by Matt Drabble
“And who’s that, dear?” Mary prompted.
Lomax felt his eyelids drooping and the warning bells were growing dimmer in the back of his mind.
“Christian Tolanson,” he slurred.
The words were barely out of his mouth before he knew. His mouth wanted to spill the beans, it was desperate to spit out the name, and only then was he sure that he was in trouble. The old woman had clearly put something in his tea or in the cookies and now he was paying for it; the only question was her motive.
Mary sat across the table opposite him. Her face was no longer kindly and wise: now it was old and cruel.
“You’re a mystery to me, boy,” Mary said but her voice no longer sounded exactly like it had before - now it seemed harder and more masculine. “And that never happens.”
“Who are you?” Lomax slurred as he fought to stay upright in the chair.
“You know me, child, or at least you should do after all the effort you’ve put into uncovering my life.”
Lomax knew the answer but it seemed ridiculous to say aloud. The old woman sat across the table stared hard at him, her eyes unflinching and stony.
“Tolanson.” He finally breathed aloud, giving a name to his fear.
“Good boy, that’s right.” The old woman grinned. “Or at least nearly right.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m everywhere, child. Haven’t you realised that by now?”
Lomax tried to get his legs working but they threatened to buckle if he attempted to stand.
“Why can’t I read you, boy?” Tolanson asked through Mary’s mouth. “There’s a fog around you that I can’t quite pierce and that never happens.”
“I hear it happens to a lot of men. You know - performance anxiety,” Lomax joked with a lot more levity than he felt.
Mary reached out and took the carving knife from the dining table. She turned it over in her weathered hands and ran a thumb along the blade until she drew blood.
“You would be wise not to test me, boy,” Tolanson said through the old woman. “In fact, you would be wiser to walk away all together.”
“I don’t scare that easily, Tolanson,” Lomax said, managing to keep the fear from his voice, his eyes never leaving the knife in Mary’s hand.
“I could kill you now and my hands would never touch a drop of blood; just chalk up another X-File for the police to speculate over.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
Tolanson’s silence was deafening.
“You still want answers, don’t you?” Lomax exclaimed, feeling the smallest sense of victory. “You can’t stand not knowing something; you can’t read me somehow and it’s killing you!”
“I knew a man once, Mr Lomax,” Tolanson said through Mary as she stood up from the table, still holding the carving knife in her hand. “Micky Doyle was his name. He used to run a small-time hustle around dive bars. Everyone knew Micky and he was harmless enough. His party trick was to swallow 10p coins. He’d place the coin in the back of his throat and hold it there before regurgitating it when no one was looking. Oh Micky loved his little party piece and would often be rewarded with a drink for his trouble. One day I met Micky and he offered to do the trick for me and so I handed him a 10p coin out of my pocket. But what Micky didn’t know was that in 2011 the 10p coin was changed and the newly minted version was in fact 11% thicker. As a result, poor old Micky got the coin lodged in his throat and choked to death. And do you know what the lesson is, Mr Lomax?”
“Don’t borrow money from you?”
Tolanson answered through Mary by slamming her fragile hand down hard on the solid kitchen table. Even in his drugged state, Lomax heard the bones break in her hand.
“THE LESSON, YOU INSOLENT WORM, IS THAT I WILL ALWAYS KNOW MORE THAN EVERYONE ELSE!”
Lomax finally found his legs and staggered up and away from the table. He could almost see Tolanson’s face bubbling under the old woman’s features, struggling to get out. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me - the paper has all of my notes and files on you; they’ll take up the fight!” he yelled in defiance.
“Oh you think so? Your good friend, Jim Saxton?” Tolanson cackled through Mary’s mouth.
Lomax’s heart sank. “He’s in your pocket too,” he stated rather than asked.
“Actually, no; there’s good and bad news. The good news, you’ll be pleased to hear, is that good old Jim is every bit the paragon of virtue that you hoped. The bad news is that he was involved in a mugging a short time ago when he went out for lunch, a mugging that… well, let’s just say that it went bad. So sad.”
“My files?”
“Safe and sound with an associate of mine, thank you very much.”
“You think that this old woman is going to kill me?” Lomax said strongly, feeling his hatred towards the man grow exponentially. “I don’t care what she drugged me with - there’s no way that I’m going to let her cut me like this. Not to mention the fact that two senior staff at The Daily News dying on the same afternoon is going to cause a lot of people to start asking questions!”
“Oh, you’ve got me all wrong, Mr Lomax. I’m not going to kill you. As you’ve said, that would draw all sorts of unnecessary attention and I am a man, after all, who does so love the shadows.”
Lomax looked on in horror as Mary took the carving knife, a knife which had his prints on it from slicing the banana bread earlier, and started to saw into her own throat.
Blood started to flow as she gripped the knife tightly and drew it back and forth through her frail skin.
The most disturbing thing was that there was a moment as she collapsed amidst a bloody spray when her eyes seemed to clear and Mary was back in control of her body. Her eyes bulged wide in fear as she struggled to breathe, her hands clutching into tiny claws that tried to stem the spurting blood.
Sirens filled the air outside the house and Lomax knew that he had to run. He staggered his way clumsily out through the back of Mary’s home. His mind was addled with shock and numbed by drugs as he tumbled out into a well-maintained rear garden. He stumbled along the path before struggling up and over a small wall.
He had told himself time and time again not to underestimate Tolanson and here he was, ruined. Jim Saxton was dead and his files on the politician gone, and to top it all off, he would now be a wanted man for murder. No one was going to believe his defence; he wasn’t even sure if he believed it.
He ran off into the night and could only pray that the shadows would hide him; he’d need the darkness now more than ever if he hoped to even stay in the game, let alone win.
CHAPTER 16
TRUE COLOURS
The TV studio was bright and wild with activity as Avery stood back and watched. Good Morning Britain was the highest rated TV show of its kind and the audience were a perfect demographic to target. She’d worked hard to secure the slot and Tolanson was going to kill, he had to.
Susannah and Dominic Henson were a TV couple who were also married in real life. Avery had only been backstage for a couple of hours but she’d seen enough to know that the couple’s personas were largely a fabrication. There was enough icy silent air emanating from their dressing room to choke an elephant, but in front of the cameras you’d never know.
They were wrapping up a story about the upcoming season’s new fashions. Susannah was nodding along with the designer’s explanations while Dominic was joking around with one of the models. It was all light-hearted banter, but this close, Avery could see the cold glint in Susannah’s eyes.
The models took their leave along with the designer, and Dominic announced to the cameras that the Progressive Party’s leader and candidate for prime minister was coming up next so to stay tuned.
As soon as they were clear, the smiles died on the presenters’ faces and Avery watched as Susannah leaned in close to Dominic and said something in his ear. His face flushed red and he shot her a look that should have come with a health warning.
She watched
on as Tolanson was fitted with his microphone by a young woman who seemed a little flustered to be that close to him. Avery saw the look in her eye and recognised the feeling. A Christian Tolanson with a charm factor turned up to 10 could be an unstoppable force. It was why she’d wanted him on the show, to allow his presence to flow through the TV cameras and into people’s homes, to win the hearts and minds of the voters. All polling research showed that while he was far from the anonymous name he’d been before he’d won the party’s nomination, he still lacked a connection with the voter.
Susannah and Dominic wandered back over to the set’s main sofa area. Sitting on the bright orange seat was Brendan Thomas, or ‘Boom Boom’ Brendan as the boxing press had dubbed him. The man was a molten mound of muscle with a hard face and a slightly uncomfortable look about him. Brendan was the country’s leading heavyweight boxer and already held one of the world titles. He had a unification fight the following week and was on the show to plug the pay-per-view event.
She caught Tolanson’s eye as he was led over to the sofa and he frowned at the extra guest. She could only shrug as it had been one of the compromises that she’d had to accept in order to get him on the show. Good Morning Britain prided itself on being strictly neutral and they’d only accepted Tolanson on the understanding that this would be a human piece, a light interview meant to showcase his human side.
“Welcome back.” Susannah beamed broadly with a warm smile to the cameras. “It’s a little after 8:30am and we’re here with Brendan Thomas, and joining us now is MP, Christian Tolanson. Mr Tolanson, so good of you to join us.”
“Please, call me Christian.” He beamed back and Avery thought that she saw just a hint of a blush from Susannah. “And I have to say what an honour it is to meet ‘Boom Boom’ Brendan - I’m a big fan,” he said to the boxer.
Thomas merely nodded back and Avery could see the boxer fidgeting uncomfortably now that the focus was off him.
“And of course, Susannah, I’m a huge fan of the show. I never get out of bed without you.” Tolanson smiled.
Again, Susannah blushed, only more noticeably this time. Tolanson was coming off charming and light-hearted. There was a warmness to him and he positively shimmered on camera.
“So tell me, Mr… Christian,” Susannah corrected herself. “How’s the campaign going? I mean, it must be a whirlwind for you to have come so far so quickly?”
Avery blinked at the direct question and mention of the campaign. It was her understanding that Susannah wore the trousers on the show, not to mention the fact that, according to Avery’s research on the background of the presenter, Susannah was a staunch Nationalist Party supporter.
The second thing that Avery saw was Dominic’s glare towards Tolanson as his wife gushed.
“Well, the campaign is hard but it is as it should be; nothing worth attaining should ever come easy, but it’s worth the fight, Susannah. Our country and our future is most definitely worth the fight.”
The answer was good and resonated around the studio with the other members of the show’s crew. Avery had watched as most of the men had fawned over the boxer earlier but now a lot of the staff were standing still and watching Tolanson speak.
“I believe in us,” Tolanson continued. “I believe that we have the capacity for greatness and we can reach for that again. We’ve lost our way, Susannah. I’m not going to sit here and criticise the government. I’m not going to lay the blame at their door, for the truth is that I judge all of us culpable. We are the ones who demanded less from our leaders and then less from ourselves. We are the ones who sat back and allowed our country to become lost, rudderless, a shadow of what we once were. But I firmly believe that we have the capacity for greatness; we have the capacity for change, Susannah, to once again reach for the stars and build a country that we would be proud to call home. I’m sorry - I sound like I’m campaigning!”
“Not at all,” Susannah replied, breathlessly.
“There are those who would perhaps accuse your rhetoric as a little xenophobic,” Dominic interjected for the first time.
“I’m sorry?” Tolanson asked.
“Well, we’ve heard a lot of would-be leaders in a lot of countries try to rally support by playing to… shall we say, the indigenous population?”
Avery bristled and wondered what the presenter’s agenda was. Her research showed that Dominic Henson was largely a background figure when it came to the running of the show. He was a bit of a drinker and word had it that the show went through several young female interns a year. She watched Tolanson’s face, and although there had been an almost imperceptive flash of annoyance, it was now passive.
“You know, Dominic, when I talk of our country, when I talk about Britain, I mean every British person, regardless of colour or religion. Tell me, when you hear Britain do you only think white?”
Avery could have punched the air in triumph. Their message had always been about Britain today and she’d been hoping that someone would try and play the racism card. It had always troubled her that those who were so desperate to fight racism were always the ones who associated any patriotic talk or flag waving as meaning white. Personally, whenever she talked about her country she meant every citizen and so did Tolanson; it was one of the things that they wanted the public to know.
“No… no, course not,” Dominic blustered as his face flushed furiously. “It’s just that… well, sometimes your words might be taken the wrong way and I wanted to make sure that our audience understood.”
“You see, Susannah, perhaps that is half the problem,” Tolanson said, turning back to Mrs Henson. “I believe that the public at large are far more intelligent that we ever give them credit for. I believe that the British are far more capable of deciding their own futures than we give them credit for. And I can promise you this: I will never talk down to anyone and I will never assume the worst in us.”
“Wise words,” Susannah gushed.
“Tell me, Brendan, are you interested in politics?” Dominic asked, trying to change the course of the conversation.
“Dunno,” the boxer shrugged. “But I like what he’s got to say,” he said, gesturing towards Tolanson.
Avery could have whooped with delight at the casual endorsement. Brendan Thomas had a huge fan base and every fan of his just heard him cast a vote for Tolanson.
“But what about his lack of experience? His relative youth,” Dominic pressed the boxer again and Avery felt the man’s agenda growing.
It might have been pre-planned but she thought it was far likelier to have been simple jealousy. Tolanson was charming the man’s wife right in Dominic’s backyard and it was obvious that he didn’t like it.
“I was only 18 when I won my first title,” Brendan said thoughtfully.
“Tony French,” Tolanson said immediately. “On the Rogers’ undercard; a hell of a fight, Boom Boom.”
“Damn right,” the boxer enthused. “People said I was too young, that the fight was too soon for me and I proved them all wrong. If you’re good enough, you’re old enough as far as I’m concerned.”
“Hear hear,” Susannah almost yelled in delight.
“But what about your lack of influence, your lack of foreign policy knowledge, your lack of security understanding?” Dominic rounded on Tolanson.
“I think that our country is damaged, Dominic. I believe that the old way of doing things is a broken way. Wasn’t it Einstein who said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?”
Dominic said nothing and Avery could tell that he didn’t want to commit himself one way or the other when asked a direct question that he didn’t know the answer to.
“I believe that we need change, Dominic - a new direction and a new way of doing things, new results, and a new future for all of us. All of us!” he emphasised.
“Well, as much as I’d like to continue this fascinating discussion, I’m afraid that we’re out of time,” Dominic said, pla
stering a fake smile across his obviously angry features.
Avery watched as Susannah seemed to take great delight in her husband’s discomfort while Brendan grinned and Tolanson looked every inch a statesman.
The show cut to commercials and Tolanson stood shaking hands with the boxer. They shared a quick conversation as Tolanson leaned in close and Avery made a mental note to get Brendan ‘Boom Boom’ Thomas out on the campaign trail for them. The two men stood close to each other for what seemed like a strangely long amount of time but eventually they separated.
Tolanson moved away from the boxer and took Susannah’s hand to thank her for the show. He leaned forwards and kissed her hand gently and a strange thing happened. Up until then she had been putty in his hands, blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush, but as his lips brushed her skin softly, her eyes bulged slightly as though she had just touched something deeply unpleasant. Then the contact was gone and she fell for his smile again.
Dominic, meanwhile, was busying himself with a crew member and directing his anger towards them.
Tolanson crossed the studio to where Avery was standing. “That was fantastic, we couldn’t have scripted it better,” she enthused.
“What was that all about?” he demanded angrily, moving in close without losing his pleasant expression to those looking on.
“Sir?”
“Dominic bloody Henson! This was supposed to be a fluff piece and he starts trying to attack me? You were supposed to have prepped this, Avery! Do I have to start doing your job as well as everyone else’s?”
She was taken aback by his anger and could feel waves of fury radiating off him due to his close proximity.
“Sir, nothing led me to think that he would have a prior agenda.”
“Then what was that?”