Free Hello from the Gillespies by Monica McInerney

still . . . Once she got to New York, she was seriously going to do something about it. Genevieve said she walked everywhere, that’s how she kept her weight down. Victoria had laughed and said, So it’s got nothing to do with the coffee you live on? The fact you don’t actually eat?
    She put the letters to one side for the moment, unable to get the image of that fluffy omelette out of her head. Yes, there were definite advantages to being publicly humiliated and losing her job. She now had time to enjoy cooking again.
    The eggs were free-range. The omelette was soon a rich golden yellow at the bottom of the pan. The smoked salmon turned from orange to luscious pink as it cooked. She sprinkled on some grated cheese and some freshly cut chives, gently folded it over, waited a moment, then lifted it onto the warm plate just as the toast popped. Two generous spreads of butter, a hot cup of coffee. She took a bite. Heaven. Who cared about work? Who cared about humiliation? Nothing mattered when life still offered pleasures like this.
    It wasn’t until she’d eaten a third piece of toast that she opened her mail. Within seconds, she wished she hadn’t.
    Her landlord was putting up the rent. It was already expensive, but she’d justified it to herself. She had to pay high rents if she wanted to live close to the city and have a sliver of harbour view. Even if she’d still had a job, she would have been stretched to cover the new figure. She put the letter back in the envelope. Then she put her empty plate on top of the envelope.
    The second letter was worse. Her lawyer was writing to tell her that she wasn’t eligible for compensation from the radio station on account of her freelance status. He was also advising her that if she were to take the matter further, the station was within its rights to pursue her for compensation, on the grounds that she had ‘clearly been in error for allowing an intoxicated presenter to go on air’. The presenter who had subsequently left the station and taken hundreds of thousands of advertising dollars with him. But what could she possibly have done to stop him? The bill for her legal fees was also enclosed. She gasped out loud when she saw the figure. It was more than she had expected to get in compensation. It was five times the amount she had in her bank account. She put that letter back in its envelope and put a different plate on top.
    The last letter was from Ig. Postmarked Adelaide, sent last month. It had obviously taken the scenic route to her, no doubt due to the incomplete address. She’d received quite a few of these from him this year. The latest message was just five words. He’d cut the letters out of a newspaper.
    GeT mE OuT of HeRE.
    Victoria already knew his plea had been answered. She’d received an email from her mother the previous week letting her and Genevieve know the latest about Ig’s ongoing battle with boarding school.
On the principal’s advice, we’ve decided to keep him home for another year and review the situation after that.
    Genevieve and Victoria had immediately forwarded it to each other.
    He’s run away a third time??
Victoria had emailed.
    The Houdini of the South Australian school system strikes again!
Genevieve had written back.
    Dear little Ig, Victoria thought. Dear mad little Ig. It would be so good to spend time with him over Christmas too. She clearly remembered the first time she’d seen him, in her mother’s arms at the Port Augusta hospital. At twenty-two, she and Genevieve had been old enough to be having their own babies, not welcoming a little brother. Her mother – and her father – had looked shell-shocked that day, she recalled. Happy, yes, but definitely shocked. As Genevieve had said, too often and too loudly, that would teach them to still be having sex at their age.
    She’d picked up her phone to try Genevieve once more when it rang. Their twin ESP at work.
    Victoria didn’t waste time with a greeting.