24
“So I’m still Governor?” Vera asked, wincing at the pathetic squeak in her voice.
“You’re still Governor,” Channing affirmed. “But don’t fuck this up, Vera. I still don’t know what we’re going to do about Smith’s death, but when either Ferguson or the press find out about it, you know all hell will break lose.”
Vera nervously twisted the telephone cord between her fingers. “Maybe no one will care,” she replied hopefully.
“Have you lost your wits?” Channing responded. “This is Bea Smith we’re talking about. She’s hardly some unknown figure.” He paused, his sigh audible over the phone. “It’s going to be a fucking circus. We just have to hope that we’ll have time to prepare for it.”
Vera nodded.
“Vera?” Channing barked.
“Yes, Mr. Channing,” Vera finally said aloud. “I understand.”
“Good,” he replied, “because if you fuck this up, I will personally see to it that you don’t work in any correctional centre in the entirety of Australia.”
The line went dead.
Vera carefully replaced the handset. Once again, she stared out the window. She knew—even if Channing didn’t—that Joan was very aware of Smith’s death. But would she use that information? It would be a risk, since Joan herself could be implicated in the death.
And if she was, there was nothing to stop her from implicating Vera, as well.
Vera needed a plan.
***
“We don’t need to schedule sessions with Westfall,” Sonia was saying.
“Yeah, we do,” Boomer replied. “That’s the point of Maxi’s plan! To get information out of her!”
“No, Susan, that’s not what I mean,” Sonia shook her head. “Liz already has regular sessions scheduled with her. She can be our go-between.”
Liz felt suddenly panicked. “No, no, I’d rather stay out of it,” she responded nervously.
“Oh come on, Liz!” Doreen chided her. “This is perfect! No one would suspect a thing!”
Maxine was watching Liz carefully. She could sense some kind of dynamic between Liz and Sonia that she didn’t understand. It was obvious, however, that Liz was quietly panicking.
“I’ll do it,” she announced abruptly. “No one will wonder why I suddenly feel the need to see a therapist.”
The table was silent. Boomer suddenly reached over and grabbed Maxine’s hand, holding it forcefully.
Maxine didn’t have the heart to tell her it hurt.
Sonia nodded decisively. “An excellent plan, Maxine. You will be an exceptional go-between.”
“If we can get Westfall to talk,” Liz pointed out.
Their thoughts were interrupted by sudden yells and clamoring around them. As Maxine watched, Tina Mercado shoved Juicy Lucy, using the force of her much smaller body to push the older woman into the cafeteria table. “I said to stay the fuck away from me,” Tina bellowed.
“Then stop getting in our business,” Lucy yelled back, “or me and the boys will show you what our business really means!”
Boomer jumped up from the table. “Oi, shut up, Juice!” she yelled. “Nobody wants to see your business!”
Maxine’s eyes scanned the cafeteria, watching as the women shouted, egging on a fight. She observed as the guard ineffectually tried to quiet the women.
“The women are losing it,” Doreen noted.
Liz nodded. “We need a proper Top Dog. Kaz has to get out of the slot.”
They were right, Maxine thought. The women needed the stability of a Top Dog. She watched as the guard on duty panicked, calling in other officers. But there was more to it, she contemplated. Maxine closed her eyes, once again pushing away waves of guilt and sadness.
They needed closure.
She stood, slowly, pushing back her still-full tray. “I’m going to ask to speak with the Governor.”
The others stared at her.
“Bea needs a funeral,” she announced.
***
Franky was rummaging through drawers. “Gidge?” she called. “Have you seen my keys?”
“Did you check the hook?” Bridget replied, happily donning her shirt. Her smile bordered on smug. These little lunchtime meetups with Franky made her workday so much better…
“Found them!” Franky called back.
Bridget shook her head in fondness. Franky was a beautiful, hot-headed whirlwind with a remarkable ability to lose her car keys on an almost hourly basis.
Franky appeared in the doorway. “Of course, I could always just catch a ride with you!”
“Like you just did?” Bridget asked in reply, raising and lowering her eyebrows comically as she circled her hands around Franky’s waist.
“Gidge!” Franky exclaimed, shaking her head. “That was pathetic. That was like a dad-joke level of pathetic, but about sex! That’s just wrong!”
Bridget chuckled. “You’re the one who joked about it first!”
“I meant a real ride, Gidge. Real. In a car. With wheels.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “I’m going to work, Franky. To Wentworth.”
“Yeah,” Franky responded, nodding. “I’m going there, too!”
Bridget stilled. “What do you mean?”
Franky laughed. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I’m going to Wentworth. I need to fill out a visitor request form.”
Bridget released her hands from Franky’s waist, pulling back to look at her. “You can’t visit anyone there,” she stated seriously.
“What? Of course I can,” Franky replied. “Gidge, you know I visited Bea there,” she said quietly. “We had good talks. I miss that. I miss the women.”
“I know, love,” Bridget said sympathetically, taking Franky’s hands. “But Bea obviously isn’t there anymore, and, as for visiting the women… we have to be careful.”
Franky rolled her eyes. “I’m not scared of Vera Bennett, if that’s what you mean.”
Bridget sighed. “It is, partly, but it’s also more than that. Ferguson knew about our involvement. I need you to stay far away from anything related to Wentworth—at least for a little while. I need you and my place of employment to be completely separate.”
“Gidge…” Franky looked away. “Gidge, I know we need to protect you—”
“And you,” Bridget interrupted. “You’re still on parole, Franky.”
Franky nodded. “I get that—I understand the need for caution. But it’s also important that I go. I need to tell someone—Liz, or Boomer, I haven’t decided yet—I need to alert the women.”
“Franky…” Bridget started warningly.
“They need to know about the Freak!” Franky exclaimed. “They need to know that she gave the hot shot to Allie!”
“And what exactly would that accomplish?” Bridget replied. “You have no proof!”
“Bea told me!” Franky shouted, crying. “She told me herself, before… before…”
Bridget pulled her into her familiar hold. “Shhhh,” she whispered. “Shhhh.”
Franky quieted. “Gidge,” she said, whispering into Bridget’s shoulder. She tilted her head, looking Bridge in the eye. “It’s their right to know,” she stated earnestly.
Bridget sighed, thinking. After a while, she nodded. “You’re right,” she murmured.
“I usually am,” Franky affirmed, her sense of humour struggling to return as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“But it can’t be you to tell them,” Bridget added.
Franky’s brow knotted in confusion. “Then who—?”
“Me. I’ll tell them.”
Franky shook her head. “Isn’t that more dangerous? What if Vera found out?”
“I’m not scared of Vera Bennett,” Bridget mocked, throwing back Franky’s earlier words. Her smile faded. “It’s ethically problematic, but it’s still safer. You know better than anyone that my meetings with patients are entirely confidential. They’re not recorded or monitored. Neither Ferguson nor Vera will know.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Franky pulled her into a hug. “Then you tell them,” she whispered fiercely into Bridget’s ear. “You tell my girls. You let them know exactly what we’re up against.” She paused. “And maybe, just maybe, they can find some way to help from the inside!”