A Straight Line to My Heart by Bill Condon

eh . . .’
    â€˜He’s so deluded, Bull. He really believes he’s this hotshot reporter, when he’s not even a has-been. He’s a never-was.’
    â€˜Sounds like a character, all right.’
    â€˜But even more stupid was Andrew – he’s the editor. He wants this story cut from a thousand to a hundred words, right?’
    â€˜Right.’
    â€˜That’s really hard to do. I get it to seven hundred, five hundred. Each time it’s not good enough. I get it to three hundred. He goes, “Do it again.”’
    â€˜Must have been a pain.’
    â€˜It was! Then on the fourth time, at last he doesn’t say to do it again. But he doesn’t say “it’s good” either. He just takes it off me. Not a word of thanks, Bull. Nothing!’
    â€˜Well . . .’
    â€˜And the day just dragged like torture. It was so boring. But the worst thing was that they really didn’t want me there. I was in the way.’
    He doesn’t respond so I stroll back into the lounge room with my food. His eyes are glued to the tv .
    â€˜Bull, have you been listening to anything I’ve said?’
    â€˜Bits and pieces. I got the gist of it.’
    â€˜Excuse me?’
    â€˜Keep your hair on, Tiff.’
    â€˜No! I always listen to your stories about work! No matter how boring they are!’
    â€˜Look, it’s not that I don’t care – I do. Truly. But your timing’s all wrong. You barge in and start this blow-by-blow account when they’ve got the footy highlights on tv .’
    â€˜Thanks a lot, Bull!’
    â€˜Aw, fair go. It was a State of Origin match.’
    I’m standing there, staring and fuming, wondering if I could get off on justifiable homicide, when I hear footsteps behind me.
    â€˜I was listenin’. Heard every word.’
    When I turn I see Reggie, looking like he just crawled out of bed.
    â€˜Hi, Reggie. I didn’t wake you, did I? I might have got a bit loud.’
    â€˜That’s all right, Tiffy. Wasn’t asleep. Just had a lie down. I been feelin’ a bit weary on it lately.’
    His face looks grey and pinched, as if the skin has been pulled tight against the bones. Then I realise, with all of my ‘me, me, me’ ranting, I completely forgot about his doctor’s appointment.
    â€˜I’m sorry’ – I give him a hug – ‘for not asking about your day.’
    â€˜Not a problem, luv.’
    â€˜How did it go with Anna?’
    â€˜Ah, you know what doctors are like. They got no idea of privacy, like she says, “Now Mr Bennett, how have your bowels been?” So I ask her how hers have been – see how she likes it. I mean, that’s a bit below the belt, isn’t it?’
    Bull splutters out a laugh. I keep mine inside.
    â€˜Anyway,’ Reggie continues, after a glare at Bull, ‘she wants me to have all these blood tests and x-rays and God knows what. You go through all this stuff and at the end of it . . .’ He sighs and leaves the rest unsaid.
    I tell him for about the hundredth time that he’ll be fine and he agrees with me – both of us trying to make the other believe.
    Bull puts a hand on Reggie’s shoulder. Not a word is spoken. They hardly look at each other. They’re so awkward about getting close, and yet somehow they make it.
    â€˜Now, about this newspaper business.’ Reggie’s voice crackles with an energy that he didn’t have only a moment before. ‘Here’s what I reckon, Tiffy.’ He inches half a step forward and Bull moves his hand away. It’s as if they’ve both agreed that they’ve had their share of closeness for now – at least the kind that’s visible. ‘You’re bein’ put to the test, luv.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜Seems fairly obvious to me. This editor joker went all out to make it tough for yer. If you