‘I didn’t get this job for kicks. I got it so you could have clothes and holidays and guitar lessons and god knows what else. So when you’re eighteen you can go to university and you can—’ he stops, and swallows. ‘Never mind.’
‘I don’t want to go to university.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘I don’t. Just because you had such a great time—’
‘That’s not what we’re talking about right now,’ says Nick. ‘One fight at a time, please.’
‘I don’t think Will should be your friend,’ I say. ‘I don’t think he’s that nice.’
‘You don’t even know him,’ says Danny.
‘That’s true, Lena,’ says Nick.
‘Whether I know him or not, I know what he said. I think people have a right to know—’
‘Don’t finish that sentence,’ Danny says. ‘Don’t say anything else. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve changed my mind. Nick, I can’t do this right now. I need both of you to go away. I need both of you to go somewhere else.’
I look at Nick, a little desperately, like he could get up and make a pot of tea and we’d all be friends again. For a minute he looks like he’s going to argue, but Danny has gone back to staring at the table, and finally Nick says, quietly, ‘OK, Lena, let’s go out for a little while.’
‘Thank you,’ says Danny. Not to me.
We walk up the high street towards the coffee shop, glassy April sunlight in our eyes. I wipe my nose on my sleeve, rub away a few escaping tears, and look at my shoes, black canvas Vans that I got last summer. I replaced the black laces with green ones but now they’re all frayed.
Nick tugs me loosely into his side and squeezes my shoulder.
‘You shouldn’t listen to everything Danny said just now,’ he says. ‘People say things they don’t mean when they’re upset.’
‘Which bits should I listen to then?’
‘You know what I’m saying.’
Like presumably I shouldn’t listen to the bit where Danny said we’d all have been happier if I’d gone to Australia. Except it sounded true enough when he said it.
‘If Mike’s put it online that means it’s important,’ I say. ‘That means people should know about it.’
‘Yeah,’ says Nick, quietly. ‘Yeah. OK. But I can’t be on your side about this.’
‘But you hate Jacob Carlisle. And you wouldn’t like Will, either: you’d think he was pushy and fake and shallow.’ I sniff and wipe my nose again. ‘You’re always talking about your ethical responsibility.’
Nick sounds very tired, suddenly. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘But that’s not—’ He stops, and then says, ‘I have a responsibility to Danny too.’
‘Then why did you move out?’
‘I didn’t move out. I haven’t moved out. Is my stuff still at the flat? Do I still have my keys?’
‘It felt like you moved out. You haven’t been there in a week after you said only a couple of nights.’ I pull my sleeves over my hands and cross my arms and squint up at him. Nick is like 6’ 4” or something. He’s really tall. ‘You left me alone with Danny and you know what he’s like, you know he doesn’t talk to me about anything. He’s angry at me all the time.’
‘He’s got a right to be angry at you when you’re cutting school and running off to Clapham for secret meetings with your mother’s friends.’
‘Which I would never have done if he would just let me meet my mother’s friends like any normal person would.’
Nick stops walking suddenly. ‘She didn’t have anything to do with this, did she?’
‘What?’
‘Lynn Wallace. Did she put you up to this? Did you tell her who Danny was working for?’
‘What? No. She didn’t even want to talk to me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She didn’t want to talk to me. She told me to get lost.’
‘She told you to get lost?’
‘Basically. She said she had to respect Danny’s wishes.’
‘Oh.’ We start walking again. Then Nick says: ‘I’m sorry. That must have been disappointing.’
I don’t answer.
‘It sounds like she was trying to do the right thing,’ he adds.
I don’t answer that, either.
When we get to the coffee shop, Zahra is behind the counter looking at her phone, and when she sees us she says, ‘You guys. You guys. Have you seen this Jacob Carlisle email thing that’s happened? Have you seen it? This is brilliant. Do you guys know about this yet?’
‘Yes,’ says Nick. ‘We know about it.’
‘Is Danny going mental?’
‘You could say that,’ says Nick. ‘What site are you looking at?’
‘It’s all over the Internet.’ She waves her phone at us. ‘And it was Mike from the Standard who got the emails. We know him! Isn’t this brilliant?’ Then she looks guilty. ‘I mean, I’m sorry for Danny. I know Jacob Carlisle’s his man. So no offence to him or anything.’
‘Zahra, let me talk to you for a minute,’ says Nick. ‘You, sit there,’ he says to me, pointing at the booth nearest the counter.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ I say.
‘Just sit there and try not to overthrow the government,’ he says, and goes into the back office with Zahra.
A few minutes later she comes back out, and there’s a customer waiting, but before she serves him she grabs a napkin and writes something on it, and then she comes over to me and says, ‘This is really terrible, what you’ve done, Lena.’ She hands me the napkin and goes back to the counter. On the napkin she has written: YOU ARE AWESOME xxxxx.
I fold it up carefully and tuck it into the pocket of my jeans.
I feel like one of the kids at school who’s got in trouble and has to wait in the corridor outside the head’s office while they decide what the punishment is going to be.
Usually they just have to say they’re sorry, but sometimes that isn’t enough.
THIRTY-EIGHT
We can’t stay away for ever and I haven’t eaten anything all day apart from coffee shop flapjacks; I don’t have any homework with me, or a book, or anything. I get a text from Ollie. It says: holy shit what you did is on the news nice one. ollie.
I text him back. Ollie please don’t go to Swansea. Even if Aaron is there. I want to write, Especially if Aaron is there but I think better of it. Then, because it’s true, I write, I’d miss you. Then I delete that and write, me and t. would miss you. Then I hit send. He doesn’t reply.
I sit in the corner and read an old magazine cover to cover while Zahra flits around cleaning things and humming to herself. Nick comes and joins me after a couple of hours. He says: ‘You’re going to need dinner at some point, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your email thing is all over the news. You’d be a celebrity if Mike had used your name. This Will Rofofsky guy isn’t going to be in a job much longer.’
Will Rofofsky in his expensive coat, leaning over to log in to the computer. What I was about to do to him, and he thought I was just some kid. It was only yesterday afternoon. It feels for ever ago.
‘I thought people might think I’d made it up.’
Nick pauses. ‘You didn’t think Mike would believe you?’
I shrug, and he sighs.
‘Doesn’t matter. Apparently he went and found someone to confirm it anyway. He’s not an idiot.’
This is what Danny said earlier. ‘Who?’ I say.
‘Don’t ask me, Lena, you’re the one who read the email. You know as much as anybody else right now.’
I’m the one who read the email. I picture it, suddenly, in my mind, the whole thing.
The bit that said Leila – cc’d. She saw it as well.
I’m distracted by this thought for a second, but Nick is looking at me like there’s something else I’m supposed to be saying.
‘Maybe now he could work for the Standard again,’ I say. ‘Danny could.’
‘Angry as he is with
you, Lena, he’s even more pissed off with Mike right now. So I don’t see that happening any time soon.’
‘Nick.’ I look down at my magazine, but I can’t see the words properly. ‘I didn’t know it would be this big of a deal.’
‘Drop the I didn’t know what I was doing act, OK? I know you’re not stupid. You’re not helping yourself. And if you feel like you did the right thing, if you did this out of some kind of moral imperative, then take responsibility for it.’
I look up and meet his eye.
‘I think you knew exactly what you were doing,’ he says, and Nick has always known me probably better than anyone.
‘I didn’t know that Danny would lose his job,’ I tell him.
‘You didn’t even think it was a possibility?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Alena.’
‘I was thinking about what you said a while ago. You said you thought my mum would’ve hated Jacob Carlisle.’
‘I don’t remember saying that.’
‘Well, you did.’
He sighs. ‘All right. If you say so.’
‘If she knew something that would stop people voting for him, she’d have used it. That’s what I think. This is exactly what she would have done if she was here.’
I am certain like a rock that Nick will tell me that I’m right; I have known this all day – that when Nick is alone he will privately tell me that I’m right, and good, that I’m just like her, do I know that? Sometimes we just have a human duty to take action against injustice—
—but he’s shaking his head before I’ve even finished the sentence. ‘No, no, no, no, no, Lena. Is that why you did this? You’ve got that one wrong, kid. Maybe if he was just some politician, but this is Danny’s life you’re messing with. She’d never have done anything like that to him.’
I squeeze my hands into fists underneath the table. ‘She would. If she thought it was important.’
He looks very, very sad for a moment. ‘She was his mum. She was like all mothers. She thought everything he did was wonderful. She’d never have done anything to deliberately hurt him, no matter what she thought about Jake Carlisle. Not in a million years. You’ve got that one wrong, Lena. Mothers don’t do things like that.’
It’s like being punched in the stomach. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?’ I say, and for a moment I look across the table and it’s like a tunnel and Nick looks like he’s very far away from me.
When we get home, at the threshold of the door, while Nick is looking for his keys, I say: ‘So you’re not going back to Adam’s tonight?’
He hesitates. ‘No. Not tonight.’
‘Tomorrow night?’
‘It’s probably a good idea for me to be here right now.’
‘It was probably a good idea for you to be here last week, as well,’ I say, but before he can respond the door opens and nearly hits him in the face.
‘Oh!’ says Leila. ‘I’m so sorry. I was just – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You must be Nick.’ She sees me and smiles, slightly. ‘Hi, Alena,’ she says. Her hair is in a very messy ponytail and she looks tired. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Nick. I’m Leila. From the office. Sorry to hit you in the face with your own door.’
‘You just missed,’ says Nick. He’s holding his keys in his hand. ‘You’re from the campaign?’
‘Yes. I just brought Danny his things from the office.’ She tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m sorry about all this. It’s just terrible. Jake’s very – he’s very impulsive, I think, sometimes. I was just saying to Danny. I’m just so sorry. I wish there was something—’
‘It’s this one who’s caused the trouble,’ Nick says, nodding at me. ‘She should be apologising to you.’
‘No, don’t,’ says Leila. ‘She doesn’t have to. You don’t have to, Alena.’ She looks at me, very quickly, and then away, back at Nick. ‘What those two said in those emails,’ she says. Realising she’s blocking the doorway, she steps round us into the corridor, and we both have to turn round to face her. ‘They did this to themselves,’ she says. ‘Jake did this to himself. And Will. That’s what I think.’
‘That’s one perspective, I suppose,’ says Nick.
‘I’m just so sorry that Danny’s the one who – you know.’
‘I’m sure he appreciates that.’
‘If there’s anything I can do.’
‘Thanks. That’s really – thanks. We appreciate it.’
We stand awkwardly for a moment, and it looks like she’s about to say something else, but Nick says: ‘It was nice to meet you, Leila.’
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Yes. It was nice to meet you too. I’ve got to get back. See what’s happening. Will’s got to resign. We’ve got no campaign manager. It’s all falling apart, really. I’m going to go as well, I think. I was just telling Danny. Who’d want to stay now?’ She looks at me. ‘It was nice to meet you, Alena. I liked meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime. I’m so sorry about all this.’
‘It was nice to meet you too,’ I say, thinking I will probably never see her again but that I wish I could. I feel like we could have been friends.
She gives me a bright, shaky smile, and heads back down the corridor to the lift.
I hear the television before we step inside. Danny is standing in front of the window, looking out. On the coffee table there’s a box of his stuff from the office. On the TV, you can tell it’s London news, and some man in a suit is talking to a journalist, and saying: ‘That’s exactly right, Nadia, these kinds of leaks can be extremely damaging to any campaign, particularly at such a late stage, and I would be very surprised if we didn’t see—’
‘We’re home,’ says Nick.
Danny turns to look at us. ‘I’m going out,’ he says. He picks up the remote from the back of the sofa and turns the television off.
‘Where?’ says Nick.
‘Wherever I like.’
‘I was going to make dinner.’
‘Danny,’ I say. ‘I just want to say that I didn’t know—’
‘I still don’t want to hear it. Have you been following the news all afternoon?’
‘We were at the coffee shop,’ I say in a small voice.
‘Have a look. I’m sure you’ll be very pleased with yourself.’
‘I was just going to say that I honestly didn’t know that you would lose your job. Honestly.’
‘Well, I did lose my job, and I’m sure you’re both thrilled about it.’
‘Danny, where are you going?’ says Nick.
‘I’m going to try and see Will, my friend, who also lost his job today thanks to my baby sister.’
Nick clears his throat, puts his keys down on the counter. ‘There’s an extent to which he did this to himself,’ he says.
Danny’s face is blank, exhausted. ‘There’s an extent to which I don’t care,’ he says. ‘All I ever wanted—’
He breaks off, doesn’t finish. He lets the door slam when he leaves.
THIRTY-NINE
A cutting for the family scrapbook:
Jacob Carlisle has apologised after the publication of an email exchange in which his campaign manager refers to the death of thirty-one-year-old Eduardo Capello as ‘great timing’ for the Carlisle campaign.
Also published was Mr Carlisle’s reply to the email, which reads: ‘Have to agree.’
Mr Capello was killed in the bombing of a Liverpool Street branch of Tesco in March.
‘I am truly sorry for the impression that these private emails do seem to give,’ said Mr Carlisle, speaking to BBC Radio 2 on Sunday evening. ‘The suggestion that Mr Capello’s death is anything other than an enormous tragedy is abhorrent to me.’
The initial email came from Will Rofofsky, Jacob Carlisle’s thirty-three-year-old campaign manager. Pressed about his own reply, Mr Carlisle said:
‘I have to be honest here and say that I don’t remember seeing the email. It may be that I read it very quickly, I dashed off a reply wit
hout thinking, without having read it properly. These things can happen in the pressure of a campaign. But I deeply regret if I have given the impression that Mr Capello’s death was anything other than a devastating tragedy for his family.’
He went on to reveal that Mr Rofofsky had resigned.
‘These remarks clearly demonstrated a very serious error of judgement. Will’s comments, though made in a private email, were highly inappropriate in light of this recent tragedy, and warrant condemnation. I have therefore accepted his resignation this afternoon.’
Another member of Carlisle’s campaign staff is also said to have resigned this weekend, for undisclosed reasons.
The emails, which first appeared on the website of local newspaper the Hackney Standard, will likely be damaging to the Carlisle campaign, which has appealed to voters with a focus on safety and security in the wake of the recent East End bombs.
Hackney Standard editor, Mike Feghali, commented: ‘These emails are going to be absolutely devastating for the Carlisle campaign, with just under three weeks to go until election day. There had already been talk that Jacob Carlisle has been trying to use the East End bombs for his own gain, and this will confirm people’s worst suspicions about him. Londoners won’t stand for this kind of thing.’
Briony McIntosh, independent mayoral candidate and former Green Party MP, described the leaked emails as ‘evidence of the cynical co-option of tragedy that has too often characterised modern politics’, commenting that it is ‘about time this sort of underlying cynicism is exposed and rooted out.’
By the middle of the week, none of us can stand the news any more. It pours with rain for three days and the sky is solid grey. At school, I try to talk to Ollie about how he shouldn’t go to Swansea, but my heart’s not really in it, and he just gets weird with me, goes moody and sullen like he wishes he never told me. Teagan is stressed, trying to learn a piece for a recital, and spends every break and lunchtime in the music room.
It turns cold, too, but Danny won’t let us put the heating on because he’s wound up about paying the bills, so in the evenings when I get home I end up dragging the old space heater that we keep in the bottom of the boiler cupboard into my bedroom and sitting next to it while it blasts hot, dry air that makes my eyes tingle. It smells like burning dust and makes a rattling sound and any time I leave my room I switch if off in cases it catches fire.
Troublemakers Page 18