Christmas in Canberra

by Nicole Taylor

  “You know, you are leaving yourself wide open when you hand over your financial history to someone, Tim.”

  “What do you mean?” Tim asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong – have I?”

  Louise never ceased to be amazed by the fact that even intelligent people rarely believed that tax laws were sensible or predictable. Most people believed that even if they did what they thought was right, they could still break tax laws without even knowing it.

  “You would know if you had, Tim.” Louise tried to reassure him. “No – I just mean that seeing how people spend their money tells you almost everything about them.” She was reading his cheque butts. “I’m glad to see that you have been writing details on all your stubs; that’s good.”

  “After last time, I learned my lesson.” In the previous year Tim had missed out on claiming some very costly expenses because he hadn’t written the details on the cheque butts and hadn’t kept receipts, either. He had had to lodge an amended return to avoid paying a fine; and tracking down the information had been a tedious task.

  Greg Hawkins walked into the cafe and had a long look at Louise. He took a step towards her, but recognized Tim and stopped himself. Louise pretended not to notice.

  “So, Tim,” said Louise as she read through the chequebook. “Was this trip to Sydney I see here for work?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t play any basketball or talk to anyone related to your work while you were there?”

  “I visited the court at Homebush and spoke to a few of the players but that was just –“

  “Professional development,” said Louise. “We will claim half the trip.” She made a note and continued to flip through the cheque stubs. “How about these clothing purchases?” She looked at Tim, who was dressed in an Adidas track suit and running shoes. “Were they all work gear?”

  “I have to wear Adidas; it’s part of our sponsorship deal.”

  “So why don’t they provide you with the clothes for free?”

  “They do, some; but I need more.”

  “Everything you pay for is deductible in that case. We just have to make sure that we declare all the income. Excessive wear and tear applies, too.” Louise continued to make notes. “That should do it for the moment. I’ll call you if I need any more information.”

  “I want to pay you this year,” said Tim. “Or at least give you something.”

  “You can’t,” Louise said. “I’m a Tax Officer and I’m not allowed to receive any payment or gift from a taxpayer in relation to my work. Anyway, I don’t do your taxes because I need extra money.”

  “Thanks then, but I owe you.”

  “No you don’t.” Louise finished her coffee. “I love helping my friends and family with their taxes. It is something they need and value and I get a kick out of it. Why should the rich guys get all the breaks?”

  “Can I interest you in coming to a game, then?” Tim was blushing. “And maybe dinner?”

  Louise realized she was being asked out.

  “Tim, I would love to come to a game, but I can’t go out with you.” Louise was really flattered because he was a nice man and she found him attractive.

  “Why not?” Tim wanted to know.

  “You know why not – Marie!”

  “Nothing’s happened between me and Marie.” Tim was quite sure of his position. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “But I do. Marie really likes you, Tim. She really likes you. It would upset her a lot if I even went out with you once.”

  “It doesn’t have to be just the once,” Tim smiled.

  “Oh, Tim, you are so nice, but I couldn’t do it to Marie,” Louise was truly sorry. “This is hard for me because I mostly only meet pushy men, and I know you are really sweet.”

  Tim sighed. He had so many girls throwing themselves at him that this “rejection” didn’t take a detour into his ego, but sat where it belonged, in the “non-starter” lane.

  “You sure are a nice sister,” he said. “Too nice.”

  “Tell me about it,” Louise agreed glumly.

  Back at the office, Louise had no sooner settled herself in her chair than Greg Dawkins walked past her desk and said quietly “Could I see you in my office for a minute, Louise?”

  Something about his tone told Louise that she was not going to enjoy this chat, so she followed him into his office without comment. Greg shut the door after her, another ominous sign.

  “Sit down please.” He went to the other side of his desk and sat down.

  Suddenly Louise felt intimidated. Then she felt angry. How dare this man intimidate her at work? She always arrived on time; never left early and worked fairly hard all day long. “No, thanks, Greg,” she answered sternly. “I’ll stay standing.”

  Greg was surprised. He had to look up at her from his seat. “I wanted to ask you about what you were doing in the Moore St café this afternoon.”

  “Okay.” Louie offered no information.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Having lunch with a friend.”

  “Just having lunch?”

  “I may have spoken a few words.”

  Greg shook his head in exasperation. “Were you doing your friend’s tax return?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because, Louise,” and Greg stood up and walked around from behind his desk to face her “you are not allowed to give any special treatment as a Tax Officer to individuals you may know. It is an abuse of your position.”

  “I know that.” Louise tried to calm herself down. “I would never do anything to compromise the Tax Office or my position in it. However, assisting friends and family with their tax returns is not in breach of my duty to my employer; and I came to this job fully loaded.”

  “What?”

  “I paid for all my own qualifications – the Tax Office did not give me paid study leave; nor did it subsidise my study expenses. I own my knowledge, not the Tax Office. And my conduct is irreproachable.”

  Greg had not expected to be spoken to so harshly. “Your conduct must not only be irreproachable, but you must take care not to be seen to be doing anything that might look unprofessional. As a Tax Officer, you are held to a higher standard.”

  “I will continue to assist my friends and family with their tax returns in the best traditions of the public service.” Louise spoke as calmly as she could.

  “Then you leave me no choice but to report your conduct to Matt Abrams.”

  “That’s fine with me, Greg. Is that all?”

  “No, actually, it isn’t.” Greg walked around his desk again and opened a file he had there. “I’ve had Phil take a close look at the letters you have been sending out to taxpayers who write to us asking for advice.”

  Louise hadn’t expected this. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Well, it is something we do from time to time; just to check the quality of advice emanating from the Tax Office.”

  “Do you do that randomly?”

  “Sometimes,” Greg smiled. “And at other times we zero in on a particular officer.” He looked through the pages in the file. “You send out more letters than a lot of the others.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, doesn’t that indicate that I am doing more work?”

  “Not necessarily. The others prefer to handle their clients over the phone.”

  “But you have no way of checking the content of those calls, so why check my letters?”

  “We will be monitoring all telephone calls by the new year,” Greg said defensively, “but at the present time we only monitor letters.” He didn’t like the way Louise had him almost justifying himself to her. He was her supervisor – not the other way around.

  “I see,” said Louise. “Well, these taxpayers have gone to the trouble of writing to us, and there is a legal principle which states that communication between
parties where a legal relationship may exist should take the same form. That is, a message should be responded to in the same mode as it was received. Therefore, if I am telephoned, I will respond to the caller by phone; but if I receive a letter, I will respond by letter. Unless, of course, my employer mandates an office-wide preference for telephone responses to all queries. Is that the case here?”

  Greg did not answer her. He sat with his arms crossed, looking at her.

  Louise continued. “When I write to a government department, particularly to one with which I may have a legal relationship, I much prefer to receive a letter in response myself, particularly if the information is of a legal nature, as is the case here; or if I am going to rely on the advice in the letter to make a decision.”

  “Alright, Louise, there is no need to lecture me.” Greg was angry now, too. “Your letters are too legalistic. He drew one from the file and read aloud. “In order to be deductible under Section 51(1) of the ITAA 1936”. Greg shook his head. “You can’t write like that to taxpayers. It’s officious.”

  Louise took a deep breath. “I wrote that letter after speaking to Mrs Leahy on the phone.” Greg checked the letter and saw that Louise had remembered the taxpayer’s name. He was surprised that she recalled it so easily, since the letter had gone out months ago. “She specifically asked me to put those details in a letter to her. Call her – she will remember me.” Louise spoke confidently. She continued before Greg could interrupt her. “I think I write really well, Greg. And so does everyone else in this office. I give the others a lot of help with their letters – when they do write them. And I am happy to tell you – for free – that the reason the others prefer to call taxpayers rather than to respond to written queries in writing is that, like many accountants, they are not as literate as you and I. They lack the confidence to commit their thoughts to paper.” Louise prepared to leave. “But I am very confident, and I look forward to hearing from Mr Abrams so we can clear up this, and any other matter you might wish me to clarify – hopefully before my next interview at Defence.” She smiled as she left his office.

  *

  “Louise!” Vera cringed when Louise recited this conversation back to her friend. “Why did you do that?” They were seated at their desks. It was the end of the workday and the floor was almost empty of staff.

  “I don’t know!” Louise was cringing, too. “Why do I do anything I do? Because I’m a bloody idiot, that’s why.” Louise was slouched over her desk, her head in her hands. “I’m really going to need that promotion now.”

  “Well, don’t hold your breath. Defence always moves at a snail’s pace – they are famous for it. If you want a fast promotion, you have to apply to one of the newer departments, like Education and Training, or Arts and the Environment.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because the newer departments haven’t had time to formulate any internal rules yet, so anything goes, basically. But Defence – that is the original government department! It’s the oldest, the biggest, and the one with more rules and regulations than any other. It will be months before they make a decision.”

  “Great.” Louise was feeling completely defeated. “So, I’ve just insulted my boss and have nowhere to go. That sounds like me!”

  “I tried to warn you, Lou,” Vera shook her head sympathetically.

  “But what was I supposed to do, Vera?” Louise defended herself. “He was covertly bullying me. I’m not going to stand for that – why should I?”

  “Don’t confuse right with reality, Louise.”

  Louise groaned and put her head back down on her desk.

  Vera stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Cheer up,” she said. “Look, I’m dropping into the yacht club on my way home. I have to see a friend. Why don’t you come?”

  “Thanks, Vera,” said Louise forlornly. “I might as well.” She dragged her bag from under her desk as though it weighed a tone. “I can always slash my wrists later.”

  “Pills are better,” advised Vera. “No blood.”

  “True.” Louise was smiling now. “You are so practical, Vera.”

  “It’s the Russian peasant in me.” Vera stopped and touched Louise’s arm. “Are you alright to drive?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I’ll see you there in 10 minutes.”

  “Righteo.”

  *

  Louise arrived at the yacht club before 6pm. It was still very light and dusk was a couple of hours away. She parked beneath a tree not far from the entrance to the parking lot and slowly made her way to the clubhouse, hoping that Vera had beaten her and she wouldn’t be there alone for too long.

  The lake was still and its shores were adorned with small yachts in various stages of being placed on trailers. Huge dirigibles hovered over the lake, leaving perfect reflections on the glassy surface of the water. Club members were taking it in turns to back up to the mooring station, trying to both retrieve their yachts and enjoy the spectacle of the huge balloons against the pink sky and mauve water. It was a very pretty scene and one she knew her father would like to paint.

  And her father was the first person Louise saw when she entered the yacht club. Contrary to Mary’s belief that Louise and Jim met weekly for lunch, they very rarely saw one another outside the family home. Jim was pleasantly surprised to see Louise now and stopped what he was doing, which was buying Vera a drink, until she arrived beside him.

  Jim kissed Louise on the cheek and said “Fancy seeing you here. What will you have?”

  “Hi, Dad,” said Louise. “A spritzer, please.” Jim got the drinks and ushered the girls to a table by the French windows which led to the balcony. “Is this alright?” He asked them.

  “Beautiful, thanks Jim,” Vera smiled. She liked Jim and was clearly pleased to have run into him.

  Prior to the Vera’s arrival, Jim had been talking to a group of friends whom Louise had gotten to know well over a period of almost twenty years. He had been glad of the diversion; though perfectly happy to consort with his usual early Friday evening crown. So far, Jim’s life had followed a predictable course: matriculate from a good school; achieve a sensible degree from a leading university; obtain employment in a federal government department and gain promotion. During this period, he should also marry, have a family, and contribute to the community. None of these calls upon his time bothered him in the least. Jim enjoyed being a part of the St Vincent de Paul operation; just as he enjoyed being an active member of the Yowani Golf Club, and the CanberraYacht Club. He was the essential Greater Public School boy. Clubs were where he felt most comfortable.

  “So, Louise,” Jim said, “Vera has been filling me in! Let’s hear your side of things.” He grinned cheekily at Vera, knowing that would be enough to set Louise off.

  “No, it’s the weekend now. No work talk. How is everyone at home?” Louise tried to shy away from Vera’s warning glare.

  “Well, I wanted to speak to you about that, but I don’t want to bore Vera.” Jim was serious but gentle.

  “Actually, Jim, I’m only here to meet a friend. I dragged Louise along to have one drink – that’s all.” Vera collected her things and kissed Jim on the cheek. “Good to see you.” And she was off.

  Jim collected himself after Vera’s whirlwind departure and turned to Louise. “Have you had dinner?” He asked.

  “No,” answered Louise.

  “Well,” considered Jim, “we could eat here; or go home and see what your mother has for us; or, we could go somewhere else.” Louise smiled. Clearly her father wanted to go out but didn’t want to be the one to exclude his wife. He knew Mary would not want to go out for dinner, and hoped Louise would force it on him.

  But Louise was wise enough to know that she would bear the flack and couldn’t afford to do so.

  “What if we get one of those gourmet pizzas from Manuka on the way to your place?” she suggested.

  “Excellent plan!” said her father. “And I have the perfect cabernet sauvignon s
hiraz blend to go with it.”

  What year?” asked Louise.

  Jim was slightly affronted by her question. “It’s an ‘82, actually, but I have a Grange ‘77 if that’s not good enough for you, now that you are at the,” and he adjusted his tone to say the words, “Tax Office.”

  Louise made an ‘O’ with her mouth and rubbed one of her forefingers against the other. Her father had been at the Department of Treasury for 20 years. Treasury was the overseeing department for the Tax Office, which was merely a Commission.

  “Now, now, Dad,” Louise admonished, “pull your horns in!”

  Jim looked down his handsome nose at her with amusement. Then his attitude changed to one of complicity. “Let’s go to Manuka for dinner, Lou!” He was charged by this idea. “We could –”

  “Blame me for the whole idea – I don’t think so!’ Louise laughed as she finished her drink.

  “It was worth a try,” Jim shrugged. Then he became more serious. “Louise,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you about Marie.”

  “Oh?” Louise knew it would be too soon for anyone to have noticed that she had ‘dropped’ her family. Of course, if her father was going to notice, it had to be because of Marie. Louise smiled to herself. “What about her?”

  “Have you seen her lately?” Jim was really puzzled. “We haven’t seen her for a week. I was just wondering if everything was alright.”

  “Typical,” thought Louise. “I could be lying dead in a ditch and no one would know unless it was reported on the 6 o’clock news. But if anyone else in the family is 5 minutes late asking for a lift to work, or a loan to pay the rent, all the flares go up.”

  Suddenly Louise wasn’t enjoying her drink any more. “No, Dad,” she replied tersely. “I haven’t heard from Marie either. Not since the last time she needed a lift somewhere.” Louise hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “By the way, Dad,” Louise said, as breezily as her annoyance allowed, “I won’t be spending Christmas Day with the family this year. Tell Mum for me, would you?”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “I’ve decided to spend it with some single friends, so all you ‘family people’ could hang out together.”