Campaign Ruby

by Jessica Rudd

  ‘I’m on it.’ I hung up. ‘That was Lunardi. Who should I talk to at party HQ to check exit polls?’

  ‘Give Mirabelle’s office a call. What did she say?’

  ‘Something about exit polls and victory.’

  Maddy laughed. ‘I’d eat my hat.’

  ‘It’s Roo Stanhope from the LOO’s office,’ I said to one of Mirabelle’s men. ‘What are you seeing in Forster?’

  ‘We’re not reading anything into the exit polls,’ he said. ‘It’s not possible. It said something like 47.3 on the primary in key booths. With preferences she’d be looking at…No. That’s ridiculous. Just don’t read anything into these figures. Keep in mind that the bulk of that seat will come down to postal votes.’

  I wrote it down, far-fetched as it was.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could keep me posted on that seat.’

  Felicia, stay calm, but exit polls in some booths say you’ve got 47.3% of the primary vote. Let me know if you hear anything else. Roo

  ‘Um, Maddy, Mirabelle’s office is saying 47.3 on the primary in Forster.’

  No sooner had her whiteboard marker squeaked the digits than she erased them.

  ‘Write it down,’ I said.

  ‘I need to bring Max and the family in,’ Di said. ‘Roo, can you give me a hand?’

  I followed her out.

  ‘Roo, I want to talk to you about something,’ said Di as we walked. ‘Two things, actually. One, regardless of what happens tonight, Luke has asked me to step into his shoes as Chief of Staff. If Max is fine with that, I want to know that I can count on you to stick around.’

  I opened my mouth to speak.

  ‘Think about it,’ she cut in. Her phone rang. ‘Di speaking, can you hold for a minute?’ She muted her phone and gave me her full attention. ‘Two, if you’re going to fuck over senior journalists in future, would you mind checking with me first? I mean obviously it worked and all, but Christ that was risky—not just for you but for all of us. We need to be a team here, okay?’

  There was no defence. ‘Sorry, Di.’

  ‘No worries,’ she said. ‘How did it feel?’

  The answer to that question was obvious in my smile. She took the call.

  ‘Right, they’re outside,’ she said. ‘Let’s grab them. There’s going to be a scrum and it’s a bit dangerous out there with all those people, so I’ll need you to steer them in pretty tightly with me and the cops.’

  She wasn’t wrong. When we stepped out into the mild April night the cicadas’ shrill din drowned out the crowd, but as soon as Max got out of his car it was mayhem. The cameras clung to us. ‘I love you, Max,’ screamed a lady near me. ‘Good luck, mate,’ said a man with a toddler on his shoulders. Shelly and Abigail cowered, squeezing my hands. Milly grabbed her dad’s arm to give him something to lean on. Max smiled and strolled into the building as casually as he could. A purple-clad fanatic shrieked in my ear. ‘He looks like a Ribena berry,’ said Abigail. Finally, we made it inside.

  ‘It’s like the FIFA World Cup out there,’ said the LOO.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Dad,’ said Abigail.

  The RSL bar was now full of our friends and family, including mine. Max stuck his head in to say hello to everyone, but fast became overwhelmed. You could see the pulse in his neck.

  ‘Come on,’ said Milly, ‘let’s get you guys some food.’

  ‘I can’t eat,’ said Max, walking into the president’s office, ‘but I can’t just sit here.’

  ‘Max, I need you to have a look at your speeches,’ said Di.

  ‘Plural?’

  ‘There are two possible outcomes.’

  ‘Shit, I hadn’t even thought about the speech.’

  ‘Get Theo for me, Roo,’ Di said.

  I gave her a look that I hoped might say perhaps this isn’t the most appropriate moment to be throwing a drunkard in a novelty shirt into the mix. The look failed, so I went to find him.

  ‘Where’s Theo?’

  Beryl pointed to the Gents.

  I knocked on the toilet door and covered my eyes to open it. ‘Theo?’ I called out. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘It depends on who is asking.’

  ‘Roo. Which other Englishwoman would come to find you in the loo at an RSL?’

  ‘I’m fine, Roo.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ I said, searching my Toolkit. ‘I’ll get Beryl to get you some food. And you need a shower. What was the last meal you ate?’

  ‘Kebab,’ he groaned.

  ‘I’ve put my emergency toothbrush next to the sink as well as some shower-in-a-can, a razor and cream—use all of it, wash your face and then join us in the president’s office.’

  When I went back into the room, Senator Flight was on the Channel Eleven panel. ‘Anastasia, I’ve just had a call from a colleague who tells me that preliminary results from forty per cent of the votes in the Tasmanian seat of Donaldson show a swing to our fantastic candidate, Melissa Hatton. The figure they mentioned was over three per cent.’

  ‘Of course, these are early results and we should be cautious, but it does look like a worrying trend is emerging for the government, doesn’t it, Hugh Patton?’ Anastasia asked her co-panellist, the former prime minister.

  ‘It certainly does, Anastasia. That’s a significant proportion of the vote counted across what I’m told is a representative swag of booths in that seat. Donaldson has always been the one to watch. It’s a knife-edge marginal.’

  Max’s face lightened as if someone was air-brushing him. Melissa’s number popped up on my phone.

  ‘Roo, can you believe it? Whatever happens, thank you for your support. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.’ Her voice was raw and teary.

  ‘Nonsense, Missy. You are a highly capable person and you’re going to be a magnificent local member. Good luck and have a great night.’

  Theo walked in wearing a clean purple campaign T-shirt and smelling of mint, musk and avocado. ‘Shall we go through the speeches?’ he asked. Max nodded and followed him into another room.

  ‘Now for an update,’ said Anastasia. ‘Based on preliminary results, and with a view to the thirteen seats the Opposition requires to win government, we’re calling this a narrow victory for Max Masters. There are at least fifteen seats with more than fifty per cent of the vote counted and swings of around four per cent.’

  ‘With respect, Anastasia,’ said Hugh Patton, ‘it’s a quarter to nine and there’s a lot more counting to be done—isn’t it a little early to call?’

  ‘Does that mean Dad won, Mum?’ Abigail removed a headphone from one ear.

  ‘Not yet, darling,’ said Shelly. ‘The night is young.’

  The headphone was replaced.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked Shelly, who was having her make-up done.

  ‘Part of me wants to drink champagne and another part wants to steel itself for the possibility that these figures are all just a cruel trick. I want to be strong for him for either speech and at the moment I’m a nervous wreck.’

  ‘Whisky?’ I offered her a hip flask of single malt Debs had given me in the car.

  She took a swig and screwed up her face as she swallowed it. ‘Can we use waterproof mascara?’ she asked the make-up artist.

  Max rejoined us with two stapled A4 piles under his arm. He put them on the table. One was headed WIN, the other LOSE .

  ‘Roo, can you put this on a charger somewhere?’ he asked, handing me his phone. Di was using all of the power points in the president’s office, so I plugged it into the hallway.

  I texted Felix Winks in Adelaide.

  What’s Watson looking like?

  I went to find Debs to give her a glass.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks, kiddo.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Nothing. Yet. I’m going to the gyno tomorrow to get my oils checked and Daph wants me clean. It looks like we might have a donor.’

  ‘SPERM!?’


  People stared at us. Daphne smiled.

  ‘Jesus. Fuck. Say it louder.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m just so excited and I haven’t had any sleep and I didn’t expect it would happen this quickly and you didn’t seem at all inclined to proceed with this the last time we spoke.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I changed my mind. Anyhow, my PA said he’d rub one off for us, so that was nice, I guess.’

  My phone buzzed.

  The local member has just called me to concede. I’ve won.

  I am going to be the Member for Watson. Felix Winks (MP)

  ‘Luke!’ I ran back into the president’s office. ‘Felix Winks is the new Member for Watson.’ I bounced up and down.

  ‘And Felicia Lunardi is the new Member for Rafter,’ he said, bouncing with me.

  ‘I don’t want to disturb you two in your Maasai moment,’ said Max, who swivelled to face us in the president’s chair, ‘but it’d be good to get an update.’

  Luke steadied himself, remembering he was a grown-up. I did the same, but only because I didn’t want to wear down the red soles of my boots.

  ‘I’ve spoken at length with Mirabelle,’ Luke said, handing Max a breakdown of the numbers. ‘I think you should focus on your winning speech. The marginals are falling our way and eight of the thirteen candidates have already conceded, even though it’s only half past nine. There are four others on a knife-edge. You’ll probably get the call within the hour.’

  For Max, it wasn’t sinking in. ‘Would you mind rounding up my family and sending them in? Just knock on the door if you need us.’

  Maddy wheeled her whiteboard into the hallway. She had an Electoral Commission map of Australia on the floor and used a highlighter to colour in the seats we had won. ‘One, two…four…seven…nine, ten, eleven… fourteen!’ Her pitch climbed a few octaves as she counted. ‘Holy shit, people. That’s government. I’m going to get changed.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Di. ‘There’s no way I’m going to look like trash for this.’

  ‘Roo’s supplies are in the Gents,’ said Theo.

  I sat on the floor. ‘Now what happens?’ I asked Luke.

  ‘We wait for the call from the PM to tell us she’s conceding.’ He slid down the wall onto the floor beside me. ‘So, Ruby Stanhope, are you glad you did this?’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘This. The campaign.’

  ‘Meeting you at that dreary fundraiser is by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Not that it wouldn’t have been lovely to meet you in other circumstances. It would have, even with the suit. For the record, I don’t have a problem with the suit. It’s a little big for you and not a great colour for your skin, which is nice, by the way. It smells wet—your suit, not your skin—the good kind of wet though, not like wet dog or wet wool, but like sprinklers and rain. And the banana tree is growing on me. Pun not intended. Of course, I’m not trying to say the sole reason I’m glad to have met you was the career opportunity that followed, even though they have revolutionised me. Not like the Cultural Revolution, which was horrid, or even the Industrial Revolution for that matter, which was necessary but very dirty…’

  And there, on the floor outside the toilets at a Melbourne RSL sub-branch on election night, Luke Harley held me still and kissed me. He kissed me with such intensity that I had no doubts, no noisy objections from my head, heart or body. All of me was into him.

  ‘Yuck! Disgusting!’

  Luke let go of my face and opened one eye to find a five-year-old standing over him. Fran was right behind Clem.

  ‘What is it, Clemen…Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing to my sister?’

  ‘Well, well, little Lukey Harley is getting fresh with my niece, as predicted. Good to see.’

  ‘Awkward,’ observed Luke as he helped me to my feet.

  ‘Fran, Clem, this is my friend, Luke Harley. Luke, this is my sister, Fran, and niece, Clementine.’

  ‘Oh, so you are Luke and Harley,’ said Clem. ‘I thought you were two people, because I went to nursery with a boy called Harley and our gardener’s name is Luke the Gardener. I found a phone on the floor asking for you. It’s blue. The lady said she wanted to speak to Luke Harley, so I asked which one—Luke or Harley—because I didn’t know who you are. And she said both. So I told her they are in London, but sometimes Harley goes skiing. And then she said she wanted to speak to Max Masters and I couldn’t find Max so I said I would give Luke, Harley and Max a message if I found them.’

  Luke went white.

  ‘It must have been the PM calling on Max’s BlackBerry. Shit.’

  ‘Aunty Wooby!’

  ‘Ruby!’

  ‘Where’s the BlackBerry, Clem?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The phone, darling. Where did you put the phone?’

  ‘It’s not black, it’s blue.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I know it’s blue. Life is confusingly counterintuitive at times. The phone belongs to Max. It’s very important.’

  ‘It’s in my knapsack,’ said Clem, unzipping Dorothy the Dinosaur. She pulled out the BlackBerry and gave it to me. Four missed calls, all from the same number. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

  I hit callback.

  ‘Good evening, Prime Minister Brennan’s office, this is Martha.’

  Fuck.

  ‘Good evening, Martha. My name is Ruby Stanhope and I’m calling from the Leader of the Opposition’s office. I understand you tried to place a call earlier. Is there something I can help with?’

  ‘Tell me, Ruby,’ said Martha, ‘are you in some way related to Clementine Genevieve Gardner-Stanhope?’

  ‘Yes, I’m really very sorry about that.’

  ‘The Prime Minister would like to speak with the Leader of the Opposition,’ she said. ‘That is, if he is available to take her call.’

  ‘Certainly, Martha. I will get him for you now.’

  Luke and I raced down the hallway to the president’s office and knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ said the LOO.

  ‘Max,’ I said, handing him the phone, ‘this is it.’

  As Luke and I waited outside, I drafted a To Do list.

  1. Practise saying ‘Prime Minister’ without sounding obsequious

  2. Delete ‘LOO’ from vocabulary, unless referring to the lower case

  3. Arrange new working visa

  4. Purchase copy of Transition to Government for Dummies

  5. Draft bill to outlaw long socks

  6. Replenish Toolkit

  7. Visit Toolangi Winery with Luke to get a case of their finest peanut noise.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks: to Lihan at Wain Wain, who brought me iced oolong tea and guarded my laptop during loo breaks.

  To Catherine, Fi, Fleur, Kathy, Kristy, Nadia, Nicole, Renee and Rita for their wisdom and support.

  To Alice, for improving Ruby’s Englishness.

  To my friend Sue—advocate, ally and enabler.

  To Lou Ye and Nai Nai, for their warmth.

  To Mum, who redefines ‘busy’, for finding time to read and give feedback on each chapter within minutes of receipt, even from Kilimanjaro.

  To Dad, Nick and Marcus for their unconditional love and encouragement.

  To my grandmothers, Elizabeth and Margaret, for the writing gene.

  In a big way, to Ali, Michael, Penny, Jane, Kirsty, Alaina and the other good folk at Text Publishing. Authors write manuscripts, publishers make them books. Ruby couldn’t have found a better partner than she has in Text.

  Last and by every means most, to my husband Albert, who had faith in me when I didn’t.

  Table of Contents

  COVER PAGE

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  CONTENTS

  NOT QUITE THE BOOT I WANTED

  DRINK A CASE, PACK A CASE

  MEET THE FAMILY

  THE PARTY’S PARTY

  THE MORNING AFTER


  YARRAWHATLA?

  JACKIE OH NO

  THE MOTHER OF ALL TO DO LISTS

  OSCAR NOMINATION

  FAST FOOD, FAST POLICY

  BANKERS ANONYMOUS

  FISH OUT OF WATER

  IN THE CAN

  CATCH TWENTY-LOO

  FELICIA LUNARDI

  TERRITORIAL

  STUFFED UP

  THE DEBATE

  EX-PMS

  SAILING BLIND OVER CATARACT GORGE

  TOO LATE TO DO

  CROSSED

  TUG OF WAR

  HALLWAY OF SHAME

  THE LAUNCH

  A DISH BEST SERVED WITH MINI-PIES

  ONE MORE SLEEP

  DESPERATE AND VOTELESS

  THIS IS IT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS