Free Just Business by Ber Carroll Page B

sighed before giving a forced response. ‘I don’t know. It’s complicated. They’ve got to interview him – and probably Donna too.’
    Mrs Barnes didn’t know how to help her only daughter. Helen had never been in any trouble and neither mother nor daughter knew how to handle the current situation. Helen had lost her job, she had been retrenched. As far as Mrs Barnes knew,‘retrenched’ was a fancy word for being fired. Then there was the sexual harassment business. By Helen’s boss, a senior executive and a married man. Mrs Barnes was a countrywoman who had lived all her life in Bourke; she had no experience of issues such as these. Life on the farm had been hard but simple.
    â€˜Mmm …’ Mrs Barnes took it all in as if it was the first time she was being given the information. ‘I suppose they’ll retrench him once they’ve done the interviews.’
    â€˜No, Mum,’ Helen snapped, dropping her fork with a clatter. ‘They’ll fire him. I keep telling you that retrenching someone is different to firing them. What’s so hard to understand?’
    She felt immediate guilt when she saw her mother’s face cloud over.
    â€˜I’m sorry, love. I’m just a silly old woman who only knows about animals and farms. I shouldn’t be bothering you with all these questions when I’ll never understand the answers.’
    Helen abandoned the rest of her dinner and went out to the balcony. She stayed there until dusk turned into night and Darling Harbour was fully lit up. The Harbourside shopping mall was to her left, buzzing with tourists. The opulence of the casino was on the right, healthy crowds trawling in but still a few hours to go before its peak business. Inside, her mother was a ghostly figure as she cleared the table and washed the dishes. She was like a silent maid, cooking, washing up, dusting, all the while trying to fade into the background and not be an imposition on her single daughter’s life. When there was no more housework to be done, the old lady settled in front of the TV.
    Helen got up from her seat to stand at the railing. Two floors above there was a party with the crowd spilled onto the balcony. For a while she eavesdropped on the lively conversation and laughter. It made her feel lonely and she went back insideherself, to her thoughts. Helen had a logical mind that was well accustomed to problem analysis. The balcony was the only place where she could think. The night of the phone call she had been distressed with the news of her retrenchment and mellowed by a few glasses of wine. It was difficult to piece the call back together and remember the exact sequence and words. But the caller was unquestionably out of line and Helen’s hands were tied until she got her job back. If she got her job back. This waiting was so hard. She had always been bad at sitting things out, this latest tiff with her mother no exception. She checked her watch: it was nine-fifteen already, time to go inside.
    â€˜What are you watching?’ she asked the old lady.
    â€˜Detective Frost. It’s a good story tonight.’
    Her mother loved crime and mystery. She was not daunted by gruesome corpses or body parts that had been separated from their owners.
    â€˜Want a cup of tea before you turn in?’
    â€˜I’d love one.’
    Helen made the tea, feeling another wave of depression. Another night of having tea in front of the TV with her mother. Before Black Monday she’d had a respectable social life. Now, with the cloud of unemployment hanging overhead, she had lost the desire to go out. Phil Davis had attacked her self-esteem on all levels and she was determined he would pay the ultimate price for his actions.
    It was late in the evening and Denis was tired. He had spent the day at home, bickering with Lily. There was nothing more futile or exhausting than arguing with his wife. She was in his face all day long