‘Yes, but a very serious-minded eleven. She was invited to the Conservatorium after her last music exam to play for them in their early-talent-spotting program. They were sufficiently impressed to say that she might qualify for a place in the Conservatorium when she’s fourteen.’
Danny was suddenly furious. ‘Jesus, Helen, now you tell me! How long have you known about this? You, above all people, know I’ve had long-term plans for their swimming!’
Helen remained calm; she knew the signs all too well. ‘If her heart is elsewhere, she won’t make the Olympic squad anyway. They may be twins but you know how different they can be. Samantha is determined to win three gold medals. Now she says she promised Sammy she’d do it for him. Gabrielle has her head and her heart in music. Danny, can’t you see? She’s only swimming to please you.’
Danny shook his head. ‘Christ, I dunno, a man does his best and —’
Helen became angry. ‘Danny, stop that! You’re not to become depressed, get into one of your sloughs! The twins have always responded to you. What other kids do you know who have been out on the harbour at dawn since they were tots, rowing like galley slaves? They never complained. Then swimming training every day after school . . . they accepted it all without ever whingeing. And why? Let me tell you why, Danny Corrib Dunn. Because they love and adore you! Now one of them shows a different talent – you might even say a splendid talent, one that’s beyond your experience, one you can’t personally manage – and you throw in the towel. So, are you going to deny Gabrielle her moment in the sun?’
Danny, furious, bit down on his reply. His mind was racing. He could almost see what was to come if he persisted – Helen had enough steely resolve in her not only to resist him, but also to beat him. If he insisted on Gabby continuing her swimming training, he’d have Helen to contend with, and if Gabby didn’t win a medal or even get selected at seventeen, she’d have missed her chance at the Conservatorium. Shit, shit, shit! There go the glorious headlines! This had been his dream since the twins were born – twin gold. He’d dreamed about it and would happily have waited seventeen years for his moment in the sun, and made whatever sacrifices were required so his girls could compete for Australia as he might have done.
‘They weren’t treated like galley slaves,’ he said darkly, getting abruptly to his feet. If he stayed a moment longer he was going to find himself in a row – a big one! ‘I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough bullshit for one night!’ He stomped inside, thinking there had to be something wrong with her logic. Didn’t she realise that he was potentially sacrificing his political career on her behalf? Bloody women – they wanted everything and they were still not satisfied, tearing your children out of your arms. So much for a decent, honest dream, a nice harmless ambition; two gold medals out the window, just like that. Christ, it wasn’t a lot to ask, was it? Bloody violin, the same bloody scales played hour after hour. What was the point? Danny was thoroughly cheesed off. First Brenda, then Helen; he’d spent his whole fucking life with women who didn’t know their place. No wonder Half Dunn had expanded like a Michelin balloon – he’d buried all his resentment in fat!
Feeling a bit better after his grumble, he cleaned his teeth and climbed into bed. Then he realised he hadn’t kissed the sleeping twins. No, bugger it – he’d only kiss Sam; bloody Gabby didn’t deserve a kiss. Where’d all this music crap come from, anyway? As far as he knew, nobody in the family could even play the comb and paper. And how much had the bloody violin cost! It wouldn’t end there, no way; next thing she’d be demanding a bloody Stradivarius or whatever it was called. Then he told himself he’d take back what he thought about Gabby letting him down. Bloody Helen was right: Gabby wouldn’t make the squad if she didn’t give it everything. She was already a foot behind Sam in the pool. He jumped out of bed and went through to the twins’ room. He kissed both of them lightly on the forehead and immediately felt much happier. Bloody hell, he’d apologise to Helen in another lifetime – or in two days minimum. That was the best he could manage. He flopped back into bed and fell asleep.
Danny’s candidature was announced on a Monday, hit the media on Tuesday, and on the Wednesday Franz strolled into Danny’s office after lunch and perched on a corner of his desk, shoving the clutter of manila folders and red-taped briefs to one side. ‘How do you ever find what you’re looking for in this bloody mess?’ he asked.
‘I don’t,’ Danny replied. ‘The beautiful Keri does. If she ever left, my part of the firm would collapse in a mountain of brown manila and red tape.’
‘Got a minute?’ Franz queried.
‘Sure, what’s up?’
‘Dad’s in my office; he’d like a word with you.’
‘Of course! Glad to see he wants some credible legal advice.’ Danny rose, laughing.
‘No, no, stay. Sit. I’ll bring him in.’
‘Anything I should know?’
‘Nothing he won’t tell you himself – he doesn’t confide in me.’
Danny stood as Josef Landsman entered, and extended his hand. ‘Nice to see you, sir.’ He indicated one of the two chairs in front of his desk. ‘Please, won’t you take a seat?’
‘Ja, thank you, Danny. You are well?’
‘Thank you, yes.’
‘Do you want me to stay, Dad?’ Franz asked.
Josef Landsman turned slowly to look at his son. ‘Of course.’
Franz seated himself beside his father.
‘What can I do for you?’ Danny asked, his voice warm.
Josef Landsman drew back with a look of mock surprise, his cheeks slightly puffed. ‘For me, nussing; for you, maybe somesing, eh? Danny, everyone was watching what you did ze uzzer night to announce you going to stand Independent. Ja, das is goot.’
Danny grinned. ‘Not much choice; I can’t stand for the Labor Party.’
‘Ja, this I understand. Myself, in Germany I was Social Democrat.’
‘That was the equivalent of what? The Labor Party?’
‘No, for that zen you must be communist. More like Liberal Party here, maybe also a little bit za right-wing Labor.’
‘I never thought of you as a Liberal, Mr Landsman.’
‘Ja, when we came to this country, maybe yes, Mr Scullin, zen Mr Curtin and Mr Chifley, for zem I can be Labor; but what we got now here in zis place – rubbish!’
‘My dad has always said your loyalty is to yourself; you vote for outcomes, not for parties,’ Franz explained.
‘Ja, das is goot, Franz, for your conscience you must vote.’ He turned back to Danny. ‘I am a plain man – I don’t beat about za trees. You have thought maybe change to Liberal?’
Danny was taken aback and looked quickly at his partner. Franz threw up his hands. ‘Don’t look at me, mate, I’m just as surprised as you.’
‘Ja, such things, when you talk zey fly like za butterfly out the window. Franz, he doesn’t know nussing.’
‘Well . . . I must say it comes as a bit of a surprise. Franz must have told you, I’m a Labor man, born and bred.’
Josef shrugged, spreading his hands. ‘Ja, of course, before, but now, after what happened, maybe not?’
‘Well, you’re right in one respect: I’ve burned my bridges with the Labor Party.’ Danny grinned. ‘They’d pre-select Genghis Khan before me, which is why I’m standing as an Independent – might even win, at a pinch – but there’d be a lynch mob after me if I stood for the Libs.’
‘Acht, politics! What is the difference? Let me tell you, my boy, Hester and me, ja, now we are Liberal, but next time, who knows? Maybe we vote Labor. First principle politics, all parties when they come to power they revolutionary, they make changes, everything is good, so again we vote them, next time not so good, bit scandal, bit corruption, bit, how you say . . . ?’
‘Complacent?’ Franz offered.
‘Ja, complacent. Maybe again we vote them. Now they forget why they there, forget the
people. They become corrupt, they don’t care, they become . . .’
‘Reactionary?’ Franz offered again.
‘Ja, exactly, now it is past zat time when they must vamoose. Now is time for change, bring in revolutionary party. In zis country, right now, zis moment, ja, revolutionary is Liberal Party comink from Mr Bob Askin in za next election. If you want, you can change things; now it must be za Liberal Party.’
‘Goodness, Liberals revolutionary? That’s a turn-up for the books. I’m not at all sure Bob Menzies would be pleased to know he’s a revolutionary.’ Danny paused, thinking. ‘Could be awkward, Mr Landsman. In Balmain, Liberal is a dirty word.’
‘Ja, of course, this is why we are talkink now, when comes 1965 maybe they are thinkink little bit different in Balmain.’
‘If they were, it would be the first time in a hundred years. It’s not about thinking differently, it’s about thinking in the first instance. It’s a year since the Riley conviction, and at the time the media was all over us like a rash and couldn’t get enough of the government corruption it revealed. But nothing has changed and they voted Labor back in for the seventh time! Balmain has voted Labor since the party was formed and the party has been throwing shit at it from the start – coal mines, power stations, chemical factories, soap factories, foundries, marine workshops – most local kids have chest infections and snotty noses, the air above Balmain is perpetually foul and the water lapping its shores is the most polluted in the entire harbour. Franz here calls it a cesspool and he’s not far wrong. And still they voted Labor.’
‘But only by eleven votes,’ Franz reminded him.
Josef Landsman nodded. ‘Ja, peoples. What are they sayink? The more I see peoples, zen the more I am lovink mein dog.’
Danny, wanting to change tack, now said, ‘I had no idea you were actively involved in state politics, Mr Josef.’
Josef Landsman drew back in horror. ‘No, no, after Germany, never!’
Danny looked at Franz, bemused. ‘Then why this invitation to join the Libs?’
‘Ja, mein goot friend, also yours, Mr Bryan Penman, he comes to me and says, “Josef, Bob Askin, he would like to meet Mr Dunn. Maybe you could arrange? Maybe also dinner some place where nobody is seeink? Mr Penman house maybe, yes?’
Danny thought for a moment, wishing Helen were with him to act as a sounding board, then decided to have a bet each way. ‘Mr Josef, this comes as something of a surprise. I’d like to think about it, then hear what Mr Askin has to say. I’m sure Helen and I would be delighted to invite Mr Penman, Mr Askin and his wife – and yourself and Hester, of course – to dinner, preferably this coming Friday night.’
‘Thank you, Danny, I will tell.’ He balanced a brown paper carry bag precariously on a pile of files. ‘Some nice cheeses, also bratwurst, compliments Hester. Guter appetit.’
Bob Askin was impressive for his ordinariness. He’d slowly risen up the ladder of Liberal politics by starting as president of the Rural Bank Association. Danny and Helen found his approach clear, honest and direct. He didn’t make excuses for losing the last election: ‘The politics of governing are learned through practice; we’ve simply been in the doldrums too long. Institutions and business are accustomed to Labor and they’ve made their arrangements; they know what to expect. But sooner or later smugness and apathy, the inevitable result of being in power too long, begin to affect them, corruption becomes apparent, and business and institutions see themselves as being tarred with the same brush. The public finally begins to take notice.’
‘I always thought it was the other way around – the public grew weary of the government and threw them out,’ Danny said. ‘Are you saying it’s the big end of town that decides?’
Askin was careful with his answer. ‘Government, any government, has to work with business, the people who run the other side of things. If the two work together, the state is usually in good shape; if they’re at odds, things start to fall apart and that affects jobs, housing and ultimately the utilities – roads, hospitals, transport . . . that’s when people power comes into its own.’
‘What are you saying – the people are a last resort?’ Helen asked.
‘No, of course not, but it might be true to say that people find out last. Half the effort of any government that has overstayed its term goes into closing down information, in effect, keeping the media barons on side. If they turn against you and go to the people, then the rest, as they say, is ancient history,’ Askin replied.
‘Well, in this state there’s just a handful of media organisations, but I should think only two that truly matter: Fairfax and Packer,’ Franz said.
Askin leaned back in his chair, hands spread wide. ‘That’s about it. If you don’t have at least one of the big two, it makes it damn near impossible to win.’
‘And the next election?’ Helen asked.
‘Ah, that’s entirely different – jobs for the boys, corruption, incompetence, backstabbing, faction fights and plain old lassitude, the business of taking things for granted after more than two decades in office – that’s when we’ll be able to count on the support of the media . . . well, at least one of the big two, anyway.’
‘What about policy, something people can hold on to?’ Danny asked.
‘To be truthful, this is really the first opportunity my party will have to use the media to publicise our policies,’ Askin said.
‘And the Liberals now have such media backing?’ Bryan Penman, who had been quiet all evening, now spoke.
‘Yes, Sir Frank Packer of Consolidated Press; that means Channel Nine and the Telegraph are on side for the 1965 elections.’
‘Danny, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, you’re a media dream. You’ve been a lone drummer beating a march against corruption without ever appearing to be a crackpot. Our investigations show that you have gone to court pro bono on countless occasions for battered housewives and children; you exposed the slum landlords and the corruption of the council and Labor politicians; the people in the street love you; you didn’t put a foot wrong in a tough media confrontation; your war record is exemplary; your time in a prison camp shows you know how to work with people, take charge, take the lead and take responsibility; you’re a team player and your belated decoration is proof of your valour. Finally, the Labor Party has reason to hate you. It’s everything we could hope for in a Liberal candidate.’ Askin paused, and looked at Helen. ‘And Dr Dunn, your wife, is also greatly to be admired for her work in the field of academia. The two of you make a formidable and, we believe, winning combination.’
Helen winced as she realised that her role in these grand plans would be as Danny’s handbag. If this were the case, she intended being a crocodile-skin grip with a sharp snap, at the very least.
Askin paused and looked around, a boyish grin on his face. ‘There, I can’t remember ever having pissed that deeply into anyone’s pocket. Well, not since my last meeting with Sir Frank, anyway.’
The dinner table erupted in laughter and this last admission probably did more for Bob Askin’s credibility than the somewhat overblown praise that had preceded it.
‘Bob, Helen and I live here and have no intention of moving, but to stand for the Liberal Party would be tantamount to suicide in Balmain.’
‘Oh, of course! We understand. The idea would be to find you a safe seat somewhere else. Just agree to come on side and leave those details to me.’
Danny glanced over at Helen, hoping to get some unspoken reaction. In a barely noticeable gesture she lowered her eyes and shook her head. They were in agreement, so there would be no argument later over the decision he was about to make. ‘Bob, while I am extremely flattered by your invitation to join and your offer of a safe seat, I am a Balmain boy and I am to be judged by the promises I make to my own people. I sink or swim by what they decide.’
Askin was silent, his chin on his chest. ‘That is disappointing,
truly disappointing, Danny. If you change your mind, will you let me know?’
‘Of course, and thank you, Bob. Thank you also for your candid and open briefing, especially your willingness to accept Helen and me into your party. I regret I can’t accept and I assure you what has been said here tonight won’t go beyond this room.’
Askin was doing a fairly good job of hiding his annoyance. ‘Danny, you must understand any power you will have as an Independent will be minuscule; you will simply be a spare part in the engine room of politics.’
‘Then we must hope that the engine might have occasion to break down once in a while,’ Danny replied.
Askin paused. ‘Pity. You would have been good – all the makings of a minister, in which case the things you want to achieve become a lot easier.’
After the last of the guests had departed, Helen made Danny a mug of Milo, their usual bedtime drink. ‘Darling, I couldn’t have said it better, but I’m not sure we made a friend of Mr Askin. Do you think that part about being a minister with the power to change things was shorthand for “don’t expect any help from us”?’
Danny laughed. ‘You know what I kept thinking when he made the offer?’
‘What?’
‘That if I accepted a safe seat I’d be corrupted even before I got into parliament.’
‘Looks like a rocky road down Brokendown Street, mate.’ Helen sighed. ‘Do you think we’ve done the right thing?’
Danny grinned. ‘Growing up in Balmain, you start negotiating with the big boys in the playground in primary school, just to be allowed to eat your own sandwiches. The trick is to get elected; after that, I’ll have to learn how to negotiate eating my own sandwiches with the people who run the show.’
‘You’ve positively made up your mind, haven’t you?’ Helen asked one last time.
‘Not to be a politician, but to be someone who brings about change.’
Helen knew that look. Danny’s next obsession was building faster and faster. He had always been his own man – in a sense, always an independent – he would make it work; he always did.
The Story of Danny Dunn Page 50
