by Di Morrissey
Lydia opened her mouth, but closed it as Johnson pressed on. ‘Now, it is evident to me that your people will listen to your advice, but I think we need to find a way to modify that advice in such a way as to benefit everyone.’
‘And how would that be?’ asked Eddie noncommittally.
‘What I would really like is a vote from all of the Aboriginal community in the region regarding my project.’
‘Won’t get my vote,’ said Arthur.
‘Possibly not,’ said Johnson, scratching his beard. ‘But what I am asking is that you cast the net more widely. To include the New Country Leadership Trust in the decision-making process. You two are in a position to make that possible. I assume you are in favour of a democratic approach to resolving the issue.’
‘And how do you propose making this more democratic?’ asked Lydia tightly.
‘Perhaps we could set up an Aboriginal advisory body to help guide your community. You could head it, Mr Kana, to make sure we’re doing the right thing.’
‘But the right thing is being done,’ said Jacqui indignantly. ‘Eddie and Arthur already represent the views of their communities!’
Johnson ignored her and continued. ‘We are talking about a thirty-five-billion-dollar project of which 1.65 billion would go to the advisory body, to be distributed as you see fit.’ He paused. ‘Of course, we would not expect the advisory body, whoever it may be, to make this effort without some sort of financial recompense. Perhaps you fellows could act as a go-between and we could pay you a consultant’s fee. Does one hundred thousand sound reasonable?’
There was a pause. Finally, Arthur spoke. ‘That’s a whole lot of money. Never known someone to have that sort of money,’ he added dryly.
‘Mr Johnson, when you fellows decided on this idea, did you think it would be easy to come in and just start work on our country?’ asked Eddie in an even voice.
Johnson gave a slight smile. ‘Actually, no one expected the Aboriginal people to be quite so resistant. But needs must, eh? Think of the future for your communities with such a bankroll.’
‘That is what we’re doing, Mr Johnson,’ said Eddie.
‘You don’t get it, you guys, do you?’ said Lydia, shaking her head.
‘I am the senior law man of my people,’ continued Eddie solemnly. ‘And I am expected to make decisions which are in the best interests of my people. You want others, who will not be affected by what you do, to make decisions that will change our land forever. What you are asking me to do, I cannot. What’s goin’ on here is simple: if this hub goes ahead, you’ll be destroying not only the sites of annual ceremony for my mob in the Kimberley, but also one of the last remaining and beautiful ancient sites in the whole country.’ As Eddie slowly rose from his seat, Jacqui looked furiously over to Cameron, but Cameron’s eyes were fixed on Eddie. ‘I want to thank you for asking us to this very nice restaurant,’ Eddie continued. ‘But there’s no way I can accept your hospitality. Good night.’ With great dignity, he started to walk away.
Arthur and Lydia followed him in silence. As she got to her feet to follow her friends, Jacqui said softly to Cameron, ‘I can’t believe you would go along with this idea.’
Before Cameron could answer, Jacqui turned and hurried after the others.
*
The next morning was hectic, but Jacqui was getting used to the media people, who seemed to run at high speed, chasing deadlines and time limits. Now she felt more confident about giving a harried producer the big picture of what was happening in Broome, summing up the background of the situation, summarising the effects and consequences while stressing the importance of Eddie and Arthur’s roles, as well as suggesting a few other talking points, all in five minutes flat.
She noticed that now, when Lydia was interviewed, she was dramatic but succinct. Arthur spoke with a dry sense of humour, while Eddie always spoke passionately from the heart.
Jacqui and Lydia were pleased with the coverage they’d got during their short stint in Perth, especially as a photo of Eddie and Arthur had made the front page of a national newspaper that morning.
Straight after their breakfast TV appearance, the two men had taken a taxi to the airport. Jacqui and Lydia had decided to go separately so that Jacqui could stop by Damien’s to drop off the crabs she’d brought for him.
‘You sure you can get in if he’s away?’ Lydia asked.
‘Rita probably won’t be there yet, but I think I know where the spare key is. Damien mentioned where it was, once, in case I ever needed it.’
The building was quiet and locked up, so Jacqui pulled the key from under the pot plant, which was just where Damien had said it would be. She carried the small styrofoam box containing the crabs into the kitchen.
She quickly realised that the box wasn’t going to fit in the freezer compartment, so she rearranged some pizzas and took the frozen crabs out of their box. After wedging them in, she was relieved to find they fitted, and slammed the door to be sure. She pulled out the sticky note she’d written telling Damien what she’d done and stuck it on the fridge door.
As Jacqui walked past the stairs towards the front door, suddenly she heard someone coming down the stairs. She spun around, her smile fading as she saw Damien in his underpants, brandishing a metal tripod above his head.
Instinctively, she screamed and folded her hands over her head to protect herself. Damien swore as he lowered the tripod.
‘Jacqui! What the fuck . . . ?’
She reached for him, laughing with relief. ‘Oh my God, you scared me. I thought you’d still be away. I’m sorry to startle you, but I’ve left you some . . .’
There was an unexpected rush of footsteps on the stairs, and a familiar voice called out, ‘What the hell’s going on? Damo . . . ?’
Jacqui looked up and was shocked to see a dishevelled Rita standing on the stairs, holding a towel around herself.
‘Back upstairs, Rita,’ Damien snapped.
Then he took a step towards Jacqui, his face twisted in a mixture of pain, pleading and a half-smile. ‘Jac, what’re you doing here . . . ? Why didn’t you text me?’
‘Why? You said you weren’t going to be here. I thought I’d drop you in a couple of mud crabs.’ Jacqui tried to choke back the tirade of angry questions that threatened to boil up out of her. ‘Has she always been here, Damien? Was I just a –?’
‘Jacqui, listen to me. Things just happened, it doesn’t mean anything, it was just a crazy night. Things wrapped up early and we were just celebrating. You know how it is . . .’
‘Don’t bullshit me, Damien.’ She turned and headed to the door.
‘Jac, come back . . . Look, it’s nothing, we can sort this out . . .’
She slammed the front door behind her and flung herself in the back seat of the taxi. Lydia took one look at her friend’s anguished face and pulled some tissues from her bag.
‘Airport?’ asked the driver.
‘Yes please, driver. Oh, Jac, what happened?’ Lydia asked grimly.
‘He was in bed with Rita,’ said Jacqui dully, feeling numb.
Lydia’s face fell. ‘Men can be such bastards.’ She swept Jacqui into an embrace. ‘You need a hug. I’m so sorry this has happened to you. Bloody hell.’
As the taxi took off smoothly, Jacqui buried her head in Lydia’s arms and let the sobs pour out of her.
During the flight home Jacqui was silent. She tried to read but found herself staring at the empty sky, feeling hollow, emptied out. Lydia occasionally patted her arm and asked if she wanted anything.
But then, as the plane descended, Jacqui saw the familiar colours of the Kimberley, that incredible aqua sea and the spine of red cliffs. Behind her Arthur turned to Eddie.
‘There’s our country, brother. Still there, waiting, eh?’
‘Been there long time, bro. Good feeling, eh?’
&nbs
p; Jacqui turned to Lydia. ‘I’m glad to be back here. It does feel like home.’
They separated from the men at the airport. But Lydia insisted Jacqui stay at her place.
‘Just for tonight. I don’t want you to be on your own.’
‘Thanks, you’re right. I don’t think I want to be on my own just now either. I am never going to allow myself to get hurt again. Ever. Stupid me.’
‘No – sweet, loving, kind you. Let’s go straight to my place, I’m ready for some home cooking. I think you should stay with me for a bit.’
Lydia shared her large house with her sister, nieces and nephews plus granny, and it was always overflowing with family, visitors, their dogs, a cat and the children’s friends.
Jacqui sat amid the happy chaos as food, friendship, laughter and teasing were shared around a big table outside. The warmth of Lydia’s multicultural family washed over Jacqui, soothing her like a balm.
That night, she shared a bedroom with five-year-old Jasper and Bullseye, a large shaggy dog with a black eyepatch. As if sensing her sadness, the dog had snuck onto her bed and, giving her arm an affectionate lick, had stretched himself against her back, a protective and loving presence through the night.
The Broome morning was clear and blue. Lydia and Jacqui sat sipping mugs of tea.
Lydia reached out and patted Jacqui’s hand, then waved an arm across the sunlit scene. ‘Hey, sister, look, it’s a “bran nue dae”, eh?’ She grinned appreciatively. ‘That clever Jimmy Chi.’
They both smiled.
‘Yes,’ said Jacqui. ‘It is a new day. Thank you, my friend.’
*
Jacqui helped Wally into her car, put the basket of food and drinks on the back seat, and got in the driver’s seat. She turned to Wally.
‘So, my dear friend, where are we going today?’
Wally gave her a smile. ‘I’d like to go up to The Point and say g’day to the mob holding the fort out there. But I know that’s too hard right now.’
‘Yes, you’re right. The earth-moving equipment is there now, it got through because of all the police support, but everyone is still supporting the camp, and, if anything, it’s bigger than ever, so it’s still a stand-off.’
‘That big concert still going ahead? I’d like to see it.’
‘Yes, Lydia has been amazing, getting so many big names to give their time to our cause. Lots of people will be there, for sure.’
‘If we can’t go to The Point, let’s go to that special place I showed you, at the beach. Sure you’ve got the time to take me out? I don’t want to upset your routine.’
‘No, Wally, it’s okay. Saturday afternoon is always quiet in the shop, and Sylvia will be fine on her own. So, Cable Beach secret spot, here we come.’
Jacqui was also pleased that she had something pleasant to fill her time that afternoon, so she’d stop thinking about Damien. Every time she thought about what had happened, she became angry, so it was nice to have a diversion.
She parked her car close to a grassy area where there was a table shaded by a couple of trees. The spot overlooked the extraordinary sweep of white sand, where a line of small compact waves rolled towards the beach. A scattering of people dotted the sand, while others were in the water. Further along the beach, towards the Cable Beach Club, people were picnicking on the beach, or eating at the casual café high on the shore near the car park.
‘This is such a magical place, you wonder what the tourists must think of it. How lucky we are – we can enjoy it every day. But we can never take it for granted, can we, Wally?’
‘You know, Jacqui, if it hadn’t been for old Lord McAlpine, this beachfront would have been ugly high rises. But that man saved the town, reinvented it. He saw the value of the town’s past. Eddie’s grandfather had a lot of influence on him.’
‘Well, good on Eddie’s grandfather, he must have been a wise old man. I knew about Lord McAlpine,’ she said, thinking back to her presentation on the Kimberley Sun. It seemed like years ago. ‘But I didn’t know Eddie’s grandfather was just as important. Leadership runs in the family, obviously.’ Jacqui looked out at the serene beach that she had so come to love, before turning back to Wally. ‘What other news do you have? How are your stories coming on? You still writing things down?’
‘Yep. My son brought some boxes from the old place. I’ve got so much material! There’s even an old movie,’ he chuckled.
‘Really? What was that all about?’ Jacqui handed him a sandwich.
‘Ah, some fella, forget his name, did a documentary for some museum. I’d forgotten all about it, till now. It’s in an old rusty tin, probably no good anyway.’
Jacqui was thoughtful as she poured tea from her thermos. ‘Sounds intriguing. Maybe you should have it checked out.’ She was about to say that Damien would probably know someone who could do that when she remembered that there was no more Damien. She lowered her head so that Wally couldn’t see her eyes filling with tears, and then her phone tinged. Welcoming the distraction, she picked it up to check her email message.
She read it quickly. Then read it again. Slowly a tear rolled down her cheek. Then another.
‘Jacqui, love. Is everything okay?’ Wally leaned over and touched her arm.
‘Oh, damn him,’ she sniffed.
Wally peered at her, still gripping her arm. ‘Who, love?’
‘My ex-husband. Jean-Luc’s father. He’s just sent me an email, didn’t even bother to ring, saying he’s decided to cancel my son’s next visit out here. Says he’s moving Jean-Luc to a new private international college in Montpellier and he thinks the trip to Australia will be too disruptive to his studies. What a ridiculous excuse. I don’t believe it for one minute.’
‘Oh dear, that’s just terrible. I know how much you look forward to having your boy here. Can you visit him?’
‘Yes, but if I go to France, I always feel so under the family’s thumb. We won’t have the freedom we do here. Anyway, I’m not sure I can afford the time or the money at the moment.’ Jacqui flung her head back as she cried. What else could happen to her? First the mine, then Damien and now Jean-Luc.
‘Oh dear. He’s a lovely boy, he did enjoy it here. What are his studies? He couldn’t study out here? Good schools in Perth.’
‘His father expects him to be well versed in French culture and only a French education is suitable. His career is mapped out in his father’s view. My son will be expected to go into the family business – a winery. You know, Wally, when I came here I thought my life was settled, that I’d found my place, but I suppose life is never perfect, is it?’
They sat in silence for a few moments, Wally slowly chewing his sandwich. Finally he said, ‘Depends what you call perfect, Jacqui.’
At this moment, there didn’t seem much else to say.
9
It was a time when Jacqui just wanted to escape and, at least for the moment, not face the realities of her world.
She felt overwhelmed by everything. Her home was threatened, her lover had cheated on her, and now she was being denied her son. The contents of the curt email from Jean-Luc’s father, simply announcing that this was how things were going to be, was typical of him. No discussion, no consultation, no respect for Jacqui’s role as Jean-Luc’s mother. As it had always been. And since Jean-Luc’s French grandmother had died, his father had been in total control of the family and the business, and had become even more firmly autocratic. Jacqui almost felt sorry for his long-suffering girlfriend. Apparently her husband had divorced her, but Jean-Luc’s father still refused to marry her. While his mother had been alive the girlfriend had not moved in with him, but possibly with Jean-Luc soon heading to boarding school, she might now be accepted into the family. Jacqui had no doubt her ex-husband had not relinquished his philandering ways, either.
Jean-Luc had rung her immediately after his father had told hi
m of his decision that trips to Australia would be out of the question for the moment. Jean-Luc was very upset.
‘Maman, I love going to Broome to stay with you. I have so many friends there, and it is so sad that I won’t see them again for many years. Could you not persuade Papa to let me visit in the school holidays?’
‘Oh, Jean-Luc, I’ll try. Of course I want you to come out here, but your papa seems adamant. But I promise you I’ll do what I can. And, on my side, I will try hard to arrange some time in France to be with you. In the meantime, have fun at your new school and make the most of the opportunities it will give you.’
‘I know. I’ll try. Papa keeps telling me what a very good education means for my future. But Maman, I so look forward to seeing you and being over there each year. It just won’t be the same.’
‘Look, Jean-Luc, just work hard at school and make me proud of you. I promise I will speak to your father.’
‘Papa doesn’t really understand my life over there with you. He never asks about it, though sometimes I think he listens when I tell my friends about camping on the beach, going to the bush with Riley Mathieson, and of course Peggy! How she is so naturelle, so unlike the girls here. And I told him how you are fighting a big corporation to save the beautiful north-western coast, and the Aboriginal heritage . . .’
‘Yes, such things are certainly not your father’s cup of tea,’ said Jacqui dryly. No wonder his father had reacted so badly. When they’d first met, he’d appeared so sophisticated and charmant in the suave French manner, but she had swiftly discovered he was terribly wary of all things that weren’t French and anything that he couldn’t control. While she thought Jean-Luc’s father was behaving unreasonably and selfishly, she also realised that it was a time to tread carefully.
‘You can’t blame yourself, Jean-Luc. Your father really does have your best interests at heart. But I will think hard about what to do next.’
