CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SUNDAY

Admiralty House, the Sydney residence of the prime minister, seemed unresponsive as Miles Fisher approached the front portico keen to talk to his boss about what to do. The government didn’t win, nor did it lose; it was a tie. An independent had won the deciding seat and would hold the balance of power to determine who would form government. There was no-one about the grounds other than formidable security by the front gate and his heavy knocking on the front door brought no response.

Fisher walked through the rose garden to the small administration block where he met Gerrard’s housekeeper who directed him to the pool where he would find the prime minister. He quickly skipped along the cobbled footpath, past the freshly trimmed hedgerow to the pool where he found Gerrard sprawled asleep on a lounge, a bottle of brandy lying beside him. He coughed as he approached, disturbing the prime minister.

Gerrard looked up and shielded his eyes from the sun. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Prime Minister, I need you to get changed and ready for a media conference in ninety minutes. You have to make a statement about the election.’

‘I don’t have to do a damn thing.’

‘The media are waiting. They want to know what you’re going to do.’

‘Miles, my sweet little darling, I’m not going to do a damn thing,’ said Gerrard as he picked up the bottle, uncorked it with his teeth and took a generous swig. ‘Not my government anymore.’

‘You are the prime minister and the nation needs to hear from you.’

‘They should’ve thought of that before casting their fucking vote,’ snarled Gerrard. ‘I’m not their prime minister anymore.’

‘We need to negotiate a resolution as to who will form government.’

‘Don’t care, so piss off, will you.’

‘Prime Minister, this is a very serious predicament and you need to pull yourself together,’ pleaded Fisher. ‘The country has no leader and it needs to hear from you.’

‘I’ve been prime minister for almost two fucking decades. I’ve done all I could to make them proud, and this is what they do to me. I will not be saying anything to anyone as I’m no longer their leader and I’m no longer a member of the fucking commonwealth parliament,’ sighed Gerrard. ‘The ungrateful fucking morons.’

‘Prime Minster, please. I implore you – we need you to say something.’

‘Let me say two words that will allow you to clearly understand my position. Fuck off!’ barked Gerrard.

‘It’s Peter Stanley,’ said Robert Wong, passing the phone to Jaya.

‘Hello Mr Stanley, how can I help?’

‘Congratulations on a great victory, Jaya, your win in Melbourne created history.’

‘It was a good result, wasn’t it? I have many people to thank.’

‘Jaya, you worked really hard. We are very proud of you.’

‘Proud of me?’ queried Jaya. ‘That’s funny. You weren’t so proud of me a few weeks back when you sacked me.’

‘Jaya, you have to understand, the party could not sanction the things you were saying,’ a contrite Stanley explained.

‘Your people gave me the original speech and asked me to deliver it word for word, which I did, and that speech started it all,’ said Jaya. ‘What do you mean you could not sanction what I said?’

‘I’m not sure I know who would have given you the speech,’ a confused Stanley responded. ‘Are you sure it was from us?’

‘Hmm, let me think – your head office email account was used to send it to us. Is that good enough for you?’

‘You don’t need to be like that, please Jaya, you are a member of the commonwealth parliament now.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘There are different standards we have to adhere to.’

‘You’re kidding me?’ snapped Jaya. ‘Standards? You people have none!’

‘This is all part of the political process; let’s not get personal. We all need each other.’

‘After you set me up, you publicly treat me like a racist. Now you don’t want me to take it personally being called a racist by the party that gladly endorsed, then sacked me. You never called me to talk to me about it. You created a shitstorm for me at my university, threatening my tenure, and now you want me to calm down?’ snapped Jaya, thinking about what more to say, then changing her mind before softly adding with a heavy sigh. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want to talk about forming government. You have the deciding vote.’

Jaya’s jaw dropped in disbelief. ‘So now you need me? What irony.’

‘Gerrard has not made a statement and I need to advise the media if I am able to form government. If you can let me know what you are thinking, I would appreciate it.’

‘I’ll tell you what I am thinking, Stanley,’ growled Jaya. ‘Under my current thinking, you will never be prime minister.’ Jaya winked at Wong.

‘What do you want?’

‘Already you are trying to buy me?’ responded Jaya sarcastically. ‘What type of person do you take me for? Do you think you can buy my vote? I’m not like the rest of you – thank God.’

‘Amen to that,’ Stanley immediately said, then slowly added. ‘I’m sorry if I disrespected you, but the country needs leadership right now and you are the king maker.’

‘Well, rather than you trying to convince me, I think I’m more than capable to make a decision and that’s what I will do later today after the electoral commission finalises the vote. I will call a media conference and announce who I will be supporting once I discuss my options with my advisers.’

‘There is nothing you need?’

‘There is plenty I need, but you won’t be giving it to me.’

‘Will you let me know your decision before your media conference?’

‘No, why the hell should I?’ snapped Jaya. ‘Goodbye, Mr Stanley, look for my answer in the media.’ She ended the call and tossed the phone on some papers on her desk.

‘You go, girl!’ smiled an admiring Wong, his feet resting among a stack of papers on the desk.

Jaya smirked at her campaign manager, wearily shaking her head. ‘Well, you got me into this mess Robert, no-one expected us to win,’ said Jaya as she gazed at Wong. ‘I’m now a federal member of parliament with the balance of power. What do you suggest I do?’

‘I suppose the first thing we should do is find out what we can do,’ said Wong. ‘I mean, what does the balance of power even mean?’

‘It means the government needs my vote to get legislation passed. I have to decide who is going to be government. Do we stay with Gerrard’s mob and their experience or do we give it to the inexperienced Stanley who sacked us?’

‘Who do you trust more than anyone, who could give you the advice you need to make a decision?’

‘I have no-one, that’s my trouble,’ sighed Jaya. ‘Perhaps a parliamentary officer, the governor, I met her once. Politicians are a little too biased and our campaign guru is nowhere to be seen. So, who? It seems like it’s just you and me.’

‘Who are you favouring?’

‘Stanley is utterly hopeless, so if it were a choice between him and Gerrard, it would be a no-brainer, Gerrard would be my choice. But now he’s gone, I have no idea who will lead in his place. So both parties are at the same level.’

‘Who will give you the policy outcomes you want?’

‘But you see, Robert, this is the trouble with the dilemma I’m faced with,’ said Jaya as she sat forward, resting her forearms on her knees and wringing her hands together. ‘If I were to favour one party over the other because of what they offered me, I would be a political fraud. I’d just be one of them and I promised I would be different. I would rather judge them on their legislative agenda and let my promised private member’s bill on the immigration matters be judged on its merits.’

‘If you are not going to ask for anything in return for your support that means you are probably the only independent who is truly independent, ever.’

‘I suspect it will be a tremendous burden.’

‘And dreadfully taxing on you, your career and your friends. I’d hate to be you.’

‘Yeah,’ smiled Jaya as she looked up at her student. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask – do you want to join me?’

The Hancock Media Melbourne offices were located in the office towers by the casino on Southbank. It now made perfect sense to Anita given the covert business links she discovered between Hancock and Jameson. She had arrived at the office early in the afternoon to try and get an opinion piece completed for the next day’s morning edition and work the phone to confirm which party would form the next government.

Speculation had not allayed since the tied result was confirmed by the electoral commission early in the afternoon, and the independent Jaya Rukhmani was yet to announce which party she would support in government. A press release announced a four o’clock media conference to announce who she would be supporting.

Gerrard was refusing to appear before the media, and she couldn’t blame him. After a long political career with almost twenty years as prime minister, it must be shattering for his ego to have lost government and his own seat in the process, she mused.

She was taken completely by surprise to have her feature article about the Stanley campaign operative printed. She was yet to learn from her editor why the change of heart about her column and considered many options as to why. It was a blistering exposé of Sinclair-Browne, suggesting a new trend in political campaigning being taken out of the hands of politicians and transferred to furtive public opinion manipulators. She wasn’t happy with the positioning of the column away from the reporting of the election result, but she was pleased it exposed the tactics of the Stanley campaign.

The covert manipulation of the political system she had discovered needed spotlighting, she felt, and she hoped it would provide salient lessons for the community to be more aware of the dark art of political campaigning. The use of specialised campaign groups was not a new strategy – social media campaigns had been successfully organised and operated by so-called independent community groups and lobbyists in the past, but this was the first time an operative strategically managed an entire campaign for a political party.

Anita was now convinced the people had little say in government policy. Their vote was important in deciding who would ultimately govern, but governments seemed to be increasingly manipulated to obtain an outcome for whatever special interest group had the greatest voice and impact in the campaign. The unions, the business groups, environmental groups and even regional organisations forced their way on to the political stage to influence government policy and funding decisions.

She assumed her story would have ramifications during the examination of the election result and hoped questions would be raised on seeking assurances of greater transparency during future election campaigns, as well as restricting spurious community groups that claimed to be independent from acting as front groups for other political organisations.

Politics in its purest form excited her, but she was saddened by what she had discovered during the campaign. The vengeance of Harper, the manipulation of Jaya, and Barton’s big lie were blatant examples of covert politics manipulating public opinion – and added to her disappointment. What caused her more angst than her loss of respect for the political process was the blatant cover up and editorial control of her boss toward her opinion columns. She even wondered if the story on the campaign operative was just another manipulation by Hancock to achieve a political outcome.

‘Cleave, what line do you want me to take in this editorial?’ Anita had called her editor seeking support. ‘Who do you think will form government?’

‘I have no idea, sweetheart, and to be frank, I really don’t care.’

‘Can you tell me why my opinion piece on the campaign operative with the Stanley campaign got a run today – why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It was a late decision, I pulled a story and needed a filler and thought it was a good discussion piece.’ Cleaver avoided letting her know the true reason.

‘Will the others get a run?’

‘Not sure they will; the boss doesn’t support them.’

‘What am I doing here, Cleave? What’s the point?’

‘Anita, it’s been a torrid few weeks in politics for everyone. You have been doing a fantastic job and I’m very proud of the work you have done for me. I wouldn’t be making any snap decisions about the future.’

‘Will I be promoted to television?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’ve done everything I was asked to do and then some,’ moaned Anita.

‘I agree, but I can’t tell you anything – I just don’t know.’

‘Why am I suddenly out in the cold?’

‘Hancock makes the decisions, you know that.’

Anita screwed her face, frustrated with the response from her boss. ‘It’s to do with the Mercantiles, isn’t it? I’m too close to exposing them,’ snapped Anita, thrusting her hand through her hair. ‘Hancock should have nothing to fear. Surely he is smart enough to know if he helps my career, I have a conflict of interest and wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.’

‘I don’t know,’ Cleaver softly said. ‘Listen, just get the editorial done and then take the rest of the week off.’

‘Who do I declare the winner?’

‘Call it a draw and recap on the best and worst of the campaign. That should be enough until we actually know.’

‘I’ll fly home to Canberra tomorrow and come see you.’

‘Don’t stress, it’ll all be okay.’

‘Yeah, then why do I feel like it won’t be?’

‘Anita, listen. You’re making this bigger than it really is. You’ve done a great job and so what if we don’t use all your stuff. We haven’t in the past, you know that. There’s no point in getting yourself tied in knots about this.’

Anita slumped her head into her hands. ‘I guess you’re right, Cleave. We got some good stuff out there and I’m pleased the way it went.’

‘Write the column and get it to me as soon as you can.’

‘Thanks, Cleave. See you.’

She dropped her phone to the desk, slumped back into her chair and looked to the ceiling. She was anxious and felt a dull ache within her. She began to question her future and felt a need to get away from the Hancock media.

Brereton’s advice unexpectedly filtered back to her; she didn’t want to be Hancock’s captive. Maybe she needed to get away from the media totally, or go overseas, or start a new career. Policy always interested her, as would working for a minister. Most of them could do with improved media advice.

Sitting up, Anita chuckled as she considered the thought of working for Peter Stanley. Nothing she could ever do would improve his status, yet here he is, perhaps just a media conference away from being announced prime minister.

She opened her computer and went to a new document, typed a suggested headline and then looked at the blank screen for the next thirty minutes thinking about what to say. Fingers hovered above her keyboard waiting for journalistic inspiration and then fell away, frustrated at the lack of enthusiasm.

Anita’s timer disturbed her, reminding her the four o’clock media conference was about to start so she moved to a room with a television to watch the anointing of the new government. She was impressed with Jaya’s manner and noted her increased confidence as she waited for the media to finally settle down before she began. Jaya was dressed in a traditional sari, which Anita assumed was a deliberate statement about her history. She liked the symbolism – a confident woman about to announce a new government.

‘Good evening, and thank you for coming,’ Jaya began reading her speech. ‘Australia has voted for a government yet the result of who will lead that government for the next five years has yet to be decided.

‘I am a political novice of little consequence, some fifteen hours after being announced as the new member for Melbourne. I have been given the task of determining who should lead us for the next five years and under what circumstances that decision will be made – no easy task for someone so junior.’

She paused for a moment and then looked at the television cameras before her. ‘I would like to take this opportunity to thank the previous member for Melbourne, Andrew Gerrard, for his long service to the local community. I can assure him his hard work will not be forgotten by the people of Melbourne and I will ensure his legacy is remembered.’

Anita thought it odd she would only refer to Gerrard as the local member and not prime minister. Perhaps she truly was focused on her electorate and not concerned with the disquiet of the nation seeking a result.

‘Democracy is not perfect. It’s hard work, but as a community we must stand for what is right and vote for the people who we trust and can best represent us. I have been elected to represent the people of Melbourne and I promise them I will work hard on their behalf and represent their views to the national parliament. I will raise their issues and I will fight as best I can to ensure they reach their ambitions for a community that cares and shares for each other.

‘To be elected a member of parliament is a great privilege and it is an honour for me to be able to be the first Indian migrant to be elected to the Australian parliament. I take this honour very seriously and will ensure my decisions in the parliament will benefit the people of my electorate.

‘But—’ Jaya suddenly stopped talking, stepped back from the lectern and then forward again to fidget with her papers. ‘I am placed in an invidious position where I alone have to decide who should form government. This is entirely unfair for any member of parliament, especially a novice like me. Clearly this decision and task should not be mine alone for I have little experience as a parliamentarian to draw upon to make such a momentous decision.

‘Yet such is the democratic process I now have to make that decision.

‘I give fair warning that I will only support the government on supply bills. This does not mean expenditure bills – only supply – and I will also support them on matters of confidence. For all other legislation, I will consider my electorate first and my country second. If it is good for my constituents, then I will consider it will be good for all Australians. But if my electorate rails against any government decision, policy or legislation, I can assure you, I will not be supporting it.

‘I have made this decision about who to support in government after speaking with Meredith Bruce from the government and Peter Stanley, the leader of the opposition. Both advocated a compelling case and I’m respectful of their arguments. Both offered me an open list of requests to be satisfied by them should either of them form government.’

Jaya paused for a moment as she looked directly into the cameras. ‘I rejected both offers.’ Anita was confused; surely a politician in this position can and should ask and get whatever she wanted.

‘I rejected the offers principally because power should not be bargained. Power should be won through the quality of the argument, not the largesse of the treasure chest of government. I also thought that if I could be bought by an incoming government then I would only ever be negotiating price the next time there was an important decision or policy negotiation.

‘So I have rejected all offers and therefore I will not be placing a price on my vote. Rather, I will be evaluating the quality of the policy and legislation and voting accordingly.

‘I listened very carefully to the government and I’m convinced they have the policies and experience to run the country.’

The decision didn’t surprise Anita; she was expecting it and stood from her chair, prepared to return to her desk to write the story. The Mercantiles had rid themselves of Gerrard now but they maintain their government links – a win-win for them. What a surprise.

‘The government clearly has many polices that benefit many Australians. They also have policies, which in my view, they should have taken greater care with such as protecting our borders. I point to their immigration laws as an example of their policy failure in meeting community expectations. Having sound policies and experience should not guarantee the government benches.’

Anita suddenly stopped and paid more attention.

‘I want to see change in so many policy areas. I want improved immigration laws, increased tertiary education funding, and I want a real effort in primary health care. I want the community to benefit from government not just the special interest groups and those wishing to take advantage of the Australian community.

‘These are the issues my constituents told me during my campaign, and they have sent me to Canberra to provide those outcomes on their behalf. These are my priority issues and I have decided to support the party I think is best placed to provide these improvements and outcomes.’

Anita walked back to the television. Hands on hips, she waited for the announcement.

‘I therefore consider a Stanley government will deliver the needs of my constituents. For this reason, I will support Peter Stanley as the next prime minister. I call upon him to visit the governor-general and ask her permission to form government with a letter from me providing him with the numbers to do so.’

Anita placed her hand over her mouth as her eyes transfixed on a smiling Jaya. She could hear a distant shout and heard a number of telephones begin to ring. The media group at the press conference erupted with questions, but Jaya waved them away. Protected by Robert Wong, she moved from the room.

A stunning political performance, Anita considered it strong and forceful leadership, which was rare and sadly needed in the parliament. The strong message she got from this very raw political novice was not to compromise your values but to remain true to your beliefs. A timely reminder for her too.

Just a few short weeks ago she was happily investigating the machinations of parliament, trying to understand the reasons and motivation for specific legislation. She had found wrong deeds being perpetrated by politicians and discovered systemic failures when the politics of good policy were trashed, and dutifully reported on them. Her own happiness included a blossoming romance and she was looking forward to the future.

Now, just a few weeks later, she felt she had lost everything. Her whole world had been turned upside down and she had witnessed some horrible politics, exposing ugly people. An empty dread slowly enveloped her.

When she returned to her desk, Anita tried to begin a column but couldn’t frame the words. She deleted one attempt after the other as she tried to find the right narrative, struggling to identify anything the conservatives had said during the campaign that would be worthy of a new direction for the nation.

The election campaign had been vacuous. Swamped by the immigration debate, the violence and racism of the street demonstrations had exposed an ugly underbelly projecting racial tension and conflict. She didn’t know what to write and was too saddened by it all.

Forty-five minutes before her deadline, she had only cobbled together five hundred of the three thousand words she needed. She felt overcome with exhaustion from the effort of writing about something she didn’t totally respect anymore. She had been exposed to the dark side of politics – the one not many knew or even cared about – and she didn’t know how to respond.

Should she cynically accept it like Brereton had done and lose her identity doing what she is told to do? Or should she continue to fight the darkness by trying to shine a light on the nefarious activities of the political system?

Her phone buzzed and when she saw caller ID, anxiety hit her hard. She questioned if she should answer it. Finally, she pushed the accept tab. ‘Congratulations, you must be very pleased with yourself.’

‘Actually, I don’t know what to think. It’s been a whirlwind for a couple of hours.’ Messenger was clearly anxious. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine. I’m struggling to put a story together about the new government, but I’m fine.’

‘I’ve missed you.’ Anita didn’t respond. Finally Messenger asked, ‘Are we okay?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Anita quickly whispered, touching her eyebrow.

‘What have I done, can you tell me?’

Anita thought about her response and she struggled to find an answer. ‘Bart, I’m just a little bruised by the whole campaign. It’s not what I expected.’

‘It’s politics.’

‘No, it’s not.’ Anita countered. ‘This drive for power, dumping on everything that gets in the way to achieve it – it’s ugly.’

‘It’s what we have to do to get the votes. As I said, it’s only politics.’

‘You think the public wants the ugliness?’

‘They don’t know what goes on. They vote for the team they think will benefit them the most. As I said before, it’s all about self-interest.’

‘So the people get ignored.’

‘Politics is never about the people. It’s about those few who live in marginal seats and what they think. We talk to them and hopefully they vote for us.’

‘So the big lie you claimed was just a message for a few people in some marginal electorates. You don’t care about the damage you’ve done to the country.’

‘There was no damage to the country,’ insisted Messenger. ‘There has been a change of government, and sure there will be challenges over the next five years, but we are up for the challenge.’

‘You take no responsibility for the damage in Melbourne?’

‘We put a view out there, and whether it was right or not, it was up to Gerrard to deny it and he never did,’ protested Messenger, then he paused. ‘Hey, let’s not get into this now. How about we have dinner tonight?’

Anita thought about the offer, smiled and said, ‘I don’t think so, Bart.’

‘Are you okay?’ asked Messenger, a little surprised. ‘What’s up?’

‘You know something?’ Anita replied. ‘You are part of the political pack and I was always wary about getting involved with you – but we did, and I was really happy for a while. But then you went and spoiled it by spinning this incredible lie, which you knew to be wrong, but you still did it. Now I actually regret ever being involved with you.’

‘Anita please, can’t we talk about this?’

‘No. Goodbye, Bart.’ Anita ended the call. Dropping her phone, it clattered onto her keyboard. She began to weep. The phone buzzed again, stopped and then buzzed again. Her tears flowed a little longer.

When she had emptied her sadness, Anita sat back in her chair, looked at her screen and deleted the work she had struggled to write. She then opened a new email, addressing it to the editor of the Political News, the independent web-based political service specialising in government reporting that promoted increased transparency within the political process.

She attached all the files she had written during the election campaign; the ones Hancock did not want published and all her notes. She wrote a quick memo outlining the stories, pointing out the connections between Hancock and the Mercantiles. She pointed to the international connections and directed them to her research. She also outlined the manipulation of the campaign strategy to get Gerrard terminated from his seat of Melbourne. It was a grand conspiracy and Anita was convinced it should be exposed – it just wasn’t going to be her.

Her finger hovered over the send button.

If she pushed the button, her media career was over; Hancock would see to that. Her opportunities within politics would no longer exist. She would be tainted and no-one in government or the parliament would want her. She understood the ethics she had fought so hard to uphold when she worked in the parliament would be trashed and there was no place for her – if she pushed the button.

The political caravan moves on very quickly. Whoever is popular one day can be quickly thrown aside the next by a comment, an out-of-place suggestion or an election. The public does not suffer fools and there is nothing more foolish than a politician trying to regain relevance.

Cynicism is a skill that helps insiders in the dance of politics. Combine cynicism and a thick skin to deflect the constant barrage of negativity and it is little wonder too few choose to join the caravan. Anita pondered if her ethical reputation would help her, or not. Perhaps she needed to accept being cast adrift from the moving monolith of federal politics. If she were to remain, she would need to be an outsider. There was nothing left for her in the media and she no doubt would be treated as a pariah by politicians.

Perhaps Jaya would give her a job; two outsiders working together for the betterment of parliamentary standards and principles. It was an interesting thought. Jaya might need help finding her way around the protocols and expectations of the parliament. There was no doubt she would be bombarded with demands by a variety of lobbyists and special interest groups seeking legislative support. She would also have enormous challenges within her electorate who had had an absent member for over two decades. Perhaps there was opportunity for her after all. She decided to make the call to the new member tomorrow.

She pressed send.

Anita watched the screen pass her email through the system and took a heavy breath before slowly freeing herself of the anxiety she had collected. Strangely, she felt an immediate relief and quickly collected her things to leave the building. She needed fresh air and time to think about the future – and close the door to her past. A walk to her hotel would be the perfect remedy to the malaise that had shrouded her for most of the afternoon.

The Melbourne twilight was in its last stages and the balmy evening had drawn plenty of people out to celebrate the Christmas season of joy and goodwill. Such a paradox to the previous day’s change of government. Political careers were ending and some, like Bart’s, were just beginning.

Life just goes on – no-one cares about a change of government and the likely transformation of a safe and settled national political environment to one of intense scrutiny and possible chaos as the new government settles in. Maybe her worries about the Mercantiles were exaggerated; maybe her priorities and the angst she felt about the political system were not shared by others.

Rather than cross the river and walk past Flinders Street Station, Anita decided to take a little longer and stroll along the river, past the rowing sheds toward the sports precinct before crossing the river at Swan Street. She would then head back to the city along the river and eventually to her hotel in Collins Street. Joggers and cyclists were active along the path and families who had come for an evening barbeque were packing up and preparing to go home.

The evening air and the distance from politics was clearing her head. As she watched the local families, she thought about what the future might bring her. By the time she reached the Swan Street Bridge she was feeling a little better. She stopped halfway across the bridge and looked back toward the city, the dark towers silhouetted against the orange, grey and blue twilight sky. A more positive future seemed to be beckoning her and she felt good to be ridding herself of the shrouding blanket of the past.

As she crossed the river, she had no regrets about ending her media career. Anita smiled as she admired the reflections of the city in the water, wondering at the little things in life; complete in the moment. Perhaps this great city of Melbourne was indeed a city she could get used to.

Stepping down on to the gravel path leading back to the city, she became even more certain about her future. She would call Jaya, and yes, she would call Barton when she returned to the hotel, perhaps there was still time for dinner. She watched as couples walked by, arm in arm, an older couple holding hands. She smiled at the thought of them.

As the last of the sun flickered through the tree canopy, she started to look forward to dinner with Barton. Her increasing joy washed over her face, brightening it in a smile not seen for weeks during the campaign. The gravel crunched under her feet as she quickened her step even further; she wanted to get to the hotel, freshen up and make the call.

Suddenly, a bald man dressed in black appeared some twenty metres ahead, blocking her path. It was only a shadowed outline, but her renewed enthusiasm fell from her. She slowed as she recognised him, a sudden urge to run rushed through her. Panic gripped her. Her breathing halted and she almost slipped on the gravel.

She looked about for others to help, but the path was momentarily quiet. A woman across the river squealed as she was chased by a male friend. Her hand slowly moved to her bag thinking about her phone and where it was amongst the clutter. Her eyes flicked about, wondering what to do, what to say – what did he want?

Her breath quickened and she became rigid, her hands wiped her palms against her trousers. She tightened her shoulders and gripped her bag, greedily gulping in air to calm her, watching, like a startled animal, as the man came before her, a look of nothing on his face – no emotion, just a certain resolve in his eyes.

‘I warned you.’ The voice was pitched low and menacing.

‘Let me pass, I have nothing for you.’

‘I said, no more.’

She began to weakly respond with a shake of her head, her throat suddenly dry as she tried to say something.

The punch to her throat was sharp and swift. No-one watching the lonely couple on the path would have seen it. Anita wasn’t expecting it. There was little pain, but suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Although she dropped her jaw to try and gain air, nothing was flowing into her lungs. Her eyes wide in shock, she collapsed.

The man caught her as she fell to the path, and carried her to a tree. Sitting her up carefully against it, he arranged her as if she was enjoying the sunset. As the life drained from her, he walked away.

No-one noticed.