The Crunch Campaign (4 page)

It was the drink Liam had been working on all year. He'd kept it secret and now Vanessa knew why.

‘That's incredible.'

‘I know. Dad had the idea for something like this years and years ago. He was fiddling about with a formula, but it never worked for him.'

‘How did you do it?'

‘I didn't. But Carole Beauchamp loved the idea and got some of her product development people in the States onto it. It turns out Dad was closer than he thought. It's all to do with the different concentration of bubbles in each colour.'

‘Wow.'

‘Amazing, isn't it! If it takes off, and Carole thinks it will, she might roll it out globally next year. I just wish Dad was around to see it.'

‘Yes, but I think wherever he is, he'd be proud.'

‘I think so too. Now, has Katie come up with a name yet?' They had told her there was a Christmas drink in development.

‘I don't know, let's ask her tonight.'

‘She's okay about me and the kids coming over?'

‘Of course. Katie's always liked you.'

‘Yes – as Pat's son. But this is different.'

‘She'll be fine. We'll be talking about the new product, anyway. Katie's always happy when it's business.' Vanessa lifted her glass to the light. Then she took a sip. ‘It tastes . . . Christmassy.'

The phone rang and she put it on speaker. ‘Parfitt Family Soft Drink Company. Vanessa Crisp speaking.'

‘Caesar Maxwell here. Put me on to your boss please, darl.'

Vanessa and Liam looked at each other. Liam had to swallow his drink quickly, before he laughed.

‘Ah, I'm the General Manager,' said Vanessa. ‘That makes me the boss, I suppose. Can I help you?'

There was muttering. Then a cough. ‘Well, it's
Caesar Maxwell
.'

The name rang a bell. Vanessa raised her eyebrows. Liam shook his head and shrugged.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Maxwell,' said Vanessa, ‘you're from?'

‘MyFries. I own MyFries. A thousand outlets feeding a million faces every day. Twenty-five different cut fries with twenty-five different sauces.'

Vanessa raised her eyebrows. MyFries was the fastest growing franchise in the world – a local success story. Caesar Maxwell was from Ipswich, not quite an hour's drive west of Brisbane. He'd left Ipswich ten years ago and now ran his empire from Las Vegas. She leant in towards the phone. ‘How can we help you, Mr Maxwell?'

‘You've heard the rubbish that fool Clara Whiting is spouting about a ban on fast-food ads?'

Vanessa quite liked the prime minister. ‘Yes?'

‘Well, I'm not going to sit back and take it. And neither are the other companies that will be crippled by this insane move. So the burger boys and the fried chicken people and the rest of your fizzy drink mates are chucking money into the hat to fight it. I need to know that you're in too.'

‘But –' Vanessa tried to think quickly. ‘What are you going to do?'

‘Run ads saying that the government policy is lunacy. That they need to build more, you know, bike paths and stuff. It's not our fault that kids are fat. It's all about freedom. This ban is un-Australian and we're going to fight it. And you soft drink people are in the front line. It'll take you down first. So you need to cough up – fast.'

Caesar Maxwell's voice had deepened and become almost threatening. It was a few seconds before Vanessa could reply.

‘Ah, Mr Maxwell, I'd need to know more before we committed to being a part of any campaign like that. What kind of ads? How much money would we need to contribute? We're a small company – we haven't got much of an advertising budget.'

‘Yeah, well, you might as well spend every cent you do have with us, otherwise you'll be out of business come January.'

‘Mr Maxwell? I'm Liam Parfitt. I run the company with Vanessa.'

They could hear Caesar Maxwell huff, as if he realised he'd been wasting his time. ‘Parfitt! Where's your old man, then? He's the one I should be talking to.'

Liam reeled as if he'd been hit. Vanessa put her hand on his. ‘My father passed away last year,' he said flatly, ‘and I don't mean to be unhelpful, but Vanessa's right. We need to know more about what you plan to do. The child health issue is real enough and even though we're no supporters of this ban, I don't think ads slamming the government will do much to change things.'

‘Well, I'm not that interested in what you think, just in what you can contribute. You're a small fish in a big pond. That means you'll be the first to be chewed up. So you need to stick with the big guys if you want to have any chance of survival. It's that simple. I've set up a fighting fund and everyone's contributing. MyFries is putting in $12 million. We reckon you guys can kick in a mill.'

Liam and Vanessa burst out laughing.

‘What? You think this is funny?'

‘No, Mr Maxwell, none of this is funny.' Vanessa tried to speak calmly. ‘But I don't think you realise just how small our little company is. We might spend a million dollars on advertising over ten years!'

‘That's ridiculous. I don't believe it. Everyone in the industry is talking about Parfitt's. That kind of profile doesn't come cheap.'

Vanessa stifled her laughter. ‘Well, thanks for the call, Mr Maxwell.'

‘I'll send you the payment details. You don't want to be left out in the cold on this one, believe me.' Then he was gone.

‘Well,' said Vanessa, ‘that was . . . interesting.'

‘What do you think we should do?' Liam left the marketing side of things to her. He was more interested in operations – product development, streamlining logistics, despatch.

‘I'm not sure we can do anything.' She shrugged. ‘We haven't
got
a million dollars lying around – or even a thousand. And if we did, I'm not sure Caesar Maxwell is the man I'd give it to.'

‘What do you know about him?'

‘Not much. But I've heard about MyFries, of course.'

‘Me too. The kids go crazy for them.'

‘I've never tried them – are they okay?'

‘If you like your chips served with a litre of oil and a kilo of salt. They're cheap, though. You can get a massive bucket of fries and a tray of six sauces for three dollars.'

Vanessa sighed and started to put some order into the piles of paper. ‘Well, I'm not going to worry about Caesar Maxwell's fighting fund. There's no point.'

‘You're right. Hey, what's the time?'

‘Four-thirty. I'm going to the supermarket to get a few things for dinner. We'll see you about six?'

‘Great. The kids are excited. What can we bring?'

‘A few samples of the new line? Katie and the gang can get to work on a name.'

CHAPTER FOUR

Katie knew that people sometimes felt sorry for her, as the only child of a single mother. And, if she was honest, she occasionally felt sorry for herself. Now with her home full of screaming kids and her mum frantically trying to cook for them, her quiet life seemed like bliss.

She watched Liam Parfitt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hands greasy, trying to line up spoonfuls of mashed potato with Sam's moving mouth, as he moved his head like one of those laughing clowns at the show. There was potato in his hair and smeared across both cheeks.

‘Come on, mate,' coaxed Liam. ‘Just a couple more and then there's ice-cream.'

Katie shuddered. If the kid was like this with mashed potato, what would happen with ice-cream? Ice-cream
melted,
and she'd be the one who had to mop up the mess. If the government was going to ban anything, they should ban anyone below the age of ten from eating ice-cream. The other kids were almost as bad. Billy was three and Barney was four. They were pegging bits of sausage at each other. Katie got caught in the crossfire and a chunk of meat bounced off her ear.

‘Boys!' said Liam. ‘Stop that. Vanessa has made this lovely dinner for us.'

Katie looked at him and worried that he might actually be serious about her mum. No one but a lovesick idiot would say this dinner was lovely. The sausages were charred on the outside and raw in the middle. Later tonight Liam might have four cases of food poisoning to deal with.

‘Georgie,' he said, ‘aren't you going to eat your sausage?'

The five-year-old had sat herself next to Katie. ‘No, but I like the mashed potato,' she said, delicately working her spoon around the lumps.

‘You need to eat some meat,' said her father. ‘It's protein – gives you muscles.'

‘I'm vegetarian,' said Georgie. Katie looked at her with a flicker of respect. She'd tried the vegetarian angle herself a few times.

‘Don't worry about it, Liam,' said her mum. ‘I'll get them some ice-cream. Who wants chocolate and who wants strawberry?'

The boys all screamed at once. Sam flung his bowl across the room and globs of mashed potato, stained pink by tomato sauce, covered the floor.

‘I think I'll skip dessert,' said Katie, pushing back her chair. ‘I've got homework.'

‘All right,' said her mum, inspecting her hair for potato. ‘When you're done, come back. We want to talk about the new Christmas drink.'

Halfway down the hall, Katie felt she was being followed. She turned to see Georgie standing there with her arms by her side.

‘What do you want?' Katie had no idea how big five-year-olds were meant to be, but this one seemed small. She had dark brown eyes and brown hair that was shorter on one side than the other. It made her look strangely off-balance.

‘My brother cut it.'

‘Oh,' said Katie, a bit surprised that the little girl had known what she was thinking. ‘I have to do some work.'

‘I know. Can I come with you? The boys give me a headache.' She put her fingertips to her temples.

‘Ah, no. You should go and have some ice-cream.'

‘I'll just sit and watch. I'll be quiet. I promise.'

‘No, that's weird,' said Katie, ‘watching someone while they work. Tell your dad to put on a movie or something for you.' She went into her room and closed the door.

One of the reasons she didn't want Georgie to watch was that she had no intention of doing any homework. There were too many people in the house. Even though she couldn't hear them, she knew they were there and the thought was irritating. Why had her mum invited them over and when would they be leaving? What time did little kids go to sleep, anyway? Lorraine would know – she was always babysitting, but the phone was either in the kitchen or the lounge room, so Katie sat and stewed.

Around nine, she felt it might be safe to open the door. She walked down the hallway and glanced into the lounge room to see the three little boys curled up together on the sofa, like a litter of puppies. Lorraine would have thought they were cute, but Katie just hoped they were wearing nappies.

Liam and her mum were drinking tea at the kitchen table. They were sitting next to each other, which was unnecessary, since there was no one else around. Georgie was on her father's lap, playing with his hair. When Katie sat down, the little girl slipped onto the chair next to her.

‘I think you've found a friend.' Vanessa smiled.

‘So, let's see this drink.' Katie ignored Georgie.

Liam went to the fridge and came back with a bottle. ‘We're really happy with it. It's worked out even better than we'd hoped – see how the stripes stay separate?'

As he poured a glass for Katie, she watched in amazement.

‘What do you think?' asked her mum.

‘That's so cool,' said Georgie.

Katie glared. No one wanted a five-year-old's opinion. Kids these days had no manners. ‘So we need a name?' Katie looked squarely at Liam. She wanted Georgie to realise that this was an adult conversation.

‘Yes.' He nodded. ‘We've been calling it Product X, but we need something better than that. It's too generic – could be for anything. It needs a bit of Parfitt's sense of fun.'

An idea popped into Katie's mind. Sometimes that just happened. ‘I think it's
almost
a great name.' She grinned. ‘Let's call it Product Xmas.'

Liam and Vanessa obviously liked it.

‘That's a good name!' said Georgie.

‘Who asked you?' snapped Katie and Georgie slid off her chair and crawled onto her father's lap.

‘That was a bit mean,' said Vanessa. ‘She was just trying to be involved.'

‘I'm sorry.' Katie said, but she was glad she'd put Georgie in her place. Someone should have done it a long time ago.

‘She's tired. We'll go soon.' Liam lifted the little girl against his shoulder and she buried her head in his shirt.

Katie glared at her.
Wuss
.

‘Product Xmas,' said Vanessa. ‘I like it. It says what it is. Liam?'

‘Yep, I think we've got our name. Good one, Katie.'

‘What's happening with the ban?' Katie took a sip of Product Xmas. It was delicious – like a toffee apple.

‘Not sure. But we got a call today from Caesar Maxwell,' said her mum.

‘The MyFries guy?'

‘What do you know about him?' asked Liam.

‘He went to Joel's school,' said Katie, ‘years ago. In the 60s, I think. He offered to build them a new library if they agreed to call it the Brisbane City College
Fry-brary
. Even Joel thought that was the cheesiest thing he'd ever heard.'

Liam was horrified. ‘Did they do it?'

‘No, in the end, the school didn't need Mr MyFries – some old banker died and left them a heap of respectable money, so they named the library after him. But apparently that guy Maxwell is talking to the P&Fs of smaller schools about giving them bucketloads of cash if they'll do it.'

‘Really?' Her mum was intrigued. ‘That's awful. How do you know all this, anyway?'

‘Mum, there's this thing called the
internet
. And you can get
news
on it. Also, Joel hears things. He's always been an eavesdropper. And his mum and dad talk about this kind of stuff. But why did Caesar Maxwell call you?'

‘He asked us – almost told us – that we needed to put money into a fund he's organising. He's going to make some ads to fight the ban.'

‘What kind of ads? Who's going to make them?'

‘He didn't say. I'd assume the agency that makes the MyFries ads.'

‘Eew.' Katie shuddered. ‘MyFries ads are the worst on TV.'

‘What are they like?' Her mother didn't watch much, just ‘The Bill' and that was on the ABC – no ads.

‘There's this family called the Frys – there are twenty-four of them, and they wear gold jumpers to make them look like chips and shout prices at the camera. At the end of every ad they all yell, “Whaddya want?
MyFries!
When do you want ‘em?
Now!
”' Katie shuddered.

Georgie lifted her head from her father's shoulder and looked like she was about to say something, but she didn't.

‘Maxwell's a rich man,' said Liam, ‘so the ads can't be too bad. They must work.'

‘He sells chips because they're cheap, not because his ads are any good.' Katie shrugged. ‘And they're cheap because he buys his cooking oil from poor villages in South-East Asia. We learned about it in school. He pays his workers practically nothing.' She drained her glass. ‘Anyway, what did you tell Caesar Maxwell? You're not going contribute to his fund, are you?'

‘We said we'd think about it and get back to him,' said Liam.

‘Well get back to him soon and tell him the idea sucks.' Katie topped up her Product Xmas. ‘And I bet the ads'll be rubbish.'

‘So do we,' said her mum. ‘But even though we don't have a million dollars, it might be worth contributing something. No one else seems to be doing much.'

Katie spun her glass slowly on the table, wondering if she should tell them about her meeting with the prime minister.

‘We'll chew it over.' Her mother took the mugs to the sink. ‘But in the meantime, let's get Product Xmas on the shelves and work out whether we can advertise it later.'

That made no sense to Katie. What was the point of making any product unless you could advertise it?

‘Right,' said Liam, standing up. ‘I should get these kids home to bed. Thanks for having us. I'm sorry if they were a bit crazy, Katie.'

‘Were they?' She tried to smile but it must have looked sarcastic because her mum gave her the death stare. ‘I mean, it was fun,' she said sheepishly, but she was sure Georgie rolled her eyes. That kid unnerved her.

That night, Katie dreamt she was standing on a highway. She wanted to run, but her feet were heavy and dense, like lumps of dough. A semitrailer was coming straight for her, but she couldn't move. As it came closer, she could see something attached to its front grille. A soft toy. But as it approached, faster and faster, she could see the toy's head was the prime minister's.

Katie sat up. The t-shirt she slept in was damp with sweat. The clock beside her said five past twelve. She hadn't been asleep long, but there was no way she was lying back down – Clara Whiting might run her over. Katie knew the dream and it wouldn't come back (just like good dreams are impossible to return to once you've woken up), but she wasn't risking it. She walked through the dark house to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and took it onto the back deck. That was weird. There was a light on in the tree office. She let her eyes adjust to the dark and her ears started to sort the night sounds. There were possums and flying foxes in the sausage tree. They cast shadows on the tree office. But was there someone moving inside it? It was hard to tell. Setting her glass on the deck, she went to investigate.

The grass was dewy underfoot and she shuffled instead of taking proper steps. Her grandad had taught her that was the best way to avoid stepping on a cane toad.

There was definitely someone in the tree office. She stood below it and listened to the footsteps moving above her. They were unhurried. It was probably one of the others, she told herself, but as far as she knew, they never came over at night. The tree office belonged to all of them, but still it was in her yard and she didn't think they'd come over after midnight. For a second she wondered if she should tell her mum. But if it was Lorraine, Dom, Joel or Clementine, they would get in trouble for sure. And her mum would be wondering what she was doing out here in the dead of night anyway.

Slowly, Katie climbed the ladder. The windows opening onto the front veranda were closed. She pressed her ear to the plywood. Whoever it was had gone quiet. Maybe they knew she was there. She uncurled her fist from around her key and carefully, slowly slipped it into the lock, then eased the door open. The tree house was empty. But one of the Macs was on. Someone had been here. She shut the door behind her.

‘Katie!' said Dominic.

She spun around. ‘Dom!' Her heart was somewhere near the back of her tongue.

‘Well, who did you think it would be? You nearly gave me a coronary.'

‘Same. Why didn't you say it was you?'

‘I didn't know it was you. It could have been a murderer or anyone!'

‘So you thought there was a murderer, but you came on in anyway?' Dom was grinning.

‘Well –' Now she was laughing too. ‘What are you doing here anyway?'

‘Probably the same as you. Not sleeping.'

Dominic looked like he hadn't been to bed. He was still wearing his grey school shorts, but with an old flannelette shirt instead of a jumper. ‘I'm worried about this ban.'

‘Me too,' said Katie, sinking onto a bean bag. ‘Not much point in having an ad agency if we can't do ads.'

He nodded.

‘Mum and Liam are still keen to do their new Christmas drink, but I can't even think of that. My head keeps saying,
What's the point? It'll be the last ad we'll ever do for Parfitt's.
That makes me so worried I kind of freeze.'

‘Maybe don't think of it then. We've got another client – there's no move to ban dog food ads, is there?'

‘No, but I can't let Parfitt's go. Without them, everything falls apart. Mum told me Caesar Maxwell from MyFries is launching some kind of ad campaign to stop the ban, but I can't see how that'll work. I've dug a hole for myself with this prime minister thing. What am I going to say to her? I told her I've got a solution to childhood obesity that's better than the government's ad ban. She probably has a hundred advisors who've done years of research and I'm going to come up with an idea that the PM will go for? No way is she going to say, “Hang on a minute everyone, this kid from Brisbane's got it sorted.”'