Vanessa ignored her co-host, smiled at the dog handler and handed over her puppy. ‘Good work, gang.’ Conscious, always, of the eyes on her, she walked across the studio to where Pen was standing. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Let’s wait until we’re behind closed doors.’
But back in Vanessa’s dressing room, Pen was uncharacteristically reticent.
‘Just tell me,’ Vanessa said. ‘Holding back isn’t going to make it any better.’
‘Yeah. Look, the story’s out.’
‘It’s out?’
Pen sat down. Vanessa took the couch opposite her. The room smelled of her perfume, something she usually took comfort in.
‘There’s a teaser inThe Australian.’
Vanessa wanted to sink her head into her hands. ‘Who?’
‘Russo.’
‘Show me.’
Penelope handed over her phone. The screen was open to Mike Russo’s column.
#metoo
Seems like casting couches aren’t the only couches we need to be wary of. Reliable sources tell me that Someone’s therapist husband is about to be charged with assaulting a vulnerable young patient (and she wasn’t his first victim). Could there be anything more deplorable? Guess therapy’s not a safe space after all.
‘That’s just him planting a flag,’ Penelope said. ‘He’s playing it safe. He’s put out just enough to get the rumours started. Next he’ll report on the rumours. If he can, he’ll feed the story with a few little nuggets of new fact or suggestion, just enough to keep the thing going and growing.’
Vanessa nodded. She didn’t need any of this explained to her. She knew how it worked. Where Mike led, others would follow. Journalists around the city would read this and be on the scent. There weren’t too many Melbourne-basedSomeoneswith therapist husbands. Likely by now at least a few of them would have figured it out.
‘It’s on the internet too,’ Penelope said. ‘I don’t just mean Russo’s blog.’
Vanessa stood up and turned away. She didn’t want Penelope to be able to see her face. Unbidden, memories of Robert when they first met were rushing into her mind. She saw him cracking up at a party, bent almost double he was laughing so hard. She saw his face when they’d handed him Henry in the delivery room. The wonder, and the pride. And other, more recent memories. His near constant expression of discontent. The boredom in his eyes when he looked at her. The emptiness of the words between them. Somewhere along the line she’d become used to it. Had come to expect nothing else. How had that happened?
‘There’s a lot of talk of other women. I don’t just mean affairs. I mean... Russo’s obviously hinting that Robert assaulted more than one patient, and that’s all over the chat right now. It could be bullshit, of course, but I think he’s going down, Vanessa. I’m not sure there’s any coming back from this. Even if he’s innocent of any actual crime, it’s harder to prove youdidn’tdo something, in the public eye.’
Their marriage had been in trouble for a long time, that was the truth of it, and they both knew it, even if neither of them had said it out loud. But a bad marriage didn’t make him a criminal. Despite everything, her heart hurt for him. For the pain and fear that lay ahead of him. And he was innocent, of course he was. She could believe that he had cheated on her. But there was an enormous, unfathomable gap between cheating and assaulting someone. He wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t take advantage of a patient. If he had been that kind of man, wouldn’t she have known? Vanessa felt a shiver of discomfort. Robert could be... unpleasant, at times. Particularly when he was drinking. But that didn’t mean—
‘Look, I’ve been asked to find a subtle way to imply this, but I don’t know how to do that, so I’m just going to say it to you straight. The network will stand behind you, but only if you leave him.’
‘Only if I leave him,’ Vanessa repeated.
‘And only if you leave him now. The board wants distance between you before the thing blows up any wider.’
‘Jesus.’ Vanessa stood up. She took a few steps towards her dressing table. There was a mess of make-up on the table, but there was a photograph too, an old one, from happier times. Robert, Henry and Lachlan on the beach in Fiji. Robert had Lachy on his shoulders, and Henry was splashing them both. She’d caught the perfect moment, when all three had turned to the camera, still laughing. Vanessa turned away. She gripped the back of the chair with two hands.
‘It’s your decision,’ Penelope said. ‘You’re the only one who can make it.’
* * *
When Vanessa got home at four o’clock, she found Lachy sitting outside on the porch, phone in hand. He was wearing a T-shirt, shorts and runners and his bike was there too, propped up against the house, ready to go, but all of his attention was on his phone. The expression on his face and the tightness in his shoulders told her that something was wrong.
‘Lachy?’
There was something heartbreaking about his expression when he looked at her. He was distressed, worried, upset, but he tried to hide it all as soon as he saw her, tried to smile his easy smile.
‘What is it?’
