Katie knew that people sometimes felt sorry for her, as the only child of a single mother. And, if she was honest, she occasionally felt sorry for herself. Now with her home full of screaming kids and her mum frantically trying to cook for them, her quiet life seemed like bliss.
She watched Liam Parfitt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hands greasy, trying to line up spoonfuls of mashed potato with Sam’s moving mouth, as he moved his head like one of those laughing clowns at the show. There was potato in his hair and smeared across both cheeks.
‘Come on, mate,’ coaxed Liam. ‘Just a couple more and then there’s ice-cream.’
Katie shuddered. If the kid was like this with mashed potato, what would happen with ice-cream? Ice-cream melted, and she’d be the one who had to mop up the mess. If the government was going to ban anything, they should ban anyone below the age of ten from eating ice-cream. The other kids were almost as bad. Billy was three and Barney was four. They were pegging bits of sausage at each other. Katie got caught in the crossfire and a chunk of meat bounced off her ear.
‘Boys!’ said Liam. ‘Stop that. Vanessa has made this lovely dinner for us.’
Katie looked at him and worried that he might actually be serious about her mum. No one but a lovesick idiot would say this dinner was lovely. The sausages were charred on the outside and raw in the middle. Later tonight Liam might have four cases of food poisoning to deal with.
‘Georgie,’ he said, ‘aren’t you going to eat your sausage?’
The five-year-old had sat herself next to Katie. ‘No, but I like the mashed potato,’ she said, delicately working her spoon around the lumps.
‘You need to eat some meat,’ said her father. ‘It’s protein – gives you muscles.’
‘I’m vegetarian,’ said Georgie. Katie looked at her with a flicker of respect. She’d tried the vegetarian angle herself a few times.
‘Don’t worry about it, Liam,’ said her mum. ‘I’ll get them some ice-cream. Who wants chocolate and who wants strawberry?’
The boys all screamed at once. Sam flung his bowl across the room and globs of mashed potato, stained pink by tomato sauce, covered the floor.
‘I think I’ll skip dessert,’ said Katie, pushing back her chair. ‘I’ve got homework.’
‘All right,’ said her mum, inspecting her hair for potato. ‘When you’re done, come back. We want to talk about the new Christmas drink.’
Halfway down the hall, Katie felt she was being followed. She turned to see Georgie standing there with her arms by her side.
‘What do you want?’ Katie had no idea how big five-year-olds were meant to be, but this one seemed small. She had dark brown eyes and brown hair that was shorter on one side than the other. It made her look strangely off-balance.
‘My brother cut it.’
‘Oh,’ said Katie, a bit surprised that the little girl had known what she was thinking. ‘I have to do some work.’
‘I know. Can I come with you? The boys give me a headache.’ She put her fingertips to her temples.
‘Ah, no. You should go and have some ice-cream.’
‘I’ll just sit and watch. I’ll be quiet. I promise.’
‘No, that’s weird,’ said Katie, ‘watching someone while they work. Tell your dad to put on a movie or something for you.’ She went into her room and closed the door.
One of the reasons she didn’t want Georgie to watch was that she had no intention of doing any homework. There were too many people in the house. Even though she couldn’t hear them, she knew they were there and the thought was irritating. Why had her mum invited them over and when would they be leaving? What time did little kids go to sleep, anyway? Lorraine would know – she was always babysitting, but the phone was either in the kitchen or the lounge room, so Katie sat and stewed.
Around nine, she felt it might be safe to open the door. She walked down the hallway and glanced into the lounge room to see the three little boys curled up together on the sofa, like a litter of puppies. Lorraine would have thought they were cute, but Katie just hoped they were wearing nappies.
Liam and her mum were drinking tea at the kitchen table. They were sitting next to each other, which was unnecessary, since there was no one else around. Georgie was on her father’s lap, playing with his hair. When Katie sat down, the little girl slipped onto the chair next to her.
‘I think you’ve found a friend.’ Vanessa smiled.
‘So, let’s see this drink.’ Katie ignored Georgie.
Liam went to the fridge and came back with a bottle. ‘We’re really happy with it. It’s worked out even better than we’d hoped – see how the stripes stay separate?’
As he poured a glass for Katie, she watched in amazement.
‘What do you think?’ asked her mum.
‘That’s so cool,’ said Georgie.
Katie glared. No one wanted a five-year-old’s opinion. Kids these days had no manners. ‘So we need a name?’ Katie looked squarely at Liam. She wanted Georgie to realise that this was an adult conversation.
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘We’ve been calling it Product X, but we need something better than that. It’s too generic – could be for anything. It needs a bit of Parfitt’s sense of fun.’
An idea popped into Katie’s mind. Sometimes that just happened. ‘I think it’s almost a great name.’ She grinned. ‘Let’s call it Product Xmas.’
Liam and Vanessa obviously liked it.
‘That’s a good name!’ said Georgie.
‘Who asked you?’ snapped Katie and Georgie slid off her chair and crawled onto her father’s lap.
‘That was a bit mean,’ said Vanessa. ‘She was just trying to be involved.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Katie said, but she was glad she’d put Georgie in her place. Someone should have done it a long time ago.
‘She’s tired. We’ll go soon.’ Liam lifted the little girl against his shoulder and she buried her head in his shirt.
Katie glared at her. Wuss.
‘Product Xmas,’ said Vanessa. ‘I like it. It says what it is. Liam?’
‘Yep, I think we’ve got our name. Good one, Katie.’
‘What’s happening with the ban?’ Katie took a sip of Product Xmas. It was delicious – like a toffee apple.
‘Not sure. But we got a call today from Caesar Maxwell,’ said her mum.
‘The MyFries guy?’
‘What do you know about him?’ asked Liam.
‘He went to Joel’s school,’ said Katie, ‘years ago. In the 60s, I think. He offered to build them a new library if they agreed to call it the Brisbane City College Fry-brary. Even Joel thought that was the cheesiest thing he’d ever heard.’
Liam was horrified. ‘Did they do it?’
‘No, in the end, the school didn’t need Mr MyFries – some old banker died and left them a heap of respectable money, so they named the library after him. But apparently that guy Maxwell is talking to the P&Fs of smaller schools about giving them bucketloads of cash if they’ll do it.’
‘Really?’ Her mum was intrigued. ‘That’s awful. How do you know all this, anyway?’
‘Mum, there’s this thing called the internet. And you can get news on it. Also, Joel hears things. He’s always been an eavesdropper. And his mum and dad talk about this kind of stuff. But why did Caesar Maxwell call you?’
‘He asked us – almost told us – that we needed to put money into a fund he’s organising. He’s going to make some ads to fight the ban.’
‘What kind of ads? Who’s going to make them?’
‘He didn’t say. I’d assume the agency that makes the MyFries ads.’
‘Eew.’ Katie shuddered. ‘MyFries ads are the worst on TV.’
‘What are they like?’ Her mother didn’t watch much, just ‘The Bill’ and that was on the ABC – no ads.
‘There’s this family called the Frys – there are twenty-four of them, and they wear gold jumpers to make them look like chips and shout prices at the camera. At the end of every ad they all yell, “Whaddya want? MyFries! When do you want ‘em? Now!”’ Katie shuddered.
Georgie lifted her head from her father’s shoulder and looked like she was about to say something, but she didn’t.
‘Maxwell’s a rich man,’ said Liam, ‘so the ads can’t be too bad. They must work.’
‘He sells chips because they’re cheap, not because his ads are any good.’ Katie shrugged. ‘And they’re cheap because he buys his cooking oil from poor villages in South-East Asia. We learned about it in school. He pays his workers practically nothing.’ She drained her glass. ‘Anyway, what did you tell Caesar Maxwell? You’re not going contribute to his fund, are you?’
‘We said we’d think about it and get back to him,’ said Liam.
‘Well get back to him soon and tell him the idea sucks.’ Katie topped up her Product Xmas. ‘And I bet the ads’ll be rubbish.’
‘So do we,’ said her mum. ‘But even though we don’t have a million dollars, it might be worth contributing something. No one else seems to be doing much.’
Katie spun her glass slowly on the table, wondering if she should tell them about her meeting with the prime minister.
‘We’ll chew it over.’ Her mother took the mugs to the sink. ‘But in the meantime, let’s get Product Xmas on the shelves and work out whether we can advertise it later.’
That made no sense to Katie. What was the point of making any product unless you could advertise it?
‘Right,’ said Liam, standing up. ‘I should get these kids home to bed. Thanks for having us. I’m sorry if they were a bit crazy, Katie.’
‘Were they?’ She tried to smile but it must have looked sarcastic because her mum gave her the death stare. ‘I mean, it was fun,’ she said sheepishly, but she was sure Georgie rolled her eyes. That kid unnerved her.
That night, Katie dreamt she was standing on a highway. She wanted to run, but her feet were heavy and dense, like lumps of dough. A semitrailer was coming straight for her, but she couldn’t move. As it came closer, she could see something attached to its front grille. A soft toy. But as it approached, faster and faster, she could see the toy’s head was the prime minister’s.
Katie sat up. The t-shirt she slept in was damp with sweat. The clock beside her said five past twelve. She hadn’t been asleep long, but there was no way she was lying back down – Clara Whiting might run her over. Katie knew the dream and it wouldn’t come back (just like good dreams are impossible to return to once you’ve woken up), but she wasn’t risking it. She walked through the dark house to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and took it onto the back deck. That was weird. There was a light on in the tree office. She let her eyes adjust to the dark and her ears started to sort the night sounds. There were possums and flying foxes in the sausage tree. They cast shadows on the tree office. But was there someone moving inside it? It was hard to tell. Setting her glass on the deck, she went to investigate.
The grass was dewy underfoot and she shuffled instead of taking proper steps. Her grandad had taught her that was the best way to avoid stepping on a cane toad.
There was definitely someone in the tree office. She stood below it and listened to the footsteps moving above her. They were unhurried. It was probably one of the others, she told herself, but as far as she knew, they never came over at night. The tree office belonged to all of them, but still it was in her yard and she didn’t think they’d come over after midnight. For a second she wondered if she should tell her mum. But if it was Lorraine, Dom, Joel or Clementine, they would get in trouble for sure. And her mum would be wondering what she was doing out here in the dead of night anyway.
Slowly, Katie climbed the ladder. The windows opening onto the front veranda were closed. She pressed her ear to the plywood. Whoever it was had gone quiet. Maybe they knew she was there. She uncurled her fist from around her key and carefully, slowly slipped it into the lock, then eased the door open. The tree house was empty. But one of the Macs was on. Someone had been here. She shut the door behind her.
‘Katie!’ said Dominic.
She spun around. ‘Dom!’ Her heart was somewhere near the back of her tongue.
‘Well, who did you think it would be? You nearly gave me a coronary.’
‘Same. Why didn’t you say it was you?’
‘I didn’t know it was you. It could have been a murderer or anyone!’
‘So you thought there was a murderer, but you came on in anyway?’ Dom was grinning.
‘Well –’ Now she was laughing too. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘Probably the same as you. Not sleeping.’
Dominic looked like he hadn’t been to bed. He was still wearing his grey school shorts, but with an old flannelette shirt instead of a jumper. ‘I’m worried about this ban.’
‘Me too,’ said Katie, sinking onto a bean bag. ‘Not much point in having an ad agency if we can’t do ads.’
He nodded.
‘Mum and Liam are still keen to do their new Christmas drink, but I can’t even think of that. My head keeps saying, What’s the point? It’ll be the last ad we’ll ever do for Parfitt’s. That makes me so worried I kind of freeze.’
‘Maybe don’t think of it then. We’ve got another client – there’s no move to ban dog food ads, is there?’
‘No, but I can’t let Parfitt’s go. Without them, everything falls apart. Mum told me Caesar Maxwell from MyFries is launching some kind of ad campaign to stop the ban, but I can’t see how that’ll work. I’ve dug a hole for myself with this prime minister thing. What am I going to say to her? I told her I’ve got a solution to childhood obesity that’s better than the government’s ad ban. She probably has a hundred advisors who’ve done years of research and I’m going to come up with an idea that the PM will go for? No way is she going to say, “Hang on a minute everyone, this kid from Brisbane’s got it sorted.”’
Dominic scratched his head.
‘It’s just not a fair fight,’ she continued. ‘The junk food companies spend about a bazillion dollars on their ads, and the healthy food people don’t have that kind of cash.’
‘Parfitt’s don’t have that kind of cash either,’ he pointed out.
‘And that’s another reason the ban is unfair.’
Dominic pulled a bean bag over next to hers. ‘Okay, let’s think about this differently.’
The night was getting colder. Katie shivered and wished she’d worn a jumper.
‘Do you want my shirt?’ asked Dom.
‘No.’ She looked away. ‘I’m all right.’ The silence was awkward and she rushed to fill it. ‘Maybe – maybe it’s about making the fight a fair one.’
‘Like how?’
An idea took shape in her mind, like clay on a potter’s wheel and she leapt to her feet. ‘Okay, how’s this? Instead of banning ads, the government makes a few changes, just to even things up.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘What if the fruit people and the milk guys and the vegie farmers had more money for their ads?’
‘Good idea, but where does the money come from?’
‘Ah, the government –’ Why couldn’t he keep up?
‘Kato, no one’s going to pay higher taxes so pumpkin growers can make better ads.’
Katie shook her head. He just wasn’t getting it.
‘Anyway, even if you could get the government to contribute to their ad budgets, the amount would be so minuscule it wouldn’t make any difference. Caesar Maxwell and his mates would just spend more on MyFries ads.’
‘No, I’m not talking about the government paying for better ads for fresh, good food – I think the junk food companies should contribute.’
A smile crept across Dominic’s face. ‘That’s smart, Kato.’
Any bit of praise energised her. ‘So this is what happens. The government makes junk food companies pay a tax.’
‘People hate taxes, Kato. You can’t call it a tax.’
‘Okay, not a tax – we’ll call it a levy.’
‘The Lettuce Levy!’ Dominic was enjoying himself.
Katie walked in small circles, thinking fast, getting it clear in her head. ‘Let’s say MyFries spends ten million a year on advertising. They have to pay a percentage, say ten per cent, into a fund that goes to help farmers make decent ads for fresh food.’
‘Who makes the ads?’
‘We could – any agency could. The thing is, this idea levels the playing field. Less money for chips, more for chops.’
‘Are chops healthy?’
‘Sure,’ she said, ‘as long as you don’t fry them with chips.’
‘Okay.’ He laughed. ‘I get it.’
‘And they’d be great ads, because they’d be made by people who know advertising – they wouldn’t be lame old eat this because it’s good for you lectures.’
‘It all sounds cool to me. But you know Parfitt’s would be classed as a junk food company, so they’d have to pay the levy.’
‘So what? They’ve got hardly any money for advertising as it is. And they’ve got a smart agency who can do a lot with just a little. By paying the levy happily, Parfitt’s is saying, we want people to eat healthily. Great PR. Companies who object to paying the levy will look seriously bad.’
‘Caesar Maxwell will hate it.’
‘Of course he will. The last thing he wants is to have his budget cut.’
The relief Katie felt was huge. This was a game-changer, as Joel would call it. ‘What do you think the others will say?’ she asked.
‘Oh, Joel’ll say it’s rubbish, but he’ll come round. Clementine will like it, because it’s smart and unpredictable and Lorraine will start thinking of hats that look like lettuces as promotional giveaways.’
Their laughter filled the tree office and then it stopped. Strangely, they were both suddenly aware that it was probably two in the morning and they were alone. Dominic looked at Katie with an embarrassed smile that made her look out the window.
‘We need to turn this into some kind of presentation. For the prime minister,’ she said.
‘Ah, yeah, we do,’ he nodded. ‘So, should I tell Joel about it? Or wait and tell everyone together?’
‘Let’s tell them all at once. I want to give Joel as little time as possible to work out ways of dumping on the plan.’
‘Okay. Right. I s’pose I’d better go.’
Katie could tell he didn’t want to. And she didn’t really want him to, either.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
‘Straight after school.’
As Dominic walked past, he brushed her wrist. The tree office was big and empty and he hadn’t needed to do that.
‘Get up, Katie. You can’t blame jetlag anymore.’ Her mum was standing in the doorway, dressed for work, her keys in her hand.
‘I know.’ Katie rubbed her eyes.
‘I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be home to change, but then I’m going out for a bit with Liam. Won’t be late, though.’
‘What? You saw him last night.’
‘A friend of his has an art exhibition opening. We’re only going for an hour or so, but if you really don’t want me to go, I won’t.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll be fine.’
She didn’t really care that her mum was going out – it would actually be good if she was away from the house. It was the two-nights-in-a-row-with-Liam that bothered her. What if they fell in love? Got married? What if he and the kids moved in? Ugh. Katie didn’t have a lot of breakable things, but she lay in bed for another five minutes thinking about where she could put them. The top of her wardrobe was the only safe place. But it was jam-packed with old books and clothes. She’d have to tidy it. Double ugh.
School was a bit better with Ms Whitby as homeroom teacher. She turned a blind eye when Katie was late and intervened when Dr Pang was being unreasonable about the maths assignment. (She explained to him that the modern history essay was due the same day.) She was sympathetic when girls weren’t up to PE and even loaned them money for tuck shop. She made a list of everyone’s birthdays and promised to bake her special banana bread. Katie’s birthday was on the 23rd, three weeks away. She hoped her mum would get her a little video camera so she wouldn’t have to rely on borrowing Joel’s. For some reason she wondered if Dominic would give her a present.
Despite Ms Whitby’s caring enthusiasm, classes dragged, and the bell that marked the end of the day was the best sound in the world. It meant Katie could stop pretending to be interested in things that were irrelevant to her.
Running home, she felt her adrenalin pumping as she prepared herself for the onslaught of Joel’s criticism. Even though she knew it would pass, she had to be ready.
She set a bottle of Product Xmas and five glasses on the big table in the middle of the tree office and waited for the others. Dominic and Joel arrived together, then Clementine. Finally, Lorraine appeared at the door. She was wearing a calf-length raincoat – with horizontal lime, yellow, red and blue stripes. She wore matching gumboots and carried a lime umbrella. No one could speak.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Lorraine said as she twirled.
‘Ah, there’s a storm on the way?’ suggested Katie.
‘You got a bargain on eBay?’ Clementine was desperate.
‘You’ve lost your mind?’ Joel, of course.
‘You’re all wrong, totally wrong,’ Lorraine chirped. ‘This is my first product!’
‘Lorraine, please tell us what you’re on about,’ said Katie, losing patience.
‘I will soon be launching my own line of wet weather fashion. I started working on it before we went to the States, but while we were there I got some contacts with a place that can make them for me.’
‘Riiiight,’ said Dominic. ‘And?’
‘And, get this – I’ve got the best name. Katie, you’ll love it.’
‘Okay, I’ll love it. What is it?’
‘My exclusive range will be known as ‘Lorraine Wear!’ Get it? LorRAINWEAR? Brilliant, right?’
‘Pretty good, Quiche,’ said Dominic.
‘Yeah.’ Katie was smiling. ‘I like it.’
Lorraine looked at Joel, who was rolling his eyes. ‘And,’ she continued, ‘I’d like to offer my first campaign account to Mosquito Advertising.’
‘What?’ Joel laughed. ‘Us advertise your raincoats? Have you got any money?’
‘Joel, our clients hardly ever have any money,’ said Clementine gently. ‘I love your raincoat, Lorraine. I think it’s a great idea.’
‘Me too,’ said Katie. She wasn’t sure what she thought of LorRAINWEAR, but she needed to get everyone’s attention back – and a big fight about raincoats and gumboots wasn’t going to help. ‘I reckon we can do some great ads for LorRAINWEAR, but first, I need to get you all on board with my plan for the prime minister. Dom and I worked it out last night.’ She noticed Joel’s eyebrows shoot up, but he said nothing. ‘While I’m talking you through it, try some of Parfitt’s new Christmas drink.’ Katie used the opener fixed to the wall to prise the lids off the bottles. It took a bit of effort, but the cap was a Parfitt’s signature of old fashioned values. ‘We’re calling it Product Xmas.’
She half-expected Joel to tell her the name was terrible, but he didn’t. He held his glass up to the light and whistled at the green and red stripes. ‘That’s awesome. I’d hate to think of the chemicals involved, but – cool!’
‘Well, Liam says it’s all natural stuff in it. I can’t see how that’s true, but Parfitts don’t lie. The thing is, if the company is going to keep going, we need to get the government to rethink their ban on soft drink advertising.
With Dominic’s help, she explained her plan.
Clementine nodded slowly. ‘So, the government takes money out of the junk food companies’ budgets and gives it to the fresh food growers so they can make ads too?’
‘Exactly,’ said Katie. ‘And really good ads. If they’ve got some money, they can use decent agencies – like Mosquito!’
‘Well, I love it almost as much as I love my raincoat,’ said Lorraine.
Katie laughed. ‘You’d love anything at the moment.’
‘Seriously, I think it’s smart. And it’s different. Even if the prime minister doesn’t like it, she won’t have heard it before, so you won’t be wasting her time.’
Joel was sitting on a bean bag, picking a toenail. Katie wanted to tell him that was disgusting, but bit the words back.
‘Well?’ said Dominic. ‘What do you reckon? If you like it, there’s a heap of work to do to get it into shape for the PM. We’ll need your help.’
Joel stood up and stretched his arms in an exaggerated yawn. His fingertips almost touched the ceiling of the tree office. ‘I think getting involved in politics is a really bad idea.’
‘We’re not getting involved in politics!’ said Katie, shaking her head, ‘Did you even listen to what we said? All we want to do is make it easy for people who produce good food to make good ads, and harder for the companies who make rubbish food. That’s not political; it’s good sense.’
‘You start pitching that stuff to the prime minister and it’s political. I don’t want to be involved. I’m happy to come up with ideas for ads, but not laws. We should stay out of it.’
‘But we’ll be doing ads!’ Katie’s voice was rising. ‘The only reason for this is so we can keep working on Parfitt’s. And who knows, we could do cool ads for – I don’t know – lettuces.’
Joel’s laugh was mean. ‘Listen to yourself, Kato. Cool ads for lettuce. You’ve lost the plot. You’re as crazy as Quiche trying to flog her ugly raincoats.’
‘Hey, Joel, come on –’ Clementine couldn’t stand people being cruel.
‘Nah, I’m over this. Besides, Dad says Clara Whiting’s a loser. He says she’s bound to get booted out at the next election. Meeting with her would be a waste of time.’
Katie had been standing by the window, but walked over to Joel and tried to eyeball him. She had to look up, though, and it felt ridiculous. ‘Have you got any better ideas?’
‘Going home and watching TV will have just as much effect as your . . . Lettuce Levy, or whatever you want to call it.’ He hitched up his shorts. ‘So yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. That sounds like an excellent idea to me.’ He walked past her and left them in the tree office like debris after a storm.
It was getting dark, so Katie turned on a light. ‘Okay, that didn’t go so well.’ She tried to smile at Lorraine, whose shoulders slumped inside her stripy raincoat.