The Secrets We Keep

by Shirley Patton

  ‘Yeh, okay. But I want you beside me, Pam. And that banner you’ve got, Geraldine, we’ll hold that between us. It’s the one with our claim on it—Reduce the sulphur dioxide emissions. Jenny, can you grab the other end of this banner? Aimee, that cardboard box with the streamers, can you pull that out? Pam, those placards need handing out to people. Be careful, you can’t carry that many, you’ll need a hand, where are the others? Oh, good, here they come.’

  Aimee smiled, hearing the authority in Kerry’s voice, and grabbed the box of streamers. She strode across the road, past the oncoming helpers, into the noisy throng. Men, women and children, many in T-shirts with handwritten slogans, milled around, laughing and chatting, creating a carnival atmosphere. Within fifteen minutes she had handed out the streamers and chatted to several people she knew, including Gerry and Jan. She checked the time—quarter to eleven—Kerry needed to get up the front. She turned back towards the car to see what else she could help with and saw a crowd gathered nearby—and the television crew. She edged her way closer. They were interviewing Kerry! A tall, red-haired man stood near her, taking notes. She couldn’t hear what was being said but she could see the earnestness on Kerry’s face and a look of determination.

  Aimee had seen that look before—on her father’s face, at rallies, when he was campaigning. Back then she’d been proud to be his daughter, of his fight for justice; stand up for what you believe in, he’d say. She no longer believed in him. But she did believe in justice—it’s why she became a social worker, to try and make a difference.

  And that’s what Kerry’s doing right now, she thought, as she threw the empty box in the back of the car and locked up. She looked over at the crowd around Kerry. It was dissipating, the television crew was moving away and Kerry was heading down to the front of the march. She ran after her but had to push her way through the marchers to reach her. Jenny and Geraldine and a few men she didn’t know were moving amongst the crowd, organising them. The march was starting to take shape with people forming orderly lines across the road, outside the Federal and down the first half of the block. She reached Kerry as she was handed a megaphone.

  ‘Here Kerry, use this.’ It was Lori, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes dancing. ‘Dad got it from the fair organisers—they use it for spruiking on the doughnut van. You’ll be able to call out as you march.’

  ‘What a great idea,’ said Pam, who had stepped in beside Kerry, taking hold of one end of the banner that they were going to walk behind.

  Kerry looked startled.

  Aimee placed a reassuring arm on her shoulder. Kerry looked around and smiled weakly.

  ‘It’s easy,’ Lori assured her. ‘Just press this button and speak into it. You don’t have to yell. Just use your normal voice.’

  ‘But what’ll I say?’ Kerry looked back at Aimee.

  Aimee thought of her father’s rallies and the protest marches during her university days. What do we want? was a favourite, and catchy slogans, encapsulating the issue.

  ‘I don’t know, Kerry. What is it you most want?’ she offered.

  She watched as Kerry and the others thought about that.

  ‘We want somethin’ done about the smell,’ urged Geraldine, who’d joined them.

  ‘What about what’s on my T-shirt—clean air, be fair?’ suggested Pam, ‘That’s what we want, isn’t it?’

  ‘We could all call that out,’ said Jenny. ‘And you could lead us, Kerry, like you see on the telly.’

  ‘What, like just keep saying, clean air, be fair?’

  Kerry was looking anxious; Aimee could see her foot tapping.

  ‘Yeah, and we’ll say, that’s what we want,’ said Geraldine.

  ‘No, the other way round,’ interjected one of the men who’d been organising the crowd.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she whispered to Pam, standing beside her.

  ‘Bill Cruickshank’s from the hospital, he’s a public service union rep,’ she replied.

  ‘You say: What do we want? then the rest of us call back, what it is we do want, like …’

  ‘Clean air, be fair,’ interrupted Pam.

  ‘Yep, or anything else you want, and Kerry, you say—When do we want it? and we’ll all call back—now,’ he instructed.

  Everyone looked at Kerry. She took a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks and then let it out slowly.

  Aimee could see her thinking, hesitating.

  ‘I’ll give it a go but if I can’t do it, will someone else take over?’

  ‘Course we will.’

  ‘Yeah, no worries, love.’

  ‘Good on ya, Kerry.’

  ‘Right, let’s get this protest moving!’ yelled out Bill, pushing his way through the throng.

  A call went out for the trucks to start up. A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Goosebumps prickled Aimee’s skin and her heart raced. A chant started, a song further back. A male voice yelled out, ‘Clean air, play fair’ and it was picked up, echoing back like the childhood rounds they sang in school. Someone was blowing a whistle and a man beside Aimee was banging a thin piece of pipe against an empty Sunshine milk tin. Creative, she thought, smiling at him.

  Kerry, Pam and Jenny had spread out along the length of the banner with Kerry in the middle. She stepped in behind her. Lori moved in closer and tucked her arm through hers. They looked at each other and smiled. At that moment, Kerry turned around and stared anxiously at them. Lori patted Kerry’s shoulder. Aimee held her gaze. She realised how well she had come to know both these women. Kerry gave them a thin-lipped smile and turned back to the road ahead.

  ‘Lead us off, Kerry,’ a woman’s voice called out from behind.

  Startled, Kerry whirled around, but the crowd surged forward and they were off.

  The people lining the pavements started to clap and call out encouragement. She heard a noise from above her and looked up. There were more people leaning over the verandah above the hotel and others hanging out an upper-storey shop window.

  Lori let go of her arm and nudged Kerry in the back. ‘Kerry, give me the megaphone and I’ll turn it on for you.’ She switched it on and handed it back. ‘Here you go, just speak normally into the mouthpiece.’

  They watched Kerry put it up to her mouth.

  ‘What do we want?’ she said, but it was barely heard above the noise of the crowd and the cheering.

  Normal voice might be all right for doughnut selling, Aimee thought, but it isn’t going to work here. ‘Put your mouth closer, Kerry, and say it louder,’ she urged. WHAT DO WE WANT? thundered into the air.

  ‘That’s better,’ laughed Lori.

  CLEAN AIR, PLAY FAIR! went the roar behind her.

  WHEN DO WE WANT IT?

  NOW!

  Kerry looked back over her shoulder at them both and grinned widely, then turned around and started the call all over again.

  It took them ten minutes to get to the intersection. Along the way others joined them off the pavement, caught up in the excitement perhaps. She knew from her own experience of marches how contagious they could be. But as they approached the Palace Hotel, she noticed a large banner unfurling from its upper verandah. It read, Stop risking our jobs. Behind it stood dozens of men, a few directly in front wearing hardhats and overalls, but in behind them, she could see others in suits. Their catcalls and boos could be heard above the noise of the crowd as it passed underneath. The television crew, positioned on the side of the road at the intersection, panned away from the marchers and up to the banner.

  At that moment, one of the men leant over and yelled out, ‘Get out of town, ya troublemakers. You oughta be ashamed of yourselves, putting decent family men’s jobs at risk.’ The rest of the men let out a loud cheer.

  Aimee heard Kerry’s voice falter as she looked up; for a second, Kerry halted and Aimee nearly fell over her. She reached out to touch her arm but Kerry stepped off again and resumed her chant.

  Lori tugged at Aimee’s sleeve. ‘One of those blokes up there i
s Kerry’s brother-in-law, Johnny. He works at the mines,’ she hissed in her ear.

  Her eyes widened. She nodded to Lori and they continued marching. It didn’t surprise her, but she felt sorry for Kerry; things like this could divide families. She’d seen it before, at protests against the new housing developments in Fremantle, south of Perth, ahead of the America’s Cup yacht race.

  Where she’d met Lee. Lee would have loved this march, would have been in the thick of it, striding around, encouraging others, bolstering morale. Lee was a natural leader. She’d noticed it immediately, the kind of energy that draws people together, moves them to follow and believe that anything is possible. She’d been wrong to believe it for her; as their friendship deepened, panic set in—too many memories. The more she’d let down her barriers, the more they’d pushed through. And the question in Lee’s eyes, she couldn’t answer.

  ‘Good on you, Kerry,’ a familiar voice yelled out from the side; they were half a block away now from the Town Hall. Aimee peered over the top of the crowd—it was Patrick, with Daniel at his side. Lori waved at both of them. Kerry had no hands free, with one on the banner and the other on the megaphone, but Aimee saw her turn and grin.

  ‘Paddy thought it better if he wasn’t in the march, being divisional supervisor and everything,’ Lori yelled in her ear.

  ‘And Daniel?’

  ‘He didn’t feel comfortable, said it wasn’t his country.’

  Aimee hadn’t noticed whether there were any Aborigines in the march. She realised now that it was unlikely that Kerry’s group would have made a specific approach to the local community; several women she knew through her work were watching from the pavement, and Hayley had waved to them at the intersection before they’d been distracted by the unfurling banner. She looked over her shoulder—she was taller than most—and was taken aback by the size of the crowd. But, no, she couldn’t see any other Aborigines, at least not as far as she could tell. It’s a pretty homogenous group, she guessed. She remembered what she’d learnt about working with communities, bringing people together—the invisible barriers to participation, to inclusion. It’s time I talked with Paddy, she decided.

  A loud cheer rose around her. They’d reached the Town Hall steps. The crowd surged behind them. Aimee grabbed hold of Lori’s arm to steady herself.

  Lori leant forward. ‘Kerry, quick, tell everyone to take a step back, use the megaphone,’ she urged. ‘Get up on the step or they won’t see you.’

  Kerry ducked under the banner and faced them. Standing halfway up the Town Hall steps, she towered a good foot above everyone else. Behind Kerry, the Town Hall’s ornate wooden doors remained closed.

  Aimee struggled to stay upright. She wondered if the mayor would turn up. That seemed unlikely now—perhaps he’d thought better of it.

  ‘CAN EVERYONE PLEASE TAKE A STEP BACK,’ enjoined Kerry.

  People jostled for position but they took a step back and a small gap appeared between Kerry and the crowd. Aimee remained, with Lori, at the bottom of the steps, next to Pam and Jenny. On the side of the steps stood several men, including Bill, the union rep. On the other side, a few yards back, near Paddy Hannan’s statue, sat Lori’s nonna, and her sister and baby, on fold-up chairs. Behind them Aimee could see Lori’s friend Mrs King and an elderly man. Lori waved to them. Further back, curious morning shoppers from the supermarket across the road had gathered for a look.

  She turned back to Kerry and saw her peer out over the crowd and wave; excited children yelled back. Aimee looked around and saw Amber amongst a group of children, jumping up and down on the back of the truck parked on the opposite side of the street. She wondered what would happen next.

  ‘Do you know if there are any speeches planned?’ she checked with Lori. She had to shout in her ear as people were still chanting, calling out or talking loudly, full of the energy raised from the solidarity of marching for something you believe in.

  ‘I’ve no idea, Aimee,’ she yelled back. ‘At Kerry’s last night they said to play it by ear. Bill reckoned it’d work itself out. “Trust the people,” he said.’

  They both looked over at Bill who was watching Kerry closely. The noise was starting to subside. They saw Bill nod to someone in the crowd. A man’s voice yelled out, ‘Tell them what we want, Kerry.’ Another started up a chant: ‘Kerry, Kerry, Kerry …’

  Kerry’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth opened and shut several times but nothing came out.

  She looks like a roo caught in headlights. Maybe I should stand beside her. She hesitated.

  Kerry looked out over the crowd. They’d quietened. Then a small voice called out: ‘Tell them, Mum, tell them what we want.’

  The crowd laughed and Kerry, grinning, picked up the megaphone and she told them what they wanted. They roared in agreement. A few dissident voices could be heard from the edges but were drowned out by the force of the crowd. Kerry was quoting the World Health Organization’s acceptable levels of sulphur dioxide when a loud cry went up. Donaldson, in full mayoral regalia, had thrust open the Town Hall doors and stepped through, onto the top step. Flanking him were two other men in suits, whom she presumed were councillors.

  ‘Good on ya, Dougie,’ yelled a voice from the edges.

  ‘Give ’em what for,’ urged another.

  The mayor stepped forward. So did the men in suits.

  ‘My fellow citizens …’ she heard him say.

  Donaldson’s voice was lost in the noise of the jeering crowd.

  ‘Men and women of Kalgoorlie …’ he tried again, arms outstretched.

  The noise level rose. She saw Kerry move towards him and knew what she was about to do.

  ‘Let him have his say,’ Kerry called out though the megaphone and passed it over to Donaldson.

  Donaldson drew back in surprise but accepted the megaphone and began bombarding the crowd with all the reasons why it was impossible for the mines to reduce emissions without dire effects on the industry, and challenging the alleged effects on people’s health: ‘After all, like most of us here, I’ve been breathing Kalgoorlie air all my life and there’s nothing wrong with me.’

  At that the crowd roared its disapproval and Kerry reached up for the megaphone. Donaldson handed it over.

  ‘But we need to listen to the science and the stories people are telling us about the health effects of poor air quality,’ she reasoned, looking directly at Donaldson. The crowd quietened. ‘We have to do something—we, you, the council can’t keep ignoring it. Our children, my … my child, deserves better.’

  She heard Kerry’s voice break. The crowd yelled out in support.

  Donaldson grabbed the megaphone back again.

  ‘Well, that’s all very well for you to say, madam. But,’ he said addressing the crowd, ‘you should try being on council, making decisions in the best interests of all.’

  Bill Cruickshank leapt up beside them. He grabbed the megaphone off Donaldson. ‘Well, let’s give her a go then. The elections are coming up,’ he called into the megaphone. ‘So what about it? Kerry for council, Kerry for council,’ he chanted.

  Kerry for council, the crowd responded.

  Donaldson’s face reddened. He reached for the megaphone. The crowd went silent.

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Mrs Steele could hardly be a candidate, could she?’

  Everyone’s eyes were on Kerry.

  Bill grabbed back the megaphone and handed it to Kerry. Kerry stared at him, then over towards Amber. For a moment she seemed to drift away. The crowd waited. A crow squawked overhead.

  ‘No, she couldn’t,’ yelled someone from the side.

  At that the crowd erupted.

  Yes, she could, yes, she could, yes, she could.

  Bill stepped closer to Kerry and Aimee heard him say: ‘What do you reckon, Kerry? Willing to give it a go? We’ll all support you. Do you think you could?’

  Kerry leant in closer and she missed what Kerry said. But she heard Bill’s reply: ‘Well, tell ’em.�
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  With the megaphone pressed to her lips, Kerry declared, ‘Yes, I could, if you …’ The rest of her words were never heard. The crowd went wild and the moment turned.

  Aimee saw Lori look over at her friend, Mrs King, and an unfathomable look pass between them. She couldn’t believe what had happened. Who would have thought? ‘Make something good come out of bad’? Kerry was well on her way to doing that. She watched as Kerry was engulfed by well-wishers, and clutching Lori’s arm, eased her way through the crowd towards Mrs King and Lori’s family and wondered how she might do the same.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  An old fan flopped back and forth, fluttering the first burst of warm air around the staffroom. The Kalgoorlie Miner, spread over the arm of a chair, barely moved in response.

  ‘Why can’t we get one of those new water coolers this summer? It gets stifling in here without any windows to open,’ complained Maureen, hauling herself out of the corner chair, her flushed face signalling her discomfort. Despite the heat, she wore black stockings and her shirt buttoned up.

  ‘I’m just grateful to be sitting down,’ Lori replied, cup of coffee in hand. She’d been on her feet for two hours duplicating documents on the Gestetner machine for Patrick and the fumes had given her a headache. ‘I’d rather we spent money on one of those new copiers. The Department of Mines already has one.’ She looked away and smiled as Daniel entered the room.

  Maureen followed her gaze and her mouth tightened. It made her thin face thinner and her eyes narrow. ‘It’s all right for you young ones but spare a thought for others,’ she retorted, as Daniel sat down beside Lori on the sofa. ‘I’ll leave you two to it, then, shall I, both late for your tea-break again, I notice. Shall I close the door, then?’ she sniffed, closing it behind her without waiting for an answer.

  Lori and Daniel looked at each other and, hands to mouth, smothered their laughter. ‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Daniel, stretching his long skinny legs along the carpet. He was wearing his uniform of jeans and cowboy boots, his dip to conformity a short-sleeved white shirt and tie, the shirt a sharp contrast to his shoulder-length black hair and dark skin.