Campaign Ruby Part 28

My shoulders tensed. 'Hi.' I stepped outside.

'How are you?'

'Completely fine,' I said, a little too convincingly.

'Good to hear. Are you in Melbourne?'

'No.'

'Oh. Listen, I feel really bad about this, but...'

This is your time to s.h.i.+ne, I said to my head.

'Oscar, you don't need to explain. Really. It's nothing. I was tired. Let's just move on.'

'That's not what I feel bad about.'

'Excuse me?'

'Roo, I've had a tip-off from a source at Immigration that you've been working in the country illegally and I wanted to put it to you for comment.'

'I'm sorry-are you telling me you're calling as a journalist who's doing a story about me?'

'I tried calling Di Freya first but her phone was busy. I thought the least I could do after, well, you know, would be to let you know that this is what we're running with tonight and see if you wanted to comment.'

'No.'

'Are you the same person who wrote the email, by the way? The banker?'

I threw my BlackBerry onto the paved pathway. It disintegrated. My body shook with rage as I bent down to pick up the pieces. Pansy came over to help me. She sniffed the battery and licked the gravel from my quivering fingers.

Fran approached cautiously. 'Is everything okay, Ruby?'

'No, everything is not okay.' I ran into the house and picked up my bags. 'I have to go. Can I borrow a car?'

'Darling, you've only just arrived,' said Daphne.

'Ruby, I'm sure whatever it is we can work it out from here,' said Fran.

'I'm really sorry; I know I said I'd be here, but I must go.'

'I'll drive you, kiddo.' Debs handed me my rea.s.sembled BlackBerry.

'Thanks.'

Fran hugged the breath out of me. 'I'm not leaving you,' I told her. 'I'll be back later.'

I tried to compose myself as we zoomed down the drive in Debs' Aston Martin.

'Di,' I said when I got through to her, 'I need to talk to you about a media issue.'

'Roo, you're supposed to be having a day off.'

'Oscar Franklin has had a tip-off from Immigration that I've been working in Australia unlawfully. I'm on my way back into the city now. He's going to run with the story tonight.'

There was a pause. 'Are you here unlawfully?'

'No, and I wasn't working unlawfully because I wasn't technically employed.'

'Why not?'

'I forgot to sign my employment contract.'

'Who else knows about this?'

'Luke knows-he got me out of it-and long-socked Bruce from Immigration.'

'Why do they wear long socks?'

'Not sure, but if we win this election let's make long-sock prohibition a policy priority.'

'Agreed. What did you tell Pretty Boy?'

'Nothing-I ended the call. He did mention something about an email I wrote.'

'What about?'

'When I was made redundant in London, I replied to the bank and it went a bit viral.'

'I know. I Googled you. Great email.'

'Thanks.'

'Let me handle it from here, Roo.'

'No, I'm on my way in.'

'Go home and let me handle it.'

'No. Can't we have him whacked or something?'

She sighed. I could see her face. 'You told me not to s.h.i.+t where I eat and I didn't listen.'

'Tastes bad, doesn't it?'

'Tastes rubbish.'

'Look, this didn't happen because you screwed the crew. Pretty Boy's just doing his job and now I need you to let me do mine.'

'Okay.'

'And a word of advice: do not under any circ.u.mstances watch the Channel Eleven news, and, if you do, make sure you don't have access to sharp or blunt objects at the time. Screen damage is irreversible. Take my word for it.'

'Thanks, Di.'

'No worries. Now p.i.s.s off.'

I told Debs to turn the car around. We drove in total silence while I seethed with self-loathing. You nincomp.o.o.p. You elementary fool. You've done this to yourself, you know. First with the visa, then with that wretched unconscionable creep. Now you're about to face public humiliation and there's nothing you can do about it. You might even derail the campaign.

'Hey, kiddo, you're not beating yourself up, are you?'

'Of course I am,' I groaned. 'I fell for a creep.'

'It's human, Ruby. He's the moron. Fancy letting a great chick like you slip through his fingers. I hope he suffers in his jocks.'

'Thanks, Debs.' We pulled up at the house.

'You're welcome.' She gave me a bone-crunching embrace. 'Now, you'll be pleased to know it's wine o'clock.'

Fran kissed me h.e.l.lo and led me to the kitchen, past Clem, who was singing to an audience of puppies on the deck.

'Just you wait, 'enry 'iggins, just you wait.'

Tug of war.

For once I took Di's advice. Granted, I had intended to watch the six o'clock news, but at 5.47 p.m., when simmering slate-grey clouds overhead came to a sudden boil, a thunderstorm clapped across the Yarra Valley, blacking out everything in its path.

Debs and Daphne snuggled under a tartan blanket on deck chairs to watch the lightning illuminate pockets of the countryside. Fran had been fast asleep on the couch since lunch, leaving me with a jet-lagged Clem, who doesn't much like the dark, let alone without her mother.

'Come on, Clem. Let's tuck the puppies in.'

We took a torch from the kitchen and led Champagne to the laundry. Clem gave her a kiss goodnight and Pansy welcomed her little girl back to the familial basket. The Widdler was trying his hardest to steal a holey old sock from JFK. They growled unconvincingly. Pansy looked on disapprovingly.

'What are they doing?' asked Clem.

'Playing a game.'

'Like toggle ball?'

'A bit like tug of war, yes.'

'JFK sounds angry.' Clem yawned.

'Well, he had it first.'

I picked Clem up and slung her around my hip, carrying her to the bedroom and tucking her in.

'Aunty Wooby, do you want me to look after you so you don't get frightened?'

'That would be nice, Clem.' I crawled into bed next to her. Two yawns later, she was snoring like a Harley-Davidson. I fumbled for the torch and, when I couldn't find it, I decided to stay and rest awhile.

There was a particularly sharp pull on my right arm and a lapping sound in my left ear. 'Aunty Wooby, you're making funny noises,' said Clem, dislodging a puppy from my neck.

I jumped out of bed, giving The Widdler a catastrophic fright. 'What time is it, Clem?'

'Ruby, darling,' yelled Fran, 'there's a chauffeur car here for you.'

'The Widdler wet the bed,' announced Clem.

'Bugg- bother. I need to pack. And I need to wash the dog drool out of my ear and hair. Now.'

'Clem and I will pack for you, darling,' offered Fran, rus.h.i.+ng in. 'Get in the shower.'

'What day is it?' I called out.

'Tuesday,' yelled Debs.

'Wednesday,' corrected Daphne.

Silence. 'Is it...ouch...Tuesday or Wednesday? f.u.c.k, s.h.i.+t, bother.'

'Ruby!' shouted Fran.

'Sorry, I got shampoo in my eye!'

'Count to ten and the stinging will stop, Aunty Wooby.' I turned the shower off, wrapped myself in a towel and counted to eleven. Still stinging. Twelve. Stopped.

'Thanks, Clem.' The steam rushed out of the bathroom and into the hall as I made a near-naked dash to my bedroom.

'G'day,' said a suited man.

'h.e.l.lo,' I said, picking up my pace. 'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks, who is that?' I asked Fran.

'That's your driver: George.' Fran was changing the sheets. 'Daphne has given him a hot cross bun and cup of tea while he waits.'

'Has anyone seen my shoe?' I pulled skinny jeans over damp skin.

'What colour is it?'

'Black.' I was on all fours looking under the bed. 'It's a black pump. It looks much like this one except it's for the left foot.'

Debs poked her head around the door. 'Is anybody missing a shoe?'