Once Upon a Breakfast Show

1

‘Mum, you’re going to miss the first live-talk break.’

Blake sprinted across the radio-station car park, two trays of coffee balanced along her left arm, handbag bouncing against her hip. Her Nike Airs squeaked against the bitumen with each step.

Behind her, Morgan jogged steadily, a coffee tray in one hand and an iPad in the other. Twelve going on forty-two.

Blake reached the fire exit first, crouched, and set down the trays before plunging elbow-deep into her bag.

She muttered to herself, listing the contents as though naming suspects in a crime: ‘Keys, receipts, rogue Mentos, lip balm, tampons, another bloody receipt…Come on, you slippery little bastard.’

She paused, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

Morgan kept her eyes on her iPad. ‘You’ve forgotten your pass again.’

‘I haven’t forgotten it,’ Blake protested. ‘It’s probably just unionised with my bobby pins here somewhere.’

Morgan said, already tapping, ‘I’ll message Chelsea.’

‘I’ll try Sam,’ Blake added, thumb hovering over his contact.

He was still in her phone as Sam (button pusher).

Before she could press call, the fire door at the top creaked open and Keira appeared, backlit by fluorescent lighting, vape curling around her in a grape-scented haze.

No one who has to be in the newsroom by 3 am should look that good.

‘Well, well,’ Keira drawled. ‘Look who’s trying to break in.’

Blake plastered on her best please-save-me smile. ‘Keira! Finished the six o’clock headlines already?’

Keira exhaled slowly. ‘You know they wait until the show opener kicks in before they genuinely panic about you, right?’ She checked her watch.

‘Can we move this along? I have prep for the six-thirty update. The premier’s announcing new transport funding.

And I wouldn’t mind a moment to myself.’ She exhaled a stream of vape.

From deep inside the studio, the traffic report had already started. It was less than two minutes until Blake was live. Her pulse quickened. Shit.

She thrust a coffee at Keira. ‘Double-shot cap. No sugar. Thank you, our post-headlines-vaping goddess.’

Keira raised an eyebrow, took the cup, and stepped aside. ‘Lucky, I run on caffeine and contempt. Try not to knock anything over on your way in, you’re live in ninety seconds.’

As they hurried in, Morgan whispered, ‘Smells like Hubba-Bubba.’

Blake shot her daughter a warning look. ‘Yeah. Promise me you’ll say no to vapes. I can’t believe my baby’s starting high school today.’

Morgan rolled her eyes, unimpressed, but a flicker of anxiety crossed her face.

‘You know, Mum,’ she began, her tone matter-of-fact, ‘vape aerosols can contain nearly two thousand chemicals, many of which are unidentified, and some are known to be harmful, like formaldehyde, acetaldehyde, acrolein and heavy metals like nickel and lead.’

Blake’s heart squeezed. She recognised deflection when she saw it. Morgan always retreated into facts when nervous. ‘All right, Miss Science,’ she replied, ‘just promise me you’ll steer clear of them, okay? No vaping in the girls toilets.’

‘I don’t even know where anything is at the new school,’ Morgan admitted quietly. ‘What if I can’t find the girls toilets, or my classes? What if no one talks to me?’

‘Hey,’ Blake said, stopping briefly to squeeze her daughter’s shoulder. ‘You’ve got this. And if you get lost, just ask. It’s the start of the term; you won’t be the only lost new kid, I promise.’

They emerged breathless into the brightly lit hallway, posters of past station events crowding the walls. The ON AIR sign wasn’t glowing red yet. She still had time. Blake hurried past the open-plan sales desks towards the producer’s station.

Chelsea sat at the main producer desk with multiple screens showing running orders and caller queues, while Britt worked at a smaller station to her left, monitoring social-media feeds on three iPads. Sam operated the panel from inside the studio itself, adjusting levels and cueing audio.

‘Morning, legends,’ Blake breathed, placing Britt’s hot chocolate beside her. ‘Still caffeine-free, right? Keeping our junior social producer fuelled with sugar instead.’

Britt looked surprised and smiled. ‘Yeah. Thanks. We’ve already got 117 comments on yesterday’s video where you curtsied to the prime minister.’

‘I didn’t know you weren’t meant to curtsy,’ Blake protested. ‘We interview MAFS contestants and touring pop stars. This is FM breakfast radio, not hard-hitting politics.’

Chelsea looked up from her screen. ‘Well, if you’d read the prep sheet I gave you, you wouldn’t have made a dick of yourself. Now get in there, you’ve got forty-five seconds.’

Blake turned to Chelsea, offering her coffee and an apologetic shrug. ‘Large oat flat white for our fearless executive producer, exactly how you like it.’

‘Thirty-two seconds,’ Chelsea murmured, writing madly on the whiteboard that listed the morning’s segments.

Blake grinned. ‘But I got the orders right.’

Chelsea gave a one-shouldered shrug, lips twitching into a subtle smile. ‘That’s something. Pre-record slots are already loaded for your school run. Just make sure you’re back in time for the 9 am with Steve.’

Morgan had already found a spare chair and was setting up her iPad at the edge of the producer desk, trying to stay out of everyone’s way. Blake gave her a quick thumbs-up before heading into the studio.

She pushed through the studio airlock doors with their awkward pull-then-push mechanism, and slid into her chair behind her mic just as the ‘Mack and Blake in the Morning’ jingle filled the studio. Her pulse thrummed; adrenaline replaced panic, a familiar rush she secretly loved.

Sam glanced up from the panel, his expression easing into relief as Blake placed his flat white beside him. ‘Bless you,’ he murmured, fingers already dancing across the touchscreen as he prepped the next segment.

Blake put the last cup in front of her co-host, Mack, with exaggerated flourish. ‘Extra-hot cappuccino, single pump caramel, extra choc sprinkles. Exactly as obnoxious grown men prefer it.’

Mack sniffed approvingly. ‘You finally got it right.’

‘Only took over a decade and a vision board.’

The ON AIR began to blink, the mics lit up red, and Mack leaned in, his polished voice filling the airwaves. ‘Good morning, Melbourne! It’s six-oh-three, school zones are back, and so is my off-sider, the always punctual, always caffeinated, running entirely on sheer willpower…Blake?’

‘Morning!’ Blake chirped, still catching her breath. ‘Shoutout to my fellow carpool chaos crew: under-caffeinated, overscheduled, running on vibes alone. You’re not on your own.’

Mack raised an amused brow. ‘Oddly specific.’

Blake grinned. ‘Can’t be libellous if it’s true. I nailed everyone’s coffee today. I’m basically a domestic goddess.’

Mack eyed her shirt critically. ‘Interesting statement for someone whose shirt is inside out.’

Blake glanced down. ‘Damn it.’

‘And very glamorous today,’ Mack said. ‘Is that…blush?’

‘Liquid blush,’ Blake retorted. ‘Trying something new.’

‘Impressing someone?’ Mack leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Perhaps someone from last night’s date?’

Blake narrowed her eyes. ‘Careful, I’ll walk out and let you back-announce tracks solo.’

He grinned. ‘We’ll unpack that properly after eight.’

Blake forced a bright tone. ‘Coming up, your chance at fifty grand. We’ll tell you exactly when to call. If you’re anything like me, you’ll forget, panic, call anyway, and hope for the best.’

‘Controlled chaos is our brand,’ Mack added cheerfully.

Sam hit the button, so the song lyrics hit right on Mack’s punchline. Mics off, Chelsea slipped through the studio door, clipboard in hand. ‘Blake, you’re taking the Capaldi back-announce. Mack, school-lunch promo before seven. Remember we’re crossing to the street teamers live after eight.’

Mack eyed Morgan through the glass. ‘Bring-your-kid-to-work day is it?’

Blake stiffened. ‘First day of high school. I just wanted to drop her off.’

‘Clocking off after this?’

Blake gave a quick nod. Chelsea had the pre-records sorted.

Mack sighed theatrically, but Chelsea cut him off. ‘She put it in the WhatsApp yesterday if you bothered to check. And she’s often here until 4 pm of an afternoon prepping for the next day’s show. We don’t all punch out at 10.15 like you.’

Chelsea smoothly pulled the first airlock door, then bumped the second with her hip on the way out.

Watching her return to the producer desk, Blake’s eyes landed on Morgan.

She was already absorbed in her iPad while Britt monitored the feeds.

Blake’s chest tightened. How was her little girl so grown up already?

The show rolled on seamlessly through traffic updates, weather, and Keira’s 6.30 news bulletin. More songs, more banter, time checks every few minutes. By 8 am, Blake had found her rhythm.

After Keira delivered the news headlines, the show opener swept back in. Mack leaned into his mic with practised ease.

‘Welcome back to Mack and Blake in the Morning. If you’ve already forgotten to pack your kid’s lunch, our street team has you covered.

You can spot them sporting the station colours and the decked-out promo ute at Ascot Vale Primary.

Cheesymite scrolls, apples, poppers, and even a Wagon Wheel if you’re feeling nostalgic. ’

Blake leaned into her mic. ‘And, mums and dads, if you haven’t had your coffee yet, grab a croissant while you’re there. Tell them Blake sent you. They’ll have no clue what it means but pretending I’m important makes me feel alive.’

Mack turned towards her. ‘Speaking of pretending you’re important, word on the street is you had a date last night, Blakey?’

She groaned, playing along, though her stomach tightened with dread. ‘Allegedly.’

‘Sooooo…how exactly did you two meet?’

Blake sighed dramatically. ‘The same way everyone does in 2026, on Bumble.’

‘Melbourne demands more details.’