The following day Katie had to go to school. There was no getting out of it. Her mum seemed to have recovered from her despondency of the night before. At six-thirty she pulled the blankets off Katie as if they were a giant bandaid.
‘Mum!’ she shrieked. ‘My body clock’s still way out. I was up at two and haven’t been back to sleep.’
‘That’s probably not true, but even if it is, I don’t care. Nothing will get you back to normal like school will. Just the walk there will be good for you. Come on, up you get. I’ve even made your lunch.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ Her mum’s packed lunches were even worse than her dinners. She’d put slices of tomato directly onto the bread and turn a sandwich into sloppy pink sludge by first break.
‘I’ve got to go.’ Her mum ruffled her hair. Katie looked at the clock beside her bed. There was still time to make a lunch that’d be edible.
Her mum turned to go, then stopped and came back to sit on her bed. ‘Ah, Katie, there’s something I need to tell you.’
Nothing good ever came after those words. ‘Oh, not more bad news, Mum. I can’t handle it. Neither can you.’
‘No, it’s good news, I think.’ Her mum fiddled with the corner of a sheet.
‘Well, tell me. I need to get to school, remember?’
‘Okay. Liam and I are kind of going out.’
Katie gasped. ‘What?’
‘We’ve been seeing each other outside work a bit. While you were away we had dinner and went to the movies a couple of times.’
Katie blinked hard. Liam Parfitt – nice, not bad looking and Lorraine had always thought he’d make a good boyfriend for her mum. ‘But –’ She fished around for something to say. ‘Who looked after the kids while you were at the movies?’
‘We left them in the car, of course. Georgie’s very grown-up for five.’
‘You what? Mum!’
‘I’m joking. Liam’s mother looked after them, of course! Anyway, it’s no big deal. It’s just nice to have him – around. I’ve been worried about how to tell you, but I thought the best thing was to simply come out with it. Are you okay?’
‘Sure, fine, why wouldn’t I be?’ Katie spoke too quickly, but her mother didn’t notice.
‘Great. Because Liam’s bringing the kids over for dinner tonight. They’ll be here about six but it won’t be a late one, okay?’
‘Huh?’
‘You don’t have to cook for everyone, though, so don’t worry. Liam says the kids like simple food. I’m sure I can manage sausages and mashed potatoes.’
Katie felt a flicker of relief. With a bit of luck, a terrible meal would put him off.
She got to school just as the bell went. Mrs Sinnamon was waiting like a farmer, anxious to shut the gate after the last sheep. ‘Katie,’ she purred. ‘Welcome back.’
‘Thanks.’ Katie was out of breath.
‘Make sure you have a drink of water. It’s so hot already.’
‘I will.’
‘Did you have a lovely time in New York?’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘Good. I’m glad you’ve had a chance to get all that creativity out of your system! Now run along. You’ve got a new home-room teacher to meet. The other girls got acquainted yesterday. But of course, you weren’t here.’
‘No,’ said Katie. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Have a wonderful day.’
Katie sped off – she’d forgotten that Mrs Devlin was leaving – she was okay, but a bit uptight about tidiness. Maybe the new teacher would be more relaxed.
‘Katie Crisp, lovely to meet you. I’m Ellen Whitby,’ said the thin young woman at the front of the classroom, as Katie took her seat. The new teacher was twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, tall and thin with light brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore a dust-coloured hessian skirt and a loose cotton blouse. There were brown Crocs on her feet. Katie was wondering how she’d got through Mrs Sinnamon’s interview process. The principal of Mary Magdalene wore suits and shoes that looked like they hurt and she expected all her staff to do the same. Ms Whitby must have dressed up for the interview then gone back to normal, Katie figured. Good on her. So she relaxed a bit. In her experience, young teachers wanted to be liked more than the older ones did.
‘I’m sorry I’m a bit late,’ she said. ‘I was talking to Mrs Sinnamon.’
‘Well, I could hardly expect you to run away from that conversation, could I?’
The class giggled.
‘No,’ said Katie. Maybe this term she might have an ally in the staff room. That would be handy.
Katie’s strategy at school for the final term of year 9 was to fly under the radar. As long as she passed everything, she could conserve her time and energy for Mosquito Advertising. It was all about efficiency.
The day passed uneventfully, but she was as happy as ever when the bell rang.
‘Remember, girls,’ Ms Whitby said over the chatter, ‘this is an important term and it could be a stressful one for some of you, so if you need to talk – about anything – please see me. I’m a good listener.’
Katie stuffed her books into her bag and shoved her way past the knots of girls who mooched their way to the bus stops and their parents’ cars. She could never understand why they hung around school for more than a second longer than they had to.
She was fishing for her front door key when Clementine called her name from the front gate.
‘Hi,’ she called back. ‘You poor thing, you’ve had two days at school – I can’t believe your mum didn’t give you some jetlag leave.’
Clementine followed her up the stairs. She came from a long line of school captains and academic geniuses, but had the soul of an artist. When she first moved into Dover Street, Katie found her calm unnerving, but now she relied on it.
‘Oh, I’m okay,’ said Clementine as they walked into the house. ‘Two of my brothers were home yesterday. If I hadn’t gone to school they would have hassled me about why I spent my spare time in New York cruising round the galleries rather than visiting the United Nations headquarters.’
‘Pity. We needed you yesterday.’ Katie sat on her bed, untied her shoes and peeled off her socks. Nothing felt better than bare feet on cool floorboards.
‘I know. Joel told me all about it last night.’
Katie raised her eyebrows. She wondered, not for the first time, if there was anything going on between those two. Not that it bothered her, but it would upset Lorraine and that would be disruptive. ‘Mum’s really upset about it. She and Liam Parfitt think this’ll be the end of the company.’
‘And what do you think?’ Clementine looked out the window as Katie pulled on her grandad’s old army shorts.
‘I don’t know what I think,’ she said. ‘Except that the ban’s stupid and we can’t let it happen.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘Not yet. But give me a minute.’ She grinned as she heard Lorraine arguing with Joel and Dominic out at the front gate. She charged back out to the veranda.
‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Go down the side. We’ll meet you out in the tree office. Clem’s here, too.’
It felt good to have everyone back together again. New York seemed like years ago, rather than days. This was Brisbane, but it was real and, much as she’d loved the States, Katie knew that she had to file the experience away and get down to business. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘we’re all stressed about this ridiculous advertising ban, but we need to forget it for a bit.’
‘Forget about it?’ Joel crammed a fistful of Barbecue Shapes into his mouth. ‘That’s like telling a condemned man to forget about the firing squad. Get real, Kato.’
‘We’ve got until January 1 and Mum and Liam Parfitt are going to keep on keeping on –’
As Joel laughed, he sprayed the meeting with crumbs. ‘Yeah, I heard they were on. Mum told me. She says Liam was here all the time while we were away.’
‘Shut up, Joel. They work together, so why wouldn’t he come over?’ Katie ignored the smug grin on Lorraine’s face. ‘Besides, Parfitt’s isn’t our only client. Barkers needs attention too. Lorraine, have you had a chance to talk to Andy?’
‘Sure have. I dropped in last night,’ chirped Lorraine. ‘And he’s as happy as a chihuahua in Chanel. Sales are up and he thinks he might have raised enough money to put our little ad on TV. It went great guns on the net.’
‘Cool.’ Katie grinned. It was nice to have a happy client. ‘Do they need anything else?’
‘Andy thinks a radio campaign would be good. He wants to use the song from the ad.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Katie. ‘Can you ask Jasmine’s brothers? They might want some pocket money.’
‘Yeah, right. They’ll be down to their last million.’ Their friend Jasmine’s brothers were The Flying Foxes, one of Australia’s most successful bands. Lorraine beamed – she loved celebrities. ‘Okey dokey. I’ll email them now.’
‘The next thing we need to think of is a name and a slogan for this Christmas line.’ Katie tapped her pen on the pad balanced on her knees.
‘How about “Parflop”?’ suggested Joel. ‘The slogan can be Ho Ho Hope we’re still around next Christmas.’
Katie ignored him. Joel had to get his attitude out of his system.
‘Can we taste it?’ said Dominic. ‘That might get us thinking.’
‘Mum said she’d have samples soon. I think they’re still tweaking the formula.’
‘They’re going to ban it anyway, so they could put dishwashing liquid in it and it wouldn’t matter.’ Joel was flying. ‘New Parfitt’s apple and detergent flavour.’
‘They’re not banning the drink, just the ads, you turkey, and even that isn’t final yet.’ Katie could feel her irritation turning to anger.
‘Of course it’s final,’ he said. ‘The prime minister said it on national television. Do you think she’s going to change her mind?’
Katie struggled for a response.
‘I know she might,’ Lorraine shouted from the computer. ‘Check this out. There’s an email from the prime minister!’
‘What?’ Katie jumped to her feet.
‘Look.’ Lorraine rolled her chair back so the others could see the screen.
Dear Katie,
Thanks for your email. As you say, tackling childhood obesity is a complicated challenge. I am always interested to hear about any new strategy – especially yours. I will be in Brisbane Wednesday next week. I wonder if you would be able to meet with me. After school would be best, wouldn’t it? I will be at Government House for a dinner that evening. I could meet you just before – could you be there at 6pm? You bring the Parfizz and I’ll make sure there are carrot sticks!
Yours truly,
The Honourable Clara Whiting
Prime Minister of Australia
‘That’s got to be a joke,’ said Joel.
‘Doesn’t look like it.’ Dominic turned to Katie. ‘When did you contact her?’
‘Last night,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing. I was jetlagged!’
‘What’s your idea, though?’ Clementine tilted her head to one side. ‘How come you didn’t tell us?’ There was no accusation in her voice; she sounded impressed.
Katie backed away from the computer as if it was an unexploded bomb and stumbled onto a bean bag. ‘I don’t have one. I literally have no idea.’
In her office at the Parfitt Family Soft Drink Company, Vanessa Crisp stared at the piles of papers on her desk and wondered why, with computers, there was still so much paper around. Weren’t they meant to do away with paperwork? Parfitt’s was still an old-fashioned company, though. More than sixty people worked for them, but there were only three computers in the place – hers, Liam Parfitt’s and Marjorie’s. She ran despatch.
It was harder to be the general manager of a small company than a big one, she thought. Not that she’d know – she’d never worked anywhere but Parfitt’s. Lovely old Pat Parfitt had offered her a job when she’d dropped out of university after Katie was born. It wasn’t really what she’d wanted to do, but she was happy to have a job in a place where the people were nice and didn’t mind a baby in the corner. So she’d stayed and become part of the company, helping Pat Parfitt with everything from organising label printing to invoicing suppliers. Things changed when Parfizz started selling again. There was a pay rise and with Pat’s son, Liam, they were turning the company around. Finally work had become more than just a job. But now this ad ban. From a government that claimed it supported small business. Vanessa put her head in her hands.
‘Hi.’ Liam Parfitt was suddenly in the doorway, looking as if he’d been up all night.
‘You’ve got Weet-Bix on your shirt,’ said Vanessa.
‘It was porridge this morning.’ He grinned.
One of the things Vanessa liked most about Liam was that he always seemed to be in a good mood. Like his father Pat, he seemed to have missed out on the grumpy gene. ‘I’m amazed you can see me behind all this,’ she said, waving a hand over the bulging in trays. ‘I thought computers were meant to put an end to this kind of mess.’
Liam shrugged. ‘I’ve bought you a present.’
‘A secretary?’
‘No. Something better.’ From behind his back he produced a bottle containing a green and red swirly liquid. In his other hand he held two glasses with ice. Using his forearms, he cleared a space on the desk. He pulled a bottle opener from the back pocket of his jeans.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.
‘Er – it’s October,’ said Vanessa. ‘And this could be the last drink Parfitt’s ever produce. I don’t know if I feel like celebrating.’
‘Well, if that happens, let’s go out with a bang, not a whimper.’ He poured and Vanessa watched, amazed as it fizzed and swirled then settled again into its green and red diagonal stripes.
It was the drink Liam had been working on all year. He’d kept it secret and now Vanessa knew why.
‘That’s incredible.’
‘I know. Dad had the idea for something like this years and years ago. He was fiddling about with a formula, but it never worked for him.’
‘How did you do it?’
‘I didn’t. But Carole Beauchamp loved the idea and got some of her product development people in the States onto it. It turns out Dad was closer than he thought. It’s all to do with the different concentration of bubbles in each colour.’
‘Wow.’
‘Amazing, isn’t it! If it takes off, and Carole thinks it will, she might roll it out globally next year. I just wish Dad was around to see it.’
‘Yes, but I think wherever he is, he’d be proud.’
‘I think so too. Now, has Katie come up with a name yet?’ They had told her there was a Christmas drink in development.
‘I don’t know, let’s ask her tonight.’
‘She’s okay about me and the kids coming over?’
‘Of course. Katie’s always liked you.’
‘Yes – as Pat’s son. But this is different.’
‘She’ll be fine. We’ll be talking about the new product, anyway. Katie’s always happy when it’s business.’ Vanessa lifted her glass to the light. Then she took a sip. ‘It tastes . . . Christmassy.’
The phone rang and she put it on speaker. ‘Parfitt Family Soft Drink Company. Vanessa Crisp speaking.’
‘Caesar Maxwell here. Put me on to your boss please, darl.’
Vanessa and Liam looked at each other. Liam had to swallow his drink quickly, before he laughed.
‘Ah, I’m the General Manager,’ said Vanessa. ‘That makes me the boss, I suppose. Can I help you?’
There was muttering. Then a cough. ‘Well, it’s Caesar Maxwell.’
The name rang a bell. Vanessa raised her eyebrows. Liam shook his head and shrugged.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Maxwell,’ said Vanessa, ‘you’re from?’
‘MyFries. I own MyFries. A thousand outlets feeding a million faces every day. Twenty-five different cut fries with twenty-five different sauces.’
Vanessa raised her eyebrows. MyFries was the fastest growing franchise in the world – a local success story. Caesar Maxwell was from Ipswich, not quite an hour’s drive west of Brisbane. He’d left Ipswich ten years ago and now ran his empire from Las Vegas. She leant in towards the phone. ‘How can we help you, Mr Maxwell?’
‘You’ve heard the rubbish that fool Clara Whiting is spouting about a ban on fast-food ads?’
Vanessa quite liked the prime minister. ‘Yes?’
‘Well, I’m not going to sit back and take it. And neither are the other companies that will be crippled by this insane move. So the burger boys and the fried chicken people and the rest of your fizzy drink mates are chucking money into the hat to fight it. I need to know that you’re in too.’
‘But –’ Vanessa tried to think quickly. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Run ads saying that the government policy is lunacy. That they need to build more, you know, bike paths and stuff. It’s not our fault that kids are fat. It’s all about freedom. This ban is un-Australian and we’re going to fight it. And you soft drink people are in the front line. It’ll take you down first. So you need to cough up – fast.’
Caesar Maxwell’s voice had deepened and become almost threatening. It was a few seconds before Vanessa could reply.
‘Ah, Mr Maxwell, I’d need to know more before we committed to being a part of any campaign like that. What kind of ads? How much money would we need to contribute? We’re a small company – we haven’t got much of an advertising budget.’
‘Yeah, well, you might as well spend every cent you do have with us, otherwise you’ll be out of business come January.’
‘Mr Maxwell? I’m Liam Parfitt. I run the company with Vanessa.’
They could hear Caesar Maxwell huff, as if he realised he’d been wasting his time. ‘Parfitt! Where’s your old man, then? He’s the one I should be talking to.’
Liam reeled as if he’d been hit. Vanessa put her hand on his. ‘My father passed away last year,’ he said flatly, ‘and I don’t mean to be unhelpful, but Vanessa’s right. We need to know more about what you plan to do. The child health issue is real enough and even though we’re no supporters of this ban, I don’t think ads slamming the government will do much to change things.’
‘Well, I’m not that interested in what you think, just in what you can contribute. You’re a small fish in a big pond. That means you’ll be the first to be chewed up. So you need to stick with the big guys if you want to have any chance of survival. It’s that simple. I’ve set up a fighting fund and everyone’s contributing. MyFries is putting in $12 million. We reckon you guys can kick in a mill.’
Liam and Vanessa burst out laughing.
‘What? You think this is funny?’
‘No, Mr Maxwell, none of this is funny.’ Vanessa tried to speak calmly. ‘But I don’t think you realise just how small our little company is. We might spend a million dollars on advertising over ten years!’
‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t believe it. Everyone in the industry is talking about Parfitt’s. That kind of profile doesn’t come cheap.’
Vanessa stifled her laughter. ‘Well, thanks for the call, Mr Maxwell.’
‘I’ll send you the payment details. You don’t want to be left out in the cold on this one, believe me.’ Then he was gone.
‘Well,’ said Vanessa, ‘that was . . . interesting.’
‘What do you think we should do?’ Liam left the marketing side of things to her. He was more interested in operations – product development, streamlining logistics, despatch.
‘I’m not sure we can do anything.’ She shrugged. ‘We haven’t got a million dollars lying around – or even a thousand. And if we did, I’m not sure Caesar Maxwell is the man I’d give it to.’
‘What do you know about him?’
‘Not much. But I’ve heard about MyFries, of course.’
‘Me too. The kids go crazy for them.’
‘I’ve never tried them – are they okay?’
‘If you like your chips served with a litre of oil and a kilo of salt. They’re cheap, though. You can get a massive bucket of fries and a tray of six sauces for three dollars.’
Vanessa sighed and started to put some order into the piles of paper. ‘Well, I’m not going to worry about Caesar Maxwell’s fighting fund. There’s no point.’
‘You’re right. Hey, what’s the time?’
‘Four-thirty. I’m going to the supermarket to get a few things for dinner. We’ll see you about six?’
‘Great. The kids are excited. What can we bring?’
‘A few samples of the new line? Katie and the gang can get to work on a name.’