Heads You Win полностью

At 8 a.m. he took a break for breakfast, a different cafe every morning, and twenty minutes later he would walk to party headquarters in the high street—three rooms hired for a month—and check the morning papers. The Merrifield Gazette had found several different ways of saying it was neck and neck, a close-run thing, everything to play for, but the morning’s headline took him by surprise: HUNTER CHALLENGES KARPENKO TO DEBATE.

“Shrewd move,” said Alf. “She didn’t wait for you to make the running this time. You have to accept immediately, and then we’ll agree later on a date, time, and place.”

“Any time, any place,” said Sasha.

“No, no!” said Alf. “We’re not in any hurry. We need the debate to be in Roxton, and as close to the election as possible.”

“Why Roxton?”

“Because more of our supporters are likely to turn up there than anywhere else in the constituency.”

“But why hold it off until the last moment?”

“It will give you more time to prepare. Don’t forget you’re not up against a university student any longer, but a parliamentarian who’s lived in this constituency all her life. But for now, you should get back on the street and leave us to worry about the details.”

After Sasha had rung the editor of the Gazette to say he would be delighted to accept Ms. Hunter’s challenge, and couldn’t wait to debate with her, he left HQ to join the early morning shoppers, mainly women and young children, and a few old-age pensioners. During the next three hours he shook hands with as many voters as possible, always delivering the same simple message: his name, his party, the date of the election, and a reminder that Merrifield was now a key marginal seat.

Then came a forty-minute break for lunch at one o’clock, when Alf would join him at a local pub and bring him up to date with what Fiona was up to. Sasha always chatted to the publican about licensing hours and the tax on alcohol, while ordering only one course and a half pint of the local beer.

“Always make sure you pay for your own food and drink,” said Alf. “And don’t buy anything for anyone if they have a vote in the constituency.”

“Why not?” asked a heavily pregnant Charlie, as she sipped an orange juice.

“Because you can bet the Tories would try to claim he was attempting to bribe a constituent, and therefore breaking electoral law.”

After shaking hands with everyone in the pub, they left for a factory visit, where Sasha usually got more hellos than bugger-offs, followed by the school run from three thirty to four thirty—primary, secondary, and finally the local grammar school. This was when Charlie came into her element, and many mothers confided in her that, unlike their husbands, they would be voting for Sasha.

“She’s our secret weapon,” the chairman often told the candidate, “especially as, although Fiona claims to be engaged, her fiancé has yet to make an appearance. Not that I’ll be mentioning that to anyone, of course,” he added with a grin.

Back to HQ around 5 p.m. for a debriefing, before leaving to address two, possibly three, evening meetings.

“But so few people bother to turn up,” said Sasha.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Alf. “It will give you a chance to rehearse a few of the key points and phrases that will need to sound off-the-cuff during the debate.”

Back home by midnight and hopefully asleep by 1 a.m. Not always possible, because just like with an actor treading the boards, the adrenaline doesn’t conveniently stop the moment the curtain comes down. Four hours’ sleep before the alarm goes off, when he started the whole process again, only thankful that it was one day less until the election.

*   *   *

On the morning of the debate, one local poll gave Fiona a two-point lead, while another had the two candidates neck and neck. It didn’t help steady Sasha’s nerves when the local TV station announced that there had been so much interest in the debate that they would be showing it live at prime time.

Charlie selected the suit (gray, single-breasted), shirt (white), and tie (green) that Sasha would wear for the encounter that evening. She didn’t interrupt him while he rehearsed salient lines and well-honed phrases whenever they were alone. But if he asked for her opinion, she didn’t hesitate to respond candidly, even if it wasn’t always what he wanted to hear.

“Time to leave,” said Charlie, checking her watch.

Sasha followed her out of party HQ and joined her in the back of a waiting car.

“You look so handsome,” she said, as they moved off. Sasha didn’t reply. “Don’t forget, she’s just not in your class.” Still no response. “By this time next week, it will be you, not her, who’s sitting in the House of Commons.” Still nothing. “And by the way,” she added, “perhaps this isn’t the best time to tell you, but I’m thinking of voting Conservative.”

“Then let’s be thankful you haven’t got a vote in this constituency,” said Sasha as the car pulled up outside Roxton Town Hall.

*   *   *