Cilla - third part

Cilla - Third Part

The radio went on as usual at a quarter to six. The two young women awoke with a start. They looked at each other, remembered where they were and what had happened and were happy but hated the jabbering radio and the dark cold morning that summoned them to arise for a new day.

Cilla forced herself to get up quickly before she had time to think about how nice it was where she was and whether she could bear to leave it. She turned off the radio and hurried through to her kitchen to make her usual quick breakfast and pack her lunch which she had hastily made as usual the previous evening before going to lie down.

She ate in silence, without the usual radio. Elizabeth hadn’t stirred, and why should she? Cilla thought about the situation. Could they just go to work at their usual time, in their usual way? She would have to discuss it with Elizabeth. Also she thought about what she had whispered to Elizabeth last night. It wasn’t quite true. She had felt very warm towards Elizabeth last night. But Elizabeth loved her all the time, in her heart. Cilla’s feeling was just a come-and-go feeling dependent on mood and circumstances. She didn’t feel that way this morning. It had been lovely in bed with Elizabeth’s blonde hair against her cheek but now that she was up, Cilla wished she were alone this morning. She wanted her routine, to get on with her life, not to have someone around all the time. She was back to her usual feeling.

Before she had finished eating she decided to go over and talk to Elizabeth. She sat gently on the bed and looked down at the blonde hair on the pillow, the eyelashes fluttering, the doona pulled up to just below Elizabeth’s nose.

“Lizbeth?” Cilla whispered.

“Mm?”

“I’d like to go early as usual and get my train. I like the morning walk and the early start. But you take your time. I’ll leave cereal and bread on the table, there’s eggs in the fridge if you want. Just lock the door and give me the key when you come in.”

“Mm.”

Cilla hoped Elizabeth had taken it all in. She got up to go but Elizabeth said “Cilla.”

“What?”

Elizabeth sat up now. “You didn’t really mean that, what you said last night, did you? It was just how you felt at the time.”

Cilla didn’t know what to say.

“It’s all right, darling. It was lovely to hear it. But I didn’t think it meant the same as when I say it. I thought you might feel differently about it this morning. It’s not a problem. I thought you might want to be alone this morning too, so I was trying not to bother you.”

Cilla sighed. “You read my mind, Lizbeth. But I haven’t gone completely cold on you, or anything. It’s just - “

“I know, I know. Don’t let me hold you up. I’ll come in later and bring the key. I’ll look forward to seeing you later.”

Cilla came back and kissed Elizabeth, who hugged her for a moment to show that everything was all right. “I love you, Cilla,” she whispered. They kissed again.

A fresh wind blew and there were a few spots of rain as Cilla hurried to the train. She had been distracted by her relationship with Elizabeth, but now the difficult situation in the office began to crowd her mind. She felt tense and unhappy and weak. She wondered who hated her so much, what else they would try, how this would affect her career and what else she could do for a job. She had no idea of the true nature of the battle that lay ahead.

Everything was normal when she got to the office on this Thursday morning. Nothing was wrong in her cubicle. She started work and got much done before Elizabeth showed up and discreetly, with a smile, dropped the key in. Cilla was glad Elizabeth had remembered to be discreet about it. She smiled back and got on with her work.

Just before ten she was looking forward to a cup of coffee when Barry appeared. “Have you got a minute, Cilla?” he said, not smiling. He strode back to his office, leaving Cilla to hurry after him.

“Close the door behind you,” Barry said as Cilla came into his office. Cilla didn’t like his tone or attitude. She felt anxious. She was told to sit down.

“I want you to finish up your work and show the new girl where you left off. She’ll come in tomorrow, sometime. I’ve arranged a transfer for you. You start Monday. Here are the details of your new appointment.” Barry handed Cilla an official letter across the desk. She took it, her hand shaking.

A small office in Bassendean. Not even the same department. A dead end. Cilla stared at the letter. Her worst fears seemed to have been realised.

Then she thought it through. Actually, this was a bad move on Barry’s part. It was still going to be difficult, but with this letter the chance had been created to turn this situation to her advantage. This morning as she had climbed the escalator from the train station, the old man close behind her as usual, everything had looked hopeless. But now she had a chance. If she couldn’t use it, and win, then she didn’t deserve to fulfil her ambitions in life. This was an example of the sort of fight she would have to win.

She folded the letter, leaned back in her chair, tossed her hair and crossed her legs so that Barry could see a bit of thigh. She looked straight at him, smiling. “What is the reason for this transfer?” she asked.

“Well! You can’t stay here.”

“Why not? Haven’t I done good work?”

“Yes, but -” he paused.

“But what?”

Barry was starting to lose the plot. “Yesterday’s incident. We can’t have that going on in the office.”

“Well! Are you suggesting I did it?”

“No - no -”

“Well, why am I being penalised?”

“You aren’t being penalised.”

“I think I am, Barry. A transfer, not asked for, at short notice, to a job with fewer opportunities for promotion. I refuse to be penalised for someone else’s misconduct. I shall take this letter, ring them up and politely say that it was a mistake, that I didn’t ask for a transfer and that I’m staying here.”

Barry hadn’t expected this. He had thought he was doing everyone a favour. He had thought Cilla would just take the letter with some relief and go and finish up. He had no plan for this contingency. He was under pressure. There was a meeting at half-past, reports to write, calls to make. “Look, Cilla, just take the transfer. You’ll be better off. Just don’t upset anyone in the new place. Your position here has become untenable.”

Cilla noted with anger the careless remark about her having upset someone here. Barry ought to know better than to say such a thing. But she addressed his last remark. “That’s what you say. But I shall continue to ‘ten’ my position. I shall make it tenable again.”

There was a pause. They both wanted to finish this, but Cilla had the advantage and something to say. “I expect that my position here will continue to exist, that work will continue to be provided for me, that my assessments will be conducted fairly according to procedure and that I’ll get all acting higher duties that I should get, and the promotions. Otherwise, I’ll send a fully documented account of this incident to the Equal Opportunity Board and the Office for the Prevention of Harassment, or whatever it’s called. I have witnesses to yesterday’s incident, also witnesses who can identify two men seen in my office after I had left work on Tuesday afternoon. I shall include an account of the attempt to make repair of my computer contingent upon my granting sexual favours in the form of a date.”

She said all this in a reasonable, conversational tone, still smiling at Barry. He for his part could almost hear the glass ceiling clicking into place over his head. He had to let her have her way and stay. That was the lesser of the two evils. He wished she would just get out so that he didn’t have to say any more. At the same time he admired her. He had read something about short people being more assertive than those of normal height. And she spoke well, and looked great. He sighed. Cilla got up and left him, saying nothing more.

She went straight over to Elizabeth’s cubicle, but Elizabeth wasn’t there. She had fallen victim to the office grapevine. Cilla was to start a new job at Bassendean on Monday. Elizabeth was in the toilet, hanging over a wash-basin, retching and sobbing. How would she see her love now?

Mary came over. “Are you looking for Liz?”

“Yes.”

“She’s in the toilet, not too good.”

Cilla resisted the impulse to run to the toilet. She didn’t move. “Oh,’ was all she said. “What’s wrong with her? I just wanted to ask her something.”

“Oh, she’s just feeling sick. Seems a bit upset, too. We can’t find out what’s wrong. You two seem to be friends. Can you go and find out?”

Mary didn’t seem to have connected the ‘friendship’ with Elizabeth’s state of distress. Cilla was grateful for this, and for the opportunity to satisfy her urge to run to Elizabeth and settle her down. She shrugged, said “Okay, Mary,” and walked to the toilet.

In there she found Elizabeth with a couple of concerned women hanging around.

“Liz?” she said. “What’s wrong?” She longed to scream at her, get a grip, I’m not going!

Elizabeth looked up, looked into Cilla’s blue eyes. Awareness of the need to cover her grief came to her. She blurted through her tears “I had a bit of chicken for breakfast. It must have been off.” A brave try, but it didn’t explain the tears. Cilla gently put an arm across Elizabeth’s shoulders, the way a friendly workmate might. “Bad news from home?” she asked, squeezing Elizabeth’s shoulder to signal, say yes, say yes.

“Oh - yes.”

“Well, if you’re ready, come back to your desk and we’ll talk about it.”

The other woman thought, isn’t Cilla kind, considering some of the men are out to get her and she’s been shafted off to Bassendean.

Cilla was thankful to get Elizabeth away from stares and into her cubicle. “Now, Lizbeth,’ she said in a low tone. “If I’m right about the cause of your distress, the cause no longer exists. I’m not going. I told Barry what trouble I’d make if he insisted or tried to pressure me by making my position difficult. I’m going back to my desk now to ring up Bassendean and explain politely that I won’t be starting there on Monday. I’m carrying on here and I expect my career path to be unaffected. I’m going to document this whole episode, and the one where my computer was sabotaged. You can help me fill in the details and supply names. Then we’ll use the document as a deterrent to any more hassles. Is that all right?”

Elizabeth looked at Cilla and smiled, relaxing. Yes, she could see how that would work. She should have thought it through instead of rushing to the toilet in such distress. A sudden transfer was a bad move if the person called the supervisor’s bluff and refused to go.

Cilla made her telephone call and got on with her work, her mind free and relaxed. She had faced the crisis and won through. Now she could make a fresh start. She knew that human relationships and feelings could not be ignored. Such things had never been important to her before getting involved with Elizabeth. Now she had new insights. The men who had worked against her had been wrong and unfair, but she was at fault in not handling them better. She would write her report and keep it as a loaded gun in case of need, but would also be conciliatory and try to create new, better relationships to overlay and bury the bad ones of the past.

Nothing happened for the rest of that day, or the next day. Cilla got lots of work done, was polite to everyone and felt happy and relaxed for the first time since she had come to this office. She had shown them her strength, but no more than necessary.

On Friday night she went to Elizabeth’s house and they made love with joy and energy as soon as they got in, then later well into the night. Cilla didn’t leave until late on Saturday morning. She went home by bus and train so that she could do some studying to make up for lost time. But she felt free. Free from worries at the office, free from any more doubts or restraints in her sexual relationship, free from the need to fit in her studies and political activities. She was still going to do them, of course, but she felt now that she could do anything, as much as she wanted. She could love Elizabeth, pursue her career in the public service and fulfil her political ambitions and still have time and energy to spare. Life was good on this cold bright morning. And it was the good feeling that comes after a crisis has been overcome, not the one that lulls you just before a crisis descends unexpectedly.

Elizabeth herself was happier than she had ever been. It had already been arranged for her to go to Cilla’s house that night, but in a way that told her she could see Cilla whenever she wanted, there was no more restraint or limitation. She didn’t pine for Cilla now but felt secure in the relationship, more inclined to do something useful with the time that she didn’t spend with Cilla. In fact she felt a new energy that she hadn’t felt for years, having for long been inclined to live listlessly and unproductively between work and sleep. Now Elizabeth felt that she, too, could study, or get involved in some club or organisation.

***

Spring came with longer days, trees in flower, freesias on the verges and a lively chorus of birds at dawn. Cilla’s relationship with Elizabeth had changed, but not in the way that they had joked about earlier. They were closer and shared more of each other’s lives. Elizabeth was happier and more stable and there was never a hint of indiscretion at work - they just seemed to be good workmates. They no longer made such passionate love so much of the time - they shared a bed several times a week but would often just cuddle, then separate to sleep. Once a week they had a really good long session, properly prepared for and intensely enjoyed at leisure, as might happen in a happy marriage.

They still had not given up one of their houses and moved in together, nor had they discussed it recently. Having two houses worked well, they each had a lot of their things in the other’s house and the extra travelling wasn’t irksome for either of them. Elizabeth enjoyed her drives and Cilla enjoyed the Saturday or Sunday morning bus and train trips from Dianella to the coast. She could read or study or just stare out of the window, whereas if she were at home she would feel that she had to be rushing around doing this, doing that.

Cilla had no more trouble at work, in fact she had been allowed to act at a higher level for four weeks. Not at Barry’s level, but just below it; she had to supervise a small group, rather than the whole division. She did well enough; the group were difficult for the first few days because two of them had hoped to get the acting duties for themselves and Cilla seemed very small and young, and female. But by the end of the four weeks the group were productive and they were all getting on much better. Cilla delegated some of her higher duties in a way that the permanent supervisor never had, which pleased those given the duties and gave her more time to do important things properly. Barry was pleased with her efforts and said so at the end of the period of acting.

None of the men had asked Cilla for a date since the crisis. They were all too scared of how she might take it. But some of them were becoming obsessed by her. She was aware of this and was sorry for them, and a little guilty as well. She continued to dress and groom herself attractively as always but having her body explored and enjoyed at regular intervals had given her a new sensuality, an awareness of herself that made her more achingly alluring than ever. The guilt was because her lover was a woman, a workmate, and because the affair was secret - had to be, but if she had been married to or living with a man there would be no need to be secretive about it.

Cilla thought about this from time to time. Was there still a need to keep secret her relationship with Elizabeth? Previously she had been beleaguered in this office and people might have made her position truly untenable had they known the secret. But since her victory, this wouldn’t be a problem. So what was the problem? There was no law against what they were doing. To the contrary, there were laws preventing it from prejudicing their jobs or career paths. But if it were known it would change their realtionship with everyone in the office - it would isolate them, make them uncomfortable. The men would resent the fact that these beautiful girls were sleeping with each other and the women would find it repellent. You can pass all the laws you like but people will still feel the way they feel. Oh well. Cilla sighed. Better keep it secret.

When she was alone at night, or awake with Elizabeth asleep beside her, questions would trouble her. Was she really homosexual, or was it just that her first emotional relationship was with a woman who was homosexual? Did she really love Elizabeth? Would she really fall in love, later on, with a man? Or even with another woman?

Cilla’s political activities were making progress during this period. There was to be a federal election by Christmas of the next year and she had definitely decided that she would put herself forward for preselection as a candidate for her party. She was young, she might not get approved, or if she did she would probably not get a winnable seat, but there would be nothing lost, actually a lot to be gained by putting herself forward.

Cilla was through her first semester examinations and was confident of doing well in the finals in two months’ time.

In the future she was to look back on this time of peace and wellbeing as an idyll, a time for gathering strength for the work that it was her destiny to do.

It was nearly time for Cilla to take her annual leave. She usually took it in spring, so that she could study and do her examinations, also because she liked to work in the air-conditioned office through hot January when the place was half-empty with so many taking their leave at this time.

Elizabeth normally took her leave with most people between Christmas and late January, but this year she suggested to Cilla that they should take their leave at the same time and go away somewhere together, at least for a week, and spend more time together than when they were back at home. Cilla agreed with this, but reminded Elizabeth that she needed to study and do her examinations and wanted to be free of work during that time. Eventually they compromised, so that Cilla arranged to take her leave a little later to allow ten clear days after the final examination, and Elizabeth moved her leave back to coincide with this. They decided after some discussion, in the office at lunchtime, to have a week together in Geraldton. “A week of sun, sand, sex and surf!” exclaimed Elizabeth. This was her first indiscretion at work for some time. “Shh!” hissed Cilla in alarm, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

Elizabeth blushed. “Sorry! Did anyone hear that?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see anyone near. But let’s go on being careful, eh?”

In fact, Mary had been close by, hidden by a partition. She hadn’t heard all of the discussion but had heard Elizabeth’s exclamation. She frowned in puzzlement. Elizabeth and Cilla didn’t seem the sort to go on holiday and be promiscuous with men. That was what she thought Elizabeth had meant. It never occurred to Mary that Elizabeth was referring to the sex that she and Cilla would have with each other. But even so, it seemed strange. Mary hadn’t even known that Elizabeth and Cilla were good enough friends to be planning a holiday together. Anyway, she had overheard a conversation not including her, and it was none of her business. Elizabeth had probably been joking. The phrase she had used was a common cliche.

Cilla and Elizabeth had chosen Geraldton because warm sunny weather in spring was almost certain, which wasn’t the case with the south-west or the south coast. Elizabeth would take the car so that they could look at tourist attractions and seek out gorgeous deserted beaches away from the town. Cilla would take her turn to drive.

The immediate future looked perfect for the happy lovers. It all seemed too good to be true - a temptation to fate. In fact, events three thousand kilometres away in the national capital were about to affect their plans.

The Federal Government had been trying to have passed some unpopular and radical laws to tackle the chronic related problems of unemployment, increasing crime and illegal drug supply and use. The measures might have worked, but a few independent senators who held the balance of power had twice voted against them, denying them passage into law, demanding unacceptable amendments. The government’s own ineptitude and visible corruption disinclined the people to support their efforts to change the senators’ minds. Now the Federal cabinet had decided that both Federal houses of parliament must be dissolved and an early election held if the bills failed for a third time to pass the Senate.

The government’s hope was that they could achieve a majority in the senate as well as in the House of Representatives, thereby being able to pass any laws they wanted. The opposition Labor Party had gone further backwards since the last election, losing two of their seats in by-elections. They seemed unlikely to win government, unpopular though the current government was. But independents could still hold the balance of power in the Senate. The government hoped that the mere threat of a double dissolution would make the independents back down, for fear of losing their seats and the money and perquisites that went with them.

If an election did take place, it would be shortly after Cilla’s holiday period. She would want to try to get preselection, then campaign for a seat. She couldn’t miss this opportunity and expect to be taken seriously in the future. At the least, she would have to work hard on the campaign, as branch vice-president. She couldn’t expect to be a politician if she didn’t give politics priority over everything.

Cilla and Elizabeth were unaware of impending events as they lay in Elizabeth’s bed that night. They happily discussed their planned trip, then made love for an hour, exploring the by now familiar but no less delightful territory of each other’s bodies.

As they lay together afterwards, breathing quickly and tremulously from their exertions, Cilla asked “How many times have we done this, Lizbeth? Must be hundreds. Are you getting tired of it? Bored with me?”

“No! How can you ask?”

“Well - there’s not much of me and you’ve been over it all, many times now. I hope I still please you.”

“Oh - Cilla, I can never get enough of you. I always long for the next time, and the next. What about you? Is that why you ask? Are you getting tired of me?”

“No! No way, dearest Lizbeth. Look, don’t worry. You know what I’m like. Always start verbalising when silence would be better. Just hug me. Let’s sleep. And do it all again in the morning.”

A few days later, Cilla sat with a sinking heart at her regular party branch meeting listening to a federal member of parliament explain what was happening in Canberra and what it all meant, mainly that they had to get onto a campaign footing in short order. Cilla desperately wanted to be part of this campaign, as a candidate; this was her chance for which she had worked. But she desperately wanted to go on holiday with Elizabeth as well. It seemed that it was not going to be possible to do both. A few months earlier, life had been simpler. Recently she had even neglected opportunities to score political points by being active in the community, choosing to spend time with Elizabeth. The next election had seemed far away. But you never knew. She sighed. She would still take her leave but it would have to be entirely consumed with politics. There was no choice, really. As the politician droned on with his over-optimistic view of his party’s chances of regaining power, Cilla was rehearsing phrases that she could use to explain things to Elizabeth.
Bisher6
During the social get-together after the formal meeting Cilla was actually approached by two people, her branch president and a woman from the State Executive, who wanted her to consider standing for the party in the local seat. It was a safe Liberal seat that her party had no hope of winning but that was how you had to start. If she did well she could get a better seat next time.

Of course she responded positively and was taken over to be introduced to the federal member, whom she tried, successfully, to impress. He had looked up from his tea and biscuits to see a couple of people bearing down on him, bringing with them what appeared to be their beautiful daughter. It turned out that the two people were not married to each other and the ‘daughter’ was in fact a young woman, well-spoken, intelligent and utterly delightful, and apparently willing to be the lamb on the altar of this unwinnable seat. He talked with Cilla for some time before reluctantly having to get away and meet more people, promising Cilla as he left her that he would put in a word for her where it counted.

It was quite late when she got home but Cilla knew that Elizabeth would still be awake. Cilla wanted to talk to her before going to bed, so that she could sleep without having the difficult subject banging around inside her head.

“Lizbeth?”

“Yes, love?”

“I’ve just come back from the party meeting. Er - apparently -”

“Early election coming up?”

“Er - yes. How did you know?”

“It was on the radio tonight. Some independent senator was going on about it. Blah, blah, government trying to manipulate the parliament, and so on.”

“Oh. Well - “ Cilla braced herself. But Elizabeth was ahead of her again.

“Are you going to stand?”

“Mm - yes. They asked me to.”

Elizabeth gasped with pleasure. “They asked you! You don’t have to go begging for preselection! They asked you! Oh, darling!”

A weight lifted off Cilla’s heart. She smiled. “Well, I still have to face the pre-selection panel. But if they want me, they’ll select me. But, Lizbeth -”

“What, but?”

“The but, is, that all this is going to happen when we were going to take our holiday.”

“Oh, Cilla. Of course I was longing for our holiday together -”

“So was I.”

“ - but this is more important. This is what you were meant to do, my love. And I just love to be with you whatever you’re doing. I’d particularly love to be by your side and helping you while you campaigned for election. Would I be allowed?”

Cilla sighed deeply into the telephone. “Of course. If I wanted you, you’d be allowed. Lizbeth, I really love you just now. I thought -”

“Thought what?”

“That I was going to have to choose. Between my relationship and my career, or my ambitions for a career.” Cilla was ashamed of her words as soon as they were out.

There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then Elizabeth said rather sadly: “After all these months, don’t you know my feelings better than that?”

“Yes - I -”

“It wouldn’t matter what you did, even if you wanted to cancel our holiday to do something really silly, I’d still love you, I’d still be there for you. I’m not a doormat. That’s just what I believe. Love isn’t love if it’s got conditions on it. Whatever you want to do, my love, I’ll be there supporting you as long as you want me. Do you understand?”

“Oh - yes -” Cilla felt like crying. She nearly blurted out “We need to be together” but since Elizabeth always had to be the one to drive over, they had an etiquette that Elizabeth should always be the one to suggest an unscheduled get-together. Cilla waited.

“Can I come over, Cilla? I want you, I need to be with you.”

“I want you too, Lizbeth. I want every bit of you.”

“Give me half an hour.”

Cilla showered, shampooed and conditioned her hair and cleaned her teeth. She put on her negligee and changed the sheets on the bed. She found herself breathing heavily. With exertion, or desire? At last she heard the longed-for crunch of tyres in the car-park below. She left the light on in the bedroom and turned off the main light in the unit before opening the door.

Cilla and Elizabeth were late starters the next day at the office and yawned their way through the morning.

***

It wasn’t long before there were further political developments for Cilla. The very afternoon after her night with Elizabeth, the other branch vice-president, Bruce, rang her at home and wanted her to come to a meeting about her candidacy and campaign. She had been looking forward to an early night after the previous one when she hadn’t been allowed, or allowed herself, much sleep, but she said, yes, of course she would come. Where did they want to meet?

Bruce was not aware that she had no car. He suggested someone’s home in Myaree. When Cilla explained that she could drive but had no car, wanting to save money, there was a silence at the other end of the line. She was worried - of course she could campaign more effectively if she could drive around. Would this finish her chances?

She thought she heard a little sigh before Bruce went on. “What about if we came to your place?”

“Oh.” It would be convenient in some ways, but the unit wasn’t fit to receive strangers just now. “It’s only a little unit and it’s the pits.”

“Never mind, Cilla, we’re on your side. We won’t tell. We’ll come after tea. Seven-thirty. All right? Time for you to tidy up if you want.”

“All right, Bruce. Good. See you later, then.”

Cilla did tidy up a bit, and have a short sleep and a snack, shower and change into ‘smart casual’ clothes and do a bit of study before four party operatives in three cars rumbled into the car park at nearly a quarter to eight.

She really wanted just to be left alone and have an early night, but this was her chosen path and this was what it meant. It had all rushed onto her much earlier than she had expected. She had planned to graduate, get older and build up support in the community, maybe serve in local government, then stand for parliament after some years, when she was closer to thirty. Now it was a matter of weeks. She sighed but composed her face into an eager smile as she opened the door and put the light on.

They stayed for over two hours. Cilla let them introduce the subjects they wanted to discuss, and discuss them. For most of the time she didn’t need to say much herself, except to respond briefly to ‘is that all right?’ or ‘do you see that?’ The four party people talked mainly to each other. Cilla started to feel a bit despondent as the sheer volume, detail and tediousness of the task slowly unfolded. She felt herself getting sleepy at nine, so she jumped up and made tea and coffee and served some biscuits that Elizabeth had made for her.

Finally they wanted Cilla to speak to them. Tessa began the questions.

“You’re not married, are you?”

“No.”

“Have you, er, are you in a relationship?”

Yes, but . . “No.”

“Mm.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It can go two ways. Successful political candidates have happy, supportive marriages. But if your relationship is not good and your partner isn’t absolutely supportive, it can drag you down. In your case, at least you are free to do what you want, don’t have to ask anyone. People say you’re pretty self-sufficient, independent.”

This was a chance to introduce the subject of Elizabeth. And score a point for dedication to the cause. “I did have to check with someone, after last night’s meeting.”

“Oh?”

“My good friend Elizabeth. We were going to take a holiday together. We work in the same office. I had to ring her and tell her the holiday might not happen, politics had to come first, for me. She was very supportive. She wants to help with my campaign. Is that all right?”

Bruce was pleased. He smiled. “Is that the tall blonde girl who’s come to a few meetings?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Two attractive young women campaigning should boost our cause.”

Tessa bristled, and Cilla reproached Bruce. “Is that attitude appropriate in this day and age?”

Bruce shrugged. “Facts are facts. You can’t change what people feel in their hearts, and what they feel is that they like pretty women. If a woman is clever, strong and articulate, so much the better, but good looks are worth a lot of votes on their own. That’s just the way things are. My job is to worry about the numbers.”

There was no point in getting bogged down on this subject. They moved on. The next subject was a difficult one. Tessa introduced it again.

“Aren’t you employed by the state government, Cilla?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware that they might make you resign in order to stand for parliament?”

“But - I would only have to resign if I were elected, surely.”

“But you wouldn’t even be able to be elected, unless you resigned from government service. The Liberals could make it an issue - no point in voting for her, she would be ineligible to enter parliament. That would cut our vote.”

“But it would only apply, surely, if I were standing for a state seat. This is a federal seat.”

There was a silence. Then Jason spoke up. “That particular angle has never been tested in the courts. As far as I know.”

Tessa pressed on. “What I want to know, Cilla, is, how’s your commitment? Would you be prepared to resign, give up your career, and put everything into winning a seat in parliament for the Labor party?”

They waited for Cilla’s response. Finally she said “I really don’t know, Tessa. I haven’t given it any thought. I - I can’t decide that just now. I would appreciate it if legal advice could be sought. If the advice is that I must resign absolutely, then I will make a decision, in time for you to select another candidate if necessary.”

“We haven’t got much time.”

Jason asked “What do you mean, ‘resign absolutely?”

“I mean, I would be prepared to take leave without pay, for as long as necessary.”

Tessa relaxed a little. “I don’t know if that would answer the problem,” she said “but we could include that point when we ask for legal advice. You might have to decide within a week, Cilla. An election might be called soon and be held in a matter of weeks.”

“I’ll go and see my boss about it in the morning.”

They were surprised. “Shouldn’t you keep quiet about it and wait to see if they make it an issue?” asked Bruce.

“No. That’s not my way. I’d like to have his opinion, to help me with my decision.”

They accepted that. There was nothing more to discuss, for now. Cilla gave them her work number so that they could tell her as soon as possible what legal advice they had received. Cilla had already decided to dig into the library after her law classes the following evening, to form her own opinion.

At last she was able to go to bed, but after half an hour lying awake with a head full of issues she turned on her light again and rang Elizabeth. It was nearly ten o’clock.

“Lizbeth? Sorry to ring so late.”

Elizabeth didn’t sound as though she had just been woken up. “Any time is a good time to hear from you, darling.” She sounded as though she meant it. Cilla went on.

“I had four party heavies here tonight, for more than two hours. They wanted to have a pre-campaign meeting. I’m to attend lots of fund-raisers and meetings on local issues, and go door-knocking. They seem pretty sure I’ll get the pre-selection.”

“Oh, that’s good, Cilla!”

“Yes.”

A pause. “You don’t sound excited,” said Elizabeth.

“Well - two things. Yes, this is what I want. But I’d planned it further down the track, years away. It’s all come suddenly, much sooner than I’d meant it to. But if it’s being offered now, I have to take it now. It’s going to take over my life and be difficult and tiring and sometimes aggravating. I’m feeling a bit down about it. And there’s something else.”

“What?”

“I work for the state government. Tessa, she’s from State Executive, said I might have to resign my job if I stand for parliament. Just to stand. Can’t just resign if I’m elected. They’re going to get legal advice, but Tessa reckons I might have to make a decision, show my commitment.”

“When did that law come in?”

“It’s supposed to be part of the constitution. Constitutional law. I haven’t got much into that yet, in my course.”

“But I mean, Cilla, have they changed the law recently?”

“No, but there have been a few High Court decisions clarifying it.”

“See, a few years ago, in our office, someone went for the Senate. He didn’t resign. He got a promotion in fact, last year and went to another department.”

“Really? Did he take leave without pay?”

“Not - I don’t think so. No, I - I’m sure it was just his ordinary annual leave. I saw his leave slip pinned to his partition. He was standing for some minor party. Well down the ticket, no hope of getting in. I don’t think even the top person on the ticket got in.”

“Still. If he stood for the Senate and didn’t have to resign his job, that sets the precedent. His chances of getting in or not were irrelevant.”

“Yep. That’s right. I can tell you who he was, Cilla, and where he went. He was well liked around the office. You would have liked him. He was union rep. For a while.”

“Oh, yes, please, Lizbeth. I could just ring him up, tell him who I am, ask him nicely if he could help me.”

“I think he would. He would even give you something in writing. That’s the sort of guy he was, is, didn’t mind sticking his neck out for people but good enough at his job and gets on well enough with the higher-ups that he doesn’t have to worry about consequences, so long as it’s a just cause.” Elizabeth gave the name and department that Cilla wanted.

“Great. Thanks, Lizbeth. I feel better, about everything now. I can sleep. Thanks for everything. How are you? What are you doing?”

“Oh - just reading, watching TV, going to bed soon.” Actually Elizabeth had been just sitting quietly, thinking of Cilla, thinking about last night, wishing they could live together and sleep together every night. She wanted to suggest that she drive over to Cilla’s now, but sensed that Cilla needed to rest tonight.

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Elizabeth reflected as she put down the telephone that that was one of only a few times that Cilla had said that. And in this case it might only have been a polite response. Even last night, when Cilla had held nothing back in her physical love-making, she hadn’t told Elizabeth that she loved her. Elizabeth sighed and got up to go to bed. No point in having stupid negative thoughts. Everything was wonderful.

***

In the morning, after she had worked hard for an hour and it was late enough to assume that most people would be at work by now, Cilla rang the number that Elizabeth had given her.

A pleasant male voice answered the telephone almost immediately. “Am I speaking to Peter Corfield?” asked Cilla.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“My name’s Cilla Parker. I work for this department now. My friend Elizabeth said that you used to work here.”

“Yep. I remember Liz.”

“Well, I want to stand for parliament in the Federal election coming up soon, and - “

“Soon? It’s not due for more than a year.”

“Well, apparently it’s going to be called any day now. Canberra’s buzzing with it.”

“Mm.” Peter sounded sceptical. In fact he was thinking that this young woman was one of those wide-eyed members of a minor party, like ones he had known, always agog with political rumours and conspiracies. “So you want to stand? What of it?”

“Well, I thought I might have to resign my government job, but Elizabeth seemed to remember that you had stood for parliament a few years back and hadn’t had to resign, or even take leave without pay. Is that right?”

“Sure is. I hadn’t a hope of getting in.”

“No, but weren’t you ineligible even to stand, unless you resigned?”

“No-one made an issue of it. I wasn’t going to get elected, I didn’t get many primary votes. It didn’t matter.”

“But, Peter - am I wasting your time? Do you mind this call?”

“No, no. Go on.”

“Just by not making an issue of it, didn’t the public service effectively set a precedent, so that a person could stand for a party that gave them some chance of getting in, and not have to resign unless they actually did get elected?”

There was a short silence. “What did you say your name was?”

“Cilla.”

“Ah! You’re that Cilla, are you? The one they want to go up for Labor in Curtin?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“My Labor mates were on about you in the pub. Very impressed. They reckon you’ve got a chance.”

“No! Curtin’s safe for the Liberals. I’ve just got to boost the vote as much as possible, to help the Senate team.”

“Never think you haven’t got a chance, Cilla. But I see your point. I’d be glad to give you anything you want that’ll help you make a case for not having to resign. Yep, if they let me do it, they must let you do it. Even though it’s the party that the hierarchy don’t like.”

Cilla was pleased but also a bit scared by the sudden change in attitude. She was in her own estimation some years short of what she wanted to be before running for parliament, but it seemed that her name was known already to people she had never met, and great expectations were held for her. Expectations are a poison that can kill a promising career. Still, she must go with it.

“I’ll send you what you need by internal mail, in a few days,” Peter went on. “I haven’t got a letter from anyone saying it was all right, but I’ve got proof that I ran for parliament and that my employment continued right through. You could always get them under the Equal Opportunity or Anti-discrimination Act, or whatever.”

“I’ve already done that successfully in another case,” said Cilla.

“Oh?”

“The guys were ganging up on me, sabotaged my computer and put a stink-bomb in my chair. The boss decided I was a trouble-maker and had to be transferred. As you see, I’m still here.”

“Why did they gang up on you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go out on dates with a couple of them, particularly when that was the price of getting my computer fixed. I was supposed to be stand-offish, and a tease, though I never set out to tease anyone. Also, I’m relatively new here and a couple of times I was given work that someone else had been doing too slowly, or not as required, and I got it done. That caused resentment. There aren’t many women in this office, strangely enough in this day and age. But it’s been all right since. I’ve even had acting higher duties and that went well.”

“Mm.” Peter had heard glowing reports about Cilla’s good looks. Some men might think her very existence a tease.

The conversation ended and they went on with their separate tasks, with different thoughts. Peter was impressed by the sound of her over the telephone but was wondering about the tricks she said had been played on her. He had never heard of such bizarre, extreme things being done in any government office. What sort of person was she, to make people forget themselves so?

Cilla too was wondering if she should have mentioned that - it had not been necessary and the events were past and gone. Would word get around? Would it get into the press? Would it get back to this office, that she had brought up the subject in a smug way? She had made a tactical mistake, letting her mouth run away with her and being too eager to brag. She would have to learn to say only what was necessary and to consider every word. She sighed. This was all moving much too quickly.

She had lunch with Elizabeth and told her what had happened. Elizabeth agreed that she would have to watch every word she said. “I’ve had a, like a vision of you, my darling. You could become a sort of Princess Diana figure. And once you get taken up and made into a, you know, object of public adulation and expectation, you won’t get put down. Ever. Have you thought about that? Is it what you want?”

Cilla was startled by this. “No, I haven’t thought any such thing. I’m just - why the hell should that happen, Lizbeth?”

“Because - people need these idols, people to pin their hopes on. You’ve got all the potential. You’re beautiful, you’ve got a gorgeous voice and you speak wonderfully. Look at the average pol. If you can keep your eyes open. Then look at you. Gosh. If you do anything during the campaign to get media attention, that attention won’t ever wander again. Your destiny is rushing up on you, Cilla. Not according to your neat, sensible plan, but right now. You’ve only got a short time to decide whether to dodge it, or embrace it. But if you avoid it, you might always regret that, avoiding it. That’s my vision.”

Elizabeth was shaking with feeling, her sandwich and apple neglected in their box. Cilla stared at her, then looked away. After a minute she spoke.

“Lizbeth, dear, are you - I mean, your feelings for me make you see me in a certain way, so, with the best will in the world, you can’t always be the best person to advise me. You’re not just my best friend, you’re my lover as well. Do you see? I’m not trying to be nasty - “

“No, I know what you mean.”

“ - so I wonder if other people, like my friends in the Party, who aren’t closely involved with me, would have the same vision? I’m not at all sure that I want to be a Princess Di type of person. Fame, celebrity, no privacy, lies about me all the time, demands, no normal life. Yes, I have ambitions to be in public life, but only in a normal way. Just another boring minister. Some prestige, but arousing as much criticism as adulation and liable to get tipped out of office and fade into obscurity. That’s all you expect of a politician, Lizbeth.”

“What about Gough? My dad still goes on about him. You see those scenes on old news footage.”

Cilla thought. “Mm, yes, there was charisma, adulation, fame, but it all lasted a very short time before he led Labor to its biggest defeat ever. And he never had much more than fifty percent of the voters with him. Do you see me as a sort of Gough?”

“No, no, I just, he was an example of a politician who wasn’t just boring, run-of-the-mill. No, Cilla, I see something different. I don’t see you as just a conventional politician. You’ve got special qualities that will give you a special role.”

It was time to pack up and go back to work, but they continued the discussion as they walked. “You see, Cilla, the country has plenty of administrators and managers but no-one who can be a leader, an inspirer. Someone who can transcend politics.”

“That sounds like an argument for an hereditary monarchy.”

“It’s not meant to be. But I see what you mean. That system can throw up people who can lead and inspire without being subject to losing office at elections or having to implement policies that upset people.”

“I don’t see how that can come about, in my case.”

“Oh - I think you’ll find a way. My love.” Elizabeth moved closer to Cilla and put an arm around that delicious little waist. She wanted to make love to Cilla. She always wanted to make love to Cilla. But she didn’t say so now. Not with the rest of the day to get through. Perhaps tonight? She would ask before they went home.

Cilla relaxed into Elizabeth’s embrace just for a moment, then moved gently away. “Careful, Lizbeth dear. People will notice.”

In fact, Mary had already seen them. She had been shopping and was approaching the office from the other direction. She had seen Cilla and Elizabeth come up the street, Elizabeth put her arm around Cilla and Cilla lean into Elizabeth, put her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder briefly before moving away again. Mary felt a thrill go through her - it was a lovely moment of affection between the two girls. They certainly seemed very fond of each other. Mary was glad that Elizabeth had found a friend - she had sometimes seemed rather lonely and sad. She didn’t read anything deeper into what she had seen and didn’t think to talk about it to anyone.

Elizabeth was a little sad, not because she thought Cilla had been wrong to move away, but, as she said, quietly, “I suppose we can never be free to show affection in public, the way boy-girl couples can.”

“No,” said Cilla. “The Law prevents discrimination against people because of their sexual orientation, but in practice, you can’t change the way people feel. Anyway, I haven’t any particular sexual orientation, Lizbeth, I’m just oriented towards you.”

They went contentedly back to work.

***

During the days that followed Cilla found that her life was much more full than it had been and she wondered if she could take the strain. There were more meetings, with party people and community groups; her studies were intense with examinations not far away; she was spending a lot of time with Elizabeth, much of that making love; and working hard to secure and improve her position in the office. Sometimes her heart would pound and she would feel faint. Something would have to go. But she didn’t want to give up any of it. She tried to get more sleep and improve her diet.

Before too long, one uncertainty was removed. Cilla awoke next to Elizabeth in the Dianella flat early on a Sunday morning and couldn’t get back to sleep, although she was tired. So she crept into the living room and turned on the television, to hear that the Prime Minister had visited the Governor-General late the previous evening and advised that both houses of parliament should be dissolved and an election for the House of Representatives and the Senate should be held five weeks from that date. It was October 13.
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Cilla shivered. The timing of the decision was strange. Why wasn’t it done in the bright light of a working day? Perhaps the Prime Minister had hoped to get an advantage of surprise by doing it late at night in the middle of the weekend. He must have prepared his party to start the campaign energetically at the start of the new week, with the opposition caught flat-footed. Cilla hurried back to bed and climbed back in to wait for Elizabeth to wake up. There was to be no more sleep for Cilla this morning, she thought.

She thought wrong. She awoke with a start a couple of hours later to find Elizabeth pottering about, making breakfast.

“Are you awake, darling?” said Elizabeth. “You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you. I hope you haven’t slept too late.”

“No - yes - I was awake earlier, Lizbeth. I went to look at the early TV news. I don’t know why the hell I went back to sleep.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth was surprised. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

“You were sleeping soundly yourself. I just wanted to see if there were any new developments. I had a feeling.”

“So, what happened?”

“They’ve done it. Called the election. Double dissolution. It’s on, Lizbeth. Look, I have to get home. They’re probably trying to ring me.”

Elizabeth took all this in. She was excited, but scared too, as she could see Cilla was. Elizabeth wasn’t standing for election but whatever happened to Cilla affected her. “Have you time for breakfast?”

“Oh - no, I don’t think so. Had you - would it put you out if I had something at home instead? Then I’d be there if - “

Elizabeth felt a distance between herself and Cilla, who was already focussed on the trials and excitements to come. Elizabeth interrupted. “Of course it doesn’t put me out! I’ll make something for you at your place, that is, if I can take you home, and be with you to help with whatever happens. Is that all right?”

Cilla came back to the present, looked at Elizabeth, smiled, went over and kissed her. “Of course. We’re a team. Like I said before. Only, this game’s bigger. I - I might be hard to get on with sometimes during these coming weeks, Lizbeth.”

“So might I, darling. Let’s promise each other now, whatever happens, our relationship will come out of it in one piece.”

“I promise.”

That promise was to undergo a bigger test than they could foresee on this bright quiet morning.

Cilla’s answering machine contained two messages, both from the Party, one from the night before, when the news must have been speedily relayed through party channels before getting onto the news media. The message received earlier this morning sounded impatient, cross. Cilla thought at first, well, it is the weekend, but then she realised that she had made a commitment, albeit a temporary one as the candidate for an unwinnable seat, to a way of life where there were no weekends or nights or other times when you might be considered ‘off duty’, a way of life where your whole life was demanded. She pictured the party operatives expecting her to be sitting by the telephone, waiting for news, ready to spring into action. She dropped her bag and called the number left by the caller.

“Bruce? It’s Cilla.”

“Ah, at last, Cilla. Where have you been? You took your time.”

“I was out, for Saturday night. I stayed over in a friend’s flat. I’ve only just got home.”

Bruce sighed. “You knew an election was going to be called any time.”

“But at the weekend, on Saturday night?”

“Particularly then. Get an advantage. Get the jump on us. We’d do the same, if we were in government and faced a similar situation.”

“Mm. I’m sorry, Bruce. I should have been on standby. I’m having trouble adjusting, you know - “

“Yes, fair enough. But we need to get moving. The pre-selection panel meets today, to endorse a number of candidates. Including yourself. You’re on in about two hours. We need to see you at headquarters in about an hour and a half. After that, we need to have a meeting to plan the coming week’s activities. Have you applied for leave from work, without pay?”

“No - I’ve got ordinary annual leave, starting at the end of the coming week.”

“On full pay?”

“Yes.”

“That won’t do. Weren’t you told? You have to have leave without pay during the campaign. Or you wouldn’t be eligible to take the seat. That’s our legal advice.”

“No, I wasn’t told that. I’ve been waiting for further advice on that matter. But Bruce - “

“What?”

“I rang a guy who stood for parliament, for the Senate, for one of the minor parties, a few years back, and he’s got proof that he didn’t have to resign or take leave without pay.”

“Yes, yes, it has been done. But only for the minor parties. You wouldn’t be able to get away with it, standing for the Labor Party.”

“But surely the law applies equally to all no matter what party they represent.”

“In theory, yes. But look, Cilla. You could make a stand on this, and you might win, technically, but we haven’t time, and we need all your energy for the campaign. Our advice is that to be sure of being okay, you need to take leave without pay, so you aren’t holding an office of profit, as the jargon has it. Are you in this or not? If you are, you need to get leave without pay, starting ASAP. I haven’t time to argue about this. We need to get on. I’m already late, waiting for you to call back.”

Cilla was distressed, by his tone, by the impending disruption to her job and by the feeling that she had made a bad start to her political career. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I’ll see you at headquarters as soon as I can get there, and I’ll apply for leave without pay, first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Good on you, Cilla. I’m sorry I growled.”

“That’s all right, Bruce. I’m sorry to have not been on the ball. I’ll do what I can to make it up.”

“Cheers. See you there.”

The two young women arrived at the party headquarters in plenty of time. Cilla was tense and anxious. So much to do, so many problems, so little time. But this was what she had wanted. Her dream. Her well-ordered life of a few months ago, of which she thought wistfully now, had only the purpose of serving this dream. It had all rushed on so quickly. It was in charge of her, not she of it.

In the early afternoon Cilla was called into the room where the pre-selection panel sat. They had been delayed by a few seats where the sitting Labor member was being challenged. In two cases the challenge had been successful. After that they seemed to be looking forward to a relaxing break - a pretty young woman, the only candidate for an unwinnable seat. Easy. Pleasant. No-one asked Cilla difficult questions or tried to upset her or embarrass her. The interview ended after twenty minutes, with everyone keen to signal that she had won pre-selection, without of course stating it explicitly.

Bruce was waiting with Elizabeth. They seemed to be on good terms. Bruce smiled at Cilla.

“Good. Everything all right?”

“Yes. They seemed to want to give it to me.”

“‘Course they do. This is just a formality. Now we get on with the campaign. Even though we can’t win this seat, we need to maximise our vote, to help the senate. Of course you won’t get the resources that’ll be poured into the marginals but you’ll still get resources and have plenty to do. Are you happy with me as your campaign manager? I’ve done it before. Or do you want to do it yourself? Or Liz?”

Both the women laughed and shook their heads. “No, Bruce, we’ve not done it before.”

“Okay. I was asking Liz how much time she could give to the campaign. She basically said, any time she’s not working, eating or sleeping. You’ve got a good friend here.”

“We’re a team,” said Cilla smiling. “I couldn’t do it without Lizbeth.” Before the words were out of her mouth she was wondering at herself for saying them. Did she really mean that? She supposed she did. But, a few months ago she had been planning to do this all by herself. Had she changed that much? Was it a good change? What would Bruce think of her statement? Would she seem weak, emotionally dependent, unsuitable for the hard world of politics?

Bruce didn’t think that. He was happily married and being a team with another person, needing that person, was to him quite a normal and acceptable state. What Cilla had said about Elizabeth was what he would say about his wife if he ever became a candidate for parliament. He hadn’t previously met two women attached to each other in that way and thought it sweet. He smiled happily.

“This is going to be a good campaign,” he said. Then he became serious again. “How soon can you start your unpaid leave, Cilla?”

“I’ll get to work early, as usual, write out my application straight away, with an explanatory letter, then get on with tying up loose ends so that everyone knows where I’m up to and can carry on. They won’t like it. People just don’t go on leave at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes they do. Accidents, bereavements, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, but - this isn’t unavoidable absence. What if they won’t give it to me?”

“Well - Cilla, you won’t be the candidate, unless you resign the job altogether. We’ll hold off announcing your candidature to the media until we know. When can you let us know, whether you’ve got leave without pay, or you’ve resigned, or done neither?”

“By mid-morning. If I get the leave I’ll be able to start at lunchtime.”

“If you don’t? Will you resign? Burn your boats? Commit yourself fully?” Bruce searched her face.

Cilla sighed. “I’ll have to make that decision at the time, Bruce, but I hope it won’t come to that.”

“What if it does?”

“Well - probably not, Bruce, to be honest with you.”

“I want you to be honest with me. I expect I’d feel the same in your shoes. Well, just do your best to get the leave. I’ll be here again all tomorrow. Ring me and come down when you’re ready.”

There was not much to do after that. Until Cilla was certain that she would be able to be the candidate, the work that could have been done during the rest of Sunday had to wait.

Cilla and Elizabeth went back to Cilla’s unit and made love for an hour, then talked about the situation. Then Elizabeth left. Cilla felt more relaxed, was able to get a lot of study done and go to bed early with some sort of plan for the difficult day ahead.

Everything went according to plan at first on Monday morning. Cilla got in early, worked hard, put in her application and waited for the summons from Barry. He came to her cubicle, frowning and clutching her application form and letter.

“We need to talk about this, Cilla.”

He closed his office door and motioned her to sit.

“This is a bloody nuisance, Cilla. This sort of thing could affect your career. Couldn’t you have given advance notice? You must have seen this coming.”

“No, Barry. I only found out yesterday morning, that I’d have to have leave without pay. The only thing I knew before that” she described the case of Peter.

“Mm. So why can’t you just carry on? Just take your ordinary leave?”

“Because, it’s a grey area. Someone could still challenge. The only way to be safe, according to legal advice, was to take leave without pay. Anyway, Barry, my ordinary leave was to start in a couple of weeks anyway. So I’m just asking to start a couple of weeks early, and be out of the office an extra week, until after the election.”

“But then you’d still need to take your ordinary leave when you came back. That would make nine weeks.”

“Oh.” Of course. Silly of her to overlook that, when she had management ambitions.

Barry looked at her. He really liked her and valued her work in his department - she was someone he could trust, to get things done, well and on time. Any task she was given was always done well. But he had other pressures on him. He sighed.

“I don’t think I can allow this, Cilla. I’ve got to answer to the hierarchy, myself. It would set a precedent. They’re afraid of leave without pay turning into a racket. It got out of hand in another department a few years ago, with people taking leave without pay to do other jobs or start businesses while having a government job to go back to if things didn’t work out. You might have to give up your political hopes until they give you a better seat, that you can win.”

Cilla sat up straight, her heart beating faster. She was afraid, distressed, but exhilarated as well. “Fair enough, Barry. But they won’t ever give me a better seat if I don’t run for this one, this time. You have to prove yourself and show commitment, have enough faith in yourself and love for the Party to resign to run for a hopeless seat, if that’s what it takes. If I can’t get leave without pay, I’ll have to resign. Effective immediately, because they’re waiting to start everything. Then I’ll have to try to get my job back, afterwards.”

There was a silence while Barry took this in, looking at the determined face opposite his. He was figuring the angles. He started to speak a couple of times, stopped, finally sighed. “I’m supposed to deal with this at my level, Cilla, but I’ll have to consult the higher-ups. Leave it with me, will you? When do you want to know?”

“Before lunch, if possible. The Party are waiting for me to call.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“They’re pushing me.”

“Yeah. Well. I’ll do what I can. But we’re all busy. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

It was early afternoon before Cilla’s desk telephone rang with a summons to see the Director, two floors above. She hadn’t taken lunch, was almost bursting with tension. Elizabeth had been in to see her a couple of times and was aware of the situation. Bruce had called, to be told curtly by Cilla that she would either resign, or be on leave without pay, by the day’s end. She would let them know as soon as possible.

The Director motioned her to sit and summoned his secretary to make coffee for both of them.

“Well, Cilla,” he said pleasantly, smiling at her. What a beautiful girl, he thought. “We’ve heard good things about you. Promotional material. We don’t want to lose you. But we have rules and procedures that we must follow. We can’t set bad precedents. We have to be accountable.”

Cilla just smiled and nodded.

“Leave without pay cannot be given as easily as it could a few years ago. Strict conditions apply. You just don’t meet the criteria. And we can’t allow you to be out of the office for nine weeks at this stage. You really will have to choose, whether to resign or stand for parliament. Make a career choice.”

Cilla’s smile froze. She had been dreading this. Speaking softly and still smiling, she reminded the Director of the precedent set by Peter.

“Yes, Cilla, Barry told me about that. That’s just what I mean about setting precedents. The right thing wasn’t done in that case. He should have taken leave without pay, if he met the criteria at that time, or resigned. Are you going to contest the issue?”

The Director’s tone wasn’t as friendly now. Cilla wanted to keep him on her side. “No, Rolf (the Director liked to be called by his first name by everyone), of course you’re right. I can see I will have to make a choice. But you understand my agony, having to choose between two things I dearly want. To pursue my career here, or follow my desire to serve my country in parliament. Of course the two things would eventually be mutually exclusive anyway, but at this stage I was hoping to be able to try the other boat without burning the one I’m in. If you see what I mean, Rolf. Anybody would feel the same way as I do. So of course I - “

Cilla stopped, suddenly listening to herself and thinking that she was babbling breathlessly. She paused to think what she would say, and how.

Rolf wanted to help her. He liked her. He liked her voice and diction. “I understand, Cilla. I’m glad it’s an agony of choice, for you. A lot of people would bolt from this department if they could afford to or if they got a whiff of any other job. I’m glad you want to stay with us. That would be remembered if you wanted to apply for a position in this department later, But, if I were you, in your situation, with your potential, do you want to know what I would do?”

“Yes?” Cilla was surprised.

“Resign, and go for the political job. You won’t win this time but you’ll give a good account of yourself and get a better chance later. And you’ll never be unemployed for long. You, people like you, don’t have to play safe, Cilla. You can take risks.”

Cilla sat up. He was right. “Of course, you’re right, Rolf.” But she still hesitated. She was still scared by the idea of resigning from this job.

Rolf sensed her feelings. “I’m right, but, what?”

Cilla realised that Rolf had mentioned procedures, precedents, accountability, the convenience of the department, everything but the electoral law. She had to raise that issue.

“Excuse me, Rolf, but apart from the convenience of the department, needing to follow procedures and so on, is there any legal reason why I can’t take leave without pay, run for parliament, then return to my job here?”

“Mm - not really - it’s a grey area. That wasn’t uppermost in my mind when considering your case.”

“Well - can’t I just take five weeks leave without pay instead of my annual leave? Can I defer my leave and make up the extra week by working extra hours, without extra pay, when I come back? I would, work those hours. I’d make up for any inconvenience.”

“Mm. I’m sure you would.” Rolf wanted this decided. He didn’t have any more time for it, though he was enjoying Cilla’s company. Yes, what she said was possible. Only an extra week out of the office. People were sick that long, sometimes. No costs. No contests over the electoral act, or discrimination, or anything. All right. Why not?

“Well, Cilla, there is a procedure whereby your paid annual leave for this year can be deferred, taken in small amounts at the convenience of your department. So, you could take a couple of extra days at Christmas and Easter when we work a short week anyway, take an extra week on top of your four weeks next year, and the year after that, until the twenty days are used up. Annual leave must normally be used up by the end of the calendar year in which it falls due but on special application to me, this scheme of deferral can be approved. Take this matter back to your section manager, tell him about our conversation and put in your application for leave without pay, and another for special deferral. You’ll get some paperwork back in due course.”

This was a change from the seeming finality of his earlier statement. Cilla’s heart lifted. She could do it! The way ahead seemed clear.

“I appreciate this very much,” she said, getting up.

“Well, Cilla, you’re appreciated too, more than you might think.” He stood up too and shook her hand.

“Good luck with your campaign, Cilla. I like some of your Party’s innovative ideas on the problems this country faces. I would like to see them tried.”

Ah, so that was it. He thought Labor might get in, or was actually a Labor supporter.

Downstairs, Cilla saw Barry, rang Bruce, finished her immediate tasks, talked to people about the work she had been doing and was ready to leave by afternoon tea-break. Her leave without pay was for four weeks and four days.

She went straight to Labor headquarters where Bruce was looking tense. “Are we finally ready?”

“Yes, Bruce. I’m sorry. We’ve lost a day, but that’s fast by Public Service standards. I think they like me there. I’ll make up for the loss.”

“Well, they like you here, too, Cilla. But we’ve got to work into the evening. I hope you didn’t have anything planned.”

“Only campaigning for some political party, for the next five weeks.”

Bruce laughed.
“Good on you. Let’s go in here.”

They worked until after midnight. Elizabeth arrived some time after five. Pizza was ordered and brought in, coffee was made and drunk, plans were made, anecdotes were told, arguments started and dragged on. It seemed to Cilla that what they achieved could have been done in half the time but she was too new to politics to take charge and tighten the agenda. Once she became familiar with it all, well, things would change.

Elizabeth said little through the whole meeting, only responding to what little was said to her. Cilla wanted Elizabeth to get into it more, too.

Cilla was briefed on the policy positions for the doorknock and any other opportunities she got to speak.

Finally the meeting broke up and Elizabeth drove Cilla home through the spacious streets shimmering on this mild night.

Cilla was going to have to start door-knocking at 9:30 that same morning. The plan was for her to visit every voter in the electorate and to leave a personal communication if no-one was at home. Bruce and Tessa could bring the materials.

“Do you want to stay, Lizbeth?” asked Cilla. “We’d both be getting up at about the same time.”

“Do I what? Of course! I want to come door-knocking with you, too.”

“But you’re at work.”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I’ve got four days’ leave without pay, then I’ve had my annual leave brought forward to start next week.”

Cilla was delighted but amazed. “How did you swing that? I would have thought they’d blow up if anyone else asked for anything after my effort.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I just called in a few favours.”

Cilla shook her head. “I hope you haven’t damaged your career.”

“No, no. Relax. Let’s just concentrate on this, your campaign, forget about the job for the next five weeks. The job’ll be all right.”

They got out of the car and Elizabeth went to the boot to get the bag she had thoughtfully packed with toiletries and nice clothes for the campaign. They went upstairs, hand in hand.

They showered and went to bed, too tired to do anything but sleep in each others’ arms.

***

The first day was going to be a long one. Cilla had to attend a couple of community meetings in the evening, to put prepared questions and be noticed and state her party’s position on the issues being discussed. Dinner was a party barbecue to meet campaign workers and interest groups. Lunch would be a photo opportunity at a local fast food place. All the rest of the time was to be spent doorknocking.

Cilla and Elizabeth awoke in the predawn, rested now and feeling desire for each other. They visited the bathroom then came back to bed and made sweet love for a long time before falling asleep again. By the time Cilla’s radio alarm woke them again they were ready for the day.

They dressed and groomed themselves with care. Cilla knew she could get anyone’s attention if she looked her best. She put on her nicest dark blue dress with the silver decorations and her high heels, which she wasn’t used to and hoped wouldn’t cripple her before the end of the day. She washed, conditioned and arranged her lovely hair so that the blue lights shone and her sweet face was perfectly framed.

Elizabeth gasped when she saw her. “You look gorgeous, darling,”

Cilla felt great love for her friend. “So do you, Lizbeth. We should get their attention, hey!”

They moved closer to each other and nearly embraced. “Wait,” Cilla said. “We’d better not mess each other up, after all this trouble. Wait till tonight.” Just then they heard the crunch of tyres in the car park. Bruce had arrived to take Cilla doorknocking.

Cilla locked the door and she and Elizabeth ran down the steps to meet him.

Bruce was delighted with these two lovely girls skipping down the steps. His last campaign had been with a boring union official who didn’t stand a chance of being elected and could barely keep himself awake, let alone interest anyone else.

“You look gorgeous, Cilla,” he said with feeling. He was starting to have a crush on this candidate. He hoped it wouldn’t get too strong. He loved his wife. He liked to be professional about his party work.

“I know,” said Cilla smiling.

Bruce blushed and laughed, then pulled himself together. “Let’s get on with it.” Elizabeth got into the back of his car, Cilla in the front. They were going to start in a part of the electorate identified by the party analysts as ‘marginal’, not strongly aligned to the government or opposition but split fairly evenly, and changeable. They would work areas like this first. Less marginal areas would be visited later, if at all.

“How many houses would you reckon to visit in a day, Bruce?” asked Cilla

“Well, of course, that depends, who’s at home, how interested they are in talking. It’s a good sign, in a way, if you don’t get to visit many in a day, because it’s a sign that people are taking to you. But it doesn’t get so much done. That’s why we start in marginal districts.” He turned into a street and parked. “Ready?”

Cilla had to approach each house by herself, with Elizabeth and Bruce within earshot but not with her, so as not to scare householders with a group of three people arriving at the door.

She rang the first bell, heard it faintly inside the house. No-one replied. She rang again. No answer. She left her leaflet. ‘Let me know if there is anything I can discuss with you’ etcetera, with a picture of herself. Bruce had had these prepared during the night. It was a nice picture..

Out of the first ten houses, only two people were at home and at only one did Cilla get into a discussion about issues. The people were a pensioner couple. They were happy to come out onto the porch and talk but they didn’t invite her in. They were worried about their well being and said they would vote for her.

“You don’t usually get invited in,” explained Bruce. “Sometimes you do and you have to decide if they really want you to come in or if they are just being polite. If you think they really want you to come in then it’s a good chance to get a sit-down and a cuppa, and you’ve always got a good excuse to leave when you want to; ‘Well, must get on’ and so forth. It doesn’t happen often enough for the time to be a problem.”

“Would it be better to visit houses in the evenings or weekends?’ asked Cilla.

“Not really. People have other things to do then, so you’d find more people at home but you wouldn’t get much more talk. It’s enough for people to know that the candidate has gone to the trouble of visiting their home and that maybe the neighbour met them. We do follow-up visits, of course. You would be surprised how many people respond to your leaflet and ring up for a chat or to get you to come around again.”

They slogged away for three hours and visited forty houses. Altogether, twelve of them had someone at home, and Cilla had a few more discussions. All of them said they would vote for her.

“Do they always say that?” she asked Bruce.

“No. You must be making a good impression.” He was thinking. “I wonder if we should make more opportunities for people to see you and hear you speak. I mean, you’re an unusually attractive candidate, looks, voice. We should exploit whatever we can. Now let’s get to those burgers.”

“I don’t care for burgers,” said Cilla.

“You don’t have to. Just be there and meet people and pose for the cameras, if any.”

“What do you mean, if any?”

“Well, I can do my best to get the media, but sometimes they just decide it’s not worth coming down. I sent them your picture and other stuff. If they don’t show we’ll just make the best of it. There’ll be a lot of that. Remember, this is a safe Liberal seat.”

They rounded a corner and approached the garish food outlet. There was quite a crowd of photographers and cameramen.

“Blast,” said Bruce. “Buggerlugs must have got there before us.” He was referring to the Liberal candidate, a rather unpopular and thus newsworthy minister.

They parked, got out of the car and approached the building. The cameras swept towards them, jostling for position. Cilla felt a shiver go through her.

“Hey, Bruce,” she whispered. “You must have done a good job. I think they’re here for me.”

“Christ,” was all Bruce said.

“What do you mean, Christ? Isn’t this what you tried to set up?”

“Yeh, yeh, but what you try and what actually happens in a campaign don’t often, you know, mesh. Have you, are you ready with policy positions?”

“Of course, I’ve been trying them out this morning, on the houses.”

There was no more time for discussion. Click, whirr, went the cameras. “Ms Parker, do you as a woman resent not getting a winnable seat?”

“No, of course not. I’m only twenty-four and this is my first time as a candidate. I wouldn’t expect a winnable seat were I never so male or macho.”

This got a laugh, but of delight rather than ridicule. “Ms Parker, can you tell us about yourself? Where do you come from?”

“Well, I was born in Western Australia, I think.” Oops. Not know where she was born? There were some frowns and raised eyebrows. Now she would have to explain. “I mean, I was adopted at birth, then went to a foster home, then to a children’s home until I was eighteen. I know I’ve been in Western Australia since pre-school days, as early as I can remember anything, but I can’t be sure I was actually born here. You know how it is? Now can we move on to something important? Like my party’s policy on local issues, like, for instance, the major road that’s being built by stealth through this area -”

Yes, yes, they could get all that from press handouts. Cilla was interrupted by a new barrage of what she thought were silly questions, but she relaxed and started to enjoy herself. She preened herself in front of the cameras, responding wittily. The cameras and their operators drank in her perfect skin, her abundant black curly hair flashing blue lights in the bright spring sun, her lovely face and figure.

Bruce and Elizabeth watched all this with their own feelings. Elizabeth with pure love and desire, Bruce with pleasure but some puzzlement and a little panic. He whispered to one of the photographers “Why the big roll-up?”
“Well, you asked us. What did you expect?”

“Not all this.”

“No, I guess not.” A snigger. “I liked your photo of her and wanted to get some of my own. Seems everyone else had the same idea.”

At last they were all satisfied and went off to meet their deadlines. Numerous people remained, attracted from within the restaurant and from the surrounding shops by the crowd of media people. Cilla was soon involved in several conversations at once, on the ‘issues’ and anything else people wanted to talk about. As she looked at their faces she got an uneasy feeling - they seemed anxious to get their words to her, as though telling her what was on their minds would itself be an achievement, like going to church and praying to their favourite saint. In her own view she was just an ordinary person with no more power than any of them, but to the people she seemed like someone beautiful and special on whom they could pin their hopes. She thought this feeling had been generated by the flash and bustle of the media and now was sustaining itself.

She was a minor celebrity for now. Amazing how ‘celebrity’ could be suddenly generated out of nothing and become a self-sustaining force.

Bruce wisely let it go on for some time, not being bound by his schedule. This unexpected event was worth a great deal of plodding campaign activity.

Someone thought they would like Cilla’s autograph and others took up this idea eagerly. Did they even know who she was? Bruce reckoned that there had been little spoken of Labor or its policies during this event.

Cilla, almost invisible among the crowd of taller people, managed to look over at Bruce and Elizabeth. She smiled and began to move slowly towards them, not abruptly breaking off chatting to people or signing autographs.

“Did you want to get on, Bruce?”

“Mm. Perhaps we should.”

As they moved off in the car Elizabeth said “I suppose that was a good time to leave, while they were still interested, not waiting till they had all gone and left Cilla alone.”

“Right,” was all Bruce said. He agreed.

None of them spoke of the surprising turn the photo opportunity had taken or its ramifications. They sat quietly with their own thoughts on the matter as the car moved away.

“I’d still like some lunch, Bruce,” said Cilla.

“So would I. Let’s sneak off down the road and get some fried chicken, quietly. Is that okay?”

After lunch they resumed door-knocking in a different area. It all seemed an anticlimax after the excitement at the fast-food outlet, but at the same time it seemed easier. Cilla was more confident and felt energy for the task which that morning had seemed large and tedious. Her mood affected the people she called on and she got more invitations inside, more lively discussions.


At about half past five Bruce decided that they should finish for the day. People were coming home from work, getting their dinner, talking to their kids, getting ready for the evening, and the candidate needed a break because there was still work to be done that evening.

Cilla was staggering a bit. She didn’t say anything but she was wondering if every day was going to be like this and if she could stand it.

She didn’t have to say anything. Her white face and slightly drooping posture told Bruce the story.

“Politics is arduous, right from the start, when you’re campaigning for your first seat,” he said to Cilla, without prompting. “By the time you get to be a minister you’re at work all the time. You might get home late at night from a meeting or paperwork then get rung up at six the next morning by the current affairs radio program wanting a coherent statement on some issue that might be new to you. Otherwise they say ‘The minister wasn’t available for comment’ which sounds bad. That’s why a lot of the politicians on the morning news and current affairs go er, um, waffle waffle, because they’ve had only a few hours’ sleep.”

“Yeah.” said Cilla.

“Can you take it?”

“We’ll see. No, I mean yes, I’ll stick at it, Bruce. Don’t worry, I won’t let you down. But yes, I am a bit weary. I’m not like that skier or skater or whoever she was who the commentator said was ‘built like a brick shithouse’”.

“He said outhouse.”

“Everyone knew what he meant. I was never a robust person. But don’t worry. If I pass out, you can throw cold water over me and I’ll get up and carry on.”

“Good. You’ve got the right attitude. That’s most of what it takes.”
bisher8
Elizabeth was a bit shocked at this response. Hers would have been “Oh, no, Cilla, if you pass out we’ll stop and take you to hospital.” She came and put her arm around Cilla. “We’ll have a rest, darling, before the evening thing.”

Cilla tensed at the word ‘darling’ and Bruce looked at them with new interest. These girls were certainly close friends. He didn’t comment on that but said only “I’ll drop you two off at Cilla’s place. Can you make your own way to the barbie? It’s only five minutes from Cilla’s unit. He gave them a flyer with the address.

“Yes, OK, Bruce,” replied Cilla.

At last the door of Cilla’s unit closed behind the two young women and they were alone. Elizabeth yearned to embrace Cilla as she had longed to do all day but had to apologise first.

“I’m sorry about my indiscretion, Cilla.”

“That’s okay, Lizbeth. No harm done. Women can be affectionate to each other in ways men can’t, or they can, but I mean without being noticeable, you know what I mean.” Cilla was too tired to express herself properly. Also, this had been only the first day of the campaign and it wasn’t finished yet, and she was worried that one indiscretion a day might add up to a problem. But she didn’t want to upset Elizabeth just now and at least Elizabeth understood the importance of discretion.

“I’m going to undress and lie down until it’s quarter to seven,” she went on.

“Can I come with you, to lie down?”

“‘Course.”

Cilla set her alarm clock and was asleep five minutes after lying down. Elizabeth held her, stroked her hair and skin, feeling deep pleasure at having this quiet time alone with Cilla before what might be a long, busy evening. Soon she dozed off too.

The radio alarm never got to wake them up because the telephone shrilled loudly at twenty to seven, waking them both in shock.

“What?” said Cilla into the telephone, her heart thumping.

“Cilla? Pull yourself together. Were you asleep?” It was Tessa.

“Yes. It’s been a big day.”

“Well, you’ll have to get used to it. Weren’t you going to come this evening?”

“Of course! But there was time for a short rest. I’m about to freshen up and change.”

There was some asperity in Cilla’s tone which made Tessa check herself. “Right, I’m sorry. Good idea, to get some rest before going on. Sorry to wake you, but I thought, I wondered if you were watching the news.”

“No - we weren’t.”

Tessa didn’t ask, who’s ‘we’, and restrained herself from giving a lecture on the necessity of candidates’ watching the news. “You were all over it. Not just a mention, or a sound bite, but lots of you. I was really excited. How did you pull that off?”
“Er - it was Bruce. He fixed it. Though it was more than he expected. But he told everyone where I’d be, and when, and sent a pamphlet with a picture.”

“Ah, yes.” Tessa had seen the picture. “Should be a hot party tonight. You’re a celeb.”

“Mm - well - just a moment - “ the radio had blared on; Cilla stabbed the sleep button. “I don’t know, Tessa, it’s just an ephemeral thing, based on a pretty picture. I’m just an ordinary person.”

“No, you’re not. You’re special. You look special because you are special. You can live up to it.”

Cilla was surprised that Tessa thought so well of her. “I’ll try to, Tessa,” was all she could reply. “I suppose I’d better quickly get ready now.”

Elizabeth was in the car with the engine running when Cilla, still a bit dazed, but freshly showered, changed and made up, locked her door and ran down the steps.

During the short drive she took deep breaths to get herself fully awake and sharp for the evening to come. Elizabeth hadn’t changed, just tidied up a bit. She wasn’t the one who was going to be looked at and sought out.

There were a lot of cars parked outside the big house where the party barbecue was to be held and the place emanated commotion and excitement.

“Are you ready, darling?” asked Elizabeth. “I reckon it’s going to be a more exciting evening that what you’d normally expect with a no-win candidate.”

“I’m feeling better now, ready for anything, and you’re with me, Lizbeth dear. This is what I wanted to do, I would have done it anyway, but I would have been doing it on my own, and I - you being with me makes such a difference. But there will be times when you need to get away from me and do your own things.”

“What things? There’s nothing I’d rather be doing, than this, with you.”

They embraced, carefully so as not to spoil each other’s makeup.

“Lizbeth, if I ever win a seat, and even if I ever become a minister, I’d like you with me.”

“Always, my love.”

After another interval Cilla said “We’d better go in. Must be after seven.”

They arrived at the door just as it opened to show the anxious face of Tessa, wondering where the candidate was.

“Cilla! You’re here at last.”

“What do you mean, at last? It’s only a few minutes after seven.”

“Well - candidates need to be punctual.”

“Oh dear! Well, perhaps you had better nominate someone else.”

Startled, Tessa didn’t respond. Cilla moved on into the house and Elizabeth followed her, surprised by Cilla’s behaviour. Cilla was aware of this and whispered “I know I was unkind to Tessa, but I am trying to be assertive, take charge, get myself in the mood. I’ll make it up to her later, Lizbeth.” That was all she said, and anyway there was no time for more because the party, most of which was out on the back patio and lawn, had become aware of her arrival and clapping and excited chattering broke around the two women.

“Congratulations!”

“You were great on the news!”

“The ‘phones have been ringing with people wanting to help your campaign!”

Cilla passed through all this in a regal manner, finding a suitable place where people could come to her be introduced and talk with her. There were plenty gathering around her.

Elizabeth left Cilla to it and went to get her some dinner. Fortunately it wasn’t one of those experimental barbecues involving a hungi, or a spit, or some other procedure that might finally give you some unsatisfactory food three hours late. It was just a normal cook-out where the food was edible and available on time and in quantity. Elizabeth got Cilla a small steak and two sausages, coleslaw and a bun, and a can of drink and took it back to her.

“I’ve brought the candidate some dinner,” she said at the outskirts of the crowd. They parted for her in a friendly and approving way. Two of them hurried to get Cilla a seat and insisted she sit down. Cilla was grateful for this. She had wanted to sit down but didn’t think it would be appropriate and had been prepared to spend the whole evening on her feet if necessary. But if they wanted her to sit down to eat, well, she could take advantage of that for twenty minutes.

Elizabeth smiled at Cilla and waved to say, carry on, meet these people, I’ll see you later. She could eat dinner with Cilla any time, as they had on many a quiet evening, before, or after, or in between lovemaking.

Someone brought a folding table and several people sat with her to eat dinner. They introduced themselves, or each other. One of them was a candidate for another seat, a winnable one, so he was quite important. Another of her dining companions was on the State Executive. These two looked at her and spoke to her as though she were the important person and they were glad of the chance to sit down with her.

They wanted to discuss many things, party policy of course, what the party’s chances were of winning, the local, national and global issues of the day. Cilla’s parentage didn’t come up, nor did any personal issues. She was encouraged to expound at length on many subjects and was listened to, so that she started to enjoy talking, considering, phrasing, practicing modulating her voice and not using those pervasive words ‘ahm’ ‘siddiv’ and ‘y’know’.

After a proper time and at a suitable point in the discussion she put aside her plate and empty can, rose from her seat and said, ‘Well, I must circulate. I’ve enjoyed this opportunity to meet and talk with you,” she used their names which she had remembered.

They stood up too and the State Executive member, Eric, offered to introduce her to more people she might like to meet.

It was apparent that this affair was attended by far more than the local party small fry who normally would be expected to attend. Cilla met several Labor members of State Parliament and most of the Federal candidates. The Labor members of Federal parliament were all still in Canberra.

It was after ten o’clock and the party was still in full swing, having moved mostly inside the house.. Cilla had used the time well and enjoyed it, but needed a break. She looked for Marlene, whose house it was, and for Elizabeth. She found Marlene. “Can I use your bathroom?” she murmured. She saw Elizabeth and signed to her. They went into the bathroom together.

It was a big well-appointed bathroom, with chairs. After freshening up Cilla and Elizabeth sat down together.

“How’s it going, Lizbeth? Are you bored?”

“No! I’ve been doing some circulating of my own, meeting people. I even got to meet Marlene’s kids. I played a computer game with them.”

“Oh - good.”

Actually, Elizabeth wasn’t bored because she had been getting such pleasure just from watching Cilla moving around, talking, smiling, animated, lifting everyone’s spirits, looking so beautiful. She felt such deep love for Cilla. She longed to make love to her but this wasn’t the time.

After a pause, Cilla went on. “I suppose this will go on for a while yet, then there’s another big day tomorrow. I wonder if I can take it, Lizbeth.”

Elizabeth didn’t say anything fatuous like “Of course you can, darling!” She was concerned about Cilla’s strength. Cilla was pale and drooping again now, having left the party and relaxed and sat down for a while.

“Is there some way you can decently leave, so we can go home and sleep?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t seem even nearly finished with me. I wouldn’t want them to think I was leaving because of being tired. Tessa would have something catty to say like, you’ve got to get used to it, other people would think, oh dear, she can’t take it. It would be remembered when I wanted a more winnable seat later on.”

“What about, you need to leave because I want to undress you and make passionate love to you and I can’t wait any longer?” said Elizabeth impulsively.

Cilla laughed her delightful laugh. “Kiss me, Lizbeth darling, I can take a few minutes to fix my makeup afterwards.”

The frosted glass bathroom window was closed but not curtained. Someone who had gone out into the garden for a smoke thought he saw the surprising sight of two young women kissing passionately in the bathroom. He didn’t like to go closer and peer at them and didn’t want to be caught looking at the window. He must have been mistaken. He put out his cigarette and went back inside.

A few minutes later he saw the candidate and her constant friend emerge from the other part of the house. They looked flushed and happy. Well. This might be a story for his paper. But how could he say that he had been outside and seen them kissing through frosted glass? It wouldn’t make him look very good, and he couldn’t really be sure what he had seen. And he liked Cilla and wished her well. Just the same - he started to watch the two women with more attention. He must attend more functions where they were present and watch them some more. This could be a scoop and he was a journalist, first and foremost.

Cilla felt rejuvenated, full of ideas. When Bruce came up and suggested that a speech from the candidate was expected, she was willing.

“What should I talk about?”

“Oh - “ Bruce had meant to discuss this with her earlier in the day. Normally a speech would be worked on and cleared with the party. Only experienced candidates and sitting members could get up and talk without preparation and clearance. But he trusted Cilla to speak well and sensibly. “ - just talk about crime, law and order, if you like. Always a good topic.”

Cilla moved through the crowd, smiling at people, getting their attention. She didn’t bother to stand on a chair and there wasn’t a platform, this was an ordinary home. She just reached the end of the big room where most people were and turned around, looking at them, smiling around the room.

Gradually people turned towards her, stopped their conversations, told each other to hush, waited.

Cilla didn’t start speaking until some time after the room had fallen completely silent. She was practicing her timing. She just let them look at her for a minute. Then she began.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. I’ve enjoyed meeting you all and I hope I can justify the work being put into the campaign for this seat by being a good candidate and increasing the party’s vote.”

A murmur of friendly approval.

“Much has been written and said in the media recently about the rising crime rate and what should be done about it. Bring back the rope and the whip, bring back the good old days when policemen used to beat people up and they didn’t do it again, ha ha, build more prisons, impose longer sentences, build higher walls, own bigger dogs, hire more police and private security patrols, rig more elaborate alarms and locks.

“Yes, well, I suppose I can’t stand here and disagree with any of that, but it’s not enough. It’s a rough and costly road to nowhere. I haven’t heard or read anyone ask, why it is, that our society generates criminals at such a rate, a fresh wave every year coming up like a crop of wheat, in their turn robbing and hurting people and destroying property, being banged up, then being replaced the next year by the next antisocial crop.

“What is it that turns a proportion of our young people, sweet kids at one time, into the sort of young adults that we want to flog, hang, shoot or at least lock up forever? There is no point imposing more and more monetary and other costs on our community to defend ourselves against ever-increasing crime unless we spend some money and effort on tracking and attacking the source, of the problem.

“Is it the parents’ fault? Some have suggested that people should attend and pass a course in parenting before being allowed to marry. Even if such a scheme could be accepted and implemented, would it solve the problem? I’m sure many of you” she looked around the room “can tell stories of parents who have lived exemplary lives and done their parenting by the book, only to have their kids go wild; or of kids who have come from broken, abusive homes with one or both parents in and out of jail, kids who have gone on to be productive law-abiding citizens. My own childhood would make your hair stand on end, yet I’ve been chosen to represent your party in an important election.”

A murmur of interest. Elizabeth wondered, how much do they know? Is Cilla going to go on about her beatings?

She didn’t. She continued “In fact, a child’s parents are a relatively minor influence in its life once it gets past babyhood. There is little a parent can do against the torrent of corruption that swirls around our children. Our society seems bent on corrupting and destroying its children. Has this always been the case in human societies? I don’t think so. Is it a symptom of something? Maybe, but I don’t know what. Really, what’s surprising is not that so many of them turn out to be criminals. Its amazing that as many of them as do, get through to adulthood in reasonable shape and become mostly decent citizens.”

Cilla paused and looked at her audience. They seemed bemused. A few looked scornful. She decided to finish up her remarks.


“So what’s my point? Just that while politicians must conscientiously do what they can and spend what they must to ease the symptoms, the underlying problem, or disease in our society, is beyond the scope of mere politics or easy promises. Of course politicians could contribute to curing that problem but not without a concerted effort from all organs of society and from the mass of the people.

“It’s ironic that one of the sponsors of ‘Crimestoppers’ is a commercial television company. Having made money out of generating criminals, they make more money from a smug campaign against them and their crimes. What is the whisper of the values we want to teach our children, compared with the blast of up to eighteen hours a day of television, ads and ads, Americanised garbage, more ads, more American rubbish, hour after hour? As I said, it’s amazing that most children survive it.”

“Crap,” came an audible whisper from the journalist who had seen Cilla and Elizabeth through frosted glass.

Cilla knew whence the whisper had come and fixed the man with her blue eyes, smiling gently. “Thank you for that, sir. I expect most people would agree with you. I think I’ll stop here and thank you all for your attention.”

A desultory clatter of applause began and ceased quickly. It just wasn’t what those present had been expecting or wanting to hear. Bruce and Tessa looked particularly angry. Tessa urgently motioned Cilla to come with them to another room for a meeting.

Cilla went into the room and shut the door. Before they had a chance to say anything she said “It doesn’t look good if the candidate is summoned like a naughty child directly after her speech. It’s noticeable. I’ll go out and circulate, take my flak from the people, then see you two in about ten minutes. All right?” She turned and walked out.

Why have I done this? She was thinking. I spoke from the heart, but it wasn’t very clever, not the straight political path. And why quarrel with Bruce and Tessa? I should be guided by them, not be peremptory and bossy. Sometimes events take on a momentum of their own and we can only be carried along.

People looked at her. Cilla tried to read their expressions. Not scorn, or bewilderment, rather, they looked hunted, as though accused of something or found out in some failing. Cilla felt alone, alien. The journalist who had said ‘crap’ had vanished.

A woman now came up to Cilla. “I never thought to hear anything like that from a candidate for the Labor Party,” she said.

A few other people now came around, hoping for an interesting discussion - interesting not so much for content but for heated tempers, raised voices, incautious remarks.

“Why not, Helen?” asked Cilla. She remembered the woman’s name from an earlier introduction.

Helen was clearly pleased that her name had been remembered from one brief introduction, but wanted to make her point. “Well - anyone who wants power, depends on the media. If you’re a judge, or a minister of religion, you can sound off all you like, but a politician, or aspiring politician, you know, that’s different.”
“Ah, yes. I agree with you, Helen. And I think that’s part of the problem. Did you actually disagree with what I said? Do you think that floods of TV ads and the programs that carry them are benign, or neutral?”

“Well - no, but -” Helen stopped, expecting to be interrupted, having had some experience at debating politicians at these functions. But no interruption came, so she went on. “I can see that they could be harmful, but I can’t see that - I think you exaggerated.”

“I don’t,” came another voice. Cilla recognised him as Tom, though she couldn’t remember his position in the party. Just a rank-and-file campaign worker, she thought. “I think she’s right. I’m glad she just didn’t stand there and mouth a lot of stuff without any real substance that we’d soon forget.”

Now Cilla saw another interesting example of group dynamics. The people who had heard her speech had looked uncomfortable and applauded weakly because they couldn’t decide what they could allow themselves to think about it, or be known by others to think about it. Now one assertive, confident person had told them what they could think, and they realised that this was their opinion too.

Several people joined in the discussion and Cilla was no longer the centre of it. It was a chance for her to slip away and see what Bruce and Tessa wanted. No. Not yet. She would go and talk to another group.

“So, you’ve stirred up the chooks,” said a man, not unfriendly. “Do you see any journos here now?”

Cilla looked around. She hadn’t been sure who was a journalist at the party, but there seemed to be a few people missing.

“No, you don’t,” he went on. “They’ve all rushed off to make hay with your speech. You’ll find yourself tomorrow defending things you didn’t say, clarifying what you didn’t mean to say, spin controlling. Lots of fun.” He chuckled. “I liked your speech. I liked watching you and listening to you make it. But an experienced pol wouldn’t have said that. Just as well this isn’t a marginal seat.” Several of the group joined him in laughing, but there was no derision in the laughter. They were enjoying themselves. They were slightly flushed, stimulated by the unexpected speech. Cilla tried them out.

“Leaving out the conventional political wisdom, and whatever else you may think of me, would you vote for a candidate who made that speech? Be honest now.” She looked from face to face.

They didn’t speak for a while; just stared at her. “Is that why you made that speech, to win votes?” someone finally asked.

“Or as an experiment in voter reactions?” asked another person.

“No, no. I spoke from the heart. I spoke the things that occur to me whenever anyone starts on about the crime rate, and what to do about it. There was no preparation, no speech-writing, no market research, no crafting. Just a spontaneous expression. I shared my personal thoughts with you, gave you an insight into my thoughts and feelings. That’s the point. So, what? Never mind what party I’m representing. Could you vote for a person like me?”

Now they understood and responded quickly, and warmly. “Oh, yes.” “Of course.”

Bruce came up at this point, looking serious but not angry. He saw apparently happy approving faces around Cilla, who looked pleased with herself. Well, maybe it’s not too bad, he thought. But “Cilla, could we talk now?” he asked softly, smiling at her so as not to embarrass her.

As they went away from the group Bruce whispered “Tessa’s upset with you. Apart from your speech, she says you’ve been rude to her.”

Cilla blushed. “I know, Bruce, I’m sorry. She just happened to be there, scolding me, a couple of times when I was trying to psych myself up, get in the mood. I’ll apologise. I’ll make it up to her.”

Tessa hesitated to speak when she and Cilla and Bruce were together in the side room. She didn’t know what to say, or how Cilla might respond. Her feelings were in turmoil. She liked Cilla, was attracted to her in a way that worried her, but she was also afraid of her, resented her and was angry about the speech. Cilla spoke first.

“Tessa, I’m sorry I’ve been rude to you. It was nothing personal. I was just trying to get my mind set for this evening and was likely to retort haughtily to anyone who spoke to me. I’m sorry I was late. I’m sorry about the speech. I won’t give any more that we haven’t worked on together and that haven’t been cleared.”

Well, that disposed of that. Tessa relaxed and allowed herself to smile. Cilla went up to her, put her arm around Tessa’s shoulders and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Tessa shivered with pleasure at the soft touch of Cilla’s lips and the sweet smell of her hair. She wanted to put her arms around Cilla and hold her, but it wasn’t appropriate and the moment passed.

Bruce saw that Tessa was mollified into silence. He was quite impressed by what Cilla had accomplished in a few seconds, considering how angry and even hostile Tessa had been towards their candidate a short time ago. But there was still something to talk about.

“Cilla, there’ll be a lot of stuff in the media tomorrow, about that speech, or about whatever the journos made of it. It could be used in a damaging way. We’ll have to, you know, do damage control. Can we discuss this?”

Cilla nodded gravely and sat down with them. She felt very tired now and wanted to go home and lie down with Elizabeth, but she took a serious and constructive part in the discussion that went on for half an hour. At last Bruce and Tessa were satisfied and they rose and left the room to find that most of the guests had gone.

In ten minutes, after saying goodbye to the remaining guests and their hostess and chatting briefly with some of them, Cilla and Elizabeth were driving back to Cilla’s unit.

Cilla went and collapsed on her bed. Elizabeth joined her. They discussed the evening.

“I reckon that Tessa fancies you,” said Elizabeth.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, likes you. Wants you.”

“Oh really, Lizbeth!” But Cilla felt uneasy. She hadn’t missed Tessa’s response to being kissed by her, a kiss meant in all innocence as a friendly gesture between women. She felt uneasy about that and about her own response to the idea of it. She briefly imagined Tessa caressing her, kissing her on the mouth, and started to feel aroused.

“I bet she’d like her face to be where mine’s going to be in a minute.”

“Mm. Where’s that, Lizbeth?”

Elizabeth was pulling up Cilla’s dress and finding her way. “Right here, darling,” she said more huskily.

“Mmmm. Mmmm. Don’t you want me to shower, Lizbeth?”

“Of course not. You’re sweet, sweet, no need ever to shower.”

“Mmmm. Perhaps I should undress properly.”

“Later, my love. I can’t wait.”

The campaign, the speech, the problems awaiting Cilla in the morning were all forgotten now. After an hour or so the two women fell asleep entwined with each other as many times before.

[DAY 2]

Cilla awoke in the small hours. The sun would come up at about five but there was no sign yet of dawn in the sky. The night was quiet and cool. A truck droned its weary way north up the main road across the valley. Cilla undressed, showered and changed into her nightgown before coming back to bed with Elizabeth, who hadn’t stirred. Cilla covered them both with the doona now.

Cilla lay for a while thinking, unable to get back to sleep quickly. So much had changed in twenty-four hours. From being an unknown candidate she was now a temporary celebrity, and, if Bruce and Tessa were right, a controversial figure. She would have to start coping with all this in a few hours. And who knew what would have happened and what she would be thinking by this time tomorrow morning?
Eventually she drifted back to sleep as the early summer sky paled with dawn and the birds started chirping.

It was full daylight and the sun shone already white and warm when the telephone rang. It was a quarter past six.

“Early AM, Ms Parker.”

“What?” Cilla had been shocked out of sleep, dreaming, immersed in jumbled images far removed from present reality and she could make no sense for a minute.

“Early AM. ABC current affairs. Wendy Okabich speaking. Ms Parker, we want to discuss your speech about how the Americans are corrupting our youth.”

Cilla was shaking and longed to tell them to ring back later, but she realised that the whole country was listening and she had to cope. She breathed deeply, shut her eyes and tried to imagine herself on a podium in front of a large crowd. This was a situation in which she had never been but she had to picture it to get herself in the right mode.

Elizabeth had woken too and heard the tinny voice in the telephone. She hugged Cilla from behind, whispering “Here we go, my love. You can do it!” for want of anything better to say, just wanting to support and strengthen Cilla.

Wendy Okabich thought she had heard a whisper, in a woman’s voice. “What was that, Ms Parker?”

Cilla wondered if the whole country had heard. She frowned a warning to Elizabeth, who could hear the telephone and looked alarmed. She moved away from Cilla.

“Nothing, Ms Okabich. I was just collecting my thoughts. What about my speech?”

“We’ve just heard an excerpt. Did you mean to say, ahm, ahm, that Americans are corrupting our youth?”

“No, I wouldn’t - I don’t believe our good friends and allies would do that. I was talking about American - er - mass media and advertising on young minds who get blasted with it too much. Ordinary American citizens and parents are as much concerned about it as we are.”

“Ahm, how do you know that?”

“It’s well documented. Concerned groups have been - on about it for years, over there.”

This was really testing Cilla. She felt as though she was waffling. She was distracted by wondering if Elizabeth was upset. She reached behind her and was rewarded with a clasp of her hand. Now she felt more confident.

Wendy didn’t pursue that issue. There wasn’t time and listeners’ attention would wander. She started again.

“Ahm, y’know, I mean, do you think a Labor government should censor TV? Control advertising?”

I wish, thought Cilla, but she said “The Labor Party - a Labor government will maintain freedom of speech, freedom of expression, freedom of the media, and of course I fully support that policy.”

“But, you seemed to be saying, ahm, ahm -”

Cilla interrupted. “Any change to the way the commercial television stations do business or the way people use their product, will have to come from the people. I was merely sharing some thoughts of my own, which people may or may not choose to take up.”

Good, she thought. Good, thought Elizabeth. So did Bruce and Tessa, listening in their separate homes.

“But - I mean -”

Cilla bored on, fully on song now. This Okabich just wasn’t articulate enough to get the better of her in a shouting-down match.

“A politician must represent the people and give them what they want, but must also suggest from time to time, things that people might want to consider, wanting, creating a constituency for.” She didn’t know how much time she had or when she would be cut off, but kept going. “Do we agree that there is an epidemic of crime? Every doctor knows that to defeat an epidemic, you can’t just treat the diseases, you have to find the source of the disease and stop that. Maybe I’m wrong about the source of the crime epidemic, but if so, what is the source? We must throw massive resources into locating and stopping that. Would a buck spent in the right way on a child, when it is young, save five or ten bucks’ worth of theft, damage, tragedy, police, prisons, canes and ropes later on? The Australian people are entitled to get the best value from their anti-crime tax dollar, Ms Okabich.”

“Yes, yes, but, ahm -”

“Don’t you agree?”

Wendy was used to running rings around sleepy, slow-talking politicians whom she telephoned early in the morning. She enjoyed it. But this Cilla was way too sharp. She took another tack.

“Ahm, don’t you think you should have chosen your words more carefully, ahm, you know, last night when you gave the speech?”

“Yes, I agree. I should have prepared the speech properly, helped by my party. No-one had any idea what I was going to say, nor did I, I just spoke from the heart. I’m inexperienced. That’s -” Cilla checked herself from going on to say, why I’m running for a safe Liberal seat. Instead she went on “- something I will overcome by learning the lessons that my mistakes put in my way. But I shall not cease to ask, where is the source of the rising plague of crime in our society, and what can I do, what can we all do, to stop it there? People like yourself could help in a positive way instead of just trying to score points.”

“Ouch, was that necessary? But Wendy wasn’t fazed. She just said “I’m not trying to score points, Ms Parker.”

“Yeah, have you never tried to score points?”

Wendy was lost for words as her unseen audience, including Bruce, Tessa and politicians from both sides allowed themselves a chuckle. Cilla saved her by going on. “And call me Cilla, if you like. The ‘Parker’ is just an invention.”

Wendy’s eyes widened as she looked at her clock. This was something new and interesting. How long could this interview go on? She couldn’t just cut it off now. Another minute.

“What do you mean, ahm, Cilla?

“I was given up for adoption at birth, Wendy, then my adoptive parents broke up and I was put into foster care, subsequently into a children’s home. At some point someone thought I needed a surname, so they gave me ‘Parker.’ Maybe it was their name, or the name of their street, or of their cat, I don’t know. The Cilla is what’s important.”

More chuckles from the listeners who were enjoying this, warming to the owner of the lovely, intelligent voice. Wendy herself chuckled. But that was enough. “We’ll have to leave it there, Cilla. Thanks for your time.”

“My pleasure, Wendy. Have a good day.”

“Whew,” said Cilla, throwing herself back onto the bed. “How did that go down?”

“I reckon it was bloody good, dearest. It wasn’t just what you said, it was your way of saying things. I think you’ve won a lot of hearts across the nation just now.”

“Thanks, Lizbeth. Did I upset you when I scowled at you? I wasn’t cross, I was just afraid they might have heard your whisper.”

“You didn’t scowl, darling, you can’t and of course it’s all right. I’m sorry I was careless.”

“Oh, well, no harm done.”

They lay together in each other’s arms for a while, still tired from yesterday and wanting a few minutes more of quiet and privacy before facing the day. Elizabeth idly remarked, not being serious, “I wonder if the ABC people are all gathered around, trying to analyse the whisper on the tape?”

Indeed they were. The whisper hadn’t gone to air of course but, sensing an intriguing mystery, Wendy had run it down to the technicians for analysis.
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Bob the technician played the segment over and over, adjusting controls and displaying the trace on his screen. Finally it came through clear.

“Here we go, my love. You can do it!”

“It’s a woman’s voice,” said Bob. “See here, and here. Quite characteristic.”

“Not Parker’s? Cilla’s?” said Wendy.

“Nope. Look at the traces.” Wendy could make no sense of the traces but she knew it was a different voice, a woman’s voice.

“Hmm, so, there was a woman with Cilla, early this morning, in the bedroom with her, because I’m sure I woke her up, calling her ‘my love.’ Who could it be, guys?”

Wendy’s offsider chimed in. “My sources reckon there’s a tall blonde girl that hangs around Cilla all the time. Goes on the campaign trail with her, was at the party where Cilla gave the speech, drove her there, stayed all night.

“Well,” said Wendy. “Might be a good human-interest story there. What’s their relationship? Worth keeping an eye on them.”

More than one eye would be kept fixed on Cilla and Elizabeth once news of this tape analysis session got around the ABC, which didn’t take long. It didn’t take much more time for it to leak out into the other media outlets, thence into the ears of politicians on both sides who had their friends in the media.

Eventually it bounced back to the ears of the journalist who was strongly tempted to speak about what he thought he had seen through the bathroom window at the campaign barbecue. But he imagined the headlines that his enemies would print: “Journalist spies on women through toilet window”. No. Better say nothing.
But we return to Cilla’s flat in the early morning where Elizabeth had just made her idle remark.

Cilla didn’t reply, just chuckled. Over the next minute or two her face went solemn as she thought about the remark. If Wendy had heard the whisper, and if everything that happened during AM were on tape, then it could certainly be analysed and the whisper brought up clear. Cilla foresaw all that we have described. She sat up.

“No kidding, Lizbeth. If they can, they will. I’ll have to forestall any damage.”

Elizabeth didn’t like the word ‘damage’. She was concerned that she might indeed have damaged Cilla’s campaign but resented the use of the word, when her whisper had proceeded from her love for and desire to help Cilla. “Oh. Right,” she said, getting up and pulling a blanket rather roughly off the bed to wrap around herself on the way to the bathroom.

Cilla was vexed at having upset Elizabeth but pushed it out of her mind for now. She would deal with it later. What could she do about the whisper?

By the time the two girls were dressed and ready for the tumultuous day ahead Cilla had a plan.

She opened the door. Of course. The car park was strewn with media vehicles and people, to the anger of other unit dwellers.


Cilla stopped. Elizabeth joined her and became the object of avid attention.

The two women and the media crowd stood and looked at each other in silence for half a minute. Cilla whispered to Elizabeth. “We’re about to cross a threshold, into a new life. At least I am. Leaving my old life behind. Never to return.”

Elizabeth nearly gave in to the impulse to reach for Cilla’s hand, but checked herself. Cilla anticipated this and put that hand up to smooth her curls.

Then she started down the steps. The media surged forward and closed around the diminutive figure when she reached the car park. Elizabeth stayed a few steps up. She was aware that all the cameras and videocams took her in as well. Cilla noticed this too. She wanted to put that problem to rest as soon as possible, but it was hard to find a chance through the babble of questions. She heard one about Americans corrupting the country and put her hand up.

“I was asked that this morning, by Wendy at AM,” she said, high and clear so that her voice would be picked up by all. “The telephone rang at six, woke not only me but my friend Liz” indicating Elizabeth “in the other bedroom. I suppose I’ll have to get used to that if I want to be a pol.”

Some laughter. Cilla went on. “I think I dealt with the question quite adequately there.”

Then a man asked a question that would normally have been thought frivolous and inappropriate but which Cilla wanted to hear on this occasion.

“Have you got a boyfriend, Ms Parker?”

Ah. Lovely. Thanks very much.

“Call me Cilla, if you like. I explained why on AM this morning. No, not a serious boyfriend, not at the moment. I’ve been working, studying, laying the foundations of my life, as a modern woman should, and now I have to concentrate on politics. But I certainly see a husband and family in my future.” She smiled winningly.

The words and picture got around the country during the day and the rumour about Cilla and Elizabeth drooped and failed. Just two ordinary women, good friends, sleep over at each other’s houses, so what? Why had all this started? Just because of a mysterious whisper on a tape, which when analysed contained the words ‘my love’ directed by one woman to another. Really, this was all about one word, ‘my’. Lots of women called each other ‘love’.

Cilla answered, or parried, or failed to hear many other questions during the next ten minutes, all about her personal life and history, her views on American culture, her ‘attack’ on commercial television companies, her ‘accusations’ and ‘slurs’ on decent community-service efforts like CrimeWatch. At last Bruce arrived to take them on the day’s doorknocking. He saw the circus, parked, got out and came over. He didn’t seem displeased.

The media parted to let him through then closed around him and Cilla. They still seemed hungry for her. She was starting to enjoy this attention again, preening, tossing her curls, smiling and snapping her eyes, making witty remarks. No-one wanted to leave just yet.

Bruce took over. There was a serious campaign to run. They were starting to treat Cilla like a bimbo or soap opera actress. She was just starting to behave like one.

“Well, folks, we must leave you soon,” he said, smiling pleasantly at them. “Long day’s doorknocking ahead.” He gently offered Cilla his arm, she took it and they started to move slowly towards Bruce’s car.

Elizabeth followed. The media weren’t taking much notice of her now, but one person asked her “Who are you and why are you trailing around with the candidate?”

Elizabeth didn’t react to the abruptness of the question, just its content. “I’m Elizabeth. I’m a workmate of Cilla’s. We were going to go away on holiday anyway, to Geraldton, sun, surf, meet some guys, you know. But when this, you know, election came up we cancelled that. But I still took my leave at the same time as Cilla so I could see a political campaign up close.”

“Fair enough.” The person lost interest and hurried to his vehicle to stay in touch with the doorknocking caravan, as it was to be. Later his little interview with Elizabeth would appear on a television current affairs program, only within the state. It would have finally and neatly buried the rumours in everyone’s mind except for one small mistake - the word ‘Geraldton’. A number of people thought, Geraldton? To meet some guys? A smaller number, with knowledge about Wendy Okabich’s tape as well as about Western Australia, thought, you don’t go to Geraldton to meet guys, or a partner. You go there because you’re already suited with someone and just want to be with them and get away from everything else.

But most of the state accepted Elizabeth’s explanation and moved on.

The leader of the opposition and would-be Prime Minister in his office in Canberra was not happy. One candidate, in an unwinnable seat, was getting far too much attention, and none of it about the issues. He wanted candidates in marginal seats to get plenty of exposure and the issues to be hammered at relentlessly. It was outrageous that a young upstart of a throwaway candidate should be spouting personal views with no control and causing worthless, even destructive controversy. The party had to work like a tight team. He began to tap out a sharp email to the national campaign director.

Cilla did her doorknocking this day in an environment totally different from the day before. A crowd of media people and cameras followed her and Elizabeth along the street. After two people who had opened their doors to her had taken fright at the crowd of electronic eyes staring from just behind the candidate and had retreated back inside, Cilla decided she had to take charge.

Before going on to the next house she faced the media contingent. “Listen up, people,” she said, folding her hands. They stopped, stared and listened.

“I, will go to each door by myself. You won’t come past the gate until the person I’m visiting has given permission. I belong to you because I’m a candidate but they don’t, nor does their property. I shouldn’t have to say this.”

Cilla knew she was being bossy and peremptory and saw Bruce frowning, as though to say, most candidates are desperate for any bit of media attention. But Cilla wanted to see how the media would react and wanted to get the initiative in her relationship with them.

They took it very well. For the rest of the street they did as she had told them and some people actually were pleased to have the media come right inside their houses and film Cilla talking to her would-be constituents.

So it went on for the rest of the morning. At lunchtime the media all left, having got more than they would need for the evening’s or next day’s stories. Bruce had set up another evening function that they wanted to attend.

Bruce had arranged a meet-the-candidate opportunity for lunch. The fast food outlet was more than usually crowded because it had been known in advance that Cilla would be here. She sat at a conveniently located outside table, picking at her chips and salad while people swarmed around. She chatted, laughed, signed autographs and secretly worried at the crush and the way people were staring at her. They weren’t hostile or frightening stares, it was just that Cilla had had a lonely life and wasn’t used to being the centre of so much avid, almost adoring attention. She had had the same feeling yesterday but it was more acute now. She would have to get used to it. Many people took any opportunity to touch her, her hair, her hands, her arms, her pretty blue dress.

Elizabeth didn’t sit with Cilla, not wanting to take space from potential voters. She sat with Bruce at another table but watched Cilla constantly, smiling with pleasure.

The rumours that had bounced around that morning, about the AM tape and the possible female lover, hadn’t reached Bruce. Elizabeth did seem extraordinarily fond of Cilla but so was everyone who came in contact with her, even the media, even Bruce himself, though he wasn’t going to get carried away with it. He tried to talk with Elizabeth.

“It’s going well today,” he said.

After a minute Elizabeth glanced at him and said “Mm?”

“I said it’s going well. Cilla’s raising the issues, but in a relevant way, and she’s listening to people too, and making them laugh, feel good.”

“Mm,” agreed Elizabeth, turning back to watch Cilla. She hadn’t eaten much.

At last Bruce stood up and moved gently to the animated constantly changing crowd around Cilla. This could go on all day and they would all enjoy it but it was time to get on.

“I’m afraid I have to tear the candidate away from you all,” he said, smiling. “We’ve got more ground to cover today. You can have another chance to meet her at the Gilfraser Oval tonight.”

As they drove away Cilla asked “Is that where we’re going tonight?”

“Yep. Like last night, only bigger. I mean, for more people. Sausage sizzle, bush band, meet the candidate.”

“Wasn’t that a bit ambitious for this seat?”

“Yes. So people said at the time. But now, I reckon it’ll be a big event to suit the venue. I must have known something. But, Cilla, let’s agree on a speech beforehand.”

“Of course.”

“Tessa wants to come to your place and work on it with you before the function. Is that all right?”

“Oh - yes. But it’s not tidy.”

“Of course it isn’t. You’ve got other things to do. My place is the pits. We’ll wrap this doorknocking up early and I’ll take you home, you can rest, then Tessa will come about five. OK?”

“Sure, Bruce.”

The afternoon was productive, they got through a lot of houses even though many more people wanted to talk with Cilla and ask her in. As she got back into the car for the ride home she felt elated but her heart was pounding.

“Well, I feel like I’ve done a good day’s work,” she said, breathing quickly.

Bruce looked anxiously at her flushed face and moist brow. “Are you all right, d - er, Cilla?”

“Yes, yes, I’m just used to sitting around an air-conditioned office. I was never strong, as a child. I must try to build up my fitness if I’m to make a career of this.”

Elizabeth wanted to hold Cilla, take her head in her lap, but wouldn’t do so in front of Bruce.

When they arrived at Cilla’s unit they almost had to carry her up the steps. “Do you think you can make it tonight?” asked Bruce.

“Of course. I’ll have to, won’t I. I won’t let you down. I’ll have a rest, some energy food and coffee and I’ll be good tonight. See you then. Thanks for everything.”

“Thank you, Cilla, for being such a great candidate!”

“Oh, in spite of the spontaneous crime speech?”

“You recovered that very well, this morning. We were impressed. It’s all right for a pol to shoot their mouth off occasionally, if, you know, it is only occasionally, and the damage control afterwards is good. We were going to try to manage you through a day of damage control but they, you know, the media, got in first, but after that we didn’t hear much more about it.”

“Mm, I was surprised not to be hammered more about it.”

“Well, that’s your strength, one of your strengths, you’re so very likeable. People end up wanting to, I mean, not wanting to fight you or give you are hard time. Must go now. See you tonight!”

Inside, Elizabeth was at last alone with Cilla and was able to hold her and discuss the day with her as they lay together. After twenty minutes Cilla slept.

Elizabeth wanted to go home for a while to do things she needed to. She tried to leave Cilla quietly, meaning to write a note and sneak out of the door, but Cilla woke up.

“Lizbeth?”

“Oh - Cilla darling, I just want to go home for a while. But I’ll be there tonight.”

“Mm. Fair enough.” Cilla yawned. “I suppose I’d better freshen up and be on the ball for Tessa.”

Elizabeth wondered if Cilla was upset by her leaving. But as they went to the door together Cilla said “I appreciate you so much, Lizbeth. Having found out how hard all this is I don’t think I would have been able to do it without you. Take it easy, don’t rush. Someone will drive me there, and back if need be.”

“Oh, I want to be there. “

“Okay. Come back in for a second.”

Cilla just wanted to kiss Elizabeth without anyone seeing. “You don’t mind, do you, Lizbeth? I think they’re on to us anyway. We might have some flak to dodge, later.”

Elizabeth sighed, remembering the reporter’s abrupt question that morning. “That’s all right, darling. We must be careful until the election, then we can be us again.”

Cilla didn’t think they ever could again be ‘us’, not because of anything wrong with the relationship but because she felt that her own life would never be the same. But she didn’t pursue it.

She had a shower, fluffed out her hair, changed into a light dress for the mild evening and waited for Tessa, who was on time at five.

They sat side by side at the table, working on Cilla’s speech to be given that night. It went well for half an hour and they got most of it done.

Cilla was concentrating on the papers before her, making notes and crossing things out, when Tessa put her arm around her and gently pressed her face into Cilla’s hair.

Cilla stopped writing, stared in front of her and fidgeted with the pen. She was speechless. Her heart beat faster. So they sat for a full minute.

At last Cilla said “Tessa, I don’t say this is unpleasant, but it’s, you know, rather - strange.”

Tessa slowly withdrew her arm and her face, sat red-faced, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Cilla. I was out of line.”

“You would be, if you were, say, Bruce. But you’re a sister woman, as they say, so I don’t know what to think.”

Tessa’s action had surprised herself as much as it had Cilla. It had been just an impulse. But now she wanted to pursue it, though she knew that she could, and should, just say “Let’s finish the speech” and the incident would be left behind.

“I know we’ve had words, Cilla, and - but, I mean, I really do think highly of you as our candidate. I always did. But - I like you, too.”

Cilla didn’t answer, just smiled at Tessa, hoping she would shut up about it so they could get back to work.

Tessa pressed on. “I mean, I’m attracted to you. Cilla.” She sighed deeply.

Now Cilla started to feel that she, too, couldn’t leave the subject alone. Her heart had started to beat faster at Tessa’s touch because she had felt aroused. Now she was starting to slip over into the region where her mind and good sense didn’t have control. Her precious relationship with Elizabeth, the need to keep that relationship secret, her political ambitions, all were reasons to stop this right now.

She answered “Tessa, I think you’re attractive too, and I like you, and respect your political expertise, though I’ve seemed a bit full of myself sometimes. But I expect to have a husband and kids in due course. I don’t see myself settling down with a woman, I mean in a sexual relationship. Is that what we’re talking about?”

The two of them sat staring at each other, breathing more quickly.

“Yes,” Tessa quavered at last.

Cilla sighed and stood up. Tessa was afraid she was going to be kicked out, but Cilla said “Look, you can come and lie down with me for half an hour if you like, get it out of your system. Then we can finish the speech. I need to lie down again before we go out, anyway. But understand, Tessa, we’re not going to become an item, or move in together, or anything. Nothing against you, but, you know, what I said. Is that okay?”

Tessa trembled with joy as she stood up. “Mm. Yes, Cilla.”

Cilla took her hand. “Let’s go to my bedroom, then. Excuse the mess.”

Cilla threw herself onto the bed and lay on her back with her knees up and her dress falling back. She remembered Elizabeth had liked that posture. This was mad and bad but it was exciting. She eagerly awaited Tessa’s caresses.

Tessa slowly took off her shoes and lay down with Cilla but didn’t touch her.

“Feel free, Tessa,” prompted Cilla. “Take liberties. This is your chance. Just don’t get me pregnant.” She cracked up laughing at her own joke. Tessa smiled, relaxed and drew close to Cilla, holding her and kissing her face and neck. This was bliss for Tessa.

After a few minutes the two women were entwined with each other and Tessa’s kisses and caresses were being returned. Then Cilla pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Tessa asked. But Cilla just wanted to pull off her dress, leaving herself wearing nothing but panties and bra.

“I’m getting hot and I thought you might like to feel a bit more skin,” said Cilla, getting back onto the bed.

Tessa then got up and took her dress off, then got back onto the bed where they resumed their love-making more eagerly than before.

After some time Cilla pulled away again, flushed, breathing deeply, her eyes bright .

“Do you feel what I feel, Tessa?”

“What?”

“That I’d like to go all the way. To orgasm.”

“Mmm,” was all Tessa could say. She had never felt like this during her brief marriage or the long relationship that had preceded it.

“I think we’ve either got to do that, or stop,” said Cilla. “Do you agree?”

“Oh - mmmm.”

“Which ?”

“All - all the way.”

Cilla got up and closed the door, then took off her remaining clothes and got back onto the bed. Tessa undressed without getting up.

Cilla parted her legs. “Come in close, Tessa. Real close. Oh -”

For long delicious minutes they were lost in each other, drowning in joy. Then they lay back and reality came into focus.

Cilla was exhausted now and her heart was still pounding, when she had wanted to be fresh for tonight, in fact just able to survive. And she, the endorsed candidate for a major party, had just had sex with a principal campaign worker. Of the same gender. And what about Elizabeth? Elizabeth, who loved her, had made such a difference to her life and whom Cilla thought she loved back. And she would need another shower now, too. How could she have allowed this? She had thought she was sensible, mature, freed from her difficult past and ready for a great career. Now she had risked it all by being reckless, self-indulgent, unable to resist a resistible and dangerous temptation.

Tessa had other feelings. She didn’t care about the fact that it was the candidate she had just had sex with. Her main motive for joining the Labor party had been social, to make friends, have somewhere to go in the evenings, possibly to meet a new partner to share her life and be a dad for her abandoned son. Of course she liked being a campaign worker and had thrown herself into the role with gusto but the politics were not her priority. Now she had met Cilla. Her husband had never made her feel such delicious joy and she couldn’t imagine that any man would. But - this was difficult.

She turned to look at the beautiful head beside hers on the pillow.

“I think you’re thinking, this was a really bad idea, Cilla.”

Cilla sighed. “Yes. Nothing against you, Tessa. Lovely feeling, but bad idea. But my idea. I said, let’s go to bed. I took my clothes off. I could have stopped it back at the table and we would have finished the speech by now. I just - didn’t want to be ungenerous.”

That wasn’t true. Hard even to herself, impossible to admit to Tessa that she had actually desired Tessa. She sat up.

“I suppose I’d better shower and dress.”

“Cilla, I’ll never tell, if that’s what you’re worried about. I think I love you, Cilla, and that means I want only what’s good for you, never to hurt you. It would hurt you if this delightful episode got known about or if I tried to go on with it. Look, have your shower, then we’ll finish the speech and I’ll drive you to the event. Don’t worry. Just - just -”

“Just what?”

“Let’s - say it’s possible, not impossible, that this might happen again, even if only once more, long time ahead.”

Cilla smiled. “All right, Tessa. We’ll agree on that. Not slam the door forever, .just leave it open a crack.”

“That’s what I mean.”

They both felt better after this discussion and got ready to go out in a relaxed and companionable way.

As they went down the steps to Tessa’s car, Cilla asked “Tessa, that’s a nice name. Is it short for something?”

“Yes - I was baptised Teresita.”

“That sounds Spanish or something.”

“My grandma was Filipina. It was her name.”

“Oh. But you’re a redhead.”

“Only a quarter Filipina. My grandma married a Scotsman. Their son married a girl whose parents were Dutch.”

“Quite a mixture. A microcosm of multicultural Australia.”

Tessa laughed. “Yeah.”

As they drove off, a couple of media people took a quick photograph, noting that Cilla was accompanied on this occasion by a short sturdy redhead instead of the tall blonde.

***

“Bloody hell,” said Tessa as they followed the Stirling Highway around the curve towards the traffic lights where they would turn left to reach Gilfraser Oval. Crowds of people were scampering across the busy road from the train station. Lights flashed as the police strove to control the traffic trying to get into John Street. “We thought this venue would be too big when Bruce booked it, but it was cheap and available and a nice setting for a late spring evening. Now it looks like being too small. We never thought about parking.” She slowed down to get past the congestion, then made for a right turn.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a way into this little suburb further back up the highway. We’ll go around and back and park up the hill a bit, and walk down. Do you mind?”

“No, no. Needs must.”

Tessa’s scheme worked, due to her local knowledge. Not many cars were parked with hers. As they got out they could hear the skirl of folk music and the sounds of a happy crowd down the hill at the oval.

“Are you ready for this, darling?”

“I suppose so. Did we bring the speech? Will I remember it? And don’t call me darling in front of people, the media will beat it up and obscure the issues.”

Tessa laughed “Yeah. Right. Don’t worry, don’t think about our little adventure. Just focus on the job.”

Cilla thought about Elizabeth - she should have been walking down with Cilla, calling her darling. She wanted to be with Elizabeth. She felt guilty, her feelings torn.
bisher10

Gilfraser oval had, a century or so before, been a home ground for major league football, such as it was in those days. The antique grandstand still stood. The other side of the ground was right on the river, whence the lights of boats passing up and down winked through the line of graceful old Norfolk Island pines.

They reached the gates of the oval, joined the crowd trying to get in. A few people at first, then more and more, recognised Cilla, the point of all this. They gasped with surprise and delight. The famous Cilla joining the crush at the gate with everyone else. They parted to let her through.

Bruce hurried down from the old grandstand to meet them. “I wondered how you were going to get in. You’re not too late. How do you feel, Cilla?”

What Cilla felt and what she could admit were widely different. Oh, Bruce, I’m worn out from having sex with your main campaign worker, I’m scared of this crowd, I’ve forgotten the speech, I’ll probably wing it again, I just want to go home and lock the door and sleep and forget all this. “Good, Bruce. Well rested and prepared.”

Bruce relaxed and smiled. “Circulate among the crowd for a while. Have a sausage. Have a dance or two. Later we’ll have your campaign speech, then more socialising.”

The old football ground had never seen such a crowd. Long-way sets whirled to the music. Rancid smoke from the sausage sizzle billowed over the scene. The sun had just set and fiery pink and orange clouds cast a lovely glow. People pressed in on Cilla, wanting to look at and touch her, tell her and ask her things. Who do they think I am? She thought. A week ago I was an unknown office-worker. But she worked hard to respond, to satisfy, and was glad that Bruce and Tessa were there to stop her being overwhelmed. She wondered when Elizabeth would show up, assuming she had been unable to get through the traffic and park close by.

A tall lanky boy who fancied himself asked her to dance, to the sniggers of his mates. “All right,” said Cilla. He was a bit shocked, but pleased.

The dancers stood in long sets being instructed on their steps by a loud woman with that nung-nung southern English accent. Then the music began and they were off. A crowd had gathered to watch Cilla dance and she didn’t disappoint them Tessa felt her own heart leap as she watched the lovely girl with her shining black curls and blue dress capering to the Celtic rhythms and remembered how they had been together in Cilla’s bedroom a short time ago. She would have to try not to think about that. It had been so lovely, but there was no future in it.

It was one of those dances where you change partners with every cycle of the music, so Cilla got to dance with and meet a number of men, women and children.
When the music stopped Cilla walked away from the dance area with a wave to all, and a responding cheer. She went to get a sausage and people competed to be the one to serve her, offering her white or wholemeal bun, pickles or sauce, salad, with her sausage.

Cilla wanted to sit down and eat for a few minutes but that was impossible. She had to keep walking, talking, munching, listening.

At last! There was Elizabeth, looking distraught and hot.

“I couldn’t get here, d - er, Cilla. The traffic.” She stretched out her arms as though to enfold Cilla but recollected herself in time.

“I know, Lizbeth. Tessa found a sneaky place to park, up the hill, and we walked down.”

“I ended up parking at Mosmans and getting the train.”

“Well, you’re here now. Walk around with me.”

Elizabeth relaxed, smiled and a breeze off the river cooled her. Cilla felt happier, stronger now as she went at her work. Elizabeth attracted much attention of her own, being tall and attractive and apparently a favoured friend of the celebrity.

They were over the other side of the oval, near the river, when Bruce looked at his watch.

“We need to work our way back to the grandstand, Cilla. That’s where you’ll give your speech. The band will take a break and hopefully we’ll get most people’s attention.”
Now Cilla started to feel tense. This was a far bigger crowd than the group at the house party and they had lots of distractions, and she was supposed to have prepared a proper speech. No informal ‘talk about crime, or something’ to a small group. This was serious.

Twenty minutes later Cilla was in the grandstand, behind the front rail, while people adjusted the microphone and the lights.

“This sure is an old-fashioned stunt,” she remarked to Bruce.

“Yeah, well, when we were planning this we thought of it more as a family fun thing, raise a bit of money, get people to meet. They do this at schools a lot now.”

At last all was ready for Cilla to speak. She had her notes. Did she read them, or what? More and more faces were turning in her direction and the noise was diminishing. The band had stopped. People closed in on the grandstand.

Cilla looked down at them. They were expectant. They had taken the trouble to come out to see her. She must give them something to take away, uplifted and encouraged. She had worked on her speech with Tessa and she knew the main policy points. But this must not be just a drone of promises and rhetoric. She made a play of studying her notes, to please Tessa and Bruce. But she would have to speak from the heart, looking at her audience.

“Thank you for coming,” she began. “I’ve enjoyed meeting many of you. I’ll meet more of you after. The night is yet young. I just want to talk for a little while about the state of the country today and outline some ways in which a Labor government would seek to improve things.”

So far, so good. Without spending too much time, Cilla touched on Labor policies on schools, health, taxation and so on. These policies were available in detail elsewhere, for those who cared to look. But she wanted to say something of substance, of her own.

“We seem to be stuck with nearly ten percent unemployed,” she continued. “It doesn’t seem to drop much and nei -” Oops. “ - the Liberal government doesn’t sem to think of it as much of a problem, in itself. Most of us have got out of the way of thinking about it much. But what does it mean? Nearly ten percent of people who could work, are available to work, presumably want to work for their money, can’t do so. This government treats them as though this were their fault, as though they had no right to live, as thought they wanted to have no function, no title, no status in our society.”

“It’s the same ideology that drives the for-profit, up-front payment scheme for aged care. In America, it’s reached extremes. Yes, people will say, there goes Cilla, getting stuck into our good friends and allies the Americans again. But it’s to their credit in one sense, that what I’ll describe was published in their excellent weekly magazine, TIME. Since the keepers of chains of old people’s homes want to maximise profit, the best way is to spend as little as possible on the old people and to keep their lives as short as possible, and that’s exactly what’s been happening.”

Cilla paused briefly to inspect her audience for signs that she was rambling on too much or straying sideways from one topic to another. But they looked interested and attentive. She went on.

“An inspection revealed old people starving, confined day after day in darkened small rooms and with untreated wounds crawling with maggots. A staff member was challenged about the maggots, and she had the hide to respond that many doctors were using maggots to clean out wounds, that this was coming into vogue as accepted medical procedure. She was asked, well, were these maggots a program of treatment under medical supervision, and could she name the doctor? No, of course they weren’t, and she couldn’t. Meanwhile, the owners of these places were, I mean still are, making millions in income and paying good dividends to their shareholders, which is all our system requires of them. They enjoy high status and respect in their society.”

“The idea that human life is sacred in itself, that everyone has the right to live, and live decently, as long as they want to, no matter if they be old, or ugly, or can’t work, or no-one likes them or their opinions, is an idea that underlies the legal and political traditions of this country and of the party that I represent. It is an idea fading rapidly from the hearts and minds of the parties in government.”

“Another idea that underlies the policies of my party is that every person should be helped and encouraged to be as good and fulfilled as they can be. A person of small ability and humble ambition can have dignity and pride if they use their ability and reach their ambition. But this government supports a system that seems to require a proportion of the population to be processed into garbage.”

A gasp, a moan moved over the field into the darkness. It wasn’t hostile to Cilla. She had touched a nerve. The crowd were rapt.

“The economic system favoured by this government requires that a certain proportion of the population be unemployed at any time - there shall never be enough jobs for everyone. Yet those unlucky to be the ones without jobs, are vilified and made the scapegoats for many ills. If their deprivation is necessary for the general good, then they must be given an income. Not made to suffer humiliation and degradation at the hands of bureaucrats.”

A cheer at this, from many.

Cilla paused as a police patrol helicopter approached the ground with its noisy clatter. Its blue shaft of light struck down, moving this way and that in the search for criminals. Most people held this expensive and useless if highly visible police exercise in contempt and derisive boos and whistles erupted from the crowd, with rude hand gestures and cries of ‘piss off!’.

The helicopter turned and flew right over the old grandstand, pausing to hover over it and inspect the speaker. The shaft of light struck directly down onto Cilla, who was brilliantly lit by it. She looked up and could see straight into the dazzling light. Her hair shone and the ornaments on her dress and neck and wrists glittered. The crowd gasped.

She raised her arms. “Hi up there, officers!” she cried. “I’m doing it for you too!”

This was a transcendent moment. It brought a prolonged cheer and, for the first time, a chant of ‘Cil-la! Cil-la!’ started up.

The light flicked away from her and the helicopter moved away, its noise fading.

Cilla raised her hands again, smiling, and the crowd fell quiet again to hear what else she had to say.

Across the river, among the old mansions and boat moorings and parks, her voice could be hear quite clearly and groups of people had gathered to listen.

Cilla went on. “One of the great achievements of our country, one that the Labor party has helped more than any other to bring about, is multiculturalism. People from a great number and variety of different ethnic and religious groups living together in peace, without wars or job discrimination or walled ghettos, yet still free to practice their religion, follow their culture and speak their language.”

“Many people, supported by many members of the government in power and their allies on the extreme right, want to abandon multiculturalism and just have one culture, what they call ‘Australian’ culture. Does anyone know what that is? Obviously they don’t mean the true Australian culture, the old Aboriginal culture. So what do they mean? Should we all follow the Anglo-Celtic culture, and if so which part? The protestant English or the Catholic Irish, both well represented in our country. Or the Italian culture, also well represented? Or the really dominant cultural influence today, the culture of American or pseudo-American mass entertainment and advertising? Yes, there Cilla goes again, I apologise to our American friends, but I speak only what we all know to be true.”

“Of course we must have a common language, that we all speak, and clearly that must be English, and we must share other common ground. But there is stability and strength in diversity. Everyone is free to be what they want to be, while sharing common ground. We must strive to maintain this, not allow people to divide us against each other.” Cilla made chopping motions towards the field, as though to split the crowd before her into warring clans.

Bruce thought, she’s gone on far too long, but they’re still listening. She’s great. It’s been great.

“Labor hasn’t ever won this seat, it is a lifetime job for any Liberal lucky enough to become the candidate and inevitable member. But let’s give it a red-hot go, and support us in the senate, too, get that extra senator. Labor for Curtin!”

Cilla smiled, raised her arms and the crowd roared. “Let the band play on!” she cried above the noise, and the bush band duly thumped and skirled into action.
Cilla was shaking. She was exhausted. Her heart was pounding. She looked behind her for Elizabeth. But there was only Bruce and a couple of party officials. Elizabeth was down on the oval, in the front, next to Tessa, clapping and waving to attract Cilla’s attention.

Tessa, engrossed with Cilla, didn’t fail to notice how her face relaxed when she saw Elizabeth, looking straight at her as she waved back. Tessa took a sidelong look at Elizabeth, then back to Cilla. With her own startling and lovely encounter with Cilla that afternoon, and thinking back, she suddenly realised something. Cilla had been most emphatic that she and Tessa were not to be ‘an item’ and had said that their lovemaking had been a bad idea. Now Tessa knew why. It was because Cilla was already spoken for. Tessa felt angry at having been deceived, then she thought, why be angry? Cilla isn’t a guy. The rules are different. But Tessa still felt upset. However, she would never mention it to Cilla or discuss Cilla and Elizabeth’s relationship with anyone. It was all too obvious, though, to Tessa, and she wondered how many other people had picked up on it.

Bruce from his position beside and just behind Cilla had also witnessed the exchange of waves and smiles between the two women, as though just for a moment, none of the thousands of other people were present. He wondered again at how fond they seemed of each other. But his thoughts went no further.

Cilla stopped waving and hung onto the microphone, smiling. She made no move to come down.

“Come on, Cilla,” encouraged Bruce. “Time to go and mix again, have another dance. You were great!”

“No shocks this time?”

“No, no, perfect. Better than what we had in mind. And your delivery was great! What’s the matter?” Cilla still hadn’t moved.

“My legs are wobbly, Bruce, I feel faint. I can’t - I need to rest. Can I rest for a while?”

Bruce was worried. “Yes, if you must. But are you ill?”

“No, just, I’ve never been strong. I want to go on. I need to go on. But I have to stretch out for a few minutes.”

“Okay. There’s a players’ room under the stand. Go in there. I’ll send Tessa in to make you comfortable. I hope you won’t be too long. I hope I don’t seem inconsiderate -”

“No, no, Bruce, you’re quite right. I’ll be on my feet and doing my job as soon as possible.”

In the dark change-room, mercifully shielded from the crowd and from media people, Cilla lay down and shut her eyes, breathing deeply and trying to relax. Elizabeth and Tessa had joined her. Elizabeth stood over Cilla, anxious, longing to hold her and help her recover. This was obvious to Tessa.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “Give her a hug, Liz. I won’t tell anyone.”

Elizabeth stared at her. Tessa wished she hadn’t spoken. Should have just walked away.

Cilla wasn’t asleep and heard Tessa’s remark, and Elizabeth’s silence. Oh dear. How would she deal with this in a few minutes when she needed to rest? Still, the problem was of her own making. She sat up.

“What do you mean by that, Tessa? You can tell people what you want.”

“I know. Of course.”

“If Elizabeth wants to give me a hug, she can, and you can tell everyone. I can give her a hug, too.” Cilla did. “What’s to tell?”

“Nothing - I “
Cilla could see that Tessa hadn’t spoken out of jealousy or a desire to hurt and harm, but had spoken thoughtlessly and now wished she hadn’t. Cilla found a way to release her and end the awkward discussion.

“You political operators are too touchy about things,” she said, but jokingly, with a smile, not to be censorious.
That was the end of it, for now. Tessa smiled back and went to stand near the door, looking out at the tumult. Elizabeth was still puzzled - the exchange hadn’t made any sense to her, but she did sit down on the bench with Cilla and hold her.

Thus they stayed for a few minutes. Normally Cilla would have been relaxed and helped by Elizabeth’s embrace, but she was in a torment of guilt. She would have to tell Elizabeth what had happened, and sooner rather than later. She should have done so just now, when Tessa’s indiscretion had made the opportunity.

Soon, Bruce looked in. “Are you ready to come out yet, Cilla?”

“Yes, Bruce.” He meant, get out here, now. She rose slowly and moved towards the door. She thought, these next two hours are going to be hard. Can I get through? I have to walk around, dance maybe, when I can hardly stand up, then I have to go home and break up my relationship.

She managed the grand tour, with Elizabeth supporting her in such a way as to make a difference without being obviously a crutch. No-one asked her to dance. She did have to talk and smile a lot, responding to people’s questions, opinions, avowals of support, offers of help. Hundreds of hands reached out to touch her. She thought, any of these people would like to be in Elizabeth’s position, have a relationship with me. But I love Elizabeth. I think I do. I’m sure I do.

Eventually she got back to the grandstand. Bruce was pleased with her. “This evening’s been a mega success, Cilla! I reckon you can go home now, you need to rest.”

Cilla was surprised. “But everyone’s still here.”

“Yes, they’re enjoying themselves, but you’ve given enough and they’re well satisfied. Just go up the stairs again and give a little goodbye speech. I’ll turn the lights on.”

Cilla stood up before the crowd and the lights shone on her. She tapped the microphone and everyone turned to look at her.

“I have to go home now, people, and work on tomorrow’s campaigning.”

A collective sigh.
“Thanks for coming along tonight, I’ll remember tonight as long as live, no matter what the outcome of this election, or what path my life takes. It’s been wonderful to meet so many of you. Goodbye, and take care!” She waved. The crowd applauded warmly. It was over at last. She came down the stairs.

Tessa was waiting for her, with Elizabeth. “Liz was just telling me how she had to park way over at Mosman’s. Can I give you two a lift back there?”

Cilla was perturbed. Was Tessa going to come back with them? What did she have in mind?

Tessa wanted to speak to Cilla alone. Lots of people milled about. How could she get her away without Elizabeth needing to come with them?

A bit of luck. Bruce was waving them to come over, just when Elizabeth was distracted by some minor journalist who wanted to talk to her. Who are you, how long have you known Cilla, and so on.

Tessa and Cilla started moving towards Bruce who was some metres away, then Tessa gave him a sign meaning, we’re just going in here, wait. She quickly steered Cilla back into the changerooms under the stand.

“What, Tessa?”

“Cilla, my dear, don’t worry. I meant what I said this afternoon. I’m not going to cause trouble. I don’t want to spoil your relationship. Never -”

“What relationship?”

Tessa sighed. “You and Liz are an item, aren’t you?”

Cilla stared at her in alarm. “How did you know?”

“It was obvious to me, with my insight gained by - this afternoon.”

“Is it obvious to everyone?”

“No, no, everyone thinks you’re just exceptionally good pals, though Bruce thinks Liz’s a bit moonstruck.”

Cilla didn’t answer.

Tessa went on “I just wanted to take this quick chance to say, it’s not a problem for me, it explains a bit about this afternoon, but I’m not going to be a problem for you, so just don’t worry, all right? I spoke carelessly in here earlier, I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t trying to make trouble.”

“I figured that, Tessa.”

“So, I’ll just drive you and Liz back to Mosmans, say goodnight and be on my way. Relax! Let’s forget this, go and see what the hell Bruce wants and get out of here.”

Bruce only wanted to tell Cilla to sleep in a bit because they wouldn’t start any campaign work or events till late morning. Cilla was grateful.

“We’ll go through the change-rooms, out a side door and up a quiet street before turning left to my car. Avoid any fuss. Okay?” Tessa said. The others agreed.

As they walked up the hill, got into Tessa’s car and set off, they spoke little. Cilla had just been a huge public success but was giving that little thought just now. Elizabeth wanted to talk about that, to say how great and exciting it had all been, but felt uneasy for some reason she could not define. Cilla seemed glum and distracted. Tessa was troubled by conflict between her desire not to part from Cilla tonight and her promise, which she was determined to keep, to leave Cilla alone and not spoil things for her.

There were no cars belonging to media people watching them enter Cilla’s home. They must all have been at the meeting and failed to get back here in time.

At last Cilla and Elizabeth were alone in Cilla’s bedroom. Cilla lay back and closed her eyes. Elizabeth looked at her. Cilla was so tired. Elizabeth desired her hugely but would have to let her rest. She decided to leave quietly when Cilla was asleep.

But after a few minutes, Cilla opened her eyes and sat up, startling Elizabeth.

“I thought you were dropping off, darling.”
“No, Lizbeth. I’ve something to tell you. It can’t wait and I can’t sleep till it’s told.”

Elizabeth’s heart raced with alarm. “Oh?”

“I had sex with Tessa this afternoon. Right here on this bed.”

Elizabeth couldn’t immediately take this in. The words were heard and made sense but had no effect. “What?” was all she said.

Cilla continued in a monotone, not looking at her lover. “She made a pass at me, just a gentle little one, no need for it to lead to anything. I could have just got up and walked away and come back and the moment would have passed. But I didn’t want to be ungenerous, I thought, what’s the harm, if I just let her hug me for a few minutes. Well. It got well out of hand. So. There we are.”

“Where are we, Cilla?” asked Elizabeth in a steady voice.

Cilla looked at Elizabeth. The two stared gravely at each other for a minute without speaking.

“I’ve betrayed you,” Cilla sighed at last. “I love you and I need you, you’ve made such a difference to my life, and now I’ve gone off at a tangent and blown it all away.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“After what I’ve told you, you’ll think, what’s the point, you won’t want to stay with me. I had to tell you because I couldn’t ever again lie in your arms with that secret on my conscience. Now - now I just have to sit here and hear what you think.”

Elizabeth, after initial shock and alarm, had realised that Cilla didn’t want to break up their relationship and go off with Tessa. She had just had a sexual fling that seemed to have taken her by surprise.

“I told you she fancied you,” Elizabeth said. “And you’re vulnerable. Yes, I’m a bit, you know, shocked, but if I’d thought about it, Tessa dropping in on you this afternoon, well, I might have thought, you know, wondered if anything would happen.”
Another silence. Elizabeth didn’t get up to go. Cilla finally spoke up, to keep the discussion going.

“Why am I vulnerable?”

“Well, my love” Cilla felt relieved to hear herself called that “you’ve had an emotionally deprived life. You’ve coped very well, but you’re only human. If you don’t mind me saying so, you fell into my arms much more easily than I expected, when we started. I’ve sometimes wondered if it would have been just as easy for anyone, if they’d been gentle and not pushed themselves on you, just offered you love, like I did.”

“But - but I do love you, Lizbeth.”

“I know that. But do you see what I’m saying?”

“Yes, yes.”

After another silence, Elizabeth asked “What did you do?”

“Mm?”

“With Tessa. The sex.”

“Oh - just - lay on my bed, this bed, our bed, and - clothes came off - we got in close and came to orgasm. It - it took a while to get that far. I just - couldn’t stop.”

Elizabeth really desired Cilla now. She moved across the bed and held Cilla tightly. ”You don’t want to break up with me, then?”

“No, no, Lizbeth, of course not. What about you?”

“Huh! You’d have to try a lot harder than that if you wanted to get rid of me, darling.”

“I never want to get rid of you, Lizbeth.”

They embraced for a long time, crying and kissing. At last Elizabeth whispered “I was going to go straight home tonight because you’re so tired and need all your strength, but I want to be with you, now, even for just a little while.”

“Of course, Lizbeth. I’ll never deny you. Longing to have you. Look, I’ll just lie here and relax, you go and have a wash, come back and I’ll give you that special loving.”

Later, after the sweetest and most powerful orgasm Elizabeth had felt in her life, the two of them fell into a deep sleep.

***
DAY 3

Elizabeth awoke early and crept out, leaving Cilla asleep. She left a note. “I’m not running out on you, darling, but I’ve a few things to do at home and you need your sleep. Give me a ring when you wake up, if you like. Love, your Lizbeth.”

Cilla awoke at mid-morning, lay for a long time staring at the ceiling. All was quiet - no car scrunched into the car park, the telephone didn’t ring. A blessed interval of peace. She stretched. Her body felt rested. She sat up and found Elizabeth’s note.

When Cilla tried to ring Elizabeth, the telephone was dead. Just gave a faint click. She saw that the plug was out of its wall socket. She had to replace it and try again.

“Hi, Lizbeth, darling. It’s me.”

“How are you? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, great. I feel great. How about you?”

“Feel wonderful.”

“Good. Lizbeth, did you pull the ‘phone out last night?”

“Yes. I - do you mind? I thought people would ring you up and bug you after your great speech last night, and - you know, Bruce and them. I thought, you need your sleep, more than whatever answering the ‘phone early in the morning would do for you. I’m sorry. I was going to suggest it last night, before we got - distracted.”

Cilla smiled as she remembered the distraction. “That’s OK, Lizbeth. You were right. Always do it again without having to ask. Will I see you later?”

“You bet. Coming over within the hour.”

“Great. Lizbeth?”

“Mm?”

Cilla took a breath. “Tessa knows - about us.”

A pause. “How?”

“She figured it out. Saw us together last night and, you know, given her insight gained yesterday, you know, she - well. She put it to me before we left and I didn’t deny it.”

Elizabeth didn’t ask why not - she couldn’t imagine Cilla denying something that was true, if it were put to her. “So? What now?”

“Nothing. She said she won’t discuss it with anyone. She‘s not vengeful, or jealous, actually afraid of what you might think of her, after, you know, yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, I’ll ring her up and put her mind at rest.”

“What do you think of her, Lizbeth? And of me? This morning?”

“Oh, I’m not vengeful or jealous either. I feel more loving towards you, feel that we’re stronger. We had a crisis and got over it and got close. As for Tessa, well, she had feelings for you that I can well understand, she didn’t know about us. I’ve got nothing against her. I find her rather attractive, actually. I didn’t know if I liked her when she was bossy with you but now, I’ve nothing against her.”

Cilla was tempted to pursue that, ‘I find her rather attractive’. But it raised all sorts of questions, like would Elizabeth have responded if Tessa had made a pass at her, if not why not, and what would that say about Cilla? She moved on.

“Okay, darling, well, I’d better get on, see if anyone’s been trying to ring me, get dressed and ready. See you soon?”

“Sure.”

***

Tessa had awoken quite early that morning and had immediately thought of Cilla, longed to be with her. But it was too early to telephone - the little love needed her sleep. She had been close to collapsing last night. When Tessa finally rang at nine, after dropping her boy off at pre-school, the telephone just rang and rang without an answer. Well, maybe Cilla had turned the ring off. Anyway, there was no reason for her to ring Cilla. She would have to think of one.

Tessa busied herself with housework, went out and did some shopping, rang Bruce, rang her mother to ask her to pick up the boy from pre-school, then rang Cilla again at half-past ten.

“Hello, Cilla speaking.” She sounded alert and happy.

“Hi, Cilla, it’s Tessa. How are you this morning?”

“Good! Feeling great. Feeling ready for the day. How about you?”

“Good! Hey, I just rang Bruce, asked if I - if he wanted me to come out door-knocking and that with you today. He was glad because he’s got a lot on his plate. Is that all right with you?”

Cilla hesitated. It wasn’t really all right. Elizabeth was coming over. The air hadn’t been cleared among the three of them.

“Cilla? Sorry, did I do the wrong thing? I was only trying to help Bruce, and the party.”

“No you weren’t, Tessa, not primarily, you were trying to get to be with me all day. Not that that’s a crime, but let’s be honest about things.”
“Yeah.” Tessa sighed. Cilla went on. “I told Elizabeth about - our encounter yesterday. I told her last night when we got home. It’s cool. She didn’t react the way I expected. She didn’t dump me. She doesn’t hate you. But she’s coming over today and I think you and she ought to have a quiet chat before we sally forth as a jolly little threesome to meet the voters. Oh, she also knows, that you know, about her and me. That you worked it out. What do you think about all of that?”

Tessa didn’t think much of it. She felt like ringing Bruce and asking him to go with Cilla after all, but he really was busy and she would seem unreliable. “Did you have to tell her so soon, Cilla?”

“Yes. I can’t lie. You know that.”

“Well -”

“Well, what?” Cilla’s voice rose.

“There is passive lying, as well as active lying.”

A long pause, then “What do you mean, Tessa?”

“If you withhold information that’s pertinent, that a person needs to know, just because you aren’t directly asked for it, that’s a kind of passive lying, if you let the person go on thinking something that’s actually not true, just because they can’t ask the right question to get the truth.”

Cilla didn’t answer or hang up. Tessa pressed on.

“Yesterday, when you said that we couldn’t become an item, I assumed, and you let me assume, that it was because you didn’t want to get sexually involved with another woman, not on a regular basis. But the truth was that you were already so involved, with Liz. A really truthful person would have said, look, Tessa, I’m already having a relationship with Liz and I don’t want to leave that and have one with you, so, we can only do it this once, or not at all, or - whatever.”

Another silence, then Cilla said “Are you suggesting, Tessa, that I’m less than a perfect little saint?”

That broke the tension. They both laughed. Then Cilla went on. “Look, Tessa, I can see how I’ve hurt you, by that, and I’m truly sorry. I’m glad you talked to me about it. I suppose I just didn’t trust you. Nothing against you, but Lizbeth and I have been striving to keep our relationship a secret, you know, ‘cause -”

“I know. The Liberals and press would beat it up.”

“Yep.”

“Fair enough, Cilla. I’m glad we’ve had this talk too. If you knew how keen I am to see you in parliament you’d never not trust me.”

“I thought earlier, you didn’t approve of me.”

“Yes, well, I had my doubts, but they’ve gone. I know better now. So, can we go door-knocking today?”

“Yes, sure. Come over when you’re ready. Lizbeth should arrive about the same time. We’re not too late starting, are we?”

“No, no, Bruce didn’t expect you to start until lunchtime. It was supposed to be a rest morning for you.”

***

The leader of the Opposition had scanned the morning papers with disapproval. Cilla, Cilla, Cilla. A great speech. A lot of froth and bubble about the value of human life. A picture of shorty with the police floodlight on her. Yes, she was pretty, but this was a serious political campaign, about government, about power. It wasn’t a movie promotion. She couldn’t possibly win that seat and was distracting attention from the issues, the policy initiatives that had to be hammered. He resolved to get more control over what was going on over in the west.

***

As it turned out, Elizabeth’s and Tessa’s cars arrived in the car park one behind the other. They had trouble parking because many media vehicles had parked despite the sign saying ‘Residents and their visitors only’.
The two women got out and greeted each other politely enough. Elizabeth wasn’t pleased to see Tessa - why was she here? Where was Bruce?

Tessa could see that Elizabeth was surprised and not too pleased. She blurted “Bruce asked me to take the candidate doorknocking today. He’s a bit tied up.”

“The candidate,” said Elizabeth. “Yes.” She went on up the steps. Tessa followed. She wondered if Liz were really ‘cool’ about yesterday. Should she just turn around and go away? No - she had taken responsibility for the door-knocking today and couldn’t let people down.

The media people were extremely interested to see that there were now two women friends for Cilla.

Inside, the three women regarded each other. Cilla spoke first. “Because of my failings, we’re in a bit of a situation. It’s nobody’s fault but mine. Lizbeth, I didn’t get a chance to tell you Tessa had taken over from Bruce for today and would be coming over. She rang after you. She knows about you and me. You know about - her and me yesterday. So, I think you two should have a little talk before we go out together. I’m not telling you what to do, you don’t have to talk, but I just, suggest that it’s a good idea, that’s all.”

“All right,” said Elizabeth. She had already agreed to this, though she had expected to do it by telephone. “Tessa?”

Tessa shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“I’ve got things to do in the other room,” said Cilla. “Give me a hoi when you’re ready.”

Elizabeth and Tessa sat looking at each other, waiting for the other to speak. Finally Elizabeth started.


“Well, Tessa, this is the way I see it. You came yesterday to work with Cilla, found her irresistible, who wouldn’t, you made an impulsive little gesture of affection and it led somewhere you didn’t expect. You weren’t planning to start a relationship with her, or any woman. It was just one of those things. Am I right?”
“Oh, yes. I joined the party to meet guys. My marriage was a disaster. I want a dad for my boy and some brothers and sisters for him before he gets too old. I never - felt anything for another woman. I’m not that way.”

“Whereas I am.”

“Oh, no offence, Liz.”

“None taken.” Elizabeth smiled. “So, you don’t have anything against me?”

“No, no, of course not.”

A short silence.

“I’ve got to ask this, Tessa. After yesterday, do you feel you can just put it behind you and go on looking for Mr Right? Or do you feel now that you want yesterday to happen again, that you want to be with Cilla all the time? Is my question intruding into your privacy? Tell me to get stuffed, if you like.”

Tessa sighed. “It’s a fair question.” She felt more relaxed with Elizabeth now, felt like letting the barriers down. “Yes, I do feel, that way. I don’t want to. It’s not my plan for my life. I’m a mother. I want to be a mother of more kids, and a happy fulfilled wife.”

“Whereas I have no such plan for my life. I am the way I am. I really want to be with Cilla, I mean really with her, all my life. But I’ve nothing against you, Tessa. I like you. And I’m not the jealous type. If Cilla met some man, wanted to marry him and have children, I wouldn’t try to stop it. I’d want her to go for it.”

They were silent, thinking. Then Elizabeth went to sit beside Tessa.

“We can be friends, then, can’t we, Tessa? Go door-knocking with Cilla, work for her campaign. No uncomfortable feelings?”

“Of course, Liz.” Tessa felt near to tears. Elizabeth put an arm around her shoulders. Tessa shivered slightly but felt better. They sat that way for a minute.

“Look,” said Elizabeth at last. ”Whatever happens between you and Cilla is between you and her. I might have my own feelings about it but I promise I won’t let those feelings interfere with our friendship or my love for her. Yes, of course, I’d like it to be like it was before. Just Cilla and me, quietly, before she became a candidate, before she met - all these new people and became a celeb. But good things never last forever. I’m happy to have had a few months of pure heaven.”

“But, Liz, it can be years more of heaven. I’m not going to spoil it.”

“No, Tessa.” Elizabeth waved at the door, through which could be heard the impatient noise of the media crowd. “Even if you didn’t exist, it can never be like it was before. Cilla belongs to the country now.”

She sighed. “Talking of which, I suppose we’d better get going soon. Are you okay, Tessa? Anything else you want to discuss?”

Tessa turned her face and smiled. “No, Liz. I reckon we’ve covered it. Thanks.”

Elizabeth was tempted to kiss the full mouth that was so close to hers. She just kissed the cheek next to it, surprising Tessa. “That’s for friendship, Tessa. Shall we call the candidate?”

The three women, at ease with each other, emerged to face the strenuous day. The strong sun made them a blaze of colour.

“There are three of them now,” remarked a camera jockey to his mate as they joined the rush forward. “This is the best election I’ve covered,” the mate replied.

Tessa didn’t have the authority and control that Bruce did, nor the concern for the party and the priorities of an election campaign, so this time the media scrum went on for a long time, with Cilla enjoying it more by the minute, giving everyone their fair share and then some. Eventually she herself had to take control. It was nearly noon. “Sorry, everyone, that’s it. Must get on.” She moved gently towards Tessa’s car, the media crush moving with her but not impeding her.

As they drove away, Cilla said “Sorry if that went on a bit too long, Tessa, Bruce was a bit worried about it yesterday. But, well, we were all enjoying it and it can’t do any harm.”

Tessa agreed, but if Bruce had been there he would not have. He would have thought it was doing a lot of harm. He was on the telephone to the national campaign director, who was repeating to him the Opposition Leader’s fears about all the attention being sucked away from the rest of the party and down the plughole of this unwinnable seat. Cilla had to stop acting like a soapie star and lower her profile, only issuing statements about the issues, about party policies, being heard on these matters but being seen as little as possible. Bruce agreed gravely, hmm, yes, hmm, but privately didn’t see how it could come about. The campaign had gone so far down a particular track. He sighed as he put the telephone down. Canberra was right, of course, and something would have to be done. He would have a word with Cilla. He wished he hadn’t let Tessa take her out door-knocking today.

The door-knocking was great fun for all concerned. Cilla felt dizzy a couple of times but stayed on her feet. They went on calling on people well into the forbidden period when workers were coming home, getting their dinner, doing their chores, watching their television news and soap opera, but were still greeted with pleasure.

The sun was low and they were driving to another area when Tessa said “We’ve covered most of what Bruce set down for today. Let’s call a halt and go and get some dinner.” They hadn’t had lunch as such but had been given tea and coffee and cakes and biscuits on their rounds.

“Most?” said Cilla. “I would have thought we’d covered more. We’ve been at it for seven hours.”

“Mm - no. We spent more time per house, on average, than we should have. We’ve been falling behind by the hour.”

“You’ve been keeping score?”

“Yes.”

“You should have said something. Pulled me into line.”

“Well - you were the one doing the visits.”

“So? Was I told how long to spend on each one? We’re a team, Tessa. It’s my job to make the visits, be the candidate. The logistics are your job.”

“Oh? And what’s Liz’s job?”

“Shit,” muttered Elizabeth. This was getting out of hand.

Cilla sat back. “Lizbeth being with me is the difference between me being able to do it, or not.”

Tessa carefully pulled the car over and stopped.

“Do you want us to get out and walk?” asked Cilla.

“No,” said Tessa. “But I can’t have this discussion and drive at the same time.”

Cilla sighed. “Fair enough.” There was a silence.

Elizabeth felt that she had to speak. She took Cilla’s hand.

“I don’t want to gang up on you, dearest, but Bruce did explain on the first day how many houses you should get through per hour. Tessa might not have wanted to seem to be nagging or telling you what you already knew and were trying to do.”

Cilla sighed again. Tessa didn’t know her as well as did Elizabeth and tensed in expectation of an irritated response. But Cilla merely said, “I’m sorry, Tessa. I’m so tired. I thought I might have been over quota, felt like I’ve been working really hard - ”

“So you have. It isn’t usually like this.”

“No, well, now I find I haven’t met the goal for the day. But I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m sorry.” She touched Tessa’s hand. “Do we really have to call on every house in the electorate?”

“Well, in theory, yes, that’s always the goal. Everyone in the electorate has probably heard of you by now and it could only do good if they actually met you. I’m sure they’re all expecting you.”

Cilla smiled at this generalisation. “Well, a great many of them, perhaps, but there must be many people who will never approve of me.”

“Why?”

“Well, no-one is universally loved.”

Tessa and Elizabeth each thought their own thoughts about this statement and about Cilla but neither of them said anything. Tessa started the car and moved out into the road.

“Where are we going?” asked Cilla.

“Find somewhere for dinner.”

“Could we just go home? I want to lie down. I’ve food in the fridge.”

“I can cook it,” volunteered Elizabeth on cue.

“Lizbeth’s good at that sort of thing,” said Cilla. “You okay with that, Tessa?”

“Mm - well, I have to pick up my boy. His nanna wasn’t counting on having him overnight.”

“You can ring her from my place. Lizbeth is a quick cook. You’ll be home with your boy by nine.”

“All right.”

The media were camped around the block of units. Their vehicles had been expelled from the car park but they had parked elsewhere and come back. They rushed the three women as they headed for the steps. All three of them faced interested questions but Cilla cut it short after five minutes. “I’m really tired. One more really important question, then I want to go in and shut the door for the night.”

“Cilla, what’s your view on voluntary euthanasia for terminally ill people?”

A tense silence. Then Cilla responded.

“I’ve got my views on that, but I’d rather express them when I’m not so tired and I can order my thoughts better. Okay? I’m not dodging, I promise I will speak on that subject in response to your question.”

“Fair enough, Cilla.”

“Good night to you all. Sorry to be late back and not spending more time with you.”

The media didn’t mind. They had got pictures and were being paid for their time.

The three women had dinner in Cilla’s room. Cilla lay on the bed, propped up with pillows, while the other two sat on chairs and ate from plates in their laps.

Tessa looked at Cilla on her bed and longed not to have to go. She had loved being near Cilla all day. She thought of yesterday afternoon on this bed. She wanted, and in another way didn’t want, that to happen again. Just as well it wasn’t possible.

Cilla couldn’t help but remember yesterday as well. It had been nice, more than nice, if other issues were excluded.

Elizabeth looked at Tessa’s yearning face and Cilla’s slight frown. She knew what they were thinking, and what she must do. She got up and took their plates when they had all finished.

“I’m going to crash about in the kitchen for half an hour,” she said. “It’s only just after eight, Tessa. Have a chat with Cilla before you go.” With that, Elizabeth went quickly out of the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

Left alone, slightly startled, the two women looked at each other. Then Cilla slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

“I’m going to clean my teeth after dinner,” she said. “In case you want to kiss me, or something.”

When she came out, Tessa was there. “Have you got a spare toothbrush?”

“Sure have. A new one. In the cupboard.”

Cilla was waiting on the bed, arms outstretched in a welcoming way, when Tessa emerged. Tessa embraced her gratefully.

“I’ve been longing to do this all day,” she whispered.

They began kissing. Better not to talk any more. Elizabeth was indeed crashing about in the kitchen. Tessa was in heaven. Why had her husband’s mouth never given her the pleasure she was feeling now? Why had touching his skin never excited her as much as stroking Cilla’s did, now?

After a while Cilla broke away and lay back, breathing quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Tessa asked.

“What do you think?”

“Liz?”

“No, yes, no, sort of, I just feel like going all the way again. I’m confused. I love Elizabeth. You’ve got to go soon. I don’t know. Just - oh, come on.”

It was not long before Tessa rose to that peak of ecstasy she had known for the first time in her life the previous afternoon. They lay back, breathless.

Cilla looked at the clock. “You’d better get going, Tessa.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, no,” Cilla gave Tessa one more kiss. “But you’ve got to pick up your kid. Perhaps we could meet him some time.”

“Oh - yes, I’m sure he’d love that. He’s seen you on TV. So has his nanna. My mum.”
Cilla smiled. “A few weeks ago I was just a nonentity - no chance of being on TV.” She sighed. “A lot of things have changed. Forever.” She turned over with her back to Tessa and pulled the blanket over herself. “Will you be taking us out door-knocking tomorrow?”

“Mm - I can’t, I have a part-time job.”

“What’s the program tomorrow?”

“Bruce will ring you in the morning. I think it’s another big day, with an evening do.”

“Oh. Well, I’d better get an early night. Will you be around for the evening thing?”

“Oh, yes. Rather. Timmy will stay with his dad tomorrow night.”

“See you then, Tessa. Good night.”

Elizabeth had heard sounds through the closed bedroom door, despite her crashing about. She didn’t know how she felt about those sounds, but she was sure she had done the right thing. Now Tessa emerged, finding it hard to look at her.

“Off then, Tessa?” Elizabeth asked brightly.

“Mm, yes, kid to pick up.” Tessa was sidling towards the door. Elizabeth got in her way and caught her in her arms. Tessa felt tense.

“Look, Tessa, it’s cool. People must feel what they feel, and what must happen, must happen. No point in me trying to stop it. No point in people feeling guilty about it. Of course I miss the old days, when it was just Cilla and me. But now there are all those people out there, and you, so - well, there it is.”

Tessa relaxed a little and put her arms loosely around Elizabeth, patting her. She wanted to reach out in sympathy.

“Are you hurting, Liz?”

“Aren’t you?”

They looked at each other. Elizabeth said “do you know Shakespeare?”

“Er - no, not really.”

“There’s a character in a play, of whom someone says ‘She makes hungry, where most she satisfies.’ Does that strike a chord?”

Tessa sighed deeply. “Yeah.”

There was a silence.

“So,” Elizabeth said. “Will we see you tomorrow?”

“In the evening, if you’re coming. Bruce has a function planned.” Tessa enjoyed the chance to talk of something else. “Usually it’s a struggle to make these things a success, to plan things that will work. Now, with Cilla, it’s a struggle to keep a lid on the success.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I always knew, I told her, she had a great destiny. You bet I’m coming. I’ll be with her for the door-knocking too, if Bruce doesn’t mind.”

“Mm - no, I - he didn’t say anything to me about it. Do you think he minds?”

“No.”

“Well, Cilla needs you. You’re the difference between her coping, and not.”

Tessa went quickly out, late as she was to pick up her son. When she arrived there her mother wasn’t cross and Timmy was quite happy playing his video game. Tessa’s mother looked at her, smiling, questioning, eager for news.

“So, Tess-Tess, you’ve met someone at last?”

Tessa was startled. “Why do you think that?”

“Mm. You’re late, and agitated and your eyes are shining. A mother knows the signs. Go on, you can tell me. You’re in love. You’ve met someone.”
“Well - not - sort of.” Tessa realised it was true, but not in a way that she had wanted, or that her mother would accept.

“Ah! When are we going to meet him?”

“Oh - I don’t know. In due time. I better go now, Mum. It’s late.” She turned off the video game against Timmy’s protests and got ready to take him home.

Mum wasn’t at all put out by this brush-off. She was happy in what she thought she knew. Now Tessa could be settled, and there would be more grandchildren and nice family Christmasses. “All right, love. Remember, I’m happy to have Timmy, any time. For as long as you like.”

“Love you, Mum.” Tessa kissed her mother quickly and got away.

***

It was about quarter of an hour after Tessa had left, before Elizabeth got up and went into Cilla’s room. Cilla had got up, hung up her clothes, showered and put on a nightie. Now she lay with her back to the door, dozing.

Elizabeth went around the bed and lay down gently with Cilla. Cilla reached out and stroked her hair.

“Tessa made love to me, Lizbeth,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You went out to let it happen.”

“Yes. Better so. You both wanted it to happen. Better if I don’t try to block it.”

“Mm. Fair enough. I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong. But it might be better if you did block it. Yes, Tessa and I would both be frustrated, but relieved too. You know what I mean?”

“Mm?”

“I love you and want a proper relationship with you, without having someone on the side. Tessa really wants to meet a guy. She needs to. I think she needs to keep away from me, otherwise it’s not going to happen, or it might happen but it wouldn’t go anywhere. She told me after - before she left me, that her husband had never made her feel the way I do.”

“Ah.”

A pause.

“Ah, what, Lizbeth?”

“Facts are facts, my darling. She’s in love with you.”

They fell silent for a long time, thinking about this.

“Life is difficult, isn’t it, Cilla?” Elizabeth said at last. “I can’t advise you. I don’t know what to do except let things run their course. I really do think it would do more harm than good if I tried to stop you two being together. I think the three of us should just try to get through it as harmoniously as possible. If you and Tessa have important reasons for not wanting these encounters to happen between you, then you have to decide that for yourselves, and stop it yourselves. It’s not up to anyone else to keep you apart. Do you see?”

For the second time this day, Cilla felt criticised, found wanting. First, she had deceived Tessa - passive lying. Now, she had been trying to shove her responsibilities onto Elizabeth. Quite unreasonably, despair welled up in her. She felt it was all too much and she was quite inadequate. She began to weep.

“What’s the matter?” whispered Elizabeth.

“I wish you were the candidate instead of me, Lizbeth. You are a much better person than I’ll ever be. Your love honours me, but I’m not worthy of it. I’m a puny mess of needs, deficiencies. I -”

She was stopped by Elizabeth kissing her. After a long minute Elizabeth broke off and said “You should be loved, my darling, and you deserve it. I’m honoured by your love. Now let’s leave all this sad talk. You’re great. You will win a seat, if not this time, then another time. Just let’s love each other, then sleep. Big day tomorrow, and the day after, and so on. Think only good of yourself. You are good. I’m going to have a shower.”

Elizabeth left the bed before Cilla could say any more. When she came back they made sweet intense love, then fell asleep closely entwined with each other as so often before.

The watcher hired by a television network had seen three girls go into Cilla’s unit, but only one come out. The other one never emerged. He noted this, and the time, before he drove quietly away some time after midnight.

***
DAY 4

Bruce had a long face when he called around for them the next morning. The usual media crush observed only two young women emerging from Cilla’s door. He signed them to get into his car immediately. They did so and set off for the day’s doorknocking.

“I’ve had orders from Canberra, to quieten your campaign down, Cilla,” Bruce explained.

“Why?”

“It’s distracting too much attention from other candidates, and the issues, not just here, but nationwide. This is supposed to be an unwinnable seat, and you’re supposed to be a throwaway candidate. Our leader sees defeat threatening from what he calls the Cilla circus.”

Cilla took this in for a moment.

“Do you agree with that, Bruce?”

“I can see the political logic of it. Politics isn’t the same as show biz. So I have to do what I can, though it’s hard to quieten it down much at this stage. At least we must avoid these entertaining little media conferences that you do. I don’t want you to communicate directly with the media. Just talk to the people you visit and at functions that I organise. Is that all right?”

Cilla could see the logic of it too, though it saddened her. “Of course, Bruce, whatever you say. The important thing is to get a Labor government elected. I thought I was helping that.”

“Yeah, well, no-one knew it was going to get so out of hand, or that you would be so, such a, you know, compelling, type of person. Normally a candidate would go for all the attention they could get, so you did the right thing, but it’s just been too successful.”

The day went well. With Bruce moving it along and the media held at bay, they met their target by mid-afternoon, having stopped for a quiet lunch at Bruce’s home.

The evening fund-raiser was going smoothly as well until it was time for Cilla to make a short speech, prepared for her by Bruce, on the issues. The crowd fell quiet and turned their attention to Cilla, which provided the opportunity for a media man to repeat his question, to which Cilla had promised an answer.

“Cilla, can you now give us your views on voluntary euthanasia, for terminally ill people?”

Bruce tensed. Now there was going to be another startling speech. More telephone calls from Canberra. He was thinking of a way to forestall this when Cilla started to speak.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Our next Prime Minister, my parliamentary leader if I get elected, has asked us to keep to the issues and avoid personal views on controversial subjects.”

Bruce was relieved, though he winced a bit at Cilla’s frankness.

“But isn’t voluntary euthanasia a relevant issue to many people?”

“Yes, but it’s not a policy issue, not a bread-and-butter jobs and government services issue. Even if it came before the parliament it would be decided on a conscience vote. I can only give my views in a private capacity, and at present I have no private capacity - I’m representing the Labor Party.”

The media man smirked. “You’ve been pulled into line after your effort a few days back.”

“Yes, I have. I’m young and new to this and I’ve much to learn.”

The reporter blushed with shame at having sneered at her. He was used to dealing with normal politicians. He wanted to make it up to her. Cilla gave him the chance.

“I could promise to give my personal views after the campaign’s over, if I’m not elected and return to private life. But you wouldn’t be interested then.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” responded the media man. “I’d be interested in your views about anything, any time. You’re one of those people who don’t shrink in stature when they stop being a political candidate.”

Cilla gave him her loveliest smile and tossed her curls. His heart leapt. He was captivated.

After this happy beginning Cilla’s speech went exceptionally well, dry and predictable though the subject matter was. People enjoyed just hearing and watching her talk and gave her warm applause at the end.

At the end of the evening, Bruce was happy with how it had gone. He told Tessa so. She just nodded, staring dreamily at Cilla as she had all night. Bruce frowned. Tessa had changed. She was behaving like Liz when Cilla was around. He would have to have a talk with her. He wanted her to help him, not be mooning about. For now, he just went over to congratulate Cilla on a perfect campaign evening.

“Thanks, Bruce,” said Cilla. “Did the day go all right, too?”

“Sure did. As well as could be, under the circs. Given what’s gone before.”

DAY 5

The next day, nominations closed for candidates for the electorate of Curtin. Bruce took Cilla to the electoral office. They were committed now.

DAY 6
It was Saturday and the first week of the campaign was over. They had accomplished far more than they expected, too much in fact, and Bruce wondered what to do with the rest of the time. The greater interests of the party demanded that Cilla’s sudden celebrity be wasted. The task was to promote the party, not to make her a star. The two goals were not in harmony, according to the Great Federal Leader.

Still, there was always a bottomless demand for funds. Bruce brightened as he realised that Cilla could be used to raise plenty of funds. With this in mind, he had organised a party - see Cilla, meet her, talk to her, pay to get in, pay for autographs. It was to be held this evening at a hall which Bruce had been able to get at short notice, due to a cancellation.

Everything went beautifully. Cilla felt a little tired but not close to collapse as she had on the night at the football ground beside the river. Elizabeth was with her and the two of them attracted a crowd that moved with them as they moved about. Cilla’s location could be known by looking for the top of Elizabeth’s blonde head.

It seemed to be the high point of the campaign, and of Cilla’s life. At one point, overcome with love and the intoxication of the evening, Elizabeth leaned into Cilla from behind and clasped her hand. Cilla leaned back, tilted her head to gaze into Elizabeth’s eyes and tickled the palm of Elizabeth’s hand with her finger, to say, I love you, enjoy me tonight when we go back. Then she recollected herself and drew away.

The crowd around them didn’t take much notice of this indiscreet moment. Close to them as it was and preoccupied with their own feelings as they were. But a photographer had a better angle, through a gap in the crowd. He saw the clasped hands, the tickle, the heads close together, the eye contact.

“Gotcha,” he whispered as he worked his camera before the moment passed and the gap closed.

***

DAY 7

Sunday was to be a day of rest. Normally there would be campaign meetings and some activity but Bruce thought that under the circumstances it was not necessary or desirable to do much. He would organise more fund-raisers for the rest of the campaign, and maybe get Cilla to give other candidates a boost in marginal seats. That was a good idea, if he could clear it with people. But for today, better to let Cilla rest and catch up on her neglected studies.

Cilla and Elizabeth were fast asleep after getting back late, making delicious love, sleeping, waking and making love again in the small hours and finally sleeping again.

They were woken by a commotion in the car park. The media crowd was bigger and more agitated than even on a campaign day and copies of the Sunday paper were being flapped about.

Cilla got out of bed and peeped through the window without moving the curtains.

“What’s up, love?”

“I’ve no idea, Lizbeth. Must be something they know and we don’t.” She quickly got dressed and started doing her hair. “I’d better go out there. You stay put.”

The media rushed forward as, nicely groomed, Cilla emerged.

“Hello,” she smiled. “We’re not campaigning today.”

They ignored that. The Sunday paper was waved in her face. Could she comment?

Cilla saw the two pictures taking up the whole front page and felt faint. The cat was out of the bag now. The clasped hands. The tickling finger. The loving faces. All apparently of great interest to the nation.

“Is Elizabeth with you this morning?” shouted someone.

Cilla was about to deny this but stopped herself. Careful. No hasty moves. There was Elizabeth’s car, plain for all to see. Cilla replied calmly. Not the angry bluster that the rude question deserved.

“Of course. What of it?”
That hushed them for a moment. Cilla stood still and unsmiling looking down at them. They began to feel less sure of themselves. But what about the picture? They had to keep at her, satisfy their bosses.

The person who had pushed the picture at Cilla repeated her demand for a comment.

Cilla shrugged. “No comment. What comment should there be?”

“What is the relationship between yourself and Elizabeth?”

Pure passion, thought Cilla. Last night it was as though she were trying to get into my body and I into hers. We were almost trying to, be, each other.

All she said was “She’s my good friend and helper. What’s your point?”

“You look like lovers, in this photo.”

Cilla laughed and turned away, intending to go back inside and slam the door on these people. But no. Careful. She turned back and stopped laughing.

“It’s a nice photo. I’ll try to get a reprint, as a memento of this campaign. Lizbeth is my dear friend, and I love her as such. But no, we aren’t lovers, in the conventional sense. Like I said before” had she? Or just thought of saying it? Never mind “I’ve got a hunky guy and a couple of kids in my future, politics or no politics.”

That wasn’t really a lie. They weren’t lovers in the conventional sense. The conventional sense was a man and a woman. The woman should have asked the question in a different form. Anyway, Cilla felt that anyone was entitled to lie when their personal life was being intruded upon, not for any reason of public interest but just to make salacious news.

Most of the media people had lost interest in pursuing this, not having had much zeal for it to start with, but the woman kept on. ”Why is Elizabeth staying the night with you?”

“Why not?”

Some muffled sighs and groans. Shaking heads. Restless feet. The big media event was over. Cars started up and drove away.

Before the woman who had been questioning Cilla could get away, Cilla, angry now, snatched the paper from her. “You owe me that,” said Cilla. “Buy another one if you want. I want this one so I can show Lizbeth and laugh at you over our coffee.”

The woman blushed, scowled and hurried away.

Cilla was shaking as she shut the door and went to find Elizabeth. She didn’t want to laugh about it. Neither did Elizabeth when she saw the paper. They both felt the same - they weren’t ashamed of their relationship, didn’t think it could be politically damaging, they just felt intensely private about it and didn’t want thousands of strangers knowing about it, thinking about it, imagining them together.

Both briefly held, immediately discounted and didn’t utter the thought that Tessa might have had something to do with this latest problem.

As they were thinking of her, Tessa was dialling Cilla’s number.

“Cilla? Have you seen the paper this morning?”

“Yes. The media were all here, waving it at us and asking rude questions.”

“Oh. Oh, dear.”

“Why?”

“Bruce is upset because he’s been ordered to quieten down the Cilla circus, as some call it, and now this starts up. He wants you to say something, to kill the issue.”

“Why? It’s our private business, it’s not illegal.”

“No, no. But it’s lovely stuff from a media point of view.”

“You haven’t told Bruce about us, have you?”

“No! Of course not. He asked me if I thought you two were, lovers, he said he suspected something. But I said I had never seen any sign of such a thing.”

“What should we do?”

“I’d say, nothing, just ignore it and wait for it to die down, but Bruce is worried. Ring him, see what he says.”

Cilla did. They were to spoil their quiet Sunday by going down to his house and talking to the media. They discussed whether Elizabeth should come, trying to find out what each other wanted, aware that Elizabeth’s presence might be a problem. Finally they decided that Cilla should go alone. Tessa came to pick her up.

Cilla didn’t know what she was going to say. She didn’t want to discuss it at all. Bruce was at a loss to advise her. “Just - just say you’re good friends, no, that’s a cliche for just the opposite - well, I’ll rely on your judgment.”

Cilla stood up before the cameras and decided to tell them about her life.

“I have no family. I never had any friends. I was adopted out at birth, then that family disintegrated so I was fostered out. My foster father used to beat me with a cane, for his own pleasure rather than anything I had done. I - “ she felt impelled into detail. “I had to lie there and take it or he said he would get the other kids to come in and watch, and hold me down. Or he said he would throw me out. I didn’t know. But eventually when I was eleven I was taken to a doctor because I was so thin and undersized. I showed him the marks on my - on me. That got me out of there. Then I went to an institution, where I got my schooling and was treated well enough, but there was no family, no warmth.” Cilla felt her voice trembling and tried to control it. This wasn’t a soap opera. She tossed her curls and the media people sighed. She went on. “So when Elizabeth befriended me it meant more than just the usual making friends. I feel very close to her, I love her, as a friend. So, we hold hands, yes, and when we’re alone I put my arm around her and stroke her hair, sometimes. I just want to say that I resent having to talk about this at all. There’s nothing else to say. I try to be on good terms with the media, I know you have your job to do and I’m glad we live in one of the minority of free countries that have a free press and where they do their job with vigour and determination. But really, I think this whole beat-up over hand-holding is quite reprehensible. I was supposed to be having a rest day today, instead I have to come down here and discuss my personal business. Is that fair?”

They were silent. Cilla wondered if anyone had dug into Elizabeth’s past and would ask about that. It would be very difficult to handle. But no-one did.

The media were a bit ashamed, but also shocked and titillated by the revelation about the beatings. Cilla hadn’t actually said “caned on my bare bottom” but that was as clear as though she had. Bruce was tense. Why had she had to bring that up? He hadn’t known about it. Neither had Tessa, who was fighting the urge to weep with anger and pity for Cilla.

Bruce tried to wind the whole thing up. “Well, I think that’s enough. Is everyone satisfied?”

The media people packed up and drove away. It seemed that the issue was dead. Cilla went back with Tessa.

Cilla, emotionally worn out, went to lie down, unaware as she dozed in her quiet room that her chosen career was about to disintegrate. Elizabeth and Tessa were left alone and Tessa told Elizabeth what had happened, what Cilla had said.

“Did you know about that, the beatings, Liz?” asked Tessa.

“Yep. It had the same effect on me that it seems to have had on you. The bloke went to prison for it, you’ll be glad to know. Cilla doesn’t know what happened to him in prison or after, but I guess he paid. So calm down.”

Tessa tried to smile. “Well. Yes.” She paused. “I wish Cilla hadn’t mentioned it, but.”

“Mm.”

“The media will make hay with it. Our Federal Leader will be enraged again. More trouble for Bruce. We might have to stop campaigning altogether. Just leave Cilla’s name on the ballot and lie low until after the election.”

Elizabeth frowned, then looked relieved. “Might be a good thing. She’s worn out, and still got exams to study for, though under the circs. she’s managed to get them deferred.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Dear Cilla’s an emotional bomb, running around making havoc. She’s an emotionally deprived person who arouses intense feelings in other people. Feelings they never thought of having. Like you, eh?”

Tessa blushed.

“You love her, don’t you, Tessa?”

Tessa began to cry, not for sadness but with relief at being offered this outlet. “I’m crazy about her. But I joined the party to meet a guy. A dad and siblings for Timmy.”

Elizabeth got up. “Come and sit with me on the couch, Tessa.”

They sat together and Elizabeth stroked Tessa’s hair, enjoying being close to her. After a while they began to kiss, gently, slowly, quietly. Tessa found that the touch of another woman, not Cilla, was not repellent, and she found this quiet interlude hugely comforting. She felt grateful for Liz’s goodness and strength and stroked her golden hair with pleasure as they kissed. After a long time they stopped, not strongly aroused and not wanting to take this any further. They dozed, then awoke with a start to see Cilla in the doorway of her room, looking at them, not with displeasure.

“Well! You two are getting along okay. Any more news?”

“No.” Elizabeth and Tessa got up. “All’s quiet, love. Tessa thinks you might be asked not to do any more campaigning after today. You’ve probably won as many votes as you’re going to and they don’t want to upset the Great Leader any more. So you can rest and catch up with your studies.”

They were worried about how Cilla might take this news, but she looked relieved. The day’s distress seemed to be over. They could move on.

***

Tessa was right up to a point. The Leader would be upset, and Cilla would be asked to stop campaigning, but it would be worse than that.

It was the last straw for the Leader of the Opposition, the would-be Prime Minister, in Canberra, when he saw the pictures and read the reports, not just the hand-holding in the morning but the press conference in the afternoon. He desperately wanted to win this election. He would never be leader again if he lost. His whole life hung on this and he was beside himself with anger and fear. He picked up the telephone and gave his orders.

“I want her disendorsed! We can’t win that seat anyway and this whole circus is spoiling our chances of winning other seats! Lesbianism, sado-masochism, weeping and whining in public. I want it finished. The circus closed down. Place her outside the party, it won’t affect us what she does.”

“But it’s too late to endorse another candidate,” said the State Executive member to whom he was speaking.

“We can’t win that seat! It doesn’t matter! She’s to be disendorsed! I have the right to make this order. See that it’s carried out!”

Tessa had left Cilla’s unit to go home with Timmy. Elizabeth and Cilla sat peacefully as the evening drew on. Elizabeth had cooked an early dinner and now sat brooding while Cilla tried to pick up the threads of her studies. The telephone rang. It was Bruce.

“Cilla, I’m sorry, We’ve had to call an emergency meeting of the Electorate Council.”

Cilla’s heart quickened with anxiety. “What? On a Sunday evening?”

“Yes. Can you get there ASAP, like, twenty, thirty minutes?”

Cilla sighed. She looked over at Elizabeth who had been roused by her words and tone.

“All right, Bruce, but I’ll have to get a lift.” Elizabeth nodded, though tiredly. “Okay, Bruce. See you there.” She hung up.

“What’s up, darling?”

“They want me at an emergency meeting of the Electorate Council.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“Nothing good, Lizbeth. Another struggle. Then again, perhaps it’s only to announce what we anticipated.”

The meeting was quite crowded. It was attended by the Electorate Council delegates from all the branches in the electorate. A telephone tree had summoned them. They all looked anxious. They hadn’t been informed of the purpose of the meeting but rumours had been flying around. They looked gravely at Cilla as she entered. She couldn’t see friendliness or pleasure in their faces. She couldn’t see Tessa either. Surely she should have been asked to come - she had been involved with the campaign from the start.

“All right. Order, please. Order.” The chair spoke. “The Leader has requested that we disendorse our candidate, Cilla.”

No preliminary. Straight into it. A gasp came from those who hadn’t known, a groan from those who had heard the right rumour. Cilla slumped in her chair with shock. People looked sadly at her, then looked away.

“Under Party rules, our Leader has the right, the final say over endorsements. But we should debate this. It might be serious if we go against him. But it’s - well. Will someone propose the motion, please?”

No-one did.

“Just to have a motion before the chair, so that we can get on and debate it. Someone, please?”

Someone rose reluctantly to her feet, looked around apologetically at Cilla, and proposed “I move that the Leader’s request to disendorse Cilla, be complied with.”

“Seconder?”

The motion was duly seconded and debate started. Now that they were able to speak, Cilla was dismayed to find how many of them hadn’t liked the turn her campaign had taken, the headlines, the pictures, the emotional scene this afternoon. They agreed that it was a distraction and the Leader’s request made good political sense. Others said what a good candidate she had been, referred to the positive side of all the publicity, the gathering at Gilfraser reserve, how everyone liked her. Others stuck to the issue of party rules, the consequences of going against the Leader, how this could lead to Federal intervention in the branches with the implications for future endorsements and branch autonomy. This made all the other arguments irrelevant.

Cilla could see the way this would end. She composed herself, preparing to give a brave speech that would make it possible for her to run again in the future.

The motion was at last carried without a show of hands, a chorus of subdued ‘ayes’ and a few defiant ‘noes’. The meeting fell silent. Cilla’s moment had come.

She was alone - Elizabeth hadn’t come in. This had seemed wisest.

She stood up. “Well, what can I say? It’s clear that most of you didn’t want to pass this motion, but it couldn’t be avoided. I can only say, I’m sorry about the way things turned out. It wasn’t something I could have predicted or controlled. I’m sorry if all your work has gone for nothing. Naturally there’s an element of personal disappointment for me in this, but the main thing now is to make sure Labor gets elected to government, and that we do well in the Senate.”

A sigh of approval, and relief. Many turned to smile at her.

“What happens now, Mr Chair?” Cilla asked. “Isn’t it too late to endorse another candidate?”

“Yes.”

“So what do I do? I’m still on the ballot paper. I’m still a member of the Labor Party.”

There was a murmur around the room. There was no precedent for this. No-one knew what it meant in practice. The chairman tried to fill the gap.

“Well, Cilla, you just do no more. The election will come and go. You’ll get some votes, but a lot of people will vote for the Democrat candidate, and the Liberal will get in anyway.”
“What if I actually win the seat?”

Some people laughed ruefully. The chairman answered.

“Our Leader has assumed that there was never any chance that Labor could win this seat. That’s why you were disposable.”

“But what if, Mr Chair? I’m not fantasising about the impossible, I just want to follow this through.”

“Well - you’d be an independent. Sympathetic to us, I hope?” Some people laughed. The Chairman wasn’t taking the question seriously. But Cilla kept at it.

“What I’m getting at is, if I were elected, as the member for this seat, then I wouldn’t be a Labor member, because I’ve been disendorsed. But I would still be a member of the Labor Party, who happened to be also a member of parliament. What then? What sense does that make?”

People were growing restless, tired of this, wanting to get home for their Sunday television and an early night before work. Cilla was out, that was that. Sad, they were fond of her, but there it was. The chairman started to gather up his papers as he said “Look, Cilla, had there been any chance of you being elected, you wouldn’t have been disendorsed. But there was no chance. This is a safe Liberal seat. You were just distracting attention from candidates who have a chance.”

“Excuse me?” Cilla wouldn’t let it go at that. “I, was distracting attention? Obviously I must share responsibility for what has happened to my campaign, but it’s not my responsibility alone. This was a party campaign, and I did my part as directed, by party officials. Am I right?”

At last some wise person stood up.

“Mr Chair, I move, er, that Cilla, er, that this meeting acknowledges that the local branches are responsible for Cilla’s campaign, and that she did her part of it to the sincere best of her ability, and that this meeting wishes her well in future campaigns for the party.”

“I second,” said someone else.
“The question is that the question be agreed to,” said the chairman. A chorus of ayes, accompanied by scraping of chairs as people got up to go. There was no more to be said.

Only after Cilla had walked the lonely walk back to Elizabeth’s car and got in, did she give way to tears. Elizabeth comforted her a little, then suggested that they go and spend the night in Dianella to avoid the media clamour that the next morning would surely bring.

In Elizabeth’s flat, in that bed where they had first made love, they did so again. Then Cilla slept. Elizabeth just lay awake, gazing at her, grieving for what had happened. Cilla had said that she couldn’t have coped with the campaign without her, but now because of her there was no campaign, no future. Cilla alone would at least have done better than this. Have I destroyed a political career that might have been so good for the country? Elizabeth asked herself. Couldn’t I have just loved her and left her alone to pursue a normal life?

She asked Cilla the same questions when Cilla awoke in the dawn light. “Bullshit, Lizbeth. I made a choice. You offered me your love and I chose to accept it. I could have chosen not to. I accept responsibility for my choice. Besides, I’m not finished yet. Now get some sleep, we need to figure out a plan.”

DAY 8

Much relieved by Cilla’s attitude, Elizabeth slept soundly for four hours. They both awoke some time before nine. It was quiet and peaceful, not in the sense of total silence, but the muted rumble and clatter of the world enjoying another Monday morning was just a soothing background, at some remove, not threatening. The media had mercifully not found out where Elizabeth lived. How long before that changed? Elizabeth could be followed, or someone in the office could sell the information.

They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast together, not saying much. Afterwards Cilla said. “This has made the world of difference to me, Lizbeth. To have this time to get myself together, think things through. Not to have the media about my ears first thing. I can meet them when I’m ready, and go to them prepared.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to campaign any more, no need. I’m not going to attack or criticise the Party or its leader either. I won’t be drawn into that, no matter how hard they try. But I will feel free to comment on general subjects without having to clear it with anyone or check it with party policy.”

“Did you find that irksome?”

Cilla looked at Elizabeth. “Wouldn’t you? Doesn’t everybody?”

“No - no, I don’t think so, Cilla. I think most people who go into politics are mainly concerned with getting and holding power and are willing to make whatever compromises they have to, to achieve that. People who are mainly concerned with their ideas and what they want to say to the world, are in the minority. I’m not saying - not saying they’re wrong, you’re wrong, darling, no, I’m just saying that most politicians aren’t like that. And - and -”

“Perhaps I’m not the right person to succeed in politics?”

“Mm - maybe. Well -”

“But you were saying a while back how you thought I had some special role to play in the world, or something.”

“Yes, yes, but I didn’t say that politics was the best way to achieve it. I - maybe this whole episode has been a way, a step on the road, an experience, leading you to your destiny. How that will come about is yet to be revealed.”

Elizabeth’s words might have sounded comical, like bad writing, except that she spoke seriously and with feeling. Cilla, moved, kissed her and whispered “shall we go back to bed for a while?”

Elizabeth drew back. “Better not,” she said. “Better get on.”

Cilla was surprised. Elizabeth saw her concern and wanted to reassure her. “I - I just think the days till the election are going to be busier than you imagined, darling. I don’t see last night as a calamity, rather as an opportunity, that you have to grasp.” She hugged Cilla. “We can be together at night, after the day has done its worst.”
Cilla wasn’t to be put off. “Come on, Lizbeth, love, just a quickie. You do want me, don’t you?”

“Of course. Always.”

“Remember, this was supposed to be our holiday. We should have been in Geraldton about now. Let’s just have a bit more time now, then we’ll get into a more Spartan routine, I promise, for this great work that you reckon is going to take shape.” Cilla stood up and let her robe fall on the floor.

“All right.” Elizabeth didn’t need any more persuading.

“I really want you, Lizbeth,” Cilla whispered as they sank down on the bed together. “Just now. I feel such love for you.”

The ‘quickie’ took some time. Afterwards they lay for a while, gazing at each other. Cilla murmured “I feel as though we’ll look back on this moment, Lizbeth, because it’ll never be the same again. Let’s treasure it. Now and always.”

Reluctantly they got up and got ready to leave.

“Where are we going, Cilla?”

“Back to my place, of course.”

“Oh - yes.”

“No need to go anywhere else or do anything. Do you agree?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

The media crush at Cilla’s unit was greater than anything before. The news of her disendorsement had been a national sensation. The Labor Party Leader’s decision had achieved, for now anyway, the opposite of what he had intended for Cilla, and what candidates for election can only dream of having - the nation’s total attention, and the freedom to use it as she chose.

Cilla emerged from Elizabeth’s car into the bright sunshine, looking beautiful, having prepared herself so. She was smiling, serene and confident.
“Where have you been, Cilla?” asked several people.

“In Elizabeth’s spare room. Good night’s sleep, gather myself. I knew you’d be on the ‘phone, and here. Sorry about your wait. I slept the clock ‘round.”

Many of them were longing to ask if she had slept with Elizabeth but there was no way of putting the question that wouldn’t risk spoiling the media session and losing answers to other questions.

They were interrupted by an agitated woman whom Cilla recognised as an occupant of one of the other units. They had exchanged a few friendly words at the clotheslines and the bins. “Cilla, can you get this circus to move on? We can’t park, we can’t get in, we can’t get out, our visitors can’t get in. Can you do something?” Her tone wasn’t rude or angry, more pleading. Cilla touched the woman’s shoulder.

“Not a problem. Sorry about all this trouble. I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll move out if it does.” She waved her arms for the incessant shouting to stop. It lessened a bit.

“We can’t talk here,” she cried. “This is a serious nuisance to other tenants. There’s a park down the road” she pointed “kids’ playground, seats. We’ll meet there. You can get set up and we’ll talk as long as you want.”

This didn’t please some of them who had rushed up and got the position closest to the car when she got out. They were like seagulls flapping and screeching on the beach to get the most advantageous position to grab the thrown fish and chips. Cilla tried to assure them that everyone would get a good spot and a fair go, though she didn’t really know.

The two women left Elizabeth’s car in the parking spot, that would have been Cilla’s had she a car, and walked down to the park. The media swirled around them and ran ahead. Eventually Cilla was sat down, waiting for them to finish setting up. She sat in a seat where they could come in from all sides and they seemed happy. At last she was ready to answer questions. No need to worry any more about what she said. Elizabeth sat close beside her. No need to hide Elizabeth any more.

The question came. Some people groaned but they were all listening for an answer.
“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Elizabeth, Cilla?”

“Well, I gave a little speech on that matter down at the Labor Party the other day. There’s really nothing more I can say on the subject. Can we move on?”

There was no chance for the questioner to persist. Other people had other questions.

“Will you resign from the Labor Party, Cilla?”

“No, of course not. I’m still a member and loyal supporter of the Party.”

“After the way they’ve treated you?”

“They haven’t treated me badly. The Federal Leader made a decision that must have been hard for him, for what seemed to be sound political reasons. We candidates and rank and file members must be loyal to that decision. That’s how the system works. If I want a career in politics I must accept the decision and learn the lessons it teaches.”

“But won’t you be expelled if you continue campaigning?”

“I’m not campaigning. I’m just answering questions put by a free media on matters of legitimate public interest.”

Yeah, right. Many of them smiled.

Cilla went on. “Of course, any views that I might express incidentally to answering these questions, are my own personal opinions and nothing to do with Labor Party policy.”

“But, can’t you be expelled if you express views that go counter to Labor policy?”

“Well, I would fight against any motion to that effect. I’m no longer a candidate, so I’m entitled to my opinions.”

“But to express them publicly?”

“Any expression of opinion has an audience, big or small. When does it become wrong?”

“What about the future, Cilla? When you lose this seat, can you ever gain endorsement for another one?”

This was a sensitive point and Cilla looked away mentally from the yawning chasm of despair that opened up. She thrust away the thought of growing old in her present job or at best getting qualified in law and becoming a minor cog in the grinding machinery of justice. She hoped her expression hadn’t changed as she replied “I’m confident that I can learn my lesson and get my political career back on track, at the next election.”

“Won’t you have to give her up?” A finger was stabbed at Elizabeth.

“Give what up? I’ve already said, explained, that we are close friends, and I’m allowed to have friends. What can it be like, to be without friends?” she asked looking hard at the man with the stabbing finger. He blushed and some of the people near him snickered. Cilla went on. “One or both of us will be married, I expect, before the next election.” She didn’t go on to elaborate on that theme and Elizabeth just smiled and nodded. Both of them knew it wouldn’t happen. How could a man ever get past either of them to get sufficiently close to the other? How could it ever be, with a man, the way it had been between them last night and this morning?

There was actually a short silence - they were waiting in hope that Cilla would go on to say more about her and Elizabeth’s emotional life. But there was nothing. The questions surged forth again.

“What if you get elected, Cilla? Which party would you support?”

“I won’t get elected. This is a blue-ribbon Liberal seat.”

There was some murmuring, smiles, heads shaking. “Not according to the polls, Cilla.”

“What polls?”

“There was one taken just after the lesbian story broke. Sixty percent of respondents said they’d vote for you.”
Cilla was determined not to react in any way to the word ‘lesbian’. They were trying to make her talk about that again. She said nothing but her spine tingled at the news about the poll.

“So?” the questioner persisted. “What if you win?”

“Well, to be honest, I’ve not thought about winning. Even before I was disendorsed. I don’t know, what if. I suppose I’ll just - er - “ Cilla realised that if she won now, she would be an independent. She couldn’t think of what else to say. Her political ambitions had been to rise through a major party, not just be an independent, never holding any real power. She would just be a voice occasionally bleating from the cross-benches for a few years, after which her constituents would prefer a candidate from a major party, who would have a chance of getting somewhere and accomplishing something.

“Would you rejoin the Labor Party?”

“Well - I suppose so. I’m still a member of the party. Everyone knows that. But, then again - if I were elected as an independent, would it be because people voted for me to, er, as an independent, or as someone they think of as Labor? It’s not that simple. I would have to wait to see if the Labor Party invited me to join their parliamentary party, then if they did, I would have to get the views of the people who elected me.”

“But wouldn’t you already have their views, in the form of the election result?”

“Mm - yes, but only on the issue of becoming a member of parliament. To become a Labor member of parliament would be a different issue. I - I “

They waited to hear what she would say. This was interesting.

“I could make it clear, warn people, that if I were elected, I would lean towards Labor. That is where my sympathies lie.”

Two questions came together. “Is that what you’re saying now? Making it clear now?” “Wouldn’t that make a nonsense of being disendorsed?”

Cilla didn’t respond quickly. Then she said “Look, the underlying assumption in disendorsing me was that this seat couldn’t be won by Labor, or by anyone except a Liberal. My campaign was distracting attention and damaging the chances of other Labor candidates without providing any compensating political value. That was the thinking behind it. Had there been a chance of me winning the seat I might not have been disendorsed. I wasn’t disendorsed for going against Party policy. It was a hard political calculation.”

“Was it a political calculation you agree with?”

Cilla hesitated for longer yet. “I - I don’t know. I can’t see it from the point of view of those making the calculation. I just have to assume that they know politics better than I, and know what they’re doing.”

People smiled at this, partly from cynicism and partly because they admired Cilla for saying it.

“To come back to my question, can you now state, quite clearly, that if you are elected as an independent, you will support Labor?”

This was crucial. Everyone waited, hushed, for a long time while Cilla stared over their heads with a worried frown.

Finally she looked straight at the questioner, braced herself and said firmly and clearly “No, I can’t. It may happen, I may support Labor if elected, I would want to, but I can’t at this time make a commitment that I will.”

Everyone knew that she had terminated her career with the Labor Party, with that statement. Cilla knew it too. She also knew that she hadn’t had to make the statement - she could have dodged it by saying, as politicians had, did and would continue to, that it was all hypothetical, she wasn’t going to answer hypothetical questions and that she had to go now. But if she was going to stand there and answer the question then there was no other answer but the one she had given.

“Well, I think that’s enough for now,” said Cilla, getting up. “We can talk again, if you like. But not now.” Elizabeth stood up too. Cilla looked up at her friend and thought, what the hell. She reached up and put her arm around Elizabeth’s neck, stroked Elizabeth’s hair and cheek. Cameras whirred and buzzed. “If you ever find a friend as good as Elizabeth has been to me, you’ll be rich, life will have been worth living.” Her voice shook with feeling and a lot of the media people sighed with her. She slid her hand down Elizabeth’s arm and grasped her hand, then began to walk away with her. People stood aside to let them pass. No-one stuck a microphone in Cilla’s face or asked her any more questions.

“That was lovely. Beautiful,” sighed a man to his mate. “Did you see their faces? The sun on her hair?”

“This is definitely the best campaign ever,” replied his mate.

Cilla and Elizabeth walked back to Cilla’s unit. No-one followed them and all was quiet at the units. Elizabeth went home and Cilla went inside to wait for the inevitable developments.

The telephone rang almost immediately. It was Tessa. “Cilla! Where the hell have you been! I didn’t know about the meeting last night. I was with Timmy and my mum. Is this true? You’ve been disendorsed?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, darling!” Tessa forgot herself and burst into tears.

“Hush, Tessa, it’s not the end of the world. I’m still on the ticket, and some polls are suggesting I might have a chance. If I’m actually in parliament, well, who knows.” Cilla didn’t know, herself, but she wanted to calm Tessa.

Tessa didn’t seem to take that in. “I should have been at the meeting. They would have rung my home. I wasn’t there. I could have supported you!”

“A lot of people did. But it was no use. The decision had to be accepted. I got a bit stroppy, but no more than was reasonable. So, there we are, Tessa.”

“Where are we? What - what did you say about a poll?”

“Some poll shows me with a chance of winning the seat.”

“Really? What do you think? Do you believe it?”

“No - it’s just one of those surges, and we don’t know who did the poll, whom they asked and what was the form of the question.”

After a pause Tessa said “I don’t see how you could have any hope.”

“Quite. That was the assumption behind disendorsing me.”

Tessa sighed. “Can I come over? I’ve got to drop Timmy off, then I can come and see you. Can I?”

Cilla sighed. After that perfect night and morning with Elizabeth, and the love she had felt for Elizabeth this morning, why did she now feel excited at the thought of a visit from Tessa, with the inevitable walk to the bedroom, the undressing, the embrace? What was the matter with her? Would she be like this if she ever had a boyfriend and got married? “Of course, Tessa,” she said. “I’ll be having a rest after my tiring session with the press on this warm morning.” In other words, come straight in and lie down with me and get it over with. “Then we can talk of what to do, or not to do.”

Tessa showered and put on light summer clothes. She thought of Cilla lying down, wanted to lie down with her. She wanted to make love to Cilla but it probably wouldn’t be appropriate this morning, under the circumstances. She wouldn’t ask or make any move, just be serious and supportive. Be better if they didn’t make love, anyway. Perhaps. Disappointing. But better.

Cilla went to lie down, having connected her newly-acquired answering machine. When Tessa arrived she called. “Come in! It’s not locked.”

A few people were starting to hang about outside again, some fringe media people and Cilla supporters. They looked curiously at Tessa as she went in but didn’t ask her anything.

“There’s the redhead,” someone whispered to his mate.

“Are they on together too?”

“Mm - mm.”

Tessa closed the door. Cilla was not to be seen.

“In here, Tessa.” From the bedroom.

Tessa went in to see Cilla lying on the bed in her underwear.

“I thought you might like to lie down with me. But if you’d rather not, I’ll get dressed and get up. But I thought, if that was going to happen, we might as well get to it, not mess around, trying to make conversation when we haven’t got our minds on it.”

Tessa just stood there, her heart pounding. Cilla made a move to get up, thinking she had made a mistake. “No,” whispered Tessa. “Please stay there. I - I was just overcome.” She moved forward and lay down.

Half an hour later they lay breathless and ecstatic, naked, entwined around each other. “Wow,” said Cilla.

Tessa just sobbed quietly.

“What’s up?”

“I’m weeping for joy, not for sadness.”

“Ohhhh.” Cilla sighed. They were silent again for a while.

“I love you so much, Cilla. There, I’ve said it.”

Cilla heard the answering machine click-clacking and wondered if it had taken any calls during the last half-hour when she hadn’t been paying attention. She thought of the world outside, waiting for her, thinking about her in many different ways, while here she was, on the bed with Tessa. She stroked Tessa’s hair and didn’t respond to her declaration of love.

Tessa heard Cilla’s silence, then heard the answering machine and welcomed it as a distraction from the need to pursue the subject of love.

“Wasn’t that your machine, Cilla?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps we’d better be up and doing.”
“Mm. Could we be down and doing, one more time, Tessa? Then yes, I’ll deal with - things.”

The machine clacked a couple more messages in before they were ready to get up. At last Cilla went to it and sat naked listening to her messages.

“Cilla, can you get back to me? It’s Carole, from Channel 8. Can you appear on Today Tonight? My mobile is ...”

“Cilla, can we do an in-depth interview? It’s Vanessa, from the West Australian. My number is ...”

Tessa watched bemused as Cilla, still naked, rang the numbers given and solemnly made the arrangements. Then she got up. “I’d better shower, Tessa, and dress. Someone is coming around here for an interview. Then I have to go out to the TV studio. Oh -” Cilla had forgotten to arrange for them to pick her up.

“Perhaps I’d better go,” Tessa murmured, disappointed.

“No! No Need. Unless you want to. The paper person won’t be around for an hour. You can be with me during the interview, if you like.”

Then Tessa had the thought. “How are you getting out to Tuart Hill?” where the television studios were.

“I’m sure they’d pick me up, if I asked. They sounded keen enough to have me. I just forgot to ask them.”

“I could take you out there, if you like.”

“Oh, that’d be lovely, Tessa. What about Timmy? It’s for 3 o’clock, for this evening’s show.”

“I can take you there and be back in time for Timmy.” Tessa was delighted. She was being swept up into this great day for Cilla, not pushed out.

Cilla stood up suddenly and headed for the bathroom, then gave a little sigh and fell down on the floor. Tessa’s eyes widened as she ran over. “Darling! What happened?”
“My heart’s pounding. I feel dizzy,” Cilla murmured, rolling over on her back and staring at the ceiling.

“Doctor! Who’s your doctor?” Tessa jumped up.

“No! No, please, Tessa, not now. I want to get on. I promise I’ll see the doctor as soon as time permits, but just now I’ll rest, take deep breaths, get up more carefully.” She closed her eyes.

After a minute Tessa said, “at least let me put you on the bed.”

“Ohh - all right. Not so far to get up.”

At last Cilla felt able to get up slowly and walk to the bathroom. “I feel good now. It’s OK, Tessa. I’ll have to stop having sex during this campaign.” She laughed.

Just before the interviewer was due to arrive, Cilla, resplendent in blue dress and shiny shoes, hair bouncing and gleaming, opened the door to look out for her. The crowd outside, now somewhat grown, moved forward.

Cilla moved down the steps to the first landing, leant on the rail, preened herself. While she had been grateful for Bruce’s help while she had been a party candidate, she now relished being free to do and say exactly what she liked and make arrangements as she saw fit. “Hello,” she smiled at the crowd. “Are you looking for me?”

Autograph books were offered to her. She signed them. Cameras whirred. A few questions were asked but she didn’t give long, serious answers. A number of people just looked at her without asking for anything.

Now Tessa appeared at the door to see what was happening.

“There’s your answer,” said the man to his mate. They just had a watching brief and hadn’t pushed forward with the others.

“Answer to what?”

“Are they on together. Look at her. The redhead.”

Tessa was radiant, her hair less tidy than it had been when she went in, gazing adoringly at Cilla.

“Blimey,” said the mate.

“Wouldn’t mind a bit of it myself, mate.”

Cilla’s interviewer arrived twenty minutes late, but Cilla didn’t mind. They went inside.

As the interview proceeded Cilla felt uncomfortable. The questions were personal, who was she, what about the beatings when she was a child, what about Elizabeth, what was her background. Cilla wanted to use her new freedom to expound her views on important issues. She didn’t want to discuss personal matters; they were painful, or private, or both. After a few brief, unwilling answers she said “Look, I don’t want to talk about any of this stuff. All I want to say about it is already on the public record. Do you mind if we talk about other things?”

“What do you want to talk about, Cilla?”

“Well, the issues of the day.”

Vanessa shrugged. “People hear that every day, they turn off to it. You’re, you as a person, are far more interesting. That’s what my readers want to know about.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t agree. The things that politicians think are the issues, those might be boring, but the real issues that are not mentioned or dealt with, people aren’t bored with those. An unemployed and perhaps unemployable person can’t get enough income to live in a house or keep the ‘phone on or dress properly. Maybe that bores you, but to people caught in that trap, they aren’t bored. Bored isn’t the word. Or, hundreds of thousands of people with bad teeth and low incomes will never have enough money to afford to get even minimal necessary work done on their teeth. Oh, dear, how boring! All that bad breath and bad health! And no affordable dental care!”

Vanessa was startled and exhilarated by this outburst. Maybe Cilla was right - they should discuss issues. Interesting ones, and controversial ones, and those close to people’s daily struggles.
“Right, Cilla, I see your point,” she said, checking that her recorder was working. “What would you do about dental care?”

“I won’t be able to do anything. I probably won’t win this seat, and if I do, I’ll just be an independent.”

“But what if you could do anything? I mean, what should be done?”

Cilla sighed. “I’d love to suggest some glib plan, off the top of my head, but all I can say is that something should be done. In this wealthy society it isn’t right that thousands of people should be walking around with rotten teeth. Just what would fix that would have to be worked out and costed in detail, with access to resources for doing that, which of course I haven’t got. And might never have.”

Vanessa didn’t immediately go on. She looked at Cilla and smiled. She liked this honesty. Any other aspiring politician would have gone er, ah, um, glib plan.

“So, what about unemployed people, their incomes?”

“A guaranteed minimum income. There should be a level of income below which people are not allowed to fall, with Social Security making up the difference as required.”

“But wouldn’t that be abused?”

“Sure it would, but that would be the price you would have to pay. There’s always a price to be paid for everything. If it’s something good and important then we have to continue to pay the price. We need an independent judiciary, and the price for that is that some judges stay in office too long and become eccentric in their statements and decisions. But the appeal system exists to even that out. We need absolute freedom of speech, and the price to pay for that is, that some people will go around saying and writing things that most of us find abhorrent. We need an absolutely free press, and that means we get a certain proportion of errors, lies and slanders.”

“Mm,” smiled Vanessa. “I know what you mean.”

Cilla smiled back. “Would you want to throw up your job if there were a guaranteed minimum income to live on?”

“No!”

“Me neither. Why not? Apart from getting more money for working?”

“Well, I like to work. And I like to be, you know, something. I mean, when people ask me what I do, I like to say ‘I’m a journalist’.”

“Me too. There you are.”


They moved on to other subjects, going well over the time that Vanessa had thought would be sufficient. She wouldn’t be able to use all this, but it could be edited into a great little piece. And sold on for a good price.

“We need to finish up now, Cilla. Can I take some photos?”

“Do you do your own?”

“Oh, yes, multi-skilled, downsizing, you know. I did a photography course.”

She took half a dozen snaps of Cilla after asking her to talk animatedly about anything she liked and move around the room. One of the photographs captured the attractive redhead whom Vanessa had noticed hanging around.

“Thanks, Cilla,” said Vanessa. “That was great. I’m sorry I started on personal stuff you weren’t comfortable with, but I didn’t know you could make, you know, the issues, so interesting.”

Vanessa hadn’t asked about the attractive redhead in Cilla’s unit or been introduced. She was intrigued. Who was this person? Elizabeth, the lady who had caused all the fuss, was a tall blonde. She would mention the redhead in her article. Not in a nasty way, just that a friend was there in the unit, helping Cilla with her campaign. Or something. There probably wouldn’t be room for the photo.

“Well, Tessa, we’d better get going to Tuart Hill.” Cilla was excited and happy. Tessa looked at her and fell in love even more, sighing “You were great. Oh - oh.”

Cilla looked at Tessa’s enraptured face and wondered if there would be questions about her, too. “Tessa,” she began.

“Mm?”

What could Cilla say? She decided to leave it. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s do it!”

They arrived early at Tuart Hill. Tessa had driven a bit too fast and had run over a kerb a couple of times, and Cilla had had to call her attention to a red light towards which they had been speeding. Cilla didn’t remember Tessa driving like this before. She was glad she would be going back with Elizabeth.

“I wish I could stay, Cilla.”

“You’ll probably see more on TV. It should be on by the time you’ve got Timmy and settled in for the evening. Thanks for the lift and everything!”

Tessa drove home more carefully. She felt sad and let down with the lovely person no longer beside her in the car. She thought of her plans to marry again and get a proper family for herself and Timmy. It seemed further away than ever. She wondered if Cilla would come around and have dinner with her Mum and Timmy.

Cilla hurried into the building. She fumbled in her bag for ID but the security person just smiled. “We all know who you are. Would you just wait a minute while I ring through?”

A woman soon came down. “Cilla! Glad to see you. I’m Sharon. Come with me - we have to go to make-up.”

At last Cilla was seated in front of the cameras facing not one interviewer but several. One of them looked familiar.

Again they started on personal matters. Cilla decided to take the same tack as with Vanessa earlier - she had said all she wanted to say on that and would prefer to discuss issues.

That caused an immediate stop to recording and some frowns. Cilla spoke before anyone could start.

“I know that this program has to be interesting, and the conventional wisdom is that issues are boring. But can I suggest that real issues, that concern people every day, are not boring, only the things that politicians represent as being issues? Also, I can talk about things in an interesting way, whereas my personal life and history are subjects I find it difficult, even painful to discuss, and it would be painful for people to watch me try, and they’d be switching off. Can you go along with me on this?”

The producer sighed in his cubicle. They had to go along with Cilla. They had no choice. He signalled for the interviewers to accept this and for the cameras to resume recording.

“Cilla, you indicated earlier that you didn’t know if you would support the Labor Party if you were elected. Does this mean that you feel more free to give your views on subjects without referring to Party policy?”

“My very presence here shows that I’ve decided to be my own person, to say what I think. The correct thing for me to do would be to lie low. This appearance amounts to campaigning. So did an interview I gave to a newspaper earlier.”

“So, you’ve moved on from your stance this morning?”

“Yes. I found that a lot of people wanted to see me, talk to me, so I just decided to go for it. Whatever the consequences. I want to be loyal to Labor, but I can’t just shut myself away and cut off the ‘phone until the election.”

That was interesting. “Won’t that lead to you being expelled from the Labor Party?”

“I don’t see why. They have - I have been put in a difficult position, I must handle it the best way I can. I’m out in the public eye now, it can’t be helped. I can’t just cease to exist.”
“But you don’t have to say things that don’t comply with Labor policy?”

“I can say what I like. I’m not their endorsed candidate any more, just a party member and supporter. I can express my own views on anything and the party isn’t answerable for what I say.”

This wasn’t getting anywhere. Someone decided to move on, with a question he had asked Cilla before.

“Cilla, a while back I asked you for your views on voluntary euthanasia and you were too tired and not prepared, and perhaps you felt anxious about wading into an issue like that and stepping on Labor Party toes. Could you give an answer now?”

Cilla took a deep breath. She had thought about the issue and was ready to tackle it.

“When the debate about voluntary euthanasia legislation was going on a few years ago, I was in favour of it. I thought it right that people in pain, with no hope of recovery, should have the chance to die peacefully at a time and place of their own choosing.

“But then I thought it through. If voluntary euthanasia became legal throughout the country, it might become more than a merciful measure for a few people in extremis to choose freely. It might become a cost-effective preferred option for health funds, public and private, to press upon terminally ill, or merely old, people, or their relatives and carers. Why should gran live another two years of incontinent, immobile, unproductive life at the cost of thousands and increased taxes or subscriptions, when for a few hundred she could have euthanasia?

“So, we will have accepted the legal principle that people can choose to die, to have themselves put peacefully to death, at a time of their choosing, not live out their lives, if their lives are painful to them and there is no hope of improvement.

“One logical step and you have other people making this decision on their behalf and applying pressure on them to ‘volunteer’ for euthanasia.

“Remember, the nazi holocaust developed through a series of logical steps. They didn’t just suddenly decide to murder people systematically at the rate of thousands a day. That horror was the end of a process of logic, if this, then why not that? And so the next thing must be okay, logically speaking?

“And where will it go from there? It would only be a couple of logical steps to think that people always in and out of prison, unable to hold down a job or stay out of trouble, ought to volunteer too, as a cost-effective option. Same with the people the government calls dole bludgers. If they can’t find work or can’t stay in work if they do find it, why should they live? And what about people on long-term disability pensions? They aren’t in pain or in immediate danger of death but they can’t contribute, only increase the burden on tax-payers.

“So long as the whole thing proceeds in steps, one thing leading to another, no-one will think anything amiss until some time in the future we shall be living in a world where living one’s life is a privilege, not a right, where life is performance-based, you need to have a licence and meet certain criteria, otherwise the trucks will come for you and take you to a voluntary camp to see a counsellor who will gently present your options to you, like, sign this bit of paper saying you’ll take the injection. It’s your choice but you’ll not leave here till you make it.”

Cilla paused for breath. The people on the panel stared at her. They looked worried. Were they worried about what she was saying, or about the time, or did they think she was bats? She decided to wind up her remarks on this subject.

“So, we have to establish and hold the principle of the sanctity of human life. Everyone has the right to live, no matter how costly their illness, or unproductive their lives, or obnoxious their views and behaviour. The price to be paid for that is that some people with terminal illness will suffer pain and distress before they die. But there’s always a price to be paid for everything. The price to be paid for allowing those people legal mercy killing would be far higher, far worse. Don’t let’s let the legal killing genie out of the bottle. We’ll never get him back in until he’s damaged society in ways we can’t imagine.”

The panelists just stared at her, as did millions of people at her image on the screen when the interview was shown later that day and the next.
The question came. “Isn’t that a bit far-fetched, Cilla? A holocaust in Australia, just because a few terminally people want to end their sufferings a bit early.”

“It wouldn’t be just because of that. It would be just because of the step immediately before it, which would have followed from the previous step and all the other steps, starting with a well-intentioned decision to allow the deliberate termination of the lives of people who asked for it to end their suffering. We just mustn’t create an opening. We mustn’t - ” she had already used the image of the genie and the bottle. She became agitated. “Don’t you think that the government would be happy if about thirty percent of the population ceased to exist? We don’t want to create a legal avenue, although it be long, narrow and winding, that might allow governments of the future to make that happen.”

Cilla says, government wants to exterminate 30 percent of Australians. This interview was more lively than expected, more interesting than Cilla’s personal life. What other interesting ideas did she have?

“Cilla, what are your views on abortion?”

To their surprise she didn’t hesitate or falter. “No pregnant woman wants to have an abortion. She would rather anything than that. But we can’t absolutely prohibit it. Women who have an abortion are doing so as a last resort, a desperate measure to prevent something worse. This is already recognised in State laws, or if not, then in actual practice. I see no reason to interfere with this.”

“What about prostitution, Cilla?”

What about this, what about that? She got the feeling they were mocking her - no, not that, but really it didn’t matter what she thought about anything. She was just good entertainment, ratings. She had to be got to spout on a variety of subjects so that viewers could enjoy watching and listening to her. She pushed this negative idea out of her mind. She couldn’t go on if she let it take hold.

“What about it?”

“Do you favour its legalisation?”
“I favour its control, to minimise damage to women and men and society in general. If some form of legalisation helps to control it then I am in favour of that. If keeping it illegal prevented it happening then I would be in favour of that, but in fact it is widespread and growing, out of control, so illegality isn’t working. If it is to remain illegal, then it must be recognised that it s a crime that takes two. The men must be prosecuted and punished as well as the women. That would reduce it. But then, we would be making the mistake of a partial policy.”

They didn’t ask her what she meant, so she went on. She felt exhilarated. She could say what she liked about anything and the whole country was listening to her, or would be. “Partial policy is when you take one measure without anticipating what other measures need to be taken with it, and taking those measures. For instance, the minister for employment is trying to force down wages and dole payments to create more jobs at the lower end of the market. Fine, but something needs to be done about the cost of living at the same time. Things working people, or people looking for work, can’t do without, housing and transport, are very costly. Everyone is expected to travel everywhere by car, and this is government policy. So incomes can’t be lower than what’s needed to own a car and pay high rents or mortgage repayments.”

She had managed to distract her inquisitors into another issue. They didn’t interrupt to say “But coming back to prostitution - “ they just let her go on.

“Thee are two ways of tackling this, and I would favour doing both at once. One is to put more funds into public transport, reduce the size of the average car, and control the cost of buying and renting housing. Yes, I can sense the shivers, this would be against the holy religion of the free market, but it can be done, and it should be done. The free market is only good if it best serves the maximum number of people, but an ever growing number are missing the benefits.”

“The other way is to provide a guaranteed minimum income. No-one would be allowed to get less than a certain number of dollars per week. If their wages were low, the difference would have to be made up by Social Security. All right, the system would be abused by some people, and you could never prevent all the abuses. But that’s the price you would pay. There’s always a price to be paid for everything. Some people would like unbridled free enterprise, no unions, no social security, but the price to be paid for that would be far higher. Poverty, malnutrition, crime, slavery, disease, shanty towns. Let’s have a decent society where everyone has the right to live and there’s a basic standard of life below which people can’t fall.”

“That wouldn’t work, Cilla.”

She frowned at the man who had said this. She needed to get the initiative here.

“Is that a question?”

“Mm - no - I mean -”

“It’s not your place here to make statements like that. That’s my place. Your place is to ask questions.”

She smiled as she delivered this in a calm, quiet tone. There was a stunned silence, during which the man received some advice through his earphones. Then he tried again.

“What I mean, Cilla, is that, er, some people might say that existing pensions and benefits often get spent on videos, pizzas, lollies and drink in the first few days after pension day, leaving nothing for rent and utility bills and groceries.”

Cilla didn’t try to deny this or stall by asking for evidence of it. It was well-known to be true.

“To counter that, I favour a scheme whereby rent and utility bills are deducted from the social security payment at source, and some of the payment is made in the form of vouchers redeemable at supermarkets and clothing and shoe stores.”

This was getting really interesting. Just when she seemed all leftish, suddenly it was back to the nineteenth century. “But wouldn’t that be like the old days in America where workers were paid in vouchers only redeemable at the company store, so they were virtual slaves?”

“Not at all. Firstly, this is social security I’m talking about, not wages. Secondly, the vouchers would be redeemable at any supermarket or family store, but not of course at pubs or liquor stores and they couldn’t be used to buy cigarettes.”

“But, Cilla, isn’t that so out of touch with the times? People just wouldn’t accept it.”

Cilla leaned forward. She was getting out of her depth. She wanted to finish this and move on. “It would only be applied to a minority of people who met certain criteria for not paying bills and piling up arrears of rent. Of course the great majority of people on pensions and benefits do quite all right and squeeze a great deal of value out of a buck without government interference or supervision. I’m only concerned with minimising the abuses, and what I suggested would achieve that. Well, wouldn’t it?”

They didn’t respond for a moment. They were thinking what to ask next and listening to directions through their ‘phones. Cilla seized the opportunity to change the subject herself.

“Related to all this is the breakdown of the institution of marriage in this country. The marriage failure rate is rising yearly and the average length of a marriage is falling. Marriage has become just a temporary performance-based contract; I agree to live with you until you fail to meet my expectations, or don’t excite me any more, or until I meet someone I think is better, then I’ll just leave without penalty. The only way marriage was ever going to work as a strong social institution was if it was permanent and unconditional, where when you married, husband and wife became like family to each other. You could no more stop being someone’s wife than you could stop being their mother or sister. Once we got away from that, started to allow divorce, though for understandable and well-intentioned reasons, we started the institution of marriage down the road to today, where it is severely weakened and becoming weaker. If we can’t put it back to what it was, then we need to replace it with something more stable and workable. Perhaps -” she stopped for breath. Her interviewers stared at her. So did the people in the glass booths. This lovely girl talked like a book, not an ‘er’ or an ‘ahm’ or a word changed, just a fluent high voice that you wanted to listen to even if what it said was troubling.

There didn’t seem to be any panic about time, no orders to ‘wind this up’. So they pressed on. “Perhaps what, Cilla?”

“Perhaps we could replace marriage with limited-term contracts, to be renewed only by mutual consent, with a term of, say, five years. The contract would include details of the fate of any children and disposal of marital property. It would be legally binding. You wouldn’t be able to walk out of it before the five year term was up, without incurring penalties.”

“Penalties? Criminal or civil?”

Cilla had hoped they wouldn’t ask that. She sighed softly. She was feeling tired. She hoped it didn’t show. She kept her smile and kept what she hoped was her relaxed alert posture. She dodged the question.

“I don’t know. It would have to be something that would work. The whole scheme would have to work. The present tattered remnant of the venerable institution of marriage isn’t working.”

“But marriage is the basis of the family, which is the basis of society. How can you have any concept of family under your contract system?”

“It’s because the family is the foundation of our society that I’m concerned. Having people come together in a church or park and make vows of permanence that will probably not be kept, that are all too easy to break, is serving the family ill. My scheme would probably lead to longer-lasting marriages. If people only promised to be together for five years at a time, rather than ‘until death do us part’, they wouldn’t be so inclined to panic and run away or get nasty if the relationship turned sour. They would be more relaxed about it and that would help improve the relationship. Also, they would be more inclined to work on the relationship and be good partners so that the other person would want to renew at the expiry of the contract. So, I’m saying” she hurried on “instead of people vowing to be together until death, but in fact being free to leave at any time - the shortest marriage I’ve heard of lasted three and a half weeks - I’m saying let them promise to be together only for limited periods, but not be free to leave during that time. I’m looking for more family stability, not less.”

She paused, but the space wasn’t immediately filled with more questions. The producer was telling them to wind it up. It was way over time already. They had to ask some quick finishing questions.

“Cilla,” asked a woman brightly “where do you get your dazzling good looks?”

This question was personal and silly but Cilla smiled with relief. It meant that they wanted to finish soon. There would be no more difficult questions. She was worried about what she had said, wondered how people would take it, wished she had had more time to think things through.

“I don’t know. I never knew my parents. Actually I don’t know how good my looks are. There’s not much of me. The guys at work used to call me short-arse.”

The panel laughed. They wanted to come back to ‘never knew my parents’ but there was no time. After closing pleasantries the interview was over.

***

“Hi, Lizbeth, how are you? I’m ready if you are.”

“I’ll be right there.” Elizabeth lived not far from the studios. “I expect you’ll want to go back to your place, after staying with me last night.”


“Mm, yes. I’m really tired.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Of course, dear Lizbeth. Always.” Then Cilla remembered the other reason why she was tired, and remembered that she had just left the bed as it was before coming out to the studio. She wondered at herself - she was talking to Elizabeth now, feeling real affection and desire for her, having forgotten what it was like with Tessa earlier today. She would have to stall Elizabeth while she did something quickly with the bed. No, wait. She frowned in pain. Lies, cover-ups. No good.

Elizabeth noticed the pause. “What, darling?”

“Oh - I just thinking back through what I said for the TV just now. My head’s full of it. I went on too much.” More lies. Well, partly true. But not the thing at the front of her mind just this moment.
“I’ll be out the front, Liz.”

As she waited out side in the sultry afternoon with the sun burning the side of her face, Cilla reflected that this might be the last time she would be able to stand alone and unnoticed in a public place, though several people coming and going smiled at her. Once the TV program went to air, and tomorrow’s newspaper came out, she would never again have a private life. This was the last vestige of it.

She saw Elizabeth’s car moving cautiously through the large car park, trying to find her. She waved and was seen.

“I haven’t actually been here before, darling,” said Elizabeth. “Might be the first of many trips.” She didn’t kiss Cilla but squeezed her knee. “How did you get here?”

“Tessa drove me.”

“Did she come and see you today?”

“Yes.”

“Is that allowed? Won’t she be in trouble with the Party? Driving you about and helping you with your forbidden campaign?”

“Mm - maybe, Liz, but she only joined the party to meet - people.”

“To meet the love of her life.”

Cilla didn’t respond. They drove the rest of the way in silence, each feeling their own complicated emotions.

At last they stopped in the car park at Cilla’s units. Elizabeth turned off the engine, got out and went around to the boot to get her overnight things. They went up the stairs together without being accosted - the reporters and fans had gone for the day, or were not visible - and into the unit, stuffy after being closed up on a hot afternoon. Elizabeth went straight into Cilla’s bedroom, noted the rumpled bed and came out again.

“You know, darling, I find this whole Tessa thing a huge turn-on. That’s my honest reaction to it. You know when you came out of your room after a sleep, that day we were all here, and found us on the couch, and said we were getting on?”

“Mm.”

“We had been kissing, while you were asleep. I was controlling myself but I was hot for her. Just kissing gently. I don’t know about myself. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I really love you, I should have eyes for no-one else. But - I don’t know.”

“Oh. Lizbeth, I feel the same. I love you too. But -”

“I know. Tessa.”

They embraced. “Cilla, my love, I want to make love to you on that bed where you’ve been with Tessa today. But I expect you’re tired, after - everything, today.”

“Any time, Lizbeth, anywhere. Yes, I am tired. But I need you. God knows what will happen tomorrow. Do you want to watch me on TV tonight?”

“I set the video when you rang and asked me to pick you up.”

“Ah. You knew I wouldn’t, couldn’t stand to watch myself.”

“Mm.”

An hour later, Elizabeth left Cilla sleeping. She felt light-headed. She went quietly to the bathroom and washed her face. She was fighting an uncomfortable feeling, something like panic. Cilla’s life was flying rapidly on an unpredictable path and Elizabeth was being dragged along with it. What would happen to her own life? What would happen to her relationship? Should she, could she, just let Cilla go? Could Cilla manage as well on her own? Elizabeth sighed. She would just have to go along and cope as best she could with whatever arose.

She went back to bed with Cilla and slept. In the night Cilla woke up, waking Elizabeth as she went to the bathroom. When Cilla came back Elizabeth said “should I go home, do you think, darling? So the mob don’t see me coming out of your door first thing.”

“No, no, Lizbeth, not unless you want to. The damage has already been done. Our relationship is all part and parcel of this new thing I’m in. The new independent me. We could go and embrace nude on the top of the steps and they’d probably cheer.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Elizabeth laughed.

“Just take it easy. Sleep. Let me do breakfast for you, for a change.”

“Is the ‘phone plugged in?”

“The machine’s on. With the volume down.”

“Good.” They held each other and drifted back to sleep.

DAY 9

The morning was as expected. The whole nation had seen the television interview, at various times. The network had shown the whole thing, taking up the entire program time and running over into the time allocated for the evening soapie. This was unprecedented. It never happened. Cilla had achieved what political candidates dream about but never achieve - the full and unflinching attention of the nation.

She wanted to go out and get her morning paper but the crowd of fans, protesters and media was building and she wasn’t ready to face them yet. Oh well. She tidied herself up and went out. Fortunately the paper was within reach. The howling and clicking started as soon as she opened the door. She picked up the paper then stood up and smiled at everyone until the noise had softened enough for her to speak.

“I’m not ready yet,” she said softly, so that they quietened down even more. “Please give me half an hour. We’ll meet in the park down the road, as before. Please don’t impede other residents trying to get to work.”

Back inside, they could hear the noise diminishing as the crowd stampeded down the road to get a good position in the park.
“It’s either that, or I’ll have to leave,” remarked Cilla. “You can’t expect the other residents to put up with this.” They looked at the paper. The whole interview was there, together with observations from Vanessa and all the pictures. Elizabeth looked at one with interest.

“There’s Tessa, lurking in a doorway.”

“Where? Oh.”

“Sharp and clear, while you’re blurred. The photographer wanted to show Tessa.”

Tessa had stayed at her mother’s place that night, feeling vulnerable and not wanting to be alone in her dreary unit with Timmy. Timmy squealed as they looked through the morning newspaper.

“Mummy’s in the paper! Mummy’s in the paper!”

Tessa was shocked and scared to see herself, looking through a doorway, in sharp focus, staring at the blurred Cilla in the foreground. She wished she didn’t wear her emotions on her face so clearly. That had helped make her marriage difficult.

“She certainly shows her feelings,” remarked Elizabeth. “That’s one thing that makes her attractive. That expressive face.”

Cilla scanned the pages silently and without smiling. She wondered what the feature would say about Tessa. There it was. ‘This young lady lingered in the unit, obviously very attached to the independent candidate for Curtin. Cilla has the quality of attracting deep love from other young women.’ “Bloody hell!” she cried.

Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t worry, my love. Why did we ever worry before? Only because of the Party and the need to conform to supposed social norms, for your career’s sake. But as you said last night, it’s different now. Tessa is all part and parcel, too.”

Tessa ‘lost’ the page with the picture on it, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice. Her mother usually just looked at the headlines, the cartoon, the comics, the shopping specials and some of the domestic items. But today was different. She scanned the Cilla interview with interest, until Tessa, desperate, created a distraction by yelling at Timmy, making him and her mother jump.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve told him! He’s not to lick the knife and stick it back in the butter!”

“But - but I didn’t, Mum.” Timmy’s voice trembled with incipient tears.

“You were about to.” Tessa felt stupid now. Poor Timmy. Her mother frowned at her but didn’t say anything, having promised never to interfere between her and Timmy.

Tessa quickly hugged Timmy. “I’m sorry, Tim-Tams. Give Mummy a kiss.”

“Don’t call me Tim-Tams. I’m not a fuckn’ biscuit.”

“Don’t say that!” Tessa looked at her mother. “He heard it at pre-school.”

The distraction had been sufficient, if clumsy. Tessa’s mother raised her eyebrows, forgot what she had been reading, turned the page and got into something else. Tessa drove away with Timmy and the missing page.

Cilla was at last ready to face the media. A few of them had stayed to try to get pictures and ask questions ahead of the others, but Cilla was firm. She couldn’t stop the pictures, but she said “Questions will only be answered down at the park. I must be firm about this, for the sake of the other residents.” Then she began the walk to the park, accompanied by Elizabeth - no need to hide her now.

She sat on a park bench, the media pressing about her. They hammered relentlessly at Cilla’s supposed statement that the government wanted to exterminate thirty percent of the population. Elizabeth was startled by this - she had not seen the televison interview, it was still trapped in her video at home. Cilla hoped she was making her views clear, without changing what she had said yesterday, which she thought was clear enough. There was no such plan by the government, but there had been such plans by other governments in the past and it was necessary to re-affirm the principle of the sanctity of human life and not to create a legal entry into a world of the future where living was a privilege, not a right. At last they let go of that and got onto another tiresome subject.

“Who is the redhead in the pictures, Cilla? Are you having a relationship with her?”

Everyone hushed at this bold question. They all liked Cilla and hadn’t wanted to be the first to ask it. Now they waited for the answer.

“What do you mean?” asked Cilla. She knew full well what was meant, and the answer was of course yes, but she needed to stall for Tessa’s sake, and for Elizabeth’s, and because it was none of the media’s damn business. Let them dare to ask the question more explicitly.

They dared. “Is she your lover, Cilla?”

Cilla didn’t stop smiling, just raised her eyebrows. “She‘s just a fellow Labor Party member, and a friend. What gave you your bizarre idea?”

“The way she was looking at you.” Some people groaned and sniggered at this, it sounded weak. Cilla was winning.

“She wasn’t looking at me, she was looking at Vanessa. She was fascinated to be present at an interview for the press and she was aware that she was going to be in that photo, and excited about that. I think your imputation is more comical than anything. If we’ve reached those depths I think there’s no point in going on with this. I’ve better things to do.” Indeed she had. The answering machine that morning had click-clacked with requests for appearances, interviews. Cilla rose and began calmly to walk away. A groan of disappointment arose. She had won this one. They didn’t try to stop her but begged her to stay.

“Only if there are no more silly questions about lesbians and so on.”

At last she was in control of the media. They needed her more than she needed them. The nation was agog for Cilla. It was her way or the highway. She sat down again and was given ample opportunity to expand on a number of subjects.

The sun rose higher but the media conference went on. Cilla wished she had brought a hat but was aware of how the sun brought out the lights in her hair. She had at least put her sun-screen on.

At last it was over and she went back to her unit. All was quiet for the time being, but the answering machine was flashing again. There was just a message from Bruce. He sighed and paused for long periods, said that things had got well out of hand and could she come to a special party meeting. He sounded unhappy. Cilla didn’t have time for a special party meeting. She had filled up the next couple of days. She didn’t want to talk to Bruce either, although he had always been kind and she liked him, things were different now. The party, to which she had given several years, seemed irrelevant now. She rang Tessa and left a message for her, asking if she could go along and present her apologies, and act as a proxy if necessary. Then she put it out of her mind and got on.

It was late that night, after hours of talking, listening, being stared at and touched, eating hurried snacks and changing her clothes several times, before Cilla got back to her unit, driven by Elizabeth.

“Do you want to stay, Lizbeth? You’ve been away from home for a while.”

“I’d love to Cilla, but you need your rest and I do want to get home tonight.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” They kissed tenderly and parted.

There was a message from Tessa on the machine. “Darling! They’ve expelled you from the party! Can I come over and talk about it? Ring me when you get home. Please!”

It was well after eleven. Cilla decided not to ring and was not much surprised or affected by the news. She was asleep in fifteen minutes.

DAY 10

Cilla slept on into the following morning while the answering machine clacked away, starting at about five thirty. Cilla awoke shortly after eight, reconnected the telephone and immediately got a call from Tessa.
“Cilla! Did you get my message?”

“Yes, Tessa, but it was very late, I decided to call you today.” She had made no such decision and didn’t really want to see Tessa today.

“Oh. I stayed up.”

“Till after eleven?”

“After midnight.”

“Sorry, Tessa. I assumed that young mothers retired early. Thanks for your news. Thanks for going to the meeting for me.”

“Bruce wasn’t pleased. He thought he was entitled to expect you to call him personally. A lot of people are blaming him for everything and he thinks he helped you and did a lot for you.”

“Why, blaming him? For what?”

“For the great Cilla circus. He was such a great campaign organiser, trying his hardest to get you noticed and you got, too noticed. Will you ring him? You know his number.”

“All right, thanks, Tessa.” Cilla made a note, among many others on bits of paper around the telephone. She needed staff. She hesitated now, not wanting to cut Tessa off with a brusque “Well, I must be getting on” but not wanting to say “no” if Tessa inevitably asked, as she did “Can I come over after I’ve dropped Timmy off?”

Cilla found an excuse, though it was a lie. “It’s that time of the month, Tessa.”

A pause, a slight ‘tsk’ then “I don’t want you just for that, darling. I’m happy just to be with you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Tessa. No offence.”

“Hm. I just want to help you. We can have a sex-free visit. We can have as many as you like. I know - I know you love Liz. I don’t want to interfere with that. I’m not sure - I mean, I - you know.”
“Yes. It’s cool. Come over, then I do need help. I’ve got messages. I need to deal with them. I’ll get more calls.”

Cilla felt relieved as she put down the ‘phone. She and Tessa were in a muddle. Neither of them wanted what was happening between them and it was good that she had found a reason for it not to happen. She felt tired already. She wondered what the future held. She sighed and listened to her messages, noting them down, dating the notes, marking those to be responded to. Then she rang Bruce.

“Bruce, I’m so sorry about everything, and about not talking to you and not coming to the meeting. I appreciate all your help. I just didn’t have time.”

“You should have had time. You’re not supposed to be doing all these interviews. Oh well, it’s too late now.” He sighed.

Cilla tried to see his point of view. Political parties value loyalty above all else. He was a good party man. In her place, he would have kept focussed on the party and kept to the rules, not gone roaring off on the celebrity tangent. Maybe he was right. The media would drop her when she wasn’t interesting any more. Even if she achieved the impossible and won this seat, she would just be a powerless independent and would quickly lose the glamour of novelty.

“Cilla, you’re going to regret this.”

“What do you mean, Bruce?”

“You’ve got real talent. You should have done the hard thing, swallowed your disappointment, come back and been a good party member and been quiet, and had another go next time, working towards that. But you went off on your own. Unable to resist being a star, having everyone listening to you. Now you’ll never get another chance. Even if you do, it will be too late. I wish you had sat down and talked all this through with me.”

Cilla’s heart sank. She knew he was right. She felt suddenly deflated, all the busy engagements she had planned seemed pointless and stupid. She was just a nine days wonder, with no future in politics. She didn’t know what to say to Bruce.

“Well - thanks, Bruce, I suppose you’re right. I suppose my talent will have to come out in some field other than politics. Even if I’d done the hard thing, the right thing, I might have slipped up in some other way, later on. Maybe I’m just not the right sort of person to make a success of politics. I hope you’ll remember me kindly.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve made trouble for you.”

“I can get over it.”

“Catch up with you some time.”

He just sighed. “Goodbye, Cilla.”

Cilla forced herself to listen to her other messages, choose which to respond to, and set up her day. There wasn’t any choice. She couldn’t just stop. She had to follow this path she had started even if it led to a dead end.

Tessa arrived. Cilla felt glad. She would talk about it with Tessa. Maybe Tessa would offer a more positive point of view, to help her go on.

Tessa knew there was something the matter from Cilla’s expression and thought it was something to do with their relationship. She felt relieved when Cilla explained. She listened gravely as Cilla told her what Bruce had said. He had said much the same to her at the meeting. She didn’t reply immediately. Cilla felt anxious, wanting Tessa’s support.

“Do you agree, Tessa?” she urged. Do you think I should pack it all in?”

“No, no, Cilla, but - I mean, maybe it would have been better if you had just kept your head down and accepted the humiliation and injustice and planned for next time. But who would? And, anyway, if you take shit once and accept it bravely and quietly, people just shovel more shit your way. It might even count against you if you wanted to be endorsed again. But - “

“What?”

“I think you need to have clear goals. What can you realistically achieve, now? What do you want to achieve? And what is the best way to that? You need to have a plan. And everything you say and do needs to fit in with that plan.”

“Have you got some ideas on that? Help me, Tessa. I’m all at sea. Can you advise and, er, manage me?”

Tessa dearly wanted to do this. But she said “What about Liz?”

“What about her?”

“Wouldn’t she object if I started to help you in such a personal way, and be with you that much more? And - and - ”

“Yeah, I know.”

Cilla picked up the telephone and called Elizabeth.

“Hello, darling.”

“Did I disturb you, Lizbeth?”

“Never, my love, You know that.”

“I’m all at sea, Lizbeth. I don’t know where I’m going. I need a manager, adviser.”

Elizabeth had sat up late watching the video of Cilla’s famous interview and knew what she meant. The video had run on and on, breaking precedent by taking up the whole program and intruding on time allotted for the evening soap. The network had decided that this was what people wanted to see and had given it all the time it took, unedited. But there needed to be a plan, some focus.

“What about Tessa?” said Elizabeth. “She knows politics. She’s got the time. And she loves you.”

Cilla was quiet for a moment, then she said “Tessa’s here. That’s why it came up. She went to the meeting on my behalf, when I was expelled. Bruce said to her what he said to me.”

“Ah.”

Another silence. “Well? Will she do it?”

“I’m sure she wants to, Lizbeth. She - er -”

“ - thought it might be treading on my toes.”

“Mm - yes.”

Elizabeth gave a little laugh. “You know I’d do anything for you, love, but I don’t know jack about politics. Or care. Not that I don’t care about the country, or the issues, and I’m desperate as you know to see you get into a position where you can make your special mark on the country, but politics as such leaves me cold. Can I talk to Tessa?”

“Sure.”

Tessa took the ‘phone. “Hi, Liz.”

“Hi, Tessa. I watched Cilla’s interview last night. It was hugely entertaining but seemed to me to lack focus and preparation. What do you think?”

“Right. There needs to be a plan. What if she wins the seat? What then? What if she doesn’t? We have to find a way to get her to fulfil her destiny, not be wasted. Do you think she should have knuckled quietly under, stayed in the Labor Party and hoped for a chance at endorsement next time?”

“No. I think she has done the right thing - somehow she is being led along the right path, for her. But she’s bubbling too strongly with too many ideas. Her destiny isn’t inevitable.”


“What do you think her destiny is?”

“Something really special. Not just a conventional political career, but some special unique thing for this country, and the world. I had a sort of vision of it months ago, before all this. I told her.”

“So. Well. What do you think I can do with her?”

“Just get her elected. Reduce and define the expectations. What people expect her to achieve, and what she expects to achieve. And keep her getting elected. She can’t be just a one-term wonder.”

“So. You see me having a long-term role, like, years?”

“Of course. What did - how did you see your role?”

“Oh, long-term is fine, but I hadn’t thought beyond the election in a few weeks.”

“Mm, it is only a few weeks. Look, I’ll see you both in about an hour, okay, Tessa?”

By the time Elizabeth arrived Tessa had reviewed Cilla’s invitations, decided which ones she should accept and had worked out a plan for how to behave and what to say, not a rigid plan but firm guidelines. Elizabeth joined in and they discussed some of Cilla’s ideas that she had thrown out last yesterday, talked them through and worked out details and resolved contradictions. Then it was time for her to get dressed and head to the first appointment. Tessa had made the calls, accepting or refusing. Then she made one more call of her own, to her mother, asking if she would mind having Timmy tonight. “Of course I don’t mind, for itself, Tessa, I love Timmy. But you’re his mother.”

“I know, Mum, things will get back to normal in a few weeks. But this is important. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Timmy’s the one it’ll need making up to.”

The three of them emerged to a crush of cameras, questions, fans wanting autographs. “We’re leaving now,” said Tessa to them after Cilla had given them a few minutes attention. “Won’t be back till late.”

But the people were not to be dismissed so lightly. There was a group protesting against Cilla, disliking her view that people like them were not fit to have money but had to be paid in food vouchers. She had to go amongst them, listen to their views and try to explain that it was only for people on welfare who had a proven record of not paying their rent or utility bills and not feeding their children adequately. Their bills would be deducted at source from their welfare payments and a proportion of the rest would be in food vouchers. She was sure that they would agree with her that this would prevent a minority letting them all down and creating pressure to reduce and restrict welfare payments. What was the alternative? Was there a better idea? She was on their side. She wanted everyone to have an income to live on.

The people were somewhat mollified and started to drift away without looking likely to attack Cilla or trash her home.

“You handled that very well,” said Tessa. “But do you see what I mean? Better management of what you say in the first place, would stop a lot of misunderstanding. They looked quite hostile.”

“But she’s got a way with people,” remarked Elizabeth. “And your usual politician wouldn’t have said anything controversial in the first place, and if they had they might have dodged discussing it or waffled about it.”

In Elizabeth’s car, which they decided to use, they discussed further what Cilla was trying to achieve. Would she get elected? If so, what then? They decided just to concentrate on one achievable goal, that of getting elected, then develop other goals when and if that happened. All that Cilla was to say and do this day and evening was to be bent towards that goal.

Hours later the three of them sat in the car in the darkened car park and analysed the day’s events. Tessa and Elizabeth were pleased with her, and she with herself. She had kept the aim in mind and met all the questions brilliantly. New ideas had been carefully enunciated or put aside for more preparation.

The next issue was where to go now. The wider world disappeared for them and their thoughts collapsed back onto their feelings for each other.

“Let’s go back to my place,” suggested Elizabeth.

There was a short silence.

“I’ve never seen your place,” said Tessa.

There was another silence. Cilla sighed. “Having dealt with the great issues of the nation all evening, this issue here is the one that I really care about and - and - I think we need to talk about it frankly. Are we a threesome? Can it work? What are the rules? Who says? What the rules are, I mean? What do we want? Let’s be very honest. No prejudice.”

A car whizzed by, sweeping its lights over them. People moving through the car park seemed to be coming their way. More questions, more photographs. “Let’s not talk about it here,” said Elizabeth. “Come back to my place, it’s closest. We can have a hot drink and biscuits and discuss all this.”

Tessa was almost angry for Elizabeth’s sake. “Why do you assume there’s anything to discuss, Liz? Why don’t you just tell me to rack off out of your relationship?”

Elizabeth started the car and moved speedily off, causing a potential nuisance to dodge quickly as she headed for the road. “Why did you get into the relationship if you feel that way, Tess?”

“I’m just looking at it from your point of view. And I didn’t know there - you and Cilla were an item when - when -”

“I know. But my point of view isn’t wanting you to rack off. Think about it, Tess. It’s not simple. We aren’t two guys wanting the same woman. We’re three women. One of us, c’est moi, is a genuine lesbian. I’ve always been so.” Elizabeth stopped talking as she made a brief error of judgement and had to take quick action, causing her passengers to hang on.

“This is getting too fascinating to be compatible with good driving,” remarked Cilla. “Let’s think about something else until we’re safely indoors.”

As they continued through the traffic, Tessa continued thinking about the fascinating subject, and the implications of Elizabeth’s last remark. She remembered the afternoon when she and Elizabeth had kissed while waiting for Cilla to wake up. That had been nice. Tessa looked at Elizabeth, tall, blonde, beautiful, very feminine, and tried to imagine intimacy with her, how she would feel about it. To her surprise the idea didn’t seem repulsive or frightening. But how could it happen? What would it mean? What about Cilla? What about that Dad and those brothers and sisters for Timmy? What about Timmy himself?

They reached Elizabeth’s unit and trooped silently in, full of their own thoughts.

Tessa had reached a decision. She hoped she was strong enough to act on it.

They all sat down, still silent, weary. Tessa started to speak.

“I can’t go on with this,” she said. “It’ll break my heart not to see you any more, Cilla. But I’m - not free just to do what I want. I’ve got a child. He’s with his grandmother tonight, again. He ought to be with his mum. And a step-dad, if I could find one. That’s something I want. I - I - when you put the idea into my head, Cilla, to get it on with Liz, I started to think it might be - nice. You know. I have to stop. I can’t travel any further down that road.”

They listened gravely. There was a silence when Tessa stopped speaking. Then Cilla spoke.

“Fair enough, Tessa. I’ll miss you too. But I see your point of view.” There was much else that was in her heart to say but it was too much of a conflicting muddle. Better to keep it simple. Elizabeth just said “I’ll drive you back to Cilla’s unit where you left your car.”

This sounded to Tessa like “Good! Glad to be rid of you!” but Elizabeth’s face conveyed no such message and she added “you are free to do what you want, Tessa, in the sense that if you’ve made your decision we wouldn’t argue with you or try to change your mind, although I’ll miss you too. Come on. Do you just want to go home too, Cilla?”

“No, I think I’ll just go to bed here. I’m so tired and my heart’s thumping. I’ll just say goodbye to Tessa here.”

Cilla and Tessa embraced. “It’s been lovely,” whispered Tessa. “I’ll treasure it always. But I’ve got to think where my life’s going.”

“I know. It’s all right.”
Cilla was too weary to feel sad for long and was asleep shortly after the other two had left.

Elizabeth drove rather slowly through the night-time traffic, the sparkling lights, the brightly-lit businesses and advertisements, the endless traffic lights. They didn’t speak for some time, then Elizabeth sighed, turned the car sharply left into a darkened deserted car park and parked where they couldn’t be seen from the road.

She turned to Tessa, placing her hands palm upwards on the seat in a gesture of pleading. Tessa turned to her and frowned at this stop.

“What’s up, Liz?”

“Just once, Tess. Then I’ll drive you back to your car. Or I’ll drive on straight away if you feel you really can’t.”

Tessa turned away to look out into the darkness. She had been half hoping for this, but also would have been relieved if she had just got back to her car and driven away out of it all. Now the decision was in her hands, she couldn’t be passive. She remembered the touch of Elizabeth’s lips that time when they had kissed. She turned back, looked at Elizabeth who was gazing down at her hands. Tessa reached out and stroked Elizabeth’s shining hair. It’s perfume seemed to envelop her as she did so. Elizabeth certainly wasn’t the spunky guy that Tessa had always thought she wanted. But she was lovely and embracing her seemed irresistible.

The moved quickly together and kissed passionately. After a while Elizabeth whispered “Perhaps, the back seat.” They got quietly out of the car. No-one was about. They got into the back and undressed quickly. “Do whatever you want, Liz,” whispered Tessa.

The background hum of traffic failed to drown the sound of their joy in each other, but no-one was near to hear them. Oh, thought Tessa, it was never like this with a guy. Could it ever be?

Later they continued their journey. Elizabeth drove even more slowly, sighing deeply. “Did I do the wrong thing?” she asked.

“Did we, do the wrong thing? You gave me the choice. I could have said ‘Let’s just drive on, Liz,’ but I wanted you too. I’m glad it happened. But - “

“I know, Tess. I wasn’t trying to change your decision. I just couldn’t let you disappear out of my life, let the chance go by.”

At last they arrived back at Cilla’s unit. People were still hanging about but there didn’t seem to be any threat. Tessa just got out of Elizabeth’s car, got into her own and they both drove away. It was over in a minute. People stared after them, disappointed, then started to leave. Only the stake-out people who were paid, remained, in case this was a trick.

Elizabeth drove wearily home, getting a ticket on the way for failing to give a signal. She crept into her own house, not wanting to wake Cilla, and stood in the dark for a minute wondering where to sleep. She should shower first, too, but the bathroom was through her bedroom where Cilla slept. She was just making for the spare room when “Lizbeth?”

“Mm?” Elizabeth headed for her own room.

“It’s all right, you didn’t wake me. I fell into a deep sleep but I woke up just now. I’m too wrought up.”

They looked at each other. “Did you make love to Tessa?”

“Mm.”

“Was it good?”

“What do you reckon?”

“Yeah.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I do love you, darling.”

“I know. I love you too. We’ve said all this before. Don’t let’s try to explain. Come to bed.”

“I need to shower.”

Cilla giggled, then got out of bed. “I will too. Perhaps, if you aren’t too tired and, you know, not in the mood, you could give me a bit of attention. It might help me relax. I won’t take very long.”

Elizabeth’s heart quickened. “Sure. I’m always in the mood for you. Always.”

Later, after the shower and the attention, they both slept until dawn.

***
DAY 11

Cilla’s campaign rolled on. She was not such a daily sensation during the couple of weeks that followed, because the ‘shock of the new’ was past. She was just an established celebrity, but everyone knew her face and expected her to say interesting and controversial things. Tessa’s advice was missing but the day she had spent helping Cilla had shown her and Elizabeth the way to go about things. Cilla went about addressing people’s concerns, touching their hearts, charming them. She was always listened to, always reported.

She was not much troubled by crowds and lack of privacy at her home, as though people liked her and wanted to grant her the peace in her own home that they would want for themselves. There were some paparazzi and star-struck men but she was kind to them and they didn’t trouble the other residents in her block.

The morning that began the last week of the election campaign dawned bright and clear, yet again, for it was November. Over the weekend the Liberal incumbent had huddled with his advisers and faced the horrible idea that Cilla might actually win, and he might be unemployed a week hence. They had decided on a final assault to destroy her and keep the seat in safe Liberal hands. This was to be their Pickett’s Charge. She was to be hammered on her background, or the lack of it, on her indiscretions, her supposed lesbian relationship, or relationships, her immaturity. A video clip from her famous interview was to be shown repetitiously; “. . . the government want to exterminate 30 percent of the population . . .” “. . . the government want to exterminate 30 percent of the population . . .” with a final voice-over “would you want this person representing your country in the national parliament?” The honorable minister’s mates in the media were to help, mocking and denigrating Cilla in their pages and programs, starting scurrilous Cilla jokes. A disc jockey was to launch anti-Cilla broadsides in his talk-back show, in which terms like dike and muff-diving were not forbidden.

This great offensive came to Cilla’s attention at midmorning as she listened to talk-back radio, something she had never done before becoming a candidate. She was aghast at the torrent of nasty calls and the jeering, leering attitude of the disk jockey. And the commercials. She heard her voice over and over, quotes pulled out of context, shoved next to other quotes to make them sound crazy, backed up with strange sound effects. She turned it off and rang Elizabeth.

“Have you heard the talk-back this morning?”

“Mm - no, darling. I don’t listen to that stuff.”

“I feel I have to. And it’s awful this morning. Just a barrage of stuff against me, nothing else. I’m shaking.”

“Well, don’t listen to it.”

“I feel I have to.”

“That’s like saying you have to keep your head above ground when the enemy are lobbing shells. Just keep your head down, switch off, then respond at a suitable time.”

“Respond, when, how?”

“Just when you’re asked, and as briefly as possible. Make sense?”

“Mm. Yes, it does.”

“He’s obviously panicking. He’ll overdo it. Sounds like it’s overdone already. People like you. They don’t like him. I’ll come over. What are we doing today?”

“Oh - nothing much, Lizbeth. I was hoping for a rest day. The weekend was tiring. I don’t feel too good.”

Elizabeth was alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing that a day’s rest won’t fix. My heart’s pounding. Come over and hold me. We’ll discuss tomorrow’s programme.”

Elizabeth drove into the car park only forty minutes later, but already there was a gang of hecklers waiting for her. “Dike!” they shouted. “Muff-diver! Come to get a mouthful? Not wearing any knickers?” this last as they tried to look up Elizabeth’s dress as she climbed the stairs hurriedly. She was shaking when she got inside, loud cheers and jeers erupting as she closed the door.

“What’s up, Lizbeth?”

“Oh - did you hear what they were shouting?”

“No. What?”

“Awful - stuff. I don’t want to repeat it.”

Cilla thought. “That’s a quick reaction to the radio, unless - obviously they’re another part of the same campaign. They’ve been put up to it.” She got up. Lizbeth, I’m sorry I was such a wimp on the ‘phone this morning.”

“You’re entitled to be a wimp. I’m a wimp now.”

“Well, I mustn’t be a wimp. I must face them down. I must take this and surmount it. If I can’t do that, well. Yes, you were right this morning, Lizbeth, I should bunker in and not react, but this is one situation where proactive defence is best. They’re right at my door, polluting my air, and they have to be driven away. God knows how much they’re being paid. Taxpayers’ money too, probably.” She headed for the door.

“Don’t go out there, for God’s sake, Cilla,” cried Elizabeth.

Cilla pushed her away, gently but firmly. “I must, Lizbeth. Please stay here. I won’t get hurt.” She slammedthe door behind her and ran down the stairs, kept running across the car park as the growing crowd of cameras and microphones recorded the episode. Go for the biggest, she thought, and headed, still at a run, towards the huge ugly thug leading the group. They quietened and even shied as she ran straight at them.

She stopped in front of the big boy, looked up at him and smiled. They were now surrounded by media, who were enjoying this greatly, as would their viewers later that day. There was absolute quiet before Cilla spoke.

“You ought to be ashamed.” she reached up slowly and put her hand gently on his shoulder. He blushed. Cilla went on. “What would your mother think of you behaving like that? What would you think of a bloke who talked like that to your mother, or sister, or girlfriend?”

The cameras whirred in his face, relaying his total mortification to the waiting nation, including, later, all his relations, friends, enemies, workmates, girlfriends past and present. He turned away. “Come on, guys, let’s split,” he rasped. They began their rout but Cilla hadn’t finished. She had no way of knowing where this morning’s attacks had come from but the coincidence of the appearance of these youths with the nasty radio show made her guess. She saw a chance to do some damage at little risk. The cameras were still going and the media were hungry for more. She would give them more.

“Someone in the Minister’s electoral office rang me and said you were coming,” she said, still smiling. “They didn’t approve of this scheme, so they wanted to warn me. Who’s paying you? Is it coming out of the Minister’s electorate allowance, taxpayers’ money, or out of campaign donations?”

She saw by the boys’ faces that they had indeed been acting under the direction of someone in the Minister’s office. The cameras would have caught it too, and would relay it to those able to read expressions. The boys didn’t answer, just hurried away to the cheers of the media and Cilla fans. They jumped into their Pajero and roared away with a stink of fumes.

Cilla was about to get carried away but checked herself. She had done perfectly - mustn’t overdo it. There was nothing she could say which wouldn’t be said or thought by the media or anyone viewing these pictures later. Her Liberal opponent had sent a missile to attack her and the episode had ended with her deflecting the missile and lobbing a huge bomb right into his camp. It had been a bad move to send those boys here. Didn’t they know that Cilla was liked and that media were always hanging around?

All she said was “I think it is necessary to maintain a certain level of civility in even the most vigorous of political campaigns.” This one sentence, in response to the talk-back attacks, the gang of hecklers, the ads in the papers that morning and all those yet to come in the papers and on television, bought at great expense by the Minister’s campaign office. All worse than useless as well as expensive. Cilla left it all behind and went back into her unit. This was her greatest victory of the campaign and was to be the turning point in her career. The extensive media coverage of the whole episode was seen throughout the country and watched with interest at the Governor-General’s residence at Yarralumla.

The turmoil in the Liberal candidate’s office needs no description.

But the hate campaign did some damage. While it only strengthened its actual target, it wounded Elizabeth. She avoided the attack ads as much as possible, but she couldn’t escape the prurient interest in her now wherever she went. The ad campaign had made her face well known, countless pictures having been lifted from stills and vision taken during the campaign. She had always been a private person and found this virtual public nakedness intolerable. She retreated to her own unit where, thank God, no-one had been able to track her even now.

After not seeing or hearing from Elizabeth for a day and a half Cilla rang her.

“Liz? Are you all right?”

“Mm - yes. Thanks.”

“I haven’t seen you. ‘Sup?”

“No. Well. Nor has anyone else, if I can help it.”

A pause. Cilla’s heart sank. She knew what the problem was but knew not what to say about it. Elizabeth sighed and went on.

“I still love you, but I can’t come over there. Or be seen with you. I don’t know how I’m going to go back to work. I - I can’t stand it, Cilla. People are undressing me with their eyes, imagining me in bed with the nation’s sweetheart. I’m not ashamed of anything we’ve done. Quite the opposite. But, I’ve told you before. It’s private. Or was. Is no longer. Never will be again.”

Another silence. Cilla didn’t care about anything else now but saving her relationship. Her heart pounded. As she whispered “can I come to see you?”
“Trailing clouds of glory, and crowds of oglers. I don’t think so. I long for you but - but - ”

Cilla had never heard this tone in Elizabeth’s voice. There was a distance between them. They had to get together, now. Nothing else mattered.

“I’m coming over, Liz. I’ll find a way, to lose the oglers and sneak in without giving away your home. Trust me. Okay?”

“Oh, god. I don’t know. All right. But, if they find out where I live - “

“They won’t.”

Cilla prepared herself quickly. She had enough stuff lying around here. Big bag. Hat. Dark glasses. Make-up. Jeans.

She rushed out of her unit with the bag full. As she got into the street the media and fans (finally persuaded to keep clear of the units and the car park) crowded around and surged after her. She faced them. “I’ve got to take some stuff over to a family,” she said. “Personal. Nothing to do with politics. Gimme a time-out. Okay? I’ll be back, mid-evening, after I’ve had dinner with them. They just want me, not all of you. Fair enough?”

They fell back, disappointed, but liking her and wanting to give her a break if she needed one.

Cilla rushed to the shopping centre, into the toilets, executed the first phase of her plan, then to the train station.

An hour later what seemed to be a teenage girl with a heavy bag, wearing dark glasses and a trendy hat, jumped off the bus in Dianella and headed with what she hoped was a suitably gangly teenage walk for Elizabeth’s unit.

“Trick or treat?” she asked as Elizabeth opened the door a crack and peered out.

The disguise was total but there was no mistaking the voice. Elizabeth let her in quickly and shut the door, then grabbed Cilla and hugged her.

“I’m so glad to see you, darling. I’m so sorry. About what I said. It’s been torture for me.”

Cilla sighed. “Let’s talk about it later, Lizbeth. I want to get out of these silly clothes.”

“Have you got others in your bag?”

”Do I need them?”

“Mm - no, I guess not.”

“Unless you don’t want me any more.”

“Oh - never. I mean, never not want you.”

Some time later Elizabeth said “Well, that solved nothing. It was lovely but -“

“I know. Still the same problem. But we had to get back close, Lizbeth. There’s no easy answer. What I can say won’t be easy but I can’t think of any other way.”

“What?”

“Just, carry on as normal. Ignore it all. Gradually, people will get used to you being with me, and you will get used to the idea of them thinking whatever they might be thinking. It’ll all get overlaid by normality. It’ll all die down. Day by day you’ll feel better and there’ll be less reason for you to feel bad. Do you agree?”

“Mm. I suppose so. But I’m - I feel panic about even going out the door, just now.”

“I think that’s an over-reaction, Lizbeth. You have to face this and beat it. You have to win this one.”

Elizabeth moved away, feeling irritated at Cilla’s tone. The rift between them was growing again. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re a fighter, and a show queen, I’m not. I hate fights and confrontations and publicity. I want my privacy and peace of mind, and - “
“And this.” Cilla sensed the gap growing again and the urgent need to close it. She grabbed Elizabeth by the waist and moved into position to please her.

“Oh - Cilla, are we having a serious discussion or what?”

“You rolling away from me is serious. Just lie back, enjoy it. I love you. I’m sorry, I was, I said, oh, just let me love you.”

“For a great speechifier you’re inarticulate sometimes - oh, yes. A bit higher - that’s it. Oh - “

Later, Cilla hung onto Elizabeth. “Look, what’s the alternative?” she murmured. “I could go into seclusion with you, give up everything. Or I could stop seeing you and try to carry on without you. Or we can just carry on as normal and wait for the bullshit to die down, as it will. All three alternatives are painful, but what’s worst? The first two, I reckon. I’m sorry I sounded hard and bossy before. Look, I’ll sneak out soon, I’ve got appointments to keep. I’ll leave it to you. Just give me a ring before you come, if you come. Okay?”

Some time later, Cilla emerged from the City station toilets looking like herself, only carrying the big bag. She was smiling and relaxed as people recognised her and crowded around. She didn’t feel in danger. People touched her. Someone sneaked their hand in and fondled her bare arm but it was gentle, not urgent and threatening. There was no mention of the attack ads or the talk-back shows and she didn’t feel that they had whipped up anger against her - quite the opposite.

At last she told them she had to get her train and they didn’t try to block her. Someone offered to carry her bag. She let them. It wasn’t stolen, but handed to her through the door of the train.

***


Elizabeth rang the next morning, early. “Cilla, do you want to be driven anywhere today?”

“I - don’t think so. I have to go places but they’re local or people will drive me. Why?”
“I want to come and see you, but on public transport. I want to face them all on the buses and trains, and in the city. Not for the first time emerging from the car at your place. What do you reckon?”

“Oh, Lizbeth, darling,” Cilla’s heart filled with joy.

By the time Elizabeth arrived at Cilla’s she was feeling much better. Her fars had been dispelled. Yesterday’s radio rubbish was on its way to the stars. Yesterday’s papers were wrapping today’s rubbish. All the rest of the ads had been pulled and the radio talk-backs stopped after the row at the Liberal candidate’s office. People recognised Elizabeth but they didn’t want to do much about it.

The rest of the week passed pleasantly for both of them. Elizabeth was due back at work the next week but she wasn’t worried about it now. Cilla had been right.

Elizabeth felt very tired - a lot of unexpected things had happened during this campaign. Now she started to wonder if what had been unthinkable actually happened - if Cilla won the seat and had to go to Canberra. Elizabeth had hardly been apart from her since the start of their relationship. What should she do? Resign and go to Canberra too?

As so often, Cilla had either read her mind or been thinking about the same issues. After they had made love one night she spoke of it.

“Lizbeth, dear, if I actually win this seat, and really I don’t think I will in the end, despite the polls and all that’s happened, anyway, I’ll have to spend much of the year in Canberra - “

“Won’t you be there all the time?”

“No, no, only when parliament’s in session. I’ll come home in between. They all do. Except ministers, even them sometimes. Anyway, what are we going to do? I mean, I don’t like the idea of going weeks without you, but you have to have your job. Of course I never thought this would become an issue so soon - only when I got a winnable seat, some years on.”

There was a silence. Elizabeth could think of no ready answer.

“I could employ you,” Cilla went on. “As my - electoral assistant, or something. You could be with me wherever I am, with an income.”

“From taxpayers’ money?”

“Mm - yes. But I’m entitled to employ people, up to a point.”

“Wouldn’t it be used against you? They would say it was a rort.”

Cilla sighed. “I suppose so. And I suppose they’d be right.”

Another silence.

“You can see how desperate I am, Lizbeth, to be with you all the time, when I’m planning to rort the system before I’ve even got into office. No, it wouldn’t be a good start. I know how important it is to you to have your unit and your books and things, and your job, after the struggle you had to get these things.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and came to a decision. “Well, thanks for that, Cilla, but having you is a prize beyond any of that. I would be willing, if it came to that, to give up the unit and the books and the job and be with you everywhere, as your partner. There are allowances for partners, whether wives or same-sex lovers.”

Cilla sat up. “A few days ago you were afraid to step out the door, now you’re willing to parade before all the nation as my - lover?”

“You were right. I got out the door, and it was all right. It’s still all right. Now I’m willing to go the whole hog. If you win the seat it’ll be because people voted for you in the belief, if not the proven knowledge, that we’re an item. If I give up my job and live with you wherever you go people will just say, right, okay, fair enough. Most will, anyway. And the rest will just get used to it.”

Another pause while Cilla took this in.

“Of course it’s not exactly what I wanted,” Elizabeth went on. “I wanted my job, and my books, and a quiet life with you. But I said once that you have a special destiny, and here it comes, and I have to go along.”
“It’s our destiny, then,” said Cilla after a moment.

“Mm,” was all Elizabeth replied. They snuggled up and went to sleep.

***

At last election day came. There were no how-to-vote cards for Cilla, no placards, no people manning polling stations. She had lost the Labor Party machinery that would have supplied these things and had not had the money to supply them. She could have found any number of volunteers but had not bothered. Because the nominations had closed and orders gone in for ballot papers before she had lost endorsement and been expelled, her name was still listed on the ballot paper as the Labor candidate, though everyone who wasn’t blind and deaf, and even many who were, knew differently by this time.

The media were there when she emerged from her door on this bright Saturday morning to go and vote. An excited and friendly crowd welcomed her at the polling station. It was as though they were welcoming the first day of a new era. She felt for the first time the burden of people’s expectations. What did they expect from her, even if they won?

A woman was there, a real Fremantle type, with funny socks and a strange hat and large eyes in a sallow face. She pushed up to Cilla, wafting over her a smell of incense and lavender and herb tea. “You’re the one,” she intoned. “I’ve seen you in the Runes. You’re to lead the nation to a higher plane.”

Some people almost looked serious. Cilla didn’t want to be rude, but “I don’t think I’ll be leading anyone anywhere. At best I’ll just be an independent. I’ll do the best I can in that role, but I won’t have any power.”

The woman smiled as though possessed of superior knowledge and passed on. The cameras whirred.

Cilla soon forgot about the lady but was to recall this incident during the weeks that followed.

She had decided to stay home with Elizabeth, eat some snacks and drink some wine and watch the count on television. She didn’t really expect to win. The whole thing had been an iridescent bubble that was about to pop, and she would have to go back and plan again for her future.
The media people and guest politicians droned on, blah, blah, line ball, too close to call, early days yet and so on. In between snacks Elizabeth and Cilla scribbled down likely wins and losses from the count in the eastern states, where polls had closed two and a half or three hours earlier. A swing against the government was apparent but it wasn’t huge. It was mid-evening before any figures from Western Australia were shown. The seat of Curtin was presented first. Usually it would be presented last since the seat was the safest and the result most predictable. But this time there was a lot of interest in the little celebrity who was a candidate there.

Both the young women stopped munching and stared at the television screen. Only ten percent of the vote had been counted, but Cilla was way ahead. An absolute majority, sixty percent of all first preferences.

“Wow,” said Elizabeth.

“Early days,” said Cilla and took another gulp of wine.

The figures mounted up but the trend didn’t change much. It wasn’t long before the telephone rang.

“Cilla, have you seen the figures?” It was a media person.

“Of course.”

“Can you get to Burswood? To the count?”

Cilla sighed, but she knew she had to. This would be the first of many public appearances. This was what she had chosen, though just tonight she had hoped to stay home and go to bed and sleep. “Yes.”

“We can send a car for you.”

“Just a moment.” Cilla told Elizabeth what had been said and Elizabeth eagerly volunteered to drive her.

“Thanks, but Elizabeth will drive me.”

“Elizabeth? Oh, good!” The media person didn’t bother to hide their delight. That would be perfect.
Elizabeth was quiet and thoughtful on the long drive to Burswood. She had been studying the national figures more closely than Cilla and an interesting, worrying possibility lurked in those figures. She said nothing about it. Cilla was occupied with thoughts of herself as an independent member of parliament, how she would cope, where it would lead, if anywhere.

At last they arrived. A crowd had been expecting them and cheers went up and cameras whirred and flashed as they emerged from the car. Cilla had dressed herself up beautifully and Elizabeth, thoughtful as ever, had done so as well, with spare clothes she had brought with her.

Questions heard through the babble deepened Elizabeth’s worries. The possibility had been seen by others. Cilla didn’t seem to be paying attention, just preening herself and smiling in a distracted way.

They went on into the main hall. Now Cilla noticed that the excited noise seemed out of proportion to the importance of her winning the seat.

“What’s up, Lizbeth?”

“It’s extremely close, my darling.”

“Is it? I thought I was way ahead.”

“No, yes, I mean the whole election is extremely close. The government has lost seats but Labor doesn’t seem to have inspired the voters enough to win a majority.”

“Ohhh.” Cilla finally got it. Now she started to attend to the questions.

If she held the balance of power, would she support Labor or Liberal? Would she want a ministry? Would she try to force the implementation of some of her ideas? She just smiled and waited in silence for the questions to pause. After she had been silent for a while the noise stopped as people waited for her to respond in some way.

She spoke quietly but clearly. “If I win the seat of Curtin, and if indeed I hold the balance of power, there will be many things to take into consideration. I won’t say any more on the subject until the situation is clear. Then I will - my position will be stated after proper consideration.”

The questions started again, still hammering at the same point. A few were on other subjects and she answered those, but still refused to say any more on the main issue. At last she waved, smiled and said “I must go home and rest and think now,” and left them, taking Elizabeth’s hand as she did so. The cameras whirred. The media were satisfied. They hadn’t really expected her to come out with any really interesting remarks - she had learnt her lesson. But they had got lots of good footage and still shots.

In Canberra, the Leader of the Opposition watched in horror as the figures mounted up. He had tried to chase the circus out of his party, and now the circus was coming to town, to the most important town in the country. And it looked as though he would be made to jump through hoops. He felt sick. This was the end of him. Losing the unlosable election. Beaten by the lesbian circus. He would never recover from this.

More cameras and microphones greeted Cilla as she and Elizabeth came outside, still hand in hand. Lights flooded them. Cilla held up her hand.

“I’ve already stated that I can’t say anything about the balance-of-power issue, if such an issue exists. I need more time to consider. I can answer questions on other subjects. If there aren’t any I shall just have to say goodnight to you all.”

“Do you think the Leader of the Labor Party is wishing he hadn’t kicked you out, Cilla?”

Ah, yes, a question she could answer.

“He didn’t kick me out. He directed that I be disendorsed, and my failure to comply with Party rules after that led to my expulsion. I could have chosen to comply and stay in the Party, and many thought I should have, and sometimes I think I should have, but I chose not to, so I had to be expelled by the local membership.”

Yeah, yeah. “But he virtually kicked you out -”

“Look, he made a political judgment. It was hard but I can see the logic of it from his point of view. No Labor candidate has ever had a chance in that seat and there was no reason to think I would be any different. And my campaign had got a bit out of hand, and my personal life had got into it, and attention was being distracted from other candidates who did have a real chance of winning if they could get any attention.”

“So, you don’t feel like gloating?”

“No, no, of course not.” She looked directly into the TV camera. “If you’re still watching, sir,” as indeed the Leader was, late though it was in his part of the country “I just want to say, that if and when we meet for any important discussions in the weeks ahead, that we can start fresh. I bear you no ill-will and won’t bring any prejudice to our meeting. If you or anyone thinks you’ve done wrong to me, then I forgive you, as I hope you forgive me if you think I’ve done wrong.” She smiled. “Good night to you, sir.”

The Leader did feel much better as he finally sought his bed that early morning.

Elizabeth had listened to this with amazement. A few hours ago she and Cilla had been enjoying a quiet night together, perhaps both looking forward to more quiet evenings once all this was over. Now Cilla was thinking about meetings with political leaders, to plan what? The nation’s future?

Another answerable question. “Why do you think you won the seat, Cilla? A safe Liberal seat, and you not even a major party candidate by the time the vote came.”

A good question. Cilla smiled but was silent. She could think of all sorts of answers but the nation was watching this or would be later. “Well, I’m afraid that, I’m sorry to say that, female attractiveness had a lot to do with it. I know I’m pretty, though puny, and I try to groom well and speak well too. That managed to get everyone’s attention. Then I indiscreetly came out with a lot of honest ideas of my own which focussed attention even more. Then the sitting member didn’t bother to campaign until the last week, when the campaign started rather suddenly and violently in a form which most Australians would find offensive. Then there was the disendorsement, the expulsion. Also, I’ve had another beautiful woman by my side and many people like to imagine a romantic interest there. All in all, I can sum it up in three points. Being gorgeous, getting and holding everyone’s attention, and complacency on the part of the sitting member.”

This little speech prickled with points that delighted the media people present and the millions who watched or heard it across the nation. They happily let Cilla go. She could rest for one night.

That night’s rest was to be short, as the telephone rang at 6 in the morning. Cilla stumbled across to answer it. She was still sleepy.

“Prime Minister’s office.”

“What?”

“Cilla Parker?”

“Yes.”

“Will you take a call from the Prime Minister?”

“Of - of course.”

“Hold on, please.”

A very brief pause, then the familiar voice came on the line. “Cilla? How are you? I’m sorry to ring you so early, but it’s nine am here, I have to go out, I wanted to catch you before you did.”

Just like a friend ringing up from a neighbouring suburb.

“That’s quite all right, sir.”

“No need for the ‘sir’. Just call me Peter. Have you thought overnight about whether you’ll give your support to the government? Can I, er, sound you out about what you, er, think would incline you to support the continuance of the coalition government?”

Cilla wasn’t ready for this. She had had no chance to prepare or take advice. She should have another ‘phone with an adviser listening and shoving notes across to her. She was just a young woman half asleep on a Sunday morning, being asked to decide the nation’s fate for the next three years. She wanted to put him off but she had to deal with this now. She took a deep breath.

“Well, er, Peter, as you know I was originally a Labor candidate, and my sympathies still lie on that side. Also, I’ve had some critical things to say about what I see as the consequences of too much bias towards the private sector, the rich, economic rationalism. So, on the face of it, it seems unlikely, that I could enable another three years of a government that I was committed to kicking, er, removing from office.”

Peter chuckled but just said “Mm. Go on.”

“However, I am only one member elected from one seat, and I don’t want to show any over-weening arrogance in trying to impose my views on the country. And there are other factors to be taken into consideration. Why did people elect me? This was a safe Liberal seat. I was known to be a Labor candidate. Did the electors want a Labor-leaning member? Or did they still want a Liberal and thought that, having been disendorsed and expelled by Labor, I might lean the Liberal way?”

Elizabeth came up and draped a rug over Cilla, then sat with her. Peter didn’t answer Cilla at this point so she went on.

“Then there’s the question of what percentage of the voters nation-wide voted for the two different sides. If Labor or the coalition got more than fifty percent of the votes, though only half the seats, that would be a strong point.”

“It’s just about split even at the moment, Cilla,” remarked Peter.

“Mm. Well, I just can’t give you a clear answer just now, Peter, though I realise that time presses. Can I contact you when I’ve thought more and sought advice, and the figures are more complete? One thing I can promise you, whichever side I choose, I won’t demand a ministry or anything in exchange for my support and I’ll stick to my decision for a full term, not threaten to cross the floor all the time.”

“Fair enough.” Peter sounded pleased, as though he had got more, not less, than he had hoped for. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you later then, Cilla.”

Cilla put down the telephone and Elizabeth hugged her. “You were great, darling.”

“Was I? I thought I was dithery.”

“No-one can expect you to make a snap decision this morning, with the figures not even final. I reckon he was just probing. You’ll probably -”

The telephone shrilled.
“ - get another ‘phone call soon,” finished Elizabeth as Cilla picked it up.

It was Bruce. His voice was flat with unwillingness.

“Hello, Cilla.”

“Bruce. How are you?”

He sighed. “Over the moon. This was my most successful campaign, apparently.”

Cilla had no answer to that. After a silence he went on. “Cilla, I’ve been asked to ask you to re-join the Labor Party. If you’d consider, er, rejoining -”

There it was. She could do that, and have a chance at the career she had always wanted. She was tempted, but it couldn’t be.

“Bruce, I’ve no sour grapes about anything. But it’s not that simple.”

He sighed again. “No, I didn’t think it would be.”

“I’m not saying I’ve decided whether or not to support the, a Labor government, if it comes down to that, but I think the electors, er, I’ve got to consider what they really wanted. If I ran back to the Labor Party now it would look like a stunt and people would be entitled to feel deceived, even betrayed. Whoever asked you to suggest it didn’t think it through.”

It was only a matter of weeks since Bruce had had any contact with Cilla but she had changed. There was a new authority and strength about her. She was right, of course. He told her so. “Okay, Good luck, then Cilla, whatever you do.”

“Thanks, Bruce. Thanks for everything.”

He laughed. “Yeah. ‘Bye, now.”

Cilla didn’t have much time to discuss this call with Elizabeth before the telephone rang again. The media called for the next hour until Cilla thought she had repeated herself often enough and put the answering machine on, turned down silent. “Come back to bed, Lizbeth. I want to talk to you and have a bit of peace before going on. You don’t mind?”

“‘Course not.”

Cilla suddenly thought, “aren’t you due back at work tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Cilla didn’t go on and say what she felt, oh dear, I’ll have to go on without you. Elizabeth had to go back to work. “Can you see me in the evenings?”

“Every minute I’m not at work is yours, my love. Five weeks ago we expected that we’d be feeling flat this morning, going back to work together tomorrow. But instead, you’ve been launched on a great adventure. I feel like I want to resign and stay with you all the time.”

“Oh, don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“A pay cheque is a pay cheque. I could employ you as my electoral assistant, but how long would that last? One term. And people would say it was jobs for the girls, or something.”

Cilla, ever practical. Elizabeth had half wanted her to say, “Lizbeth, darling, throw up your job, I want you with me all the time,” which was in fact what Cilla had wanted to say but had not wanted to make unreasonable demands.

They lay there in silence, Elizabeth disappointed, Cilla contemplating going on this great adventure alone. Finally Cilla asked “were you serious, Lizbeth? About resigning?”

“Of course.”
Cilla sighed. “I’d like nothing better than to have you with me all the time, Lizbeth, to go through it all together, whatever the future brings. But I just didn’t want to consume your life in mine.”

“Look, darling, my job’s good but it’s nothing special. I could probably get it back, or get something as good elsewhere. What you’re embarked on is going to be big. Much bigger than anything there would have been in my life. I’ve got a feeling. It’s going to be bigger than you think. I’ve still got my vision.”

Moved by this exchange of views they started to embrace and were soon making love, while the answering machine silently fielded calls, the media and people outside waited for Cilla to appear, the nation waited for a government and hundreds of temporary workers feverishly counted and recounted ballot papers. Elizabeth was struck by the incongruity of this when they finally lay back satisfied and at peace.

She laughed. “The world outside awaits you, my darling, while we lie in here as if no-one knew us or cared what we did.”

Cilla sighed and got up. “I suppose I’d better get on and cope with it.” The answering machine was flashing to indicate multiple messages. Cilla turned on the television. “I suppose I’d better be familiar with the latest figures, Lizbeth, before I go out there. Can’t appear to be uninterested. Maybe I’m not to hold the balance of power after all. That would be a relief.”

“Really, darling? Not a disappointment?”

“Mm - well, maybe that too. I don’t know.”

It didn’t take long for the television to get to the subject of the election. It was now in fact more likely than before that the government and opposition would have the same number of seats, with the new member for Curtin the only independent, the one who had to decide who would govern Australia. Cilla slumped in her chair.

“What the hell am I going to do, Lizbeth?”

“Listen to your messages, respond to them if necessary, then have a shower, put on your nice clothes and go out there.”

“Well - yes. But I mean -”

“I know what you mean, darling. But my point is that you just have to take it one step at a time. Do the things that lie nearest, deal with each event or communication as it fronts up. When you go out there to answer questions you’ll think of perfect answers as you always do. Just do things in order. You don’t have to go out until you’re ready. The poll hasn’t been declared yet. You aren’t due back at work. You don’t have to do anything today that requires you to leave this unit, so just - you know.”

“Will you listen to my messages with me?”

“Sure.”

There were messages from media people hoping to get something for the evening news or the Monday papers. A few politicians wanted her to ring back so that they could present their arguments to her. Then there was Tessa.

“Tessa,” breathed Cilla, recognising the voice.

“Hi, Cilla, I just wanted to congratulate you on your victory. It’s all very exciting. I’m really excited. I - I’ve missed you. Er - maybe I’ll catch up with you some time? Bye now.”

Cilla stopped the playback while they both thought about Tessa for a while.

“Better play the others,” prompted Elizabeth.

There was only one more message. The voice was female, educated but had the unmistakable lilt of an aboriginal person.

“Cilla Parker? This is the Governor-General. It seems from the figures that you’re likely to hold the balance of power, eh. I’d like to discuss the situation with you, what are your plans and that. Yeh. Not that I want to tell you what to do, just clarify the issues with you. You have to make a decision. The country’s waitin’ for a government. I like what you’ve said so far. Yeh. Please get back to me. Prioritise it. Okay? I’m expecting your call.” The voice gave a Canberra number.

The machine turned itself off and Cilla, trembling, looked at Elizabeth.
“Was it really - ?”

“It was, darling, no doubt. Better call back.”

Cilla rang the number. It was answered by the Governor-General herself, not by a secretary.

“Your Excellency,” began Cilla.

There was a pause during which Cilla thought she heard a giggle. “Call me ma’am, if you like,” said the GG.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry I didn’t take your call in person earlier. I was sleeping late.”

Now the GG laughed, a high musical sound. “You won’t be doin’ that again for a while. Cilla. Now. You don’t want to support Labor because it would look like a stunt. You don’t want to support Liberal because you hate them. Eh?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“So, what are you going to do? Got to support one or the other.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. There are many issues to be taken into account -”

“Yeh, yeh, don’t tell me. Difficult, isn’t it? Don’t think I don’t appreciate that. Now. I’ve got the germ of an idea. Unusual, controversial, yeh, but it might be a way out of this, a way forward. But I’ll want the counting finished and I’ll want to interview you in depth, in person, before I decide. I’m also still obliged to act on the advice of the incumbent Prime Minister, though I still got reserve powers, as per 1975. So. Be ready to fly over here at short notice. I’ll put you up at Yarralumla for a couple of nights. So. I’ll call you. Okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s all for now, Cilla. Just go on being careful, you know, sensible, in what you say.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
“‘Bye now.”

Elizabeth’s eyes grew as round as Cilla’s as Cilla related the gist of this call.

“Well. What do you suppose her scheme is?”

Cilla really had no idea. In retrospect it would seem obvious, but at the time such a thing was not in her thoughts. She got up slowly and went to get ready to go out.

They decided that Cilla would go out and deal with things alone.

Half an hour later Cilla stood, beautiful and shining but stunned and a bit frightened by the scene before her. The crowd wasn’t that much bigger than ever before, and the questions not so much louder or more numerous, but there was an intensity and seriousness that had not of course been there during the ‘circus’ campaign. Now the circus was finished, the tent folded and it was Cilla, decide, what are you going to do.

At last she collected herself sufficiently to take charge. The little block of units was quite hemmed in. It couldn’t go on. “Please, everyone. Please move to the park down the road, like before. Otherwise I’ll have to move house. I’ll come and talk to you down there when you’ve all left this area. Everyone will get a fair go, and pictures, down the park.”

As the crowd moved hurriedly off to get a good spot in the park Cilla apologised to a couple of the residents who had come out to watch. But they didn’t seem to mind. This was special, not just a nuisance as before.

Cilla walked alone down to the park, ignoring the few who were trying to gain some advantage over the others by accosting her on the way.

She sat on a bench where all could see her and commanded them to widen the circle around her to avoid blocking or crowding out too many others. Microphone wires snaked across the grass. When all was ready and a hush had fallen, Cilla spoke.

“Could someone please tell me what the latest figures say?”

Many there were in constant touch with this information through their mobiles and laptops. Several hands went up. Cilla chose one.

“Cilla, it’s now almost certain that you’ll hold the balance of power. There’ve been no dramatic changes to earlier figures and it’s getting less likely that seats that look like being won by one side or the other will change. So. What are you going to do?”

Everyone was silent. All the nation was watching, or would be some time today. Millions of people had voted but now Cilla alone had to choose who would govern the country for the next term. She had everyone’s undivided attention as she spoke.

“There are a number of issues here,” she began. “I can’t just follow my own inclinations. I’m sure everyone realises what those inclinations are. I was a member of the Labor Party, I was a candidate, I’ve wanted a Labor government for years. Now, I can simply decide to put one in. Like pulling a dress out of my wardrobe. I can choose a blue one or a red one.” There were a few smiles as people tried to imagine Cilla wearing anything red. “But just because I have the power, I must use it responsibly. The power was given to my by the people in this electorate. What did they want me to do with it? What was their inclination?”

“I think they just wanted you, Cilla,” someone interjected. There was a murmur of agreement.

Cilla was temporarily stalled by this remark. “Well, yes, but that doesn’t solve the problem. This was an election for a government, a body of people, not a monarch.”

“I’m not going to rejoin the Labor Party, though that has been put to me, because people would think the whole episode with them was some sort of stunt, which it wasn’t. At the same time, I’ve been a member of Labor for years and my sympathies lie there. Did the voters take that into account when they voted for me, or did they assume that I would be strongly anti-Labor now? Or did they not think of parties at all, but vote for me personally because of certain expectations they had of me? The people have expressed their will at the ballot box, but no-one presumably foresaw this situation we are now apparently likely to be in. If you took a poll in my electorate, it is mine now, I suppose, asking people if they wanted a Labor or Liberal government, because that’s the question now, wouldn’t they vote in a comfortable majority for Liberal as they always have?”

“Then there is the rest of the country to consider. Although the seats are even, just over half the electorate voted for Labor, on a two party preferred basis. Should I reflect the will of the national majority and choose Labor for that reason?”

She hesitated, fidgeted about, made faces. Her heart was pounding and she felt breathless. They waited, expecting her now to come up with her answer to the problem, which she did, forcing herself to be calm. To millions watching on television she now seemed relaxed and poised, in charge.

“There is a precedent for what I am about to suggest. In Israel, some years ago, the two major, though strongly opposing, political groups formed a government together, a Grand Coalition, in which the leaders of the opposing groups took it in turns to be Prime Minister and the cabinet was formed from members of both groups.

“This is what I am proposing for Australia now. The Liberals, Nationals and Labor should form a Grand Coalition, with terms and conditions written down and signed as a contract. For instance, equal numbers of ministers, what portfolios are to go to which party, what types of bills are to - a free vote is to be allowed on, who is to be Prime Minister first and when his term is to expire.

“Of course I won’t be part of this, nor will it be my business to help the formation of such a coalition. This sounds like a cop-out, I know, but listen. I could decide to support one side, or the other, and they would become the government, but it just wouldn’t be representative. I mean, it wouldn’t be a solution which represented the will of the electorate, I mean the nation as a whole. My single voice would have too much power, and the resulting government would maybe represent the will of less than half the voters. But this Grand Coalition that I propose would represent the great majority of them, would moderate the extremes in both parties and be forced to pursue policies that had a broad consensus.

“I am making this proposal to the entire nation, and simultaneously to both party leaders and their parliamentary parties and party officials too, by means of making it here, before the media. I want to know what people think. If the opinion is, oh, Cilla is copping out, she doesn’t want to decide, she must decide between one party or the other, then okay, I will so decide. I’m not afraid or unwilling to take responsibility for such a decision and having made it I will stick to it for an entire term, not keep threatening to change sides. I won’t expect a ministerial post, for which I am nowhere near qualified. But I make the coalition proposal because I think it is a fairer solution to the current impasse.”

She paused. No-one took advantage of the break but there was murmuring in the crowd around her. She resumed.

“I will be beside my ‘phone for the next day, and friends will be listening to talk-back radio, and I have an e-mail address.” She gave it, then repeated it. “I will be telephoning party leaders personally, later today, when they have had a chance to consider and discuss my proposal.” She would be calling the GG as well but she didn’t mention that. “I promise that if the consensus is that I decide, that there be no Grand Coalition, then the nation will have a government of one stripe or the other in forty-eight hours. This time, this place, two days hence, I shall announce my decision. But please, let’s consider the coalition idea. I should go home now and start catching people’s response. Any questions?”

There were the usual questions of the sort that show journalists’ difficulty in listening to what is said. Cilla just repeated the relevant points of what she had already said and started to move away. Cameras whirred as though they hadn’t got enough of her already.

At the entrance to her block of units she turned to face the media and her fans who were still following her, and said “Please don’t come any further. There’s no point, and it annoys the other residents. I still want to live here. I’m entitled to a home to retreat to. Haven’t I always given you a fair go? Not evaded you unnecessarily?”

That was true. People smiled, wished her well and dispersed. The car park was quiet and deserted. Cilla went in.

“Darling! How did it go?”

“Oh, good, Lizbeth. I think. We’ll find out soon enough what others think.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I took the liberty of disconnecting your answering machine and taking the calls myself. I wrote down the ones that matter, that you need to respond to. In my opinion. Is that okay? Did I do right?”

Cilla was relieved. “You did great, Lizbeth. Thanks.” She started to look down the list when the telephone rang again.

“Cilla? This Pat, here.”

Pat? Oh, wait on - that voice . . .

“The Governor-General?”

“Yeh, Didn’t I introduce myself?”

“Not by name, no, ma’am.”

“Mm. That’s right, we agreed you call me ma’am. Better so. That was one good speech. You did good. Yeh. Good idea, this coalition. I’ve been having the same thoughts. I’ll be talking to the party leaders, myself. Hey, forty-eight hours is a bit tight. We’ve still got a government, you know. Government goes on. A week would have been okay. All the ballots aren’t finalised.”

Cilla realised that the GG was right. “I just didn’t want to be seen as dithering around with the nation’s future.”

“Fair enough.”

“Do you think I should try to contact everyone and say that I’ve changed my mind, that I’ll announce my decision in a week instead?”

“Mm - no, don’t bother. I’ll organise that. I’ve got organs of communication of my own, you know. Better than yours. Yeh, we should give it a week. I’ll make sure everyone knows, and I’ll say you changed your mind after consultin’ me.”

Cilla was relieved. A week was better. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“No worries. Hey, Cilla.”

“Ma’am?”

“Country’s in a bit of a state. Going to take a strong united government to fix it. Whatever we do’s got to work.”

“I know.”

“Hey, that’s another reason for giving it a week. I want you over here, spend a couple of days with me. When can you come?”

“Oh - er -”

“Tonight? Get the red-eye special. Be here tomorrow. That suit?”

There was no choice. “Yes, ma’am. Er - but - “

“What?”

“It’s a long way to come by myself. Can I bring my friend?”

“Who? The blonde? What’s her name?”

“Elizabeth.”

The GG chuckled. “Okay. I’ll be interested to meet her. But I’ll want to see you a lot on your own. You’re the elected member, in the hot seat. She’s not. Nothing to do with her.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Right. See you tomorrow.”

Cilla put down the ‘phone. Elizabeth was agog to find out where she was to travel with Cilla, and when.

“Can you come to Canberra, Lizbeth? Tonight?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened with shock. “Canberra? Why?”

“To spend a week with the GG. She wants me, but I put it to her that I needed you to come with me. Can you?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Of course. But can we get on a flight?”

“If we can’t, I’ll ring the GG back and maybe she can pull strings.”

They sat without doing or saying anything for a minute. Elizabeth spoke first. “I’ll ring up and book us on, Cilla, if I can, while you pack and leave everything safe. Then we can lock up and go to my place where I’ll do the same, then we’ll go to the airport. Is that a good plan?”

Cilla smiled, looking slyly up at Elizabeth. “Only for one thing missing. Something that probably can’t happen at Yarralumla.”

Elizabeth blushed and breathed more deeply as she caught Cilla’s meaning.

Instead of packing while Elizabeth was on the telephone, Cilla undressed and lay down to wait for her.

Elizabeth came into the bedroom. “I’ve booked seats for us, darling,” she whispered tremulously. “Eleven forty-five.”

“I’ve booked a place for you right here,” replied Cilla, stroking her inner thigh.

The enjoyed each other fully and intensely for an hour before proceeding with the rest of Elizabeth’s plan. Who knew when they could next be together like this?

***

On the long but short flight to Tullamarine, where they would connect with a flight to Canberra, Cilla wondered how often in the next few years she would make this joureny. It had driven many West Australian politicians into early retirement, though fewer perhaps in recent times of faster and more comfortable travel.

Elizabeth dozed beside her. Her hands under the rug they shared over their knees were relaxed in slumber. This was Cilla’s first flight. She had expected it to be smooth, but the plane constantly vibrated due to air turbulence. It felt like being on a bus.

A clunk and a change in the noise signalled that the landing gear was going down and they were beginning their descent. At last the plane banked over Melbourne, with its endless strings of yellow lights on major roads sparkling in the dawn light. Elizabeth woke up.

“We’re there, darling,” Cilla murmured. “Melbourne, at least. Time to get off and have a stretch and some breakfast.”

It was mid-morning before they touched down in Canberra. They hadn’t spoken much during their breakfast and the wait and the subsequent flight. They were both awed by the rush of events and brooding over their hopes and fears of events to come

Cilla went to the telephone.

“You made it then,” said the Governor General, picking up her telephone almost immediately. “I’ve sent a car for you. Look for the man with the sign.”

Indeed there was a small man in a smart suit anxiously searching the crowd and holding a sign saying ‘Cilla and Elizabeth.” A lot of people recognised the names and looked from him out into the crowd, hoping to see the two young women. As they approached there was a stir of interest and people crowded around, not unruly or threatening, allowing space but eager to see Cilla. The whole nation knew her face and voice. Now here she was in person. Being fetched by the GG’s driver. This was something to tell workmates.

Rumour and conjecture had been flying around. One bizarrely dressed woman, tears streaming down her face, cried out, “Born to be Queen! Carry the girl who’s born to be queen! Over the sea - the sky - across the sky -” she was unable to continue.

“What was all that about?” wondered Cilla as they got into the car.

“Carry the lad who’s born to be king, over the sea to Skye,” offered their escort. “Old Scottish song, about Bonnie Prince Charlie.” He smiled. “Everyone says -” he stopped.

“What?”

“Never mind. Not my place to spread gossip. He looked curiously at the two young women in his rear view mirror, admiring their beauty and wanting them to look at or touch one another to give some clue about their relationship. But they sat separate, gazing solemnly out of their opposite windows.

The GG was on the steps of the grand residence to welcome them. She was a short, stout swarthy woman with voluminous curly hair. She smiled at Cilla.

“My! You’re prettier than on TV! Come in!”

Their luggage was taken away to their rooms and they went with the GG to sit down and have some refreshment and a chat.

She didn’t speak for a minute and neither Cilla nor Elizabeth wanted to break the silence. The GG just looked from one to the other, appraisingly, while staff bustled about.

At last the three of them were left alone.

“Now, listen,” said the GG. “First thing. There are no mikes in here, no-one is listening outside, whatever you tell me will never be repeated. Now, what is your relationship with each other?”

They didn’t answer, not because they didn’t want to but because they were both startled and couldn’t decide how to put it. The GG helped them.

“Do you have sex? With each other?”

Both blushed. Cilla sighed with relief and replied “Yes, ma’am.”

“Right. I guess everyone knows that, without actually knowing it, if you see what I mean. That’s the point. Absolute discretion. I’ve put you in separate rooms. I don’t need to say more do I?”

“No, ma’am.”

The GG now sighed. “That’s that out of the way. Are you angry with me?”
“No, ma’am,” said Cilla, smiling. “I’m glad it came up and we got it out of the way.”

“Right. Now. I’ll be wanting to have long talks with you, Cilla, but now isn’t the time. You’ve had a long trip and I don’t suppose you slept any more than people usually do. So go and grab a few hours’ kip. I’ll see you back here at four. In this room. We’ll have a cuppa and get into it.” She looked at Elizabeth. “Are you two an inseparable double act, or do you mind if I say that Cilla is the elected member and it’s really just her I want to talk to?”

Cilla and Elizabeth looked at each other. This question couldn’t be easily answered. Just what they had been brooding over. A gulf growing between them. But Elizabeth was determined that Cilla should follow the right path, do all the right things, so she took the initiative. “Of course, ma’am. I just came so Cilla wouldn’t have to travel alone. I’ll - I won’t be in the way.”

“Good girl. You can join us for dinner, but.”

They went to their separate rooms. Cilla set her travel alarm for three-thirty and lay down. She wished Elizabeth were with her but she had never really expected that it would be possible. She wished they had talked more on the long trip. Such opportunities might be precious and rare from now on.

In her room, Elizabeth thought of sneaking in to see Cilla. Just for half an hour, to talk. But no. They had been warned, nicely. She would certainly be discovered, and any appearance of sneaking about would really make trouble. And Cilla needed to rest.

Promptly at four, Cilla was in the Viceregal drawing room, freshly showered and dressed. There was tea and coffee, Tim-Tams and scones with jam and cream. And the GG looking smug over a pile of books and papers.

“Now, Cilla,” she began. “What do you think is wrong with this country?”

There was a brief pause while Cilla swallowed her scone.

“Too much of a good thing, ma’am.” Cilla took a sip of coffee.

“During the long cold war, we all agreed that communism was bad and free-enterprise, or capitalism was good. Well, most of us. Communism was associated with tyranny, corruption, no elections, no proper judicial institutions, shortages and inefficiency. Capitalism was associated with everything good and enlightened and progressive and developed. So communism collapsed, capitalism had won and became rampant.” She paused to organise her thoughts. The GG didn’t break in. She was impressed by the poise and confidence, the high clear strong voice. Cilla went on.

“People elect a government, but the power of this government diminishes all the time. More and more, power belongs to big corporations, whose decision-makers aren’t elected by the whole people and are only accountable to their shareholders. I feel that society is no longer inclusive, responsible for all its members, and more and more of its members are becoming disempowered. A person no longer has an absolute right to live and no longer has value derived just from being a human being. The value of a person is measured by their capacity to generate dollars.

“Not only are governments less powerful, so electing them is less meaningful, but there is no effective political opposition. The Labor party, yes, I know I was a member and am still a sympathiser, but they are capitalist too and their policies would mainly push in the same direction.

“I want to see power pumped back into elected governments. Governments elected on the basis of one vote, one value, and therefore accountable to every person equally, whether rich or poor, productive or not.”

“So, what would you do?” interrupted Pat. “Re-nationalise everything that’s been privatised?”

Cilla paused to think.”Not just like that. It would be impossible for the budget. Shares would have to be bought back a bit at a time, it would be years before there would be a financial benefit. And people would protest, why privatise them in the first place, just to have this costly buy-back? No, I think the way to go would be regulation. That’s been made a dirty word, a con-job by the wealthy and powerful. Making it a dirty word, I mean.”

“What sort of regulations?”

“A lot of regulations covering the banks. Coming in stages, the easier ones first. They wouldn’t be allowed to charge and raise fees the way they do. There could only be a certain size gap between the rates they charge on loans and those they pay on interest-bearing accounts. They would have to employ customer-service staff at a certain level, according to a formula devised and administered by the dreaded bureaucrats in dreaded Canberra.”

“But, Cilla, doesn’t the free market place take care of all these things?”

“In theory, the theory trumpeted by both parties for some years, yes, ma’am. But not in practice.”

“Why not?”

“The banks are shareholder-driven, not customer-driven. It’s not the same thing. And people haven’t got a free choice in the sense that they can change their bank as easily as they change their brand of soft drink. All pensions and salaries and allowances are paid into a bank account now. You haven’t got a choice as to whether or not to have a bank account. You can’t go to the trouble of changing your bank and making the associated changes every time the queues are too long or you feel you might get half a percent more for the same size account.”

So they went on through many issues, crime, aborigines, foreign relations, education. The GG became more aggressive, more disputatious, jumped from one thing to another, but Cilla never faltered or seemed to tire. More refreshments were brought in and the day faded into evening outside the large windows.

Elizabeth had had her rest, looked at the library, talked to some of the staff and spent an hour wandering around the grounds. She came in as the sun went down and the mosquitoes arose. Still no sign of Cilla, the GG or dinner. She went back to her room and sat sadly waiting.

Finally there was a stir down below as Pat and Cilla emerged from their meeting and the staff activated the dinner routine. Elizabeth came out of her room and met Cilla dashing upstairs to find the toilet.

“Too much tea and coffee,” she gasped on her way past.

Elizabeth stayed just inside her room, hoping for even half a minute with Cilla before they had to go down.

Cilla came by, saw Elizabeth and read her mind.

“Better keep the door open,” she whispered.

“How did it go?”

“Oh, yak, yak, I’m tired of my own voice. Put your tongue in my mouth, Lizbeth dear, soothe it.”

They kissed for a long time, quietly, listening for any approach. At last they broke off, breathless. Their makeup was smudged. They went to the bathroom together to fix their faces.. Now they met a staff member coming along the corridor. That person was surprised to see the two young women with smudged lipstick. She was a person who didn’t catch much news or current affairs and had no idea of the supposed relationship between Cilla and Elizabeth. She was also strongly committed to the rules of discretion governing her job and didn’t intend to mention this apparition to anyone. But she thought it very curious.

Elizabeth and Cilla entered the dining room together. Elizabeth allowed herself to be awed and pleased by the occasion - dining with the GG at Yarralumla! This was the climax of the better life that she had known since Cilla had come to work at the office and Elizabeth had fallen in love with her. That place and time seemed far away now.

Dinner was served. The food was excellent. The GG talked generally, Cilla contributed to the conversation, but Elizabeth didn’t utter a word, just nodded, smiled and enjoyed the food and the ambience.

Cheese and port wine were brought to the table. “I don’t have this every day,” laughed Pat. “Just when I got visitors. My granddad used to have this out of a flagon in a brown paper bag,” she announced, holding up the bottle. “But not this one, of course. Woollie’s five-dollar plonk.” Elizabeth peered at some of the staff who stood by, but none of them showed any change of expression.

“So, Elizabeth, do you appreciate the clever friend you’ve got here?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am.”

“How will you handle it if she rises and rises in the world? Becomes a public figure? Not much time, lots of people vying for her attention? Will you still be her friend and support her?”

“As long as she wants me to, Ma’am.”

“What if she doesn’t want you to, some time? She might not have room for you in her life. Might have lots of more illustrious friends. How will you feel then?”

Cilla broke in. “That’s not going to happen, Ma’am. I’m not going to cast off Lizbeth no matter what happens”

“But what if? It might happen anyway no matter what you feel now. Would you hate Cilla then, Elizabeth? Be her enemy?”

“No! Ma’am. Never. I’ll always love - er - I mean - be her friend -” Elizabeth’s voice quavered as she started to break down. Pat had shoved her greatest fear in her face and it was too much, on top of the strains and changes of recent days.

Pat made an abrupt gesture with her hand and the staff left the room quickly, closing the door.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she said. “Sorry, Elizabeth. I didn’t mean to push you into losing it. I only -” she sighed and fell silent for a moment. “Look, I just need to know about Cilla’s personal relationships. That’s my job. She’s in an important position and it might become even more important. Personal freedom and privacy go out the window, well, reduce a lot, anyway.”

Might become even more important? In what way, Cilla wondered.

“Will you forgive me, Elizabeth?” Pat concluded.

“Of course, ma’am.” Elizabeth actually felt angry with Pat but it was best to forgive and smile, and find out what this more important position would prove to be.

None of them spoke any more as they picked at their food for a few minutes. The big house was very quiet with only the muted sound of the wind outside.
Pat sighed and looked up at them.

“You see, I’ve had this idea in mind. Something I thought might work. Politicians are usually married by the time they get that far, and the political career belongs to both of them, and they run it as a team. Or that’s the way it should be if the career’s to be a successful one. Now we have Cilla, who wasn’t even meant to win her seat - it was an unwinnable seat for a young and promising person to try herself out on. But things changed. And far from Cilla having a loving husband, you two have got a, er, special friendship. It throws a spanner in the works. My idea would be great, only for that. My talks with Cilla today have made me think she’s perfect for it. Only for this relationship. Even if we could get over the question of what people might think of it, whether it would compromise Cilla, I need to know how solid it is. Is it as good as a marriage? How long has it lasted yet? Has it been tested? Given your background, Cilla, might you not have fallen into the lap of anyone who offered you love?”

Cilla raised her eyebrows. That was close to the bone. She replied.

“I’ve asked myself that too, ma’am. It’s true that I’ve led a loveless life. I say that not in a whiny, sad way, but that’s just the way things were.”

“I know.”

“But I’m sure that I - I- “ she looked around the room.

“You can speak quite freely. Please do so.”

“I really love Elizabeth.” Cilla’s voice quavered as she spoke the words of feeling. But she didn’t know if she spoke the truth. Was it Elizabeth she loved? Or was it Elizabeth’s love for her that moved her? Or did she love Tessa? She thought of Tessa and had a sudden rush of desire for her.

Pat and Elizabeth both noticed Cilla’s eyes brighten, her face flush and breathing quicken. They interpreted it in different ways. Elizabeth had seen it many times when they were about to go to bed with each other, and longed to be alone with Cilla, at home, if they ever got home. Pat just thought Cilla was moved deeply by what she had just said. It convinced Pat that there was no need to discuss this further.

“All right,” she said gruffly. “I’m real sorry I harped on this. I hope you’re both not upset with me. But I needed to talk about it. It’s one of the issues this visit was meant to look at. I’m happy with other aspects, after this afternoon’s talk. I guess, well, my germ of an idea has grown stronger. My germ of an idea. Have you two any germ of an idea of your own, what I’m driving at?”

The two other women really didn’t.

“Look,” said Pat. “Two parties are split even, they hate each other, no way they can govern together. Hard to accept the advice of the incumbent P.M., which would of course be to let him carry on. But there’s a way out. An independent, holding the balance of power. Why not make the indie P.M., form a government of national unity around him, or her, from both parties?”

There. It was out. Pat watched Cilla go pale and her eyes widen as she took it in.

“Me, Prime Minister, ma’am?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“Well - I - what - I’ve no administrative experience.”

“You don’t need it. You don’t administer anything. Other people will do that. You just have to be a front person, rally the country, Chair cabinet meetings. Balance and mediate between opposing forces. Put in some new ideas. Communicate. Seduce and charm everyone. You can do all that, can’t you? You’re one of the best communicators in the country.”

There was another silence. Elizabeth held her breath and wondered if she should slip out. Pat read her mind.

“Elizabeth, move over and hold her hand. There’s no-one here but us.”

Elizabeth did so. Pat asked her “what do you think, Elizabeth? Isn’t it a good idea? Under the circs? What’s the alternative? It would only be for a while, anyway. I’d put a limit on the commission. Then there’d have to be another election.”

“Well, yes, ma’am, logically speaking, it’s probably the most workable option. But would the PM and the Labor people accept it?”

“They’d have to. I’ve got the power. Remember 1975? Probably not. I was a young ‘un. Power’s still there. Never been changed. I never thought I’d be in a position to use it!” She laughed joyously. “But, I hope it won’t come to that.”

Elizabeth thought, here I am in Yarralumla, holding hands with what might be the country’s next Prime Minister, discussing the fate of the country with her and the Governor-General. Little non-entity me, who was happy just to have a steady job and a quiet life. And all because I fell in love with a workmate.

“Well, Cilla? What about you? Are you prepared to accept this job? You’ll have to start pretty soon, if you do. And I’ve got another test for you before I make my final decision.”

Cilla nearly said, why not call another election now, try to break the deadlock. But she checked herself, realising that that would be stupid. She was tired, and scared by what had been put to her. She wanted to go and lie down somewhere with Elizabeth and let someone else sort it out. But she knew she could not. She just said, “what further tests, ma’am?”

“I’m going to have a meeting with you, the Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition, tomorrow. We’ll go all day if we have to.”

“And - and - will you put this idea to them?”

“No, Cilla. That’ll be your job.”

“Eh?”

“Look, the job I’ve got in mind for you, is leader of the government, of the nation. It’ll be your job tomorrow, to take over the discussion, take the initiative, then put the idea to them. That’s what I meant just now. When I said, I hope it won’t come to doing another 1975. You’ve got to get them to agree to it, so that the P.M. will be able to advise me that that is what’s going to happen.”

Cilla just looked stunned.
“Look, Cilla, I’m asking you to get in a couple days where you’d normally have 20 years to get. I know it’s hard, I wouldn’t ask anyone else in your position to do it. But you’re special. You know you’re special. And you’re the one on the spot. And there just isn’t time. The country needs a government. Will you give it a go?”

Cilla sighed. Her voice trembled again. “Of course, ma’am. But what if I fail?”

“That, dear is your final test. If you can talk those two into accepting the idea, it will be a good idea, because you’ll be up to the job. If you can’t, then you fail the test. You then go back to your position of having to decide which side to support in a government with a majority of one. Not the best. Not what the country needs. My idea is better. If you’re up to it.”

“Who - what - shall I say it was your idea?”

“You decide what to say. Say what you like. Your decision. By all means take advice, but you decide.”

Cilla started to feel strength growing within her. She grew in her own estimation. Very well, then. She would take charge.

“Well, ma’am, what time are the leaders expected?”

“At ten-thirty in the morning.”

“Well, I might retire now, if you don’t mind, and consider what to do and say, and ask advice, and rest, of course. Can I have the use of a telephone?”

“Haven’t you got a mobile?”

“No.”

“Better get a mobile, Cilla, win or lose tomorrow. You’ll need one. But yes, there is a ‘phone in your room. Make all the use of it you like.”

“Thanks. Can we breakfast together, tomorrow?”

“Of course. Seven-thirty a.m. suit?”
“Yes. I will have a plan of procedure by then and I’d like to run it by you, just for a fresh mind and pair of eyes.”

“Whatever.” Pat smiled. “Goodnight, then, you two. See you in the morning.” She looked from one to the other, looked at their faces, considered what Cilla’s needs would be on this important night and what a husband could do for her, if she had one. Then she leant close to them and whispered “if you can’t be good, be QUIET. Do I offend you?”

They both smiled and blushed. “No, ma’am.”

“You’ll be woken in your own beds” Pat paused meaningfully “at six-thirty, with a cuppa and a paper. Good night!”

Upstairs, Cilla whispered “Lizbeth, go and get some books and papers, if you like, and come back to my room. Don’t creep and look serious, and do knock. Do you mind? Do you want me to come to your room instead, in similar fashion?”

“No, no, darling, I’ll come. Good idea. There are some thick books on my shelves, that I could bring.”

So it was that the two of them lay in each other’s arms on Cilla’s bed, the books and papers scattered about. Cilla was sobbing quietly, not from grief or hurt but just because she was overwhelmed by the rush of events.

After a while she disengaged from Elizabeth and sat up. “Well, this won’t get the country governed.”

Elizabeth sat up too.

“Is that the task I’ve been given, Lizbeth? To persuade the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition to form a government together, under my leadership? Is that how you understood it?”

“Yep. Woo!”

Cilla looked at her and smiled.

“Does that excite you, darling?”
“Well, doesn’t it you? Scary, but exciting.”

“Do I excite you, Lizbeth?”

“Oh - “

Cilla got up and checked the door. “I think we’d better do something very quiet for a while, before bending our minds to tomorrow’s serious task.” She slipped off her dress as she came back to the bed.

Some time later they awoke from a short doze, deliciously relaxed and calm, and talked about Cilla’s task. Elizabeth didn’t have any ideas - Cilla really advised herself by talking things through and getting Elizabeth’s opinion about different approaches.

“Well, Lizbeth, I might just end up doing and saying things tomorrow that I haven’t thought of tonight. But it was helpful to talk, and the other stuff too.” She giggled. “I feel good about the whole thing now, that’s important. I’ll sleep well. I think you ought to stomp back to your room now, looking serious, with the books.”

“Oh.”

“I know, I want you to stay all night with me too, but we might not wake in time. Better wait for other times, when we can be private. Even when I’m” she giggled again “P.M.! Surely there will be privacy sometimes.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the thought of them making love in the Prime Minister’s residence. Then she grew serious with the realisation that this was going to be a big change in her own life, if it happened. She would have to sell her unit, give up her job, leave her life and her books and her parents. Well, she wouldn’t have to, but of course she couldn’t just abandon Cilla over here and go back to her former life. She had met and loved Cilla, and that was that. Neither of them could have foreseen this flood of change that was still sweeping them along.

“You will live with me if I’m Prime Minister, won’t you, Elizabeth?”

“Of course. But -”

“But what?”

“Would that be okay? What would people think? Would it undermine the office? Would there be jokes in pubs?”

Cilla laughed at the thought of people sniggering into their beer about her and Elizabeth. “There have always been jokes in pubs, about Prime Ministers. Anyway, Lizbeth, it won’t happen. Of course I’m going to give it a red-hot go, but really, you can’t expect two heavy-weight politicians, one Prime Minister and the other wanting to be, to accept Pat’s idea. It’s too fanciful. No matter what I say, they won’t accept it. I’m dreading putting it to them. I’m afraid of the expressions I will se on their faces and the tone I will hear in their voices.”

“But Pat said she’d over-ride them and put her plan in place, if they don’t accept it.”

“No she didn’t. She said she had the power to do so, but she said if I didn’t persuade them, I’d just have to decide between one party and the other, and become part of a government with a majority of one. In other words, the situation before we came here.”

“Oh. Yes, That was to be the final test. If you could persuade them. If you could persuade them it would be a good idea. If you couldn’t it would have been a bad idea anyway.”

“And me left with their lasting contempt. Little upstart runt bitch, making an outrageous suggestion which of course we rejected.”

They fell silent. There was a lot at stake tomorrow.

“Bedtime, Lizbeth. I have to sleep,” sighed Cilla.

“Good night, my love.”

“Dream of me doing well tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

***
Despite the strange surroundings, the demands of the next day and Elizabeth’s absence from the cold pillow beside her, Cilla went to sleep quickly and slept deeply. She had never been so tired, at least not since her miserable childhood. She awoke to the promised paper and cup of tea at six-thirty. “Good morning, ma’am,” smiled the staffer who brought them.

At seven thirty she was downstairs, in her tracksuit. Pat was fully dressed. “What’s this?” she said to Cilla.

“Oh - I don’t like to dress, and everything, till after breakfast.”

“Fair enough. Where’s your mate?”

Cilla shrugged. “Maybe she went back to sleep.”

Elizabeth was in fact awake and dressed in her room but didn’t know if the breakfast included her.

Pat said, “She should have breakfast with us too,” and sent for her.

“I didn’t know if this breakfast conference included me, ma’am,” said Elizabeth as she arrived downstairs.

“‘Course it does. No secrets from you now. Sleep well?” Pat smiled from one to the other.

“Yes, ma’am,” they said.

“I’ll bet you did. Come on. Let’s eat and discuss the day’s work.”

“Well, Cilla, what is your plan?” smiled Pat as they started their breakfast.


“Well, ma’am,” Cilla was very relaxed, not tense and awestruck as she had been the previous evening. The GG’s idea had no chance of being accepted. So Cilla had nothing to lose. She would just put the idea in a reasonable way, be as persuasive as she could, be rejected, then she could take her seat in parliament and let others sort out the problem of who was to govern the country. She was taking too much on herself, or being dumped on by others. It wasn’t her problem. She just had to represent her electorate. She didn’t know if that was really all she wanted, or if this attitude of mind was true for her, but it helped her to be relaxed about this day’s encounter. That was all that mattered for now.

“I thought I’d put it to them in this way. Why not have a Government of National Unity, with the Prime Minister reduced to a presiding role. His or her (hint, hint) job would be to communicate with the Governor-General, be a spokesperson for the government as a whole, a mediator in the conflicts among different views and purposes. The visible embodiment of the government, who would communicate with the people, both ways. Go on television and tell them things, but also get out into the streets and on talk-back radio and ask them things. Meet overseas dignitaries and diplomats, here and overseas. The actual governing would be done by experienced ministers from both sides of politics, equally represented according to a formula laid down in a written agreement.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, certain portfolios, Treasury, Finance, Social Security, Justice, Employment and Industrial Relations, would have to be split-even between right and left, and would have to swap sides every year. I mean whatever the number of portfolios that were deemed the most sensitive to political colour, half that number would go to each side of politics. And there would have to be balance - if the Treasury went to the right, then Social Security would have to go to the left. And so on.”

“It’s all getting very complicated, Cilla.”

“It is complicated once you get into it, ma’am. Government of National Unity, yeah yeah, but once you get into the practicalities of it - well.”

“And who would work out all these complicated formulas?”

“The Prime Minister, with advice from others of course.”

“You?”

“I suppose so. Yes. I would be responsible for deciding the final arrangement and seeing that it was kept to.”

Pat was silent. She honestly hadn’t thought through the practical complications of her scheme. But she couldn’t admit that. Cilla was right. It was complicated, and her suggestion was one plausible way that it might be made to work. But it was looking less and less like something the two leaders who would arrive in two hours, would accept. She looked at the little Member for Curtin, who looked gravely back.

“I know what you’re thinking, ma’am. This hasn’t got any legs.”

Pat sighed. “I was just thinking, we need to, I mean, it needs to be presented in a form that they might, if not accept straight away, at least not reject, at least not be angry with. I don’t think you should get into all those practical complications. Just what you were saying initially. If you can get them to consider even that, then the other, how to put it into practice, can come up as you discuss it further.”

“Mm. I agree.”

“Just hit them with your opening gambit, like you did me, that sounded good. Then wait for their response. And take it from there. Anyway, it’s your task. Do it, do what you think is best. You’ve been right so far, winning a safe Liberal seat, as an independent, a Labor-leaning independent at that. And becoming a national celebrity.”

They went on to finish their breakfast and talk of other things. Pat spoke mainly with Elizabeth, leaving Cilla to her own thoughts.

***

Promptly at ?? Cilla was ready in the formal meeting room. Her hair was shampooed and conditioned, glittering with blue flashes in the morning sunshine that slanted in. She wore the dress that she had chosen for best on this trip - royal blue with a hint of purple, a little above the knee, so that when she sat and crossed her legs her lower thigh was attractively displayed. The sleeves came to midway down her upper arms, showing white clear skin gleaming. The neckline was low enough to show the first soft curves of cleavage.

“I hope they’ve had breakfast, Cilla,” Pat had said when she saw Cilla.

“Mm?”

“Otherwise they might eat you up. You look delicious enough.”

Cilla giggled. This was incongruous, two women giggling together while about to meet the nation’s two political leaders to decide the nation’s future.

They got serious, sat down and discussed the subject in hand while waiting for the leaders to show up. They were both late, the Prime Minister arriving after the Leader of the Opposition. Neither of them looked happy. The LOP came in and gravely allowed himself to be introduced to Cilla, who tried to read his mind, looking into the eyes of this man who had spoken of circuses and lesbians in relation to her. But his stony face gave nothing away. He sat down and waited without saying anything more. He avoided the pleasure of looking at Cilla. The three of them sat silent, awkward.

At last the Prime Minister arrived with two aides in tow. He greeted the two women and the Leader of the Opposition formally, politely, so that one couldn’t tell that his feelings weren’t the same about the three of them. In fact, he thought Cilla a joke and Pat an embarrassment, but liked and respected the Leader of the Opposition, who was quite a good mate outside parliament.

“The member-elect for Curtin has something to put to you two gentlemen, hey,” began Pat. “It might be a good way to go. She’s discussed it with me. It might be worth listening to.”

Cilla’s eyes widened at the hide of the GG, whose idea the whole scheme had been. She was tense, like a coiled spring. But she started to speak, and the spring ran down, and she relaxed. The words came fluently and easily to her as always. Everyone in the room was enjoying listening to her, whatever they thought of what she was saying. The aides to the two politicians exchanged glances of startled amusement as the substance was revealed.

The two political leaders sat in silence when Cilla finished speaking. They didn’t look at each other. They looked at Cilla and at Pat but their expressions gave nothing away. Cilla was glad her exposition was over. She felt she had given it her best, put it as well as she could. She hoped they wouldn’t be too scathing and longed to get out of there and go home with Elizabeth. She hoped the media wouldn’t get hold of the story.

The two leaders were both thinking, for similar reasons, what a good idea. Each was thinking, such a government was sure to fail and he could make Cilla, and the other party, take all the blame for this, while getting the chance to score valuable points for the inevitable election. It was a way out of the deadlock and would give him a break, though not an over-long one, and he would hold the real power without the responsibility and blame and media intrusion that usually went with it.

Of course it didn’t occur to either man that the other leader might be better than he at this game. You don’t get to be leader of your party by ever allowing the thought that any other politician on either side might be better than you.

Still less did they think that this attractive but young and inexperienced little girl would be anything more than a pawn in their game.

Finally the Leader of the Opposition spoke gruffly.

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Mm.” agreed the Prime Minister, smiling slightly.

Cilla was startled now. She nearly said “What!?” but restrained herself. Instead she said “so, you agree to the broad outline I’ve presented?”

“Yes,” said the Prime Minister. “But -”

“We’ll have to nut out the details,” continued the Leader of the Opposition.

“Mm,” agreed the Prime Minister.

It had never occurred to Cilla that they would both agree, so readily. But now that they had, she divined the reason and realised that she should have thought ahead and predicted this. She felt light-headed as she realised that she was about to become Prime Minister and play high-stakes games with powerful and experienced men. And what would the country say? When they stopped laughing?

Pat looked disconcerted. She hadn’t expected her plan to be accepted without discussion. She had expected an argument and some heated remarks. She collected herself, took charge.

“Well. Gentlemen. Cilla. It seems we have a resolution, hey. So. Would you, shall I go ahead and order the preparation of a letter of commission? I’ll commission Cilla to be Prime Minister and form a government from both parties. Then you can sit down with her and nut out the details, as you say. You can nut them out here, and stay for dinner, I mean lunch, hey.” Pat chuckled. She had expected dinner to be the closest meal to the conclusion of today’s discussions.

“Nice,” said the Leader of the Opposition.

“Mm,” said the Prime Minister.

And so Pat left the room to give her instructions and the two leaders and Cilla sat together.

The Prime Minister made a courteous gesture of encouragement to Cilla. “You have the floor, Ms Parker. What plan do you have in mind for the formation of this government?”

“You may call me Cilla, if you like,” she replied. “Everyone does. It’s my only real name.”

Their eyes widened at this childish remark from a person who was about to take the reins of government, but it also warmed their hearts towards her. They were already starting to like her. She really was gorgeous, she spoke beautifully and her grooming was impeccable. This ‘government’ was going to be enjoyable before it collapsed and things got back to normal, serious.

“All right, Cilla. There is no precedent for this kind of government in this country. Not since our party-political system evolved. They had something like it in Israel some years back but it didn’t involve the entire membership of parliament on both sides. Have you studied that situation?”

“No. I didn’t anticipate this situation, so I haven’t done homework on it.” Cilla needed to take charge of this discussion, so she went straight on to answer some of the questions that she would ask if she were in these men’s place. “How would the parliament pass legislation? If we stick to the usual way of doing things, where the government of the day always votes unanimously to pass legislation that it has proposed, then we’ll have the entire membership of parliament voting in favour of every piece of legislation. That won’t do. No point in having a parliament. Or if we say we vote strictly as parties, with party whips and party discipline, we’ll have either me or the speaker having to exercise a casting vote for every piece. That won’t do either. So, I sug-” no, not suggest; “we should abolish party lines and party discipline for the duration of this government. Every piece of legislation must be decided by a free vote. Members voting as individuals. Starting with the election of the Speaker.”

“As for the ministers, they’ll be chosen by us three. There needs to be balance. Some ministries can be split, where there is a precedent for this, so that complementary portfolios will be held by members from opposing sides. Treasury to one side, finance to the other. Industrial Relations to one side, Employment and Training to the other. Social Security to one side, Health to the other.”

All this was delivered rapidly in a high clear voice without er, um or hesitancy. The two leaders had never met Cilla or heard her speak in person. The Leader of the Labor Party was beginning to understand how the ‘circus’ had arisen. He looked at his friend the Prime Minister. What this girl had said sounded reasonable. Under the circs. Not what they’d normally like to happen, but given the circs.

“Who would be deputy Prime Minister, er, Cilla? Not your girlfriend?” He chuckled at his little joke. The Prime Minister winced. His friend had a weakness, without meaning any harm, for making stupid and possibly offensive jokes. This could be exploited politically but wasn’t appropriate just now.

Cilla just looked at them gravely until the chuckling ceased. She allowed another dragging interval of silence then said quietly “well, obviously, not. You two would alternate in that role. Six months each. Assuming you both hold the leadership of your parties, after one of you failed to hold office and the other failed to win it.”

They both cringed now. The Leader of the Labor Party’s maladroit jest had given Cilla the opening to seize the initiative in this relationship. She was never to lose it.

They discussed other related matters for a while, then Pat returned, bearing a large official envelope.

“Is my return opportune?” she asked. “Or do you need a bit more time, eh.”

The Prime Minister spoke, after a pause. He might not have agreed to this scheme earlier, had he known the strength there was in this little girl. She might prove harder to push around and push out than he had thought. But he couldn’t go back now. He couldn’t say “No, I don’t agree, it won’t work.” Not without a good reason. And the fact that Cilla was better at politics than he had expected was not a good reason. Besides, Cilla would then turn around and decide to support a Labor government. God forbid. He sighed. “Your excellency, our discussion has been positive. We’ve laid the groundwork.”

“Good. Have you any advice for me?”

The Prime Minister stood up. This was a formal moment. His friend the Leader of the Opposition watched him sympathetically.

“Your excellency, I have to advise you that I resign my commission as Prime Minister, and advise you to call on, er, Cilla, to form a government, and commission her as Prime Minister.”

Pat advanced, smiling, and handed Cilla the envelope. She stood up to receive it. It was addressed to her personally. She opened it. It was a formal commissioning of her as Prime Minister. God Save the King!

***

Elizabeth had been quite excluded from all this, had not seen the two political leaders or Cilla herself since breakfast. She had spent some time in her room, then walked around the grounds, then gone back to her room. Her mind was a turmoil as she thought through the ramifications of what might be happening in the heart of this great house. Elizabeth didn’t think Cilla would actually become Prime Minister but what if she did? She would have to live here in this chilly artificial city set among the green paddocks. Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to be with Cilla at all times, in all places, but to do that she would have to give up her job, her flat with its books and comfortable things that she had acquired as she rebuilt her life. That hard-won independent life would have to go, too. It was something precious to Elizabeth and she had never thought she would care enough about someone to give it up and become an appendage of another person’s life.

Elizabeth sighed. The choice was already made, but it was painful for her. The only worse pain would be to return to her job and her flat but not have Cilla.

There was a tap on the door. Elizabeth’s heart leapt. Perhaps it was Cilla.

It wasn’t. A solemn-looking but kindly man informed that ‘the GG would like to see you in her private study.”

He showed Elizabeth in and shut the door. Pat eyed her sympathetically.

“Well, Elizabeth, how are you? What have you been doing all day?”

“Oh - just wandering around. How - what -”

“Sit down with me, eh. Cuppa tea? Coffee?”

“Oh - yes, thank you.”

Pat shrugged and poured Elizabeth some tea. “Well, dear, the deed is done, eh. Your little friend is PM. I’ve just commissioned her. She’s with the two leaders now. Fixing up the new government.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe her ears. Didn’t know how to respond. Waited for Pat to say “Nah, just kidding, eh. You can go home now.”

But Pat said “I’m not kidding, Elizabeth. Cilla is PM. They accepted the scheme. No argument. I reckon they both thought it would give them a quick route to a fresh election. Well, maybe it will. Dunno. Maybe. But I saw Cilla grow into it just in that short time. I reckon” Pat’s big eyes widened “we’re on the brink of exciting times, eh.”

Elizabeth didn’t disagree. She longed to rush to Cilla and talk about it with her but realised that was no longer possible in the old free way. Other people now had an important claim on Cilla. Many people. Many claims. Elizabeth groped in her reading for a similar case.

“I feel like Falstaff,” she said.

“What’s that?” Like many successful members of the legal profession, Pat was not highly literate.

“A character in a play. He was a great mate of the young man who was to become King of England, before he became king. They used to spend many happy hours together. Any time, anywhere. Then the young man became King Henry the Fifth. The old relationship was over, forever. Falstaff had to kneel and kiss the King’s hand like other loyal subjects.”

Pat laughed her lovely girlish laugh. “It won’t be that bad, Liz. PM’s have family life too. You probably won’t see much of Cilla the next few days, but I bet she’s longing to be with you right now.” Elizabeth knew that was true. “They’ll break for lunch soon. Oh, they’ll work through lunch, and after, but I mean, Cilla will be able to take a break to see you. I’ll arrange for her to be slipped a note telling her you’re in your room and eager for news.”

Elizabeth had to wait a long time. She slept a little, then read a book. Finally the door opened and Cilla came in, looking wide-eyed and tense and slamming the door behind her.

She sat down. “Bloody hell, Lizbeth,” was all she said.

“I heard the news,” said Elizabeth.

“I’m Prime Minister.”

“I know.”

“The nation awaits me, and I’m sitting in here with you, wishing we could just be us again, scuttle off home and disappear to Geraldton. I’m scared shitless. But I’ll do it.”

“You’ll be great, darling.”
Cilla looked at her. “You seem very calm.”

“Pat told me hours ago. I’ve had time to take it all in. It’s only hard on you, darling, because what normally takes decades for a politician to achieve, if at all, has been compressed into a matter of weeks. But you’ll do great.”

Cilla shrugged. She thought of the hours of discussions that she had just finished. Yes, it had gone well, though she was feeling spent. Her heart was pounding. It was all just too quick, too sudden. Of course she had wanted to be Prime Minister eventually, like anyone who aspired to a political career, but had wanted it to happen when she was about forty after lots of preparation.

“In about half an hour I have to face the nation, speak to the media, officially announce what’s happened. That’s my job. Do you know how I want to spend that time? Or about twenty minutes of it, leaving ten for cleaning up and making myself presentable?”

Elizabeth felt that familiar delicious trembling. “Do I understand you to be suggesting that the Prime Minister should engage in Lesbian sex in the governor-general’s residence?”

“Bloody right,” said Cilla getting up and undressing quickly.

The staff member listening at the door was startled, before he had heard anything, by a tap on the shoulder.

“There’s no-one more sacked than a bloke like you sacked for snooping on official guests, eh,” whispered Pat, smiling.

***
Cilla lay with Elizabeth, sobbing quietly, for joy and sadness. Joy at the pleasure that Elizabeth always gave her, grief that she didn’t know if or when it could happen again. Elizabeth cried with her.

“We’ve got to get up, Lizbeth,” said Cilla at last. “I’ve got to get dressed, tidy up. The whole nation is going to see me in a few minutes. Lizbeth - ”

“I know, darling.”

“What do you know?”

“About your job, your little flat, arrangements. I’ll go back and make them.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Who would ask the next question? Time was running out. They looked at each other. They wanted to be with each other, no matter what.

“I’ll let my unit go, too, darling.” Elizabeth spoke impulsively. “I’ll move over here, with you. Even if I have to camp out.”

Cilla didn’t reply immediately. She was thinking this through. “If - ideally - er - I wish - I want you to live with me. Lizbeth. At last! But how to do it. I could employ you as a personal adviser or assistant, but then people would talk about taxpayer funded immorality. The whole world knows what we are to each other, though we haven’t told them, and we can’t deny it. So I could pay you out of my own pocket, which will be considerably larger. But then - ” she shook her head.

Elizabeth knew what Cilla had to do, but there was a knock on the door. “Are you in there, Prime Minister?” It was a male staffer.

“Yes,” called Cilla.

“The nation awaits you, ma’am.”

“Give me five.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

There was no more time for discussion as Cilla quickly groomed and brushed. Just a few words.

“Tell them, Cilla.”

“What?”

“King Edward the Eighth. I’m moving in with you. End of discussion.”

And so it was that when Cilla faced the cameras and microphones, and through them a startled, shocked or delighted nation, after all the questions and answers she held up her hand to say something of her own.

They hushed and listened. The nation waited, watched the beautiful little figure with the shining black hair, the now solemn face, the blue eyes enhanced by the television lights, the white upraised hand. After a long pause, when Cilla had everyone’s complete attention, she spoke gently and clearly.

“To borrow words from a former British monarch, who abdicated his office for what seemed to him adequate reasons; “‘I am unable to perform my duties, as I would wish to perform them, without the help, and support, of the woman I love.’”

The media people and the nation gasped. Cilla went on.

“Elizabeth is moving in with me at the Prime Minister’s residence. She will go where I go. I’ll pay all her expenses out of my salary. There won’t be any burden on the taxpayer. There won’t be any public indiscretions. And I won’t discuss it any further.”

Elizabeth now emerged into view. Cilla took her hand, kissed her. Elizabeth looked bemused. This wasn’t noticed by the thousands, lesbian or not, men, women and adolescents who wept at the beauty of the moment.

The media were full of it for the next few days. Letters and e-mails poured in. About love, and courage, and beauty, and overcoming adversity. About immorality in high places, the sanctity of the man-woman relationship. About Cilla’s remarks during the circus period of her campaign, America being the source of evil, the government wanting to exterminate thirty percent of the people. About the laws that should be passed, and the things that should be done now. Surprisingly few about the absurdity of the situation; an independent first-time member with no political experience becoming Prime Minister.

During these first weeks Cilla worked desperately hard. One of the most difficult tasks was to bring members of all parties, who now all comprised the government, to terms with the situation and her pre-eminence. The two Leaders had prepared the ground as well as they could but it was up to Cilla to win them over and make things work. She used her looks and charm with no stint or shame in this. They worked as well with the women as with the men.

It took a while to form the new ministry. Bargains had to be struck, promises made, personal friendships and animosities taken into account. Finally they could all troop down to Kirribilli and be sworn in.

Elizabeth was removed from all this, being back in Western Australia packing, arranging leases, resigning from her job. Her appearance at the office, somewhat late coming back from what should have been just her annual leave, was quite an event. People stared at her, some asked for her autograph. Mary, who had seen Elizabeth and Cilla together and had overheard the ‘sun, sand and sex’ remark when they were planning their leave, now understood, and blushed when she saw Elizabeth.

“Hi, Mary.”

“Oh - gosh, hi Liz. How are you - er -”

Elizabeth laughed. “How would I bloody well be? I’ve got to give up my home and my job, move away from my family, and the whole world now knows I’m queer. Love is a terrible thing, Mary.”

Mary didn’t know how to respond to this. Elizabeth continued on her way to find Barry. She didn’t really feel so negative about the change in her life. She had chosen it and knew that there was a hard price to be paid. She must just get on with it and make the best of it.

Barry looked solemn when she came into his office.

“Hello, Liz. How are you?” He had been stunned by the turn of events and didn’t know what else to say.

“Oh, great, Barry, but I have to resign, and Cilla too.”

“Cilla would need to sign her own resignation form.” Barry smiled now at the humour in this.

“The Prime Minister has given me power of attorney to sign any forms on her behalf.”
Now they both laughed.

“But you don’t need to resign, Liz. You can take leave without pay. For twelve months. The grounds are sufficient. I can swing it. If you’re not back by then you would need to resign.”

Elizabeth now looked solemn.

Barry sighed. “It’s a possible fall-back for you. If things don’t work out. No need to say any more?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Thanks, Barry.”

“Good luck to you. And Cilla. You were both good workers. I thought Cilla would climb in her career, but I didn’t foresee her getting the afterburners going. Wow!” He allowed his amazement to show.

Elizabeth frowned. “Barry, do you remember when you tried to have Cilla thrown out?”

Barry went red in the face. “I do. Every day. I was just doing what seemed best for the office at the time. That was my job. I was wrong. Cilla won that one, and she was right. I can’t undo the past, Liz. Do we have to dwell on it? Are you going to talk to the media about it? ‘Bureaucrat tries to sack future PM’.”

“No, Barry, but it’s bound to get out. I don’t feel vindictive about it and Cilla has never mentioned it since. I just wanted to discuss it briefly with you and hear you say how you felt about it. But someone will probably try to big-note themselves by talking to the media. I’m sure Cilla will help you out if that happens. She - you more than made up for it subsequently.”

“Mm. Okay. Thanks, Liz. See you in a year, or, some time. All the best.”

“Cheers, Barry.”

Elizabeth moved around the summer-soaked city during the next few days to complete the process of disconnecting her and Cilla’s old life. She was recognised by many strangers on her way. Some smiled, most looked curious. She had an uncomfortable time with her parents. They had so wanted her to have a normal life and give them grandchildren. Now the whole world knew that that was as far away as ever. But they loved her and hugged her affectionately and wished her well when she had to go.

At last there was almost nothing left to do but go back to Canberra, to who knew what kind of new life. Elizabeth ached to be with Cilla, but to be with her in the old way. She didn’t know if there would be any new way, or what it would be like.

She had put off till last, or not to be made at all, one visit. Tessa. What of red-haired Tessa? How was she feeling?

Now that the time had come to decide whether or not to visit Tessa, Elizabeth knew the decision had been made long since. She just got in her car and drove out to Mosman Park on her last afternoon, at the time when the routines of a single parent might find Tessa at home. Elizabeth didn’t have her telephone number.

She knocked on the door and heard feet approaching from within. The door opened to reveal Tessa.

The two of them stared at each other with mixed feelings for half a minute before either spoke.

“Liz,” said Tessa. “How are you? Come in.”

When they were settled with coffee and biscuits Elizabeth asked “how’s Timmy?”

“Oh, good. He’s at a birthday party, yeees, got to pick him up at seven.” It was half past four.

“How’ve you been, Tessa?”

Tessa shrugged. “Stunned. We’re all stunned. Bruce is stunned. What do you reckon? First she wins the seat, bad enough, but then they make her PM! And our glorious leader, who shafted her, smiles and nods and goes along with it. We couldn’t believe it. Then we thought, hey, she’s being set up.”

Elizabeth frowned. This honestly hadn’t occurred to her as it had to Cilla and many others more knowing of the ways of politics. “What do you mean?”

“The Prime Minister, er, the former one, and our leader are using her to get to a fresh election quicker than might have been. They can use her government as an interim period to score points and damage each other as much as possible. Then they will turn on her and collapse the Government. Fresh election. No more balance of power to Cilla. No more Cilla. Back to normal.”

Elizabeth was horrified at this scenario that sounded like a zoo full of wild animals. She was about to respond angrily but Tessa held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Liz, I’m not trying to be nasty. I wish dear Cilla well, of course I do, I love her. That’s the way I see the situation, that’s all.”

“But, Tessa, the plan was suggested by the GG. She wasn’t trying to set Cilla up. She wanted - she thought Cilla was great and would be good for the country. She acted from high ideals. I’m sure.”

Tessa laughed. “Fat Pat? Yeah, I’m sure she had high ideals. ‘Course she did. But why would they accept the plan so readily? Weren’t you all surprised?”

“Well, yes.” Elizabeth didn’t respond to ‘Fat Pat’ as she hadn’t to ‘I love Cilla’. But Tessa was unsettling her.

“There you are. Look, Liz, I believe Cilla could be great too, lead this country into the light. But I doubt that’s the agenda of any member of her government. They just want to lead it. She‘s going to need a lot of support. Emotional, I mean. It’s going to get rough.”

They were silent for a while. “Well, that’s my job, I guess.”

“You don’t seem over the moon at the prospect of it.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I just - wish it were like it used to be. Just me and Cilla, and the office, and - just us.”

She looked as though she were about to cry. Tessa stood up.

“Liz, it’s five, I have to pick up Timmy at seven. Have you got to rush off anywhere?”
Elizabeth looked up and shook her head.

“Come to bed, Liz.”

Elizabeth just sat there, startled.

Tessa went over and stroked her hair, then bent down and kissed her fully on the mouth. The kiss was not resisted. But Elizabeth still didn’t get up.

“Come to bed with me, Liz,” Tessa insisted, more huskily. At last Elizabeth rose, feeling light-headed and trembling, and they went to Tessa’s little room.

***

An hour and a half later Elizabeth lay beside a dozing Tessa, feeling sweet and at peace. Tessa had kissed her long and lovingly, whispering love. Caressed and kissed her from head to toe. Then she had given Elizabeth the loving that Cilla rarely did. It had never been like this with the teacher, nor with Cilla.

Reluctantly she checked the time and gently shook Tessa. “It’s after half past six, Tess. You said you had to pick Timmy up.”

Tessa swore and jumped out of bed. “I have to be actually there at seven. Better get cleaned up. I mean, I don’t want to, but I’d better. Do you want a shower, Liz?”

Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. “I don’t have to be presentable for anyone. I just have to get on the ‘plane.”

Tessa ran into her bathroom for a few minutes then came back to the bedroom. She sat at her dressing table grooming herself and looking at Elizabeth who was slowly getting dressed.

Elizabeth gazed back at Tessa. Neither of them spoke for a while.

“Well,” Elizabeth sighed at last. “That was a surprise.”

“A nice one, hopefully.”

“Yeah.” Another pause. “I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I sort of feel - warm towards you. I - feel like staying. Not flying off into the night.”

Tessa came over and put her arm around Elizabeth. “What about Cilla? You’re flying off to be with her.”

“Cilla. I ache to be with Cilla. I’m unhappy all the time we’re apart. But can I be with her now, and how, and when? And - and -”

“What, Liz?”

“I love her so much - have you heard that old song from the 80's? ‘My love for you is so overpowering I feel that I might disappear.’ I want to be her. I mean - sometimes I wish I could just have a normal love, not so overwhelming.”

“I know what you mean. I think we’ve had a conversation like this before, Liz.”

“Mm.”

“Do you remember that night at your place, when I decided to withdraw, and you took me home? And we stopped to make love?”

“Of course.”

“I needed to get away from Cilla. I love her too. Adore her. But it’s the same. Too much for me. And it was worse, because I couldn’t have her. You have her. Well, I had been with her, but it was wrong. You could have hated me for that. Anyway. Point is. I was afraid to love someone that much. When we stopped on the way home and made love, it was so comforting. Made all the difference. Times when I feel down, I remember that night in the car. I remember your soft hair and skin and the way you smell. Cheers me up.”

“Really?”

“So just now, before, my comforting memory was there in the flesh in my lounge room, the hair, the skin, the sweet face, the smell. And we were alone, and had a couple of hours to kill. And I might never see you again, or not for years. So I just had to get you into my bed and kiss you, and love you, and get my fill of you, my fill for a lifetime.”

“It needn’t be a lifetime.” Elizabeth’s voice shook. She was deeply moved.

“No?”

“I’ll be back often, to see my family and friends and manage the property Cilla’s renting.”

“And see me too?”

“Of course.”

“And make love?”

“If you want to.”

“Liz, I just want to say this, and you don’t have to respond. In fact I’ve really gotta go. But Liz, if you know, your new life doesn’t work out, and you’re hurting, come back to me. Live with me and be an Auntie for Timmy. Yeah, I was looking for a bloke and re-marrying and having more kids, but, wow, no man has ever, could ever, please me like you do, Liz. Okay? No, no comment required. Just keep it in mind.” They were heading for the door now. Just before they stepped out Tessa pulled Elizabeth back in and gave her a very deep, long kiss. “Write me, Liz. Email me. I can get it at work. ‘Phone me.”

“Yes, sure, Tessa.”

“Love you. Bye!” They parted rather abruptly, Tessa anxious about being late for Timmy. Elizabeth watched her drive away then got into her car and drove slowly off. She had to stop in a quiet street to take deep breaths and sob a little too, whether from joy or sadness she didn’t know. Then she drove away to her new life.

***

The taxi driver turned around and gave a knowing smile when Elizabeth told him “The Lodge, you know, the Pr-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Sit back and enjoy.”

As Elizabeth walked up to the entrance she wondered if she should have some sort of pass or electronic device. But there was no problem.

“The PM is expecting you, Elizabeth. She’s not here just now. Rarely is. But your room’s ready.” My room? Oh well. “You’ll want to rest and brush up, I expect, after your journey. The PM left a note for you, and a package.”

When alone, Elizabeth opened the ‘note’ which was quite a long letter. “Lizbeth, thank God you’re coming back. I need you. I want your advice. Apart from the obvious needs! I hope you like your room. Never mind about the separate sleeping arrangements, we’ll discuss that later. Just for the look of things.” Cilla went on at length about what had been happening, then concluded “have a look at this stuff and tell me what you think. I’ll be back about seven, we’ll dine together, definitely have the evening to ourselves. No calls unless war breaks out or someone important dies. Love and kisses, your Cilla.”

Elizabeth hoped this note, though sealed, hadn’t been steamed open and leaked to the media. She hated to destroy anything of Cilla’s but she had to destroy this, not leave it anywhere. She read it again to get the story then tore it up and put it down the toilet.

Then she looked at the ‘stuff’. It was a lot of papers telling Cilla to do this and that, briefing her on myriad details of myriad matters, whining about other politicians. Elizabeth wondered if she ought to be privy to this but pressed on until she had scanned the whole thing. This took a few hours and she was tired, but she had to get the picture.

At last she lay down for a sleep, setting her alarm for two hours thence.

Elizabeth was awake, showered and groomed at a quarter to seven. She trembled slightly as she waited for Cilla. It had been their longest separation since Cilla had come to the office.

Seven o’clock came and went. The staff went quietly about their routine. Elizabeth paced about, tried to read, waited. Finally at eight the telephone rang. Elizabeth heard a brief conversation then orders being given and the pace of the bustling increasing.

“Madam?” He was addressing her! “The PM will be here about half past. We’ll put dinner on then. Would you like a sherry?”

Elizabeth sat with her sherry, waiting. At last there was a commotion as the Prime minister came through the door. The two young women just stood and looked at each other. Then Cilla gave the orders for dinner to be served in her private quarters.

At last, after their meal and the dismissal of the staff, Cilla asked Elizabeth waht she had though of the pile of ‘stuff’ she had left her to read. Elizabeth got straight to the point.

“They’re trying to snow you under. All this stuff. You have an army of public servants. Delegate. Redirect. Look, I can take on several of these tasks. Though I’ve no official position. I don’t know if I would be allowed.”

Cilla frowned. “I’d like nothing better, I’ve worked with you, I know what you can do. I’m just afraid of media bullshit about rorts.”

“Don’t be. You can appoint anyone you like, so long as they’re capable and qualified. You’re expected to prefer people to whom you’re close personally. If I don’t shape up, of course, you can, must, sack me. I won’t take it personally.”

Cilla brightened. “Good. I’ll do it.”

“Your job, excuse me, telling you your job -”

“That’s your job!” Cilla laughed.

“- is to lead, to preside, to sell, to communicate, to inspire, to shape the broad vision and define the long goal. Not to get involved in the details. I’m sure you know that, dar - Cilla.”

Cilla laughed again. “You can call me darling here.”
“Aren’t there microphones?”

“Better not be! No, Lizbeth, this part of the house is as private as any private house.” Cilla looked meaningfully at Elizabeth. “For private things. Which I’ve greatly missed.”

Elizabeth suddenly felt faint with desire and couldn’t think about papers or other dry things.

Much later the two young women lay contentedly in the quiet room.

“Don’t they bug you all the time, with something or other?”

“They’d like to. They used to. Like the bugging you see in those papers. But I’ve drawn a firm line around this room and this time. Only to be crossed under certain very important and specific circumstances.”

“That’s what you need to do in your job generally. Draw lines everywhere between what you need to worry about and what you don’t. What you need to do and what someone else can do.”

“Yep. I agree. I have to build a defensive position, make it stronger and expand it, then start to break out here and there and win more ground.”

Elizabeth was interested in this military imagery. “Defense against what?”

“I’m under siege here, Lizbeth. The two leaders agreed so easily, I think, with Pat’s scheme, because they saw it as a way of getting a new election and winning power. Each of them did, for himself. So they want to make everything unworkable and bring it all down in a year or less, with as much blame as possible attaching to the other mob.”

“That’s just what they think, over in the west.”

“Who?” Cilla saw a way into a question that she wanted to ask.

“Bruce, and them.”

“Tessa?”

Elizabeth blushed, and hesitated. Cilla didn’t miss this and got annoyed.

“Bloody hell, Lizbeth, are we close or what? Don’t ever react that way to me.”

“Sorry darling. Yes, Tessa.”

“You went to see her?”

“Yes.”

“You went to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Was it good?”

Elizabeth hesitated again, remembering how wonderful it had been for both of them, remembering that quiet little flat on that sweet evening, so different from this big scary house and Cilla grown so tense. “Yes,” she finally said.

“Well, then. Sorry, Lizbeth. I shouldn’t have asked if it was good. None of my business. The whole thing’s none of my business. I just, was wondering, you know, now it’s out of the way.”

There was a long uncomfortable silence. They were both thinking that Cilla shouldn’t have asked that last question. Cilla sighed and raised her hands, then let them fall. Finally she said, softly, almost timidly. “Forgive me, Lizbeth darling. Can we rewind the tape? To before I asked any of that?”

Elizabeth took Cilla in her arms but didn’t speak. Cilla went on.
“I’m a bit lost here, Lizbeth. Before, I was alone, but I was in control of my quiet little life. Now I’m tossed about on this huge sea. I’ve been desperate for you to come to me. I’m not jealous of Tessa, it’s not that, I’m insecure, that’s all. You got me where I am, and I can’t stay here without you. I’m sorry to burden you with that but it’s the way things are. Facts are facts.”

“How did I get you where you are? You did that yourself.”

“Yeah? Where did I get the strength? The inspiration? The support? All from you. The first person who’s loved me. The first person I’ve loved.”
After another pause Cilla said “I should think you’d be much happier back in Perth with Tessa. Your old job. A quiet life. Sweet loving with Tessa. Outings with Timmy. This is a terrible place. Not a single one of the people I’ve worked with wishes me well.”

Elizabeth dodged the fact that Cilla had read her inner feelings too truly and just said “I’m sure they don’t wish you ill.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Your welfare or otherwise is irrelevant. You are just a means to an end. Each party wants to get the edge and get a new election to break the deadlock. Why do you think the two leaders accepted Pat’s wild scheme so readily?”

“Mm. I wondered at the time, but I figured it out.”

“So, you have to turn it around. You are there because the people want you. It was their love that got you elected to Curtin, their love that made this idea broadly accepted though surprising. You’ve got something to give the country. This is your destiny.”

“Is this your vision that you had for me that day in the office? That time we sneaked up to a vacant office on the tenth floor for a quiet chat?”

“Yes. It’s come true. So far. You have to take it all the way.”

“Why?”

“Well! You’re here, aren’t you? In the Lodge. What do you want to do? What’s your idea?”

“Mm.”

“You have to create a strategy of defence. Right now the enemy, if you accept that way of putting it, are stronger than you. There’s more of them and they know the ground. You have to bunker in, hard and fast, hold your position. Take all the bombs and shells but hold fast. Don’t come out on the field of battle where they’ve got you. Then when you can pick the moment that they’ve failed, they fall back and you come rumbling out of the bunker with an offensive of your own. That’s the attack strategy. You push your ideas, get the people with you and try to get things done that you want.”

Cilla thought, wide-eyed, for a minute. “Thank God you’re here, Lizbeth.”

It was time to get some rest and start the new strategy in the morning. There was a need to sort out the sleeping arrangements. Elizabeth had her own room but there was an easy track between hers and Cilla’s. Both had a big double bed and an ensuite.

After a suitable interval, Elizabeth found her way into Cilla’s bed and they fell fast asleep, happy in each other’s arms, able to pretend they were in one of their peaceful flats back in Perth in the old days, not here in the seat of the nation’s government with politicians and media plotting ways of getting at Cilla in the day to come.

They awoke in the pale pre-dawn. It was nearly time that Elizabeth should creep back to her own room. But Cilla asked “Does Tessa feel as good as me, Lizbeth? Do her thighs feel as good as mine? Do you kiss them? Do you give her what you give me?”

Elizabeth was dismayed by this. “Cilla, in a couple of hours the ‘phone will be hot with people asking you, questions, about quite different matters. Do we want to get into this?”

“I’m not getting at you, Lizbeth, I’m just excited by asking these questions, and want to be even more excited by your answers. Aren’t you excited?”

Elizabeth was. She relaxed and began to whisper the answers in Cilla’s ear as they moved together.

There was no time for another sleep together after their sweet exertions. Elizabeth had to get quickly back to her own room before the house began to stir. Cilla’s day more often than not began early with calls from the ABC AM programme, wanting her comments on some issue. Then she had to get fed, washed and groomed to meet people, work on papers, get to her office.

Elizabeth resisted the temptation to get more sleep in her own quiet room. She was ready for the day when Cilla was and they broke their fast together. They quietly returned to the discussion of the night before. They went through the papers Elizabeth had had to read while waiting for Cilla yesterday and Elizabeth placed most of them on a pile ‘delegate’ and several more on a pile ‘pass on with notes. That did not leave much for Cilla to work on directly. She instructed Elizabeth to whom the ‘delegate’ pile should go. Elizabeth would learn this quickly and be able to intercept and pass on documents without Cilla even having to see them.

At the first media conference for the day, the question came.

“Cilla,” the media and her colleagues had already fallen into the way of using her first name, inappropriate though it had seemed at first. It now came as naturally as ‘Sir’ or “Prime Minister’ had with previous incumbents. There was no loss of respect because the respect didn’t yet exist. Cilla’s Prime ministership still seemed like an interim period, a bizarre but temporary, and to many rather pleasant, solution to the deadlock produced by the election.

“Cilla, is Elizabeth going to have an official position on your staff?”

“Of course. She has experience in government work, not at a high level, but she was always efficient and quick and should adapt successfully to a higher level. And it makes sense for me to appoint a person I’m personally, er, comfortable with, to a position whose duties require long hours of work and consultation with me.” As she said ‘comfortable’ Cilla’s expression fleetingly betrayed the private dimensions of this comfort. The nation watching on their television news that night didn’t miss it. It added to the piquancy of this strange period in the nation’s history.

“Will she be paid out of your own pocket?”

“No, of course not. Her salary will come from the same source as that of any government employee.”

“Won’t that seem like corruption? To expect the taxpayer tp fork out to support your close personal companion?”

This was nasty and some people gasped, but Cilla didn’t mind. She had been expecting this and was glad of the chance to deal with it now instead of having it whispered everywhere and chuntered forth in newspaper columns.

“The taxpayer will be paying for a person helping me do my job better. If she doesn’t earn her pay, if people judge that she isn’t doing her job, then I’ll fire her. I’ve told her that. She asked me to sack her if she doesn’t come up to scratch. I’m entitled to at least one close personal adviser. My good ministerial colleague, the former Prime Minister, had about six people milling about the Lodge at all hours, all getting paid twice what Elizabeth will be starting at. I never heard a peep from any of you about that.” She tossed her black curls and smirked at them. They shivered with delight. God, press conferences had improved.

On with the day. For the first time at a cabinet meeting Cilla had Elizabeth close behind her. Elizabeth was at first awed and thrilled to be at this meeting with all these faces familiar from the news, then she concentrated on her job. The situation was as she had expected. They were trying to bury Cilla under details and paperwork. More bundles of paper came at her, but now she was able to pass them to Elizabeth who sorted through them and placed nearly all of them on a separate pile that she would re-direct later. The few that she judged Cilla should personally bother with were placed in a slim folder for her.

Ministers droned stuff at Cilla as before but now she was able with confidence to say to them “You’re the Minister responsible, you sort it”.

After nearly an hour of this they stopped. Cilla had withstood the bombardment and there was no point in firing any more. It hadn’t worked, and it wasn’t working. Now was her chance.

“It’s time to start a legislative programme to address the needs of the people, fix things that are wrong with this country. We must start by re-regulating the banks.”

They gasped. This was heresy. Re-regulate the banks? Re-regulate anything?

Cilla continued. “The banks compete for shareholders, not for customers. It’s not the same thing. They have to maximise profit, any way they can. Cut staff. Pay almost no interest on accounts. Extort a plethora of fees for everything. People have no choice these days, but to have a bank account. So you whack fees out of their accounts all the time. Stealing from captive customers? Of course you make a big profit. How hard is that?”

Many of her listeners agreed with her but they couldn’t see how any re-regulation was feasible. And she was expressing herself like a shrill anarchist at a street demonstration. This had to be contained. It wasn’t time to have another election. She couldn’t be brought down for a while yet. She just had to be slowed down.

After the meeting Cilla asked Elizabeth ‘How do you think it went?”

Elizabeth said “You scared them. It was like a student demo meeting.”

Cilla frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The way you put it. I think you should use more stilted, you know, officialese, if you want to sell the idea to the parliament, to the banks themselves and the powerful people in the country. Same ideas, different way of putting it.”

Cilla realised that Elizabeth wasn’t just her friend now, but her paid adviser, and honest criticism was part of that. She swallowed her discomfiture and said “fair enough.”

“However,” Elizabeth went on, “having said that, the way you put it would be good for getting the people on side. What I’m saying is, dearest, shape your words to suit the audience. And choose your mouthpiece to suit, as well. There are situations a Prime minister can’t be in, and things she can’t say, or ways in which she can’t say them. You need someone to go out into the community to promote your ideas in the appropriate way.”

“Should I retract, say at the next cabinet meeting, it’s OK fellers, I didn’t really mean it, I was just trying out the idea?”

“No, no, that would be worse than useless. You’ve stuck your neck out now, you have to hold that position. You would fatally undermine yourself if you backtracked now.”

Cilla looked forlorn and lost for a moment. Elizabeth looked at her and said, “look, Cilla, darling, Prime Minister, I can’t be in your head controlling your tongue all the time. You have to show that judgment and good sense that’s carried you this far. Somewhat lacking at this meeting just gone.”

Cilla blushed. Elizabeth was right, but it hurt.

“We haven’t been apart for such a long time until these last weeks, Lizbeth. I’m not making excuses, I’m just explaining. Your return, and our lovemaking, such a relief and a joy. Caused me to lose my grip a little.”

Elizabeth wanted to take Cilla in her arms but they were being watched with interest by many, wondering what they were saying to each other and looking for indiscretions. Elizabeth just kept her hands folded in front of her and looked gravely at Cilla as she replied “I couldn’t do the half of what you are, Cilla, and I couldn’t have got where you have. It’s easy for me to nitpick from the sidelines. That’s my job. It takes an inferior vessel to watch the almost perfect one for flaws.”

Now Cilla moved as though to embrace Elizabeth, who quickly said “better not” and moved back. Cilla stopped at once, but no-one around them failed to notice the little advance-and-retreat movement by the two girls.

They went on through Cilla’s day. Elizabeth organised her through the work which she had judged was proper for the Prime minister’s attention. Besides that there was a lunch, meetings with a couple of delegations, an opening.

Finally at mid-evening the two of them could go off duty and retreat to the Lodge.

“What a day”, sighed Elizabeth.

Cilla was looking pale but alert. “Did you enjoy it?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Should I?”

“Of course. Long hectic hours, but important work. And you did well. Made such a difference. This is the first day I can say that I have enjoyed.”

“Really?”

“Mm. After I had been commissioned and left Pat’s, I mean Yarralumla, and moved in here and started work, they started on me. I’ve been getting more and more lost and uncomfortable. But now I feel focussed, on top, having a good time.”
Elizabeth noticed that Cilla was trembling slightly.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh - a bit tired. The days are long and relentless.”

“Have you had a doctor look at you lately?”

“Haven’t been to a doctor for years, Lizbeth. Haven’t been sick.”

“Mm. My advice, Prime Minister, my love, is to have a check-up. It’s your duty, in your job, to have a regular check-up.”

“Oh - all right. Can you make the appointment? How does a PM go to the doctor? Do I just front up at the surgery and read back copies of ‘Vogue’ with everyone else?”

“I’ll see if I can get one to do a home visit. Shouldn’t be hard.”

“Let’s eat now, and talk.”

During dinner Elizabeth asked “when are you going to recall parliament?”

“That’s an interesting point. It’s not a normal situation. Are we all on the same side? Or will party discipline apply? Will there be free votes? Will my job be on the line every day? They could pass a motion of no confidence and bring me down, any time. What’s your advice, dear adviser?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m not a seasoned expert in such things, but I’m a quick learner, and I have anticipated this question and read up on it. You will have to recall parliament. It can’t be avoided. But put it off as long as possible, to allow you to prepare for it. You will have to develop as many strong friends as possible among other members. A sort of loyal faction within the parliament. Cilla’s people. They will propose legislation or introduce ideas that you in your position cannot, in a form that you cannot. They will use procedure to protect you against being brought down. Which, by the way, is unlikely, in my opinion. If there were a motion of no confidence that had no other basis than the desire to get a new election, then the party that proposed it would vote for it and the other people, thinking that party would gain, would oppose it. So you would have the casting vote. There is always going to be one vote short anyway, because a Speaker will need to be elected.”

“How would I make all these loyal friends in a short time?”

“You can do anything you want. Just focus, give this priority. You don’t have to worry about administrative details now, I’ll see to that. Just preside, be an image for the country, talk to people and build this power base. And use every resource available to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are attractive to both sexes. Not just to a real dyke like me, but look at Tessa. Seasoned heterosexual mum Tessa, had a man between her thighs and enjoyed it.” There was a short pause as they both thought of Tessa’a thighs. Then Cilla widened her eyes at the implications of what Elizabeth was suggesting.

“Lizbeth, are we having this conversation? The Prime Minister is to seduce as many members of parliament as possible in order to secure her position?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Not exactly. Just charm them. Make them love you. You don’t need the whole parliament, or even half, just enough to vote in a solid bloc for you and prevent any motion of no confidence from succeeding.”

“But what about my policies? My qualities as a person? My fitness for the job?”

“If you make them delighted just to have you in the same room, you’ll always seem fit for the job even if you aren’t. I’m not saying you aren’t, darling, but how do you think you got where you are? How do you think the people accepted the GG’s outrageous idea of making you PM? Why do you think you’ve survived this long? Because you bewitched everyone. The electors of Curtin, then the nation, then political leaders who previously considered you a circus. That is your power. Use it. You can survive and do some good.”