I read the documents. There, in black and white, I read the plan outlined across one hundred and ninety-four pages of a central document and an accompanying one hundred and eighty pages of appendices. It was thoughtfully done—in the bureaucratic way that things are thoughtfully done, without any regard for the real world.
Thirty per cent of Tasmanians live below the poverty line. Ninety-two per cent of all working Tasmanians rely on government in the form of employment or for government contracts. Fifty per cent of Tasmanians are functionally illiterate and innumerate. This reflects a mendicant state. And a state that will offer little educated resistance to the project. We believe that, with a concerted public relations campaign, the Tasmanian people will welcome this transition from economic hardship to economic certainty.
The living precincts planned for Bruny Island will offer residents an unparalleled lifestyle, making them the envy of the Australian people. We envisage negative migration with an increase in the sea-change population wishing to take advantage of the many benefits the Bruny lifestyle affords.
Laid out was the injection of capital into the Australian economy by the sale to the Chinese. Over a hundred billion dollars was to change hands through the course of the ten-year transition. The metrics of Tasmanian exports (negligible after zinc) against the cost of supporting all those Tasmanians on welfare, pensions and in the public service (substantial and getting worse into the future). The projections were compelling. The federal government came out ahead. Significantly ahead.
Some thought had been given to the strategic nature of Tasmania in the Southern Ocean. The People’s Republic of China, it said, was an ally of Australia. A joint presence in the Southern Ocean and the Pacific would prove beneficial in protecting Australia from the arrival of illegal immigrants, which Australia was not sufficiently resourced to do on its own.
Australia will maintain a naval presence in Bass Strait. While diplomatic in nature, it is felt that this safeguard will reassure mainland Australians concerned by the Chinese presence on their border.
The secession of Tasmania from Australia is seen as a win-win. Landowners with a turnover in excess of $1 million per annum will be given the opportunity to remain as employees on their land, while enjoying the significant benefits from receiving three times the property value, a share of profit and the universal basic income as a safety net. It is thought that all Tasmanians will transition from the island within the next ten-year period, resettling on Bruny Island, or moving to mainland Australia or a foreign destination.
And on it went:
The Tasmanian people are benign in character. Activism, while given a lot of media coverage, has involved a very small percentage of the population …
Tasmania’s secession as a state of Australia will have little bearing on the Commonwealth alliance …
Tasmanians who have experienced a significant gap in wages and living standards over the past thirty years in comparison to mainland Australia can expect a significantly higher standard of living …
And this:
A random ballot will determine the first wave of homeowners offered relocation. Sale and relocation is the basic eligibility requirement for receipt of the universal basic income. All other Australian government subsidies and pensions will cease. Two further ballots will complete the process over a five-year period. At the end of the five-year transition period, any remaining residents will have their property compulsorily acquired by the incoming administration. Any legal challenges will become a matter for the incoming authority. Tasmanian residents unwilling to relocate beyond the five-year period will lose all Australian government benefits. (See Strategy for Relocation Appendix H, Managing Resistance Appendix M).
And this:
The project will make efficient use of material resources and human capital; Chinese entrepreneurism in Tasmania will focus on capitalising on forms of knowledge that meet modern consumer demands for functional and attractive goods and services.
And this:
The Tasmanian hydroelectric scheme is underdeveloped. Expansion of the scheme will allow significant upscaling for increased demands for both domestic and industrial use …
There were charts with water volume targets in gigalitres and projections of net revenue over the next fifty years. There were future projections on the expansion of agricultural outputs too: wine, cheese, fish, seafood, beef and sheep.
On and on it went. The detailed analysis. The transition strategy. The business case. I thought of all the times I had heard my dad quote Benjamin Disraeli: ‘A conservative government is an organised hypocrisy.’
I thought about what came next. I made a couple of calls. It was late in Tasmania, but it was early elsewhere. I was on the 8 am ferry. I was at Officeworks at 8.45 am. I returned to Bruny on the 10.30 am ferry. I set up the scanner. At no time did I touch the documents with my bare hands. While the top secret header and footer on every page had been cut off before the documents came to me, I wasn’t taking any chances. When the scans were done, I transferred files onto two USB sticks.
The next day, I borrowed Dan’s car again and got back on the ferry. I drove to a post office in Cygnet, by the cafe where I’d met Amy O’Dwyer. It had no surveillance or CCTV. There I express posted the USB sticks to two international destinations. At no time did I touch the parcels or use my real name or my regular handwriting.
Back on the island, I made some calls to old friends and together we made a list. I texted it from my second phone to the mobile number Edward had given me. I carefully took down the web of photos and names, the threads and pins, the ideas and theories I had mapped on the wall of the spare room. I took my notebooks, too, and the original documents from Beck. I burned everything in the fireplace until it was white ash.
I met Tavvy and Paul off the plane when they arrived at Hobart airport and there was much joy and also grief. He had loved them well, my dad, and because Ben’s mother had visited rarely, and my mother had never visited at all, Angus Coleman had really been the only grandparent they’d known. I took them to Salamanca and we had lunch, and then we all went back to JC’s. They slept for a while, then JC came home and Max arrived with Mother.
For a woman who had just lost her husband of almost sixty years, Hyacinth Coleman was remarkably chirpy. She had been allowed out of hospital under strict instructions. She was wearing a light brown wig today, the colour of her real hair a long time ago. It was done in a French roll, and her dress and shoes were navy. Phillip had obviously tried to set the tone for a grieving widow.
‘Goodness,’ said our mother, when she saw Tavvy and Paul across the lounge room engaged in conversation with Grace and Ella. ‘I’ll never get used to it.’
‘What’s that, Mum?’ I asked.
She hadn’t seen them in ten years, so I thought she was referring to their having become adults since their last visit.
‘Well, they’re black, Astrid. How could you do that to the family?’
And because my father was dead, and my heart was broken, and the whole world felt upside down, I couldn’t hold it in.
‘I did it to annoy you, Mum.’
‘That’d be right,’ she said. ‘So they wouldn’t feel like my grandchildren.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘I don’t think you feel like their grandmother.’
‘How ridiculous,’ she said, stiffening. ‘Of course I’m their grandmother.’
At this she set off across the room in her high heels, unsteady but certain, and went up to the little group. She kissed Paul and Tavvy, asked how their flight was, and insisted they sit on either side of her at dinner.
‘Did Grandma take nice pills?’ Tavvy asked, when Mother was distracted in conversation with Paul.
I nodded. ‘Seems so.’
JC raised his glass. ‘I propose a toast to Angus Coleman, lately of this table, lately of this world, always of this family. Rest in peace.’
I wanted to hate JC. I wanted to hate him, but he’s my twin. And I could feel Dad shaking his head. ‘Not the time, Astrid. Not the time.’
‘Well, at last I’ll get all the attention,’ said Mother. ‘High time, too.’
Tavvy turned to her and said, ‘Grandma, sometimes it’s better not to say certain things aloud.’
‘Oh, I’m far too old to subscribe to that,’ said Mother.
JC continued his toast, ‘And to our mother, matriarch of the Coleman family, may she long say everything she wants to say.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said our mother, raising her champagne glass.
‘Any words to say about Dad, Mum?’ Max asked.
‘He was … well, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He was Angus. Always the same. Never changed.’
‘Shall we put that on his headstone?’ I asked.
‘Actually, it’s a serious question,’ said Max. ‘What do you want on his headstone, Mum? A Shakespeare quote, maybe?’
‘Really?’ Mother said, looking at all of us. ‘Haven’t we had enough of that?’
We all exchanged glances.
‘Oh, well, if you must. God, I’ll have to read it every time I visit,’ she said.
‘Were you planning on visiting?’ Tavvy asked.
‘Goodness, you’re a chip off the old block, aren’t you?’ our mother said, and chortled.
‘So what will it be?’ Max asked, looking at me.
I shook my head and looked at JC. ‘Have you settled on anything?’
He shook his head too.
Then Ella perked up. ‘Can I leave the table, Mum? I’ve got an idea.’
Stephanie nodded. Ella ran out. She came back and stood at the head of the table beside JC, scrolling through her notes. JC put his arm around her. A look passed between him and me. He was unfaithful to his wife and he’d sold Tasmania. How would I ever trust him again? I guess I didn’t have to.
‘You must send me all of those,’ I said to Ella.
‘Okay, I will,’ she said. ‘Here it is. I know he really liked this one because he said it to me and Grace often.’ And in a voice Angus would have commended her for, she read, ‘A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes.’
There wasn’t a dry eye at the table. Even our mother looked moist for a moment.
‘That’s the one, Ella,’ I said.
‘Henry the Fifth,’ she told me.
‘That’s the one, sweetheart,’ said JC, and he hugged her to his side.
Tavvy put her head on my shoulder. ‘I’m really going to miss him.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be a hole.’
‘I’d rather hoped,’ said our mother, ‘he might have stopped on the way and taken me with him.’
We all looked at her.
‘Mum,’ said Max.
‘Well, as always, he made it look easy, didn’t he?’ she said.
‘Dying?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ said our mother.
It was then that I realised our mother was afraid. And alone. I reached out and took her hand.
‘We’re all here, Mum. We know cancer sucks. We’re all here for you.’
‘About time,’ she said, lifting her napkin and dabbing the tears away.