by Judy Nunn
Four months later, Jim McAllister was diagnosed with a highly invasive cancer, which, by that time, was inoperable. Another month later, he died. But Jools had been wrong about one thing. Jim McAllister had known his days were numbered, and had had no wish to extend his life.
'I don't need someone else to give me the news, Mike,' he'd said when Mike had honoured his promise and suggested his father see a doctor. 'I'll go when my time's up, and that won't be long now. It's unfair on your mother, I know – for her sake I should try and hang around longer, but I have no desire to.'
Mike had been shocked by his father's obduracy, and even more so by Jim's refusal to share the knowledge of his condition with his wife. 'She'd want me to opt for surgery, and I don't relish the thought of being carved up like so much meat on a butcher's slab. A man's never the same afterwards. My father never was.'
'Procedures have changed a lot over the last forty years, Dad.'
'Oh yes, I'm quite aware of that. But it's my decision. Death's a personal thing. You must promise not a word to your mother.'
Mike had respected his father's wish, saying nothing, and Jim McAllister had remained uncompromising to the end. He'd continued as normal, never confiding in Maggie until his final collapse and hospitalisation. Mike had considered his father's exclusion of his wife of over forty years a selfish act, and he'd wondered, even as he'd mourned the man who had been his hero for as long as he could remember, whether perhaps the trait was genetic.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sally Jordan slammed the latest edition of The Bulletin down on her desk and gave a hoot of triumph.
'That'll get them where it hurts,' she said out loud to herself.
Sally now worked for the West Australian and she'd been covering the select committee inquiry into the government sale of the Midland Abattoir and Saleyards, but had been frustrated by her editor's firm directive. 'Just the facts, Sal, report the findings, nothing more. You're not there to draw conclusions.'
Well, she bloody well should be, she'd thought, she was an investigative journalist, for Christ's sake, and the whole thing was as dodgy as all get out. But Sally couldn't afford to lose another job so she'd done as she was told and toed the line. For the moment anyway. Her time would come.
The local media in general seemed hesitant to pass judgement on the abattoir sale, Sally had found, either as a favour to Burke or because they were intimidated by him, she wasn't sure which. As for the Premier himself – well, that was a different story. There was nothing hesitant about Brian Burke. In true arrogant style, Burke continued to thumb his nose at the select committee, openly scoffing at its findings.
'Try scoffing at that, you smug bastard,' she said as she looked at the magazine sitting on her desk. 'WA Inc won't get out of this one in a hurry.'
WA Inc was the commonly used journalistic term that referred to the state government's dealings with private businessmen, and Sally was only too delighted that its latest outrage had been exposed for the whole country to see. The 2 September issue of The Bulletin had painted the larger picture in all its true colours, she thought with satisfaction. The iceberg was finally emerging. Brian Burke's government was in trouble.
The private sale six months previously of the government-owned Midland Abattoir and Saleyards had led to an outcry from members of the opposition, and also from a number of Perth businessmen, in particular the highly respected Ric New, a leading figure in the state's commercial life.
The abattoir and saleyards sat on twenty-nine hectares of prime industrial land situated near Ric New's Midland Brickworks, and had been sold for a fraction of the site's true value. The buyer, Peter Ellett, had proved to be a former employee of New's, and the sale had been conducted in secret, no tenders having been provided for other interested parties. It further materialised that the government had been aware from the outset of Ellett's intention to build a high-technology brickworks on the site, in direct competition with his former employer.
Many amongst the opposition saw the government's actions as a direct attack upon Ric New, who was not only well known as a loyal Liberal supporter, but who had loudly condemned the Burke Labor government's blatant appeals to businessmen for financial support. Burke was out to get Ric New, they said.
The Legislative Council had appointed a select committee to carry out an inquiry, the opposition maintaining that the sale had been illegal, and the situation had been steadily snowballing ever since.
'Listen to this, Spud. Just listen to this.' Ian Pemberton burst into Spud's office waving a copy of the latest Bulletin.
Realising that he had no option, Spud settled comfortably back in his chair.
'More than bricks are flying in a heated political row in Western Australia involving a number of the state's leading personalities,' Ian read, with a significant look to Spud, who just shrugged. 'What might well have passed off as simply a property sale by the WA Development Corporation, a state government instrumentality, has over the past six months evolved into a formidable challenge to the Burke Labor government's credibility, with the potential of blowing up into a major political scandal.'
'So?' Spud said when Ian dumped the open magazine on the desk in front of him.
'What do you mean "so"? We're talking about The Bulletin, Spud! And The Bulletin's intimating that this brickyards fiasco could bring down the state government.'
'Bullshit. Brian knows what he's doing, he's got it all in hand.'
Spud had great faith in Brian Burke, they'd become good mates. The bloke had balls, he thought. He admired the way Burke was standing his ground and telling everyone to go and get fucked. Good for him! But Pembo was after reassurance, as always.
'C'mon, mate, you know the story,' Spud said. 'The site was sold to Ellett in good faith and for a good purpose. The state needs an alternative brickworks! Brian's sticking to that and they won't be able to prove otherwise. Now stop worrying, and let me get back to work.'
Spud refused to discuss the matter any further, and Ian left with dire misgivings about the whole predicament.
Those in the know didn't believe for one minute the argument put forward by Brian Burke and his newly appointed Minister for Agriculture, Julian Grill. The two maintained that a cartel had been set up to create a monopoly on the production and distribution of clay bricks in Western Australia. The government sale of the abattoir site to Peter Ellett for the sole purpose of creating fresh competition, they said, was for the good of the state. But many saw a more sinister purpose in their claim of a cartel. Brian Burke and Julian Grill were out to besmirch the good character of Ric New, a highly ethical business-man and one of the state's principal brick manufacturers.
The situation continued to career in a series of dangerously lunatic directions. Peter Ellett's criminal record was revealed, a Liberal backbencher on the select committee had his car sabotaged, and the committee chairman claimed that witnesses had been pressured by the government. Finally, in October, one thousand citizens petitioned the Governor. Things were definitely getting out of hand.
But Brian Burke remained defiant throughout. He launched a scathing attack on the Legislative Council, bringing the two houses of parliament into direct conflict, and he openly dismissed the inquiries as 'a waste of money'.
It was eventually decided that the select committee's findings were of insufficient substance, and in November the sale of the abattoir site to Peter Ellett was announced legal and formally registered.
A storm ensued. On 3 December the opposition moved that a new select committee be formed to inquire into allegations of government impropriety. But the motion was defeated. Burke had triumphed.
'What did I tell you?' Spud laughed.
Ian Pemberton breathed a massive sigh of relief. Brian Burke's Labor government was their nest egg. They were too involved with Burke and too reliant upon his favours to see him topple.
America's Cup fever once again consumed the nation, and as the new year of 1987 dawned, the host city Perth and its port
of Fremantle became the focus of world-wide attention. People flocked from interstate and abroad, the streets bustling with the rich and famous, accommodation at a premium. Luxury hotels were booked out by politicians and sports stars and Hollywood actors, all paying exorbitant amounts, and the mere average mortal found that even the cheapest motel or boarding house had quadrupled its rates.
'Bloody good for business,' Spud said as he and Ian drove at a snail's pace through the crowded streets of Fremantle on their way to the marina. 'Everyone's making a bundle.'
'And we might well be left with a string of white elephants when it's all over,' Ian replied dourly, looking at the endless array of new and refurbished shops and restaurants, bars and cafés.
'Yeah, the old Freo's had more than a facelift,' Spud agreed, 'she's had the full makeover. Let's just hope it pays off and we win. If we keep the Cup, Freo'll go the way of Newport, Rhode Island – we'll be the yachting centre of the world.'
But the Australians didn't keep the Cup. On Wednesday, 2 February, in the final of four hard-fought races, Dennis Conner skippered Stars & Stripes to victory, defeating Iain Murray's Kookaburra III and sweeping the series. The Americans had unequivocally reclaimed the Cup as their own.
Pity about the businesses that were bound to go broke, Spud thought, but he wasn't too worried himself. He'd bet hugely on the Yanks to win.
*
'What a bummer about the Cup, eh?' Muzza said, brush poised over the canvas, eyes flicking to Mike then back to the painting.
'Ah well . . .' Mike shrugged. 'The best man won. Conner and his team were magnificent.'
Mike had finally and reluctantly agreed to sit for the portrait Muzza had been nagging him about for years. 'You drop in most weekends anyway,' Muz had said, 'you might as well let me daub away while we chat.'
Knowing how restless Mike became under scrutiny, Muzza kept up a chain of conversation to maintain his interest, sometimes about things that held little appeal for him personally. Such was the case right now. Muz didn't care one iota about the America's Cup. Spud had invited him to join the gang aboard his corporate launch for the series, but he'd declined, saying that wheelchairs and boats didn't mix. 'Even wheelchairs and bloody great gin palaces like yours, Spud,' he'd said with a laugh, no dig intended. 'I'll watch it on the telly.' But he hadn't. Murray Hatfield was perhaps the only person in Perth to whom the America's Cup was simply another yacht race, and yachts were of no interest to him. If it had been cars . . . well, now that would have been a different matter.
'So was Spud slitting his wrists?' he asked as he worked on the perfect arc of light that was hitting Mike's left cheekbone. God, it was a strong face, he thought.
'No way. In fact, he seemed to expect defeat right from the beginning. Of course, come the fourth race, we could all see the writing on the wall, but Spud wasn't fazed for one minute.'
'He probably had money on the Yanks.'
'Probably,' Mike agreed. They both knew Spud well.
'How's Allie? Looking forward to fourth year?'
Muzza noted that Mike was getting fidgety and Allie was always a sure-fire topic, he'd found. Having come close to topping her course three years in a row, she was an inordinate source of pride to her father. 'She's a brilliant student,' Mike would boast. 'So committed! Incredible in one so young!' It always made Muzza smile. 'I wonder where she gets it from,' he'd say.
But today, Mike's response was far from glowing.
'She's sleeping with her bloody boyfriend,' he growled. 'At least, I'm pretty sure she is. Jo won't talk about it, and she refuses to ask her outright. She says that if Allie's having an affair, she'll tell us when she feels the time's right. And of course I can't ask the kid myself – that's a mother's job, for Christ's sake.'
'Well, she's not exactly a kid any more, is she? I'm sure Jo's is the way to go,' Muzza said diplomatically.
Allie was nineteen years old and she'd had a steady boyfriend for the past six months. Losing her virginity was a fairly natural progression in his opinion.
'Has she said anything to Olga?' The thought suddenly occurred to Mike that perhaps she had. Olga had become Allie's true confidante.
'Wouldn't have a clue, mate.'
The lie came easily to Muzza. Any confidence Olga and he shared remained strictly between the two of them and he felt not a vestige of guilt as he concentrated his brush upon the light in the eyes, which had suddenly taken on a whole new meaning.
'She shouldn't be distracted from her studies.' Mike frowned. 'Besides,' he added with a touch of petulance, 'I don't like the young bloke she's seeing.'
Muzza couldn't help himself; he burst out laughing. 'Is there a young bloke you would like?'
The predatory passion of Mike's youth was coming back to haunt him, he thought. Mike, of all people, would know the sole motive uppermost in the mind of every young man confronted by a girl like Allie.
'Give her a break, Mike,' he said reasonably. 'She's fought them off for long enough, and she's got a regular bloke. Nineteen must be some sort of record in this day and age.'
But when it came to his daughter, Mike appeared to have lost his sense of humour.
'I don't think it's a laughing matter, Muzza,' he replied.
Muz backed off. He put down the paintbrush – time to call it a day, he thought – and changed the subject to Pembo's forthcoming party, which, rather than the Cup Celebration originally intended, had now become a Cup Commiseration.
'Spud says it's just an excuse for another lavish Pemberton Peppermint Grove piss-up,' he said. 'I wouldn't know myself, I haven't been to one, but I gather Arlene's big into entertaining these days.'
But Mike wasn't prepared to be mollified, and when he left ten minutes later, he was still a little terse. 'I'll see you at Pembo's on Saturday,' he said.
'Rightio, see you at Pembo's.'
Muzza wasn't particularly bothered, it would all blow over, although he supposed he shouldn't have laughed. Mike's behaviour was that of the stereotypical father: overprotective and convinced that no man was good enough for his little girl. But if the bloke only knew it, he had nothing at all to worry about. Muzza couldn't tell him that though. He'd be betraying a confidence if he did.
'I'm not in love with Greg,' Allie had told Olga, 'and I'm quite sure he's not in love with me. Well, he's in lust,' she'd admitted, 'but that's a bit different, isn't it? Anyway, I thought it was time I lost my virginity. I seemed to be the only one in my whole year who hadn't.'
'Are you on the pill?' Olga, as always, had cut right to the chase.
'Oh yes, of course.' Allie hoped that she hadn't sounded overly clinical, she hadn't meant to. 'Don't get me wrong,' she added, 'Greg and I really do have something going for us. We're in the same year, and we both love uni. We help each other with our work, and we even vie for who's going to top the course. We share a lot more than sex. It's just . . . well . . .' She shrugged. 'Just not the right time to get serious, you know?'
'Yes I do, and I think you're being very sensible. Have you told your mother yet?'
'No, but Mum knows. What's more, she knows that I know she knows.' Allie laughed; her rebellious attitude towards her mother was a thing of the past. 'We have this unspoken language, Mum and I. She probably even knows I'm telling you. In fact, I get the feeling she wants me to.'
'Why the subterfuge, then?'
'I don't want it out in the open because of Dad, and I think Mum knows that too. She's keeping him at arm's length, acting as a buffer, which is really great.' Allie paused thoughtfully, she enjoyed baring her soul to Olga. 'It'd worry Dad if he knew I was having an affair – not just in your run-of-the mill protective-father way – it'd worry him that I might lose focus on my career.'
Was that the true motive for her silence, Allie wondered. She wasn't sure herself. She only knew that she didn't want things to change between her and her father.
