LITMIR.BIZ

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Her shift was sticking to her in the heat.

      ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Alessa, where are those bathers?’

      ‘Helena’s room, third drawer down,’ she said, and glanced up at her sister. ‘Try not to mess anything up in there. Helena likes to keep it neat.’

      Cressida gritted her teeth. ‘Of course.’ When her sister said something like that it made her feel like going in and doing exactly what she’d said not to, while also dropping a couple of her earrings in the nearest tray of cat litter for good measure. She wouldn’t, of course. But it felt good to think it.

      There was the heavy slam of a car door and Helena appeared at the back gate wearing a trilby with her leopard-skin scarf tied over it and down under her chin. She was carrying a long black case that looked like a violin, along with a plastic bag of shopping. She murmured hello and kept going. Cressida followed and found her standing on the other side of her bed, looking flustered.

      ‘What’s that?’ Cressida said, standing in the doorway.

      Helena looked down at the plastic bag on the bed.

      ‘That? Nothing. Just a few bits and pieces. Alessa and Felipe said they were going for a jog. I thought all of you would be out.’

      ‘In this heat?’ she said, noticing something long and thin in the plastic bag. ‘Wait, is that … since when did you play baseball, Helena?’

      ‘It’s not for that,’ Helena said, grabbing the bat. ‘It’s just, well, you know … Cressida, there are looters out there. Police everywhere. The alarm system’s not working. We need to be safe.’

      ‘Oh Helena,’ Cressida said, walking round to her side of the bed and taking it from her. ‘You’re completely safe. We’re all here, for goodness sake. What else have you got in there?’ She opened the plastic bag. Inside were two small black and white canisters, some D-bolts, something that looked like a torch, and a kilo of chops.

      ‘But what if they have guns?’ Helena said. ‘Marjorie down the road told me that number 52 got broken into. They cleaned the place out. No-one was home, thank goodness. But it … it worries me.’

      Cressida pulled out the torch.

      ‘Where did you get all this stuff?’ she asked, digging through the bag. ‘Helena, that’s what the door locks are for.’

      ‘Wellington Surplus on Carrington Street. They took cash. Don’t touch that,’ Helena said. ‘It’s a flashlight with 2.5 million volt stun gun. They smashed their sliding door, Cressida. With a tyre iron they found in the back shed. I have a right to take precautions.’

      Cressida squatted down beside the bed. The long black case was under it.

      ‘And what is this?’

      ‘Nothing. Oh, don’t look. It’s better if you don’t. Please,’ Helena said, putting her face in her hands. Cressida pulled out the case and opened it. Inside was a rifle.

      ‘Helena. How did you get this? You have to take it back.’

      ‘No,’ Helena said. ‘I used Leo’s … Leo’s clay target licence. It’s the only one they would give me. I wanted a handgun, but you need a different permit for that.’

      ‘A handgun. Helena, are you out of your mind? The few people that get killed in home invasions are the ones that have the guns. Everyone knows that. And if the other guy has one, you have three times the chance. Or something.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Why did they let you have this? You didn’t …’

      Helena grimaced and nodded. ‘Well he did make me power of attorney.’

      ‘You’re telling me they let you buy a gun as someone’s attorney,’ Cressida said. ‘That is the nuttiest thing I’ve ever heard. Helena. I mean it. You need to take it back.’

      ‘Cressida? Did you find the bathers?’ came Alessa’s voice from the hallway. At the look on Helena’s face Cressida shut the case quickly and slid it back under the bed. ‘Just about to,’ she called out, standing up. ‘Take it back, Helena. Or else I will,’ she said quietly. More loudly, she said, ‘What a good idea, Helena. We’ll fire up the barbie. Give me those chops and I’ll put them in the esky.’

      9

      Head still pressed against the headrest, Robert opened one eye at a squint and found the clock on the dashboard between the adjacent hulking shoulders of the pilots. Twelve more minutes, going by what they’d said earlier when he’d managed to be heard asking across the scream of the engine. Surely he could hold out for that long. He had given up trying to speak to his ever-present security detail in the next seat, concentrating instead on his breathing and trying not to let loose the fist of panic that was welling in his throat. He had always hated flying, and helicopters were a whole extra layer of nightmare. Whenever he and Colin had holidayed anywhere, the trip had only been accomplished with twice as many Serepax as the label directed and sustained administration of the drinks trolley. And he wasn’t above holding Colin’s hand on takeoff either, or at least hooking a foot quietly round his ankle if the nearby seats were full. But it was Sunday, and he hadn’t seen Colin since the corridor outside COG two days ago, and this contraption was a long way from Emirates business class. He’d tried focusing on the horizon, thinking perhaps looking off into the distance would help. It didn’t; the horizon’s relentless bucking just made him feel sicker. Away from them stretched vast tiered mounds of grey and yellow earth, the trucks moving across them only just visible, kicking up dust soundlessly as if he was watching a silent movie. He’d never been to the state Resources Minister’s electorate, and he could see why. It was fucking miles from anywhere, and mainly dirt.

      Finally they lowered to the earth and with desperate fingers Robert unbuckled himself, his palms slippery with sweat. Inside the aircraft hangar the air conditioner hit him like a blow. Ah. Power. He nearly collapsed on the cool concrete there and then, wanting to be enveloped in its icy body hug. But you couldn’t do that when you were Premier. You could barely do anything. His phone rang. He checked the screen. Carl, the state Energy Minister. He pressed.

      ‘Bob. You nearly here? Julie’s rung three times already.’

      Robert turned to Damo.

      ‘How long?’

      ‘Eighteen minutes, sir.’

      ‘We’ll be there in twenty. Well,’ Robert corrected, glancing at Damo, ‘eighteen.’

      ‘There’ll be a coldie waiting for you.’

      The mood was sombre when he arrived in the vast farmhouse dining room. The state Resource Minister’s personal property had become a de facto safe house of sorts, with easy access by air an hour from Sydney in an area still with power, and plenty of room in some pimped up shearers quarters for the various Cabinet members. Security had of course tried to convince them all to stay in that sweaty bunker below Parliament House, but as he walked in he was annoyed to see that the Deputy Premier, Michaela Flanagan, was present, together with two junior members of his Cabinet whose names eluded him. They were all gathered around the microphone implant in the middle of a vast timber dining table. As he approached, Carl simultaneously dialled a number on the pad next to it and handed him a long-neck. Robert took the drink and nodded to those assembled, sitting down. The phone picked up.

      ‘Julie,’ Carl said, leaning towards the speaker. ‘You there, mate?’

      ‘I am,’ came the Minister for Home Affairs’ rounded vowels. ‘As is Mr Royce,’ she added. ‘So we’re just waiting for Josh.’

      ‘Yes, the treasurer will be here in a minute,’ said the Federal Minister for Resources. ‘How’s it going over there?’ He chuckled. ‘Brings a whole new meaning to keeping the lights on.’

      Robert’s phone pinged and he looked down at it.

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