Flashback

by Helen McKenna

  ‘Boo! Boo! Boo!’ chorused a gang from the back section.

  ‘Greedy land grabber!’ bellowed a man in the second row. Heavily built, bearded and dressed in King Gee work clothes, to Max’s eye he looked the type who enjoyed this kind of civil protest.

  A young woman standing at the side started a chant. ‘Go away! Go away! Go away!’ It was soon accompanied by rhythmic claps and foot stamping.

  Max shook his head, amazed at the ignorance of these people. He wasn’t suggesting a Vegas style casino or a brothel, just a luxurious resort.

  Reclaiming the microphone, Jim held it near the amplifier, causing an ear-splitting electronic shriek. The hall gradually fell silent. Jim spoke again, now with no need for the microphone. ‘We all feel very strongly about this, but in the tradition of a democratic society let Mr Walton speak.’

  Max took the microphone again. ‘Please just hear what I have to say,’ he began, ignoring the few diehards who continued to boo.

  Jim held up his hand and the noise trickled to a murmur.

  ‘I know you feel very attached to the beach house and you’re right, it is a beautiful building. I want to assure you that it won’t be demolished, just moved to another site right here in Sunset Point.’

  ‘Yeah, to a scrubby block near the highway with no view,’ said an elderly woman in the front row. Max stared at her in surprise. She looked like such a frail old thing. He was glad her words couldn’t be heard over the increasing volume of conversation returning to the room.

  Gamely he continued. ‘You have to understand; the way it is now it is only accessible to a small group of people each year. With the resort I’m proposing, this wonderful site will be available to hundreds at a time. And don’t forget the people staying there don’t just spend money on accommodation; they spend it in your shops, your cafe and your cinema. It means your town can expand and grow.’

  ‘We don’t want it to grow!’ yelled a middle-aged man from the fifth row. ‘We like it just as it is! We don’t need city problems up here.’

  Max shook his head. ‘There doesn’t have to be city problems. We’re talking about modest growth. This is motivated by a genuine desire to help your community.’

  The audience erupted again. ‘Come off it,’ yelled the same man, ‘it’s motivated by money and greed. We’re not just small-town hicks without a clue.’

  This time the microphone on the amplifier had no effect and Max was booed off the stage.

  • • • • •

  Two weeks later in the Brisbane office of news magazine The Queensland Reviewer, Jessica Stanton sat at her desk admiring the beautiful bouquet of flowers just delivered to her colleague Vanessa. ‘You’re so lucky Ness,’ she said, trying to keep the envy out of her voice. None of her boyfriends had ever done something so romantic for her.

  ‘I told you he was perfect,’ Vanessa said as she inhaled the scent of the pink and white roses. Picking up the florist’s card, she read aloud, ‘Budding Blooms. Hmm, I’d heard they do fabulous arrangements. Weren’t they mentioned in a story we did recently?’

  Jessica nodded. ‘Yeah, it was one of mine. They did the flowers for that society wedding, you know Amanda McMillan-Byrne and William Ashton?’

  ‘Oh yeah. It was at Mt Tamborine right?’

  ‘Uh huh. The bouquets and centrepieces from Budding Blooms were so exquisite that I interviewed the florist as well and did an extra piece about her.’

  ‘I don’t remember reading it.’

  ‘Grant hasn’t run it yet,’ Jessica said.

  ‘Well, I think I’ll keep their card. I might need their services in the not-too-distant future.’ Vanessa smiled dreamily as she reached for the vase on top of the filing cabinet.

  Rolling her eyes, Jessica turned her attention to the memo the editor-in-chief Grant Morris had deposited in her in-tray ten minutes earlier. It was her new story assignment: Landmark legal case in the works for small coastal village of Sunset Point.

  Jessica sighed inwardly as she eyed off the attached pile of printed pages. Grant loved extensive background information and he always questioned his staff to make sure they’d actually read it.

  With nothing else pressing to finish for the day, Jessica decided to make a start on it before heading over to Indooroopilly. It was late-night shopping and she’d arranged to meet her sister so they could buy their mother’s birthday present.

  Turning off her computer to avoid distractions, Jessica leaned back in her chair and began to read the background synopsis.

  Sunset Point is a small town on an undeveloped section of the central Queensland coastline. Featuring a popular swimming and surfing beach, the town, with a permanent population of around three thousand, is flooded with holiday makers during the summer months and school holiday periods. A beachfront caravan park/campground and several small beach shacks cater for holiday visitors.

  The other landmark of Sunset Point is a heritage-listed Queenslander known locally as “The Beach House”. Set on what is considered to be the finest piece of land in the town, it was built almost 100 years ago by Clem McMaster, a local sawmill worker, after winning the lottery.

  Jessica paused in her reading and studied the exterior photos of the house. It was indeed a beautiful old building. She could imagine holidaymakers relaxing on the veranda enjoying the cool beach vibe while their beach towels hung drying on the wooden railings.

  I haven’t been to the beach in ages, she thought. I might head down to the Gold Coast this weekend. It’s still a bit too cold to swim but I’ll go early and have a nice walk and … Realising she was daydreaming she shook her head and turned her attention back to the pages in her hand.

  Clem’s eldest son Richard inherited the house and initially it was a private holiday retreat but was later converted into a health resort for the wealthy of the day. On Richard’s death, ownership of the house passed on to his only son James, a man of vision who was cynical about the class structure that still existed in twentieth century society. Although born into wealth – thanks to his grandfather’s careful investments – James felt restricted by wealth and the associated expectations of society. Determined that the beach house would not be an exclusive domain of the wealthy, James opened it up as a regular holiday rental.

  Glancing at her watch, Jessica noticed it was almost five o’clock. Her workmates were starting to pack up, including Vanessa with her huge bunch of flowers. She should get going too. But now she was this far into her reading, she may as well finish before she left. Waving goodbye to her colleagues, she slid off the uncomfortable shoes she’d been trying to wear in for the past week and continued reading.

  Critical of the trappings of the modern world, the only conveniences James allowed in the house were a radio and a telephone, ruling that no television or any kind of stereo system was ever to be installed. Further clauses were added by the beach house committee (see note below) as technology developed to also prohibit the internet, iPods, MP3 players, any portable video and DVD players, PlayStations and other portable gaming devices and laptop computers.

  James never married nor had any children, so he willed the house to the town of Sunset Point. However, in order to maintain ownership, the house could never be sold or removed from the site, nor the land subdivided. The aforementioned conditions instigated by James also needed to remain intact. The rental income from the property was to be divided among approved local charities. A management committee, with strictly regulated membership, was formed to oversee the house and to ensure that James’s wishes were upheld.

  Jessica turned the page but the back of the paper was blank. Annoyed she shuffled through the pages in her in tray, but the rest of the information wasn’t there either. Knowing Grant would still be in his office, she made her way down the hall.

  Grant looked up as Jessica appeared at his door. He checked his watch and shot her a quizzical glance.

  She folded her arms. ‘Yes, I know it’s after five and I’m still here – that deserves some brown
ie points, doesn’t it?’

  Grant shrugged. ‘I guess so. You came down here just to tell me that?’

  ‘Of course not. That background info you gave me about the beach house story, there’s some pages missing.’

  ‘I’m still reading it myself,’ Grant said, holding up a few sheets of paper. ‘I figured I had at least until tomorrow before you got around to reading the first part.’

  Jessica came in and sat down. ‘I had a few spare minutes so I thought I’d get started on it today and I hate leaving things half-read. I’m just up to the part about the committee.’

  ‘Intriguing story, isn’t it? Not your average small-town-versus-developer scenario.’ Grant raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

  ‘No, it’s way more than that. But you left me hanging. What happened with the committee?’

  ‘Well, the committee, a group of upstanding local citizens, has done its job excellently for the past twenty-five years without any problem. The community is happy, the people who stay in the house are happy.’

  ‘So what’s the angle? How can this developer even mount a court case?’

  ‘Ah, this is where it gets a bit murky. Their local council was amalgamated two years ago. So now their former mayor, who is very conservative, is just one of fourteen councillors on a much larger regional council. And the new mayor is very pro-development.’

  ‘What about the heritage listing?’

  ‘Well, because he’s promising to move the building fully intact to another site in the same area, it’s not an issue.’

  ‘How did this Max guy even find out about the house?’

  ‘Apparently, his car broke down and he spent two days in Sunset Point waiting for a new head gasket. So he did some exploring and cast his developer’s eye over the house site and adjoining blocks. His expensive legal team then found him a loophole in the regulations – the local council, which is now the regional council, has the discretion to modify the ownership clause in extraordinary circumstances.’

  ‘How is this extraordinary?’

  ‘Two of the amalgamated shires had fairly major debt and one of the former mayors was deposed for embezzlement just before the election. The sale of this land would make a fair hole in their budget deficit.’

  ‘What about the adjoining blocks? Can’t he buy them instead?’

  ‘Yes, possibly, but they aren’t worth much without the beach house site. It’s got the access and the beach frontage. This resort he’s planning is huge and he needs all the land.’

  ‘So now it’s going to court and you want me to follow the case?’ Jessica asked, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of her by-line appearing on something that was sure to capture a lot of public attention. This was the kind of story that could get her noticed. After almost a year working here Grant was finally giving her something exciting to write about.

  Grant held his hand up in a calming gesture. ‘Hang on there Jess. Yes, you can do the court case, but I want to set the scene first. We ran a brief filler piece last fortnight that also ran in the New South Wales and Victorian editions. I’ve had a stack of emails, letters and phone calls from people who’ve stayed there and they’ve all got a story to tell. So I want you to interview five of them and see what comes up. They’re all surprisingly passionate about saving the house.’

  Jessica nodded and took the pile of printed pages Grant handed her. As she got up to leave she paused and asked, ‘I get how they can block the internet by not having any kind of modem or wireless set up in the house, but how can you stop people taking their laptops, iPods or PlayStations?’

  ‘Ah, young Gen-Y Jessica, we can survive without technology you know,’ Grant said with a smile. ‘Apparently they use the old-fashioned honour system. Obviously they can’t search people’s belongings but each tenant is asked not to bring those items and on arrival the real estate agent reminds them again of the house rules. Maybe it’s like the old adage that if you do cheat then you’re only cheating yourself.’

  Jessica, who was very attached to both her laptop and iPod, raised her eyebrows. ‘How so?’

  ‘Read the emails and my phone call summaries and you’ll start to understand.’

  Jessica took the pages back to her desk but set them aside. She would humour Grant and do the human interest stories, but her first priority was getting some background information on Max Walton. Then when she wrote about the court case, the thoroughness of her research skills would be evident. That was the kind of thing major daily newspaper editors looked for in their staff.

  Turning her computer back on Jessica logged onto the internet and googled “Malton Construction and Development”. Scrolling through the numerous pages returned by the search she felt a frisson of excitement. This thing was going to be big. Max Walton was a heavyweight in coastal development and he wasn’t afraid of controversy. He’d already won two lawsuits against local governments that had tried to block his construction projects in their areas.

  Clicking on a link Jessica looked at a photograph of Malton’s newest resort in Western Australia. It was magnificent but according to the caption not entirely welcome. Apparently the town of Moon Bay had also been divided about whether it should go ahead. Jessica scribbled the name in her notebook. She’d have to find out what their local paper was called and look up some story clips. Hopefully it would give her some ideas.

  Grant stopped at Jessica’s cubicle at six thirty carrying his briefcase. Totally engrossed in an article about Max’s last court case, she jumped in fright when he spoke.

  ‘Jess, you know I love a dedicated worker but I don’t want you walking to your car in the dark by yourself.’

  Jessica bookmarked the web page and hit the hibernate key. ‘Yes I know, safety first. In any case I’m supposed to be at Indro now, selecting my mother’s birthday gift. My sister will kill me for being late.’

  Grant held the back door open and Jessica walked past him into the almost empty car park. Waiting while she unlocked her car, Grant checked his phone. ‘My wife just texted me to say that if I wasn’t home in twenty minutes the dog was getting my dinner,’ he said, before dropping his Blackberry back in his pocket.

  ‘I hope the traffic’s not too bad then,’ Jessica said before throwing her bag on the passenger seat.

  ‘Me too. If that mutt gets lasagne and I’m stuck with beans on toast I won’t be very happy.’

  Jessica paused for a moment, standing between the open car door and the driver’s seat. ‘Thanks for walking me out. You get here about seven most mornings don’t you?’

  ‘I do indeed, sometimes a bit earlier when we’re on deadline. Should I expect to see you here early too tomorrow?’

  She nodded. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’

  • • • • •

  Almost a week later, Jessica finalised her list of interviewees. It had taken longer than she planned to sift through the emails and call summaries to determine which ones to use. Frankly she thought Grant was putting too much emphasis on this angle rather than backgrounding Max Walton and his development empire, but she had to keep him sweet or he might put someone more experienced on the court case.

  Just play by the rules Jessica, she kept reminding herself.

  Sitting in Grant’s office, she waited impatiently as he examined the list. He had the ability to read through pages of information without showing any change in facial expression, so she had no idea what he was thinking. Eventually he looked up and nodded encouragingly.

  ‘Good work, Jess. I like the mix of backgrounds and it’s a nice even timeline.’

  ‘Well, that just kind of fell into place. I wasn’t really aiming for any particular era. But I think it would be good if we ran them in sequence.’

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ said Grant. ‘But what about the interstate ones? Phone interviews? Or are you going to Skype them?’ he added with a touch of sarcasm. Grant had no problems with using technology, but he did think that sometimes the younger staff relied on it too much, rathe
r than developing more intuitive journalistic skills.

  ‘No, it’s all old school, face to face, and it’s not costing you much at all. I managed to work them into my Melbourne trip.’

  ‘Trip?’

  Jessica swallowed her impatience. ‘I’m going to Melbourne for a wedding. Remember I asked you for next Friday off? I’ll need the Monday and Tuesday too now so I can come back via Sydney.’

  ‘Right, right, sure I remember and yes you can take the extra days. That’s good if you can do it that way.’ Grant paused for a moment. ‘This is a pretty big task Jess, are you sure you’re up to it? We can divide the interviews up if you want.’

  Jessica shook her head. There was no way she was letting anyone muscle in on this assignment and potentially steal the story of the year. ‘No, no it’s fine. I don’t mind doing some extra hours.’

  Grant eyed her curiously. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘I must say I’m glad that you seem to have lost your aversion to human interest stories. Like I’ve told you numerous times already, journalism is not always about the big headlines.’

  Jessica smiled benignly, desperately hoping she looked sincere. ‘What can I say? You’re right again boss.’

  Kate - 1991

  Kate Green added another fancy swirl to the elaborate doodle she was creating in her notebook. It was one of her best yet, taking up almost half a page. Turning the book on its side she was eyeing her work of art critically when she heard her name called. Flinching, she cast her eyes to the front of the classroom, mortified to have been caught daydreaming.

  The blackboard was covered in writing and diagrams, but gave no real clue of the question she had just been asked.