'And where are we tomorrow?'

'Somewhere in Australia,' said Di.

'Get the pollsters to meet us here if they can,' Max requested. 'I don't want to get in the car again and I need to call Sh.e.l.ly and Abba.'

We all left the room to let him speak with his wife and daughter in peace.

This is ridiculous, I thought, lying in the hallway outside, sharing a BlackBerry charger with Di. Was it this manic all the time? 'Any chance I could have half an hour to buy some clothes?' I asked Di. 'I don't really want to wear this for a third consecutive day.'

'Sure,' she smiled. 'I've run out of undies and I don't have time to wash them so I might tag along. Let's go in an hour or two.'

I used the quiet time to read my employment contract, but I probably shouldn't have because it just upset me. The party had offered me a forty-day contract, paying the equivalent of about 8 an hour if I kept working at this pace.

This isn't worth it, Ruby, advised my head. You're supposed to be on holiday and instead you're fatigued and being paid tuppence for your trouble.

I went to the bathroom and dialled. 'Aunt Daphne, it's me.'

'Hold on a second, Ruby.' I held for half a minute. 'Sorry about that. One of the pups gets excited when he sees us. I've named him The Widdler.'

'Apt,' I said. 'And the other two?'

'The little girl, Champagne, is bright and bubbly, and JFK's the howler.'

'You named a dog after a president?'

'He was a great orator,' she said. 'How's Sydney?'

'Brisbane, actually.'

'Oh, dear. Debs put your luggage in internal post so it's probably in Sydney by now.'

'c.r.a.p. Does her firm have an office in Brisbane?'

'I'll check,' she said. 'How are you finding it?'

'Exhilarating but exhausting.'

'Like all of life's great pleasures,' she said wryly.

'The pay is s.h.i.t.'

'You're getting paid?'

'Yes, I'm on a contract with the party. It's worse pay than I was getting as a graduate.'

'You were a banker, Ruby. And you didn't like it very much. Anyway, darling, you're supposed to be on holiday so you weren't expecting to make any money this month. You should see this as a bonus.'

My head rolled its eyes.

'Sorry, darling, got to go. The Widdler's living up to his name.'

Back in the hallway, Di leaped to her feet. 'Brennan's doing her presser about the cabinet line-up!'

We ran to the convention centre cafe, where, like a mirage in the Sahara, there was a wall-mounted television showing The Bold and the Beautiful. Brooke and Ridge were smooching.

'Do you have Sun?' Di puffed.

'You can switch in the ad break,' said the drowsy waitress. 'You haven't even ordered anything.'

Di looked homicidal. I stepped in. 'Two of your largest lattes, please,' I said apologetically as the Commercial G.o.ds showed Di a little mercy.

'Thank f.u.c.k,' muttered Di, standing on a chair to operate the thing. Over on the Sun network, Brennan was finishing her press conference flanked by two sharp-suited men: one tall, one short.

'Who are those guys?'

'The short one's Stein, the Minister for Finance,' she said. 'Brennan hates him, but he's the only one who could feasibly step up into the Treasury role. Mayne's the tall one. He's Leader of the House, and Communities Minister. She must be making Mayne her deputy.'

'Does this mean Stein and Mayne were part of the plot to bring down Patton?'

'Possibly, but not necessarily.'

The waitress handed us what looked like vats of coffee. 'That's $11.90, and you can put it back on The Bold now.'

'I've got to go to this polling meeting,' Di said outside.

Clearly I wasn't invited. 'Call me when you're ready to shop.'

With my luggage and litre of flat white, I went outside to get a bit of air. My sungla.s.ses fogged up in the stinking heat. Reaching to defog my lenses, I upended the coffee all over my shirt and trousers. 'Pants!' I screamed, rescuing a Miu from irreversible staining, whereupon I lost my footing and fell. The contents of my hand and overnight bags were strewn across the steps of Brisbane's convention centre.

'Are you all right?' called a man from below. I recognised the resonant voice instantly. Oscar.

'Absolutely,' I lied. 'Minor mishap.' I reached for my a.r.s.e, hoping that the seam of Debs' trousers was still intact. Oscar, who had been doing a piece to camera at the foot of the steps, climbed towards me. Yesterday's underpants were inside out on a nearby step-I shoved them into my pocket.

'Nice trip?' asked Oscar, lending me a strong arm.

Back on my feet, I thanked him and gave up on covering my latte-drenched flat chest. 'I'd better go and change,' I said, not that there was anything to change into. We collected my scattered possessions, some more embarra.s.sing than others, and I hailed a cab.

Oscar waved as we pulled away from the curb.

'I need to buy some clothes,' I said to my eighty-inthe-shade driver.

'I can see that.'

He deposited me at a large pedestrian mall and said, 'David Jones is just in there. It's a bit pricey, but there's quite the collection of fashions.'

Inside the air-conditioned building I slumped at the nearest counter, behind which stood a woman with a cantaloupe-sized grey bun.

She looked at me. 'Oh, sweet pea.'

I had found the Fairy G.o.dmother.

'Take a seat and I'll bring you a few things. You probably shouldn't try anything on because you're a bit...'

'Damp,' I said. Despite being marinated in caffeine, I was dog-tired and couldn't be bothered with shopping: an altogether unfamiliar sensation.

'Sweet pea,' said the Fairy G.o.dmother a few minutes later. I glanced up at a chic dove-grey pencil skirt, a capped-sleeve, silk indigo top and a cotton, charcoal cardigan.

'You're a ten, yes?'

'I am.' I stood to touch the fabrics.

'I brought you something else,' she said, 'but I don't know if you'll like it.'

It was the kind of little black dress women spend their lives searching for. Scooped in neck and back, it was sleeveless and fitted to the knee with a short slit in the back. I did a mental raid of my shoe cupboard in London for the perfect match.

'I'll take it all,' I said, 'and I'll need three bras, three pairs of pants, another top, jeans and a pair of not-too-high pointed black pumps.'

I emailed Di.

D, doused myself in coffee so I'm at a place called David Jones. I realise we've only just met, but if you want me to buy your pants, I can. R Thanks Roo. Hipster. Size twelve. Black. D Houndstooth shopping bags in hand, I cabbed it to the hotel.

'Today was the first complete day of this bizarre election campaign and it was a cracker, with new Prime Minister Gabrielle Brennan promoting her arch nemesis, Bart Stein, to the coveted Treasury position.'

Oscar's six o'clock report cut to a shot of the Burwood High School sign and then footage of Max on the cricket field. 'But in the western suburbs of Sydney, Opposition Leader Max Masters was busy making amends for his bull-in-a-china-shop gaffe with high school cricket team the Burwood Bulls.

'It's been a busy day in the Masters camp,' said Oscar, 'where in Brisbane this afternoon the Opposition Leader announced plans to establish a national mediation centre for banks and small businesses, in what the business community is calling a "positive step forwards". But banks used the opportunity to take a swipe at the Opposition's inexperience.' The coverage switched to footage of a groomed woman with tattooed-on eyebrows.

'This shows a degree of naivety on the part of the Opposition,' she said. 'When businesses default, banks often have no option but to move in and seize a.s.sets. It's not personal-it's business. Mr Masters would do well to understand the distinction.'

Di dimmed the volume and the LOO left in a funk, followed closely by Luke, who was using his debacle of a tie to stretch his arms behind him.

'I thought it was good,' I said.

'It was,' said Di. 'He's just too tired and close to it to know. Anyway, for now we need to finalise an event for tomorrow, tell the cops so they can advance it, watch the rest of today's coverage and figure out what radios we're doing in the morning.'

'Now?'

'Well, yes,' laughed Di, 'but there's nothing to say this can't be done over room service and a gla.s.s of wine.'

Theo staggered past us, stretching his arms above his head. 'Two days down,' he said, 'only thirty-one to go.'

'I'll get the wine,' I said.

Bankers anonymous.

Having crawled into bed at 2 a.m., I wasn't particularly impressed to find myself back on the BBJ waiting to take off for Perth at half six. The knowledge that I had myself to blame made the experience considerably less enjoyable.

The night before, Maddy had called from Perth to complain about an event she was advancing for later in the week. It was supposed to be the launch of a policy to get unemployed school-leavers to do two months of community service before starting further education, a gap year or a job. Max called it 'Serve the Nation'.

Serve the Nation was to be the perfect Sunday papers story, full of colour and controversy to get people talking about us rather than them.

'I got to the refugee centre in Perth where we were supposed to be launching the thing and found a handwritten "back in five" sign on the door,' Maddy told me. 'Forty minutes later, a dude with six eyebrow rings turned up and asked if I could come back later because he had an Indonesian lesson. I asked whether he was learning Bahasa as part of his work with the refugee centre. He goes, "Nah, man, I met the hottest chick surfing in Bali."'

So that's how Maddy came to be desperate and eventless in Perth.

Meanwhile in Brisbane, Gewurztraminers in our grip, Di and I had decided Day Three was going to be about our cohesive leadership team in contrast with the 'bunch of back-stabbers' on the other side. The problem was that shadow ministers were now scattered across the country. There was no way we could have sixteen of them in Sydney in a matter of hours, so we sc.r.a.pped that.

Plan B was Ballarat. Our advancer on the ground had checked into his hotel only to be asked by the concierge when the Prime Minister would be arriving.

'I work for Max Masters,' he said, 'the Leader of the Opposition.'

'A thousand apologies,' said the concierge. 'I a.s.sumed you were with the Prime Minister's office because they're due to check in tomorrow morning.'

'What's wrong with that?' I'd asked Di.

'Ballarat's a big town,' she said, 'but way too small for two prime ministerial candidates at once.'

Crestfallen, she had returned to her caesar salad deep in thought about Plan C. My BlackBerry buzzed.

Good news-found venue. Children's hospital radio program. Lovely, enthusiastic young team entertains sick kids. Will keep you posted. Maddy I showed it to Di to cheer her up. She lit up like a bride at the altar. 'Gold,' she said, almost knocking me off my chair with an impa.s.sioned high five. 'Ask Maddy to have it ready for tomorrow. I'll call Luke, and have Beryl get the planes ready.'

'You can praise me later,' Maddy said when I called. 'I've got to keep sorting through the logistics if we're going to make this happen by Thursday.'

'What about tomorrow?'

Maddy lowered her voice a few octaves. 'What about tomorrow?'

'I was so excited that I told Di, who was overwhelmed by the idea and is intent on doing it.'

's.h.i.t, Roo, I'm on my own out here; I can't pull this off for tomorrow night.'

'Afternoon.'

'f.u.c.k a duck. I'll call you back.'

Within an hour, we had an event to match the planned and costed Serve the Nation policy. Patch Radio, a children's community radio program for inpatients at the WA kids' hospital, would show us work being done by its volunteers. It was a perfect match for our policy launch. Di, Luke and the LOO had been ecstatic, but my new friendship with Maddy was on shaky ground.

Now, back on the BBJ, Archie was ready to brief us on the morning's coverage over a few slices of toast.

'I reckon we won yesterday,' he said.

Max looked pleased with himself, but it could just have been that Sh.e.l.ly had joined us for the Perth trip. He took her hand in his.