To Set Things Right

He tried ringing her flat, but there was no answer. Either she was ignoring the phone or she had decided to spend the night in the newsroom again—something she had not done in the months since they had gotten back together. Both possibilities were likely, and calling the newsroom would not tell him anything—she could ignore the phone just as well there as at home. Finally he decided to just get on his motorbike and head down to the newsroom. If she was there, he could try and convince her to go home (“try” being the operative word); if she had left already, he could slowly follow the route to her place, see if she ignored his directive to get a taxi instead of walking home. She was real good at that.

Sure enough, he found her walking briskly home, about halfway between the newsroom and her flat. He slowed his bike to pull up beside her, swerving in front before she could pretend she did not know him and run off.

Lynda Day sighed and stopped walking when her boyfriend pulled up. “What are you doing here, Spike?”

“I thought I told you to get a taxi home. No walking.”

“Since when have I ever done what you told me to?”

Spike conceded the point. “Come on, Lynda. I’ll give you a ride home.”

She eyed his motorbike. “I’m not getting on the back of that thing.”

“Why not? You’ve ridden it before.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t wearing a shirt then.”

He shot her a look of exasperation. “Lynda, it won’t take that long to get back to your place, and it’s safer than walking. ‘Cos if you keep on walking, I’m gonna have to follow you slowly to make sure you get home all right. Might look a bit suspicious.

“Maybe the police will do me a favour and haul you in.”

As usual, their ripostes were starting to turn nasty, and Spike did not want to go down that road. Not tonight. “Look, why don’t I just take you back to your place and fix us something to eat? I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

Lynda did not have an argument for that, and deep down she was relieved to know that despite their earlier disagreement Spike still cared for her. So with one of her usual witty barbs (she could not just give in, after all), she hopped on the bike behind him and let him take her back to her place. But even over the tea and toast Spike fixed for them she would not talk about what she was feeling. She was still convinced that she did the right thing—people should have the right to make up their minds based on the facts, just as she had. She knew Spike had not been shaken from his believe either, so she just avoided the subject, for once not being in the mood to fight. Exhaustion claimed her after a while, so she went to bed; telling Spike to let himself out as he had offered to take care of the washing up.

She really should not have been surprised to find him on her lounge the next morning. Somehow, he always seemed to be there for her (except when he was back in America). He was currently talking on the phone, only glancing in her direction as she came in. there was nothing illuminating in his end of the conversation, except that it was from Julie Craig in the newsroom, and he ended the call fairly quickly.

“I can still answer my phone, Spike,” she said acidly.

“Well good morning to you too, Boss,” he replied in his usual chipper tone.

“Why did you think it was okay for you to answer my phone? For that matter, why are you still here? I told you to leave last night.”

“Well excuse me for caring!” he shot back. “I said last night I didn’t think you should be alone. And I answered the phone because I thought you could use more sleep, since you slept through your alarm.

“You should have woken me!”

Spike rolled his eyes, but did not rise to the bait. “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast. But you’re gonna have to make it for me for once, one of these days.”

“Fat chance,” she snorted. “I kind of like this role reversal stuff.”

“Yeah, you would,” he muttered under his breath.

Lynda seemed to realise that the subject was dropped. “So what did Julie want?”

“She just wanted to say that they’ve been taking calls down at the newsroom. We’re already copping some flak over the article.”

Lynda sank into a kitchen chair. “And it’s just going to get worse, isn’t it?” Experience had taught her that—it followed every controversial article that they had ever printed.

Silence reigned as Spike finished breakfast preparation. Finally, as he sat the food in front of her, he asked, “Are you gonna go down to the newsroom, or do you wanna to go dress shopping?”

She shot him a look—it had been a while since she went into dress shops to try and make herself feel better. “I can’t go into hiding,” was all she said. “Imagine how it would look.”

Spike sat down in front of her. “Lynda, I hate to say it, but…”

“Then don’t,” she cut in. “I don’t want to hear an ‘I told you so’ from you. I still believe I did the right thing in printing that article. I still believe that Winters can do his job despite his little affair.”

“So do I.”

“When what’s the problem then?”

“Most people aren’t gonna see it that way, Lynda. You should know that. Any hint of an affair involving a public figure and it becomes a scandal. All that article has done is make it very hard for Mr Winters to do anything for a while.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about it now, can I? The article is printed; people are just going to have to make up their own minds.”

You should have thought of that before, he thought, but knew better than to utter it. He abruptly stood and walked away from her. It was useless to get angry; Lynda was stubborn enough to dig in her heels and never admit she may have been wrong, and it was not the time for one of their usual arguments.

She looked at him scornfully. “Like what?”

“I don’t know! An article, maybe, explaining that one mistake doesn’t wipe years of experience.” Spike did not need to be a mind reader to know that Lynda thought the suggestion was lame. “Or one that explains what he was talking about on TV the other night, and shows that the points are valid despite what he may have done. Hell, there could be a warning in that. I don’t know, Lynda, but there must be something we can do.”

Lynda looked at Spike for a long time, thinking. As he surmised, she thought his suggestions were lame to say the least. But maybe the theory behind them was sound. “Maybe you’re right,” she admitted reluctantly. “We could have a meeting to see what people can come up with.”

“That’s the ticket,” Spike rubbed his hands together and grinned—his first genuine grin that morning. “I hate to love you and leave you, Lynda, but I need to head home, shower and change before I go down to the newsroom.”

“You can have a shower here,” she replied. “The clothes you left here last time are clean, and as you’re already late…”