by David Harley
He had to see the children one last time before everything blew up. Taking his time, Matt walked through the park to the old house. As he crossed the driveway, he saw Jenny waving at him from the kitchen window. Almost immediately, the front door opened and Sophie and Jack came running down the path towards him.
The children chattered and giggled, each holding one of his hands and pulling him from one side to the other. The big news was that, three days earlier, they’d bought a dog, a chocolate Labrador puppy, which they’d called Betsy.
‘Where is she?’ asked Matt.
‘Fast asleep,’ said Jack. ‘She never stops sleeping.’
‘Who looks after her?’
‘We all do,’ said Sophie. ‘She belongs to all three of us.’
Matt closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
‘Mummy and I do most of the work. We have to clear up all the mess. Jack just plays with her.’
Matt patted them both on the head, and then gave Jenny a perfunctory peck on the cheek. She didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t more affectionate. Since that first disastrous encounter after her return, they had both stopped pretending. The children began to chase each other round the old chestnut tree, while Jenny and Matt stood together on the front porch. He noticed they both had their arms crossed, and quickly put his hands in his pockets.
‘I can’t stay, I’m afraid. But I wanted to see you all before my world gets turned upside down.’
‘The children probably won’t even notice that anything’s changed. They don’t see much of you any more as it is.’
‘I’m not emigrating, you know –’
‘You might as well be. I hope you’ll invite us to your new planet from time to time.’
They both knew they were going through another parting. Each time it was both the same yet worse, as they had less and less to say to each other. He wouldn’t admit it to her, but Jenny was right that he was about to partly disappear from the children’s lives. He could make promises, block off whole hours of his time in the diary, but the truth was that from now on he would no longer be in control. He would probably see them less than before.
‘Say goodbye to them for me.’
‘You can’t just sneak off - give them a big hug before you go.’
She clapped her hands and like magic the two children appeared from behind the tree. Matt leaned down and they ran into his open arms.
‘Now what did I tell you to say to Daddy,’ said Jenny.
Sophie and Jack looked at each other and each burst out laughing. Sophie whispered something in Jack’s ear before saying loudly, ‘One, two, three!’
‘Good luck, Daddy’, they both shouted at the top of their voice.
He pulled them close.
‘Look after Betsy,’ he said. ‘I want to see her next time I come. And Mummy.’
He hugged them once more and let them go. He began walking backwards away from them, first blowing kisses, then waving goodbye as his heart sank like a stone, before he turned into the road and was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
As Matt entered the Oak Room of the White Swan, he was assailed by a blast of background music and cheerful chatter that almost knocked him back through the door. Fifty familiar faces radiated warmth and easy friendship. When they spotted him, a loud cheer broke out, as they continued partying. Waves of laughter rose and fell. Matt guessed that, under the surface, the nervousness levels were at an all-time high.
As he surveyed the scene, he thought of all they’d been through together - the frequent disagreements and arguments, often no sooner expressed than regretted and quickly patched up, the breakups and reconciliations, the temporary wobbles in people’s normally unswerving loyalty. Yet there they all were – Sam and Rob, naturally, but also Bernadette, Karim, Malik, Marta, Jack, Bogdan, the Hancock Grove crowd, and so many others - still passionately true to the cause and, for the most part, enjoying each other’s company and pulling in the same direction. If elections were decided by the devotion and enthusiasm of the candidates’ supporters, Matt and SOCA would already be clear winners. In a little more than twenty-four hours, they would know if that had been enough.
Tonight he would be saying goodbye, from the edge of a precipice. Whatever happened, he would miss the comfort of their company more than they would ever realise. Tomorrow, as polling day unfolded and gradually gathered pace, he would be suspended, alone in no man’s land, during the long wait before the announcement of the result. And then… who knew where he would be transported? He repeated to himself that he had no regrets.
As he moved into the midst of his friends and supporters, at first he feared that some might reproach him for not having spent more time in the constituency while they were doing all the work on his behalf, and for the days when he had gone missing. He needn’t have worried: with much backslapping, kisses and handshakes, he was welcomed back into the fold like a long-lost comrade returning to his home village after fighting bloody battles in a distant land. They were his people, and it felt good to be with them again.
Karim, Ahmed’s successor as the leader of the student volunteers, was among the first to come up and shake his hand. He spoke loudly into Matt’s ear.
‘We’ve missed you on the doorstep. I can’t believe it’s nearly over. Trudging the streets has become what we do. It’s going to be hard to fill the day.’
‘Don’t worry, there’ll still be enough to keep you busy,’ said Matt. ‘The world doesn’t change overnight because there’s been an election. That’s when the real work begins.’
Karim wagged a finger at him.
‘Don’t let us down. There’s two thousand young people giving you their vote tomorrow, and they’ve all got their eye on you. Keep listening to what we have to say. I’ve taken a risk in backing you – don’t dump us when you become somebody important.’
Matt replied without a moment’s hesitation.
‘You’ve every right to keep an eye on me and hold me to account. But it’s a two-way process. If I’m elected, I’m going to need your support more than ever, to get the results we all want. I can’t walk into Downing Street and wave a magic wand. If we’re in government, we’ll have to go on fighting for what we believe in. I’ll never abandon you and your friends, and I’ll expect the same support from you in return. Agreed?’
They sealed the deal with a high-five and Matt pushed forward to join Sam, who was sitting on a table on the far side of the room. As he slowly moved through the crowd, someone turned off the music. By the time he reached Sam, the general hubbub had subsided. Rob clapped his hands and called the meeting to order, and silence descended on the room. The party atmosphere had vanished.
Rob took them through the items of practical business that needed to be sorted for the following day – confirming the names of volunteers who would variously act as tellers, give voters a lift to the polls, and be officially present at the count. He kept hammering home the message that no effort should be spared – ‘no shirkers, no going off to the pub’ – and that every single vote mattered. By now, after months of practice, the machine was so finely tuned that the discussion only took a few minutes. Matt was struck by the contrast between everything that hung on the result of the election and the banality of the necessary practicalities to make it happen. After Rob had finished giving people their instructions, there was a brief silence and one or two nervous giggles. A few heads turned to look at Matt.
It wasn’t just that no one knew what to say; Matt understood it was more than that. The feeling hit them all at the same time, if perhaps to differing degrees. He understood what was going through their minds. Even though they had carried the date of the election in their heads for months, the fact that it was tomorrow, in only a few hours’ time, had caught up on them without their having seen it coming. One moment they had been laughing and joking in their usual slightly forced and ostensibly carefree way, and then suddenly they came to a collective standstill.
Enveloped in the silence, Ma
tt suspected that everyone shared the same sense that not only was a chapter coming to an end, but also that they were drained and shattered. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the earlier cheerfulness had given way to the weight of fatigue from all those nights of lack of sleep, and the relentless efforts of cajoling and persuasion deployed over thousands of doorstep conversations and confrontations. The nervous tension that had produced the adrenalin and kept them going for so long, beyond the usual limits of endurance, had started to seep away.
Standing next to the table, trying not to show that he too was close to cracking up, Matt dug deep one last time to find the right words.
‘I think you all know how much I appreciate you, as individuals and as a team. You know I’m not usually one for dramatic words or grandiose statements, and tonight I’ll just say this: love’s not too strong a word. I’ll never forget what we’ve achieved together.’
Looking around the room, drawing everyone in, Matt nodded and gave a little, tight-lipped smile, as if to say that he knew exactly how they were feeling, because he was feeling it too.
‘This isn’t the time for speeches – that’ll be tomorrow.’
Matt paused for a second, looking down, momentarily lost in thought. As the silence round the room returned, he felt its force. People were expecting more from him. He caught Sam’s eye and saw the mock-reproachful look on her face: she had understood where he was heading. They both knew what invariably followed whenever a politician said that it wasn’t time for speeches. And so it proved. He moved across to take up a central position in front of the table, and the rest of them shifted and shuffled in their places to get a clearer view.
‘I can see a few tired faces round the room this evening, mine included,’ he began. ‘We’ve come a long way over the past year. It wasn’t always easy, far from it, but we never gave up. Our movement has grown way beyond our expectations, but so has the mindless violence and brutality perpetrated by the nationalists. We lost one of our dearest friends, to whom we owe more than words can say … Let’s take a minute to remember Ahmed.’
Head bowed, Matt stared at the floor, unflinchingly.
Not a single sound came from inside the room. In his mind Matt thanked Ahmed and promised him that he would fight to the last, and give his life if he had to, to defeat their enemies. That was how important tomorrow and the next few days would be.
‘Thank you.’
He allowed a few seconds for people to switch back to present time and the task in hand.
‘What we’ve achieved together, in creating this movement, is remarkable, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’m so proud of you all.’
Matt switched on what Sam called his ethereal smile and looked around the room. He had experienced on one or two previous occasions the almost mystical moment that followed. Concentrating hard, he felt a direct line of connection with each person in the room. Several nodded back at him. Some muffled intakes of breath could be heard. Already one or two people were swallowing or biting their lips. Others stared resolutely at the ceiling.
‘The day after tomorrow you can take a well-earned rest,’ he continued. ‘But as we all know, before we can start to relax, we’ve got to get through one more day. I’d ask you all to do me one last favour.’
Everyone looked up, wondering what was coming next, but ready to do whatever Matt asked.
‘Don’t worry, it’s quite simple – I want you to enjoy tomorrow. Make the most of it, savour it, drink it all in. Write it down in your diaries when you get home, tell all your friends and family. It’ll be an unforgettable day, I promise you. I hardly dare say we’ll be making history, but it won’t be far off. Thank you, everyone.’
Not waiting for the applause, Matt headed straight for the exit. He turned round one last time and waved goodbye, before disappearing into the street, leaving the pub door behind him, swinging on its hinges.
A distant police siren blared from the other side of town, followed by the clattering of a train crossing the railway bridge over the river. The sky was clear and the silver moon almost full, its serene and steady glow standing out against the pinpricks of lights from the planes holding and circling before coming in to land.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
He was on home territory this time and would leave nothing to chance. General Sir Nicholas McIntyre was the last appointment in Crouch’s diary on the evening before polling day. The prime minister had decided to receive him after dinner, in the Cabinet Room at 10 pm. The Chief of the Defence Staff had been told to come alone.
On entering the room, McIntyre came to attention and saluted. Crouch bowed his head in approval. He appreciated the show of respect, even if the way the military used excessive politeness to cover up their smugness irritated him profoundly. Crouch gestured for the general to take the seat opposite him at the Cabinet table, directly under the crystal chandelier. Giles Penfold sat on Crouch’s left, fiddling with his files.
‘Let me start by reminding you what this is about,’ said Crouch. ‘Not a word of this conversation must ever leave this room.’
‘Of course, Prime Minister.’
‘I’ve every confidence that I’ll win the election and remain in office. I need hardly remind you that as long as I’m prime minister, you take your orders from me.’
The general opened his eyes wide.
‘That goes without saying, sir.’
Crouch stared him down, before resuming his instructions.
‘The objective is to put in place precautionary measures to guarantee public order and safety, in the unlikely event of any major disorder. Most probably, they won’t be necessary. The police will be our first line of defence and hopefully they’ll be able to deal with any trouble – your troops will be waiting in reserve. Not a move will be made nor a shot fired without my express authorisation.’
A muscle twitched in the general’s cheek. He frowned and flashed a disapproving glance at Penfold, who showed no reaction.
‘Now tell me, General, what do you propose?’
General McIntyre opened his briefcase and unfolded a map of central London, covered in different-coloured dots.
‘From the moment the polls close, our troops will be ready to take up position. The 3rd Battalion of the Parachute Regiment will be billeted in the barracks on Birdcage Walk, and the Royal Tank Regiment will come up from Salisbury Plain during the night. Their mission, once the order is given, will be to secure all government buildings, starting with Parliament and Downing Street. At the same time, if required, our IT engineers - with a little help from the boys and girls in GCHQ - will be available to close down all major media and print outlets.’
Penfold passed Crouch a note, which he quickly skimmed before reading out the contents.
‘I must remind you that should military action prove necessary, loss of life must be kept to a strict minimum. But at the same time, you and your troops must do your duty.’
‘That’s absolutely clear, Prime Minister.’
‘If the saboteurs are stupid enough to let events get out of control, you must react with appropriate force. You should target the leaders of any insurrection, not the crowd.’
‘Understood. Snipers from Special Forces will be placed at strategic points along the route of any demonstration or mass protest. If we reach the stage where we need to use them, their orders will be unequivocal – shoot to kill. I take it you’re onside?’
Suddenly, Crouch’s neck felt rather stiff. He twisted it from side to side. Then he saw that McIntyre was still looking at him. He returned his gaze with what he hoped was an expression of iron determination.
‘Let’s hope that won’t be necessary, but you have my support. You seem to have thought of everything – I’m most grateful. I expect to confound the doomsayers and win by a comfortable majority, but one can’t be too careful when our country’s future is at stake.’
The general pursed his lips and nodded in agreement.
‘With your permission, Prime Minister …�
��
‘Go ahead.’
‘May I say how grateful I am for the confidence you’ve placed in my soldiers and myself. Together I believe that, if called upon to act, we can do the country a great service. Make a clean break at last. In taking these decisions, we’re reflecting the will of the great majority of our fellow citizens. I salute your leadership, Prime Minister - my troops will be with you every inch of the way.’
Crouch blinked twice: such deference was unusual from General McIntyre. He was seized by a sudden urge to confide in him. Crouch leaned forward, softening his voice as he spoke.
‘You and I are on the same wavelength, General – we’ve both got the country’s interests at heart. Off the record, if a few lefties get their bums blown off, I couldn’t give a shit. They’ve had it all their own way for far too long.’
Crouch smiled and sat back, waiting for the general to agree with him, but instead McIntyre looked alarmed. He and Penfold exchanged knowing looks again.
‘Let’s all try and get some sleep,’ said the general, before giving another stiff salute. ‘Perhaps Mr Penfold could kindly escort me out of the building through the back entrance.’
Left alone in the Cabinet Room, Crouch stretched his arms and let out a long, self-satisfied yawn. Everything was proceeding as planned. Perhaps a little rest and recreation might be in order, before going over the top.
As he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie and patting down his gelled hair, Crouch saw Valentina looking at him from the back of the room, a smile on her face. After dimming the lights, he scratched his crotch and took her in his arms. She nestled up to him, pressing against his groin, and they were ready to dance.
They began with an energetic quickstep to the Glenn Miller Orchestra playing “In The Mood”, with Crouch expertly guiding Valentina around the small space in front of the fireplace. Ballroom dancing had always been his secret passion, the one pursuit where he felt peerless and instinctively in control. He was light on his feet and a natural dancer - he didn’t have to work at it, it just came to him. When the music stopped, he kissed her on the side of the neck. She closed her eyes as the tip of his tongue darted in and out to lick the pale white skin.