‘Yeah, now. You must have ideas. Obviously I don’t commission stories, but if you’ve got something good, I’ll have a word to Harry.’
‘Um, yeah, I do.’ Meg scrambled, trying to think. She used to keep a list when she worked full time. The ideas came thick and fast back then. ‘What about …’ Hartwell! Yes! ‘What about the controversy around the redevelopment of Hartwell Gaol?’ She watched Deb’s face for recognition. ‘Hartwell’s a town in—’
‘Yeah, my brother got married down there. Pretty town. What’s the deal with the jail?’
‘It’s the oldest prison in the state. It was used for convicts originally, then as a processing centre for immigrants after the Second World War. It sat empty for decades after that, but a few years ago it was sold to Ashworth Property.’
Deb scowled. ‘I hate those bastards.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Years ago,The Timeshad to settle a suit the Ashworths brought against me and publish a retraction, even though everything I wrote in my story was true. What do they want the old jail for?’
‘They’re redeveloping it, putting in restaurants, an outdoor theatre and boutique apartments. The locals think there was an under-the-table deal done. Judging by the vitriol towards the family in theSave HartwellFacebook group, things are heating up down there.’
Deb shrugged, unconvinced, as the waiter reappeared, plates in hand. ‘Why now?’
‘It’s meant to open early next year. I think some of the grievances of the locals might come to a head. What do you think?’
‘Sounds interesting. You could frame it as a David and Goliath story.’ She took a bite of her sandwich.
Meg watched her as she mulled over the idea and realised she was hoping Deb would dismiss the idea entirely. Her mother’s past was a carefully guarded secret. There must be a reason for that.
‘Why don’t you do some basic digging, see what you find?’ Deb said, eventually. ‘But it would have to be very strong for us to go after the Ashworths.’
Meg spent the afternoon at the library, finishing the threesome article and one other that she’d been putting off writing for a parenting website: I’m a mother of three and I regret having children. It was guaranteed to get guilt-riddled mums breaking their fingers to click.
It was late afternoon when she got home. She stepped into the hall, surprised to hear the rat-tat-tat of bullets coming from the lounge room. She stood for a moment watching Jay from behind, the Southern Cross tattoo visible on his bare back. On the screen, enemy soldiers clad in SWAT gear and holding assault rifles attacked through thick smoke as Blackhawk helicopters swarmed overhead. She dumped her bag on the floor and slumped into the armchair. Jay gave no indication he knew she was there.
‘Aren’t you meant to be at work?’ she asked. He was a chef at a burger joint and worked nights.
‘Called in sick,’ he said, his eyes still on the screen.
She shook her head, thinking of the rent he owed her.
‘Damn it! You distracted me.’ He tossed the controller onto the table, reached for a Carlton stubbie and took a sip.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
He scratched his bare chest, dark hair bristling under his fingers. He was still wearing his boxer shorts.
‘Areyou sick?’ Meg asked.
‘Nah, hungover. I ended up at the RSL club after my shift, playing the pokies.’
Meg remembered the stranger who had spent the night on her couch. ‘I met your mate Salty this morning.’
‘Yeah, he said you kicked him out.’
‘You can’t bring randoms back here, Jay. It’s not part of the deal. And you owe me rent, by the way. Five weeks.’
‘Yeah, no worries,’ he said, draining his beer. He took another one from the fridge and disappeared to his room.
Meg was pouring a glass of wine when Gav entered, carrying groceries.
‘Hey.’ He dumped the bags onto the bench. ‘What’s happening?’
Meg sighed heavily. ‘I met Deb for lunch.’
