CHAPTER 40
‘I lost,’ I repeat. The words are playing on a loop in my head.
It’s my new mantra. I lost, I lost, I lost. The corollary (Archie won) is still too painful to consider.
I’m furious with myself for being shocked, but I am, and that only makes it worse.
Why am I surprised Archie won? He wins everything. I’d literally just told him that.
‘But no one saw,’ presses Boss. ‘The only game they witnessed was an absolute flogging. You were the one who taught me it’s all about optics. They’ll remember what they saw, not what they’re told.’
I harrumph into my anchovy toast. ‘Archie might tell them, though.’
‘Who cares?’ Boss takes a deep sip of his wine. ‘They don’t matter.’
‘Yes, they do. They’re literally the voice of the nation.’
Boss chuckles indulgently. ‘Yeah, but they’re bogans. Larry can’t even iron a shirt.’
I squint at Boss. ‘You realise I’m on the phone to them every day? That I work with those journos almost as much as I work with you?’
Boss smiles. ‘You misunderstand what I’m saying. Even if they do believe Archie, you shouldn’t care because you don’t need people like that, Mill. They’re losers.’
I choke slightly on my toast and beat my chest with my fist. Even after all these years, Boss still has an extremely cavalier attitude to the people who can bring down his career by simply tapping on a laptop.
I suppose it’s because I’ve always kept him at arms-length from the journos.
He doesn’t know that Kendra managed to win a Walkley Award while singlehandedly raising three kids, one of whom has a disability.
He doesn’t know Larry volunteers at Meals on Wheels when he’s not on the late shift.
Their professional goals may be diametrically opposed to ours, but they’re good people. Which reminds me …
‘Have you smoothed things over with Nancy? We’ll need her vote if the teacher payrise is going to get through after the election.’
Boss crinkles his nose. ‘I’ve decided the payrise isn’t my priority at the moment.’
I frown. ‘But all the policy advice points to it being a great investment.’
Boss’s voice is unapologetic. ‘I know, Mill. But the Nancy thing has changed the dynamics in the party room.’
I huff. ‘So because of Archie’s story, you can’t win over the party room, so our teachers won’t get their long-overdue payrise?’
Boss lifts a shoulder. ‘Yet another reason to hate Nancy Miller.’
Or Archie.
I scowl into my wineglass. The malbec has already settled a fuzzy haze around my temples. ‘Do you ever worry we’re too similar?’ I ask suddenly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a risk, isn’t it? The most successful people have staff around them who balance them, and who bring out their hidden sides, widen their perspectives. We basically have the same brain.’
‘No.’ Boss shakes his head and has another sip of wine. ‘We’re nothing alike.’
I set down my wineglass and hold up my index finger. ‘One, we have the same coffee order. Two,’ I say, extending, another finger, ‘we both unfailingly choose Smooth FM over KIIS.’
‘Because we have ears.’
‘Three,’ I continue, holding out another finger, ‘we work ridiculously long hours, to the detriment of our personal lives. Four, our political radars are so attuned to each other’s that we’re basically running from the same sonar station.
And five, our favourite pastime is bitching about the crossbench.
’ I’m now holding out all four fingers and a thumb.
Boss laughs. ‘One,’ he says as he puts his forefinger over mine to bend it down to my palm, ‘I have much better taste than you in wine. Two, I’ve never worn a pencil skirt in my life.
Three, I’m still not clear what “pedagogy” means.
Four, I’m an old schlob, and five, you’re a beautiful young woman with the world at your feet. We’re not alike at all.’
His hand is now covering mine. ‘You’re not a schlob,’ I say, suddenly aware that this is a very strange thing to be saying to my boss while we’re technically holding hands, despite the hand-holding having evolved from a very rational and grown-up debate.
I pull my hand back to my wineglass and take a sip. Boss has the ability to select delectable wines, and I am generally a willing drinker of these delectable wines, which is yet more proof of our potentially detrimental compatibility.
Boss smiles kindly. ‘Our similarities and differences are what make us a great team.’ He picks up my hand again and squeezes it. ‘And you’ll always be my better half.’
The malbec must be distorting my vision, because it appears that Boss is holding my hand—for the second time—in a dimly lit wine bar, and is looking at me with a weird expression.
I pull my hand away (again) and take another gulp of wine, which I realise, mid-swallow, is unlikely to improve my vision.
I scrunch my eyes, trying to work out what that was.
His expression was … oh yes, fatherly, I decide.
He was squeezing my hand like a doting dad.
‘Should we get another bottle?’ asks Boss.
I look up from my wineglass. We never get another bottle.
I’ve got rules about these things. He knows that.
But then again, I’m normally not drowning my sorrows after losing a tennis match to Archie.
Boss raises his eyebrows gently as if to say, So?
He’s so kind to be keeping me company on such a shitty day.
He’s a good man. I hope his wife remembers that amid all the Nancy Miller media chaos.
He’s a good guy and he loves his family.
I gulp the final dregs from my glass. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Why not?’