Geoffrey Cousins - The Butcherbird

Still. The problem was, Mac couldn’t answer the questions. He had the assets, of course he had the assets. But proving he owned them, that was another issue. They were tied up in companies whose whole frameworks had been established to prove he didn’t own or control them. For obvious reasons. But not reasons that could be made obvious, not reasons that could be stated on the record, without the tax commissioner and the securities regulator and a raft of other busybodies burying their noses in the middle of it all. And the boy scouts wanted it all on the record. They took notes of everything he said in black, spiral-bound notebooks. Even when he’d made an ironic joke, they’d written it down. When he tried to explain he’d meant the opposite of what he’d said, the slant-eye wrote that down, too.

Now they were on to cash flow and that was a step too far. How did he fund the properties and the boats and all the other paraphernalia from just director’s fees and dividends? The cash flow was there, of course it was there, but the source? Well, they wouldn’t understand the nature of the ever-running spring. How could they?

They were insignificant little pricks, one step up from bank tellers, who’d never make more than a living wage and would run home to their mothers wetting their pants with excitement any time they were given a month’s bonus. The vision, the guts, the effort it took to create a business was beyond their limited comprehension, and so was the right to be justly rewarded for it.

Still. It was a problem. They’d presented a folder with a set of forms to be filled out-assets and liabilities, income and outgoings, cash flow by month, God knows what. He couldn’t do it, he didn’t know. That was the frightening thing, the really gut-wrenching thing-he didn’t know. Everyone assumed he was a disciplined businessman with an immaculate set of files documenting every aspect of his vast holdings. But it wasn’t like that. It was a patchwork of ragged pieces held together with a stitch here and a pin there. If he needed cash, he took some cash. If he needed to borrow, he borrowed. His accountant was supposed to work it all out some time, or his tax lawyer, or some other hanger-on who copped a huge fee. But they were all running for cover, saying they just did their bit and no one knew the whole picture. Except Mac. Except he didn’t.

He’d have to pay back some money, that’s all there was to it. He hated that. What was the point of borrowing if you had to pay it back? It was something he’d never done before as a matter of principle, and it was wrong to break principles. Still, HOA shares, a lot of them, most of them, would have to go. It depended how high the price went. It would certainly rise once it was known the government was considering further regulation on foreign competitors, but how much? He had to commit to giving the banks the money before he knew the price. It was dangerous. But not too dangerous. The question would be asked in parliament, the share price would rise, the sale would be made before anyone knew if the regulations were actually being implemented and he’d be back in the saddle.

He looked across at Bonny, and sighed.

They were both sweating as they picked their way cautiously through the boulders, with the mountain stream gurgling about their feet and splashing its slipperiness onto rounded surfaces. The sun was filtered through a high canopy and the tree ferns grew thickly on the banks and arched their fronds over the water, but the combination of humidity and sustained effort was draining. They’d been walking for over two hours and even though the climb down the cliff face next to Wentworth Falls was an almost vertical descent down a narrow staircase cut into the rock, it required concentration to avoid injury. Now they had made it as far as the Valley of the Waters, both were feeling the tension in calf and thigh muscles and a need for rehydration. Water was no issue, it was everywhere; the mountain stream seemed merely the most visible evidence of a world living through water. It oozed up from the ground, dripped from ferns and branches, was pressed from moss and lichen with even the lightest pressure, provided music and movement and dancing light as waterfalls and rivulets fell from the cliffs above. They stopped to fill the water bottle and sat on a flat rock ledge above the stream with some relief.

However, Jack’s concern was not just related to the protests emanating from muscles he hadn’t used in years. He was lost. There were two aspects of this fact that were disturbing. First, the embarrassment, followed by the heckling, followed by the anger this would produce from Louise, was galling to contemplate. He was the intrepid leader of this expedition, following the paths of the great explorers of the Blue Mountains, or at least of the park rangers who’d built the steps and railings and other tourists aids. He was equipped with a special watch containing a compass-and a variety of dials and bezels that, if manipulated in a particular way which he’d now forgotten, were able to determine the speed of a passing cloud-as well as a bone-handled folding knife of unusual dimension and a heart-rate monitor he’d thrown in the small backpack for good measure. Yet none of these, including the compass, appeared to be of any use in alleviating the second disturbing aspect of his predicament-that he was lost.

He was considering the most adroit manner in which to broach this unpalatable and unexpected dilemma with Louise, when she spoke first.

‘Darling boy, mighty leader, conqueror of all injustice, sex god, I need to talk to you quietly for a moment. There’s something I want to tell you and I don’t want you to get angry about it. You’ve brought me to this magical place-where better to speak the truth and be gentle with one another?’

Jack looked at her with surprise. Despite the mocking words, her tone and attitude were serious and concerned. She reached out one hand to hold the back of his neck and pull him closer.

‘What? Yes, of course, we always talk, about anything. We don’t need rocks and streams. What is it?’

She shook her head. ‘No we don’t. We don’t always reveal ourselves. You hide things from me, and I’ve been hiding a few things from you.’

He waited. How lost was he about to be?

‘Just stay calm. You promise me?’ He nodded uncertainly. ‘It’s about the kids. They’ve been hassled a few times over all the rubbish in the press about you and it’s upset them. I didn’t want you to be worried.’

Instant relief, from what he wasn’t sure, was followed by a surge of blood to his face. ‘What? What mean little bastards have been doing this? I’ll speak to the parents, I’m not having this sort of bullying. It’s disgraceful. Who was it?’

She took him gently by both shoulders. ‘You promised-no anger. And in Sarah’s case, it was the parents.’ He held back the words, but she could see the rage flare in his eyes. ‘You know that boy she’s been going out with-John Alderton? Bruce’s son. She went to dinner there a couple of weeks ago and that bitch Leigh started in on her. How is your father, it must be so distressing for him, and particularly for your poor mother, do give them our best. You know the deal. And then the boy’s birthday party was to be a black-tie dinner at the Colonial Club and I bought Sarah a lovely dress-and she wasn’t invited. It’s all over. I don’t think she really liked the little prick anyway, but she’s angry, for you and me, and confused about it all.’

She saw the flushed cheeks and the red line around his neck and even his ears, and waited for the explosion. But he spoke very softly.

‘What about Shane?’ She let her hand slide down his arms and locked their fingers together. ‘Not so bad. Sledging at rugby. Where do young boys learn words like that? He’s okay, he can look after himself. So can I. We’ll get the real perpetrators. Forget about the gossip-mongers, they’re just pawns. I’m proud to be with the man who won’t back off.’