The Reluctant Doorkeeper Trilogy

10. Day 19

Benign post-dawn light bathed the deserted street and a sea breeze sustained shower-cool skin as Emma walked briskly towards the bay, resolved to reach beach and boardwalk before other residents stirred. The early hour bothered her, for if she were spotted by police or community safety officers, how could she rationalise taking a short cut when the market remained closed? The train station and bus stop were in the opposite direction and she wore clothes more suited for an office job than negotiating soft sand; a deliberate ploy in case Cal took her to Ritchie Brothers’ premises later in the day.

He had woken her at five, the pulsing of her bedside device penetrating her mind, despite a subconscious desire to continue dreaming. Concerned that the caller could be a government official, she had answered at once.

‘Callum Ritchie from Ritchie Brothers Markets here.’

‘Good morning, sir, how can I help you?’

‘I need immediate secretarial assistance and in view of ongoing portal disruption, I thought it best to call direct.’

Charlie’s mentioned my employment idea, she thought, irritation fading at the prospect of paid work. ‘Is advertising copy involved?’

Charlie’s mentioned my employment idea,‘We can discuss the details later. Are you available for interview today?’

‘Yes, sir. At your premises?’

‘No, I’m not there at present. Meet me at the Boardwalk Café in forty minutes.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

Following the call, Emma had pondered the urgency of Cal’s request. His officious tone implied someone else was in the vicinity. Dugald hovering nearby, or someone sharing his bed? She knew nothing of his personal life, but calling before dawn suggested he was either still at home or sitting at the station awaiting a shipment of fresh produce. A job with Ritchie Brothers Markets now seemed doubtful, her hopes quashed the moment he’d mentioned the boardwalk. Pushing disappointment aside, she’d hurried into the bathroom for a quick shower.

* * *

Cal was waiting for her at the edge of the boardwalk and whistled a greeting as she stooped to remove her sandals before crossing the beach. ‘Stay there,’ he called, walking towards her.

‘What’s the urgency?’ she asked as he drew near. ‘Or do you always interview potential staff at six in the morning?’

‘I misled you on that score. Sorry. The job is for real, just unofficial. If you decide to accept it, the conditions are excellent.’

She smiled. ‘Are we going to the camp?’

Cal shook his head. ‘Tell you about it when we’re on the road. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.’

Intrigued and, if she were honest, a little apprehensive, Emma followed him to the truck, which was parked behind the clump of tangled bushes that separated the beach from a dirt track.

‘I have to make a couple of deliveries first,’ Cal explained, as she settled herself by the window. ‘Mornington, then Frankston.’

‘So, we move under cover of vegetables?’ she quipped.

‘Cabbage and carrots as it happens, fresh in on the train this morning.’ He pulled away slowly to prevent a cloud of dust drawing attention to his movements. ‘Me and Dugald met the train. We wanted to be certain of the quality. Our driver, Barney, accepted inferior produce last week. I told Dugald I might as well deliver the goods to save swapping drivers at the depot.’

‘And Dugald?’

‘I dropped him at home. Sonya likes him to have breakfast with the family.’

Emma stared straight ahead, wishing he would get to the point of their journey. Dugald’s domestic arrangements were of no interest to her.

‘Me, I don’t have to worry about such particulars,’ Cal continued, as they turned onto a road with crumbling concrete edges and a rusty guardrail suspended over a cliff that appeared to be on the verge of toppling into the sea. ‘I eat on the run or skip breakfast altogether.’

So, Cal lived alone, or his partner preferred to sleep in when he had an early morning delivery or pick-up from the station. Emma wondered if he had a family like his brother. ‘Breakfast is an important meal,’ she remarked, conscious of her rumbling stomach. ‘Any chance of something to eat along the way?’

‘Good bakery at Frankston. That do you?’

‘Sure, but before we go any further, I’d like to know why you got me out of bed at five in the morning?’

‘Don’t beat around the bush, do you?’

‘What’s the point, Cal? I only have nineteen days of freedom left.’

His left hand shifted from the steering wheel to set Auto-drive. ‘Bit of background for you,’ he said, settling in his seat. ‘A while back, I helped set up a group we’re calling Citizens’ Voice. We keep our existence under the radar, naturally. So far, we’ve engaged in a spot of civil disobedience, disrupted a few political meetings, protested against unfair taxes, that sort of thing. But this issue with the employment portal has really got us thinking, so now we’re considering a demonstration in the city. Peaceful, mind. Banners and the like, but no chucking stones at police or setting fire to vehicles. In fact, nothing that will upset the authorities.’ He paused to scratch his unshaven chin. ‘Anyhow, Emma, the CV committee needs a new secretary and I thought you would fit the bill.’

‘What happened to the last secretary?’ she asked, envisaging a closed court and a grim-faced judge pronouncing sentence.

Cal reached over to pat her arm. ‘Died on us, I’m afraid. Natural causes. To be expected, he was over ninety.’

‘I’m happy to fill the role until the end of the month, but after that I can’t promise anything. I could be sent away from Melbourne to work.’

‘I realise that, but let’s hope not.’

‘I assume I’ll have to attend every committee meeting, which could be a problem as I don’t have transport.’

‘No worries, someone will pick you up. We try to vary the venue for meetings. Uncle Charlie’s place today.’

‘So, we’re going there following the deliveries?’

‘Bakery first, don’t forget. Charlie and Co. will appreciate fresh bread for breakfast.’ Cal turned his attention to the road ahead, as though he didn’t trust Auto-drive blinking on the dashboard. Given his truck appeared to be at least twenty years old, Emma considered this wise.

Leaning against the window, she contemplated her new role. There would be minutes to take, information to gather and disseminate, new people to meet. The looming end of GAUP would cease to be the entire focus of her days; work-weary, she might enjoy a good night’s sleep. She wondered how many had joined the clandestine group and whether they were young or old, employed, or seeking work like her. Civil disobedience appealed, particularly a peaceful demonstration in the city.

Childhood memories surfaced: her grandfather’s stories of marching down Swanston Street, banner held high, chanting, ‘What do we want? We want climate change policy’, or ‘reliable power supply’ or ‘no more coal mines’, in the days before public protest was banned throughout the country. A million Melburnians, incensed by the inaction of short-sighted governments that couldn’t see further than the next election and fiddled like Nero while the country burned, and farmers, walked off drought-ravaged lands. Wasted years, followed by an inevitable slide into lengthy recession. Panic and repression, a people worn down by food shortages, incurable diseases and wave after wave of unprecedented disasters. How did we get in such a mess? Emma reflected, as a series of sighs escaped her lips.

How did we get in such a mess?‘What’s up, mate, you feelin’ crook?’

Cal’s rough-around-the-edges speech breached Emma’s despondency. Forcing a smile, she embraced a present offering the prospect of change, albeit temporary. ‘I’m okay. Just thinking about my grandfather, he was a great activist.’

‘Mine too. I guess we’ve both inherited the social conscience gene.’

‘I hope I’ve passed it on.’

‘You have,’ Cal said confidently. ‘Jack and his mate Will joined Citizens’ Voice last night, along with a crowd of other uni students.’

‘How on earth did they find out about CV?’

Cal tapped the side of his nose with a weathered finger. ‘Now, that is my business.’

my* * *

The meeting at Charlie’s place – an old caravan slumped behind a highway sound barrier in a swathe of long grass east of Frankston – proceeded normally, once Emma had recovered from the shock of seeing Janet James sitting at the table. The two friends exchanged hugs while Cal chatted to Charlie and the two other members of the committee, a middle-aged man and woman.

When introductions had been made – first names only – Cal slid a battered laptop across the table to Emma. ‘No Voice Control,’ he advised, watching her inspect the old machine. ‘But the keyboard works a treat.’

‘Good. Let’s hope I haven’t lost the typing skills I learnt in my youth.’

‘The agenda’s in a file marked Fragile Fruit.’

Fragile FruitEmma smiled. ‘Appropriate. Is it encoded?’

‘Yep, but I’ve sorted it for the meeting. You can access it now. Just press the control key.’

Emma turned to the small screen. ‘Got it. Right, first on the agenda is a delegation to parliament to express concern over the blocked portal.’

As convenor, Cal spoke first, reiterating the rules agreed at the initial meeting eleven months earlier for the new secretary’s benefit. No one must interrupt another speaker and a short silence must be observed between speakers to ensure adequate deliberation on each point.

‘Good idea,’ Emma murmured to Janet, prompting a wagging finger from Convenor Cal. Chastened, she resumed secretarial duties, her fingers poised over worn keys.