The Crunch Campaign (14 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The tree office hummed with a quiet energy, punctuated by the tapping of keyboards and the soft squeak of markers on paper. Within half an hour, Dominic had a Facebook page set up for Carers Concerned About Strawberry Slips. There were a few photos of kids' knees with band-aids across them as well as Clementine's logo – a strawberry with red circled around it and diagonally across.

‘It's a bit boring, I know,' Clementine explained apologetically, ‘but it has to look a bit amateurish, okay? Like an uptight parent designed it using WordArt.'

‘Good thinking,' said Katie. It was all coming together. She still wasn't confident, there was no ad to show, but the idea that bans don't work was clear enough. And, besides, Clara Whiting had asked to see her, so they had to be in with a chance. Prime ministers were busy people. They didn't waste their time seeing kids if they didn't have to, did they?

At two, the phone rang. The camera crew was at the front door of the house, so Katie went to let them in. The interview would probably be best in the lounge room. As the lighting guy set up, she went to tell Lorraine to get a move on. She could hear someone on the stairs. She looked out and thought it was a producer from the network. But it was Nancy! With her hair combed and pulled loosely into an elegant roll! And instead of her baggy dress she was wearing jeans, a white shirt, and the most subdued of all Lorraine's coats. It was made of a lightweight powdery green fabric – it looked too light to be a raincoat. There were chunky silver beads around her neck, strappy sandals on her feet and nail polish on her toes.

‘Don't stare,' said Nancy. ‘It's rude.'

‘You look great,' Katie stammered.

‘I look different, that's all. “Great” is a relative term.'

Katie knew not to say anything else. Georgie came up the stairs behind Nancy, holding Lorraine's hand. She was wearing the same shorts and t-shirt, but Lorraine had brushed her hair into high pigtails and tied them with green bows.

The crew had set up a monitor so Nancy and Georgie could see Rejani at her ‘First Thing' desk. Katie, Lorraine, Clementine, Joel and Dominic watched from the doorway.

The interview was over and the production guys started packing up the lights. Rejani tilted her head towards Nancy. ‘Tell me, where did you get that coat?'

‘She designed it.' Nancy pointed at Lorraine.

‘It's called LoRRAINWEAR. It's a raincoat.'

‘It's gorgeous.'

‘You know what they say? With LoRRAINWEAR, getting wet never looked so good!'

Katie cringed. Lorraine could be so embarrassing.

‘That's brilliant. I love it. Can you send me one? I promise I'll wear it next time there's a flood.'

Lorraine beamed. Rejani wearing one of her coats was the best ad she could hope for. Now she just had to pray for rain.

Nancy pulled the coat off as soon as Rejani and the crew had left. ‘Well, I'm glad that's done,' she said. ‘I've never spun such a load of codswallop in my life. And I've been in advertising thirty years, so that's saying something.'

‘You were brilliant,' said Dominic. ‘This will be all over the media tomorrow.'

‘Yes, well. Now it's done and I want to get out of this.' She lifted the corners of the top she was wearing with her fingertips, as if it was a snotty tissue she'd picked up off the floor.

‘But you looked fantastic,' said Lorraine. ‘You can keep the top and the jeans – Mum never wears them anymore. They're last season's but they're Country Road.'

‘What makes you think I want to wear your mother's hand-me-downs?' Nancy shuddered and took the green bag containing her own dress and clogs to her room to change.

‘Didn't she look lovely?' Lorraine whispered to Katie. ‘You never know. Amos Gumm might see it and realise what he's missing. She's so sad. They need to get back together.'

Katie stared at her friend. Nancy's happiness was the last thing on her mind.

At five, they walked to the bus stop and dropped Georgie at her granny's house on the way.

Saying goodbye, Katie felt an urge to hug Georgie. It was weird – she'd always thought Lorraine was the closest she'd come to having a sister, but maybe this was closer. Embarrassingly, tears came to Katie's eyes, but she blinked them away.

‘Your shoelace is undone – you'll fall flat on your face. Here, let me do it for you.'

Government House was not too far from Dover Street. They could have walked in under an hour, but the afternoon was hot and it was getting late. There was a fish and chip place in a strip of shops nearby. The others would wait there for Katie. Nancy had decided to stay at home.

There was so much traffic on the road and the bus took forever. Katie wondered if they should have walked after all. She had to run up the hill to Government House to make it by six. It was just on sunset as she arrived at the gatehouse. There were six guards – for a second she was surprised. Every time she'd passed in her mum's car, there had only been one. Of course, she remembered. The prime minister was inside the big white house. The actual prime minister. She suddenly felt sick. She hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours and she'd hardly eaten. What was she doing here? For a moment, she stared down the hill and thought about going back to the fish and chip shop to join her friends. The thought of a potato scallop made her mouth water. It would be easy, she reasoned, to wait half an hour around the corner, then just say she'd presented the idea and that the prime minister said she would think about it. No one would know it was a lie. That was the likeliest scenario anyway. Then she remembered Rejani Reed's interview with Nancy and Georgie. It was too late to get cold feet. Whether the prime minister agreed or not, the bans-don't-work message would be out there tomorrow, and Katie had a feeling it would spread. She slapped a palm against her forehead. What had she started?

‘Excuse me?' Her silent panic was interrupted by a guard. ‘Can I help you?' His tone was kind and Katie realised she looked either lost or not quite right in the head.

‘Ah, well, I have a meeting with the prime minister.'

‘Katie Crisp? From Mosquito Advertising?' Another guard walked towards her with a clipboard. Katie nodded.

‘You're expected. Mark will walk you up.'

‘Thank you.'

She guessed that few visitors arrived at Government House on foot, because the guard called Mark seemed surprised and annoyed when he was told he had to walk the 200 metres to the front steps. White and square, the governor of Queensland's home was surrounded by emerald green lawns. Maybe they were specially exempt from the watering restrictions.

The house was lit up as if for a party, and it looked beautiful against the purpling sky. Katie swallowed hard and breathed deeply. There was nothing to lose, she told herself, but she knew that wasn't true. Getting the prime minister on their side was the only way to make sure the advertising ban didn't happen. Rejani's interview could start the ball rolling – get people talking – but that wasn't the law.

‘Katie Crisp?' A man walked briskly towards her. He was wearing a dark grey suit and had a head that seemed too big for his thin body. He reminded Katie of a Chupa Chup. And he looked familiar.

‘Yes.' She knew that she should act maturely, step forward and shake his hand, but she was rooted to the carpet.

‘I'm terribly sorry, but the prime minister won't be able to meet with you. She's upstairs on a conference call with the foreign minister. It could go for hours. The trouble in Indonesia, you know.'

‘Yes, of course. Indonesia,' said Katie. She had no idea what he was talking about, but her body flooded with relief. ‘Never mind,' she said, ‘it wasn't that important.'

‘The prime minister believes the childhood obesity crisis is very important.' The man adjusted his glasses. ‘She has asked that I hear your proposal. In fact, she was insistent.'

Katie stared at him, then she realised – he was Tony Cutler, the health minister. She wasn't off the hook, after all.

‘Please, come with me.'

Tony Cutler led her to a fancy, old fashioned lounge opening onto a dining room, where staff buzzed about, setting the longest table Katie had ever seen.

‘Sit down.' Tony Cutler waved a hand towards a green velvet sofa. Katie slipped her schoolbag off her back and sat down. He took a chair opposite her. ‘Can I organise some water for you?'

‘Uh, no.' Katie unzipped her bag and took out two bottles of Parfitt's Product Xmas. She put them on the little table between them.

‘What is that?' He recoiled as if she'd offered him turpentine.

‘It's Parfitt's special Christmas drink,' she said. ‘I promised the prime minister I'd bring some – it's a present. If you don't want to drink it, you could give it to her.'

‘I was under the impression you had a solution to the childhood obesity crisis.' Tony Cutler crossed his legs and leant back, with his hands behind his head. ‘But it seems you are just here to promote this poison. I realise you're just a child, but surely you know the prime minister wouldn't change her mind because a schoolgirl had given her a fizzy drink.'

Katie stared at the bottles. They were still cold from the fridge at home and they had started to sweat onto the table.

‘For heaven's sake,' he snapped. ‘That table is an antique.'

Katie fumbled in her pocket for a tissue and put it under the bottle, but there was already a white ring on the reddish-brown wood. ‘I'm sorry,' she said quickly, wishing she could disappear. But she was here, he was the health minister, so she took a deep breath and told him their alternative to the ad ban. It came out as the ramblings of a thirteen-year-old.

Tony Cutler stared at her as she clumsily told him their idea to cut the ad budgets of junk food companies and give the money to fresh food growers, but he seemed more confused than interested. By the time she got to the strawberry ban, he was checking his smartphone.

‘In the end, I just don't think bans work and all the ad ban will mean is that little companies like Parfitt's will be out of business and big companies like MyFries will find sneakier ways to push their products. Our idea gives the fresh food companies a fighting chance.' She'd run out of steam. Tony Cutler wasn't interested in a single word she was saying.

‘Do you think I'm a fool, Ms Crisp?' He smoothed his tie.

‘No.' Katie was shocked. She might not have made much sense, but she didn't think she had treated the minister like a fool.

‘I see what you're up to.' He leant forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his knees and put his hands together, as if he was praying. ‘You run an advertising agency and not a significant one. If we were to put your plan into place, no doubt you'd be asking to handle the advertising for the fresh food growers, am I right?'

‘Well, we'd love to give it a go –'

‘I thought so. You advertising people are all the same. It's only about money.'

‘No! Not us, we hardly make any money –'

‘All the more reason for you to try whatever you can do to get more. That's why my ad ban is the only way. There is widespread support for it.'

‘But it won't work. Advertising does work – we just need to have more ads for good food, and better ads.'

‘Maybe, but that is a big risk, and this government doesn't have time for risks. This is the policy that will shore up our position and get us re-elected.'

‘That's what this is about, isn't it? You don't really care about what will work. It's all about being popular for the next few months.'

Tony Cutler raised an eyebrow. ‘You're in advertising, aren't you? You know that perception is reality. As long as people think something is happening, it doesn't much matter whether it is, or not.'

The staff in the dining room were lighting candles.

‘Well, I think this meeting is over.' The minister stood up. ‘Is your mother waiting for you?'

‘No.' Katie felt dazed. ‘I caught the bus.'

He made a little sound like
tssss
.

‘What?'

‘Someone your age roaming the streets after dark. That's another issue this government needs to address – juvenile delinquency.'

Katie picked up her bag. ‘The thing is, Mr Cutler, bans don't work and tomorrow morning, you'll find out why.'

He laughed without uttering a sound. ‘Oh, that silly strawberry ban thing? My sources send me the running sheet for all the news and current affairs programs in the country. Rejani Reed knows better than to go with that interview if she ever wants to talk to a minister again.

Trudging down the hill under the streetlights, Katie felt angry, then relieved. Or maybe she was just tired; anger took too much energy. When she got to the fish and chip shop, the others leapt off their plastic seats.

‘What happened?' asked Dominic.

‘Did she get the idea of the levy?' said Clementine.

‘What did she say about the strawberry ban?' Joel said. ‘Did she see that bans won't work?'

‘What was she wearing?' Lorraine, of course.

‘I don't know.' Katie sat down. ‘I didn't see her. She was on a conference call somewhere else in the building – some crisis in Indonesia. I saw Tony Cutler, the health minister. And he was a pig. He couldn't have been less interested. The whole thing's been a waste of time. This ad ban is his baby and he's not going to let it go.'

‘You're kidding,' said Dominic. ‘That's it?'

‘That's it. He treated me like a naughty kid. It wouldn't have mattered what I said or how I said it.'

‘But that's so unfair.' Clementine shook her head. ‘We're citizens too, aren't we? Free speech and all that?'

‘Free speech doesn't mean anything if you don't vote, so we're a few years away from being listened to by Tony Cutler.' Joel tried to sound like he didn't care, but his words caught in his throat.