Paycheque by Fiona McCallum Page B

probably figured she’d be needing that.
    She knew something major had happened but she didn’t understand how. She’d gone into Derek’s office to get her leave form signed. She was supposed to be excited about her freedom for the next two weeks, not jobless and terrified of her entire future. Jesus, how was she going to tell her father? Part of her was almost glad he was still unconscious and couldn’t say ‘I told you so’. He’d told her so many times that these sorts of people couldn’t be trusted, that she was just a means to an end, a way to make them more money. They didn’t care about her as a person. And as it turned out, he was right.
    Claire left the car park for the last time with a sick sensation of going out into the big scary world. All those management texts said to look at redundancy as an opportunity, the potential start of an exciting new chapter – what a crock of shit! Claire felt a little guilty about the times she’d said these same words, and for those who had left her office looking brighter for them.
    At the second set of traffic lights, her attention was caught by a billboard advertising an upcoming reality show: ‘SMILE, YOU’RE ON CANDID CAMERA!’
    â€˜If only,’ she moaned.

    Claire dropped her box on the kitchen bench, kicked her shoes off and threw herself on the sofa. Now what? She looked around for answers and spied the cordless phone on the tinted glass coffee table.
    â€˜Hi Bernie, it’s me, Claire. Look, sorry to disturb you at work but…’ Claire’s voice cracked.
    â€˜What! What’s happened? Are you okay?’
    â€˜Um, actually no. I’ve just lost my job and…’ The lump in Claire’s throat exploded and the tears began to flow. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she sobbed. ‘I feel so lost… I was wondering if… well, if…’
    â€˜Don’t be silly. Come straight up. Are you okay to drive?’
    â€˜I think so.’
    â€˜Come to the house, I’ll shut the shop.’
    â€˜I don’t want to be a burden – I’m happy to wait. It’s just…’
    â€˜I know, and don’t be ridiculous. What are friends for? Just throw together some clothes and toiletries and get in the car.’
    â€˜Thanks, Bern.’
    â€˜No worries. And Claire?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Nothing is ever as bad as it first seems. I’ll see you soon – drive carefully.’
    â€˜Thanks, I will.’
    Claire had been on the phone less than a minute, but just hearing her friend’s voice was a big relief. She didn’t feel so alone, so out of control. She smiled ever so slightly through her drying tears. Trust Bernadette to take charge. At least now she had a plan for the next forty minutes: she was driving up the freeway to the Adelaide Hills.

Chapter Seven
    By the time Claire arrived at Bernie’s house she was exhausted and dishevelled, as if she’d been physically fighting the goings-on in her head – the war the left and right hemispheres of her brain had been waging the whole way. She was still no more certain. Was the redundancy a good thing, a chance to take a breath and get her life back into order? Or was it the catastrophe she’d initially thought it was?
    Bernadette ran down the steps, burgundy curls flying out like a cape behind her. Claire was quietly relieved at the prospect of shedding half her burden. She got out of the car, returned her best friend’s hug, and burst into tears.
    After letting Claire cling to her for a few minutes, sobbing, Bernadette gently turned her to the house. ‘Come on in,’ she said.
    Claire allowed herself to be helped like an invalid up the verandah steps and inside.
    Bernie deposited her on the lounge and went out to boil the kettle. Claire listened to her friend pottering about in the kitchen andthought to offer help, but felt fused to her plush