Arthur Williams stumbled out of bed six minutes before his alarm. A habit adopted during his police days. His head pounding from the excessive drinking the night before. Empty beer bottles lay scattered all over the hotel room, but he didn’t care about the mess. Arthur waddled into the bathroom, naked and stepped into the shower. His foggy brain cleared as the water cascaded over his body; the wrinkles in his face and saggy, blotchy skin meant he knew he was growing older each day.
Once finished with his shower, he put on a towel and made his way back into the bedroom. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV. ‘Aussies are already in full celebration today, as Merindah Bradley, Australia’s first head of state, is set to deliver her speech at Commonwealth Park…’ Arthur scoffed and shook his head in disgust.
‘Fuckin’ black bitch,’ Arthur cursed under his breath.
‘…the new President was in Sydney this morning, as she attended the traditional WugulOra Morning Ceremony.’ Arthur saw the new President speaking with some locals, and taking part in the ritual. Arthur scoffed, shaking his head as he watched her. ‘The President has returned to Canberra as she prepares to conduct her ceremonial duties as the nation’s Head of State, a tradition once held by the Governor-General…’ A sharp knock at the door grabbed Arthur’s attention. He muted the TV and made for the door. He peered through the small hole in the door to see on the other side. He didn’t recognise the person. He opened it and a man stood there holding a suit bag and a small case. ‘Who are you?’ Arthur became curious by the newcomer, noticing his military uniform.
‘Major-General George Stanley, Australian Army.’ Even without a word, Arthur snapped to attention and saluted the senior miliary officer. ‘At ease.’ Arthur showed him in.
‘What can I do for you, General?’
‘I’ve brought you a uniform. As requested.’ He placed the suit bag on the bed. In his other hand, he carried a small case. ‘And a firearm.’ He unzipped the bag. Inside, he saw the uniform he used to wear, the uniform of a senior sergeant with the Northern Territory Police Force. Then, he opened the case; he got excited like a schoolboy on Christmas morning as he saw the Glock 19 handgun.
‘Thank you, I appreciate that. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get close to the President without being stopped,’ said Arthur, glaring at the pistol.
‘This should get you by unnoticed,’ said the General. He watched as Arthur arranged the uniform, preparing to put it on.
‘Good, I was wondering how I was getting close to the target. Not to mention, a weapon.’
‘I have to admit. I’m a little envious of you, Mr. Williams.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you get to shoot the Black Bitch,’ said the General, pointing to the TV. Arthur chuckled as he looked at the screen. He saw Merindah Bradley waving at a bunch of reporters as she stepped onto the tarmac at Canberra Airport, a news segment from the previous day.
‘I’ll make sure not to miss.’ Arthur loaded the Glock, feeling the solid weight in the grip of his clammy hand.
‘God save the King of Australia…’ Arthur saluted the General. ‘God save the King of Australia,’ said Arthur. The General returned the salute. He watched the General turned to leave, feeling the strong scent of patriotism flowing through his body. Arthur stood alone, holding the Glock, feeling the weight of the pistol in his hand. He looked at the TV. He saw Merindah Bradley arriving at Canberra Airport. ‘President Bradley. Count your days.’
****
The sun hung low over Canberra Airport, casting long shadows across the tarmac as the Australian Air Force VIP jet touched down with a gentle hum. Jarrah Bradley, a twenty something with the weight of his heritage on his shoulders, felt a surge of nerves. Today, Australia Day, carried a significance that transcended the usual festivities for him. The plane, an Australian Air Force Dassault Falcon 7x, taxied gracefully to the VIP section of the airport, the hum of its engines gradually subsiding. Jarrah’s eyes scanned the familiar surroundings of Canberra, a city laden with political significance. He could feel the gravity of the day ahead, the responsibility of his mother’s legacy pressing on him. The aircraft door opened, and Jarrah descended onto the tarmac, greeted by the dry, warm air of the capital. Security personnel, dressed in crisp uniforms, formed a protective barrier around him. Their expressions mirrored the solemnity of the occasion. ‘Welcome to Canberra, Mr. Bradley,’ a burly security officer spoke, his voice measured and professional.
‘Thanks, it’s good to be here,’ he said, with a cheerful tone. The officers nodded.
‘We’ll be taking you directly to Government House.’ Jarrah’s pulse quickened. The reality of the day ahead was settling in. As they walked across the tarmac, the security detail in tow, the intense sun bore down on them, casting sharp shadows on the concrete.
At the edge of the tarmac, a sleek black Holden Caprice WM awaited. The security detail ushered Jarrah inside, their movements efficient and practiced. The hum of the engine filled the air as the convoy made its way through the city. Jarrah’s mind buzzed with anticipation and anxiety. He stole a glance out of the tinted windows, watching as the city unfolded before him. The architecture, a blend of modernity and tradition, told a story of a nation in transition. It was a backdrop that mirrored his own journey.
Government House, Canberra
Merindah Bradley couldn’t tell which hurt more—the hot mug in her hands, or the scalding burn on her tongue from taking large gulps of the coffee. Despite the tingling sensation, she kept hold of the cup. Merin didn’t wait for the coffee to cool before taking another sip. Sweat dotted her forehead as she savoured the sweet, creamy coffee. She had been up and about since five o’clock. Feet shuffled into the kitchen, donned in blue bunny slippers. In silk thread, the words ‘lover boy’ were monogrammed on the top. The bunny slippers had been a gift from her on Valentine’s Day. They had spent the day together in their bedroom, feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries and drinking insanely expensive wine. John Bradley, Merin’s true love for close to half a century, reached for the loaf of bread. Merin grinned at John, his dressing gown tied tight across his stomach. He smiled warmly at her. Every time she saw him, she was rejuvenated, like he added a small amount of his energy to hers. ‘Good morning, lover boy,’ said Merin.
‘Good morning, sweetheart,’ said John. ‘You’re up early.’
‘Yeah. Been up since five, turning things over in my mind.’ John headed to the kitchen counter, reaching for a cereal box in the cupboard above. He poured plain cornflakes into a clean ceramic bowl.
‘It’s going to be a long day for you.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ John shoved the first spoonful of his favourite cereal in his mouth.
‘Don’t worry. It’s you. You’ll do great.’ She took a bite from her toast, avocado layered on it with sprinkles of salt and cayenne pepper. He leaned over the counter and reached out to Merin. His hands brushed her cheek, and his lips found her forehead. ‘You’ve got this.’
‘Hopefully,’ she said. ‘It’s not every day you become the first President of Australia.’ They fell silent for a couple more seconds, their heads mere inches from each other and basked in the presence of each other. It had been months since they had shared a truly quiet moment together. Their new public life meant seeing millions of eyes peering at them day in, day out. Not to mention the media, their every move caught on camera.
‘Any idea what time Jarrah gets in?’
‘I spoke with him a couple of hours ago, said he was about to board. It can’t be too long now.’
‘I can’t wait to see him. It’s been a while since we last saw each other.’
‘Yeah, it has.’ A sharp knock on the door distracted them. ‘Come in.’ Bridget Coleman, Merindah’s Executive Assistant, walked into the kitchen with the latest model tablet in hand. Even with high heels, the woman didn’t reach five feet. She spoke with a soft and gentle tone but carried an authority a decade older Merin needed. Bridget grew fond of mothering Merin, fussing over her appearance or food and Merin loved her for it. She looked to Merin as the sister she never had.
‘Good morning, Madam President. Mr. Bradley,’ Bridget said, her heels clacking against the tiles. ‘I wanted to let you know, your son has arrived.’ Merin’s heart warmed as Jarrah stepped in, a big smile on his face.
‘Hi sweetheart.’
‘Mum.’ He hugged her, pressing his head against his mother’s chest. ‘I missed you heaps.’
‘I missed you too, boy.’
‘Hi, son. Good to see you again.’ John waddled over and ruffled Jarrah’s curly-black hair.
‘Hey, dad. Good to see you.’ The two embraced and John patted him on the back. ‘How was your flight, boy?’
‘Yeah, it was great,’ he chuckled. ‘Different to flying commercially,’ he said. Merin laughed.
‘It’s certainly something.’ Jarrah smiled and the trio talked for a few moments, catching up on the good old times. The conversation hit a pause as Bridget stepped in again.
‘Madam President,’ she said. Merin looked up. ‘The Official Secretary is here to see you.’
‘Thanks Bridget, send him in.’ She disappeared. Seconds later, Joe Pittman entered, looking sharp in his black, three- piece suit and round spectacles. Joe, now serving as Merindah’s Official Secretary, wore an Indigenous themed tie, despite Merin’s hesitance at the idea.
‘Ah, morning, Joe. Good to see you,’ said John, still eating his cereal.
‘Good morning, sis. Mr. Bradley.’
‘Joe, please call me John. I’m your father-in-law.’
‘Sorry, John. Force of habit.’ Joe grinned as he saw his nephew standing tall behind the counter.
‘Morning, Uncle Joe,’ said Jarrah.
‘G’day Jarrah. Good to see you again, buddy.’ Jarrah grinned at his uncle. Joe’s attention snapped to Merin. ‘How are you today, sis?’
‘I could be better, I guess. You want coffee, brother?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘What’s happening? Why the early appearance?’
‘I wanted to run through the day’s schedule with you.’ Joe pulled a tablet device from his jacket.
‘Okay, let’s hear it.’
‘Today, you’ll be heading to Commonwealth Park to deliver your presidential address.’ The surreal reality of being the President kicked in.
‘I still can’t believe this is happening.’ Joe smiled.
‘I wish Ma could see you,’ said Joe, trying not to become emotional in front of his sister.
‘Yeah, me too.’ A shrill noise came from his jacket and lifted the phone to his ear.
‘President Bradley’s office.’ He listened to the person on the other line, one hand holding the phone and the other typing into the tablet, rearranging schedules. ‘Alright, I’ll let her know.’ Joe hung up, pocketing the phone.
‘Who was that Joe?’
‘The Prime Minister’s chief-of-staff. The PM is requesting your presence at The Lodge.’ The Prime Minister summoning the Head of State? That’s a first, Merin thought.
‘What for?’
‘A security briefing.’
‘And?’
‘That’s all his chief-of-staff said over the phone, ma’am.’
‘Alright, it better be important.’ Merin turned and went over to Jarrah. She kissed him on the forehead. ‘I’ll see you later, boy.’
‘Thanks, mum.’ She turned to John.
‘Wish me luck.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Merin hoped for a better response, but it will do. Merin followed Joe out. The small group reached the main entrance and two bodyguards appeared at Merin’s side as she walked to the car.
Tall and buff, with receivers in their ears and sunglasses, the bodyguards had slicked back hair and arms always ready to reach for their concealed guns. She climbed into the back seat of the white Holden Caprice WM series, and Joe joined her. The President’s car, along with a second vehicle containing security personnel, moved off with urgency.
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