Break In

Sam Malone was the first into the office most days, and today was no exception. Things were not as they usually were when he arrived.

When he opened the front door and went to disarm the alarm, he found that it was already disarmed. How could this happen? In the past, if he or another staff member has locked up and failed to arm the security system, he has received a call from the monitoring firm reminding him that the system still had not been armed.

As his mind was racing through possible explanations of these unusual circumstances his eyes were scanning around the office to see if anything was out of place. Everything seemed to be in its normal place until his eyes rested on the filing cabinet, where the top drawer was slightly proud of the cabinet. These files were locked each night and they could only be locked when the top drawer was fully closed.

At this evidence his heart started racing in response to a growing inner anger that someone had interfered with his business then fear about what they may have done or could do with what they had discovered.

What should he do? If his office had been burgled he should be careful not to touch things until the Police have been able to examine things, but until he had had a look at things to determine what was missing he was unsure about the wisdom of involving the police. They might find things completely unrelated to the burglary that could raise their curiosity and complicate Sam’s life unnecessarily.

He decided that it was more important for him to know what was going on than to get the police to uphold the law. Even with his adrenalin pumping he had the wit to move slowly and methodically through the contents of the filing cabinet. Everything seemed to be in the proper place, but it was clear that someone had been at the files. Some of the papers were slightly out of alignment, but files were all in the right order.

After examining all four drawers in the front office he made his way into his own office where he found exactly the same evidence of someone having very carefully but thoroughly gone through the contents of the filing cabinets.

On his way back into the front office he passed the utility room in which the photocopier, fax and mail-franking machine were located. On the work bench beside the photocopier he noticed the empty wrapping of a ream of copy paper. Whoever had broken in had made copies of the documents they wanted – but which ones, and how many?

Sam knew that he could get the Copier Service Company to send a technician round right away and find out how many copies were made and at what time. He wondered if the computer innards of the photocopier might also keep a record of whatever was copied – if it did he would know what the burglars were looking for and how much they had taken.

He also noted that he should call the security company and see if they have any record of when the system was disarmed. As he was thinking through this he had the horrible feeling that this might have been an inside job – after all, the door had not been jemmied open, so presumably keys had been used, as was the case with the filing cabinets; none had been broken into.
He decided first of all that he should carry on as if this had not happened, so far as the other staff in the office were concerned. This was clearly the work of his opponents, but which ones? That was a crucial question. It could be the ferals gathering evidence to throw at him some time later. It could have been Quartermaine and his crew, but Sam was not sure they would stoop to something so illegal as to break in. It could be Tony Cassidy from the Tribune, looking for a scoop. But how would they get in without breaking locks?

By about 9.30 Sam decided he had to tell someone about it, so he left the office with the intention of visiting Tom Knight, his chief ally among the Ward Councillors. Tom was a senior manager of the port and rail facility that processed all the primary produce that the Quarabup hinterland produced onto bulk-carrier ships that visited the port on a regular basis. Grains of various sorts were brought in by rail for shipping. Mineral sands were stockpiled for shipping. Woodchips were produced from tree-farm logs and shipped out through the port. They even managed to arrange a few ships per year for raw wool in bales.

Sam phoned ahead as he was driving to let Tom know he was coming and Tom met him in the car park. “I’ve got half an hour,” he said to Sam as he hopped into the passenger seat. “Let’s go to Windy Point.” As they were driving there, Sam unloaded the events of the morning and what his initial thoughts were about what had happened, as well as what he thought might need to be done.

“Clearly, whoever has done this has some class. Either they can pick locks, or they got hold of a set of keys, or they have a friend on the inside that let them in. AND they disarmed the alarm!” Sam said this while at the same time thinking he didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work that out.

“If the ferals did it I reckon they would bash and trash the place, so I doubt it was them.” Tom said this with a confidence born out of the sense that this was self-evident. His mind was really further on, toying with the possibility that that Dan Quartermaine might just stoop that low to get some dirt on Sam Malone. While he had fun entertaining the idea, he hesitated to think that he would take such a risk. This left only the paper sleuth, Tony Cassidy as a suspect. If News Ltd journos could stoop to phone hacking, perhaps Cassidy would be willing to sneak around his office in the dead of night. Over the years he seemed to have been willing to do anything to get circulation up, even though his was the only local paper. There was none other to choose from.

The question Tom and Sam were now deliberating on was “Should we confront Cassidy?” This would be inherently risky. If Cassidy had done it, he might launch straight into some form of blackmail. If he had not done it, the conversation would alert him to the fact that something was amiss.

Perhaps it would be best to lie low and see what develops. They could confidently anticipate that whoever has taken this information will make a move with it, and hopefully they will do a bit more fishing for information that will give them away.

Tom agreed that this was the appropriate course of action. “And make sure you find out how much, at least, has been copied on your photocopier. If it was a small amount you can be sure they knew exactly what they were looking for. If they made hundreds of copies, then they were fishing. That will mean they might take a while longer to act.”

They made their way back to work, and Sam got the Copier Service man in. Sam quizzed him a bit about what kind of information was recorded by the copier. “Does it keep copies in its memory of what has been copied?”

“Nah! Only Faxes incoming! And scans to email addresses.” Now that could be interesting, thought Sam.

Sam made out that he wanted to see which departments were using the copier most. Given their conversation it would be worthwhile to see if any scans were being sent outside the office. They all had quick-address keys on the copier, but an email address could be added manually. The technician was set the task of preparing a report of all copy transactions for the past month and of forwarding from the sent-box to Sam’s email address any scan emails sent to external email addresses.

While each user had an access code for the copier, they were not highly secure. In fact, they were listed on a laminated sheet above the copier. Sam’s was 0001. Each Sales Rep had number beginning with 100, and the Secretary used 2001.

All this information was duly catalogued on nine pages listing all copier transactions by time, day and operator for the past 30 days. The technician didn’t even take any notice of the fact that last night user code 0001 authorised the copying of 246 pages between the hours 2.24am and 3.11am. Whoever did this had a sense of humour at least.

So, it seemed like they were on a fishing expedition. This information made it clear that this was done in the dead of the night. The pay dirt was in the emails that were forwarded to Sam. During that same time period five single-page documents had been scanned and forwarded to a coded email address – p4p4s3@live.com

The scanned attachments were very specifically related to his business relationship with Spandos International, and gave details of arrangements to meet for the inspection of properties. The correspondence was intentionally innocuous but together they did provide a sleuth with a sequence of connection that might be embarrassing. With no idea about owner of the email, the only option was still to wait. At least they knew what was of most interest.

Boxes

Ellie was enjoying the variety in her job at Horden House. Certainly there were chores – dusting the book shelves, sweeping the floor and cleaning the windows, but she got to handle some really special books, talk to some interesting people, and she was getting to see how to run a little business.

At the end of every day the till had to be both counted up and the float of cash to start the day tomorrow set up. The weekly book with all the till details in it demonstrated that really the cash-flow of Horden House was pretty low. There was enough perhaps to pay Ellie’s wages and maybe some of the utilities. It was just as well GG owned the shop outright rather than having to lease it. And it was as well that GG had other income streams than the proceeds of selling books.

It was not a reflection on his business acumen. GG Horden was a man of some means and he had lived long enough to be happy with a hobby that he enjoyed and that would basically pay for itself. As his mother would often say, “It kept him off the streets – and out of her hair.” GG was the master of this place. He could do things any way he wanted.

Another one of the jobs that Ellie particularly liked was unpacking boxes of books. It was like opening a treasure chest – you were never sure what you would find there. GG had a few suppliers in Perth who would either buy to a list of find stock within an interest range as prescribed by GG and when they had a box full, they would send it down his way by post. Something would arrive at least twice a week from one supplier or another.

Then there were boxes that would come in from locals who were clearing out their own bookcases or were clearing out deceased estates. If the truth was known, GG could best be described as an eclectic bibliophile – he just loved books – and this meant that it was rather difficult for him to sort through these books in order to discard the rubbish. Perhaps he was hoping that as Ellie got to know the business better she would be able to do that instead of him.

A box arrived that was a bit different. The packing tape was not the usual clear tape. Instead they had use black gaffer tape. It was probably much stronger, but was also surely much more expensive. Every edge of the box had been sealed by the gaffer tape, which of course made it very firm when carrying it. When it arrived, GG said “I’ll deal with that one Ellie!” He picked it up and carefully carried it into his office.

Ellie couldn’t put her finger on just exactly what it was, but she sensed that Mr Horden was somehow embarrassed about this box and the way he took it away was a bit like a guilty boy. It was such a fleeting thought that she dismissed it very quickly thinking it was probably something special for his private collection.

Later, when she took a cup of coffee for him into his office, as she did each day, he said as casually as he could, “Ellie, if you ever get any boxes like that when I am not here, just bring them into my office and let me know when I come in.” That was all he said. There was no further explanation but Ellie felt it again, that there seemed to be something sheepishly guilty about his action. This only served to arouse the curiosity that had so successfully dismissed earlier.

Over the next day or so, Ellie was tuned into every little variation from the norm in GG’s behaviour. Customers came and went but on Friday just after her lunch break, Ellie noticed a stranger come in and go straight to GG’s office. There was something menacing about the man despite his polite acknowledgement of her as he walked through to the back where GG’s office was. He was not a regular customer, nor had she really noticed him around town. A town the size of Quarabup is such that most locals know a stranger when they see them.

A few minutes later, the man left without a word, and then a few minutes after that GG came through to the shop and explained to Ellie that he would be back in a while. “I can manage the shop, Mr Horden”, she said.

Once he was gone, Ellie made her way into GG’s office to see if there was anything suspicious. The box had been opened and a few old books, apparently from the box, were scattered on his desk. There were also five snap-seal plastic bags lying loosely in the bottom of the box. She picked one up to look more closely at. There was now apparent residue within the bag, but there was a kind of dusty straw smell when you sniffed at the bag. The others all smelled the same. Something about that smell seemed familiar, but she couldn’t pick it just yet.

As she carried on with her duties that afternoon, a subtle thought began becoming more substantial in her mind. What if GG was a drug courier? Packing supplies into boxes of innocent books could be really easy to do, and that bloke did look a bit dodgy.

Ellie didn’t know what to do. She thought she should tell someone, but who, and what was there to tell, really?

GG Horden returned shortly after three, went quickly back into his office, made a couple of phone calls, but did not emerge from his office till it was time to close up the till.

After she knocked off, Ellie called by Justine’s to see if Candice or Aaron were finished for the day. Candice had done all her appointments for the day so she packed up and joined Ellie for the walk home. They could have gone by bus, but it wasn’t far and walking allowed for more talking.

“Hey Candice, who do you think those Sanderson boys get their drugs from?” Not a really subtle entry to the topic, but then Ellie generally wanted to get right to the point.

“I dunno. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno either really, but something happened today at work that has got me thinking, but every time I go there – with the thought – I think to myself that I must be stupid.” Ellie was really thinking aloud, but it felt good to be talking about it.

“What do you mean? Is old Horden up to something?”

“Oh, I don’t know! It’s just that whenever boxes of books come in from the Post it is my job to open them and make a list of the books in them, but today a box came in and Mr Horden took it straight from me and went into his office. Later on this shifty looking guy came in and went straight to his office without asking. And then a little while later Mr Horden went out, leaving me to look after the shop.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing really, I suppose. It was just that there was something a bit wrong. I can’t put my finger on it really, but it was like a kid being busted for something. I went to his office after he left and the box had been emptied – just ordinary books, it seemed to me – but there were five snap-seal bags in the bottom of the box, and the smelled funny. Mr Horden wouldn’t be doing drugs would he? He seems so nice, but now I don’t know.”

“What evidence have you actually got, Ellie? Nothing! Just a couple of smelly bags.”

“Perhaps I should just forget about it, but I really don’t like the thought of Mr Horden being mixed up in something like drugs.”

“Maybe you’ve got this all wrong. There has to be a sensible explanation.”

And that was where it seemed to end for the moment.

A Perfect Day

Greg’s parents were always very measured in their response to his occasional indiscretions at school – quite uncharacteristic of their Italian heritage, really – but as they explained, “His problem in school is his problem, not mine.” This meant that that Greg was generally not rescued from the consequences of his indiscretions because Alfeo and Eula were simply fair minded enough to understand that he need not be punished twice for that indiscretion.

Day two of his suspension looked too good to be true – weather was great, and with some kids on holiday already … but it was not to be. “We never really had time to clean out the shed when spring began, mate. I think that can be your work today. Do I need to make a list?”

“Dad, that’ll take me for ages to do.”

“Look, mate, you can spend three days doing it for all I care, but this time off school is not a holiday. While you live under my roof, you pull your weight.”

As he said this, the espresso pot hissed to a finish, and Alfeo poured out his favourite thick, black heart starter to be sipped with some Hazelnut Cinnamon Rolls that Eula had made and were left over from yesterday’s shop. He loved the contrast of the strong and bitter coffee with the sweet, sugary roll.

Eula had already left so that she could get the produce for the day from the Markets. Alfeo rubbed Greg’s hair in a gesture of affection. “You get that work done, mate, and we’ll see about something special for the weekend.”

As he clattered his keys, Nadia called out “Can you give me a lift to school, Papa?”

“What’s wrong with the bus?”

“It takes for ages to get there, Papa, and I have stuff to do.”

“I’m ready to go right now, Caro. Are you ready?”

“Can I brush my teeth?”

“Waiting! Waiting! Waiting!”

Once Alfeo and Nadia had gone, Greg decided he would veg for a little bit so that he could wake up properly before he started work. He could do some stuff on Facebook while he drank his coffee slowly.

It was about 10.30am when Greg “woke up” with the sudden realisation that the morning was half gone. He went down to the shed. He thought he would do what he had seen his dad do a thousand times – make a list of the jobs on the chalk-board near the door and cross them off as he did them. So he started making the list:

1. Make neat stack of stakes

2. Fold up produce bags and boxes and put them away

3. Tidy up tools

4. Clear benches

5. Tidy up compost and manure bins

6. Sweep floors and paths

That should keep him going for a while, he thought. They were all jobs his dad had given him to do before. He knew the routines. Maybe he could finish early and get some gaming in anyway.

He worked solidly on the list till nearly 1pm when he decided he should have some lunch. On the weekend his Mum would often make up a stack of Arancini di Riso balls and stow them in the fridge. These golden balls of pure carb were great. A stack in a bowl with lashings of tomato sauce, a can of Coke on the side and he was eating like a king.

Meanwhile, just after the going to work crowd had dissolved into their workplaces, the phone at La Trattoria rang. Eula took the call, which was from the Principal of St Joseph’s College, Mother Superior.

“Is that Mrs De Luca?”

“Yes it is. How can I help you?”

“It’s Mother Superior here, from St Joseph’s College, and I think there are things we need to talk together about since Gregorio was suspended from school. But I know you are both busy at the shop, and I couldn’t think how we might manage that.”

“Thank you, Mother. You are kind to think of our needs. It would be good to hear your perspective on what happened. We usually have a pretty quiet spell just after the lunch crowd finishes. We could talk after 2pm. We have staff who can manage the shop. Do you want us to come to school, or could we meet elsewhere?”

“Actually, it might be nice to meet elsewhere. If you don’t mind the coffee at The Blue Lagoon we could meet there and still be rather private.”

“Certainly, Mother, that would be fine. Shall we meet there at 2.15?”

Eula was immediately curious about how Mother Superior had handled that. Usually, important school business was dealt with in her office at school. That is the proper and professional thing to do, yet here she was asking them to meet and talk together about Gregorio in a café. She wandered out to the Kitchen and told Alfeo about the call. He, too, was surprised and curious about this tactic from Mother Superior.

When Greg had finished his lunch, he thought a few minutes gaming wouldn’t hurt. This suspension business wasn’t too bad really. It was great being in charge of your own time. Before long he was waging battle with one of his mates who had also been suspended via the internet. This was a favourite pastime and was much more fun than Facebook and the like.

At about 2.30pm his mate rang and said that the surf was up on West Beach and he was going over there to check it out. “I’ve gotta work here,” said Greg. “My dad will make minced meat of me if I haven’t got enough done to show for it.”

“But mate, you’ve got the whole week to do that. How much have you done already?”

“I got a couple of hours done before lunch.”

“That’ll be enough. Let’s go. We can be there in half an hour.”

“Well, if I come I’ve gotta be back here by 4 so that I can do a bit more before me dad comes home.”

Greg grabbed his boogie bag, headed for his bike in the shed and then pedalled over to Dean Ballie’s place and together they pedalled to West Beach. Dean was right – well almost, because it took actually a little less than half an hour to get there.

West Beach was a sweeping curve of pristine white sand on the east side of a 3 mile wide bay. The white sand backed up onto some limestone cliffs and sand-dunes that were quite uncharacteristic of the southern coast. Just a few miles further east and west of this bay the rocky outcrops were all formed by granite of a colour and texture that was much in demand for high-quality, high value-add stone work for kitchens and fine ornamentation. The quarries were actually pretty small scale operations but they did attract the ire of the local ferals, led by Springtime Kestrel, who raise the bally who every now and then just to remind the business that they were actually there under some sufferance. But Bluestone Granite just kept on quietly doing their business.

When Greg and Dean arrived at the parking area, it was obvious that lots of others thought it was a good day to be there as well. They raced each other to the beach and found a dozen grommets on boogie boards, as well as some dudes and chicks on boards pumping on some great shore breaks.

The early heat meant that the Easterly wind had kept up longer into the afternoon than normal so an off-shore was keeping the breaks up and powerful. Greg and Dean pulled their black wetsuits on and joined the other boogie-boarders, looking for all the world like a bunch of playful seals surfing in the waves.

They had barely warmed up when one of the dudes yelled out “Shark!”

Everyone who heard it froze and looked in his direction. The area was known for its large white-pointers. Scanning the surface of the water looking for the fin, Greg caught sight of it just as it surfaced near one of his boogie-boarding group. He was only a little kid and as the shark crunched his jaw around his thigh everything in Greg’s view seemed to go into slow motion. The shark was moving so quickly that he lifted the boy out of the water. The boy was instinctively thrashing his fists at the shark’s head, trying to hit his nose or poke his eye, thus stunning him into releasing him.

Torn between the instincts to flee and to rescue, Greg held back for a moment while most of the others paddled like the blazes towards shore. The boy’s thrashing eventually produced the desired result and the shark fled off away. Greg and two of the other boogie boarders powered in to where he was and the grabbed hold of him to keep his head above the waves. Three of the surfers came in with their boards and between them all they lifted him onto a board and they all paddled him in to shore as quickly as they could.

They were just landing him when they heard the distant sound of sirens. Those that had gotten ashore straight off had phoned on mobiles to ambos and police and help would be at hand soon.

It was hard to see exactly how badly he had been hurt. The wet suit was punctured but not shredded so it covered him mostly as normal, and the blood coming from his wounds was not so bright against the black as it would have been against his own flesh. Someone said to apply pressure. The boy was in shock and so not as aware of pain as he might have been. They rolled him onto his uninjured side and every hand that was free was applied to a puncture mark each pushing into the wound to try and close of the points at which his blood was being lost.

One of the girls that had been watching from the shade of the cliffs came across with towels and she sat at his head, making sure he was alright, and reassuring him that help was coming. She knew his name, Kai Brennan, and that he had been wagging school because the surf was so good. She had called his Mum and told her to go to the hospital because Kai would be there sooner than it would take her to get to the beach.

The ambos got there first. It was amazing to see these guys swing into action in a real crisis. They began by making sure Kai was not unconscious and then assessing his ability to know what was happening. While that was happening, they were cutting off his wetsuit carefully so that they could see exactly what extent of wounds they were looking at. They really appreciated having all the hands there to keep up the pressure on the big wounds while they applied such pressure bandages as they could to Kai’s leg and body. Once they had these all in place, they stretchered him up to the ambulance and took him to the hospital.

The cops had arrived, too, and after they had seen that the ambos had everything under control, they started chatting with the fly-pack that had gathered around to see what was happening. They got the basic details of the shark attack and the names of the six lads who had brought him in to shore. They could follow these up later, but the ambos would need an escort to get in quickly, so off they went leaving a bunch of completely stunned kids on the beach.

No-one spoke much. It was like they all needed to let it sink in. Then they started checking that no-one else was hurt, that they were all okay. Then one of the girls started crying. “He’s gunna die! I know it. I could see his eyes. It was like he wasn’t seeing anything.”

“I’m going to the hospital!” Greg desperately want to be sure that Kai would be alright, and the only thing he could think of was to be there and wait for the news. He and Dean packed their kits and got on their bikes. Riding like mad was a great way to release all that tension from the shocking events they had been drawn into.

Hot Rocks

Life in a village is not for everyone. Those who are not born to it find it insular, impenetrable and boring. “Sleepy Hollow” couldn’t describe Quarabup better in this respect.

Yet, over the years, people have learned to make their own entertainment.

Church fairs became community fairs. A simple dance class becomes a social event at the CWA Hall, not to be missed by young and old. A high school song contest became a community Eisteddfod and in time this became the Great Southern Music Festival – showcasing the best local musical talent in various genres of music. Local businesses offered prizes in cash and kind in return for having their name associated with the Festival.

The existence of this showcase for young talent created opportunities for young people to take the next step from ‘garage band’ – getting gigs at The Eagle Rock Night Club, footy club social nights and even weddings.

The Hollister Thompson All Stars emerged from their garage three years ago and were now in steady demand. Lisa Hollister was the driving force for the band. She carried the vocals with guitar in hand. J.J. Thompson supported with lead guitar and keys as needed. Pete Tinetti had the voice to go with Lisa while he provided the bass foundation. ‘Radar’ O’Neill rounded out the band on drums and occasional vocals. They built up their showmanship on covers, having sets they could do of favourites from each of the past four decades, although they liked mostly covering bands of the noughties – bands they had been ape over in school. As their confidence grew, Lisa and JayJay began writing lyrics and tunes. There was a rawness to their original music that the young set really liked – a bit out there.

As Ellie and Candice arrived at The Eagle Rock they saw that the ‘All Stars’ were on the bill tonight. Aaron said he would meet them there and sure enough, he was hanging just outside watching who was going in ahead of him and looking out for Ellie and Candice.

A DJ was playing canned music when they arrived and the All Stars were setting up their gear for the show. Lights were strobing already and the smoke machine made it look like the olden days before smokers had to go outdoors to get their nicotine fix.

“There’s Trent and the others.” Candice ran over to them as Aaron and Ellie looked to where she had pointed. “Hey guys!” – preceded hugs and air kisses all round.

“You guys been here long?” asked Ellie.

“Nah! Haven’t even ordered drinks yet. Who’s going to mind the table while we go and get drinks?”

“I don’t mind,” said Aaron. “I’ll get mine when you come back.”

A giggling mass of girls with five rather laconic young men made their way to the bar. The club was licensed, but the bar could serve soft drinks to those underage and they were very particular about proof of age when alcohol was ordered. Ellie wasn’t 18 yet, so she and three others kept to the soft drinks. The bar tried to cater for the younger kids by offering classic ‘mocktails’ – non-alcoholic drinks that imitated classic cocktails. It was better money for the bar than straight colas and the like, and the kids who were too young to drink didn’t feel too obvious. It also primed them into the cocktail market when they did reach 18. Such arrangements might not work in the city, but here in the village, where everyone knew who your dad was, it worked just fine.

“What you doin’ here, gay boy?”

Since Aaron left the compulsory environment of school, taunts like this became much less frequent. He generally tried to ignore them and on this occasion he resisted the urge to look in the direction from which it came.

“Hey, Cammo! Nancy Boy from the hairdressers is here.” The derisive tone said it all. It was also clear that the speaker had the attention of his preferred audience. The group of five boys made a semicircle around Aaron while Maggots McGee leaned forward into Aaron’s face with a scowl. “Ain’t no-one else here is a Nancy Boy, so what you doin’ here arse-licker? They only let real blokes in here. How did you get in?”

The commotion caught Trent’s attention. Not sure if Aaron was out of his depth, he wandered casually over just in time to see Aaron stand up and stare Maggots out for a few seconds before saying with emphasis “I came with Ellie and Candice. It looks to me like you came with Cammo, Red Dog, Bananas and Stale Ale. Which of us seems to prefer blokes?”

The Club manager had also noticed the rumble and came in sideways between Maggots and Aaron and said, “Come on lads. This ain’t the time nor the place for aggro. Either pull your head in and enjoy the night like everyone else, or leave.”

The bully Maggots was itching to deck Aaron for his smart arse remark but in the presence of the ‘suit’ his mates had the good sense to make him back out, no matter how humiliating it seemed. No need to waste their fun night on a waste of space like him. They seethed off to the far corner of the club to brood over this humiliation.

Even though Aaron’s heart was pounding with the adrenalin his instincts had pumped into his blood, he remained as cool as a cucumber. “That was close,” said Trent. “You really have learned to stand up for yourself, since you left school.”

“If I don’t stick up for myself, they’ll just walk all over me. Justine told me that and nothing disqualifies my right to go about my own business. I’m here to have a good time with my mates. End of story.”

“I heard the other day that Maggots was on 10 demerit points – he’ll lose his job if he gets 12 and loses his license.”

“He was behind the door when they gave out the brains, I tell you.”

The rest of the mob arrived with drinks in hand so Trent and Aaron took their turn, returning with cans of Full Throttle each.

The DJ did a good job of getting the growing crowd of party-goers pumping with some of the latest dance and rap music. The Eagle Rock had a tag line in all their ads – ‘The louder it is, the more fun you are having’. This certainly was a core value and the crowd who came knew the rules – the louder it got the more excited they became.

By the time the All Stars were introduced everyone was on their feet, the smoke machine had filled the air in ways that accentuated the strobing lights, digital images and mirror balls. They began with an original – No time like now! The techno beat made its mark as the kids formed an impromptu ‘mosh pit’ in front of the playing stage. They used a mix of digital backing and acoustic drums to provide the foundation for it all, and really got the place buzzing. Then they filled out the set with five techno-dance covers before two more original songs.

They changed tempo and style, then, moving into a set of covers that mixed the Beatles and the Stones from the 60’s and 70’s. They had a beefier sound than the originals because digital systems do that, but the energy of these tunes was unleashed with as much vigour as when sung by their original bands.

Lisa brought that session to an end with three originals she and JayJay had only just written – World Premiers!

The DJ kept the room vibrating while most of the crowd mingled and drank, getting ready for the next big set. Maggots and his gang had been keeping their distance during the dancing, but in the break he managed to mingle into the vicinity of Aaron and make it clear that they had not finished with him yet.

The next set from the All Stars was the best they had ever done. They put together a mix of their own songs with covers of great Aussie bands like Daddy Cool, Billie Thorpe, Cold Chisel, AC/DC, LRB, and Midnight Oil. Their tribute to Oz Music was great and really got the crowd pumping.

It was 12.30 before the patrons started wandering out of The Eagle Rock to go home or to the next event with mates. Aaron, Candice Ellie and their mates had all walked – it was a small village, really, and it meant that they never had to worry about drink-driving.

They started walking down towards the river when Maggots and his mates came by in his black Holden ute. It was a V8 with much fatter than standard wheels and exhaust systems. It was his pride and joy and he took every opportunity he had to cruise down the main street when he thought the cool crowd might be watching.

Tonight he and Cammo were in the front, and the other three were in the back, relying on an old mattress to make their seating somewhat comfortable. Maggots pulled up alongside them and they all started howling abuse at Aaron and his friends. Maggots was gunning his engine as if the noise made his abuse more terrifying. Just as the taunting reached a peak, Maggots dropped the clutch and did a humongous burnout. He kept his front brakes on as the back screamed and fish-tailed across the road, acrid smoke filling the air. The wind seemed to blow the smoke back over the front of the car, effectively obscuring Maggots’ view and sense of bearings but he kept on for what seemed like two minutes before an almighty crunch killed the V8 roar.

In this acrid cloud of oblivion Maggots had managed to swing his high-powered pride and joy sideways into an upright fire hydrant, stoving in the side and creating an immediate fountain of mains-pressure water 25 feet high.

Aaron and his friends made sure their amusement at the idiot behaviour of Maggots was obvious before running away down a side street to make their way home from there. Maggots and his mates, shouting more abuse at Aaron and his mates as they retreated, were all saturated as they assessed the damage to the ute. It wasn’t going any further tonight.

As they were arriving at this conclusion, the unmistakable strobing of blue and red lights made their way towards them as the local patrol car carefully parked across the road next to them. Two uniforms got out, stepping back to assess the situation. All of Maggot’s friends ran off – some friends – leaving him to face the music.

“Well, well, well. What have we here? Not such a hot driver as you thought you were, eh, Maggots?”

“Give us a break, Sarge!? We were only having a bit of fun.”

“Looks to me like you were having a bit more than fun, judging from the rubber you just laid. We had three different folks call us – that’s a pretty big bit of fun.”

“Yeh, well, it’s Friday night. We’ve gotta make our own fun around here. Anyway, nobody else got hurt, well, except for that fire hydrant.”

“It’s funny how much a bit of harmless fun can cost you though. For one, your car’s mine now. You can have it back in a month if you still want it. I’ll ping you for reckless driving and that’ll probably see the end of your driving for three months, and I am sure the Water Authority will find out where to send the bill for repairing the fire hydrant. Not a bad bit of harmless fun, wouldn’t you say? Now get in the back of the car while we get to towie for your car and the Water guys down here to stop the water. I’ll drive you home later.”

That old ute would not be cruising the main street for a long time, and if Maggots didn’t lose his job once his license was suspended he would have to acknowledge he had the best boss in the world.

A High Calling

By the end of the Council meeting Sam Malone was really pumping. The adrenaline was pumping as his anger grew towards his usual adversaries, Quartermaine and co. They were such a bunch of complete idiots. He really couldn’t understand how they kept getting re-elected. Offering to serve on Council was indeed a high and noble calling in which one was given the opportunity to make decisions that concerned the better good of the whole community. How was it that they could not see the huge benefits for Quarabup that the Spandos International proposal would bring. They seemed more interested in scoring political points by opposing him than looking after the real interests of the community.

As he left the Council building to get into his car he unconsciously stamped his feet as if contemptibly shaking off the dust of the conflict that had occurred inside. His mind was racing with ideas of how he might ‘bring them down’ one day; make it clear to everyone in the village how small minded they were. His bravado gave birth to a desire to laugh in their faces, and yet despite all his efforts over the years he had not been able to shake them off. They made it a personal thing.

As he wheeled his black beemer onto the highway to make his way home, he turned his CD player up real loud and cruised off. Soon he would be in the arms of his beloved Nicki. She always waited up for him. She always made him feel welcome when he came home. She knew how good he was. As he went further down the road towards home he conquered the niggling self-doubt that crept around just beneath the surface of his bravado.

He knew that if it wasn’t for him and the effort he had put in as Shire President this village would be on the road to nowhere. He had forged the tourist opportunities that were turning the fortunes of the village around, attracting more and more people in who wanted to buy in to their little bit of the lifestyle – incidentally assisting his own business ventures. He had created a much more flexible Planning Scheme for the village to allow for the possibility of all sorts of developments in the future, attracting one new housing estate developer and now this project from Spandos International. This village will one day be a town, a city even, and all because of him – then everyone will be grateful for his efforts. And he did this with no ulterior motive. Serving your community was a high calling and he accepted all the responsibility and kudos that went with it.

The light in the upstairs retreat was on as the beemer glided into the garage with Michael Bublé crooning, Frank Sinatra style, at 100 decibels, his 100watt sub-woofer making the floor of the car vibrate and the flexible panes of the Rolla-Door rattle. There was a skip in his step as Sam got out of the car and entered the darkened downstairs part of his riverside mansion.

Nicky was ensconced on a chaise lounge that nestled in a bay window from which a large plasma screen TV could be watched comfortably. Council Meeting night was fortunately her favourite TV night – Crownies, followed by CSI: Miami and then Letterman. She was more than happy to wait up for her man. She heard the sound system of the car before it entered the garage. She heard to door into the kitchen close with a thud, and she heard the steady shuffle of Sam’s shoes as he climbed the stairs into their private little retreat upstairs. She could actually stay up here all day if she chose – everything she needed was here, food, drinks, computer, telephone, bathroom.

Sam entered the room with such self-assured presence that Nicky was sure he had had a good time at the meeting that night, so good was Sam at passing things off as positively as they could be. He went to the bar fridge and extracted some soda water and ice cubes to add to a generous sloshing of Glenfiddich. He kicked his shoes off, wrenched his tie from his throat and collapsed onto the chaise lounge alongside his princess. She knew how to respect him and all he had done for the village and for himself. That was one of the things that brought them together.

Sam was first married to Amy Fitzpatrick. They had been an item in school and so it seemed natural, inevitable almost, that they would be the first in their crowd at school to tie the knot properly. They had lived together for nearly two years before they thought they had better get done properly. Two girls were born to them close together in the early years of their marriage, Cindy first and then Lara. They were good kids. Sam loved them dearly, but when Lara got to Year 5 Amy decided it was time to go back to work.

When Amy left school she gained a TAFE Certificate 3 in Book Keeping and then secured a job with a local Accountant. She held this job right through till she was pregnant with Lara and had also done some special courses in computer book keeping but the financial programs available then were very complex. In the time she had been at home BYOB and QuickBooks had both been developed to greatly simplify the Book keeper’s work. She opted for MYOB and got some training in it to quite a high level before offering herself to a different accounting firm and they were very pleased to have a mature person to fill the position.

They encouraged her to do further studies until she ultimately qualified as an Accountant herself. All these achievements fired up significant ambition in Amy and she gave herself very much to promoting her prospects.

It was three years ago that Sam went off to a Real Estate conference in the Gold Coast. There he not only picked a national Sales Award for a Regional context he found Nicky. She worked in Perth and had decided that Sam was her hero, and she did a great job pandering to his ego in making him feel better about himself than anyone had done for years.

Not surprisingly, in the ensuing months Sam found frequent excuses to travel the 400km to Perth for ‘business’ and he began casting an ever more critical eye over everything about Amy. This grew into hostility and finally, 18 months ago, Amy had had enough and she took her girls and left Sam to himself. She decided that she and the girls would be better off in Perth as the girls got into their secondary schooling.

The scandal in the village was palpable and people were often seen muttering behind their hands as Sam walked by them in the street. But Sam held his head high, making everyone think that he was the innocent party here. He didn’t actually tell lies. He simply did nothing the rebut suggestions that Amy had left him for another man.

Amy’s move to Perth made it easier for him to continue his relationship with Nicky – he had an obvious excuse for coming to Perth: to see his girls. It soon seemed to Sam that it was no longer necessary to keep Nicky so under the wraps as he had before and eventually Amy and the girls were fully aware of the situation. This revelation, however inevitable, had the opposite effect he had hoped for and neither Amy nor the girls wanted any further contact with him so far as possible.

Six months ago, the Divorce was obtained and Sam did a masterful job of making himself look much poorer than he really was and making Amy settle for far less than she perhaps should have, but she was still able to secure a significant interest in a house in the area of Perth she wanted to be in, and with her Accounting qualification she was able to secure a nice living. She did manage to get an agreement that Sam would pay for the girl’s schooling at one of Perth’s leafy private girl’s school.

Notwithstanding these expenses, Sam was able to set up a new home in a spec house a friend of his had built on the riverbank and had then not been able to move as quickly as he needed. Sam got it for a song.

With all this settled Sam and Nicky made plans to get married in Perth – Sam had few friends from the village that he wanted to invite along, and Nicky had a wide circle of friends that she wanted to impress with the catch she had made. All Nicky’s friends were suitably impressed, although some could be seen with quizzical looks on their faces or muttering quietly behind their hands, and so it was that a month ago Nicky, a complete stranger to the Village, had moved into Sam’s house as the new Mrs Sam Malone.

Sam had agreed that Nicky could help out in the business, especially given her sales record in Perth, but realistically she knew that it would take her quite a while to get to know the market in this area and begin to make a significant contribution to the business. She was happy to take a back seat and quietly adjust to her new life as the wife of the Shire President in a seaside holiday village that some referred to as ‘sleepy hollow’.

She had not expected that she would be a sensation when she arrived. First there was the sense of ‘oo la la!’, as the French would say, that seemed to be written on everyone’s face when they realised who she was. But then some of the women of the village, women who were clearly from the landed gentry stables asked her if she would be interested in joining them in the various community groups that such prominent citizens needed to be seen to be part of – the CWA, of course, which looked after significant community catering events, and the Apex Women’s Auxiliary through which many community projects were supported by their fundraising activities, and of course she must join the golf club, where they were sure they could scoot her past the other women of the town waiting to be offered memberships.

Sam was right. It was a high calling to give one’s self to the community, and she for one was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Confirmation

Nadia de Luca was a popular girl at school – among the teaching staff. She was popular among a certain circle of students as well, of course, but Nadia seemed to take school, and everything associated with it very seriously and her teachers appreciated that. She performed probably at the top of her year group academically, she was reliable when she said she would do things – and she got things done ahead of time if at all possible.

For Nadia, everything about school was exciting. There were plenty of opportunities for her to make people notice her, not least for her natural leadership ability. She was elected School Councillor at her first opportunity in Year 4 and had remained in that role ever since. She had no fear of public speaking which was required of the role, and even went so far as to check out the debating club – but most of the others were Year 11 and 12 students and they didn’t like the upstart Year 8 student wanting to join.

Her classes were a joy too, it seemed. There was so much to learn about and she wanted to learn it. Unlike many of her peers, Nadia wanted to be the best. She was indeed very competitive, and did her very best to keep all the demands that were placed on her at school.

Her great passion was the natural and physical sciences. As a little girl she loved to be out in the garden or walking along the beach. No detail was too small to escape her attention, it seemed. She was fascinated by the living world of plants and animals, but she was equally fascinated by the landscape and all the forces that were at work in shaping it.

When she was nine, she decided to create a miniature farm at home. All the farm creatures were alive, but they were not your regular beasts. She had a fenced off area filled with snails – cozens of them. She created a fly wire cage in which she kept all the white cabbage moths she could catch, feeding them with flowers and sweetened water and providing lots of green leaves for them to lay their eggs on. She wanted to see how long it would be for the caterpillars to come out. She had a collection of tiny minnows from the river in a large bowl that she sank into the ground, making a pond, and she tilled a small patch of ground and sewed it with tiny millet seeds. Everything was an experiment to see how things would work out.

Nadia also loved Religion. Being in a Catholic school, of course, they had religion classes every day. Most of the kids thought it was all boring, but Nadia loved the stories that the nuns would tell them. Her favourite was the story of Mary MacKillop – she started the Sisters of St Joseph. She was a strong lady even though she got sick, and she cared about people, not just what you believe. Stories of saints, especially the women ones, like Joan of Arc and Clare of Assisi, filled Nadia with dreams of adventure and changing the world.

So it wasn’t surprising that when her classes gave their attention to the sacraments of Reconciliation and First Holy Communion, Nadia’s hand was the one most often in the air answering questions that had been asked or asking Mother Superior or Fr Tam all the questions that flooded into her mind when they were taking these classes.

And Nadia loved it when the classes went into church for chapel services. The smell of the incense seemed to lift her above everything around her. The sun would sparkle through the coloured glass of the stained glass at the front and in all the side windows. For as long as she could remember, she wanted to be an acolyte. The idea of being dressed up and going into the holy space where others could not go was especially exciting. Straight after her First Holy Communion she asked Fr Tam when she could become an Acolyte – she joined the team that year.

“Mama, how old were you when you did your Confirmation?”

“I was the same age as you, darling. I only went to a small parish school so Fr Paulo would come and take our classes. Then we had a wonderful party – that is all I remember. My Mama dressed me up in a long white dress – I thought it was like being a bride. And afterwards, we had a feast at home. All my aunties and uncles, and my cousins, they all came. St Joseph’s College is much bigger. What are they doing for you?”

“Well Mama, Mother Superior comes and takes some of our classes which is really good, because she usually only teaches in upper school. But just lately Fr Tam has been coming and he wants to make sure we know the Creed. Fr Tam thinks that if more people believed the Creed then the world would be much better. What do you think, Mama?”

“Maybe Fr Tam is right. What do you think?”

“Well, I think that the 10 Commandments which we learned in Catechism, and the Creed help people know how to be good, and if more people knew it and were good, then the world would be a better place, but I’m not sure if it is knowing the Creed or being good that makes the difference.”

“Doesn’t being good follow on from knowing the Creed? That’s what you said.”

“I know I said that, but some people can be good without knowing the 10 Commandments and the Creed. Alex Brankovic says she doesn’t believe any of that stuff – but she is good.”

“I guess that there are a lot of people who are good but who do not believe in anything.”

“But Mama, that’s not fair, really. If you go to heaven because you’re good, and you don’t have to keep the rules to be good, then why should they get the same as me when I am not just good, but I keep all the rules.”

Eula was always amazed at teenage philosophy and the convoluted pathways young people could create to make sense of their world. But she also loved the innocent passion of her daughter. While she knew many of her own friends from school had given up on the church when they became adults, Nadia had retained a deep and gentle faith that ensured her family was well acquainted with the local church – St Michael of All Angel’s – which had a convent of Josephite Sisters attached to it as well as a small household of Franciscan Friars Minor.

Fr Tam was young compared to the other friars and so he did most of the work in St Joseph’s College. The kids loved him, because even though he was a priest he was cool. He would wear jeans and tee shirts and join in the school plays and he knew everybody. Eula liked him, too, but for her, church was never better than when Fr Bob, the oldest friar in the household, took the service. He was gentle and lilting with the words. They felt like they came from his heart. And when it was time for the homily, he always seemed to find a very down to earth that would make sense to her.

For her, the mass was a mystery. She didn’t believe the so called ‘truth’ that the Host and wine were the actual body and blood of Jesus. But that did not diminish the power for her in that moment when she received those holy things. She had no words to describe it but she knew instinctively almost that it was more than bread and wine.

Eula was more religious than Alfeo, but he understood it. He didn’t get it just like she did, but he never refused to go with her and never said anything negative about Eula’s pleasure in it. They usually took the children and so they all would go together. Alfeo had even been known go by himself to mass if Eula was ill.

From such a nursery it was not surprising that Nadia grew up with such an ease, even passion for her religion. Eula’s response to her daughter’s philosophical conundrum was to encourage her to stick with it.

“Maybe it is possible to be a good Catholic and a good person and they look just the same to God. Fr Tam is right to say you have to believe the Creed to be a good Catholic. In your class that is the important thing. How long is it now till the Confirmation Mass?”

“It’s only three weeks, Mama. Fr Tam said it was on the most special day before Advent – Christ the King, he called it – and he said this was a very good day to get confirmed on. I hope you have sent the invitations to our friends.”

“I certainly did. Soon you won’t be my bambino any more, you are growing up so fast. I was just forgetting when it really was. Is the Bishop coming or will it just be Fr Tam?”

“Fr Tam said the Bishop will come for this. He gets to wear much fancier clothes than Fr Tam. He has a bit pointy hat like the Pope and he wears a funny pink little thing on his head – like Jewish boys do. And his black dress has pink buttons and edges. And he even wears a funny pink sash around his waist.”

“It should be a wonderful occasion. It is a pity your Nona can’t be here.”

When Alfeo and Eula migrated to Australia they were travelling a well-worn pathway beaten by generations of their countrymen so they did not feel entirely bereft of the feel of Italy when they got here. They met fellow migrants all over the place. Others, like them, had set up typically Italian businesses – not just Trattoria. But they had no close family members who had come here before them. So they were without any relatives, not a single zio or zia, no cugini. All they had were new friends. Some of these new friends became close friends and they were like relatives because they shared birthdays and Christmas. These were the people who had to be invited to the confirmation.

When

Mornings were preferably slow affairs for Ellie, despite the necessity of haste during term time. When she was on school holidays in the middle of the year she would sleep late, eat breakfast slowly so that it sometimes finished when others were anticipating their lunch and she would spend all day in her pyjamas, or ‘home uniform’ as she described it to her mum.

This gap year job, if it lasted, was going to require a little bit of the haste necessary during term time, but certainly it held the opportunity to start each day somewhat more slowly than she was accustomed to. Ellie really liked the lull of quietness after Mum and Dad had both left for work at about 7.30. Her own alarm was set for 7 and she listened to the radio as her energy levels gradually rose sufficiently for her mind to think about getting out of bed. She stumbled into the kitchen to set up the coffee plunger just as her Mum and Dad were hurrying through their final routines before leaving – then quiet. While her head was in this fuzzy in between state it was enough to have Triple J radio echoing faintly down the hallway from her bedroom. She did not need it on in the kitchen – not yet.

As she let the infusion of caffeine soak into her bloodstream Ellie began wondering what clothes would be ‘right’ to wear to work. She supposed that jeans and tee would be too casual, but she didn’t think she needed the full clobber of ‘dressed up.’ The warmish weather persuaded her that a summer skirt and top with her red flat-heeled shoes would be about right. Mr Horden would tell her if she needed to dress up more.

Then Ellie began wondering just what kind of jobs Mr Horden would want her to do. It all sounded a bit vague to her. As she was thinking about this she remembered some of the books she noticed on the shelves in the short time she was there. In English Lit she had studied Shakespeare, of course, and she thought she remembered an old leather bound folio book with gilt lettering on the back that clearly said Shakespeare. She wondered if this was a really old one, or just a modern copy.

In year 11 her class had gone to a Festival Production of Twelfth Night. Some theatre company from Perth did a country tour and with some effort managed to stage it in the Town Hall. The sets and the costuming were an inspiration for Ellie and it she thought it was amazing to see actors bring the words to life on a stage. When they re-read the play in class afterwards, it made so much more sense because she could visualise the actors and the scenery.

When she started work, perhaps Mr Horden would just get her to do stuff for him, like make him coffee when he wanted one, and collect the post, and clean up after him. That might not be much fun.

But she would be able to have her lunch at the same time as Candy or Aaron and that would be something good to look forward to each day.

With all these thoughts buzzing around in her head, Ellie finished off her breakfast, showered and dressed and then wandered down the end of the street to wait for the 9.30 bus that should be passing by somewhere akin to that time – one always had to be 10 minutes early, just in case. It was, in fact, 5 minutes later than scheduled but still arrived in the main street terminus at 9.45 leaving Ellie 15 minutes to have another coffee at the Tratt. Eula was quick and never burnt the coffee.

As Ellie opened the door of Horden House Antiquarian Books, the Town Hall clock chimed the hour – ten o’clock. Good. Right on time. Ellie liked to be punctual. She always resented those kids at school who came in any time within ten minutes after the class was supposed to start.

“Hello,” she called. “Mr Horden? Are you there?”

“Oh, it’s you. Hello. Hello. I obviously didn’t scare you off yesterday.” It was clear from his tone that he was exaggerating and joking in that last comment and it helped Ellie relax a bit.

She giggled a bit, then said “I take a bit more scaring than that!” and GG laughed. This was getting off to a good start. “You said for me to come at 10 and here I am.”

“Yes, yes. That’s right, and here you are.” He paused for a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Well then? Are you going to show me around and tell me what my job is going to be?” While she knew that this sounded a bit like she was taking charge, it didn’t feel impertinent. Mr Horden was really the one in charge, but he might just need a few hints from time to time.

“Right, you are, then. Right you are. First of all let me show you around the shop – where everything is and goes. Now all around the edges of the shop I have my general books. Second hand books is a funny business – what one person buys and then discards because they don’t like it, someone else will snaffle up because it is half the price of a new book. Maybe some people clear up their bookshelves every now and then to make room for the next lot of new books they will buy. They bring their clear outs to me and ask me to buy them off them. I always feel awful offering so little, but if they are going to stay on my shelves here for a while it takes me a while to get my money back.”

“The shelves go so high. How do people get up to see what you have got?”

“I had to buy this special step ladder with wheels on the back so that you can move it around easily. Most people are happy using it. Otherwise I go up and tell what is there. You might have to do that for some customers.

“Now these books are the bread and butter of the business. I couldn’t afford to do what I really love if I didn’t put up with this.’

“You mean you don’t really like all this?”

“Well, not really. Most of those books are rubbish writing anyway, and the publishers used rubbish stock to print them on. In a hundred years’ time, most of them will have been lost and shredded – gone forever. Just like the movie, which I didn’t really like – PULP FICTION.

“The real books are on these shelves here – in the middle. You don’t have to reach up to see these. Buying and selling these is what I really love doing. Look at that leather binding. See how it wraps firmly round the spine of the book. Those pages are never going to come apart. Books like these are real works of art. You could almost say each one was unique.”

“I do like the colours they make the leather and the gold lettering. It really makes it look special.” Ellie’s hand was gently caressing the spines of a row of books.

“Now you know, don’t you, that you have to be very careful how you handle these books. People will generally want to look at them. Using the table is the safest way for them to do that. Dropping a book, even from a relatively low height can be disastrous for the spine.”

“How do you get so many books like this, Mr Horden?”

“Oh please, Ellie, call me GG. I don’t think I could get used to being called Mr Horden – ever! Everyone calls me GG so you might as well, too.”

“But I always call grown-ups Mr or Mrs – at least until I get to know them better. It might take me a while to feel okay about that, … GG”

“It doesn’t matter, really. It doesn’t matter. I suppose we will work it out soon enough. Now, the truth about my books is that mostly I buy them from catalogues. Sometimes I buy something I know a customer wants. Sometimes I buy because I want to see it. Sometimes I buy to keep myself. I get some books locally – usually when someone dies and their children clear out the house. But that is not very often.”

“And do you sell many of these special books?”

“Not really, I suppose. I just like having them on the shelf. Someone will come in one day and find something they have been looking for.”

“So which one is your favourite? Have you got a favourite?”

“Well the most extraordinary one I have at the moment is a facsimile edition of Shakespeare’s First Folio Edition. All 36 plays are in it and it has over 900 pages. Even though it is a facsimile it is over a hundred years old – here it is, just over here. Lift it out carefully and put it on the table.”

“Wow! It’s so heavy. We did a Shakespeare play last year – Twelfth Night – after we saw the Festival Performance of it. I find Shakespeare is much harder to read than listen to. When people say the lines well it makes so much more sense than when you try and read the words on a page.”

“I have never thought about it like that, but you are right, Ellie. If you look carefully at this you can see corrections that have been made to the text. When the printers set it up originally they made lots of mistakes, but it was too expensive to just make the whole page again, so they corrected the words in the margins. I know this is really a copy, but it is amazing to think that someone actually wrote those words on it to make it right.

“We have some other treasures here as well, but you can gradually get to know them. The other part of the job for you will be to help me out the back here when deliveries of books come in. We have some set things we have to do with each book – checking it for any blemishes or damage and then writing it in the catalogue, so that if people ask we can tell straight away if we have something.”

“Do you use a computer for that?” asked Ellie.

“Oh no, dear. Oh no. We haven’t done anything like that. I have both a big book with everything in and a card index – like the ones they have in libraries.”

“Like they used to have in libraries, Mr Horden. I remember when they changed our primary school library from cards to a computer. It is so much easier than cards.”

“Yes, but when the power goes off, what do you do then, eh?”

“But that hardly happens, even here in Quarabup. I could help you with a computer if you got one. I have one of my own at home. You wouldn’t need a fancy big one, I am sure.” Ellie was liking the look of this job. It seemed to get better with every new aspect of it.

“You’ll have to let me think about that for a bit, Ellie. When I get around to it, I am sure you will be a great help.”

The Best Laid Plans

“Mr President, are you able to advise Councillors on which occasions you have had meetings with representative of Spandos International, who those representatives were, and what was the main topic of conversation at those meeting?”

The Quarabup Shire Council was made up of seven members, six ward representatives and a Shire President. Sam Malone was Shire President and had held that office for six years now, following three successive election victories.

The three Wards of the Shire were represented by two Councillors, one elected each year for two years. In the early history of the Shire, Councillors generally were local farmers who wanted to have a say in how rates and other government funding might be spent on local roads and highways. These days most Councillors are on a political journey with the ultimate goal of candidacy for one of the major parties at a state or federal election. Local Government was a place to learn the skills of working the community and effective political influence.

Sam Malone was an operator.

Not only was he involved in every property and business deal that was going down in this small village, he had the charisma to get others in alongside of him, sharing some of the glory perhaps, but also sharing some of the blame if things went a bit pear-shaped. But they rarely did – go pear-shaped that is.

Spandos International came into the village a few years ago and started buying up any riverside properties as they came up, significantly inflating the prices so as to secure the sale, but also effectively scaring off would-be contenders for the properties. They weren’t locals, but the came in with flashy cars, stayed at the one resort Motel in the village for a few days, and then left until the next property came up for sale. No-one was quite sure how they knew when to call by, but it did not pass unnoticed that shortly after their first visit, Sam Malone upgraded his Holden Caprice for a black BMW.

Increasingly nervous residents of the riverfront watched as block after block around them was bought up and left to decay – no tenants, no renovation and not even any demolitions. They knew something was up, but had no idea what.

Then Spandos called a press conference in the Town Hall. They had architectural models and multi-coloured Planning Scheme type maps of the whole riverfront which was completely transformed into a gated canal estate with every block backing onto water with its own private landing. At the heart of the estate was an eleven story block of luxury apartments and short-stay hotel suites.

Country TV and the National broadcaster were there of course as was the crusty editor of the South Coast Tribune, Tony (Clark Kent) Cassidy. Cassidy had a nose for a good story, and when Spandos flagged the Press Conference he knew he had to be there. He brought a young cadet report with him – Sophie Jones. “Watch and learn,” he said to her as the announcements started. He noted with some interest that Sam Malone was hovering around the sidelines of this event with a really smug look on his face, and occasionally whispering into the delicate ears of crisply suited men from Spandos. Spandos had lodged formal applications for the Planning Approvals necessary to allow the proposed development, and wanted to assure the general public of Quarabup that the Development would provide a wide range of positive outcomes for the village – work, tourism and improved property values – and promised that if the proposal was approved by the Shire there would be additional benefits for the whole community at Spandos’ expense.

Inevitably, the next issue of The Tribune had a front page story voicing outrage at the proposal as completely out of character with the village. He even very carefully drew attention to the presence of the Shire President at the Press Conference, hinting at possible impropriety without crossing the line that would expose him and the paper to a defamation suit.

This was enough to fire up three of the Councillors who took it upon themselves to comb through the application paperwork that was in the hands of Council officials to see if there were any tangible links to the Shire President or Riverland Realty.

So it was, that at the end of the Public Question time allowed at the beginning of each Council meeting, Councillor Quartermaine asked leave of the Chair to suspend so much of Standing Orders as would allow the Council to consider a matter of public importance. The Councillors opposite Cr Quartermaine were usually allies of Cr Malone but they were sufficiently alarmed by the reports they had seen and were prepared to hear what was said. If it came to a crunch they could combine with Malone to defeat any action proposed.

There was some muttering in the Visitor’s Gallery of local residents as the Chair put the question. Slowly he reported “I think the ayes have it. Cr Quartermaine.”

Councillor began by dancing carefully around the events of the past week and the disclosure that a big international development corporation had plans to redevelop the riverfront land of Quarabup into a facility that was completely out of character with the town. Then he dropped his bombshell.

“Mr President, are you able to advise Councillors on which occasions you have had meetings with representative of Spandos International, who those representatives were, and what was the main topic of conversation at those meeting?”

Sam Malone had been prepared to defend the proposal in terms of the benefits it would bring to “Sleepy Hollow” as he sometimes condescendingly referred to Quarabup when he wanted to have a go at any who wanted to resist the development of the town. This question caught him somewhat off guard. He hesitated as he shuffled some of the papers in front of him, as if looking for a script to refer to. He looked up as if trawling through the recesses of his memory for a minute detail.

“Cr Quartermaine, I may have had a meeting some time ago, I can’t be more precise without my diary, but I am sure that if I did it would have been in the context of my business rather than as Shire President.”

There were audible gasps from the Visitor’s Gallery. Cr Muldoon interjected “That would be a conflict of interest, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, Councillor, it would be if a motion about the proposal was on the table, and should my business dealings with Spandos International become more substantial than mere questions of advice about property matters in this quiet village, such as asking me to act on their behalf in property matters, then I would be more than happy to declare that Interest should such a motion be brought before this Council.” As Cr Malone progressed through this statement his confidence grew. It was clear his mind had identified the pathway he would follow to navigate through this and come out unscathed, as he always did.

But Cr Quartermaine could sense the undercurrent of fear in his voice, despite that persona of confidence. He wanted an early wounding here, in what he knew would become a prolonged battle, for the Planning Committee was notoriously circumlocutory in the way they dealt with Applications. “So, Mr President, are you sure you only ‘may have had a meeting’ with representatives of Spandos. Sources I have tracked down have seen your car parked with out-of-towners, perhaps representatives of Spandos, on numerous occasions at the riverfront. Or is this just a coincidence?”

“Cr Quartermaine! You must understand that I deal with confidential enquiries from potential clients every day. Their business is not your business. Nor is it the business of all the members of the public who are gathered in the Visitor’s Gallery tonight. I can assure all Councillors that if and when the nature of my business relationship with Spandos reaches a point at which my Interest needs to be Declared, you can rely on me to do so.”

Someone in the Visitor’s Gallery called out “Answer the question, Malone!”

Sam Malone was in full combat mode now. “I would remind members of the public that it is a privilege to sit in the Gallery and observe the proceedings of this Council, but you are not entitled to participate in the proceedings. Any further outbursts like that will result in Council Officers being asked to accompany you outside and leave the meeting.” As he said this, he noticed for the first time Springtime Kestrel, leader of the cluster of ‘ferals’ that have occupied five old timber mill cottages on the western edge of the town. The mill relocated across town years ago, and Cannons abandoned the practice of providing housing for staff. They all had dreadies, coloured their hair green or purple, decorated their verandahs with strings of coloured Tibetan prayer flags and spent far too long lounging around smoking stuff that probably was illegal, but somehow never seemed to be.

Sam reckoned they were professional protesters – any environmental issue anywhere would see a busload of them drive off into the sunset for the next little challenge to the establishment. Whatever the establishment did had to be opposed by them, it seemed. No consideration of the public good of these proposals. No consistent ideology other than oppose everything that is modern. Sam had even speculated that they did not inoculate their kids like everyone else did and would prefer to take so-called ‘natural remedies’ from the bush than medicines that have been trialled and proven that they make you better.

The muttering in the Visitor’s Gallery gradually died down. Cr Quartermaine was not finished. “With respect, Mr President, the member of the public is dead right in asking that you answer the question. Your reassurances are all very well, but you have not answered my question.”

Sam stopped for a few seconds, as if he was deciding which way to jump. After what seemed like an eternity, he said, “As I go over this matter again in my mind, Cr Quartmaine, remembering that I do not have my calendar of appointments for work with me tonight, I would say that I might have had two perhaps three meetings with representatives of Spandos International which, although they were very informal, did ask general kinds of questions about the state of the property market in Quarabup, something I would remind Councillors that I have some professional expertise in, and seeking informal indications or opinions from me about the kinds of developments I thought, not as Shire President, would be likely to succeed and provide benefits to the whole town.”

This man will make a great politician one day given his ability to beat around the bush for so long and really give away very little – just enough to get the hounds off is back. At least that was what Sam was thinking to himself as the words rolled off his tongue.

“Thank you, Mr President,” responded Cr Quartermaine. “In view of your response, I wonder if you would tell me and other Councillors, then, exactly what you were doing in the Town Hall during the recent Press Conference called by Spandos International.”

Sam was hoping to avoid this. How was he going to make this look as innocent as possible? He knew he was treading a fine line between his role as a business man and as a Councillor.

“Councillor, I think at this point in time, in consideration of POSSIBLE commercial on confidence matters, it would not be appropriate for me to answer that question precisely. All I am prepared to say is that in the near future, when decisions are to be made by this Council concerning the development proposals being made by Spandos International, I expect that I will be required to declare an interest in the matter and abstain from the discussion of them. Beyond that speculative possibility, I am not prepared to make any comment.”

One of Sam’s allies sensed that it was time to set him free. “Mr President, I move that Cr Quartermaine be no longer heard.”

“Thank you Councillor. All those in favour? Against? Crs Knight, Robertson and Stewart being in favour, and Crs Quartermaine, Italiano and Muldoon being against, the Chair uses his casting vote to resolve the question in favour of the Ayes.

“The next item on the agenda…”

Hard Lessons

“Why aren’t you at school Greg?”

Eula knew that there was something significant behind his sullen look. It was not his usual adolescent pout.

“Reverend Mother suspended me, and I didn’t do nuthin’.”

School is full of ambiguities when you’re 15. Greg like the daily gathering with his mates, but apart for his practical classes and Prevo, from which he hoped to secure an apprenticeship as a motor mechanic, everything else about school was irrelevant.

“If you didn’t do anything, how come you got suspended?”

“The year 12s are getting ready for “Muck Up Day” next week. We wanted to join in a bit, and Matty had an idea. But I didn’t think he would bring some weed to school. Anyway, he got busted and we all got suspended.”

“I always thought Matty would come to no good one day. You have to be careful about who you have as friends.”

“Mum, Matty’s okay. He’s stupid sometimes, but he’s okay.”

“Except, now he’s in trouble with the cops, right?”

“Yeh, well …”

“So how long are you banned from school?”

“A week.”

“Well, there’s plenty of work for you to be doing at home. Don’t think you’re getting a holiday from school out of this.”

“Mum!? It wasn’t my fault.”

“I think I’ll trust Mother Superior’s judgement about that. Now you have a choice. You can help around here today or you can catch the bus home and get started in the garden.”

“I’ll catch the bus. Got some money for the fare?”

“If you’re going home, you can start working around the tomatoes. Tie up the sagging branches, refresh the mulch and pull of the dead leaves to put in the rubbish. That should keep you out of trouble for the rest of the day.”

Eula gave him $5. The dark cloud was almost visible over his head as he stormed off to the bus stop and waited. Life is not fair when you are 15. Grown ups expect you to do stuff on your own, and then when you do, you cop it.

When Greg got home it was 11.30, so he thought he would game for a while, then have some lunch and then do the work. The work wouldn’t take long, really.

His current obsession was Batman Arkham City. He bought the previous Batman game Arkham Asylum but he got this for his birthday.

What he liked about Arkham City was that he could go wherever he liked in the City, not just where the game wanted him to go. At every turn there seemed to be a challenge or a challenger. He especially liked the underground stuff – tunnels, sewers, all sorts of crazy places.

The combat in Batman Arkham City is addictive and a lot of fun. Greg could even provoke fights just to build up his combat score, even though they were not part of the mission. Greg loved the adrenalin rush of the game and when he was playing he lost all sense of time.

Not surprisingly, he emerged from his room at 3.30 realising he had not stopped for lunch and he still had the work to do in the garden.

He quickly cut what could only be described as a hunk of bread, plastered it with peanut butter and honey, and got a bottle of Coke. This was as good as any lunch a 15 year old could want – yet there was so much pressure to eat other things. He sat on the back verandah to eat this while he got his head out of the game and into a plan to make it look like he had been working all afternoon.

There were at least 50 tomato plants in a patch 15 metres square. They were grown in rows along fence-like trellises and his job was to tie them up so that the lower fruit would get the sun, and remove the dead leaves and put them away for burning. He had been doing this job since he started school. He could almost do it with his eyes close. But he would have less than 5 minutes per plant before Mum and Dad came home from the shop. And he had to tease up the mulch so make it look like had fixed it. He could do it!

It was actually a glorious day to be outdoors – clear skies and warm air, but not so much sting in the sun as to make it uncomfortable. By the time he was onto his third plant, Greg had taken off his tee shirt. Even though this was a punishment, something about working with his hands rather than his head was very satisfying for Greg. He decided that he would do each plant and the ground around it all in one go, rather than doing the tying up and stripping of old leaves and then do the mulch – he felt like he could just keep on moving that way.

By the time he heard his parent’s car crackle up the gravel driveway he had just five plants to go. He had become quite grubby from the work, his hair was sodden with sweat, and he gave all the impressions of having started as soon as he got home on the bus at 11.30. Despite his sense of satisfaction, Greg, maintained something of his hostility over the so called punishment. It could be valuable later.

Alfeo had only heard about the problem at school second hand so he wanted to get to the bottom of it. When Greg finished and came in to wash up, he was standing in the kitchen preparing the side dishes for dinner. “When you have cleaned up, come and help me finish this,” he said as Greg ambled by, snatching another Coke from the fridge.

Eula was making some small pizzas for primo tonight. Her favourite was Margherita – simple clean flavours and colour. Five years ago a local farmer had started a herd of water-buffalo with a view to providing the restaurant trade with genuine mozzarella cheese. These gave the whitest of white cheese for the Margherita. Homemade tomato sauce as the base and torn basil leaves completed this classic from their home town, Naples. For secondo there would be a rabbit alla cacciatora. The rabbit and its tomato sauce had been gently cooking in a crock all day.

By the time Greg returned, Alfeo had finished a salad of finely slice fennel and Spanish onion topped with balsamic and extra virgin olive oil. He had some yellow and green peppers. Greg could slice these while they talked. “What happened at school today, mate?”

It’s amazing how much a good workout in the garden can clear the head after the adrenalin had been pumped up so much by getting suspended from school – even when you’re fifteen. “It all started out okay, Dad, and if we had stuck to our first plans, none of this would have happened. But Matty really wanted to get Mr Walters. He reckoned he could plant something in his office that would really embarrass him – we thought he meant he would leave a note or something – but he brought some dope to school and said he could plant it in his desk.”

“It’s one thing to be nasty, but that was illegal. Didn’t he think of that?”

“When he showed us the stuff, we all thought it was pretty cool, but then Jarrod and me got pretty worried about if we got caught. So I guess we all looked pretty guilty when we were seen heading for Mr Walter’s office. Matty went in to plant the stuff and then Mr Walters came round the corner. We couldn’t warn him, and then it was obvious that we were all in it together.
“We all got hauled down to Mother Superior’s office. They took Matty in first, and we had to wait for ages. Next thing a copper came into reception and went into Mother Superior’s office. Then Matty’s Mum came and went in too.

“Then Mother Superior came out on her own and told us to go with Mrs Johnson who would talk to us one by one. I didn’t know what to say. I started to make stuff up, but it only made it worse in my head, trying to work it all out, so I told exactly what had happened. It didn’t help much. Matty got expelled and we all got suspended for a week.”

“Sounds to me like you had a lucky escape, mate. What if Matty had made you all take some of the dope? You’d have been in the lock-up till I came and got you.”

“I know Dad. I guess it was pretty stupid and I suppose a week is a fair cop.”

That seemed to be the end of it. Alfeo knew that Greg had learnt a big lesson. He didn’t need to drive it home. It was time to enjoy dinner together.