35

I WAS starving hungry as I walked down Barkly Street, Footscray, looking for the place Brophy had chosen for us to meet. It was a café by day and bar by night called, appropriately enough, the Bad Love Club. It served cocktails until late on a Sunday night. When I walked in, Brophy was sipping something in a long glass with lots of ice. When he saw me, he raised the glass without smiling. My heart sank. I ordered a mango daiquiri at the bar and brought it over to join him.

We danced around the topic with small talk for a while. I finished my drink and went to buy another. Brophy said he was content with water.

I returned to find him looking resolute. He took a breath and plunged in. ‘It started with some painkillers,’ he said.

I tipped some daiquiri down my throat. I had no inclination to hear the details. I wanted no account of the times he’d scored when I’d assumed he was working or painting.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You’re using again. Sometimes it takes a few attempts to kick an addiction before it sticks.’

‘You’re not angry?’

Anger was in there, yes. But it wasn’t helpful to go into that right now. I gave a noncommittal shrug.

‘But you said it was a deal-breaker.’

‘It is … and it isn’t. I mean. I understand addiction, it’s a community worker’s fate to see its impact on a family. But this is complicated.’ I put my hand across the table, and he grabbed it with both of his. ‘Because I love you,’ I said.

‘I love you, too.’

I swallowed a huge gulp of daiquiri. ‘You can kick it again!’ I declared.

He nodded and stared into his drink. ‘I have to. For Marigold’s sake as well as for ours.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Exactly! For lots of people.’ I was tired and emotional. Just like always. But the alcohol had hit my empty stomach, and I was getting over-excited.

‘There’s a monkey on your back, as they say. But what if — hear me out — what if you rip the monkey away?’

He looked up at me, a searching hope in his eyes.

I felt warm and slightly feverish. ‘Yes. Tell that monkey to fuck off! Get it off you and get back in control. Instead of the monkey on you, you get on the monkey!’

‘What?’

‘Get a monkey saddle and get on the monkey’s back. Get back in charge, and get on the monkey’s back … and conquer this thing.’

He frowned. ‘Stella, I don’t think that’s how this works …’

‘You’ve done it once. It just takes a couple of goes. Just keep thinking of Marigold.’

‘And you?’

‘If you manage to kick it, then yes.’ I raised my drink. ‘To the monkey saddle.’

We clinked glasses and drank.

We went out together and stood on the street, in the middle of a crush of people going about their evening. He put out his arms. I melted into them. We kissed. We were both crying. And all the while, the mad, glorious, no-fucks-to-give life of Footscray went on around us.

When we stepped apart there was genuine hope in my heart. ‘Get in touch as soon as you’re clean, I’ll be waiting for you.’

At home, I did my cursory search of the flat, and then dead-locked and chained the door. I drank litres of water, and took another shower. When I came out, there was a text on my phone from Bunny: My interview with MP is on now … I pulled a green can from its plastic packaging in the fridge and turned on the television.

A picture of Pugh, with his usual smug expression. Bunny’s voice over announced we were in for a treat. ‘With the Victorian state election later this year, both major parties are well into electioneering mode. Tonight, I sit down with Minister for Justice Marcus Pugh to discuss the state’s new law-and-order policies.’

Cut to Bunny in the studio: black, sheer blouse, pink blazer. She sat at a curved desk facing Pugh. ‘Victoria’s prison system is in crisis. I asked the minister about the use of ankle bracelets for home detention.’

‘Minister, are you aware that tracking technology entered the justice system in 1983, when a judge in America read about ankle-bracelet tracking in a Spider-Man comic?’

Marcus had an amused twinkle in his eye. ‘You make it sound fun,’ he laughed. ‘The delinquents in youth detention will all want one.’

‘He ordered it be used to keep tabs on prisoners released on probation, but nowadays it’s a commonplace method of monitoring prisoners without the expense of incarceration.’

‘We are always looking for ways to save taxpayer money, Bunny.’

‘But the technology has been compromised. Just last year a hacker who goes by the name of Foxy Meow, or Velvet Stone, demonstrated how it could be misused.’

A tiny flicker of alarm appeared in Pugh’s eyes. ‘No. The technology is sound.’

‘That person, Velvet Stone, was recently murdered. The alleged murderer was a UK national, Colin Slade, who was working for BlackTack, a private intelligence organisation.’

He glanced away, eye contact terminated. ‘If you say so.’

‘Slade’s body was found in the Murray-Sunset National Park this week. Police believe he had been beaten to death.’

A dead bat from Pugh. ‘The matter is being investigated by the police.’

‘Moving on, Minister, what do you say to accusations that the privately run prisons in this state are mismanaged and that the company that runs them, BS12, is corrupt?’

‘Australia is consistently ranked as one of the least corrupt countries in the world.’

‘A whistle-blower in the UK said that BS12 operates in a “vacuum of accountability”. What do you say to that?’

‘The oversight of the BS12 contracts are thorough and meticulous. I can assure you, Bunny, they are very much accountable.’

‘There is a pattern of indifference to prisoner welfare on the part of BS12, and they have failed to deliver on prisoner safety time and time again.’

Big sigh. ‘I reject that, Bunny, the oversight is intensive.’

‘BS12 donates thousands of dollars to your party.’

‘They donate to both parties. It’s not against the law.’

‘Western Australia recently cancelled all contracts with BS12 after a series of avoidable deaths in custody in their prisons.’

‘That is a matter for Western Australia.’

‘Running a prison for profit, some would argue, is a flawed business model that leads to taxpayer dollars going to profits while not improving conditions in jails and prisons or pursuing alternatives to incarceration.’

‘You’re overstating the situation, Bunny. The BS12 service is a short-term solution to our current overcrowding, a situation exacerbated by the previous government.’

‘So you’re promising to address the root causes of incarceration?’

Three gentle raps on my door. I checked the peephole. Phuong smiled and waved. I turned the deadlock and pulled back the chain.

‘I can’t believe what I’m seeing.’ I turned up the volume. ‘Sit down and feast your eyes.’

Phuong perched on the edge of the sofa. I pulled another can free and handed it to her.

‘Only my government is tough on crime,’ Pugh was saying.

‘Minister, thank you for your time.’

‘He’s toast.’ Phuong nodded at the screen. ‘I checked out the Redbridge farm on the way home from Mount Arapiles tonight.’

I hit the remote. ‘You did what?’

‘I went to Dougal Park, or whatever Skye and Alistair Redbridge call their farm. Just to have a look. I didn’t go on the property.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing much. I used my camera lens to zoom in, but I couldn’t see anything. Didn’t really know what to look for. I mean, what does a stolen bull look like?’ She laughed.

I sensed she was warming up to something, so I waited.

‘Nearest town is a little place called Cavendish, like the banana.’

‘The banana?’

‘A variety of banana. Never mind. I got talking to the lady in the shop. Her son works at the Dougal Park sometimes.’

‘Oh my God, Phuong! Get to the bloody point.’

‘He told his mum that Skye Redbridge has a magnificent new bull. Bought it direct from a farm in Queensland, not the usual cattle auction.’

‘Bullshit, she did.’

‘Exactly. I’ll call the local cops tomorrow. But I thought you’d want to hear it first.’

I raised my can; she touched hers to mine. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Steal three hundred grand in cash, there’s uproar,’ Phuong said. ‘Redbridge will get a barrister and a suspended sentence.’

‘She’ll have to name her accomplices, won’t she? Her father and Allyson Coleman.’

‘Maybe.’ Phuong put the can down. ‘I’d better go, I’m exhausted.’

We hugged. I stayed at the door while she went down the stairs. As she rounded the landing, she looked up. Her beautiful face was full of foreboding, and I had a strange feeling of dread, like this was goodbye, as I waved back at her.