by Cenarth Fox
Josh looked at Bernie in a new way. The advice seemed sensible, even right. He gripped Bernie’s hands and spoke with a passionate sincerity.
‘I’ll do it. I’ll go home early, and confess and apologise tonight. God, I feel so much better. Thanks mate, you’ve saved my life.’
He moved forward and hugged the hapless Bernie just as the company accountant opened the door. He didn’t need to be told to leave, he just did. Two blokes hugging in the Gents sent a certain signal.
I need to pee elsewhere.
Josh wiped his tears, smiled at Bernie, and spoke with feeling.
‘I’m a new man. Thank God for my conscience.’
He left, giving a thumbs-up at the door. Bernie looked in the mirror.
What the hell have I done?
The visit to his parents that night became super stressful. Maddy had one piece of good news. Their cousin Chloe, a favourite niece of their parents, having sold her apartment, was heading to London in a few weeks. She needed short-term accommodation. When Maddy phoned her about Aunt Daphne, Chloe jumped at the aunt and uncle-sitting gig.
Madeline was there when Bernie arrived. The family sat in the kitchen although Daphne fussed with the kettle and made tea. She did what she’d done a million times before.
‘So why are you here?’ she asked Bernie.
‘Do I need a reason to visit my favourite mother,’ replied Bernie.
Once that remark would have drawn a laugh and a witty retort from his clever mother; not tonight.
‘My darling,’ began Gus, ‘how would you like to go on a holiday?’
‘You go,’ said Daphne. ‘I need to stay here and look after our children.’
“Our children” looked at their father whose eyes brimmed with moisture. A rough night beckoned.
After the cuppa, Gus told his wife her much-loved TV show was on, and she and Madeline went to watch it. Father and son got chatting.
‘Dad, we’re going to get through this, all of us. Maddy and I will take responsibility for both you and Mum.’
‘Thank you,’ whispered Gus and gripped his son’s arm.
‘Everything from finding the right place to live, together with the best care, selling the house, looking after the finances; everything. You don’t have to do a thing. Okay?’
Gus nodded. He couldn’t speak. Silence ruled. Bernie continued.
‘We’re trying to find a place where you can be together. You’ll both have the best of professional care, and your kids and grandkids will drive you mad with regular visits.’
The man in the wheelchair nodded. His throat went dry, which made talking tricky. Bernie spoke.
‘It’ll mean selling the house, but we’ll look after that. We’ll use the money to set up you and Mum for life.’
Gus smiled his appreciation. ‘Sorry about your inheritance.’
Bernie looked in shock at his father then saw the familiar twinkle in his eye. They laughed as Madeline came into the room.
‘Mum’s nodded off. Just sitting in her favourite chair, she fell asleep.’
‘She’s doing that a lot these days,’ said Gus.
‘So what have you two villains been talking about?’
‘All sorted,’ said Bernie. ‘Dad’s happy for us to arrange everything.’
Madeline gave her father a hug and sat beside him, rubbing his arm.
‘I’ve just apologised to your brother for spending your inheritance.’
Madeline playfully smacked her father’s arm.
‘I’ll start looking for estate agents tomorrow, Dad,’ said Bernie.
‘And I’ve started looking at top nursing homes,’ added Madeline.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gus. ‘Thank you both.’
‘Dad,’ said Madeline. ‘We can’t leave you and Mum alone now. It might take weeks or months to get you moved.’
Gus grimaced. He knew this issue had to be sorted immediately.
‘We could get some professional care, Dad,’ added Bernie.
Maddy smiled. ‘No need; I’ve got great news. Cousin Chloe has sold her flat, and is going overseas. She needs somewhere to stay. I rang her today, and she and her toothbrush will be here in the morning.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ beamed Bernie.
Gus couldn’t speak. His gratitude overflowed.
The “kids” tidied the kitchen, and helped their folks prepare for bed. Their mother became childlike and retired without a murmur.
In the street, the siblings reviewed the situation.
‘Well done on finding Chloe. What a perfect solution.’
‘Just lucky, and we needed a break. But what I still don’t understand is how Mum got so bad so quickly.’
‘She didn’t. Dad just kept the early stages from us.’
‘Typical Dad, thinking of others.’ Bernie nodded. ‘Now we have to move fast on this. They need help right now.’ Bernie agreed.
‘I’ll find the estate agent; you find the nursing home.’
‘I prefer retirement village but needs must.’
Both siblings were under stress, especially Madeline. Bernie was afraid to ask. He did.
‘So how are things at home?’
She looked at him, and then tears appeared, and rolled down her cheeks. Bernie felt terrible. Brutus the Bastard still lived up to his name. Suddenly Madeline threw her arms around her brother, and hugged him so tight it almost hurt. She sobbed.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she cried.
‘Whoa, what’s happened? Maddy!’
She relaxed her grip. ‘I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Last night, Bruce got down on bended knee, and begged for forgiveness.’
Bernie’s heart rate accelerated. ‘He what?’
‘He apologised profusely for treating the kids and me so badly, I … I couldn’t speak.’
‘He apologised?’
‘He told me he loved me, and said he wants to become the best husband and father in the world.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Your new drug, brother dear, has changed my husband overnight. He is back being a kind and loving man. You have saved our marriage.’
She hugged Bernie again as his mind started spinning.
That’s two guinea pigs and two magnificent results.
9
THE PARTY ROOM meeting buzzed. A leadership spill didn’t happen every week. With the polls showing Labor well ahead, and the next election due in nine months, whispers of a serious challenge sparked tension. It filled the room. Trevor stood.
‘Good morning.’ The parliamentarians mumbled their response. Then the big shock floored everyone.
Trevor had slipped into a phone box, and changed his costume. It was bye-bye Mr Bland, and hello no more Mr-Nice-Guy. He let rip.
‘United we stand, divided we fall. Yes, it’s a cliché but yes, it applies to all of us. I’ve called a spill of leadership positions because of the cowards in our party. Some of you have been undermining me for months, but never to my face. Well this treachery stops right here, right now.’
Wow. What’s happened to Trevor? He rarely displays passion. Out of nowhere came Mr Fiery. Now was not a good time to challenge the boss. He moved up a gear.
‘I want to clear the air. I intend to nominate for Leader. If I am returned, every member of caucus will give me total loyalty. This is your final chance before the election to accept or reject my leadership. Do I make myself clear?’
Nobody replied. Silence dominated. The shock of Mr Bland becoming Mr Grandstand stunned everyone. Had his handlers advised him to flick the nasty switch?
Go heavy, Trevy. Silence your critics and win over the undecideds. Besides, Riley’s a wimp, and the Bitch has serious personal issues. Do it.
Trevor looked around the room. He was riding roughshod over procedure. There needed to be a chairperson, and a call for nominations for the various leadership positions, but Trevor used his status
as Leader to dare anyone to challenge. Incumbency rules.
‘Well as there is no challenge to my leadership, I suggest we move to the position of deputy leader.’
‘Just a minute.’
Three little words, but oh the power therein. It was Jessica Reid, sitting near the back of the room. Heads turned and people stared.
‘Ah, Jessica, what a surprise. I thought we might hear from you. An explanation of your current “difficulties” perhaps?’
‘I thought the correct procedure involved calling for nominations.’
‘Of course, how naughty of me. I simply wanted to clear the air, and get on with the business of winning government. I’m sure you want us to win the next election. Now is that all you have to say?’
‘Only that I wish to nominate for the position of Leader.’
Oops.
Jessica’s live hand grenade rolled down the aisle, and stopped at the feet of the Leader of the Opposition. Members counted the seconds before the device would explode. Trevor smiled. Any body language expert would define Trevor’s facial expression as forced.
‘Good for you,’ he said crushing the grenade. ‘Anyone else fancy their chances?’ Not a sound was heard. ‘Brother Riley, tossing your titfer in to the ring are we?’ Riley shook his head. ‘Right then, Ms Reid, it’s a two-horse race. Care to make your pitch? Ladies first, and all that jazz.’
Jessica moved to the front of the room. ‘Thank you, Trevor. I’m happy to face the new ball.’
Every eye stared at her. Every mind gave her their undivided attention. She nodded at Trevor who secretly gloated.
If you don’t reveal your husband’s nasty little secret, sweetheart, I’ll be delighted to do it for you.
‘Good morning,’ began Jessica. ‘As you know, I’ve always done things my way. When practicing law, I’ve often defended alleged criminals. Only recently, I defended a man the police believe is a major supplier of drugs here in Melbourne. The police got their murder charge wrong.’
This was clever. She talked about what others talked about behind her back. She owned her own actions, and took pride in what she did. Impressive.
‘I’ve always ignored advice from Liberal Party elders, my parents, my colleagues, and particularly my opponents. So many people have urged me to take a certain course of action, and invariably I do what I believe is right.’ She paused. ‘Not sure what that makes me.’
‘A lawyer,’ called a voice, and everyone laughed.
‘Thank you,’ said Jessica, ‘but let’s be specific. I’m a woman, and we all know the difference between a female lawyer and a pitbull is the lipstick.’
An even bigger laugh filled the room, and Trevor shifted in his seat.
The bitch is making them laugh, not at her, but with her. Shit.
Jessica was on a roll.
‘Let me tell you what you will and won’t get from me as your leader. What you will get is access to me and not my advisor, my willingness to listen far more than I speak and, when I do speak, straight-talking sans bullshit.’
Trevor’s collar tightened. Jessica was good, getting better.
‘What you won’t get from me are promises I can’t keep, offers you’d be crazy to accept, and a pat on the back when a boot up the backside is what you deserve.’
She paused. It was live theatre, tense, and with the audience hooked.
‘Two other things. First, some of you may have heard a vile rumour about my husband. It’s patently untrue, it’s a typical tactic of desperate politicians trying vainly to maintain their status, and, should I hear of anyone, anyone so much as breathe a word of said rumour, they will face the full force of the law led by the Pitbull herself.’
Jessica paused, and a you-could-hear-a-pin-drop hush took root.
‘And second. My main goal, my only goal should you elect me as your leader, is to hammer the current government in ways they cannot even imagine, to expose their lack of vision and achievement, and to give Victorians the progressive and caring Liberal government they deserve.’
Jessica had her audience enthralled. She relaxed, and dropped the volume of her voice. This became an intimate chat. Everyone, well, apart from Trevor and his tribe, felt they were alone with Jessica.
‘If I don’t like your work, I’ll tell you to your face, and in private. I won’t spread rumours about you. I won’t send colleagues to suss out your voting intentions pretending to represent one person while secretly working for another.’
Ouch. Everyone knew this was a Trevor tactic. Jessica delivered a classic put-down without naming names. Clever.
Then she began a subtle crescendo. As her volume increased, she stood. She made eye contact with her colleagues. She was a natural leader inspiring her troops.
‘I’m a hands-on leader. I’ll back you all the way. I’ll delegate giving you the power to make decisions without having to run everything by me first. That’s what you’ll get from me as your leader.’
It was time for the denouement; the final pitch beckoned.
‘I’m a winner; losing is not a part of my DNA. I’ll fight fair, mostly, but damn hard to knock the bloody socialists off their perch. I’m only in it to win it, and when we win this year, I want you to be part of the team.’
The breathless hush seemed reluctant to leave. She turned to Rand and smiled. ‘Thank you for the opportunity … sir.’
She headed back to her seat in silence. Then, as a shaken Trevor stood to make his pitch, spontaneous and strong applause began. It kept on keeping on. Big Trev died inside. Out of left field came an opponent who was smart, witty, and with the oratory skills of a fiery preacher cum life-coach. The current leader had suspected Jess was good. Now he and everyone knew that, and Trev was in serious strife.
Will I play the hubby-is-a-paedophile card? The bitch is a lawyer. So is her pervert of a husband. But do I have my facts confirmed? What if I make the claim and I’m wrong? I’ll be sued from here to Texas. Bitch.
Bitch, bitch, bitch!
Trev tried to be everything to everyone. He tried to be funny and clever. Fail. He tried to be statesmanlike. Fail. He simply came across as yesterday’s man. He knew it, and his body language betrayed his fear at losing the top job. Even his closest allies voted against him.
Jessica Reid became the new Leader of the Victorian Opposition.
When the news reached government members, the word bugger and its numerous synonyms came readily to the lips of all concerned.
Jessica’s first press conference turned hectic. The fourth estate turned up in numbers the Premier envied. The new Opposition Leader was female, young, controversial and different. My God she was different. From Trevor Bland to Jessica Fiery could not have been more striking.
But had the rumour about her husband reached the press gallery? Were they there for the kill? Jessica waited for silence.
‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’m delighted to become the new Leader of the Opposition. I wish to publicly thank Trevor Rand for his outstanding service to the Liberal Party, and to the state of Victoria.’
‘I say to the people of this wonderful state that the Coalition will offer sensible, affordable and appropriate policies to improve your quality of life. All our policies will be revealed in the coming weeks and months, together with detailed costings. Now, I’m sure you have questions.’
Several journalists spoke at once. Jessica refused to speak. They finally stopped talking. Subtly, she nodded, indicating one of the journalists. Jessica became teacher, mother, nanny and traffic cop rolled into one.
‘What did your husband say when you told him your news?’
Leading question. The eagerness of some journalists seemed to surge.
‘What he usually says. What time will you be home, and where are the tea towels?’
After a moment of bewilderment, the press re-launched their simultaneous babble. Jessica again refused to speak, waited for silence, then nodded to another journalist.
‘If you become Premier, will
you continue to defend criminals?’
The tricky question bulged with landmines. Jessica stayed calm.
‘I think you mean alleged criminals.’ Ouch. ‘If they are members of the ALP or the fourth estate, then no. Everyone else is most welcome.’
Pens scribbled, thumbs texted, cameras whirred, flashlights popped, and observers smiled. If nothing else, it seemed that Victorian politics had entered the Comedy Festival. The Premier and his cronies worried.
Late that night, Jessica and Genevieve were alone. Much had been said and done. Celebrations now were muted and the women pensive. They kicked off their shoes, which lay where they landed. The women lounged, their posture dreadful. They didn’t care. They’d taken a giant step towards their ultimate goal. Jessica was one election away from becoming Premier.
‘When are you moving into Trevor’s office?’ asked Genevieve.
‘Whenever,’ shrugged Jessica. ‘Losing didn’t suit him. Let the poor bastard depart at his own pace.’
‘What did Myles say?’
‘Who?’
They laughed a little. These women had husbands and a child or children but those family members were part of the chorus, performing upstage. The two political females were the main players, the stars, and the perfect team. One without the other wouldn’t work. In fact, each wouldn’t exist without the other.
‘So have you thought about portfolios,’ asked Genevieve?
‘You handle it.’
‘What?’
‘Do you speak English?’
‘Me?’
‘What part of “You handle it” don’t you understand?’
Genevieve loved working with Jessica. Genevieve’s gamble to ditch a top job in banking, and throw in with an Opposition backbencher all those years ago now looked like a stroke of genius. Genevieve was literally the power behind the throne. In a few months, she might well be the kingmaker; well, the feminine version thereof.
Myles was still up when Jessica came home. She entered the subtly lit kitchen where he twisted a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. It wasn’t cheap. And the champagne cost a bomb too.