Jack asked what happened. I said it was a long story and a lot of it was confidential so I couldn’t say. But Jack kept probing and the lady transferring the coffee into the paper cup was astonishingly slow, so I told him.
He and Eva were shocked. That is probably not too strong a word.
‘What are they going to do about it?’ said Jack.
‘They’re talking about holding a cake stall,’ I said sarcastically.
‘Betsy is?’ Eva got excited. ‘Really? Because her banana cake’d be in my top five cakes of all time.’ She thought about it. ‘Maybe even top two.’
‘I don’t know if you’d make much money at a cake stall,’ said Marie Curie. ‘Do you, Jack?’
‘I’ve got no idea.’ Jack turned to me. ‘But Germaine—’
And no one will ever know what he was going to say because the lady came back with my hot chocolate/donut and I took them and left. I carried them back to the town hall and consumed them in an office so quiet I could hear the saliva form in my mouth as I chewed.
I’d hardly got inside my front door when Jin-Jin knocked. I was still deciding if I was going to answer when she said, ‘I can hear you.’ I felt obliged to undo the latch. She walked in.
‘Remember how I said Lee and I broke up? Well, he called. I didn’t answer and he didn’t leave a message. What do you think I should do?’ She went and sat on the couch, putting her feet on the pouffe.
I stayed by the door, holding it open. ‘I’m busy, Jin-Jin. And anyway, didn’t you say probability functions have their romantic limitations?’
‘Oh, I’m not asking for any mathematical insight. I just wanted your opinion. You know, as a woman.’
I said, without any kind of false modesty, that I didn’t think I was the best person to ask. But she persisted.
‘When I saw it was him I didn’t answer. I thought I’d make him suffer. But he hasn’t called back and now I’m not sure what to do. Do you think it was an accident? Maybe he was scrolling. But even if he was just scrolling it still means he was looking at my name, right? What would you do if Don did that?’
I didn’t want to talk about Don. I didn’t want to talk full stop. I wanted to be on my own. It was my natural state.
‘Listen, Jin-Jin,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how it works in China but here in Australia being a good neighbour means you say hi and bye and that’s it. You don’t invite yourself in. You don’t talk at them and make them listen. It’s considered very rude.’
‘Oh.’ Jin-Jin’s face broke in half.
It didn’t feel as good as I’d hoped, being mean to her. But she was the only one there: I had no one else to pick from.
Jin-Jin got up from the couch. ‘I’m Japanese, Germaine. I already told you that ten times.’
‘Ugh, add it to the list. I can’t get anything right, can I?’
36
Over the next few days I refocused my energies. I asked Ron Steven, who was head of Records, if he and I could switch offices for a week so I wouldn’t be interrupted. Ron’s office was downstairs in the basement. Not prime real estate. ‘If you want to swap for good, let me know,’ he said.
I tapped away on my keyboard in grim surrounds. I only had two things to do—write the mayor’s speech and advise the seniors club on the date of closure—but they were taking a long time.
I felt bad. Very bad. So bad I was able to feel bad about contradictory things. Like guilt about the seniors centre and simultaneous remorse about letting the mayor down. I felt bad about hurting Don’s feelings and I was mad at him for hurting mine.
Jack emailed multiple times:
Have to talk to you about something.
--
Germaine, it’s important.
--
WHERE ARE YOU?
He called, but I let it go to voicemail.
I had a new way of being: competent, aloof, distant. Pretty much my old way, really.
Thursday afternoon I went upstairs to get a cup of tea from the kitchenette and guess who was sitting in a chair waiting for me? Eva. She called Jack on her mobile.
‘Found her.’
I walked away, no tea, but she followed me, narrating an ongoing commentary to Jack on our whereabouts.
He was in the basement two minutes after we were.
‘Where have you been?’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to get onto you all week. We both have. Didn’t you get my emails? Didn’t you see I called?’
I didn’t look at him. I noticed there was a mark on the floor and scuffed it to see if it would shift.
‘You could have been dead for all we knew,’ he said.
‘Marie Curie thought you were dead,’ said Eva. ‘She owes me a dollar now.’
‘I was busy.’ I would never admit this to anyone but I found their irritation oddly endearing.
Jack said, ‘We’ve got something to tell you.’
I didn’t know that I wanted to hear what it was but they were both so pleased with themselves. ‘I’m listening.’
Jack lowered his voice and cocked his head in Eva’s direction. ‘She had an idea.’
‘Oh.’
Eva had ideas all the time. Mostly conspiracy theories, but sometimes pointless inventions she thought she might patent.
‘No, this one’s good,’ said Jack.
I tried to stop him from speaking. ‘Don’t bother. I’m not interested. It’s nothing personal.’
Eva said, ‘I had the idea recently, when the mayor said she’d bring the biscuits back. I was pleased, for obvious reasons. I missed those rice crackers. And my pants were getting loose; I thought I was going to have to buy a belt. So when the mayor said she was placing an order I started thinking about which biscuits I was going to eat first and how I’d structure my breaks. Marie Curie’s a bit uptight when it comes to breaks, Germaine. She’s not like you; not like you at all.’
I was pleased to hear disparaging words about Marie. Just because someone sounds like one of the most intelligent women who ever existed doesn’t mean they are.
‘It was on one such break,’ said Eva, ‘that I had a brainwave. It came to me right out of the blue, like a lightning bolt. Why get the same biscuits as before? I thought. Why not get something different, something better?’
I wasn’t really listening. I was just watching her mouth move.
‘And then in the café you mentioned Betsy. Do you know who Betsy is?’
‘Yes, I know who Betsy is.’
‘She’s the best baker, no, the best cook, in the whole of the southern hemisphere. Have you tried her biscuits? Her banana cake? That cake is something special. It’s unbelievable. It’s moist and sweet but not sickly. The crust on top is crunchy but never dry. It’s—’
Jack hadn’t said much up until this point, but now he cut her off. ‘A catering company, Germaine,’ he said.
‘Hey.’ Eva hit him on the arm: not hard. But not soft either. ‘I was about to say that.’
The two of them looked at me expectantly and when I didn’t respond straight away, Jack began to explain.
It wasn’t necessary. I understood at once. A catering company. Celia’s income stream.
The idea did have potential but they should have had it earlier. It was too late now.
‘The council’s already voted.’
Jack said, ‘They can un-vote. I’m sure we can change their minds.’
Given how long he’d worked there, you would have thought he’d have a better understanding of the political system.
‘It’s not that easy. Nice idea, but I wouldn’t bother.’
Jack didn’t make a sound but his negativity felt CAPITALISED. He glanced across at Eva, who was wearing the same confused expression she had when she was on the helpline. ‘Are you joking?’ said Jack.
‘Nope. Quit while you’re ahead. That’s my new mantra.’
Jack began to get nasty. ‘Quit while you’re ahead? How exactly are you ahead, Germaine? No, go on, tell me. I want to know. What aspects of your life
are going so incredibly well you don’t want to risk compromising them?’
‘This is the new me, Jack. I’ve decided I need to lower my expectations.’
A pause.
‘The new you sucks, Germaine.’
‘Well, the new me doesn’t think you’re so great either.’
Jack went quiet. Maybe he was thinking about how he shouldn’t judge other people’s life choices when he wasn’t making great life choices himself. Or maybe he was wishing he’d been more supportive of me in my successful period, berating himself for being a jerk. Or maybe he was thinking about Marie. Whatever it was, he thought about it for a moment and then seemed to make a decision. He turned towards the door.
But before he could open it, Eva put her hand on the doorknob. ‘That’s what people said about the biscuits,’ she said.
‘Forget it, Eva,’ said Jack. ‘She’s not listening.’
‘They did; they said there was no point trying to get them back. People were angry, but they just thought that was the end of it. Tony Lam in Finance told me I was wasting my time. And now look what’s happened. I mean, if everyone had rolled over and accepted there were no more biscuits then there’d be no more biscuits, would there? But there are biscuits. Well, not yet but as of next week there will be—and not just biscuits but better biscuits. And that’s because of me. I’m living proof there’s a point to kicking up a fuss. You know six hundred and four people signed my petition?’
I got annoyed. ‘There’s a big difference between a biscuit contract worth a couple of thousand dollars and a senior citizens centre worth millions. You can’t compare those things, they have nothing in common.’
‘They do have some commonalities,’ said Jack. ‘Well, one: the mayor. And she’s what you’d call a “known variable”, isn’t she, Germaine?’
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of eye contact but I will admit I felt a surge of goodwill. Known variable. Jack knew me.
‘The thing about the mayor,’ Jack went on, ‘is she’s predictable. She’ll always behave the same way: i.e. in pursuit of her own self-interest.’
‘I like the mayor,’ I said, and I meant it.
Eva didn’t hear me. ‘I thought you were going to say me, Jack,’ she said. ‘That I’m common to both because I did the biscuit petition and I had the catering idea. And I can do more than just have the idea, Germaine. Jack and I came to help.’
More annoying goodwill-surging.
‘You and Jack?’ I cast a sidelong glance at him. He was fiddling with the pocket of his shorts.
‘Betsy will have lots of recipes,’ said Eva. ‘Her banana cake is her magnum opus but there are others. I’ve had her chocolate pudding, her sticky date, sausage rolls. She does a mini quiche that is very good.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Even if we could change the mayor’s mind, which we can’t, the council has made the decision. It’s too late.’
‘But the biscuits,’ said Eva.
I rubbed my temples for twenty-seven seconds. When I stopped the two of them were still there. Waiting.
‘All we can do is try,’ said Jack, which was a most un-Jack-like thing to say.
‘I’m telling you,’ said Eva. ‘It’s a great idea.’
I looked at their hopeful, expectant faces. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’d been feeling so bad and now here was a sliver of good…
‘It’s not the worst idea,’ I conceded.
People say two brains are better than one. I always thought it depended on the brains involved, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe you get better ideas when there’s a spread of personalities and intelligence levels. Like a random number generator in which fractions as well as whole numbers can come up: suddenly there are infinitely more possibilities. Though there were lower IQs involved, discussions at the senior citizens centre were (initially) fruitful. Of the seven of us huddled in the office Gladys was the most enthusiastic. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said, clapping. ‘Wow, wow, wow. I knew Betsy’s cake stall was a good idea but this is brilliant.’
‘Yeah, I thought of it,’ said Eva.
Betsy was less sure. ‘I don’t know. It would be a lot of work. Would people really hire us? Food is so fancy these days. You don’t see my kind of cooking in the restaurants.’
For someone whose diet consisted of Slurpees and complimentary crackers, Eva was very authoritative. ‘That’s why it will work. It’s all in the wording. You just need to make it sound fancy. It’s not beef, it’s Wagyu. It’s not an egg and bacon tart, it’s free range, organic egg and hickory smoked bacon.’
Gladys jumped in her chair, surprisingly agile. ‘Exactly. It’s an award-winning banana cake. It’s a secret family recipe handed down from generation to generation. Maybe even artisanal. Ooh, and we can leave one ingredient off the list so no one can ever try and make it themselves.’
‘Well, no. You’ll have to include all the ingredients. It’s a requirement,’ said Ralph. Yes, Ralph. Jack had insisted we invite him along. ‘There’s no point doing something if you’re not going to do it properly,’ Jack said, at which I’d done an actual double take. I’d never heard Jack talk with such drive, such perfectionism. Or any drive or perfectionism. It made him oddly attractive. I found myself thinking about what other appealing attributes might be concealed beneath his polar fleece vest.
In the senior citizens centre office, I outlined the plan I’d formulated in the car on the way over. ‘Jack can do the website and I can coordinate the financials, cost per item based on ingredients, labour, mark-up, et cetera, et cetera. We also need someone to do the marketing, to make it look professional.’
‘Jin-Jin does marketing,’ said Gladys. ‘At uni. And she’s such a lovely girl. Maybe we can ask her?’
Jin-Jin. I squirmed.
Jin-Jin and I hadn’t spoken since…since she came over that last time. I’d seen her twice outside the lifts and both times she walked straight past. She had a blank expression on her face, as though she couldn’t see me. It would be a lot easier if she wasn’t involved.
‘Is there anyone else? I said.
‘Why not Jin-Jin? Jin-Jin’s great,’ said Betsy. There was a murmur of agreement as to how wonderful she was.
‘Maybe you call her, Gladys,’ I said.
‘I don’t have her number…Do you have her number, Betsy? No, no one has her number. I thought she lived near you, Germaine. I remember her saying how nice it was to have a friend so close by.’
Fine, I said. I’d ask Jin-Jin. ‘But you and Betsy will need to work with Ralph on the registration. We also have to—’ I had plenty more to say. Thinking of everything and telling people what to do were two things I was very good at. But then Celia, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up.
‘You realise nothing’s actually changed? Just because it’s a catering company instead of a biscuit stand, we still have the same problem. We need fifty grand for a new roof and we’re not going to make that selling baked goods. I mean, if we sold each biscuit for a dollar we’d need to sell fifty thousand biscuits.’
That was incorrect. I said that if we sold each biscuit for one dollar our profit would be less than a dollar because of production and delivery costs. We’d need to sell more than fifty thousand biscuits to make fifty thousand dollars.
‘Okay,’ said Celia, ‘we need to sell more than fifty thousand biscuits,’ which, though accurate, was not exactly the point I’d intended to make.
Eva spoke up. ‘As president of the biscuit committee at council I can make a recommendation about which biscuits they purchase. There’s also a catering committee, and they select the sandwiches. Frank’s on that. He’d be very supportive.’
Celia was dismissive. ‘Even if you did sell enough biscuits—’
‘And sandwiches,’ said Eva.
‘And sandwiches, they’re not about to pay upfront, are they? And the mayoral ball is just around the corner.’ Her negativity was infectious. A feeling of dejection and uncertainty began to creep into t
he room.
Celia looked around with apparent satisfaction, then turned and rustled through some files lying on the desk behind her. When she turned back, she was holding a copy of the Deepdene Courier. I had a terrible sinking feeling.
‘I don’t want to go to the paper,’ I said.
‘I don’t want to go to the paper either,’ said Celia.
The ensuing silence was heavy.
Celia put the paper on the table. ‘You know what’s better than going to the paper?’ she said. ‘Not going to the paper, that’s what. See, I’ve been thinking. The thing about politicians is, they’re all the same: motivated powerfully and exclusively by the wellbeing of number one. We don’t need to defeat Mayor Bainbridge—we need to recruit her. Get her on our side. Give her a reason to keep this place open.’
‘Haven’t we tried that?’ said Gladys.
‘Yes, but what I’m proposing is a little less about lobbying, and a lot more about leverage.’
‘Celia.’ I swallowed. ‘You’re not suggesting some kind of blackmail?’
Celia was offended. ‘No, no. It’s like this one said,’ she gestured at Eva, ‘it’s all in the wording. It’s not blackmail, it’s a reciprocal relationship. A friendship, if you like: mutually beneficial. We just need to find something that demonstrates the benefits of that friendship in the most convincing manner.’
I wasn’t sure about this; I wasn’t sure at all. What about my résumé? I could massage dismissal but there were few lights in which a criminal conviction for blackmail would appear favourably. I looked around the room, trying to gauge what everyone was thinking. Gladys and Betsy looked concerned but Ralph didn’t. Was he considering the idea? It looked like it. Eva was nodding. And Jack was also nodding.
Where was the collective indignation? The evidence of moral quandary? Had I fallen in with a criminal element?
Celia pointed at Jack. ‘You. You work in computers. Can’t you check her email? Bound to be something incriminating there. I mean, Verity’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. I’m sure Germaine can help you out.’
The Helpline Page 22