by David Nobbs
But the Conservative candidate, Mr Nigel Pilkington-Brick (aged 47), urged his opponent to resign. ‘He’s clearly not a fit person to represent the wonderful people of Thurmarsh,’ he said. ‘He should do the honourable thing.’
Henry’s anger at Tosser’s statement made his temples throb. He put the paper down slowly. He could hardly bear to look up and meet Diana’s eyes.
‘I’m so terribly sorry, my darling,’ he said.
‘So am I,’ said Diana.
A small army of reporters and photographers was waiting outside the front door.
‘I suggest I make a short statement and we pose for photographs, if you’re game,’ said Henry.
‘Do you really think we should?’ asked Diana.
‘Yes. There’s absolutely no future in skulking.’
Henry had taken a double dose of pills and drunk five pints of water. He had dressed very slowly.
Magnus phoned. Henry took the phone as if it was a hand-grenade.
‘Hello, Magnus,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘What a pitifully inadequate word,’ said his agent.
‘Yes. Sorry. There’s an army of pressmen here, Magnus.’
‘Don’t say anything. Not anything. Come to the club straight away, and we’ll thrash out a statement. Understood?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Henry. ‘Perfectly understood. I go out and talk to them, short statement, pose for photographs with Diana.’
‘No, Henry!’
‘Yes, Magnus! I’ve lost my dignity, my reputation and very possibly my wife. I’ll do this my way, thank you.’
Magnus groaned.
Henry took a last glass of icy water, and said, ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
He tried to smile at Diana. There was no answering attempt.
He took a deep breath and opened the door. Sunshine and cloud, a horse running friskily in a paddock, a green van with dirty windows rattling towards the village. These things filled Henry with a breathtaking yearning for their unattainable normality.
The moment the door was open Diana took his arm and smiled.
There was a barrage of questions. Cameras flashed on all sides.
Henry held up his hand, and at last silence fell.
‘I can’t answer questions now,’ he said, ‘but I will make a statement. I don’t remember anything about last night. I was drunk. I’ve read the morning paper, and I can only assume that I did what I’m reported to have done. I’m very, very sorry. I’ve let myself down, my party down, my family down, my supporters down, and above all my wife down. We’ve had a happy marriage for eleven years and during that time I’ve never looked at another woman. My wife is a wonderful woman. I hope that in time she’ll forgive me. I don’t intend to resign. Our policies haven’t changed because of what I did. Thurmarsh’s needs haven’t changed because of what I did. The nation’s needs haven’t changed because of what I did. Has anyone got an Alka-seltzer?’
There was laughter, and even a smattering of applause.
Henry hadn’t expected Diana to make a statement, but she began to speak in a firm, assured voice.
‘This was an isolated lapse, completely out of character,’ she said. ‘My husband’s a good man. Thurmarsh is lucky to have him. I’ll be standing by him.’
They held hands, clutched waists, gave smiles of undying affection and love, and the cameras clicked busily.
The early edition of Henry’s old paper, the Thurmarsh Evening Argus, carried the headline, IS THE CUCUMBER MAN’S CAMPAIGN SNOOKERED?
After the journalists had dispersed, Henry got a taxi to the Liberal Club.
‘I’m fighting on,’ he told Magnus, ‘and I’m not going to ignore what’s happened. I’m the one who has to face the world, knowing that every single person is talking about me and laughing about me. I do it my way.’
‘Oh my oh my,’ sighed Magnus. ‘I age before your eyes.’
‘Have you checked up on Pilkington-Brick and his exotic brothel?’
‘It’s a bit late for that now. We’ve vacated the moral high ground.’
‘Then let’s win it back. Pursue the matter, Magnus. Hound the bastard. That’s an order.’
The first Asian Conservative candidate since 1895 said in Greenwich that ‘bounders and cads should be flogged’.
Mrs Thatcher promised ‘a barrier of steel’ against the breakdown of law and order.
Mr Callaghan said that the reduction of 61,659 in the unemployment figures, to a total of 1,340,595, was ‘no fluke’.
Henry told hecklers, ‘I’m not perfect. Who is?’
He canvassed bravely. He met anger and disgust, but also sympathy and even a little admiration. He spoke about the incident frankly and promised never to repeat it.
He telephoned Helen at home from a call box in the pedestrianised Malmesbury Street, in the Fish Hill Shopping Complex. Asda stood now on the site of Uncle Teddy’s old nightclub, the Cap Ferrat.
‘Has it struck you that my line may be bugged?’ said Helen.
‘Can’t be helped,’ said Henry. ‘I have a question I need to ask you. Did you set me up?’
‘Henry! The anonymous caller was male.’
‘Could have been Ted. Could be one of the obscure ways you two get your thrills.’
‘Henry! That’s awful!’
But he suspected that her anger was simulated, and he pursued the matter.
‘Henry!’ she said. ‘I’ve been made to look ridiculous as well as you. On the green baize, for God’s sake. Every grotty little sex-starved man in Thurmarsh is asking me to pocket his balls. It’s appalling. And the editor’s absolutely livid.’
He admitted that she had a point.
‘Well, if not you, who did?’
‘I’ll try and find out.’
Henry and Magnus conferred at the end of the day’s activities.
‘I get the impression that all is not lost,’ said Henry bravely.
‘I’ve found that it may not be the total cataclysm I’d feared,’ admitted Magnus. ‘Oh, and Yorkshire Television want a live three-way debate between the Thurmarsh candidates. Suddenly Thurmarsh is big news. You shouldn’t touch it with a barge-pole. You’ve too much to lose.’
‘I’ve nothing to lose. I’ve lost already. My only chance is to fight back as publicly as possible. I’ll do it.’
Magnus groaned.
‘No luck with my enquiries, incidentally,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I tackled Pilkington-Brick head on. I said, “What were you doing in a male brothel?” He said he knew of no brothel. I said you’d seen him coming out of the premises of “World-Wide Religious Literature Inc.” He said he was buying a Bible. He reads it every night for guidance and strength, and his old one is getting so well thumbed that it’s falling to pieces.’
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘Oh nor do I. I saw his face. I know he’s guilty. To prove it we’d have to bust the place wide open.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘I spoke to Derek Rectory.’
‘Parsonage.’
‘Parsonage. He says he knows you. He says you deliver him regular consignments of forged paintings and carry fake jewellery to Suffolk for him.’
Henry groaned.
‘It’s true, is it?’
‘I did carry packages for my uncle. I didn’t get anything out of it.’
‘Well, we can’t do anything.’
‘No. Bastard.’
This news jolted Henry badly. He got home at half past eleven, worn out. Diana was still up, and her mood was icy.
‘In public I support you,’ she said. ‘In private we have separate rooms. I didn’t want any of this.’
Next day it was raining, Henry’s shame was as great as ever, he felt at a low ebb, and he faced two ordeals, one public, one private.
He dreaded the private one more.
He was pleased that Cousin Hilda was in. He could get it over with straight away.
He sat opposite her at the table where so many m
eals had been eaten. There was no smell of cooking now, and no fire burning in the blue stove.
Cousin Hilda sat with her severe spectacles and her pale pink bloomers – did they still make them or had she bought in bulk or was she wearing the same ones for ever? – and looked at him sadly and with great pain.
‘You’ve read the papers, then,’ he said.
She nodded grimly.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Words are cheap.’
‘Yes. But I really am. I know how you must feel.’
‘It’s not so bad for me. I have nobody to be ashamed in front of any more. I’m just grateful for one thing.’ Henry knew what she was going to say before she said it. ‘I’m just glad Mrs Wedderburn didn’t live to see this day. It would have broken her heart.’
‘Anyway, I felt I had to come and apologise to you personally.’
‘Thank you for that.’
‘I’m extremely grateful for all you’ve done for me.’
‘Oh stuff and nonsense.’
‘I’m going on television tonight.’
Cousin Hilda sniffed.
‘Well, I know,’ said Henry, ‘but I think it’s an opportunity to mend some fences. I hope you’ll watch.’
‘I might. You never know.’ She paused. ‘I don’t usually watch ITV. I don’t like the advertisements. But there’s not much on our side tonight, to say we pay for a licence.’
He longed to leave. It was painful to feel so guilty. It was painful to have so many memories of this room. It was painful to think how unlikely it would have seemed, in all the years of the gentlemen, if someone had said that these were the vintage years.
‘Well, I’d better be off,’ he said. ‘The campaign goes on.’
‘If this were a sensible world, not a soul would vote for you. Not a soul.’ Cousin Hilda looked at him severely, over her glasses. ‘But it isn’t a sensible world. It hasn’t been for years. And I’ll tell you this. I wouldn’t give the other two house room.’
Henry felt that he had got off more lightly than he deserved.
Tosser Pilkington-Brick needed more time in Make-Up than Henry did! So Henry was already feeling quite good before the television debate began.
The three candidates sat in tubular, slightly futuristic chairs, facing the four cameras. The sound recordist fitted them with microphones, and the portly presenter, Dickie Blackleg, star of the hilarious quiz show Whoops – I’ve Boobed, entered and lowered himself carefully into a chair.
‘Some people say they find the election campaign boring,’ began Dickie Blackleg, ‘but they aren’t saying that in Thurmarsh. Henry Pratt, whatever else you’ve done, the fact that you’ve been liberal with your favours on a snooker table has galvanised this particular campaign. How do you feel about it?’
‘I feel absolutely awful,’ said Henry. ‘How would any human being, who hopes he’s decent, feel when he lets down his wife, his family, his party workers, his party and the voters?’
‘Nigel Pilkington-Brick is the Tory candidate,’ said Dickie Blackleg. ‘You’ve suggested that Mr Pratt should resign. Why?’
‘He’s behaved in a deeply immoral fashion,’ said Tosser. ‘Who does he think he’s representing? Sodom and Gomorrah? I’ll tell you what. I think even the Sodom and Gomorrah Liberal Party would wash their hands of him.’
‘Martin Hammond? Does the Labour Party think he should resign?’ asked Dickie Blackleg.
‘Yes, but not because of his sex life,’ said Martin Hammond. ‘Because he’s a political charlatan.’
‘We’ll come to that later.’ Dickie Blackleg didn’t want politics rearing its ugly head and spoiling the sex. ‘You’ve been caught “at it” naked on a snooker table. Have you a leg to stand on?’
‘If people are disgusted with what I’ve done,’ said Henry, ‘they can tell me on polling day.’
During Tosser’s next answer, he made a disparaging remark about Henry as ‘the cucumber man’.
‘I’d rather be a cucumber man than a financial adviser,’ said Henry. ‘I led the fight against pests at the Cucumber Marketing Board. I can recognise a parasite when I see one.’
‘On the question of policy,’ began Martin.
‘Wait a moment,’ said Tosser. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve been insulted. I have the right to defend myself.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Dickie Blackleg, who preferred an argument to policy any day.
‘Financial advisers are not parasites,’ said Tosser. ‘I aim to enable people to use their money more wisely. I certainly aim to save them more than I am paid. I wouldn’t sleep if I didn’t. And I happen to regard standing for Thurmarsh as a privilege. You wouldn’t catch me having it off on a snooker table.’
No, thought Henry, but you did go to a male brothel. Maybe Tosser expected some crack about that, because when Henry said, ‘You told me you never expected to be sent to this God-forsaken hole,’ Tosser said, ‘That was a private conversation,’ and Henry was able to say, ‘So you admit you did say it? A God-forsaken hole,’ and Tosser had no option but to admit it, but even Henry had to admit that his reply was a brave and effective damage limitation exercise. ‘Yes, but that’s before I came up here. I’ve never been so wrong in my life. I too can make mistakes.’
‘You’ve been a Socialist all your life, Henry,’ said Martin Hammond. ‘You’ve turned Liberal purely in order to get selected.’
‘I turned Liberal before I was selected,’ said Henry. ‘Yes, I believe in many of the Socialist aims – much greater social justice et cetera. I respect you. I don’t respect Tosser. That’s what we called Nigel at school.’
‘Is this relevant?’ protested Tosser.
‘No,’ said Henry, ‘but we’re on the telly purely because I’ve made an awful fool of myself, so I’m ruddy well going to say what I like.’ He looked straight into the camera, pretending it was Cousin Hilda. ‘I want to tell you what sort of man I am. Not tall, a bit fat, not brilliant, cocked up two marriages, sometimes drink too much, often feel useless, haven’t achieved a great deal, but … but I am deeply sincere, I love my country, for all its faults, I love this God-forsaken hole called Thurmarsh, I care about people and the world and I would love, just love, the chance to serve the community and my party and redeem my life.’
When he got back to Thurmarsh, Henry expected a ticking-off from Magnus.
‘I could hear you groaning,’ he said.
‘No, no,’ said Magnus. ‘No, no. You were right and I was wrong. You’re a one-off.’
Gallup gave the Tories a 2 per cent lead across the nation, with the Liberal vote up to 13 1/2 per cent.
Polling day was cold and bright, with occasional blustery showers. Henry cast his vote early. He voted for Martin Hammond, believing this to be the honourable thing to do. He spent the rest of the day touring the polling stations, encouraging the party workers. Everyone was in good spirits. Their vote was much higher than expected.
The Conservatives and the Socialists were also in good spirits. Their vote was much higher than expected as well.
If everybody who’d promised to vote for the three major parties had actually voted for them, the turn out would have been 167 per cent.
The count was held in the Town Hall, at long trestle tables. It was done at breakneck speed. Thurmarsh had secret hopes of being the first constituency to declare. It would be one in the eye for Torquay and Billericay.
Rumours began to sweep the hall. It was unexpectedly close. The Tories and the Socialists were neck and neck. The Liberals had done astonishingly well. Excitement grew. Martin Hammond looked sick at the unimagined possibility that he might lose. Tosser Pilkington-Brick looked sick at the unimagined possibility that he might win.
The candidates were informed that the Conservatives had won by five votes.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Tosser, going ashen. ‘I demand a recount.’
‘But you’ve won,’ said the returning officer.
‘I demand a recount too,’ said Martin, who
was shaking.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tosser, recovering rapidly. ‘It’s the shock. This is beyond my wildest dreams. But I think it’s only right to have a recount. I must be sure of my mandate. That’s what I meant.’
As the recount began, Helen walked across the hall towards Henry. The conversational level dropped dramatically. All eyes were upon them. Henry could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He glanced uneasily at Diana. Helen’s eyes looked feverish, as if she had a temperature, but he knew that it was the result of excitement.
‘Is this wise?’ he said.
‘I was never wise,’ she said.
The conversation level in the hall rose again, and to new heights, as everybody discussed Henry and Helen.
‘It looks as though you may be doing all right,’ she said.
‘Yes. Not too bad, I think. You haven’t lost your job, I gather.’
‘No. No harm done, eh?’
Henry glanced at Diana again.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he said. ‘No, Helen, I wouldn’t say that.’
He could see Ted watching them from the middle of a knot of journalists at the far side of the hall. He could see the gleam in Ted’s eyes.
‘Well at least you got to appreciate my legs at last,’ said Helen.
‘I don’t remember them.’
‘What? You said they were the most beautiful legs you’d ever seen. You said they were the most beautiful things you’d ever seen in the whole world. I hoped you’d feel that had made it all worthwhile.’
‘Unfortunately, no. There’s no value in an experience you can’t remember. I’d like you to go now.’
‘Perhaps we’d better do it again some time when you’re sober, in that case.’
‘No, Helen. Now everybody’s looking at us out of the corners of their eyes so I suggest we shake hands and look as if we’re parting amicably. Otherwise I’ll turn away abruptly and it’ll look as if I’m snubbing you.’
‘Do you think I give a damn what people think of me?’ said Helen, and she turned away abruptly, leaving everyone in the hall to think that she was snubbing him.
The conversational level rose again.
Results were pouring in. It was clear that the Conservatives would win nationally. In Thurmarsh, the first recount gave Tosser a majority of one.