Free Fall Girl by Toni Jordan Page B

right here in Victoria. Tell them about the ox. And the watermelon. You’re very persuasive.’ He moves toward the door and stops only a metre away, but I stay put.
    â€˜I’ve tried. They won’t listen.’
    â€˜Show them your documents.’
    â€˜I’ve gone through everything. There are records from the Wilsons Promontory Management Committee dated 1908, where they discussed the benefits of catching tigers in Tasmania and releasing them in the park for hunting. Evidence of all the other imported animals that were released in odd spots in the nineteenth century by the Acclimatisation Society. It’s absolutely plausible that they were once in the park, and when you add the sightings, it becomes possible. I’ve explained my whole theory to them.’
    â€˜Sounds convincing to me. What did they say?
    â€˜They asked if I would help them with a grant application to catch the tooth fairy.’
    â€˜Jeez. Scientists,’ he says and shakes his head. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to do with that fairy. No head for business at all—cash flow all in the wrong direction and the tooth inventory always increasing.’
    â€˜I’ll let them know.’
    â€˜Mind you, she’s not alone. There’re poorly run businesses everywhere. Look at the Easter bunny—runs that business like a charity. One hundred per cent market share, certainly, but where’s the revenue? They’ll all need government bail-outs eventually. Worldwide markets, you see. Too big to fail.’
    He says this in a flirty way, and that’s when I know I’ve got him. I am slightly disappointed. I had expected more of a challenge, considering the stupidity of this whole idea and the number of women someone like him must attract. It turns out he’s as pathetic as the rest of them. I twist a curl of hair around my finger and smile, suddenly coy. ‘So I should sell my shares in Santa?’
    â€˜Well, the margins in the gift business are rubbish anyway and I hear he’s been paying the reindeer a Christmas bonus for years now. As for their super: let’s just say I wouldn’t mind being an elf on the verge of retirement.’
    â€˜I’m so glad you’re here to tell me these things. I never would have figured it out without you.’
    â€˜I’m from a long line of businessmen. It’s in the blood. Perhaps I should knock next door and give your colleagues some advice.’
    â€˜Not a chance,’ I say, and I raise my arms as though I’m barring the door. ‘You’re all mine. With any luck they’ve never heard of your trust. The last thing I need is more competition.’ I blush a little, though by this stage it’s probably unnecessary.
    â€˜Ella,’ he says. ‘Competition should be the least of your worries.’
    I take off my lab coat and bundle him out. I know the hall is empty, otherwise I would have heard Sam, a spruced-up second wall man in his cleaner’s uniform, speaking loudly on his mobile right outside my door. At the end of the corridor is the lift. As the doors open, an older lady scientist exits: late sixties, white close-cropped hair, lab coat, small jade earrings. I hold the doors for her, then we walk inside. The lift doors close. And all at once I begin to feel nervous.
    This feeling is not the normal nerves that I know and love, the sudden rush of butterflies, the adrenaline that brings out my best performance. As the lift begins to move, a nauseated feeling that might be dread overtakes me. I stand, arms at my side, legs stiff, eyes toward the door. For a moment I feel I’m going to faint.
    I’ve been in lifts before, obviously. I have travelled in this very lift several times since Friday lunchtime but now I am conscious of what an enclosed space it is, how isolated from the rest of the world. A small steel bubble.
    The denim of Daniel’s jeans has fine ridges like corduroy that make