Campaign Ruby (8 page)

Daphne pulled out a life jacket from underneath her seat and put it on. ‘Come on, darling,' she shouted, ‘that's our cue.' She kicked off her sandals, stepped up onto the railing and slid effortlessly down The Doorstop. When she reached the bottom, she looked back at Debs and me. ‘Come on, darlings!'

‘Your turn,' said Debs. The flight attendants flashed their torches at me, creating a spotlight.

‘I don't want to.'

‘Ruby, get up,' she said, putting on her life jacket.

I gripped the seat.

‘Come on, Ruby, it's time.' She kicked off her shoes.

‘No.' I turned my head.

‘Ruby!' Debs shook me. ‘You slept through your alarm—we have to leave in twenty minutes!'

‘Bollocks.' I leaped off the couch. ‘I had the weirdest dream.'

‘You can tell me about it in the car.'

I scrambled for my list.

‘One,' I read aloud, ‘set alarm for seven o'clock. Fuck. Two, get up and have breakfast.' I ran to the kitchen and put two bananas in my handbag. ‘Three, wash hair and shave legs…'

‘No time, sunshine!' yelled Debs from her bedroom.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger. Four, pack toiletries.' I raced for the bathroom and began packing before catching a frightening glimpse of the spot on the tip of my nose. ‘You bastard,' I said to my skin, plastering it madly with concealer. I brushed my teeth, zipped my wash bag, squeezed into my dress, grabbed my handbag and overnighter and ran back to the kitchen, stepping into my wedges on the way.

‘Five, call Fran; six, buy newspapers; seven, find out meaning of “to do a doorstop”.' I sprayed myself with deodorant.

‘No time!' yelled Debs.

‘Leave her alone, Deborah,' scolded my aunt. ‘This is a very important day for Ruby.'

‘It's an important day for me too.'

‘Maybe you're right,' barked Daphne, seemingly out of nowhere. ‘Maybe you're not right for this—it's not all about you.'

My head cringed
. You know you've overstayed your
welcome when people start fighting in front of you.

‘You look lovely, darling,' said Daphne, trying to avoid staring directly at the hideous creature on my nose.

Debs grabbed her briefcase and went to kiss my aunt goodbye, but she was rejected. She turned to me. ‘Right, we've got to…what the fuck happened to you?'

‘Deborah!'

‘It's fine,' I said, ‘she's just telling it like it is.'

‘See,
she
understands me.' Debs stormed out the door.

I kissed my aunt goodbye and slinked into the car, where I lowered my sunglasses and thanked the fashion gods that huge frames were in.

Once we were on the open road, I dared to go there.

‘Is everything okay?'

‘Fine.'

Don't pry, Ruby
, urged my head.

‘It's just that,' I paused, ‘well, things didn't seem fine.'

‘Daph's driving me up the wall. She keeps going on about babies. Babies, babies, babies.'

I should have listened to my head.

‘If I wanted to be a mum, I'd be a mum. Clearly, I don't.'

‘Is that…practicable?'

‘You mean getting knocked up?' We purred onto the highway.

I nodded.

‘Guess so. I haven't really looked into it—it's Daph's agenda, not mine—but it'd have to be me. And I don't want to have to lug another person around inside me and then on me—I like being unencumbered.'

I let it go for a while but couldn't help myself. ‘For what it's worth, I think you'd be great parents.'

‘Bullshit. We both work too hard to be able to incorporate another person. Anyway it's all totally hypothetical.' She dialled in for a conference call. ‘There's no point in discussing it.' While we listened to the hold music, she turned to me and summoned her most diplomatic voice. ‘You don't look that terrible.'

‘Thank you.'

‘No worries,' she smiled, thinking she'd fixed things. ‘Listen, I have a friend who works miracles. Not that you need a miracle because you don't look terrible. But if you did need a miracle, she'd be the one to go to.'

‘Right, excellent.' I had no idea what she was on about.

‘Her name is Olga. When I've done an all-nighter and I look like hell—not that you look like hell—but when
I
look like hell and need to go to court I see Olga in the morning and she fixes me for the day. I'll call her for you after this call and you can see her first up. Okay?'

‘Okay.'

Four conference calls and a banana later, we were on the outskirts of Melbourne, when Debs rang her.

‘Olga, it's Debs.'

‘Da,' said Olga.

‘My niece needs you.'

‘Da?'

‘She needs'—Debs looked at me intently—‘hair washed and styled.'

‘Da, da.'

‘Brows waxed. Legs waxed.'

‘Da.'

Debs lifted my right arm. ‘Pits waxed.'

‘Da.'

‘Bikini?' she asked me. I shook my head.

‘Da,' pre-empted Olga.

Good grief.

‘She needs make-up, a manicure and pedicure. I'll drop her off at your place in twenty minutes. Okay?'

‘Da.'

‘Sorted.' Debs hung up. ‘She's real nice. She's Russian.'
Not Japanese?

We soon pulled up at a rather grotty block of flats. ‘Go to the first floor,' Debs said, ‘press the buzzer and Olga will come and get you.'

‘Right.'

‘Daph told me to give you this map and keys to the apartment, but it's a bit confusing, so just call her when you get there and she'll tell you how to get in. I'll drop your bags off there this arvo. Gotta go, kiddo.'

Abandoned, I pressed the buzzer. Footsteps bounded down the stairs towards me and then a pint-sized blonde lady appeared. She looked like an Olympic figure skater.

‘You must be Olga,' I said. ‘I'm Ruby.'

I followed her into a sitting room. Olga took my handbag and reached into it for my phone, which she switched off. She handed me a robe and glass of water and showed me to one of the smaller rooms.

‘I'm on quite a tight schedule,' I said. ‘I need to be at Treasury Place by a quarter to twelve at the latest.' Olga looked at her watch. ‘Da.'

‘You want me to lie down?' I asked.

‘Da,' she smiled.

Another woman joined her, and as they chatted incomprehensibly, they waxed, plucked, scrubbed, washed, buffed, dried, moisturised and painted me.

In two hours, I was a new woman. My spot had vanished, my hair bounced and my legs slithered.

Back in my dress, I grabbed my things and thanked them profusely. ‘Da,' they said and showed me the door.

‘Four Treasury Place,' I said to the cab driver.

‘Righto, love, you off to something special?'

‘I guess,' I said. ‘I have an interview of sorts.'

The driver eyed me in the mirror. ‘You'll get the job for sure.'

At Treasury Place a police officer appeared to be guarding a row of white Edwardian buildings.

‘Press?' he asked.

‘I have an appointment with Luke Harley in the Leader of the Opposition's office.'

‘Right, I'll call and find someone for you. As you can appreciate, it's pretty hectic in there at the moment.' He picked up a radio and said, ‘G'day, is Luke Harley there? Yeah, there's a lady here to see him; she reckons she has an appointment. Let me ask. Are you Ruby Stanhope?'

‘Yes.'

‘Yep, that's her. I'll escort her in.' He put on his hat and stepped down from his post. ‘This way please, ma'am.'

I followed him down a narrow pathway to a nondescript office where a receptionist who could have auditioned for
Golden Girls
sat at a cluttered desk.

‘Ruby?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm Beryl. Did you get our messages?'

‘No,' I said, remembering Olga had silenced my mobile. ‘I've been in appointments all morning.'

‘So have we, mate,' she said. ‘We've been trying to call you to reschedule. Things are pretty fraught in there.' She pointed towards a pair of heavy oak doors.

‘Big day?'

‘You haven't seen the news?'

I didn't have the heart to tell her there was lipstick on her teeth. ‘I haven't had a chance to read anything this morning,' I bluffed, smoothing a wrinkle in my dress.

‘There's been a spill,' she said.

‘Oil?'

‘No, mate, a spill in the government.'

‘Is someone…er…cleaning it up?'

She laughed. ‘The PM's been toppled by the Treasurer and the new PM's on her way to Yarralumla.'

I longed for subtitles. ‘I've just been down at the Yarra Valley,' I hesitated, ‘it's a beautiful place.'

‘No sweet 'art—
Yarralumla
. The GG's place. She's gonna be sworn in and we're being told she's calling an early election.'

I was still lost.

‘How about I put the telly on and get you a cuppa?'

‘That would be lovely.'

She turned on the antique television on her desk and swivelled it towards me, ushering me to a coffee-stained office chair. ‘Voila,' she said. ‘How do you have yer tea?'

BREAKING NEWS: PM PATTON OUSTED—BRENNAN TO BE SWORN IN AS PRIME MINISTER, streamed across the news ticker at the bottom of the screen. ‘I'm standing here on the road to the Governor-General's residence at Yarralumla,' said an elegant, almond-eyed journalist, ‘where, any minute now, the new Prime Minister, Gabrielle Brennan, is expected to be sworn in to her new role. At this stage, we are unsure who will take her position as Treasurer. Peter?'

‘Thanks, Anastasia,' said Peter, back in the studio. ‘Do we have any idea whether Prime Minister, sorry,
former
prime minister Hugh Patton will be standing again in his inner-Sydney seat at the next election?'

‘At this stage, Peter, we don't, but it's highly unlikely that he would serve under his challenger and successor. This was a swift and seamless move on the part of Gabrielle Brennan and her co-conspirators. Very few people expected this day would come quite so quickly, if at all. Everybody is stunned. Peter?'

Peter pressed two fingers against his earpiece. ‘Right, thank you, Anastasia. Senior Political Correspondent Anastasia Ng there, live in Canberra. We're hearing now that Hugh Patton is going to doorstop on the steps of Old Parliament House'—bingo—‘evoking vivid memories of the dismissal of Gough Whitlam in 1975. We'll cross live to that press conference now, where Oscar Franklin'— yum—‘has the latest. Oscar?'

Beryl arrived with my tea in a chipped
Flintstones
mug, interrupting my Oscar-related daydream.

‘Thanks.' I cleared my throat. ‘What happened to Whitlam?'

‘What do you mean, love?'

‘Well, why was he dismissed?'

‘Where are you from?'

‘England.'

‘Oh, that makes sense. In a nutshell, the GG dissolved the House of Reps and the Senate and put Fraser in as caretaker. It'd be like the Queen sacking your PM.'

‘What's the significance of Old Parliament House?'

‘Why's that?'

‘Because Patton is about to do a doorstop there.' I hoped I had used the term correctly.

‘Shit, that's dramatic.'

‘I should just go,' I said, grasping the significance of the event.

Beryl shook her head. ‘Luke wants you to stick around, if you're interested.'

Hugh Patton stood on a flight of white steps. He was emotional, supported by his wife, her hand firmly on his back.

‘Ladies and gentleman, people of Australia—they say thirteen is an unlucky number. For my colleagues, my staff, my family and me these thirteen years have been the luckiest of our lives. We have been lucky enough to serve this country—to serve you.

‘We've made some changes in health, defence, tax and education. We've been a force for good and, of that, I am proud.

‘Sadly, someone else got lucky today. I wish her and her team—my party—well. I bear no resentment. No animosity. Because the fact remains I will always have those thirteen lucky years and that is thanks to them.

‘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?'