by Di Morrissey
‘You’re right, we’re running out of time, but the council has already been helpful and told me that it has arranged for the rodeo and show grounds to take some of the overflow of caravans and campervans, if needed,’ said Nat.
‘I’ve heard that there’s a bikie club coming, too,’ added Rachel. ‘But they seem to be staying out at someone’s property.’
‘Wasn’t there talk of letting hobby farmers out Twelve Mile take a few caravans?’ said Brian. ‘Anyway, it’ll be great if the whole town fills up with people coming to our festival.’
Nat nodded and consulted her notes. ‘Well, that seems to be the best we can do for accommodation. Lydia, you’re still broadcasting from the festival on the Friday morning and interviewing some of the writers on air as well as being a moderator for one of the main festival sessions, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward it. I’ve done my homework on the authors I’ll be meeting,’ said Lydia.
‘I’m sure you have,’ said Nat. ‘And if something goes wrong and we need you to do another session . . .’
‘I’ll be happy to wing it if need be,’ Lydia replied cheerfully.
‘Thank you, I know I can count on you. Meanwhile, the local newspaper is doing advance stories as well as running ads. The posters have gone up around town in shops, accommodation places and other venues. The opening night cocktails will be outdoors at the Mangrove Hotel and the closing night at the Cable Beach Club. They have generously said that they’ll supply the music and food and drinks at a very reasonable price. Jacqui tells me that she has everything organised and will set up a mini bookshop at the festival for the sale of the visiting writers’ books. She will also have a table there for author signings.’ Nat looked around at her committee. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.
Jacqui spoke up. ‘Some of the publicity people and publishers as well as authors have asked me whether we could organise any sightseeing while they’re in Broome. I think they might want to see a pearl farm as well as visit our shops to look for souvenirs, local art, that sort of thing.’
‘It’s not a bleeding holiday,’ said Brian. ‘We’ve paid for them to come and do a job.’
‘C’mon, Brian,’ said Lydia. ‘It’s a heck of a long way to come, and they’re giving their time for a very modest fee. And it’s not like they’re each going to sell a zillion books.’
‘Riley Mathieson will. People are coming from everywhere to see him,’ said Rachel. ‘Tickets to his events have completely sold out.’
‘Okay, okay, I suppose you’re right,’ Brian relented. ‘I’ll speak to local tourist people and see what we can line up. Maybe we can organise a visit to the nearby pearl farm before the festival starts, but we’ll have to give ourselves plenty of travel time to make sure everyone’s back in time for the evening opening party. Leave it with me.’
After this there was a general discussion over coffee and biscuits about less important matters before the meeting broke up. As they walked to their cars, Rachel said quietly to Jacqui, ‘I’ve heard rumours that mining interests are coming to town. Have you heard anything?’
‘Yes, a bit,’ Jacqui responded. ‘I heard that a mining company might build a hub at The Point to process its offshore gas. Lydia is very upset about it.’
‘Really?’ asked Rachel. ‘That will distress quite a lot of people, I imagine. Such a beautiful place being acquired for something like that. Mind you, others in the town might be pleased if the development goes ahead. People like Nat and Colin would probably make a lot of money from building houses for the mining workers.’
‘I guess they would,’ said Jacqui thoughtfully. ‘I have a feeling that the introduction of mining into our town is going to cause a lot of problems.’ She was pensive as she waved goodbye to Rachel.
*
The next day, Jacqui arrived home from work to find the living room of her house even messier than she had left it the night before. Books were still piled everywhere, some open, most with stickers and bookmarks protruding where she’d been reading and making notes, and now a plate containing Jean-Luc’s half-finished and forgotten biscuits sat next to her sheets of notes on the floor.
‘What have you been up to today, Jean-Luc?’ she asked her son.
‘Umm,’ muttered Jean-Luc, who was deeply engrossed in the fourth book of Riley Mathieson’s ‘Passage’ series. He looked up. ‘Maman, why are all these books around? This room is very messy.’
‘Did I tell you that Nat has asked if I’ll be a stand-by moderator at the festival? I was trying to do some homework,’ said Jacqui. ‘I’m so nervous about the idea. I want to do it, but I hope I don’t have to, because it will be hard enough getting extra hands to work at the shop.’
Jean-Luc looked up. ‘Pardon? Did you say “moderator”? You mean someone who interviews the author on stage?’
‘Got it in one. But that’s not the only news. I can’t believe what’s happened.’ She drew a breath. ‘Nat rang me this afternoon to tell me that we have another new guest star.’
‘But Riley is the star!’ exclaimed Jean-Luc.
‘Yes, but by some amazing fluke we have been contacted by a woman who wants to come here to the festival, and she will be able to take the place of Tracey Marvin. And this woman is a legend!’
Jean-Luc raised his eyes in amusement. ‘Really? A legend, Maman?’
‘Well, you might like to quibble about what makes a legend, but I think she is. You might have Riley, but I have Sheila Turner.’
‘Who is this Sheila Turner? Why is she important?’
Jacqui clasped her hands to her face. ‘Jean-Luc, she is famous. She’s a feminist from New Zealand, and quite the rebel. You know the meaning of the word “feminist”?’
‘Yes! I have heard of Jane Fonda!’
‘No, not Jane Fonda,’ said his mother, not knowing whether to laugh or weep. ‘Anyway, how do you know about Jane Fonda?’
‘We studied her at school in film class. We saw a video of her speaking in French. She is beautiful, and she was a rebel when she was young. So, she is not coming here?’ said Jean-Luc sadly.
‘No, I don’t think a writers’ festival in Broome would really interest her. But Sheila Turner is someone even Jane Fonda would admire!’
Jean-Luc frowned. ‘I do not think the name rings a bell for me, Maman . . .’
‘I suppose not. Sheila is very vocal in saying what she thinks about the way women are treated by society. I’m not sure how old she is, quite a bit older than I am, at any rate, but still a fighter for women’s causes. She’s very feisty, so people, men in particular, don’t always agree with her. She’s written a lot of books and articles and is often on TV here in Australia, but most importantly of all she has changed a lot of people’s way of thinking about women. Her message is that women deserve to be respected and acknowledged for their brains and that men and women should be treated as equals.’
Jacqui paused in her explanation and looked at Jean-Luc’s puzzled face. ‘These ideas were quite revolutionary in the 1970s,’ she explained. ‘And Sheila tells us that the revolution isn’t over. Women still have to fight to get equal pay for the same work as men, and in many cases are still expected to be the ones who give up their career for parenthood instead of receiving adequate support to do both. Sheila Turner certainly makes sure that people are aware this is still a major issue.’ She smiled at her son. ‘You know how I’ve talked to you about respecting women, about how to treat girls.’
‘Of course, Maman.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Sometimes it seems different in France. The women, the girls I see . . . well, they try hard to please men, and like to show off, but I do have a wonderful history teacher. She seems very strong and, well, the parents do not argue with her.’
‘From my observations, I would say that the French respect women. They’re good at sniffing out a fraud, though, socially and professionally,�
�� said Jacqui. ‘I think that the French can be quite blunt to anyone who tries to put on airs and graces or pretends to know more than they really do. They don’t hesitate to call them out,’ said Jacqui. ‘Here, well, maybe people often don’t want a confrontation, so they change the subject instead.’
‘Then this Ms Turner coming to your festival is a very big coup,’ said Jean-Luc.
‘Huge! Nat is stunned. I must call Lydia and find out if Nat has let her know yet.’
Lydia burst out laughing when Jacqui told her the news. ‘Wow. I’m gobsmacked. I suppose you’re right, Sheila is a legend. I’ve read a couple of her books, and she often has thought-provoking articles in the national newspapers. Oh, quick, give me her details and I’ll try to book her in for an interview. I’ll try to get it broadcast nationally.’
‘I think she can be a bit choosy about publicity, so you might have to approach her carefully,’ replied Jacqui.
‘Is she speaking about some particular issue? And she’s definitely coming?’
‘She’s definitely coming, according to Nat, but I’m not sure what she’s speaking about. It is all a bit amazing,’ admitted Jacqui. ‘I’ll have to get her books ordered for the festival asap.’
‘So how did Nat pull it off, do you know?’ asked Lydia.
‘Would you believe that I was the one who was able to make the initial contact? Funny how things happen. You know about my friend Bonnie, who lives in Darwin? She did some work with Sheila Turner some years ago, and they’ve kept in touch. Anyway, Sheila was visiting Darwin and Bonnie mentioned that we were struggling to find a replacement for Tracey at the festival, and then she said half-jokingly to Sheila, “Why don’t you go?”. Turns out Ms Turner has always wanted to visit Broome. So Bonnie emailed me, and I immediately let Nat know. Nat couldn’t send Sheila an invitation quickly enough.’
‘That’s amazing,’ said Lydia. ‘I wonder what she’s like in person.’
‘According to Bonnie, Sheila’s very down-to-earth and super energetic. A big walker. Nat is talking to her about what she’d like to speak about at the festival and whether she’d like to be part of a panel, or just have a special slot for herself.’
‘Whatever she does, I’ll be there to hear her! She’s so wonderfully feisty. I’d certainly love to have a conversation with her on stage. Do you think that would be possible?’ asked Lydia.
‘Speak to Nat! Anyway, you’ll at least be able to have that media scoop, now that you know she’s coming.’
*
Jacqui was thrilled that the famous Ms Sheila Turner would be coming to the festival. The lure of the Kimberley strikes again, she thought. When Damien rang to see how things were going, she couldn’t wait to tell him this latest news.
‘That’s fantastic. Is it confirmed?’
‘Everyone seems very confident. Why, are you a fan?’
Damien chuckled. ‘Well, I’m not sure about that. She is very opinionated, but you have to admire the way she’s spoken out for so many years.’
‘Yes, she’s such a good role model. My mother will be beside herself when I tell her that Sheila’s coming.’
‘Hmmm, y’know what I’m thinking?’ And before Jacqui could answer Damien continued, ‘I’m coming up to Broome. I think your festival could give even more colour and interest to my doco. Would Sheila Turner be willing to be interviewed, do you think? It would be such a bonus. Of course, my main reason for jumping on a plane is not the festival, but to see you, Jac.’
‘Of course!’ Jacqui laughed. Suddenly, she felt a warmth spread through her. It had been several weeks since her visit to Perth and the thought of seeing Damien again was exciting. ‘It will be great to catch up. Nat has been dealing with Sheila Turner, so I’ll ask her for Sheila’s number and you can phone her.’
*
Jacqui sat at her computer, skimming through the thousands of posts about Sheila Turner. Occasionally, she played a video clip and listened, amused by the renowned author’s pithy, funny, pointed and practical comments on politics, women’s rights, current affairs and the eclectic range of issues that Sheila had broached over several decades. Some were causes she’d fought for, others were viewpoints or opinions she’d derided with acerbic comments. Her scrutiny, her devastating wit, her penetrating grasp of facts and coherent argument made her an eloquent provocateur.
Jean-Luc leaned over Jacqui’s shoulder as she was watching a video clip. ‘She is very clever, yes?’
‘Terrifyingly so. I wouldn’t want to be opposite her in a debate. But I can’t help liking her. And she is generally on the side of the angels, most of the time.’
‘Does she occasionally argue the opposite just to annoy people? Clever people sometimes do that.’
‘Hmmm. You could be right.’ Jacqui turned off the computer. She’d once known someone like that. It had been a very annoying trait. ‘Damien, my filmmaker friend, is coming up here and hoping to interview her.’
‘Will he film Riley Mathieson too?’
‘I’m not sure. Some writers don’t like being in the spotlight, but they have to do it.’
‘To sell their books?’ asked Jean-Luc.
‘Yes. That’s the other side of the writing process. Not much point pouring your heart and soul into a book for years if nobody reads it.’
‘But what if you are shy and don’t like talking in public?’ her son said.
‘Sometimes the publisher sends authors on courses to learn how to talk to the media, to go on stage and engage with the public. You know, readers want to hear about the book from its creator, not a salesperson.’
Jean-Luc shuddered. ‘It sounds like the right thing to do, but really difficult if you are shy!’
Jacqui agreed, but after Jean-Luc had gone his question made her think about writers and their willingness to put themselves out there for their readers. Some writers were confident, egotistical, arrogant even. Those who had a hot, popular book, or thought their book should be a number one bestseller, could be cocky, although Jacqui thought that attitude was never justified. But the vast majority of writers she’d spoken to, read about, and heard about, seemed to be insecure, anxious, even needy. And if they had a hit book, they’d angst over being able to replicate their achievement and feel the pressure of success weighing on them. With few exceptions, most authors never made much money from writing, Jacqui knew. But equally, she’d learned that most writers never gave up trying, either. They often took all manner of jobs to support themselves as they toiled, sometimes for years, laying out their hearts and emotions on a blank page for all to see. As a reader, she never understood how writers pulled stories seemingly out of the ether, making you cry, laugh, travel to a distant place, be intrigued and scared or fall in love. She was thrilled when a book hit the big time, whether or not it was a genre she liked. She always treated the books in her shop with respect, sometimes reverence, for she understood a little of what had gone into their creation, and she felt a kernel of pride whenever she sold a book, sending it on its way to entertain, inform and open doors of the mind. She especially loved children’s books. Already she’d seen a small brigade of readers venture from the colourful picture books on the lower shelves to the chapter books in the small people’s section, and always loved the moment when they found a new book to take home, something to treasure for many years.
*
Damien walked into the terminal and held out his arms in greeting, giving Jacqui a hug and a kiss.
‘This is a lovely surprise,’ he said as he pulled away to look at her. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to meet me.’ Then he leaned in close and gave her a very affectionate kiss. ‘It’s been too long,’ he added with a happy smile.
Jacqui felt a little flustered by this demonstrative greeting, and as Damien swung a hold-all bag onto his shoulder and took her arm she hastily asked, ‘Is this all your gear?’
‘Yep. Richie’s com
ing up with the rest, if I can get everything organised. I’m just here to do all the legwork first. And take you to dinner, with Jean-Luc, of course.’
‘You must come around and meet him,’ said Jacqui. ‘Where’re you staying? I’ll drop you there, but I have to get back to the shop. I have so much more to do before the festival starts.’
‘The town is getting pretty full so I had to do a bit of ringing around before I found something. I managed to get an apartment so that there’s room for Richie, too. We’re pretty chuffed about Sheila Turner. I’ve been talking to her . . . she’s quite a card. I have a few ideas I’d like to share with you on the best approach to filming her.’
‘Happy to help. I can’t believe the festival is all coming together. We’re starting to get excited now, although we still worry about last-minute hiccups.’
‘Oh, expect something for sure. There’s always Murphy’s Law.’ Damien laughed. ‘Just roll with the punches, is my motto.’
‘Take whatever comes, eh?’ sighed Jacqui.
After he had hoisted his bag into the back of her car she drove him to his rented apartment overlooking Roebuck Bay.
‘Can I meet you for dinner?’ Damien asked.
‘Of course, perhaps just the two of us. Jean-Luc won’t mind being left at home and you can meet him later. There’s a very nice hotel right next door to your apartment building. How about a sundowner there first?’
After leaving Damien to get settled, she arrived back at the shop to find Jean-Luc there, full of excitement.
‘Maman, your friend Nat rang to say that Riley Mathieson has arrived with her husband. She said I can go to her place to meet him. Can I go, please?’
‘Oh, he’s here already? Well, that’s a relief. Thank heavens they made it safely. It’s a very long drive. But I think, darling, it might be best if he goes to his hotel and rests up first. I’ll call Nat and find out if he has any particular plans.’