Set Me Free (6 page)

‘Hmm,’ murmured
Craig, disinterested in her chatter. ‘If you think he’s so hot, perhaps you
should go and find him to follow around instead of me. But if you must hound
me, would you please put your shoes on. There's broken glass everywhere.’

Cassie pouted and
slipped her heels back on. ‘I don’t need to chase after Charles Thompson,’ she
led and waited for him to ask more.

He entertained
her, because out of all the people he’d had to endure tonight, at least he
could be himself with Cassie.

 ‘Please do tell,
Cassie, why don’t you need to chase after Charles Thompson?’

She exploded with
joy. ‘Because I’m seeing someone!’

Craig tied the top
of the plastic bag and dropped it next to the overflowing wheelie bin. He
grabbed another and returned to the lawn, Cassie following him like a loyal pup.
‘That’s great Cass, who is he?’

Cassie drew in her
lips and tipped her head to look at him coyly. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Why not?' Craig
sighed.

‘Because he’s
married!’ she exclaimed, almost gleefully.

Craig stopped, an empty
beer bottle in his hand. He looked at her. ‘Really, Cass?  Are you serious?' Not
again.

‘Oh, don’t be such
a fuddy duddy. His marriage is over, and he’s about to leave his wife. She’s
got depression, so he is just waiting for the right time. He won’t be married
for much longer.'

Like a word of
that was true.

‘Kids?’ Please don’t
let there be any kids involved.

‘No. Thank God. I
wouldn't be in it if there were kids, even if they were already divorced.’

He watched her in
silence until she squirmed. She might tease him about his love life, but hers
was a shambles, a key contributor to the wrecked state of her emotional well-being.

‘What?’

‘You know what.’
He paused and then continued. ‘Look, I’m not going to give you a lecture. You’re
an adult, and you can make your own decisions. But Jesus, Cass, these are
people’s lives you're playing with. It’s not just a bit of fun to keep you
amused for a few months.’

‘Thanks for the
advice, grumpy bum. What would you know anyway?  How long has it been since
you’ve been with anyone, Craig?  You don’t even connect with other human beings
any more. Relationships are complicated.’

Craig sighed and
thought of the last human being he’d connected with, much more recently than
anyone who’d harassed him today would suspect. Cassie didn’t need to tell him about
complications.

He scanned the
backyard slopes, checking for more stray beer bottles. It was clear, so he tied
a knot in the bag and made his way back towards the house, Cassie trailing
behind him. He dropped the bag next to the bin. The groundskeeper could take
care of that in the morning. Craig was ready to call it a night.

‘Are you coming to
the community meeting tomorrow night?’ he asked Cassie as he washed his hands
in the outdoor sink on the back patio. The backup wouldn’t be unwelcome; though
he wasn’t too sure how welcome Cassette the performance artist herself was, in
West End.

‘Nah. Daddy said I
have to stay away. You do know you're going to get savaged by the local hippies
don’t you?’

‘I can handle it,’
he said.  

And usually he could.
But this time, after last night, he wasn’t so sure. There was one ‘local hippy’
in particular, whom he was expecting to be especially savage.  

The
West End Community Centre was humming when Charlotte arrived at 6:45pm with
Emily in tow. The Centre occupied an old Queenslander just off Boundary Street,
and it was the hub of the socially-active local community. On any given night,
one community group or another was meeting there to discuss how they might
lobby the local council to stop, or start, something. When something threatened
them, the locals came out in droves, waving placards and chanting, in the name
of preserving the status quo.

Charlotte didn’t
really mind change per se, only that which threatened her livelihood. It wasn’t
because she was a regular community agitator that people greeted her as she
walked through the throng assembling on the footpath. Over the course of the
morning, a steady stream of locals had dropped in on her, Ben and the Hoangs to
ask about the community forum and speculate on what to expect. By
mid-afternoon, an informal committee had formed, and before she knew it,
Charlotte was nominated as their spokesperson.

Despite the
reservations of the crowd, the atmosphere was generally jovial. A cool change
had come through late in the afternoon, refreshing the air. A summer storm
threatened, though far off in the distance. The locals were using the event as
an opportunity to catch up; to ask after each other’s kids and work and to chat
about politics. And they were confident because they had someone to count on.

It was enough to
give Charlotte a stiff neck.

Wondering if there
was a masseuse in the crowd, Charlotte made her way across the scratched wooden
floorboards to Ben, who was leaning against a poster-covered wall by the water
cooler. Emily hung back by the door chatting.

Ben had come
straight from work. He was still wearing his standard black t-shirt, black
jeans and his apron. Charlotte tugged at the latter, and he groaned, rolled his
eyes, and removed it.

Tonight the centre
was fitted out with mismatched, donated chairs arranged in rows facing the
front of the main room. There was no way there was enough seating for everyone.
The people with placards would need to stand at the back. One part of Charlotte
wanted to join them; to conceal her face behind a sign and chant, ‘Hell no! We
won’t go!' But her peers would be having none of that.

‘How did you go?’
Ben asked.

‘Nothing,’
Charlotte reported, pouting glumly. She’d spent the last few hours researching
planning and development legislation, city codes and development approval
processes, looking for a loophole to shut this proposal down before it even
started. Previous approvals for the area offered nothing but discouragement. It
appeared any loopholes generally worked in the developer’s favour, and not the
other way around.   

There was little
she could do while the project was only a concept. She needed a formal proposal
to be submitted before they could object. Perhaps tonight she might get an idea
of when that might be.

The cynicism she
was dragging with her wasn’t born of faithlessness. She treasured the cultural
texture of the streetscape along Boundary Street. It was why she’d chosen the
area in the first place. But her research indicated history did not bode well
for well-meaning community agitators. A precedent of demolition had long been
established. Her arguments about preserving the cultural heritage felt feeble.

‘Don’t look now,’ said
Ben. ‘The show is about to begin.’

Charlotte turned
around to see Craig enter the room with another, older man. As he swept into
the room, there was a very audible and very feminine gasp. Well, maybe that was
just her. Why did he have to be so good-looking?  Tonight he was wearing a
snug-fitting pair of denim jeans and a vintage press-stud, checked shirt. Glancing
at his feet, she noticed a pair of black RM Williams boots completed the look. Cleverly
casual for this kind of crowd but thanks to his physique, he still looked
commanding. This was going to be harder than she thought.

Her mind wandered
of its own accord, and she almost stumbled toward him under the spell of his
magnetic pull. To recover, she averted her gaze and took in his companion, who
was much less alluring and far surlier. She knew from her googling this was his
father’s partner and consequently now his boss. The Morgan of the operation. He
looked like a ball-breaker. On screen and in real life.

Thankful Craig had
not seen her yet, Charlotte scanned the room and caught Emily do a double take.
She may be happily married, but Emily always noticed an attractive specimen of
the male persuasion. Catching Charlotte’s eye, she mouthed ‘Wow!’, and came
racing across the room.

‘Cripes,
Charlotte, you have to go up against him?’ she whispered in awe.

If you only
knew
, Charlotte thought.
‘So where did you say your husband was tonight?’ she asked.

Emily simply
grinned at her. ‘He’s working late again,’ she answered. ‘Are you sure you can
handle this guy?’

‘I can handle it,’
Charlotte said and herded Emily to a seat in the third row, beckoning to Ben to
follow. Could she handle it?  Beneath the simmering fury was a fine layer of
hurt. Craig had given her no cause to be suspicious the other night. To think
he'd been merely playing her all along made her doubt herself. Surely she
should have picked up on his insincerity. Was he really that good of a player? 
Studying him now, taking his place beside his boss, all evidence pointed to yes.

A microphone and
two chairs were set up at the front of the room. Keith Morgan picked up the
microphone while Craig scanned the audience. When he came upon her, his eyes locked
with hers. Summoning her anger, she didn’t hold back.
Yes, I know who you
are, you fucker
, she glared, crossing her arms and legs.

He registered and
looked away, scalded. Or so she’d like to think. Around her, the room quieted
in anticipation.

Keith Morgan
cleared his throat and started growling into the microphone, instantly raising
the hackles of the people gathered. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.

‘Right then, good
evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Keith Morgan, and I am the CEO of
Morgan Carmichael Property Developments. I understand you're all here tonight
to find out about our new proposal for 165 Boundary Street.'

Keith was
obviously uncomfortable addressing this kind of crowd and Craig winced ever so
slightly as he delivered his opening address, before deftly intercepting and
taking control of the situation. Her eyes wide-open now, Charlotte wondered if
anyone else was witnessing what she was. He was a master manipulator: dressed
the right way and astute enough to cut his boss off before he sabotaged the
entire evening. She dreaded him opening his mouth because she knew firsthand
how seductive that could be.  

‘Thanks, Keith,’
said Craig, as he arrested the microphone. ‘And thank you all for coming. My
name is Craig Carmichael, and I am the Project Director for the Boundary Street
Project.'

‘We don’t want
your stinking development!’ someone yelled from the back of the room. Charlotte
indulged herself in a smirk. She hoped her own arguments would be more
articulate.

Craig, however,
let the remark slide. He'd done this before; that was obvious. Charlotte’s
confidence floundered again. He would have all of the answers. She didn’t stand
a chance.

As he continued,
she noticed Craig met people’s eyes and gave them a sense that he was talking
directly to them. She also noticed a few women in the room blush when he spoke
to them. As he worked his charm on the entire room, her mission was becoming
more and more difficult.

‘I appreciate you
have your reservations,’ he was saying, ‘which is why Keith and I have come to
talk to you tonight. To begin, I’d like to give you a bit of background on
Morgan Carmichael Property Developments.’

‘The development
industry certainly does not have a reputation for environmental, social or
cultural awareness. Particularly in this city, with its history of demolishing heritage
buildings in the middle of the night. But Morgan Carmichael is not like other
developers. We are aware that value can be measured in more than dollars.'

‘We have a keen
understanding of how buildings add or detract from the community as a whole. They
are not stand alone structures, but they are part of a street, a neighbourhood,
a community, a suburb and a city.'

Unwittingly,
Charlotte found herself listening intently, slowly being hypnotised. Maybe this
new development would be okay after all. They might make sure it fits with the
streetscape and the locals were going to have a chance to provide input.

On her left, Emily
gave her a sharp dig in the ribs and hissed in her ear. ‘Are you sure you can
handle this guy?' Charlotte glared at her, then shook her head clear as Craig
continued.

‘Our philosophy is
to build on existing social assets and support them, rather than destroy them. We
have an entire division dedicated to managing what is known in the industry as
inner-city infill developments. And by managing I mean more than managing
financially. We have a researcher on board who looks into the history of the
area. We also contract a futurist, a consultant who predicts not only the
growth potential of an area but the social and cultural significance of our
proposed developments. Finally, one of our core philosophies is to develop
sustainably, using materials whose manufacture is not resource intensive and
designs that minimise the impact on the environment.’

‘Bullshit!’ Ben
fake-sneezed on Charlotte’s right, causing the people around them to snigger.

Craig paused to
smile, throwing it at both Ben and Charlotte, before continuing.

‘We also undertake
a rigorous community consultation process which, for the Boundary Street
development, is beginning tonight. Through this process, we ask the community
to air their concerns and offer them the opportunity to shape the development
planned for their neighbourhood.’

Over the course of
his speech, the crowd had gradually fallen silent, buying the sales pitch, just
as Charlotte had found herself doing. Damn him and his mesmerism.

Craig paused
heavily and the crowd began to murmur. A number of eyes turned in Charlotte’s
direction. Craig picked up on the cue expertly. Ooh, he was good.

‘Ms Evans,’ he
said, letting the crowd know he knew her. ‘As this proposal directly affects
you, I’d be very keen to hear your thoughts.’

Charlotte glared
at him so he couldn’t fail to interpret those thoughts.
You had plenty of
chances to hear them the other night, you arsehole.

But when she
cleared her throat, it was with trepidation. As angry as she was, she wasn’t
blinded by it. She knew she was going to get shot down. Was it too much to
expect to retain her dignity in the process? 

‘Mr Carmichael,’
she said, using his name as deliberately as he'd used hers, her voice
deceptively controlled. ‘I’d like to know more about how you came to choose
this site for your proposal. Surely there must be vacant land in the suburb
that could offer you the same financial return?’

Craig eyeballed
her and paused for thought. Good. She had surprised him.

‘It’s a matter of
timing, Ms Evans,’ he replied. ‘The opportunity arose to acquire a prime site,
and we jumped on it. While you're correct in that there's plenty of vacant land
in the area, none of it is, or was, for sale.'

‘So for all of
your declarations about looking out for the community, you’ll only do so if
there’s an opportune profit to be made?’ she noted.

Behind him, Keith,
who had squirmed nervously throughout Craig’s entire speech, was now suddenly
incensed. He leapt out of his seat. ‘Of course we’re out to make money, we’re a
bloody business for Christ’s sake,’ he barked.

The room erupted,
and half of the crowd got to its feet.  

‘You can’t buy us
off with your bullshit!'

‘You’re all the
same, capitalist bastards!’

Keith shrank back
into his chair, startled by the onslaught, mumbling something about bloody commies.
Charlotte watched Craig for his reaction, getting ready for her next move.

But this time he
avoided her eye. He ran his hand through his hair. Though far from defeated, he
suddenly looked desperately weary. With most of the crowd hurling insults at
Keith, Charlotte wondered if anyone else had observed this momentary dropping
of his guard. But before she could even identify her reaction to it as empathy,
Craig took charge once more and began to call the room to order.

‘Of course we are
in the business of making money,’ he clarified, gesturing everyone should
reclaim their seats. The uproar subsided slowly, the crowd giving him the
opportunity to explain.

Charlotte quickly
realised she was about to lose whatever tenuous advantage she could claim. If
Craig resumed control of the room again, he would have them eating out of the
palm of his hand. She had to take action and cut him off before he could say
any more.

She stood up, her
fists clenched at her sides. The people around her paused to see what would
happen next. Craig studied her cautiously.