that she didn’t love them, she just knew they would not fathom, or possibly even respect, the choice she was making.

Fortunately it was easy enough to avoid the topic. As always, their weekly Sunday lunch date was full of talk about topics boring enough to lull a hard-core insomniac to sleep within minutes. Well, maybe that was a bit unfair, Beth acknowledged as she poured some more gravy over her roast pork. The rest of her family were technical and analytical and she wasn’t – it was as simple as that.

‘So Beth, I guess you’re looking ahead to Junior Partner now?’ her mother queried.

Beth hesitated a second, but couldn’t bring herself to fess up. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It’s on my five year plan.’

‘Five years?’ her brother Nathan scoffed. ‘You could do it in three.’

‘Yeah, true enough,’ she agreed, hugging her secret to herself and smiling inwardly at the thought of where she would actually like to be in three years time. It certainly wasn’t at Lloyd and Morgan.

The next near miss happened the following week. Trapped in the lunchroom during another summer storm, Beth was half-heartedly listening to the conversation around her when her manager Camilla tried to rope her into playing netball in the firm team. ‘It’s Saturday fortnight at two thirty,’ she said, ‘And I’ll put you as Goal Keeper so it’s not too strenuous.’

‘Sorry I can’t, I’ve got a meeting,’ Beth replied vaguely, as she continued to read her copy of Vogue. She immediately paled when she realised what she’d said.

‘What kind of meeting?’ demanded Camilla, who saw herself as the star of the netball team and took offence when anybody who was asked to play refused.

Beth had to think on her feet. ‘Trust me it’s nothing any of you guys would be interested in.’

Adam gave her a sly smile. ‘Oh let me guess – secret women’s business, hey?’

‘Something like that,’ Beth murmured.

‘Hmm, sounds intriguing,’ Adam teased.

Beth felt like rolling up her magazine and clubbing him with it.

Of course her reply raised many more questions than it answered. The other women at the table continued to look at her with great interest throughout the rest of lunch. Later she heard two of them talking about her in the copy room.

‘Well I’d say it’s AA,’ Leanne whispered. ‘They’re not supposed to tell people about it’.

Julia nodded sagely. ‘It’s always the ones you least suspect. You know I’ve often seen her looking blankly at things like she’s not really there. She’s probably got a hip flask somewhere’.

And thus began a surveillance operation to rival ASIO.

Staff began dropping into Beth’s office unannounced and appeared disappointed to find her completing tax returns or audits. Conversations stopped when she entered the file room or secretarial pool. Her name was deleted from the email list announcing a new wine club one of the partners was starting.

She even caught Josie smelling the contents of her water bottle.

‘Should we have it sent off for analysis?’ she asked, eyebrows raised as she walked into her office, returning unexpectedly early from a meeting.

It was the first time she had seen Josie lost for words.

Refusing a slice of mud cake at Adam’s birthday morning tea started off the next round of gossip. As appealing as the rich treat looked Beth had the beginnings of a migraine and chocolate always made it worse.

‘I bet it’s Weight Watchers,’ Josie said triumphantly to Leanne as they stood at the communal filing basket later that morning. ‘You have to pledge to pass up the good stuff most of the time to save your points.’

‘Points?’

‘Yeah, you know, different foods have different points. Chocolate uses heaps of points but a carrot for example has hardly any. So you have a maximum number of points for the week and you use them how you like.’

‘Sounds complicated.’

‘It’s not that hard, and there’s a phone app. She’s always got her phone with her.’

Josie either didn’t know or didn’t care that her voice carried into the surrounding offices quite clearly. Despite her amusement Beth was mildly insulted. Being tall meant she could get away with carrying a few extra kilos and like every woman she did want to lose two or three. But she wasn’t quite ready for weigh ins or the points system yet.

Besides Josie was hardly one to talk. Everybody knew that while she publicly filled in her uniform order form as size 12, she secretly faxed the clothing company later amending it to size 16.

Leanne nodded. ‘Could be I guess, but don’t you have to be kind of uh, fat, to go there? She has a nice enough figure.’

Josie busied herself putting some reports in sequence to hide her blush. ‘I really wouldn’t know, I’m just going by what I’ve heard other people say about it.’

Leanne nodded and let it rest. She didn’t have the energy to be harangued yet again about the thin genes she had been blessed with.

* * * * *

As the fourth Saturday of the month approached, Beth began working on her speech. Gordon had jokingly called it her “initiation” to the group and she was determined to get it right. She even started eating lunch at her desk so she could spend more time on it.

Gordon had told her not to stress – that it was not make or break – but she didn’t see it like that. Beth had done enough public speaking to be able to gauge audience reaction quickly and she couldn’t bear the thought of pouring her heart out only to receive blank stares of disinterest or worse still looks of pity because it was so bad.

Merrily typing away one lunch time, Beth finally understood the saying “in the zone”. It was like nothing around her mattered – the traffic noise outside, the constant hum of the printer just outside her door or the squeal of the fax machine. All she cared about were the words in front of her.

So, it was a rude shock when her computer screen suddenly froze. She paused for a moment, waiting for it to come back to life. Maybe she had just been typing too fast, she thought wryly.

After thirty seconds with no response, she started shaking her mouse. Still nothing. Getting a little more desperate she hit the home key and got the same result.

Bloody hell!

She had deliberately set the document to save only on her memory stick because she didn’t want any evidence of it on her work computer. But that was neither here nor there when said document was displayed on her monitor in a 16 point font for all to see.

After five nerve-wracking minutes Beth yanked the memory stick out of the USB drive. There was still no response and her words remained stuck on the screen. Drumming her fingers on the desk she pondered her next move. IT had a strict policy that any computer problems had to be referred to them and under no circumstances were you supposed to reset your own machine.

Peering out her office door Beth could see Josie approaching. Still miffed about the whole gym thing, of late she had been even more nasty than usual. Beth’s heart started to pound at the thought of the other woman discovering her secret and blabbing it to the rest of the staff.

Too bad about IT policy she decided, and reached down and hit the power switch. Her screen went blank just as Josie reached her doorway, where she paused to direct a cool stare at Beth, before continuing down the hallway.

Although she feigned innocence, the computer blip that caused the office server to crash was eventually traced back to Beth’s computer. All the staff watched as Adam strode down towards her office and closed the door with a resounding click.

Beth met his eyes briefly then looked down again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

Adam shook his head. ‘I’m supposed to be reading you the riot act you know,’ he said in a mock stern voice. ‘We could have lost vital client files and other office documents, not to mention the hour of wasted productivity.’

Beth nodded. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.

‘As luck would have it, the backup had just finished so no real harm was done.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘I guess that Word document must be something confidential then.’

Startled, Beth looked up again, then nodded slowly.

‘I didn’t look at it,’ he assured her, ‘and I binned it before anybody else did.’

‘Thanks,’ Beth whispered.

‘Look I’m not sure what’s going on with you Beth, but people are starting to talk. You’ve always been well respected around here so whatever it is I just hope it’s worth it. You don’t want to mess up all your hard work.’

Beth met his gaze for a long moment before replying. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘to me it’s definitely worth it.’

‘Well in that case, consider yourself officially chastised.’

Beth nodded. ‘I’m self-flagellating on the inside.’

They both laughed and Adam stood to leave. He had his hand on the doorknob when he suddenly turned back around. ‘So, how about that drink you’ve been rain-checking me for months?’ he murmured as colour flushed his neck and face. ‘I reckon you owe met at least a light beer.’

Beth’s eyes met his for a moment. He really was kind of cute in a nerdy way and he’d just saved her skin. Why not?

‘Sure. Friday after work?’

Adam couldn’t contain his grin. ‘Yeah, you bet!’

Beth was startled by the sound of applause.

Looking up she smiled shyly and was greeted with grins of encouragement in return as well as many compliments.

‘Great piece,’ Gordon said warmly. ‘We’re so glad you took the leap of faith and joined us here.

‘Fantastic,’ agreed Jeannie. ‘You’ve got a real knack with humour.’

‘You’re a writer all right,’ added Larry. ‘Don’t let them accountants drum it out of you any longer.’

‘Thank you!’ she said, still a little stunned.

Clutching her sheaf of papers, she sat down and grinned again.

Sure, it was just a small step. After all the Westlands Writers Group was hardly the breeding ground for the Pulitzer Prize. But it was the small step that just might lead her somewhere.

The meeting had been a good reality check too, Beth acknowledged as she drove home. She knew now that writing was a tough gig and that beyond an absolute miracle she had no hope of earning anywhere near what she did in her current job. She would have to rethink her bold plans to immediately quit Lloyd and Morgan and leave the corporate world behind. But she was willing to make a start and dedicate at least a small part of her energy to the creative side she had locked away for so long.

In just two hours today she had been energised by the ideas and tips that had flowed around her, the most important of which was to make time to write. She wasn’t sure yet which she would sacrifice – her lunch hour, gym visits, TV viewing or even sleep – but she was going to find half an hour a day to put pen to paper.

Starting tomorrow.

Because tonight she had her first official date with Adam.

.

Pseudo

Thanks to the timer on her De’Longhi, Isabelle woke each morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Stretching leisurely, she inhaled the decadent aroma and snuggled under the covers for a few minutes longer, safe in the knowledge her first lecture for the day wasn’t until ten o’clock.

Ah, the luxury of student life!

As always, Isabelle began her day by looking up at her image hanging on the wall at the opposite end of her bed. Her purchase, and subsequent framing, of an official print of her first and only front page article hung there as a constant reminder of just what she had managed to pull off.

Even though she’d known it was coming, seeing her image splashed across the front page of The Courier Mail had still taken Isabelle by surprise. Not only was it a much bigger picture than she had expected but she had also made the Saturday edition, with its much larger circulation!

Isabelle could imagine her old school teachers and former classmates picking up the paper and their eyes widening in amazement as they read the headline ‘The Face of UQ’. They must certainly have wondered how Isabelle Mathers, a below average student with an OP in the twenties teamed with zero ambition, had managed such a feat.

According to the article it was by way of hard work and soul searching. Isabelle had described herself as a ‘late bloomer’ who took some time out to explore the working world and ‘took the alternative scenic route’ to bolster her school results to gain entry to the institution of her choice.

In reality it had been much easier than that and Isabelle still couldn’t quite fathom she had gotten away with it.

The tiny township of Blue Moon Lake was dark and silent as Isabelle drove along the dirt road to her grandparent’s holiday shack. It was looking tired now – being almost 50 years old – but to Isabelle it would always be a magic place, filled with memories of idyllic childhood summer holidays. Grandpa was dead now and Gran had recently moved into a retirement village, but she refused to let the old place be sold – for which Isabelle was very grateful.

During this, her twenty-first year, Isabelle found herself visiting the shack on a depressingly regular basis. Not that it was an awful place to go, rather it was depressing because she had so little else to do with her time. Using reasoning she had borrowed from an episode of Seinfeld, Isabelle theorised that if she went to the lake at least she was out of her flat. So while she may do as little at the shack as she would at home, she was ‘away for the weekend’ and thus not as much of a loser.

The trip to Blue Moon Lake took two hours and twenty minutes door to door, so if she left Brisbane by seven Isabelle was at the house by nine thirty, just in time to open a bottle of wine and watch a DVD on her laptop. Gran and Grandpa had always had an iron clad rule there was to be no TV in the house and Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to break it.

By the time Saturday afternoon rolled around, Isabelle had worked her way through two seasons of Seinfeld and all her food rations. Quiet even in the summer months, Blue Moon Lake was like a tomb in winter, especially on bleak, rainy days like today.

Shifting her position on the sagging armchair, she unwrapped the last Mintie from the bag and popped it in her mouth, pondering just how she’d ended up here – pathetic and lonely.

Having no interest in school, she had attended for social rather than academic reasons. Her boyfriend Nick and best friend Gina were of the same mindset and all three had exited the school gates with little more than signed uniforms and a class photo.

They hadn’t let it hold them back though. Leaving their small home town and sharing a flat in Brisbane had been a blast. They soon realised there were entry-level jobs out there that didn’t require great school results or even good results.

Totally wrapped up in their own little world, the trio rarely socialised with their workmates or old school friends who had also made the move to Brissie. Instead they were content to spend their evenings and weekends ensconced on the couch watching movies, spending time on-line and playing video games. Eating out meant a trip to Maccas or KFC, so there was no need to worry about how little they earnt.

Sure they moaned about their horrible jobs, but it was just what people did. They didn’t care enough to do anything about it.

Caught up in her reverie Isabella jumped when her mobile phone rang. Checking the screen before she connected, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her boss Edward – perfect! She could just ignore the call, but past experience told her he would just keep ringing at increasingly frequent intervals until she answered.

‘Hello.’

‘Yes, Isabelle I really need to speak to you. Can you come into the office in one hour?’

‘No, I’m away for the weekend Edward. Is there a problem?’

‘No, not one problem specifically – more like a range of them. Come and see me immediately when you arrive on Monday.’

‘Yes Edward,’ Isabelle murmured, before disconnecting the call. Tentacles of panic blossomed in her gut, reaching up to encircle her chest and throat. As much as she hated her office job in the small bathroom supply business, she needed it.

Isabelle had been the last man standing when Nick and then Gina decided to get more serious about life. She had ignored the TAFE brochures and laughed when they started applying for better jobs and encouraged her to do the same. She had also ignored the signs that Nick and Gina had become a couple, right until the day they announced they were moving out, together.

‘You’re never going to amount to anything Isabelle,’ Nick had told her as he hauled boxes of his belongings out the front door.

After she’d gotten over the devastation of being betrayed by the two people closest to her, Isabelle realised what a flow on effect this created. Her social life as she knew it had evaporated in an instant and she was suddenly very much alone, with a horrible job and a massive weekly rent bill.

Thus began her regular pilgrimages to Blue Moon Lake.

It was getting dark by the time Isabelle trudged down to the general store/newsagent for more supplies. The cosy temperature inside the shop was enticing and, having plenty of time to kill, she took her time flipping through the magazine display and dawdling over her meal selection. Should she get nacho cheese or salsa flavoured corn chips? Caramel chocolate or peppermint? Cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream or a Vienetta?

Elsie, the elderly shopkeeper, eyed Isabelle suspiciously. They had always had a somewhat hostile association, although Isabelle couldn’t put her finger on why. No unpleasant words had ever been exchanged, yet it was clear to both of them that they didn’t like each other. Realising it was almost closing time Isabelle finally made her way to the cash register and dumped her magazines and junk food on the counter.

Elsie rang up the purchases briskly, as if she had far more important things to be doing than serving the likes of a young woman in trackie dacks and thongs. Isabelle had always thought Elsie harboured a secret fantasy that somebody important was going to walk through the shop door one day and she didn’t want to be seen associating with the riff raff.

‘Anything else then?’ Elsie asked, with a tight smile.

Isabelle flashed an insincere grin in return. ‘Uh, yes actually. I’ll have a two dollar scratchie thanks. One of those new Rainbow ones.’

Elsie eyed the younger woman for a second, apparently fighting the desire to refuse service. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t prefer one of these Easter Egg ones?’ she asked, indicating the rolls of tickets under the counter. ‘They’re still perfectly valid even though Easter has been and gone.’

‘No, I’d really like a rainbow one, thanks,’ Isabelle replied, with another insincere smile. The rainbow tickets were a new promotion with higher jackpots and Elsie had shoved them over to the side, obviously to discourage people buying them until the older stock had gone.

‘Right,’ Elsie snapped. Leaning over she ripped a ticket off with much more force than necessary and shoved it into the too-small bag she had crammed the rest of Isabelle’s purchases in. ‘That’ll be twenty-three dollars, forty-three thanks.’

Isabelle fought the urge to roll her eyes. Almost two decades after the demise of copper coins, Elsie still insisted on pricing in one and two cent increments and only rounded up, never down. Pulling a fifty dollar note out of her purse, she slapped it down on the counter.

Elsie slapped the change down in much the same way and Isabelle departed without either of them uttering another word.

It wasn’t until several hours, and a bottle of wine, later that Isabelle remembered the scratchie. Rummaging through the discarded food wrappings and magazines, she finally came across the ticket. Using her thumbnail, and destroying an expensive acrylic nail in the process, she scratched the silver coating away to reveal three little sailboats. Cool, she thought, I’ve probably won two bucks and I’ll have to go and annoy Elsie a little more by cashing it in tomorrow.

After scratching the prize panel, Isabelle’s heart lurched. She must be drunker than she thought! According to the legend, three boats equalled a prize of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Rubbing her eyes and pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, Isabelle checked the ticket again. Yes, it was definitely right.

She had just become a wealthy young woman!

Not sure of what else to do Isabelle collapsed onto the floor and began to laugh hysterically.

* * * * * *

It took a few weeks for the idea to fully form. Although Isabella immediately resigned from her job – just before being sacked she suspected – and went to the Golden Casket office in Woolloongabba in person to pick up her prize cheque, she put off telling anybody about her win. She needed time to think and plan…

Naturally enough her first thoughts were of the exotic travel she could do, the new car and wardrobe…and maybe even a deposit on a unit of her own. But amidst all these materialistic thoughts, Nick’s words about her never amounting to anything kept replaying in her head.

Sure the money would let her do anything she wanted for now, but she would still be unqualified, unemployed and lonely. Holidays were not much fun by yourself and who could she invite over to her new place?

The old saying was right – money by itself did not make you happy. No, it would have to be what she did with the money. But what?

The question nagged at Isabelle. Logging onto Facebook one morning she sighed morosely. She hadn’t bothered unfriending either Nick or Gina and both their pages were full of fun pictures with their new mates. A few of the girls from school had pages that were similar – countless images of parties and campus life clogged their timelines.

The realisation came to Isabella gradually. She had thought her friends from school were mad to sign up for years more study when they could be earning money and doing what they liked on the weekends. But she had missed the bigger picture – she hadn’t considered the fun factor of student life. It was only now after being stuck in the most un-fun workplace imaginable that she finally got it.

TAFE was an option but the idea didn’t overly appeal, mainly because it would seem like she was copying Nick and Gina. Nick’s comments still stung and she didn’t want to appear to be following his advice.

No, it had to be something bigger and better – like university.

Amid all the daydreams about hanging out on campus and partying on the weekends Isabelle had to keep reminding herself of two key problems – firstly her abysmal school results and secondly the reality she would have to actually study even if she did get in. She had literally never studied in her life.

She was having a pedicure one day when the idea came to her. Why couldn’t she just unofficially go to uni? It wasn’t like school where you had to go to homeroom and have the roll marked after all. Who would actually know she wasn’t an enrolled student? Her winnings would provide an income while she embraced the student lifestyle (and all its advantages) without the work.

She had ignored the signs when Nick and Gina had their epiphany but the universe had given her a second chance, she decided gleefully. And unlike them she would barely have to lift a finger!

Buoyed by her brainwave Isabelle cut short her pedicure, so she could head home and start researching the lifestyle of a pseudo student.

* * * * *

Isabelle was amazed at how her family took the news at face value. Nobody asked to see her acceptance papers, even though she had created a genuine looking set on her computer. Nobody questioned why any self-respecting university would admit her with such poor school results, believing Isabelle’s story that life experience was taken into consideration.

When it came to choosing which university to attend, Isabelle knew it would have to be the University of Queensland. With its prestigious reputation, large enrolment (to allow her to blend in), huge range of courses and the fact it was a beautiful campus to boot, it ticked all the boxes.

As the academic year drew closer, Isabelle attended open days and free lectures to familiarise herself with the university scene. Inventing a scholarship to explain her ability to support herself, Isabelle found herself a unit to rent in Toowong, much nicer than the average student could afford.

Shopping for her new life proved to be a lot of fun. A desk and a laptop were necessities, as was a cool backpack. Isabelle adjusted her wardrobe to trendy yet scruffy. This proved to be more expensive than she had imagined, but in the end she looked the part and that was all that mattered.

The most difficult thing was gaining a student card. Fortunately she had thought ahead and found herself a decent forger on the internet. Isabelle was amazed – and quite disturbed – at the array of false IDs readily available. But, as she kept reminding herself, she wasn’t hurting anybody by her actions. She had no intention of pretending to be a doctor, for example, just a nice, general arts student. Obviously her card was useless for anything official but it would suffice for her needs.

Although very nervous on the first day of O-week, Isabelle soon realised that everybody assumed she was entitled to be there. Nobody asked for her enrolment papers as she attended talks and workshops.

‘Gosh this is all so exciting isn’t it?’ a frizzy haired teenager seated beside Isabelle exclaimed as they awaited an official “welcome to campus” speech.

‘Yeah, it is,’ she agreed.

‘I must admit I’m a bit scared though. I mean, I’m from a tiny town nobody has heard of and I’m living with my great auntie way over in Chermside. What if I don’t make any friends?’

‘Don’t think like that – surely amidst these thousands of people you’ll connect with somebody. Hey, you just did. I’m Isabelle and I’m looking for some new friends too. And I live really close.’

‘Saskia,’ the young woman replied. ‘I’m SO pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise. Now let’s listen to this speech, then get out there and become uni students.’

Taking the smorgasbord approach, Isabelle attended about twenty lectures in the first week before honing in on the four subjects she liked most. Unfettered by pre-requisites or other such details, she only chose subjects that interested her and those with a large enrolment so she could remain anonymous.

Despite the fact Isabelle was a few years older than Saskia and more worldly, the pair soon formed a close, genuine friendship. Although she cultivated several casual friendships in her own subjects, Isabelle was glad that Saskia was studying Business. This allowed her to hone in on Saskia’s new friends and make them hers too without being closely scrutinised about her studies. She joined some clubs as well to cast her friendship net as far as possible.

As she had anticipated, living so close to campus helped cement Isabelle’s unit as a social hub. Far from being annoyed when friends dropped in to hang out or needed a place to crash after a night out, Isabelle loved it. Having no actual uni work to complete, Isabelle’s evenings and weekends were free for as much partying as she liked. And party she did – determined to make up for lost time.

* * * * *

The semester moved along much faster than Isabelle had anticipated. Thirteen weeks sounded so distant at the beginning, but now it was almost at an end. Isabelle observed the shift from the cruisey first weeks to the more frantic pace of assessment deadlines. Lecturers became less forgiving and their expectations of their students increased. People started looking serious and determined, the study carrels in the library became a hot destination and stress hung in the air – an almost tangible weight upon the shoulders of every student.

Every student except for Isabelle, as she experienced none of this stress, although her unit showed evidence of it. Piles of textbooks and papers were scattered across her desk, along with photocopies of journal articles. A semester planner was affixed to her wall with assessment dates duly entered.

It was the last week of semester when the journalist approached Isabelle as she walked along Fred Schonell Drive. Feeling at a bit of a loose end because nobody had time to pop around and hang out, she had headed out to uni hoping to bump into somebody and maybe grab a coffee.

‘Excuse me miss, are you a student here?’ the young woman asked.

‘Uh, yes I am,’ Isabelle replied. Even after a semester she still hesitated when directly asked that question. Fortunately it didn’t happen very often because as long as you were on campus people just assumed you had the right to be there.

‘Great!’ the young woman enthused. ‘My name is Alison and I’m a journalist at The Courier Mail. I’m writing a feature article for education week and I’d love to interview you if you’ve got time.’

‘Um, sure. But why me? I’m sure there’s heaps of other more talented students with a more interesting back story than me.’

‘No, it’s not about that. I’m a real believer in seizing the moment and I’ve just got a great feeling about you.’

Stretched for time due to another assignment taking much longer than planned, in reality Alison had a looming deadline and had headed out to UQ on a whim. Forgetting her earlier ideas about seeking out an “against all odds” subject for her article, she had decided to go traditional and couldn’t believe her luck when she’d literally almost bumped into somebody who totally fit the bill.

Isabelle hesitated for a second and then nodded. ‘Sure, I’d love to.’

‘Excellent! Thanks so much,’ Alison replied. ‘Let’s head up to the coffee shop and have a chat.’

* * * * *

Having had no need to flee to Blue Moon Lake for months, it felt a little strange as Isabelle headed down the familiar dirt road. It was ironic too – this time she needed to hide from her friends not hide the fact she had no friends.

Having told her uni pals she was sitting her exams early so as to attend an overseas wedding, Isabelle had to get out of Brisbane for a while and so her old haunt was the obvious choice. It was a shame she wasn’t there to bask in the glory of the newspaper article but it couldn’t be helped.

Rising early, Isabelle drove into town still in her PJs and collected a paper from the stack outside the general store. Dropping her payment into the honesty box, she realised she should have waited for Elsie to open up so she could gauge her reaction when she realised her brush with fame had finally arrived.

Isabelle had just made herself a coffee when her mobile rang. Reaching over to hit the speaker button she said, ‘Hi Mum’, without preamble.

‘Issie, how did you know it was me?’ her mother replied (she still didn’t get the caller ID thing).

‘Who else would ring me at six am on a Saturday?’

‘Ah, I hope I didn’t wake you.’

‘No, I was up.’

‘I thought as much seeing today was the big day. Gosh Issie, Dad and I are so proud of you! Our daughter chosen as the face of the biggest uni in Queensland! It’s just incredible. All my friends will be green with envy.’

‘It’s not that big a deal, really. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.’

‘Well yes, but I don’t just mean the picture. I mean how you got yourself there in the first place. Let’s face it love you weren’t much chop at school and your dad and I did worry about your future. Then out of the blue you pull yourself up by the bootstraps and enrol at uni! My secret hope for you was a secretarial course or a hairdressing apprenticeship. Gosh I get all teary just thinking about it.’

‘Come on Mum, it’s not that special. Lots of people go to uni.’

‘Not in our family they don’t. You’re a real pioneer Issie.’

Isabelle couldn’t help but smile at that comment. She was a bit of a pioneer, wasn’t she? And the way she figured it, if she expanded her social circle a bit further to include some law or medical students she might just meet someone special and there was her future taken care of.

So much for Nick’s dire prediction about her not amounting to anything.

Ah, yes, she was really on her way now.

Fortified by a large coffee from her beloved De’Longhi, Isabelle gathered her things together and bundled up in her parka before heading out the door. Winter was definitely biting now and she was really looking forward to the arrival of spring.

Locking her door behind her she checked her watch and realised she would have to walk briskly. Despite living so close to campus she still managed to run late most mornings. Not that it really mattered she supposed, but it was something she needed to work on. Then again the icy snow was still thick on the ground so it was just as well she had to walk fast.

Learning to dress in layers and discovering the necessity of a beanie, gloves and a scarf were just a few new life experiences Isabelle was coming to terms with. She walked in the middle of the road because it was the driest part and also simply because she could. Cars were not common in these parts and their approach could be heard far away in the crisp, unpolluted air.

Half an hour later Isabelle sat in a classroom, where she was, in fact, an officially enrolled student with an authentic student ID card. Yes, it was a remote, regional campus of the University of Western Tasmania with an enrolment of 75, housed in an old high school. Isabelle was enrolled in an Ecology degree, a subject in which, admittedly, she had zero interest. The university campus had no proper library and students had to email requests to the main campus with an average waiting time of five days. And yes, it did snow there regularly and the buildings were not centrally heated.

Isabelle had soon learned how the description of a ‘cosy’ atmosphere, small class sizes and a World Heritage location teeming with wildlife had lured her fellow nature-loving students there, whereas she was there with the sole intention of getting a foot in the door.

It had taken some doing.

While her friends at UQ enjoyed their mid-year holidays Isabelle phoned the admissions office of possibly every tertiary institution in Australia that offered a mid-year intake and was prepared to overlook her tragic OP score. Unsurprisingly, most had passed on the opportunity to welcome her into their student body, but finally good old Western Tassie had come to the rescue. They were nearly as desperate as she was, given that their funding would cease if they couldn’t fill their enrolments. Isabelle wasn’t sure who was more excited when her application was accepted, them or her.

She didn’t plan to stay long term – two semesters should be enough to boost her academic record to an acceptable level. Her aim was to go back to UQ as a real student and earn a degree the normal way.

But UWT had some definite advantages. The cost of living was really cheap and the small class sizes meant that Isabelle got all the help she needed to improve her academic standing. Her nest egg was well invested and she even had a job in the aptly named End of the World Cafe. Things had actually turned out better than she could have imagined.

Reading the paper that night, she came across the story of a woman in Melbourne who had faked not only her enrolment in a law degree, but had also earnt herself a job on the strength of her bogus qualifications. Fortunately her ruse had fallen apart quite spectacularly when she took on her first court case. It had soon become apparent that her knowledge of a courtroom had been gleaned from reading legal thrillers and the judge was forced to declare a mistrial. And now she was looking down the barrel of a jail term for fraud. Not to mention a vicious social media hate campaign from her disgruntled client.

Wow, at least I wasn’t that bad, thought Isabella self-righteously.

Looking up at her newspaper article again Isabelle shuddered. Yes, it did showcase what she had gotten away with but it was also a reminder of her own dishonesty and a warning to never sink that low again.

Isabelle liked to think that she would have eventually decided to abandon her charade, that the reality of being unable to attend a graduation ceremony and the expectation she might be qualified to do something other than entry level jobs might have hit home.

In truth though it was the article that had forced her hand. The message from the UQ admissions office had come via The Courier Mail. Wanting to profile Isabelle on the university website they had been unable to locate her on their records and were very keen to speak to her. They were assuming it was a spelling error or that she may have enrolled under a different name but it had been enough to give Isabelle the fright of her life.

Hastily changing her home and mobile phone numbers had given her some breathing space but the thought that people were trying to track her down and that she might be exposed had scared her enough to take a good look at the person she had become.

Yes, Isabelle decided as she set the coffee machine before heading off to bed, she was ashamed of what she had done but she was not totally sorry it had happened. Her experience as a pseudo student had helped her realise that life goals were worth working towards in an honest fashion and also that she did want to make something of her life.

By some stroke of luck she had escaped from the whole situation unscathed and she had the opportunity to make things right.

Surely that wasn’t such a bad thing?

From The Author

Thank you so much for choosing to read Flashback. I hope you enjoyed the three short stories. Keep turning the pages and you will find an excerpt of my first novel, The Beach House, at the end of this book.

If you did enjoy Flashback, I’d love it if you could leave a review on any of the sites such as Amazon or Goodreads. It does not need to be long or complex - just a few sentences can really help other readers discover my books.

You can check out my website for more information about me and my books – www.helenmckenna.com.au You can also connect with me via:

Email: info@helenmckenna.com.au

Facebook: www.facebook.com/HelenMcKenna.Author

Twitter: www.twitter.com/helenmckenna_

Happy Reading!

Helen

About The Author

Helen McKenna lives on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland. She has a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Queensland and has worked in banking, local government and as a biographer and currently works in learning support and as a swimming teacher.

An avid reader from a young age, Helen always dreamed of writing her own novel one day. It took many years for her first book, The Beach House to come to life, but now she has got the hang of it, she hopes to bring many more stories to life in the years to come.

As well as reading and writing, Helen loves to spend time at the beach – either patrolling at her surf club, training for her next ocean swim event or just enjoying the ocean environment.

Other Books By Helen McKenna

The Beach House

Nothing much happens in the small Queensland town of Sunset Point, which is just the way the locals like it.  So when an outsider with grand plans threatens to demolish an iconic local landmark and build a huge resort, the battle lines are drawn.

Young journalist Jessica hopes to make it big with her coverage of the court case, but first she has to appease her editor and put a human-interest spin on the situation.  At first glance the five people she chooses to background have little in common – but it soon becomes apparent that staying at The Beach House has changed all of them in some way.

In telling the stories of Kate, Simone, Tom, Clare and Jack, Jessica too learns some important life lessons.

Purchase HERE

The Perfect Proposal

Matt is a laid-back kind of guy but he is determined to impress his girlfriend Clare with a "perfect proposal". Accepting advice from his family, friends and even strangers he has all the best intentions but just can't seem to pull it off. Will he ever get it right or is the whole marriage thing just not going to happen for him and Clare?

The Perfect Proposal is a short story sequel to two of the characters in The Beach House.

Purchase HERE

Third Offence

To Jack Nolan, young Danny is like a son. Despite Danny’s rough start in life, Jack saw potential in the boy that few others did and encouraged Danny to pursue dreams he never imagined he could achieve.

But an anonymous letter about his long absent father makes Danny question everything. Can he really rise about his background or is his future set in stone?

Jack is a lawyer at the top of his game and there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Danny, who helped him many years ago, as a mere child. But the more Jack uncovers, the more he sees his chances of winning his first criminal case slipping through his fingers.

With time and mounting evidence stacked against them, Jack and Danny negotiate a web of lies and deception, Danny’s dread that history will repeat itself and Jack’s fear that he is in way over his head. Can they actually uncover the truth and, more importantly, will their friendship survive the ordeal?

Third Offence is also a sequel story to The Beach House.

Purchase HERE

Room 46

At first glance there is nothing special about Room 46. Yet once people step across the threshold, unexpected things start to happen.

Grace has been hiding in a cocoon, convinced that the life she once imagined for herself is now unattainable. But from the first time she reluctantly knocks on the door and enters Room 46, her days of retreating from the world are numbered.

Despite inspiring others on a daily basis, Edith continues to be defined by her tragic past. Can her time in Room 46 help her gain the courage to simply be herself again and to live a full life?

And Marion – what’s her story and why is she so invested in what happens in Room 46?

Little does each woman know the hand fate has played in bringing them to this special place to transform their lives in ways they can’t imagine.

Purchase HERE

Preview of The Beach House

By Helen McKenna

PROLOGUE

The Sunset Point School of Arts Hall was not used to such commotion. Built in the 1950s, the modest timber structure had hosted Saturday night dances, debutante balls, ballet classes and the local Eisteddfod each year since 1974. Over the years, it had also seen many town meetings, but never one quite like this. All two hundred seats were filled and dozens more people lined the sides and crowded at the back of the hall. A loud buzz of conversation permeated the room. Four people seated at a long table at the front struggled to maintain order and correct meeting procedure.

‘Order, please!’ Moira Bell said into the microphone. ‘Everybody needs to wait their turn to speak.’

When the crowd ignored Moira’s request, in fact the noise seemed to increase, Jim Stewart gave a shrill whistle. ‘All right!’ he shouted. ‘Calm down! Mr Walton here has something to say.’

Max Walton stood, but was drowned out before he said his first word.

‘Boo! Boo! Boo!’ chorused a gang from the back section.

‘Greedy land grabber!’ bellowed a man in the second row. Heavily built, bearded and dressed in King Gee work clothes, to Max’s eye he looked the type who enjoyed this kind of civil protest.

A young woman standing at the side started a chant. ‘Go away! Go away! Go away!’ It was soon accompanied by rhythmic claps and foot stamping.

Max shook his head, amazed at the ignorance of these people. He wasn’t suggesting a Vegas style casino or a brothel, just a luxurious resort.

Reclaiming the microphone, Jim held it near the amplifier, causing an ear-splitting electronic shriek. The hall gradually fell silent. Jim spoke again, now with no need for the microphone. ‘We all feel very strongly about this, but in the tradition of a democratic society let Mr Walton speak.’

Max took the microphone again. ‘Please just hear what I have to say,’ he began, ignoring the few diehards who continued to boo.

Jim held up his hand and the noise trickled to a murmur.

‘I know you feel very attached to the beach house and you’re right, it is a beautiful building. I want to assure you that it won’t be demolished, just moved to another site right here in Sunset Point.’

‘Yeah, to a scrubby block near the highway with no view,’ said an elderly woman in the front row. Max stared at her in surprise. She looked like such a frail old thing. He was glad her words couldn’t be heard over the increasing volume of conversation returning to the room.

Gamely he continued. ‘You have to understand; the way it is now it is only accessible to a small group of people each year. With the resort I’m proposing, this wonderful site will be available to hundreds at a time. And don’t forget the people staying there don’t just spend money on accommodation; they spend it in your shops, your cafe and your cinema. It means your town can expand and grow.’

‘We don’t want it to grow!’ yelled a middle-aged man from the fifth row. ‘We like it just as it is! We don’t need city problems up here.’

Max shook his head. ‘There doesn’t have to be city problems. We’re talking about modest growth. This is motivated by a genuine desire to help your community.’

The audience erupted again. ‘Come off it,’ yelled the same man, ‘it’s motivated by money and greed. We’re not just small-town hicks without a clue.’

This time the microphone on the amplifier had no effect and Max was booed off the stage.

• • • • •

Two weeks later in the Brisbane office of news magazine The Queensland Reviewer, Jessica Stanton sat at her desk admiring the beautiful bouquet of flowers just delivered to her colleague Vanessa. ‘You’re so lucky Ness,’ she said, trying to keep the envy out of her voice. None of her boyfriends had ever done something so romantic for her.

‘I told you he was perfect,’ Vanessa said as she inhaled the scent of the pink and white roses. Picking up the florist’s card, she read aloud, ‘Budding Blooms. Hmm, I’d heard they do fabulous arrangements. Weren’t they mentioned in a story we did recently?’

Jessica nodded. ‘Yeah, it was one of mine. They did the flowers for that society wedding, you know Amanda McMillan-Byrne and William Ashton?’

‘Oh yeah. It was at Mt Tamborine, right?’

‘Uh huh. The bouquets and centrepieces from Budding Blooms were so exquisite that I interviewed the florist as well and did an extra piece about her.’

‘I don’t remember reading it.’

‘Grant hasn’t run it yet,’ Jessica said.

‘Well, I think I’ll keep their card. I might need their services in the not-too-distant future.’ Vanessa smiled dreamily as she reached for the vase on top of the filing cabinet.

Rolling her eyes, Jessica turned her attention to the memo the editor-in-chief Grant Morris had deposited in her in-tray ten minutes earlier. It was her new story assignment: Landmark legal case in the works for small coastal village of Sunset Point.

Jessica sighed inwardly as she eyed off the attached pile of printed pages. Grant loved extensive background information and he always questioned his staff to make sure they’d actually read it.

With nothing else pressing to finish for the day, Jessica decided to make a start on it before heading over to Indooroopilly. It was late-night shopping and she’d arranged to meet her sister so they could buy their mother’s birthday present.

Turning off her computer to avoid distractions, Jessica leaned back in her chair and began to read the background synopsis.

Sunset Point is a small town on an undeveloped section of the central Queensland coastline. Featuring a popular swimming and surfing beach, the town, with a permanent population of around three thousand, is flooded with holiday makers during the summer months and school holiday periods. A beachfront caravan park/campground and several small beach shacks cater for holiday visitors.

The other landmark of Sunset Point is a heritage-listed Queenslander known locally as “The Beach House”. Set on what is considered to be the finest piece of land in the town, it was built almost 100 years ago by Clem McMaster, a local sawmill worker, after winning the lottery.

Jessica paused in her reading and studied the exterior photos of the house. It was indeed a beautiful old building. She could imagine holidaymakers relaxing on the veranda enjoying the cool beach vibe while their beach towels hung drying on the wooden railings.

I haven’t been to the beach in ages, she thought. I might head down to the Gold Coast this weekend. It’s still too cold to swim but I’ll go early and have a nice walk and … Realising she was daydreaming, she shook her head and turned her attention back to the pages in her hand.

Clem’s eldest son Richard inherited the house and initially it was a private holiday retreat but was later converted into an exclusive health resort. On Richard’s death, ownership of the house passed on to his only son James, a man of vision who was cynical about the class structure that still existed in twentieth century society. Although born into wealth – thanks to his grandfather’s careful investments – James felt restricted by wealth and the associated expectations of society. Determined that the beach house would not be an exclusive domain of the wealthy, James opened it up as a regular holiday rental.

Glancing at her watch, Jessica noticed it was almost five o’clock. Her workmates were starting to pack up, including Vanessa with her huge bunch of flowers. She should get going too. But now she was this far into her reading, she may as well finish before she left. Waving goodbye to her colleagues, she slid off the uncomfortable shoes she’d been trying to wear in for the past week and continued reading.

Critical of the trappings of the modern world, the only conveniences James allowed in the house were a radio and a telephone, ruling that no television was ever to be installed. Further clauses were added by the Beach House committee (see note below) as technology developed to also prohibit the internet and any electronic devices.

James never married nor had any children, so he willed the house to the town of Sunset Point. However, in order to maintain ownership, the house could never be sold or removed from the site, nor the land subdivided. The aforementioned conditions instigated by James also needed to remain intact. The rental income from the property was to be divided among approved local charities.  A management committee, with strictly regulated membership, was formed to oversee the house and to ensure that James’s wishes were upheld.

Jessica turned the page but the back of the paper was blank. Annoyed, she shuffled through the pages in her In tray, but the rest of the information wasn’t there either. Knowing Grant would still be in his office, she made her way down the hall.

Looking up when Jessica appeared at his door, Grant checked his watch and shot her a quizzical glance.

‘Yes, I know - it’s after five and I’m still here. That deserves some brownie points, doesn’t it?’ Jessica smiled hopefully.

Grant shrugged. ‘I guess so. You came down just to tell me that?’

‘Of course not. That background info you gave me about the beach house story, there’s some pages missing.’

‘I’m still reading it myself,’ Grant said, holding up a few sheets of paper. ‘I figured I had at least until tomorrow before you got around to reading the first part.’

Jessica came in and sat down. ‘I had a few spare minutes so I thought I’d get started on it today and I hate leaving things half-read. I’m just up to the part about the committee.’

‘Intriguing story, isn’t it? Not your average small-town-versus-developer scenario.’ Grant raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

‘No, it’s way more than that. But you left me hanging. What happened with the committee?’

‘Well, the committee, a group of upstanding local citizens, has done its job excellently for the past twenty-five years without any problem. The community is happy, the people who stay in the house are happy.’

‘What’s the angle, then? How can the developer even mount a court case?’

‘Ah, this is where it gets a bit murky. Their local council was amalgamated two years ago. So now their former mayor, who is very conservative, is just one of fourteen councillors on a much larger regional council. And the new mayor is very pro-development.’

‘What about the heritage listing?’

‘Well, because he’s promising to move the building fully intact to another site in the same area, it’s not an issue.’

‘How did this Max guy even find out about the house?’

‘His car broke down and he spent two days in Sunset Point waiting for a new head gasket. Apparently, he did some exploring and cast his developer’s eye over the house site and adjoining blocks. His expensive legal team then found him a loophole in the regulations – the local council, which is now the regional council, has the discretion to modify the ownership clause in extraordinary circumstances.’

‘How is this extraordinary?’

‘Two of the amalgamated shires had major debt and one of the former mayors was deposed for embezzlement just before the election. The sale of this land would make a fair hole in their budget deficit.’

‘What about the adjoining blocks? Can’t he buy them instead?’

‘Yes, possibly, but they aren’t worth much without the beach house site. It’s got the access and the beach frontage. This resort he’s planning is huge and he needs all the land.’

‘So now it’s going to court and you want me to follow the case?’ Jessica asked, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of her by-line appearing on something that was sure to capture a lot of public attention. This was the kind of story that could get her noticed. After almost a year working here, Grant was finally giving her something exciting to write about.

Grant held his hand up in a calming gesture. ‘Hang on there, Jess. Yes, you can do the court case, but I want to set the scene first. We ran a brief filler piece last fortnight that also ran in the New South Wales and Victorian editions. I’ve had a stack of emails, letters and phone calls from people who’ve stayed there and they’ve all got a story to tell. So, I want you to interview five of them and see what comes up. They’re all surprisingly passionate about saving the house.’

Jessica reached over and took the pile of printed pages from Grant. She stood up but paused before leaving. ‘I get how they can block the internet by not having any kind of modem or wireless set up in the house, but how can you stop people taking their gadgets with them?’

‘Ah, young Gen-Y Jessica, we can survive without technology you know,’ Grant said with a smile. ‘Apparently, they use the old-fashioned honour system. Obviously they can’t search people’s belongings but each tenant is asked not to bring those items and, on arrival, the real estate agent reminds them again of the house rules. Maybe it’s like the old adage, if you do cheat then you’re only cheating yourself.’

Jessica, who was very attached to her own gadgets, raised her eyebrows. ‘How so?’

‘Read the emails and my phone call summaries and you’ll start to understand.’

Jessica took the pages back to her desk but set them aside. She would humour Grant and do the human-interest stories, but her first priority was getting some background information on Max Walton. Then, when she wrote about the court case, the thoroughness of her research skills would be evident. That was the kind of thing major daily newspaper editors looked for in their staff.

Turning her computer back on, Jessica logged onto the internet and googled “Malton Construction and Development”. Scrolling through the numerous pages returned by the search, she felt a frisson of excitement. This thing was going to be big. Max Walton was a heavyweight in coastal development and he wasn’t afraid of controversy. He’d already won two lawsuits against local governments that had tried to block his construction projects in their areas.

Clicking on a link Jessica looked at a photograph of Malton’s newest resort in Western Australia. It was magnificent but, according to the caption, not entirely welcome. Apparently the town of Moon Bay had also been divided about whether it should go ahead. Jessica scribbled the name in her notebook. She’d have to find out what their local paper was called and look up some story clips. Hopefully it would give her some ideas.

Grant stopped at Jessica’s cubicle at six thirty, carrying his briefcase. Totally engrossed in an article about Max’s last court case, she jumped in fright when he spoke.

‘Jess, you know I love a dedicated worker but I don’t want you walking to your car in the dark by yourself.’

Jessica bookmarked the web page and hit the hibernate key. ‘Yes, I know, safety first. In any case, I’m supposed to be at Indro now, selecting my mother’s birthday gift. My sister will kill me for being late.’

Grant held the back door open and Jessica walked past him into the almost empty car park. Waiting while she unlocked her car, Grant checked his phone. ‘My wife just texted me to say that if I wasn’t home in twenty minutes, the dog is getting my dinner,’ he said, sliding his Blackberry into his back pocket.

‘I hope the traffic’s not too bad then.’ Jessica grinned as she threw her bag on the passenger seat.

‘Me too. If that mutt gets lasagne and I’m stuck with beans on toast I won’t be very happy.’

Jessica paused for a moment, standing between the open car door and the driver’s seat. ‘Thanks for walking me out. You get here about seven most mornings, don’t you?’

‘I do indeed, sometimes a bit earlier when we’re on deadline. Should I expect to see you here early too tomorrow?’

Jessica nodded. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’

• • • • •

Almost a week later, Jessica finalised her list of interviewees. It had taken longer than planned to sift through the emails and call summaries to determine which ones to use. Frankly she thought Grant was putting too much emphasis on this angle, rather than backgrounding Max Walton and his development empire, but she had to keep him sweet or he might put someone more experienced on the court case.

Just play by the rules Jessica, she kept reminding herself.

Sitting in Grant’s office later, she tapped her foot on the carpeted floor, as he examined the list. Grant had the ability to read through information without showing any change in facial expression, so Jessica had no idea what he was thinking. Eventually he looked up and nodded.

‘Good work, Jess. I like the mix of backgrounds and it’s a nice even timeline.’

‘Well, that just kind of fell into place. I wasn’t really aiming for any particular era. But I think it would be good if we ran them in sequence.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ said Grant. ‘But what about the interstate ones? Phone interviews? Or are you going to Skype them?’ Grant had no problems with using technology, but he did think that sometimes the younger staff relied on it too much, rather than developing more intuitive journalistic skills.

‘No, it’s all old school, face to face, and it’s not costing you much at all. I managed to work them into my Melbourne trip.’

‘Trip?’

Jessica swallowed her impatience. ‘I’m going to Melbourne for a wedding. Remember, I asked you for next Friday off? I’ll need the Monday and Tuesday too, now, so I can come back via Sydney.’

‘Right, right, sure, I remember and yes, you can take the extra days. That’s good if you can do it that way.’ Grant eyed his newest reporter. ‘This is a pretty big task, Jess. Are you sure you’re up to it? We can divide the interviews up, if you want.’

Jessica shook her head. There was no way she was letting anyone muscle in on this assignment and potentially steal the story of the year. ‘No, it’s totally fine. I don’t mind doing some extra hours.’

‘All right, then. I must say, I’m glad that you seem to have lost your aversion to human interest stories. Like I’ve told you numerous times already, journalism is not always about the big headlines.’

Jessica smiled benignly, desperately hoping she looked sincere. ‘What can I say? You’re right again, boss.’

KATE — 1991

Kate Green added another fancy swirl to the elaborate doodle she was creating in her notebook. It was one of her best yet, taking up almost half a page. Turning the book on its side she was eyeing her work of art critically when she heard her name called. Flinching, she cast her eyes to the front of the classroom, mortified to have been caught daydreaming.

The blackboard was covered in writing and diagrams, but gave no real clue of the question she had just been asked.

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but then noticed other students returning to their seats holding papers and realised the lecturer was handing back their last assignment. Breathing a sigh of relief, she slunk down to the front desk, keeping her eyes downcast as she grabbed her assignment from the pile so as to avoid the stern gaze of Associate Professor Harold Frezwar.

A tall, rotund, balding man who habitually wore a starched white shirt and a tie, Harold Frezwar lived and breathed economics and expected the same enthusiasm from his students. Considering she had zero passion for the subject, theirs was not a very warm affiliation.

Kate’s heart began to pound as she made her way back to her seat. I’m sure I’ve failed, she thought grimly. I threw this together at the very last moment with only the vaguest understanding of the subject matter. Harold is such a hard marker, there’s no way he would have passed it.

Sitting back down, Kate put her assignment on the desk but couldn’t bring herself to flip it over and read her grade on the back. She had hoped for another few days of grace before this particular nightmare came back to haunt her.

Harold’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘All in all, the standard of the essays was reasonable,’ he intoned. ‘Although, of course, there were several that I simply could not pass.’ Pausing dramatically, he cast his unyielding gaze around the room, settling, it seemed, right on Kate.

Heat suffused her neck and face. Just get it over with, she thought. Open the stupid thing and see how badly you actually did. Taking a deep breath, she turned the stack of pages over to reveal the grading sheet with her mark written boldly in red.

53%.

Kate stared at the numbers for a moment, certain she must be seeing things. She had passed! Just barely, but it was enough. Exhaling sharply, she smiled in relief. Somehow, she had scraped through again, but, at the same time, she knew her luck couldn’t hold out forever. At some point she was going to have to shake off this apathy.

Noticing the time, Kate packed up her belongings and as soon as Harold dismissed the class, she bolted out the door.

It was a hot October day. Kate fanned herself with a notebook as she sat near the main entrance to Queensland University of Technology, sweltering in the midday sun. Checking her watch, she sighed impatiently. Her friend Fiona was always late. Even when she gave a fake meeting time quarter of an hour earlier than the actual time, Fiona never showed up first.

Ten minutes later Fiona finally emerged. She jostled her way through the crowds of students milling around the campus entrance and jogged towards Kate. Why does she bother rushing now? wondered Kate, as she stood and slung her backpack over her shoulder. She’s already this late, what’s another minute?

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Fiona said, as she bustled over. ‘The queue for the photocopier was huge and then I couldn’t find my library card. I had to unpack my whole purse, then I realised it was in my pocket all along.’

Kate nodded. At least her excuses were original. She rarely used the same one twice.

‘How come we’re meeting this early, anyway?’ Fiona asked, as she unscrewed the lid off her water bottle. ‘Didn’t you have that tute for accounting?’

‘Nah, decided to ditch it.’

‘Well, shopping is definitely more exciting,’ Fiona said before taking a swig of water. ‘And you’ve gotta love the fact that the Queen Street Mall is right on our doorstep.’

‘Absolutely,’ Kate agreed.

It was late afternoon when they disembarked from the bus, each holding a shopping bag. ‘Are you sure your mum doesn’t mind me coming over for dinner again?’ Kate asked.

‘Nah, she sees it as her civic duty to ensure you get a home cooked meal as often as possible.’

They both laughed.

A carpet of jacaranda blooms littered the nature strip in Fiona’s street. ‘They’re so pretty,’ Kate said, as they sloughed through them. ‘And they make you realise summer is not far away.’

‘Yeah, but watch your head,’ Fiona advised.

‘What?’

‘Haven’t you heard the University of Queensland legend that if a bloom falls on your head during exam time then you’re destined to fail?’

Kate leapt back onto the bitumen and cast a fearful eye up at the tree, lest a whole branch come crashing down on her. Then she laughed. ‘We don’t even go to UQ and exams are still ages away.’

• • • • •

Even with the end of the semester looming, The Victory pub was packed on Saturday night two weeks later. Happy hour was in full swing and Kate was relieved to see that she and her friends weren’t the only ones who had ditched studying for the night.

‘Mel and her friends are working on some group assignment,’ she yelled in Fiona’s ear. ‘So it’s not like I’d be able to study anyway with them all there.’

Hiking up her precarious strapless top Fiona gave a wry smile. ‘Yeah, how inconsiderate,’ she yelled back. ‘Forcing you to go out and party instead.’

Kate poked out her tongue. Fiona grinned in reply as she adjusted her top again.

Fixing a carefree expression on her face Kate sipped her West Coast Cooler and bopped along to Hunters and Collectors. Fiona was so lucky she could get away with such a revealing outfit. Her own top was much more sedate. No matter what they said about black being slimming, it was difficult to disguise the eight extra kilos she had gained this year. She wasn’t overweight exactly, but not slender anymore either. It was something she had always taken for granted before.

Fiona leaned over to shout in Kate’s ear again. ‘Are you going to stay sharing with Mel next year?’

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Kate shrugged. ‘Who knows? Anyway, I might not even be here next year.’

Placing her empty glass on a table, Fiona grabbed Kate’s wrist. ‘You’re not really thinking about leaving, are you?’

Sighing, Kate shrugged again. ‘I don’t know! I just can’t stand the thought of studying business for another two whole years.’

‘Then change courses. You’re getting good at that,’ Fiona smirked.

‘I know, I know, all the chopping and changing has been a bit ridiculous – but I really wanted to do criminal psychology. I can’t believe they rejected me.’

‘Well they’re a bit of a snobby bunch at SEQU,’ Fiona said, pronouncing it SeeKwoo rather than by its initials. ‘Would you really want to go there?’

‘Yes, I would, I really had my heart set on it. Two more years is such a long time to endure economics and accounting.’

Fiona adjusted her top again. ‘Yeah, maybe, but think of the partying you’ll miss if you leave. Come on, Kate, nobody enjoys studying, it’s the lifestyle we’re here for. We’ve got two more years to have fun, enjoy long holidays and make the most of being young and carefree. Then when we’re finished we can bum around Europe for a year or something.’

Kate took her last mouthful of West Coast and set the bottle on the table. ‘Fine, I’ll think about it.’

‘I know you, Kate – the minute you have to start writing job applications, you’ll cut your losses and decide to stay.’

Early the next afternoon Kate stared glassy eyed at the cars hurtling around the racetrack. I’m really scraping the bottom of the barrel, she decided as she lay listlessly on the couch. Motor racing is the watching paint dry of weekend TV and I’m using it as a distraction.

Hauling herself to her feet a few minutes later, she flicked the TV off before gathering the various sections of The Sunday Mail into a semi-neat pile. Salvaging the sealed hand wipe and extra napkin from the KFC box, Kate dumped them in the junk basket on the kitchen bench before heading to her room.

Finally seated at her desk, Kate ploughed through her economics questions. Frustrated to know so few of the answers, she started doodling. WHO CARES??? she scrawled under question five. Well, it was lucky that some people did care, or else the world economy would be in lots of trouble. It wasn’t that she didn’t see the point of economics, she had just realised early on that it wasn’t something she wanted to spend time thinking about.

Eventually tossing the worksheet aside, she moved on to accounting. No more appealing than economics, Kate struggled to stay focused once again. Having missed tutorials for the past three weeks, she cursed her own laziness. She would definitely attend tomorrow and round up notes from someone.

At eight thirty Kate shuffled out to the kitchen in search of something to eat. While Mel’s shelves held a reasonable stockpile of food, hers were depressingly empty. Even if she had the energy to go out in search of take-away, her options at this time on a Sunday night were limited. And she wasn’t quite desperate enough to risk eating a hot dog from the servo down the road.

Making a face, Kate grabbed her last can of baked beans and stole a slice of Mel’s bread to make toast. Upending the beans into a bowl, she stuck it in the microwave and set the timer.

Nothing happened.

‘No, don’t do this now,’ she cried, giving the console a well-practised thump.

Still nothing.

I’ve had it with this stupid thing, Kate fumed, banging her hand down on top of it. This time she was rewarded with a welcome hum.

As the beans spun around slowly, she clicked the TV on. I’ll just watch while I eat, she reasoned. Then I’ll get back to it.

Beans and toast in hand Kate plonked onto the couch and channel surfed for a few moments, eager for any diversion from uni work. She found it in Back To The Future. ‘Cool!’ she exclaimed, happy to have stumbled across one of her favourite movies.

Having seen the movie countless times on video, Kate decided she would only watch until nine thirty. But inevitably that deadline came and went. At ten o’clock she conceded it was too late to start studying again and instead kept watching until the credits rolled. As she collapsed into bed at ten forty-five, Kate promised herself that this coming week she would really get motivated.

• • • • •

Five days later, Kate took in the familiar surrounds of her guidance counsellor’s office, before glancing again at the commemorative World Expo ’88 clock on the wall. The secretary had shown her in and assured her that Patricia was coming, but it was now nine thirty and her appointment had been for twenty past. Like Fiona, Patricia always seemed to be running late.

When she finally bustled in, Kate was sure she caught a hint of impatience in her greeting. ‘Kate, hello… again,’ she murmured, dumping a pile of folders on an already overloaded desk.

A short, plump woman with steel grey hair, Patricia always looked a little harassed. Or maybe it’s just in my presence, Kate thought. I must be one of the ficklest students she has ever come across.

‘So, what can I do for you today?’ Patricia asked, lowering herself carefully onto her bright pink swivel chair.

‘I’m just letting you know I’ll soon be out of your hair,’ Kate said. ‘I’m going to withdraw.’

Patricia’s face softened. ‘Well, we did talk about that. I think taking a year out would be a really good thing for you. It will give you a chance to work out what you really want to do. And you’ll have this year’s credit to use as a building block for something else. Just let them know at admin.’

‘No, I mean I’m withdrawing now. As of today.’

Patricia’s jaw dropped. ‘What on earth for? There’s only one week until study break.’

‘I’ve had enough. All week I’ve been sitting in lectures and tutes gradually coming to the realisation there’s no way I can catch up. What’s the point in sitting exams I’m going to fail?’

‘But you’ll get four fails on your transcript anyway if you withdraw now. If you at least try, you might make a conceded pass or even a pass. It will give you lots more options.’

‘No, my mind is made up,’ Kate assured her. ‘Not getting into criminal psychology was obviously a sign. I’m just not meant to be at university. Thanks for all your help anyway.’ Kate smiled as she stood to leave, revelling in the sense of relief her decision had brought about.

Patricia stood too. ‘Oh Kate, I wish you wouldn’t. Please think about this more! At the very least don’t officially drop out yet. I’d hate you to change your mind.’

Kate shook her head as she walked to the door. ‘Trust me, I won’t.’

• • • • •

Kate sat up straight and peered out the window at the green road sign in the distance. Could it actually be…? Yes, it was! Sunset Point 10km. She sighed in relief. Long bus journeys were such a bore and thanks to road works on the two-lane highway, this one had turned into a marathon.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Reaching into her backpack Kate pulled out the letter and read it again.

Dear Miss Green,

We are pleased to advise that your application to enrol in the Bachelor of Criminal Psychology course has been tentatively approved. Once we have been officially advised of your successful completion of this semester’s units with a GPA of at least 4.5, you will be sent the next part of the application pack. Please note that any fail grades on your academic transcript will disqualify you from entry to this program. Furthermore, should you not accept this position you will not be eligible to reapply for three years.

Yours truly,

Sarah Lowes

Assistant Dean, Department of Psychology

South-East QLD University

It had taken a lot of convincing, on both Patricia and her mother’s behalf, before Kate decided to give her exams one more shot. As Patricia had pointed out, she had managed to bluff her way through the year without much effort and she had a favourable exam timetable, with her first exam five days in. If she really put her mind to it, maybe she could pull it off.

Twenty minutes later, Kate watched idly as the driver unloaded the luggage, not minding that hers was the last to come off. Anything that delayed the reality of serious study was welcome at this point.

Dragging her bag behind her, Kate hailed the lone taxi waiting nearby. The house wasn’t far away but her bag was full of textbooks and way too heavy to carry any distance.

‘Whew,’ the taxi driver said, putting it in the boot. ‘Are you building a house with those bricks?’

Kate smiled politely but didn’t encourage any conversation. She was lost in thought as the car made its short journey towards Blue Pacific Boulevard, summing up in her mind the pros of coming to a beach house to study. Firstly, getting away from people and things that could distract her made sense. Secondly, there wasn’t even a TV in the house. Thirdly, she’d always found the beach to be very relaxing. Maybe being close to the ocean would help her really focus.

The driver carried her bag up onto the veranda. Kate handed him a ten-dollar note and told him to keep the change.

‘No, love, I couldn’t,’ he said, handing her back some dollar coins.

He gave a friendly wave as he drove away and Kate hoped that such a positive start to her time here was a good omen.

The Beach House can be purchased HERE