Australian Dreams. Fiona McCallum

choice? Derek said I’d be fired if I didn’t take it. “Twelve months pay or two weeks, your choice.” The smug prick.’

      ‘I hope you took it,’ Bernadette said, eyeing Claire suspiciously.

      ‘Of course I bloody took it – I haven’t lost all my marbles.’

      Bernadette visibly relaxed, sank back into the couch and put her feet on the coffee table. ‘Well, I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, except of course the initial shock.’

      ‘For a start, I’m jobless, Bernadette, with a mortgage I was having trouble paying alone in the first place. “It’s not personal,” he says. I could lose the roof over my head. How much more personal can you get?’

      ‘Claire, you haven’t lost your house.’

      ‘I might.’

      ‘You could always sell, move up here.’

      ‘And move into my parents’ house? Great, then I really will end up the old spinster with the house full of cats.’

      ‘You don’t have any cats.’

      ‘I’ll get some. But seriously, how humiliating.’

      ‘Why? Who would care anyway? Claire, people don’t waste as much time thinking about other people as we like to think. And Derek’s right, it’s not personal. Some bigwigs over in Sydney probably decided to do a shift and shuffle – people you probably haven’t even met.’

      ‘Are you sure you haven’t been speaking to him?’

      ‘Just because I’m not chained to a desk, doesn’t mean I don’t remember how these things work. Personally I’d be taking their dough, saying “thank you very much” and looking forward to the opportunities that are about to come your way.’

      ‘What if there are no opportunities?’

      ‘There always are. In a matter of months you’ll remember this conversation – actually, you probably won’t but don’t worry, I’ll remind you – and you’ll laugh at how paranoid you were because everything will have worked out for the best, it always does.’

      ‘I feel so lost.’

      ‘You just need a plan – a logical way forward.’

      ‘You’re right. Do you have Saturday’s career section still?’

      ‘Claire!’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Have you not listened to anything I’ve said?’

      ‘You said I need a plan, and my plan is to find another job so I can pay my mortgage.’

      ‘Would you shut up about your bloody mortgage?! With all the things that have happened to you this year, I would have thought you’d have learnt something.’

      ‘I have: that life could be over in a split second.’

      ‘Well thank Christ you’ve learnt that much.’

      ‘Which is why I’m going to live comfortably.’

      ‘Claire, forget the fucking money! Life is not just about money.’

      ‘There’s no need to swear at me. Just because you decided…’

      ‘This is not about me – I’m not the one who’s freaking out because she’s lost her job and can’t pay the mortgage.’

      ‘I’m not freaking out.’

      ‘Oh really?’ Bernadette looked at Claire with raised eyebrows.

      Claire paused for a moment and rewound their conversation in her head. She took a deep breath and pushed some loose strands of hair from her face.

      ‘Sorry, you’re right, I am freaking out. But what else am I meant to do?’

      ‘Stop, regroup, have faith in yourself. Let the chips fall where they may.’

      Bernadette grabbed a pen and lined pad from the pile of books on the coffee table. ‘Now, I’m going to make some notes for you to refer to whenever you start getting freaked. You mentioned twelve months pay, right?’

      ‘Yeah, about that. Why?’

      Bernadette wrote as she continued. ‘So, in theory, you are actually gainfully employed for the next twelve months.’

      ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

      ‘No, because you were too busy freaking out.’

      ‘I guess so,’ Claire said, looking sheepish.

      Bernadette ripped the top sheet from the pad and handed it over.

      ‘What’s this?’ Claire said, accepting it with a puzzled frown.

      ‘Read it.’

      She opened it and couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across her face. In Bernadette’s large neat script were the words, I, Claire McIntyre, agree to take twelve months paid leave to recuperate from an extremely shitty year. Beginning today, October 7.

      ‘Do you agree to take said leave, and promise not to look for another office job for at least twelve months?’

      ‘Oh, well, um…’

      ‘Do you agree?’

      ‘Yes, all right. I agree.’ Claire laughed.

      ‘Right, now sign there at the bottom.’ Bernadette handed Claire the pen.

      Claire signed the piece of paper and handed back the pen.

      ‘Now, keep that with you at all times.’

      Claire nodded and reread the note before folding it and tucking it in the front pocket of her jeans.

      ‘Now I don’t have any jelly beans but I can, however, offer another cup of tea.’

      Despite being exhausted and dropping off in front of the television, Bernadette and Claire remained in the lounge room until after midnight. Bernie didn’t want to leave her friend alone lest she fall back into being terrified of the future. Claire didn’t want to break the spell of feeling that things might just turn out okay after all. Without it being said, both knew this was one of those few occasions when it wasn’t safe to ‘sleep on it’. So they huddled at their respective ends of the three-seater sofa, pretending the movie was enthralling.

      Their silent trance was shattered by the phone. Instinctively, the first thing they did was check their watches. Claire’s hand went to her pounding chest. Jesus, no! Not more bad news; not today, not tomorrow, not this year. Bernie’s eyes were wide as she untangled her legs and went to get the handset from the small hallstand.

      Claire watched her friend’s back as she picked up the phone and answered, feeling guilty for bringing her bad karma to Bernadette’s home. She felt a strange sense of relief when she heard her say, ‘Yes, I’ll just get her for you.’ Maybe she hadn’t cursed her after all.

      ‘It’s for you, the hospital. Your mobile must be turned off,’ Bernadette said, handing her the phone. Claire’s stomach knotted in dreaded anticipation.

      ‘Hello, this is Claire McIntyre.’

      ‘Claire, my name’s Abby Lawson. I’m calling from the hospital. It’s about your father…’

      Claire held her breath and crossed her fingers harder than she ever had before.

      ‘We thought you’d want to know straight away…’

      ‘Yes?’ Claire silently begged her to get it over with.

      ‘He’s woken up, just a few minutes ago.’

      For a moment, Claire thought