The Confirmation

by L G Dickson

  James beamed; firstly back at Hugo and then right round to Annie.

  Oh Jeez, she thought. Does everyone I know have a burning need to become politically engaged? She summoned up a half-hearted smile.

  ‘Well, that sounds wonderful. I’m sure he needs all the help he can get.’

  That hadn’t come out quite as intended and so she leant across to touch James’s arm, hoping to assure him of her unstinting support. On the contrary, he just looked resigned to the fact that Annie might not be fully on board with his political ambitions.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

  Hugo laughed, rescuing her from her faux pas and they carried on chatting through the rest of the evening – not just about politics, much to Annie’s relief.

  As the night wore on she found herself studying her little brother more and more. He seemed so at ease in their company. How strange it was that just a few years ago, she couldn’t possibly have contemplated making room for anyone else in her life and now here she was with two men she simply adored. Two men she simply couldn’t contemplate living without. And just then it struck her that Hugo was planning to go home. Funny, it hadn’t crossed her mind that he would want to go back. Not for good anyway.

  *

  It was the weekend before Thursday’s election and all hands were on deck at Dean Terrace. There were leaflets, badges, rosettes, and envelopes ready for stuffing, placards ready for hoisting. Ludovic sat up on the windowsill looking down at the detritus the humans had tipped up and spread all over his lounge.

  Annie politely declined all invitations to help. ‘Oh, you don’t need me. I’ll just get in the way.’ James and Jack stood in the hall engaged in an earnest discussion, Virginia and Gordon were tying bits of string to various bits of green cardboard and Hugo had started stuffing envelopes. There was green everywhere, bombarding her senses. She would happily never look at anything green again. Cutting the grass might even set off an adverse reaction.

  She headed off to the bedroom to pack a bag having decided to escape to Drummond House for the weekend. The final straw had really come the previous evening as James and Hugo endeavoured to explain proportional representation and transferable voting systems to her. It wasn’t anything to do with a lack of comprehension – she understood perfectly what they were telling her but it was beyond tedious. She had been sitting opposite them both, desperately trying to keep her eyelids from crashing shut. Inside she was straining and sweating to hold up the leaden covers until suddenly – boom.

  ‘Are we boring you?’ James asked the obvious question. Hugo just looked disappointed.

  ‘No, no. Well, I suppose – yes.’ They were prised open now. ‘Look, it’s great that all that stuff interests you both. Honestly. It’s just not my thing.’

  She reached out to hold each of their hands and tried to look lovingly at both of them. ‘Spoke to Kirsty last night and think I’m going to pop up there at the weekend. Get out of your hair. Why don’t you both come up Sunday? Give yourselves a break.’

  ‘Final push, darling. Really can’t spare the time.’ They both looked earnestly at her.

  ‘Okay.’ All fine, she thought. They can have the run of Election Central and I’ll go and put my feet up and knock back the gin.

  CHAPTER 15

  Annie made good time and by lunchtime was driving up the sweeping driveway to the front of Drummond House. Kirsty had made every effort to soften the stark facade of the gothic mansion with pale pink China rose bushes sweeping over the walls either side of the imposing doorway. A forest of deep pink fuchsias grew at one end of the sheltered border that ran the length of the house while a mass of lavender filled the opposite corner. Marigolds and pansies filled bright blue and terracotta pots, carefully protecting them through the vagaries of a Scottish spring. The scene was filled with colour. It was a welcome sanctuary, made all the more so by the appearance of Kirsty at the front door, grinning widely, arms outstretched.

  ‘Welcome, welcome,’ she screeched as she ran out, smothering Annie just as she was about to open up the boot.

  ‘Great to be here, Kirst.’ Annie managed to get the words out while clasped to Kirsty’s bosom.

  ‘Oh, darling. So lovely that you can spend some time here. It feels like an age since you’ve been up.’ Kirsty grabbed the bags from the boot and marched off. Annie trailed in her wake struggling to pick up what her hostess was saying. There was something about an election-free zone and Johnny being a difficult little shit which left her struggling to frame an adequate response.

  ‘Oh dear, what’s the problem?’ She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know but thought it best to appear interested.

  They had marched through the cavernous hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. It still looked like something from the Victorian era, all pale green and cream tiles with a massive range at one end. It looked Victorian but it was state-of-the-art Aga. Kirsty was already reaching up into the cupboard for the gin.

  ‘Could you cut some lemon, darling? It’s his name, that’s the problem.’

  ‘Johnny, what’s wrong with Johnny?’

  ‘Well, they’ve all started to give each other nicknames at that overpriced school we’ve sent him to and the other little monsters have decided Johnny’s nickname should be “Beef”. First Torito, now Beef for God’s sake.’

  ‘Beef?’ Annie couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘I know. Outrageous, isn’t it? But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that my little angel has decided he likes the name and is determined not to answer to anything else. Thinks Beef Drummond is like some sort of comic book hero. It’s bloody ridiculous. And of course Duncan doesn’t help. Thinks it’s not a bad name for a future Scotland prop forward.’

  And just then, Annie heard the thundering footsteps of the boy they called ‘Beef’. As he rushed into the kitchen she thought how much like Hugo he was at that age. She held her arms out and he rushed into them clattering against her pelvis. Thank God for pilates, she thought to herself, as she winced slightly.

  ‘Hello darling. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.’ She lifted up his chin to get a good look at him. He was a miniature Duncan for sure – all round and red faced.

  ‘Come into the garden, Annie. I’ve got a tree house.’ She smiled down at him, kissing the slightly damp top of his head. He was all boy smells now; all traces of soft toddler aromas had gone.

  ‘Later, Johnny. Annie’s just arrived. Give her some space.’

  ‘It’s Beef, Mummy, I’ve told you.’ And with that he marched back out again.

  ‘Right. Let’s take these out into the garden. You can view the tree house from afar.’

  They sat out on two large recliners and Kirsty told Annie about the latest house improvements and new ideas for landscaping at the front of the house. The future of the planet didn’t feature at all – just the future of a little corner of Perthshire. Annie listened to it all while watching Johnny clamber up the ladder, scramble through the tree house and fling himself down the chute at the other side. He was on a loop, performing an endless number of circuits, the off button clearly broken.

  ‘Right, Johnny, that’s enough. You’re going to make yourself sick.’

  And then suddenly Duncan’s booming voice erupted just to the side of Annie.

  ‘Right, Beef, you heard what your mother said. Down now.’

  Thrilled that his father had acknowledged the name change with no fuss whatsoever, the little boy shot down the chute for the last time. Annie hadn’t heard Duncan arrive but she turned to see him standing in his cricket whites, blocking out the sun. He came over and planted a kiss on Annie’s right cheek and then moved round to his wife.

  Annie could see that Kirsty wasn’t best pleased with his intervention but she seemed to decide against opening up the argument there and then.

  ‘S
o how’s things, Annie?’ Duncan asked the question as he rushed towards his son, grabbing him under the arms and lifting him high above his head. Johnny squealed with delight.

  Annie talked about work for a while, just how stressful the last few weeks had been, but she wasn’t really in the mood. The excitement of the buy-out was over and reality was sinking in. They were going to be bigger. Lots of new, thrusting young go-getters would be rushing around, setting up conference calls, holding debriefs and, worst of all, they were going to have to cohabit and move to bigger premises. Probably to some glass-panelled, soulless space, which inevitably meant a move out of the New Town. She hadn’t thought through the practical outcomes while she had been immersed in balance sheets and business projections. A move; another move. Why couldn’t everybody just stay still?

  And then, just as she was beginning to relax into her full-strength gin haze, she couldn’t help feeling just a little bit out of things. James was always in her thoughts somewhere and today he was more front brain than back. Annie wondered if she should really have stayed and helped, worried that he might think she wasn’t interested in his success. When all the time she was, she really was.

  ‘What’s wrong, Annie? You look miles away.’ Annie had lost the last few minutes of a discourse on cleaning out the dahlia borders.

  ‘Oh sorry, Kirst, just feeling a bit guilty, sitting here relaxing and they’re all out trying to get James elected.’

  Kirsty swept her hair back with one hand, pulled it until it stretched the skin from her face and completed the manoeuvre by twisting a band round the mass of hair gathered at the back of her head. She meant business but what kind, Annie couldn’t be too sure about. ‘Nonsense. You hate politics and anyway, nothing wrong with a bit of downtime. You work bloody hard too – deserve a bit of a break.’

  ‘Yes, well. You know, I don’t think I do hate politics. Not exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t be bothered with all the campaigning and stuff. To be honest I’m too scared to knock on other people’s doors and I really can’t summon up any enthusiasm to stuff leaflets into envelopes – all of that really turns me off. But I think just being with James, understanding him better – it just doesn’t all seem so meaningless anymore. I’ve gone along to a couple of meetings to show willing and when I’ve heard him – and others, for that matter – speak, well, I think it’s really about how we live, the kind of society we want to live in and I guess kind of taking a stand. It’s not all about crofting or Virginia banging on about climate change. It’s no one thing. I mean, I’m not sure about political parties and I’m not sure James is either. But if you want to do something, if you’re serious about making a difference you have to have a go at trying to change things, somehow. Don’t you think?’

  Her own strength of feeling surprised her and she took a moment to compose herself. ‘Anyway, I’ll head back first thing and see if there’s anything I can do to help.’

  Kirsty sat back looking as though she was trying her damnedest to process everything she’d just heard.

  Duncan leant forward. ‘You’re right, Annie. You have to try. Everyone has to feel like they belong, that they have rights, that they can do something to make things better. Working with James has shown me that. And I guess we have to vote to, well, as you say, to at least try to make a difference.’ His round ruddy face broke into a wide smile and Annie couldn’t help but smile right back at him.

  Later that evening, after the three friends had polished off a lovely pheasant stew, the illusion of Drummond House as an election-free zone had all but completely evaporated. They were sitting in the massive wood-panelled lounge, a room that brought Annie right back to her suite of Agatha Christie metaphors borne out of her very first visit to Drummond House.

  ‘What actually happens Thursday? Are we having some sort of party?’ Duncan was obviously keen to exploit the potential for the democratic process to throw up huge amounts of revelry.

  ‘Well, I’m going to be at the count with James until late. Why don’t you both come along if you can make it?’ The absolute certainty that she had to be by his side came as a bit of a shock. She hadn’t really been sure about what part, if any, she should play in all of this but now she knew.

  ‘Don’t we need to be certified or something?’ Duncan was sitting cross-legged in his Chesterfield armchair, large tumbler in hand.

  ‘Yes. I think he needs to get passes for us but if I phone now I’m sure it can all be arranged.’

  ‘What d’you think, Kirst. Shall we park the boy with the olds and shoot down there?’

  Kirsty thought for a moment then leaned forward, looking dubiously at them both. ‘Not exactly my idea of a grand night out but if you think it might help?’

  Annie smiled. She couldn’t imagine any circumstances, win or lose, where Kirsty and Duncan’s presence would, actually, in any material sense, help. But then they were prepared to trail down midweek to suffer the tedium of an election count with no realistic prospect of a Drummond-style social event at the end of it. There would be an awful lot of hanging about and their presence alone might help move the evening along – but more importantly, it would pour just a little bit more cement into their rapidly solidifying friendship with James. So that’s all good, she thought. And then came the cold sweats. As long as they behave themselves.

  *

  ‘Oh, Annie, that’s a lovely thought, darling, but they probably won’t get round to announcing the successful candidates from the list until the following morning. Maybe not till seven or eight. No point dragging the Drummonds down and you’d be out on your feet. No really, I couldn’t ask you to do that – what with work the next day.’

  She was crestfallen. James’s supporting and hopefully victorious troops had been slain before they could even get anywhere near the gates of the citadel.

  ‘Oh, but I so wanted to be there to see your victory. This is an important time for you.’ She picked up a green rosette, pouted and started to pull the ribbons apart.

  ‘Careful, darling. We haven’t got too many of these left. Being a bit too presumptuous about my victory, aren’t you?’ He walked across the lounge and put a comforting arm round her. ‘Why not invite the Drummonds down anyway? We’ll have a lovely supper before I go off to the count. They can stay here and then I’ll be back in the morning to let you all know how it went – one way or another.’

  ‘Okay.’ She almost said something about how ridiculous it was that the results weren’t going to be in before midnight but then the spectre of another lecture on voting systems loomed large. She duly surrendered and nestled back into his warm neck.

  It was just like the old times. Annie and James, Kirsty and Duncan, Virginia and Gordon. Hugo was at Jack’s – phoning round to make sure supporters, already pledged to the cause, had actually made the journey to the polling station to cast their vote. The six friends sat round after a meal of roast chicken and salad and talked about everything other than the election. Annie surveyed the scene with an air of quiet satisfaction.

  Virginia was sitting on Gordon’s knee, one hand pulling at his Fair Isle tank top, the other running through his mop of still black hair. Slowly her head descended to rest on his. The line of grey down her centre parting had, over the years, spread out, now engulfing every tightly sprung curl. It was a stark contrast – the unruly grey frizz set against the thick black mop. Gordon shifted uncomfortably in his seat as her hand strayed towards the only piece of flesh on view; two buttons were open at the neck of his shirt and her fingers were getting closer. He smiled albeit a slightly embarrassed smile. Virginia was just a little bit drunk and Gordon clearly wasn’t used to this much manhandling in public.

  Annie’s gaze wandered round to Duncan who was sitting upright and still chatting to everyone at least an hour after they’d finished supper. How times had changed.

  Suddenly Kirsty burst forth. ‘Are you sure we can’
t come with, James? I would love to see how it all happens. Do you think there are any shenanigans? I mean there must be a few backhanders going the rounds, don’t you think? “I’ll make it worth your while just to lose some votes” – that kind of thing?’

  Annie couldn’t tell if she was joking or not while James just looked incredulous.

  ‘It’s not Zimbabwe, Kirsty, or Capone’s Chicago for that matter. I don’t think there’ll be a big Mafia presence at Meadowbank Sports Centre but you never know. So no, it really will go on all night and I couldn’t get everyone in now anyway. All will be clear soon enough.’

  Gordon hadn’t been drinking and as he held the lofty position of election agent, had taken on the job of driving James to the count. Virginia would be dropped off on the way and no doubt told to get straight to bed with a large glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen. Duncan and Kirsty were going to ‘crash at the bolthole’ so no need for Annie to make up the spare room.

  Before she knew it she was alone. After filling the dishwasher and watching some Westminster political grandees droning on during Scottish Election Special for half an hour, she heaved herself off to bed. Having probably had a couple of glasses more than usual, she quickly fell asleep.

  Annie slept like a log and woke at seven. Bloody hell, she thought. Forgot to set the alarm. After showering and quickly switching on radio and television she dashed between bathroom, bedroom and kitchen trying to pick up snippets of election news as she moved. Something about biggest party, possible coalitions but what about the bloody Greens?

  She was standing in the kitchen in bra, pants and pop socks. Her hair, still wet and uncombed, resembled a deserted birds’ nest. She was in completely the wrong place. The competing noise from television in the lounge and radio in the bedroom meant she really couldn’t hear anything clearly but her immediate need for a quick reviving breakfast had trumped election results. As a consequence, she didn’t hear James’s key turn in the door and it was this dishevelled sight that greeted him as he walked in. With a mug of coffee in one hand and marmalade-laden toast in the other, Annie stared at him, trying desperately to swallow a large lump of soggy brown bread and gauge his mood, triumphant or otherwise. He wasn’t speaking, why wasn’t he speaking? And then his eyes softened and he smiled gently.