Now What?

“I love you,” Lynda Day stated.

“I love you,” James ‘Spike’ Thomson repeated.

“Your dad?”

“Your newspaper.” The questions/statements were uttered with the minimum outward reflection—each teen both wished it was at once either. The implications were enormous, their futures were about to be decided. And the phone incessantly rang.

“Either way,” Lynda spoke up, “I think somebody’s expecting us to grow up.” Taking a deep breath, she slowly reached for the phone. “Hello, Junior Gazette.”

Unconsciously, Spike held his breath. Lynda’s replies were rather non-committal, but the fact that the phone was not handed to him meant that it wasn’t his father. She’d want the line cleared by now.

“Well?” he asked when she hung up the phone.

“It’s the old bunch of kids,” was her response.

Part of him felt elated. The Junior Gazette had been a major part of his life for nearly a year now that he really did not want to see it with a new news team. But at the same time he could sense that his relationship with Lynda was over. She was agitatedly moving about the newsroom, telling him of her plans for the newspaper now that they would be running it commercially—not noting his response... or lack therof.

“Lynda…” he tried to cut in. Typically, it took several repetitions of her name to get through to her.

“Yes Spike?” she responded with an air of irritated patience.

“Reached any decisions about us yet, Boss?”

“Well I hardly think we’ve got time to be thinking about that right now.”

“What?! Haven’t got time…” Spike was rendered speechless (no mean feat). Of all the callous things that Lynda could come out with (which was a long list given that it was Lynda)… But then, what was he thinking? This was Lynda “Heart of Teflon” Day. Getting her to admit she cared was like pulling teeth. But she had admitted it. She had said that she loved him. Was it all for nought?

He pulled himself together. “Well, you might want to make the time, Lynda. I haven’t got much time.”

Lynda frowned. “What do you mean?”

He nodded at the red phone. “Dad’ll be calling any minute. I need to be able to tell him if I’m staying or not. So back to the original question: Do you want me to stay?”

“I haven’t got time to deal with this, Spike. I’ll have enough on my plate getting the paper up and running again.”

“So what you’re saying is you don’t have time for me. For us.” Spike waited, hoping for a denial, but none came.

“I’m sorry,” was the only reply.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he muttered bitterly. “Why would Lynda Day ever care about anything but her precious newspaper?”

Lynda opened her mouth to say something—perhaps a denial; perhaps an apology. She never got the chance, for the phone chose that moment to ring; and Spike literally snatched the receiver. “Hello, Junior Gazette.”

His whole demeanour changed when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. “Yeah, hi Dad… yeah… yeah,” he glanced at Lynda. “Am I staying here?” he repeated, gauging Lynda’s reaction, waiting for a word that would never come. “No, you can come pick me up. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

Lynda visibly flinched when she heard Spike say those words. Suddenly she realised just what was at stake here. She waited until he was finished on the phone before speaking. “Spike…”

He held up a hand. “Don’t, Lynda. You were right before. What good does it do us to love each other? It’s better this way. Just remember it was your choice.”

Any reply Lynda had was interrupted—again—by the phone. This time it was Matt Kerr, who had heard the Board’s decision and was phoning to ‘congratulate’ Lynda. The manner in which she slipped into when talking with Kerr, and casually dismissing him, told Spike more than he wanted to know about where he fit in the grand scheme of things. Sighing, he grabbed his bag and walked out of the newsroom for the final time. When he reached the swinging doors, he turned and looked at Lynda one last time. She was still talking to Kerr, and hadn’t noticed he was almost gone.

“Just remember it was your choice, Lynda,” he muttered again, then turned and left. Outside the building, in the dark, he fought to control the tears that threatened to fall. It wouldn’t do for his father to see him crying; he wouldn’t understand. Spike didn’t understand himself—he knew what Lynda was like, he’d been warned. Her dismissal should not have surprised him. Maybe it didn’t at that, but he marvelled at the way in which Lynda had managed to get under his skin when none of his other girlfriends has. Then again, he had never cared for them the way he loved Lynda.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. That was the past. As much as he loved Lynda, he had to move on.

“Are you okay, son?” his father asked when the taxi picked him up.

“Yeah, Dad,” Spike replied wearily, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. “I just want to get outta here.”

The hour was late, but Lynda was still in the newsroom. There was not much point in here staying here—everyone who still needed to be told about the Board’s decision was still at Kenny’s concert. But she could not bring herself to leave. The newsroom was her last remaining link to Spike; and she was just realising the mistake she made in letting him leave.

“What are you still doing here, Boss?”

Her head snapped up. It was Kenny, the gig must be over. “How’d it go?”

“The gig? It when fine. It was great.” He looked closely at her. “Have they phoned with the decision? The Board, I mean.”

Lynda nodded. “We won; we get to run the Junior Gazette commercially.”

“That’s great news!” Kenny exclaimed. Then he sobered, noticing her expression. “What is it?”

“Spike left.”

“Well we knew he was flying out tonight,” he spoke gently.

Lynda looked down. “That was the plan. But he was looking for a reason to stay. That’s why he kept telling me…” she broke off.

“Telling you what?”

That he loves me. “Never mind. He wanted a reason to stay, but he left anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Lynda.”

She brushed his sympathy aside. “It doesn’t matter now. We were over before; it’s time to move on. Besides, I’m going to have my hands full with the Junior Gazette.”

Kenny knew better. He knew what lay beneath her cavalier attitude. He also knew better than to push her on it. “Well Boss, if we have a lot to do, may I suggest that we go home and get some sleep? We can’t spend all night here.”

“Why not?” Lynda was only half joking. “How’d you know I was still here?”

“Phoned your Mum. She told me there was something on your mind. She said it was Spike.”

At the mention of the American’s name, Lynda did a strange thing—she hiccuped. Placing her hand over her mouth she glanced up at Kenny. “That was nothing.”

He gave her an amused look. “I thought that nervous reaction only appeared at social occasions.”

She gave him a shove. “Shut it, Kenny. Let’s get out of here.”

They made their way to the swinging doors, then Kenny stopped and glanced back into the empty newsroom. “You know, things are going to be different around here.”

“How so?” Lynda demanded. “We can just go on much as we have done. Running it commercially won’t be that different.”

“Yeah, but without Spike…” Lynda’s hiccup and glare stopped him from finishing the thought. He had to grin, though. It looked as though Lynda’s nervous hic and turned into a ‘Spike’ nervous hic.