Campaign Ruby

by Jessica Rudd

  ‘Now, I’m going to spend some time with my family— if they’ll have me.’ His lip quivered, then his wife’s grip spurred him on. ‘To my constituents in Sydney, I hope you’ll understand that this makes it difficult for me to continue to serve you well.

  ‘Thank you to everyone who supported me and everyone who didn’t but put up with me anyway.’

  Journalists laughed.

  ‘God bless,’ he said and walked with his wife down the steps, into a waiting car and away from his career.

  Oscar Franklin broke the silence. ‘And that was the man of the moment, Hugh Patton, soon to be former prime minister of Australia. It’s a solemn moment here at Old Parliament House—none of us quite knows what to say. Peter?’

  ‘Well, don’t, Oscar,’ said Luke behind me.

  ‘Luke.’ I stood to greet him.

  ‘Hi.’ His phone rang. ‘Listen, mate,’ he said into his BlackBerry, ‘I know it’s a big ask, but I need you lot to pull your finger out and tell me when you can have it done by.’

  It was a different Luke. He hadn’t slept. He picked up my tea and started drinking it. Scratching his neck and loosening his tie—this one an insipid orange—he disappeared behind the oak doors.

  Now we were back to Anastasia in Canberra. ‘Peter, the new Prime Minister has just driven past on her way to Yarralumla to be sworn in. This is a historic day. She will be Australia’s first female prime minister. The groundswell is unlike anything I’ve witnessed in my twenty-odd years in this job.

  ‘School kids have come out to watch the cars go by. Workers are here for their lunch break. They’re cheering her on, at the same time mindful of having lost one of the country’s greatest prime ministers. Peter?’

  ‘Thanks, Anastasia. We’ve just heard that Gabrielle Brennan is likely to seek the Governor-General’s permission to go to an early election. She is due to hold a press conference in forty minutes. We’ll cross now to our correspondent in Melbourne, where Opposition Leader Max Masters is understood to be bunkered down. Penny, do you think the Opposition knew this was coming?’

  ‘I think that’s unlikely, Peter,’ said Penny. ‘Max Masters is here with his team at Treasury Place, probably watching things unfold on TV like the rest of the nation. They’ll be knocked for six by this news.’

  I could see her standing out on the street.

  ‘Get back from the window, darl,’ said Beryl.

  We watched the drama unfold, occasionally flicking between stations. When Gabrielle Brennan held her press conference, the phones stopped ringing and the nation listened.

  At a lectern, flanked by her husband and three sons, she spoke. ‘I stand before you today the newly sworn-in Prime Minister of Australia. I am enormously proud to hold this office, but saddened that it has happened this way.

  ‘Hugh Patton has been this country’s greatest champion for thirteen years. I have been blessed to serve alongside him.

  ‘The Australian people have been telling us for some time now that change is needed—not a change of government, but a change of leadership. Australia, we heard you, and came—albeit reluctantly—to make that change. ‘In public office, I swore an oath. The oath was to serve the Australian people. Today, I renew that oath.

  ‘If we haven’t made the right decision then the people of Australia will tell us so at the ballot box on Saturday the third of April.

  ‘I might be new to this office, but I am the same Gabrielle Brennan you have trusted as captain of this robust economy for thirteen years. I’m the mother of school-aged kids, the wife of a council worker, the daughter of a war widow. I’ve been a university student, a community worker, a lawyer and a businesswoman, and I bring each of these experiences to this office.

  ‘I’ll take a handful of questions now, but then I’ve got work to do. Cabinet announcements will happen tomorrow.’

  Back at Treasury Place, the oak doors clapped open and out spilled about fifteen people, all on phones, except for Max Masters. Beryl turned off the TV.

  ‘Right,’ said Max, ‘where are we doing this?’

  Phones were flipped shut. ‘We’ve got a room set up next door,’ said a slim redhead in red stilettos, fielding two mobile phones.

  Luke stepped in. ‘It’ll be lectern, flags, suit, tie. Shelly’s on her way from the airport. She’ll be beside you. You’ll speak, then you’ll take their questions. Brennan is only taking a few, so I think you should feed them until they’re full. Make-up’s in twenty minutes, so you need to eat and then we’ll get you ready.’

  ‘Fine.’ Max returned to his office and shut the doors behind him.

  The phone calls resumed.

  A minute later, he came flying out. ‘I forgot to shave,’ he announced. ‘Have we got a razor?’ He banged his head repeatedly against the door like an animal in captivity.

  As always, I had my Toolkit in my handbag, having been advised as a teenager by my sister that no girl should leave the house without factoring in the possibility that she mightn’t return until the following morning.

  ‘Um,’ I squeaked, through the silence. Shut up, Ruby. ‘I know you?’ said Max, resting his head. Everyone turned to face me.

  ‘Ru…’ I stuttered.

  ‘That’s right. Roo. You were choking at the winery.’

  Way to make a first impression, said my head.

  ‘This is Ruby Stanhope,’ said Luke. ‘She’s a possible financial policy advisor who I was due to talk with today: a former investment banker—’

  ‘So, Roo, do you have a razor?’ asked Max.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and cream.’

  ‘Thank the good Lord for Roo.’

  ‘Wait until you see it before you thank me.’ I offered up a purple glittery razor complete with Almighty Avocado sample-sized shaving cream.

  He seized it. ‘What the fuck is an almighty avocado?’ he asked, quite reasonably.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘It came free with a magazine. I presume it’s better than a normal avocado. More… almighty.’

  That clears things up.

  He held the sparkly razor up to the fluorescent light. ‘My daughter has a skipping rope like this. Anyone else have a razor? Or cream?’

  People shook their heads.

  ‘What, no Legendary Lettuce or Captivating Cucumber in the room?’

  ‘How about Ravishing Radish?’ said Luke.

  I alone laughed.

  ‘Well,’ Max said, ‘it looks like I’m going to smell like an almighty avocado for the most important fucking press conference of my life, but thanks to Roo here at least I won’t be stubbly.’ He retreated to his office.

  Everybody resumed their calls. Beryl gave me the thumbs up. I added ‘buy replacement razor’ to my To Do list, ‘and cream.’

  In came a petite, luggage-laden lady with an angular face and long dark hair. ‘Where’s Max?’ she asked, as only a spouse could, dumping her bags on the floor.

  Luke rushed over to her. ‘Fine-tuning his speech. Make-up in fifteen. You’ll both go in for the presser.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Abigail has a band concert this afternoon and she’s flute solo so she couldn’t come. I’ve asked Sally’s mum if she can pick them up. She’ll spend the night there.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time for pics later,’ said Luke. ‘We’ve got thirty-three days of this.’

  She nodded, vanishing into the room with the oak doors. Luke followed her, texting furiously.

  The mood was sombre, which was interesting given the huge opportunity the Opposition had just been presented with; but what did I know?

  Then two broad-shouldered men marched into the room, removing their Oakleys. Beryl was answering other people’s mobiles; red-stilettoed redhead was lying on the floor in the hallway attached to a phone charger; and an older man appeared to be fighting with a photocopier in the corner.

  ‘I’m Charlie Flack, from the Australian Federal Police,’ said one of the Robocops, brandishing his badge. ‘Where is Mr Masters?’
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  No one looked up.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘they’re all a bit busy at the moment. Is there something you need?’

  ‘The parliament has been dissolved and we’re now officially in an election campaign. As such, Mr Masters is the alternative prime minister and requires immediate protection. I need to brief him and Mrs Masters immediately.’

  ‘Right. Can I get you a cup of tea?’

  ‘Ma’am, I realise you’re all busy, but I need to see either Mr Harley or Mr Masters.’

  ‘Wait here, please.’ I took a deep breath, approached the double doors and knocked.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Luke,’ I yelled, ‘it’s Ruby.’

  Go in, you idiot, said my head.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  Max and his wife were sitting on a sofa drinking tea. They looked up at me inquisitively.

  Luke came to the door. ‘What is it, Ruby?’

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt. There are two gentlemen here who say it’s their job to provide security to Max. Apparently they need a word with you rather urgently.’

  ‘Security?’ asked Max.

  ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ said Shelly, standing to greet me.

  ‘Shelly,’ said Luke, ‘this is Ruby Stanhope, our new financial policy advisor.’

  No she’s not, said my head.

  ‘Ruby, this is Shelly Masters.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said, extending my hand and suppressing the urge to curtsey.

  She shook it and then returned to sit beside her husband. ‘Something over here smells like—’

  ‘Almighty Avocado,’ Max finished her sentence.

  ‘Smells better than I thought it would, actually,’ I said.

  ‘I was going to say salad,’ said Shelly, closing her eyes and taking another whiff.

  ‘Now,’ said Max, ‘what’s this about security?’

  Luke permitted me to brief him with a nod.

  ‘Something about dissolving and the alternative prime minister…’

  ‘They briefed me about this when I first got the gig. I don’t want it.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it’s just that the feeling I got from Mr Flack was that it’s not exactly an optional service.’

  ‘As in cop the flak?’ Max checked.

  ‘Ruby, would you mind showing them in?’ asked Luke.

  I went to get them.

  Before they had a chance to introduce themselves, red-stiletto lady hung up both phones and pounced on Max. ‘We’re on in ten and you need make-up.’

  ‘You know, Di,’ said Max, ‘I’m going to try not to take that personally.’

  ‘Shut up,’ smiled Di, attacking him with a powder puff, ‘or it’ll go in your mouth.’

  As Di dabbed a little concealer under his eyes, Max asked Flack the Cop a few questions about their role.

  ‘So, you’re not going to come with me everywhere I go, are you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, we are.’

  ‘What if I’m in the toilet?’ Max asked through gritted teeth while Di dusted him with translucent powder.

  ‘We will wait at an appropriate distance to give you maximum privacy.’

  ‘How will you know whether it’s appropriate?’ he joked.

  ‘Experience, sir.’

  ‘And what if I’m at home?’

  ‘We are in the process of setting up equipment so that we can monitor your home, sir.’

  ‘And what if I’m at home but Max isn’t?’ asked Shelly.

  ‘The surveillance team will remain in place to monitor any untoward activity, but the idea is that wherever your husband goes, we go.’

  ‘Thanks, everyone,’ said Max. ‘I need to focus on what I’m saying for a bit, so I’ll see you outside in two minutes.’

  Everyone except Shelly left the room. The two men stood on either side of the door. I grabbed my handbag and put on my sunglasses—it was time for me to get out of there.

  ‘Ruby,’ Luke called out, ‘where are you going?’

  ‘This has been very eye-opening and thank you for inviting me here but you have a lot to do so I should leave you in peace.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t have time to talk you through it all, but I’d really like your help over the next few weeks. Come to Sydney with us tonight and I’ll explain on the plane.’ His phone rang again. ‘Talk to Beryl, Ruby.’

  I went to the Ladies to think it over.

  You don’t have a working visa, Ruby, lectured my head as I sat on the loo lid. You’re supposed to be having a holiday. Some man with terrible taste in ties asks you to go to Sydney and you’re actually considering it? What’s got into you? Whatever happened to Bettina Liano and Fleur Wood? You don’t know the slightest thing about politics, let alone Australian politics; and you’re an investment banker.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ I flung open the stall and hurried back to the office in time to see Max, Shelly, Luke and Di stride into the adjacent conference room to a drum roll of frenzied photographers. A small crowd gathered around Beryl’s telly. Max took to the lectern, Shelly beside him. Luke and Di moved out of shot.

  ‘I’d like to pay tribute to Hugh Patton. He has served in this country’s highest office for thirteen years with commitment and dignity. I respect him for that. Shelly and I wish Hugh, Miranda and family well.

  ‘Friends, we’re here today because a disgruntled minister grew tired of waiting for her turn in the hot seat. So she toppled a popularly elected prime minister.

  ‘She says she did this because Australians want change.’ He paused. ‘That’s a complete load of bull. She did it to serve herself—not you. This was an act of gross ambition. Now our nation is without stable leadership. Australia deserves better.

  ‘My team and I are ready to govern. We’re going to spend the next few weeks travelling from beach to bush, city to country, boardroom to backyard. We want to tell you about our plan and why we think we can do a better job.

  ‘And we’re going to listen. I want to ask the nation a favour: think about what kind of country you want Australia to be. Come up with one thing you love about our country and one thing you’d want to change. When you see me or a member of my team out on the campaign trail, tell us those two things. We will listen.

  ‘Now, I’m happy to take as many questions as you have.’

  A barrage of ‘Mr Masters’ came at him from the floor.

  I turned to Beryl. ‘What time is that flight to Sydney?’

  Jackie oh no

  Standing with the nation’s media outside the CPO, I tried to hail a cab with flailing arms.

  My head was on fire. Look at that lovely wine bar over there. See the two ladies with shopping bags beneath their bar stools? I bet there are shoes in those bags…

  ‘Shut up and help me concentrate.’

  I cursed myself for failing to complete the day’s To Do list when I’d had the time. Now, I had to call my aunt.

  ‘Aunt Daphne?’ I slid into a cab and handed the driver the address.

  ‘Ruby, dear, goodness me, I’ve just seen the news—was your meeting cancelled?’

  ‘Listen, I don’t have time to explain, but it would appear that I’m catching a plane to Sydney tonight to discuss “my role”—whatever that is—and right now I’m on my way to your apartment to pick up my bags.’ I paused to catch my breath.

  ‘Sydney? Are you sure this is a good idea?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘but I’m sure I want to do it—if that makes sense.’

  ‘Good for you, darling. So long as you’re safe.’

  ‘About the apartment?’

  ‘Oh, yes, well, it’s a little tricky. You’ll need the fat key to unlock the garage and then the eighth key to unlock the first lock, the sixth key to unlock the second lock and—’

  I stopped her. ‘Are these instructions written anywhere on the map Debs gave me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll call you when I get there.’

  I examined the key ring D
ebs had given me. There were nineteen keys on the Snoopy ring, and an attached subsidiary ring, distinguished by a fetching Artisan Baker Association tag, held an additional eleven.

  We pulled up outside an old warehouse. I paid the driver and hit redial on my phone. ‘I’m here, I think.’

  ‘Walk towards the far-right end of the warehouse and you’ll see a largish, rusty, industrial garage.’

  I followed her instructions. ‘Largish’ was an understatement. The red, corrugated garage door was three times my height.

  ‘Now use the fat key to unlock the garage.’

  I looked at the key ring. ‘There are three relatively obese keys. Which one is it?’

  ‘The one with the bit of old gum stuck on the end.’

  A sticky, heavy key unlocked the door. I turned the handle.

  ‘Don’t turn the handle.’

  ‘Help!’ I yelped. The door jolted upwards and rolled inwards, taking me with it. Dangling precariously close to the top, I let go of everything and fell to the ground with a thud. My phone was now on top of the garage door four metres in the air.

  ‘AUNT DAPHNE,’ I screamed, ‘IF YOU’RE STILL ON THE PHONE, I’M NOT VERY HURT, BUT MY PHONE IS ON TOP OF THE GARAGE AND THE KEYS ARE IN THE HANDLE. I WILL CALL YOU BACK WHEN I’VE FIGURED OUT A SOLUTION.

  ‘Cock,’ I said, looking down at my freshly waxed knees to find them gashed and bruised. They now matched my toe. I picked myself up, and dusted the leaves and twigs from my frock.

  First, I tried jumping on the spot. A short piece of rope dangled from the door but no amount of self-generated bounce would propel me three metres off the ground. I am not the tallest person, even in my elongating Miu Mius.

  Next, I turned to nature, grabbing a branch to hook onto the rope. MacGyver would be proud, I thought, leaping into the air and splitting the lining of my already sullied shift dress. My days as a truant of athletics class had come back to bite me. ‘It was your idea,’ I yelled back at my laughing head.

  With silk lining trailing tail-like behind me, I slumped against the garage wall, where I bumped into a button. ‘No,’ I whispered, disbelievingly. I pushed it. Sure enough, in a smooth motorised motion, down came the door. I pushed it again to halt the door halfway, hobbled out of the garage, retrieved my phone and keys and redialled my aunt.