Sidetracked

by David Harley

  ‘That would certainly be unfortunate.’

  ‘I’ve nothing against Matt Barker personally. We’ve seen today that he can be a smart operator, with a certain talent for public speaking and mobilising the masses. But we can’t afford the risk, however slight, of the electoral contest in my own constituency becoming the epicentre of a national earthquake.’

  ‘How would we calm the storm before the earthquake – if you’ll excuse the mixed metaphor? Do you have any particular measures in mind?’

  ‘I’ve got a few ideas about the general situation. We may need to provoke some serious unrest, so we can hit them hard and make an example. We’ll probably need a few fatalities. The home secretary won’t be happy, but I see no other way.’

  ‘And Mr Barker?’

  ‘In his case, I’m afraid it has to be long and painful. He’s left us with no choice. We’ll have to get inside his head, and destroy his peace of mind. Bring back the wife from Australia, to muddy the waters. Send him over the edge. Start with the Islamist boy.’

  Crouch looked away. This was the most difficult and distasteful part of his job. Few people realised the pressures a prime minister had to face. If he thought too much about the techniques they used, he would never get anything done. He could not allow one individual to stand in the way of the interests of the state. It took courage to take such difficult decisions, and no one ever thanked you for it.

  ‘I’ll issue the necessary instructions, Prime Minister. Through the usual channels, so there’ll be no trace. Consider it done. He won’t bother you again.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  As they drove at breakneck speed through the suburban streets, one union security car ahead of them and another following, Sam’s phone never stopped ringing and bleeping. She eventually turned it off.

  ‘I wonder who’ll get to us first – the media or Crouch’s mob,’ said Matt.

  When the convoy entered Matt’s street, they saw the photographers and TV crews already waiting outside his flat. Sam asked if they should turn round and drive away.

  ‘No, keep going. I mustn’t give the impression I’m trying to avoid the press. They’re only doing their job. I’ll make a brief statement and take a few questions. I’ll do this on my own, and give you a call when I’m back inside.’

  The car drove a short distance down the road, and Matt walked the rest of the way. He stood outside the main entrance, with a dozen microphones prodded under his nose.

  ‘Today was a bad day for James Crouch, but a good day for democracy. We reminded the outgoing prime minister that England’s still a free country, not a dictatorship or a one-party state. As for his behaviour, we all have days like that, when we say or do things we regret afterwards. On a personal level, I won’t hold it against him. Politically, I think he should ask himself whether he’s really up to the job. He’s been around for too long, and it’s starting to show. His attempt to cling on to power looks shameful and undignified. James Crouch should put the country first, and rule himself out for another term in office. The people have had enough of Crouch and the English Nationalists. I believe the Save Our Country Alliance have the policies, the values and the determination that people are calling for. The time has come to end this period of recession and decline, and to start the work of rebuilding England.’

  Several questions were shouted out simultaneously: ‘Did he apologise? … Are you saying Crouch should resign? … Do you have any proof of wrongdoing? … Are you in with a chance?’

  ‘We’ll fight this election with everything we’ve got, and we’ll fight to win. I’ve nothing further to add,’ said Matt. He turned and entered the building.

  He ran up the stairs and had a quick but careful look in each room in his flat. This time there was no sign of any unwelcome intruder. Opening the window and looking outside, he saw the cameramen and journalists had left. Reassured, he breathed in lungfuls of the fresh evening air. The street was perfectly quiet again and everything seemed in its place. The two security cars were parked opposite. The cherry trees were in blossom, the birds singing, and clumps of bright spring flowers dotted across every house’s front garden. He called Sam and asked her to come round.

  ‘There’s more to life than politics,’ said Sam. ‘I’d love us to go away somewhere, the two of us. To go for walks along the beach, to climb mountains, to lie together in the shade of a tall tree looking down on the sea.’

  They lay naked, side-by-side on the bed, Sam’s head in the crook of his arm.

  ‘We’ll do all that, I promise you, and more,’ he replied. ‘Just not quite yet. We’ve other work to do first. I need you here with me. You inspire me - ’

  ‘No one’s ever said that to me before …’

  ‘… and give me energy and make me happy. How come you suddenly appeared out of nowhere to change my life?’

  ‘It was all part of my devious plan to seduce you and then kidnap you and hold you to ransom,’ said Sam.

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘Don’t know really … I suppose you saw my evil intentions …’

  ‘And then we got sidetracked,’ said Matt.

  He sounded more serious now.

  ‘That’s what invariably happens. Diverted from our original purpose. In the hands of the gods, or whoever decides our fate.’

  Sam thought for a moment.

  ‘Do you think it will ever end?’ she asked.

  ‘You mean, what we’re doing?’

  ‘The politics, the backbiting, the threats and bullying, the sniping, the sheer hypocrisy – ’

  ‘Most of that’s human nature, so no, it’ll never completely go away,’ said Matt. ‘We’ll have to go through all that, you can’t avoid it. It’s the price you have to pay if you want to try and improve things – or at least to stop them getting worse. The counterpoint is people’s essential decency, and the satisfaction of leaving a mark, however small.’

  ‘I realise it’s unlikely, but suppose we win, and you become prime minister, then what happens to us? I know we’ll be doing a vital job to turn the country round, but won’t it just be more of the same, on an even bigger scale? The infernal merry-go-round will keep on turning, faster and faster, never stopping to let you get off. You’ll never have a moment of time you can call your own. Where will I fit in? I’m not going to just fade away and let you take all the glory.’

  ‘I’ll never allow that, I promise you. Anyway, you’re too strong and smart to let that happen. The project can’t succeed without your having a major role.’

  She stiffened and screwed up her face.

  ‘You should rephrase what you just said. Be very careful. You can stuff your offer of “a major role”.’

  He closed his eyes, realising his stupidity. He took a deep breath and tried again.

  ‘We’ll have to organise our lives differently, in an equal partnership where we respect each other’s strengths, and make sure we don’t become prisoners of the system.’

  ‘A bit pompous but that sounds marginally better. Give me one good reason to believe that might happen.’

  ‘Because I want to share the rest of my life with you.’

  ‘Even if we win?’

  ‘Only if we win.’

  ‘Arsehole – it’s a deal.’

  She consummated the promise and her forgiveness by hungrily nibbling his ear. Then they put their arms around each other, made love, and drifted off to sleep. She moved in the next day.

  Matt’s burgeoning relationship with Sam gave him a huge lift, and there was more good news on the way. Everything was coming together at once. The latest batch of opinion polls for West Thameside put Matt in double figures. Crouch was still fifteen points ahead, but the gap was narrowing. Two days later, after a meeting at the campaign HQ in Tufton Street, Matt received the visit of Harish Mukherjee. His usually lugubrious air had vanished, and he was waving an envelope in the air.

  ‘I can hardly believe it,’ said Harish. ‘We received the news yesterday, confirmed by lette
r - the Council’s climbed down. The threat of court action must have made them think again. We can stay in our homes - I can’t thank you enough. You and Ahmed have saved our lives. Nita sends her thanks too.’

  Matt gave Harish a hug.

  ‘You deserve this result. It took a lot of courage to stand up to the Council and the developers.’

  Matt’s next thought was to call the one person who had worked harder than anyone else to obtain this result.

  ‘So you’ve heard,’ said Ahmed, brushing aside Matt’s compliments. ‘He told me first thing this morning. The real heroes were the families themselves. I just went along every other evening to play football with the kids, and make sure the residents didn’t give up. They’ve obtained justice and I’m pleased for them. They’re organising a picnic in the park next Sunday – you should come.’

  ‘I’ll be there. You’re a rock, Ahmed. You don’t like hearing this, but we’d never have recruited so many young people if it weren’t for you. Your energy makes all the difference.’

  ‘I’m just doing what I believe in. If I can help other people, it makes it easier to put up with all the shit they throw at us.’

  ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘I’m probably just imagining things. Let’s have a chat on Sunday.’

  Matt saw he had another call waiting, so they left it there.

  Back on the campaign trail every day, the morose mood of inertia and indifference seemed to have lifted. People in the street began to stop and listen, and more and more volunteers came out canvassing, with many from the local student population.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t say this,’ Matt said to Rob one day in the office, ‘but I can’t help wondering if we’ve turned the corner. Maybe the voters are starting to sense that Crouch is no longer as powerful as he used to be, and we might be in with a chance.’

  ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself,’ Rob replied. ‘The other side will come at you when you least expect it. If you’re right and this could be Crouch’s last stand, he’s not going to turn round and quietly walk away. It’s not just Crouch and the ENP you’re taking on – they’re only a front, it’s the invisible people behind them that count. Once they sense they’re losing their hold on power, they’ll make you pay a heavy price, even if we win.’

  The previous evening, in the White Swan, Rob had briefed Matt on the situation in the country at large. The overall picture was one of extreme fragmentation, with wildly fluctuating regional variations, making predictions hazardous. The ENP enjoyed a clear lead ahead of the other parties and alliances, but hadn’t increased its share of the vote for several weeks. The polls had the remaining rumps of both the Conservatives and Labour stuck sluggishly in the mid-teens. SOCA was poised to overtake them both for the first time and move into second place, benefitting from a growing war chest financed by several new donors and the concentration of their resources in key marginal seats. The ENP were cleaning up most of the votes freed up by the collapse of the traditional parties, particularly in seats previously held by the Tories in the South East and East Anglia. Support for the Alliance was steadily growing in London. In another new development, creating more confusion, the number of candidates standing as independents or on behalf of local communities was growing daily.

  According to Rob, if these trends continued - and if the polling organisations were not as wildly inaccurate as they had been in 2015 and 2017 – not only would no single party or electoral alliance have a majority in the House of Commons, but there might also be no basis for any form of workable coalition. Although a remote possibility, a scenario was even emerging where Independent MPs could hold the balance of power.

  ‘In other words,’ Rob said earnestly, ‘the system’s imploding. We’re looking at the possibility of a massive vacuum at the centre of English politics. The right-wing press is already screaming that if the ENP fail to secure a majority, the country will become ungovernable. The lower-end tabloids are full of talk of alleged conspiracies and planned putsches, union-inspired riots and insurrections. They’re trying to make people believe that only a vote for the ENP can prevent all-out anarchy and civil war. Against all this background noise and frenzy, if we’re not careful our message will be drowned out, and the Alliance written off as irrelevant.’

  ‘I’m not worried,’ said Matt. ‘Chaos, panic and paranoia sound good to me. Look at it this way. We’ve got five weeks to go, our share of the vote is gradually increasing, the traditional parties are flailing, and the ENP can feel us coming up behind. There’s a steady flow of donations coming in, and thousands of new members are joining every week. It’s amazing what we’ve achieved in such a short time. A lot remains to be done and the most difficult part is still to come, but it’s hard not to be optimistic. We’re in exactly the place I’d like to be at this stage. We’re surfing on the tide of history - whatever could stop us now?’

  Rob shook his head, clearly not sharing Matt’s surge of confidence. Matt felt his pessimism was overdone. Of course they had to be careful, and not get ahead of themselves, but events would prove soon enough which of them was right. Leading a revolution and in love with Sam, Matt was the luckiest man in the world, but he wouldn’t let it affect his judgement.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As Matt approached the bridge, he saw he was a few minutes ahead of time. Halfway across, he stopped to lean against the stone balustrade, watching the ripples of the water flowing through the arches below and the ducks waddling along the muddy banks. The river helped him clear his mind, and the bridge – especially when he stood in the middle of it - gave him an irrational sense of accomplishment and peace. He liked playing with the feeling that he was moving from one side to the other, of starting in one place and not knowing for certain where he would end up.

  Matt had agreed to pass by Ahmed’s flat on the way to the park. He had been there several times before.

  ‘Why don’t you drop in for a coffee?’ Ahmed had said on the phone the previous evening. ‘I know everything looks fine on the surface, but there are one or two new members I’m not sure about. I think we may have been infiltrated.’

  Ahmed hadn’t wanted to say anything more about his concerns over the phone. Matt was unfazed: Ahmed was suspicious by nature and a worrier. Matt knew him well enough to sense when he needed reassurance. As the arduous campaign entered the final stretch, everyone was feeling the strain. Matt would tell Ahmed that, while his fears were probably exaggerated, in the current climate he was right to report anything unusual. Their enemies were undoubtedly growing by the day. They would have the suspects vetted and see if any action was required.

  Matt’s reverie on the bridge was interrupted by the roar of a plane soaring towards the sky, doubtless after taking off from nearby Heathrow. He could make out the British Airways emblem on the tail. The noise sounded louder than usual, perhaps because there was no cloud cover, or the wind was blowing in a different direction.

  He came to the end of the bridge and turned right into a narrow street that led up the hill to Ahmed’s flat, which was on the ground floor of what must have once been an imposing Edwardian villa, but that was now crumbling and in need of several coats of paint. He walked slowly up the hill, stopping to look in the windows of the antique and junk shops. Further up the road, on the valley side, pink blossom floated down from a row of cherry trees. Another plane roared overhead, the noise sounding even closer. He guessed he was now directly under the flight path. The sound gradually gave away to a chorus of cawing crows from the upper branches of a tall plane tree.

  A little breathless from walking up the hill in the sun, he stood at the foot of the cracked stone steps leading up to Ahmed’s front door.

  Then he saw the curtains blowing through the open window.

  He climbed two steps to see more clearly. As he held back the curtain and peered inside, his stomach tightened.

  Leaning forward, he saw the shape of a body hanging from the top of the window-frame, turning slightly from one side to the ot
her with the breeze. Its head was lolling forward, and a belt was fastened round the neck.

  The listless body swung round, and he saw the contorted face and expressionless eyes.

  Bringing his hands to his head, Matt forced himself to look again.

  The swinging body was Ahmed’s corpse.

  The shock sucked all the breath out of his body and his brain closed down. He was unable to take in what he had just seen. Needing to steady himself, Matt sat down on the bottom step, staring at the ground, his whole body shaking. He couldn’t bear to look upwards again.

  He hadn’t known him long, and they came from different worlds, but Ahmed had become his protégé, almost his younger brother. He couldn’t think further than the basic, inexplicable, heartrending fact of Ahmed’s death. Try as he might, he couldn’t get his brain to work or form a single coherent thought. He took one last look at the body, and then sat facing the opposite direction, unable to bear the sight any longer. He resisted the instinct to force his way into the flat and cut Ahmed down, to help bring him to rest. Instead he fumbled for his phone and called the emergency services.

  During the twelve minutes that he spent waiting for the ambulance, it felt as though they would never come. To make the time pass more quickly, Matt tried again to work out what might be the cause of the tragedy. In his jumbled thinking, he first asked himself whether he himself was in some way responsible. Should he have seen the signs? He couldn’t remember anything strange in Ahmed’s recent behaviour. He had certainly never talked about being depressed. What had happened didn’t add up.

  In a flash of stark clarity, he saw the obvious explanation that had been staring him in the face, but which his stricken state had prevented him from seeing.

  Crouch’s people had killed Ahmed and made it look like suicide.