Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 10 August 1974
Historic Parliamentary Joint Sitting
History was made yesterday when both the House of Representatives and the Senate met in a joint sitting made possible by this year’s double dissolution.
The combined Houses voted to grant the Australian Capital Territory and the Northern Territory representation in the Senate and to enshrine the principle of ‘one vote one value’.
Darling Jed,
I got the job! You could probably hear my boots dancing down the pavement, between the umbrellas. From next Monday I will be a trainee editor at Cassell’s in Red Lion Square. I am going to be working in their Art and Design books department. Should be sheer bliss and I can’t wait (and haven’t I come a long way from little old Canberra?!). My boss seems fab. She’s tall and glam (she reminds me of Faye Dunaway in looks) and has a degree from Oxford (of course!) but seems really nice and certainly smart. Her name is Cressida Smythe-Jones and I reckon she is in her early thirties. Hard to tell with her beautiful English complexion.
And have I mentioned that dogs are allowed in pubs here (as are women!)? The English are quite potty about their dogs and you even see them in tea shops as well. There is a tea shop in Hampstead on the High Street that I often visit on Saturdays after I’ve been walking on the Heath, and it is always filled with older ladies in tweeds and sensible walking shoes, plus their pooches who sit beside them and are fed titbits.
Must go. I have decided to go to Miss Selfridge in Oxford Street and treat myself to a new outfit for work. I’ve seen the grooviest knitted dress I think will look rather spesh, particularly with kneehigh boots. Do wish you were here, Jed, so that we could share all of this.
Love always,
J xxx
JED
Jed watched Matron Clancy push the stroller down the main street, accepting the greetings not just for herself, but for Gavin, nearly two years old now but as small as a baby half his age, strapped carefully into the padded seat so he could see and hear all that went on.
Gibber’s Creek was used to the woman and the small boy now. They had even stopped asking, ‘Any improvement?’ For there had been none, except a strengthening of Gavin’s swallowing reflex and breathing, a minuscule flinch that showed he had sensation, and a smile, so faint as to be almost imperceptible except to those who loved him.
He smiled at Jed, Miss Forty and Nancy. But his true smile was reserved for Matron Clancy, his eyes following her as she moved around her River View apartment, where Gavin slept now, on the excuse that he needed not just twenty-four-hour care, but as much stimulation as possible. And so the boy accompanied her to her office, on her rounds, for walks along the river, and on shopping trips like this. And because this was Gibber’s Creek, every person who saw the two together knew of the tragedy thirty years earlier that had taken Matron’s own son.
And because this was Gibber’s Creek, no one ever mentioned it, at least in Matron’s hearing.
‘Good morning, Matron. Good morning, Gavin.’ Jed bent to stroke the small boy’s peach-coloured skin. ‘You’re looking very handsome today.’
Matron Clancy beamed. ‘These terry towelling all-in-ones are so convenient and comfy. We love them, don’t we, Gavin?’
The boy glanced up at her, the tiny mouth curling just a little more.
‘We’re going to story time in the library. Gavin loves being with children his own age.’
Others might take this as the doting words of a deluded carer. But Matron Clancy, though doting, was not deluded. This small limp child contained a fierce enquiring mind. This little boy loved the world, and those who gave it to him. But there seemed little hope that he would ever be able to communicate with it, or join in.
‘Have a wonderful time,’ Jed said to the boy in the stroller, as well as Matron Clancy, then crossed over the road to the Blue Belle, glad that since she had expressed concern to Nancy, Miss Forty had not been allowed to be alone with Gavin again.
Three months had passed since the quarrel with Scarlett, and her promise not to go out to the community again. Three uneventful months, with no Ra Zacharia appearing at Dribble or the Blue Belle to tempt her back.
Scarlett still met Mark in town most Saturday afternoons, to go to the pictures, carefully and politely asking Jed if she minded if Mark came to dinner afterwards. Mark seemed pale, and sometimes a little vague, though when Jed had asked him if he was okay, he’d smiled, and said all was fine. Jed had just as carefully not asked Scarlett afterwards if that were true.
Three months of letters from Julieanne, tempting her with the wide world beyond Australia. But things were happening in Australia, even if not as dramatic as US President Nixon resigning because he had tried to bug the headquarters of the Democrats. Labor had finally achieved its joint sitting, passing legislation so long blocked. Up in Arnhem Land the traditional owners of Nabarlek had refused to allow a mining company to extract uranium from their land, even after an offer of $3.3 million. Jed bet that hadn’t even made the London papers.
And her own life?
Three months of writing to Sam every few days; of weekly postcards back from him, and two trunk phone calls, of excited descriptions of technical processes she only vaguely understood, of ‘I miss you’ and ‘see you soon’. But ‘soon’ remained undefined.
Jed opened the door of the Blue Belle and smiled as the scent of melting moments and onion soup enveloped her. It was difficult not to smile when you entered Leafsong’s café.
Three women sat chatting over teacups and carrot cake this morning, their kids happily scrawling on the butcher’s-paper tablecloth. An elderly couple sat eating scones, as they had probably eaten scones through the last fifty years of the café’s history, but now their scones were a soft cloud of deliciousness. And there, in a corner, was Nicholas, head down, reading from a stack of papers. He looked up as Jed entered, and smiled.
Jed hesitated, but it would seem strange to sit by herself. She smiled too, carefully friendly and no more. ‘Okay if I join you? Scarlett’s got therapy this morning. I’m meeting her for lunch.’
‘Sure.’ He put down the page he had been reading.
‘Don’t stop working on my account.’
He shook his head. ‘I needed a break. I should be in the electoral office, but I suddenly couldn’t stand it any more.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Just the general Canberra madhouse.’ Nicholas saw she didn’t understand. ‘The budget is due on 17 September. We’ve got inflation gobbling up wages no matter how fast they grow, interest rates rocketing so the people I thought I’d be helping can’t buy a home or afford to pay the mortgage on the one they have; Treasury is warning we need to cut spending, hard and fast, but cabinet has put forward thirty-two billion dollars worth of new projects.’
‘Thirty-two billion!’
‘Yep.’ Nicholas ate a bit of gado gado salad absent-mindedly, as if even the bite of chilli couldn’t get through the miasma of economics. ‘That’s thirty per cent more than last year’s budget, and we had a twenty per cent rise in spending last year. Cabinet’s divided — government spending creates jobs and unemployment is already running at four per cent. Crean and Treasury say if inflation rides any higher, unemployment might double, and we need to cut spending drastically. The rest of cabinet says we need a stimulus package to create jobs with more government spending. But the more we spend, the less the dollar is worth — that’s what’s causing the inflation. That and the rising cost of oil, of course. And we can’t do anything about that.’
‘What do you think?’
‘That I’m not competent to have an informed opinion. And neither are most of my colleagues.’ He took another bite and added, ‘And that goes for half of Treasury too. Or even most of it. But I didn’t say that.’
‘Of course you didn’t.’
He smiled, his face relaxing a little. ‘Economics is mostly a guessing game. The whole western world is in the same mess as Australia, with as little idea of how to get out of it. Do you read the business pages?’
Jed shook her head.
‘Try it for a laugh sometime. The same commentators who urge spending one week are calling for it to be cut the next. Oil is going up, then down, then running out, then lasting till 2020 or for a hundred years. And no one knows. Not really. I didn’t stand for parliament for this.’
‘Why did you stand?’ Jed asked slowly. ‘Mushroom and barley soup, please,’ she added to Leafsong.
Nicholas waited till Leafsong was out of earshot. Leafsong was probably the world’s most discreet listener, but if anyone reported what Nicholas was saying now, it would mean disaster. ‘You know what I stood for. To get us out of Vietnam, out of conscription, to ensure that everyone had access to decent pensions, a fair health system —’
‘But you need money for all of those. And a country’s economy needs to be stable to provide the money. A government has to be responsible for everything, not just the projects it cares about.’
‘Tell that to Rex Connor.’ Nicholas’s voice held more sympathy than bitterness. ‘He’s an incredible old man. He’s had a dream for decades, decent royalties for Australian minerals, proper infrastructure so we can export them efficiently, ports, railways, a gas pipeline right across Australia. But it’s going to cost millions. Billions, perhaps. And he’s dying.’
‘What?’
‘It’s not in the newspapers, but everyone who matters in Canberra knows. He’s killing himself, trying to make his dream become real before he dies. I was looking out the window last week as he walked up the stairs to meet a Japanese delegation, to try to persuade them to change the terms of their contract. He’s guaranteed all existing contracts will be honoured, but this was one of the most unfair . . . Halfway up the stairs he staggered. Lenox Hewitt managed to catch him. Connor just leaned against him, panting. He just made it up the stairs. Then he stood up straight and marched into that meeting like there was nothing wrong. I have never admired a man so much.’
‘Did he get the Japanese delegation to change the contract?’
‘The interpreter just said, “Will you stand by existing contracts?” Connor said, “Yes,” then the Japanese all stood up. The interpreter said, “There is nothing more to discuss.” And they left.’
She watched him for a moment. ‘Do you ever wish you weren’t an MP?’
He didn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’ve always felt that.’
‘What? But why did you stand?’
‘Because of Flinty and Matilda and the Rocky Creek branch of the Labor Party and because it was the right thing to do.’ She noticed the order in which he had placed these authorities. He shrugged. ‘So I did my duty. It wasn’t as if I was doing anything else important.’
‘What about your writing?’
‘Going nowhere.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I think you were my muse. It was you who gave me the idea of putting my Vietnam experiences into sci-fi form. And you knew what was wrong with my first draft.’
‘You’ve written a book once. You can do it again.’
‘I think I was too scared the next book would fail to begin another one,’ he said slowly.
Or possibly not be as successful as any one of Flinty’s books, thought Jed.
‘Maybe I also needed someone like you to bounce ideas off. But there’s no time to write now anyway.’
‘Do you miss writing?’
He avoided answering that question. ‘I think the real reason I stood was to be someone worthwhile for Felicity and her family. Not just a cripple helping with the horse stud and a writer with two good reviews and a handful of sales.’
She chose her words carefully. ‘Felicity doesn’t seem too keen on campaigning.’
‘She doesn’t need to be. Lots of politicians’ wives don’t take any part in their husbands’ jobs. They aren’t all Margaret Whitlams. Felicity will have her vet practice and the horses up at Rock Farm.’ He smiled. ‘And kids too, I hope.’
‘Have you chosen a wedding date?’
‘First Saturday in December, next year. You can expect your invitation in March.’
‘That’s more than a year away!’
‘Felicity’s mum wants a big bash. There isn’t time to organise a wedding for this December, and December and January are the only months I know I’ll be free.’
Did she imagine the wistfulness in the word ‘free’?
‘And there’s no point marrying till we can live together. Felicity has to work for a year with another vet before she can have her own practice.’
Jed wondered how often they saw each other. At least uni holidays were long. But how much time did Nicholas have spare then? Who was she to talk though? Maybe she should visit Nimbin. But who’d look after Scarlett? And Matilda was getting frail.
Nor had Sam invited her.
Nicholas glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better get back. I have appointments till six. Then a Rotary dinner tonight, a speech at the school tomorrow morning and a meeting with the Cattlemen’s Association when I get back to Canberra.’
‘No cattle women?’
‘A few. But if I suggested the association should change the name, they’d probably lynch me. It’ll be a close thing as it is.’ He shut his eyes, leaning back. Leafsong silently slid Jed’s soup in front of her. Jed smiled her thanks, then began to spoon, watching the tired face across the table.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Nicholas’s eyes had opened again.
‘Just thinking that I’m happy.’
‘I’m glad.’ His eyes met hers, held them a second too long.
Leafsong placed Jed’s bread and butter on the table.
Nicholas stood. ‘I’d better run.’ He picked up his walking stick. ‘Or at least limp fast. Thanks for listening,’ he added. ‘I . . . I needed to talk.’
‘Anytime.’ She watched him through the window as he limped back up the street.