Part 26 (2/2)

'The Immigration office at Melbourne Airport with a long-socked man called Bruce and my lawyer.'

'I'm on my way.'

He wasn't angry per se, just a bit stressed, when he arrived. He looked different in jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt: better somehow. 'Are you okay?' He grabbed my shoulders.

'I'm fine.' I couldn't look him in the eye, so I focused on his chest. His T-s.h.i.+rt had a tiny label st.i.tched into it. Huge Boss. 'You must regret hiring me sometimes. I'm more trouble than I'm worth.'

'I'm told we got the last three weeks of you for free, so we're about even.'

My head hung.

He squeezed my shoulders tighter. 'I'm kidding, Roo. I can't believe I almost lost...Deborah Lewellyn?'

'Little Lukey Harley,' roared Debs and slapped him on the back.

'Are you doing immigration law now, you big softy?'

'Not a chance, mate. Feet still firmly in the commercial camp. Just helping out my partner's niece.'

Bruce tapped his foot. 'I take it you propose to employ this woman, Lukey?'

'Sorry, yes, Luke Harley's my name-I'm the Chief of Staff to the Leader of the Opposition.' He handed over a card. 'I'm sorry for the confusion here, officer. We were under the impression that Miss Stanhope had all her paperwork in order. We appreciate your vigilance.'

Bruce's chest puffed visibly when Luke addressed him by his t.i.tle. 'Just doing my job,' he said. 'And are you in a position to sponsor Miss Stanhope's working visa, which ent.i.tles her to work in your employ for a maximum of twelve months in this country?'

'Yes,' said Luke, looking at me, 'I am.'

'Well, he's not in a position to sponsor her,' corrected Debs. 'His office is.'

'That's what I meant,' said Luke.

'In that case,' sighed Bruce, licking his index finger to turn the page of a form, 'this is slightly unorthodox but just sign here to say so and I will release Miss Stanhope.'

I embraced Luke. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.'

'It's my pleasure.'

'Miss Stanhope, I need you to go directly to the Immigration Department in the city and fill out some paperwork. You are not ent.i.tled to do anything other than voluntary work until you have your working visa. Am I clear?'

'Understood. Thank you, Officer Bruce.'

Debs picked up her briefcase. 'Right, I'm off. Can you find the Immigration Department without getting detained by other authorities along the way?'

'I'll take her,' said Luke. 'I've got my car here.'

'It's fine,' I said. 'I can take a taxi.'

'Come with me, Roo.'

'Yes, boss.'

Later at the department it became clear that Bruce's socks were standard issue for gentleman bureaucrats. I took a number: 483F to be precise.

'You can go now,' I said to Luke. 'It'll be a long afternoon.'

'Shut up and fill in those forms.' Luke took phone calls from his lime-green plastic chair in the waiting room while I had a 47-minute discussion with Barry about my eligibility for an F78V43, apparently known in the trade as an 'Effer.' When Barry knew more about me than I did, Luke took me back to Treasury Place.

'I'm glad you're not leaving,' he said between drafting emails in the lift. 'Please try to avoid deportation in future.'

Crossed.

Wherever I go in life, I will always have a mental snapshot of my sister pus.h.i.+ng her luggage trolley into the arrivals hall at Tullamarine. She had faded and shrunk in the last few weeks. Her usually plump, pink lips were mauve and chapped. The s.h.i.+ny thick mane she so often swept into a loose bun was now a dull tuft. Her rosy skin was as white and thin as paper. She was still beautiful, but Mark's infidelity had aged her and I hated him for it.

Clem on the other hand was exactly as I'd left her, minus two teeth. Her Wiggles knapsack bobbing up and down, she ran to me with a gappy grin, my birthday gift faux pas apparently forgotten. 'h.e.l.lo, Aunty Wooby. Mummy said it's already tomorrow in Australia and that we've been on fast forward for eleven hours.'

'Mummy's right, Clem.' I cuddled her tiny body. 'I can't tell you how good it is to see you.'

'Why not?' she asked.

'It's an expression,' I explained.

She looked up at the ceiling in confusion. Her mother let go of the trolley, like an old lady letting go of her Zimmer frame, and flopped into my arms.

'I'm so sorry he did this to you,' I said quietly. It seemed insufficient.

'It's good to be held,' she said into my neck. I felt the moistness of a tear.

'Who's that lady?' Clem pointed behind us.

'Manners, Clementine,' growled Fran, still in my arms.

'I'm your great aunt, Clementine,' Daphne said. 'You can call me Daphne.'

'What makes you great?' asked Clem.

'Years, my dear. Many, many years.'

'Can I see your puppies?' She bounced with excitement.

'Clementine.' My sister's remaining kilojoules of energy seeped out with every utterance of her daughter's name.

'Soon, dear,' smiled Daphne. 'They're looking forward to meeting you.'

Daphne exchanged kisses with Fran. 'How was the flight?'

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