Striking a Balance

by Curtis, Norma

  Larry stared at them. The talk with Emma had depressed him. He looked out of the window at the two factions and it reminded him of his marriage.

  As the coach pulled up he got to his feet. All faces were turned to him.

  He checked his watch. ‘It’s three o’clock,’ he said. ‘We’ll join the demo at the town hall. The coach will pick us up from Cleve Street at six-thirty. If anyone wants to go home sooner, let me know and I’ll see you get transport.’

  There was a buzz of conversation.

  Larry had nothing more to say, but they still didn’t move and he realised that he ought to end with something meaningful. He had become their leader. He looked down the aisle of the coach, his eyes checking from row to row, and in each face he looked at he saw expectation. ‘We won’t lose the playgroup,’ he said. ‘We’ll find some way to fund it. That playgroup belongs to us.’

  A couple of desultory cheers and the movement began, and children spilled from knees and purposefully the women picked up their bags and prepared themselves for the march.

  Bill and Helen were the last to get off. Helen handed Bill over and Larry lifted him high over his head as he’d done when he was a small child.

  Bill, thrilled with fright, giggled down at him.

  ‘Let’s get going,’ Larry said.

  People were gathering from nowhere, it seemed. They appeared to materialise instantaneously — young people in camouflage, wearing black, their faces pale.

  Larry felt himself coming together in a concentration of energy. It was a familiar feeling, one he’d experienced in meetings and presentations and lunchtime lynchings; a feeling of readiness.

  ‘We’ll keep it peaceful,’ he said.

  The police were stringing along their side of the road.

  As they started off there was the smattering of a cheer and he suddenly caught a glimpse of the reality. For a moment, his old power had come back but he had almost missed the crucial difference. He had changed sides.

  *

  There were hundreds of people milling about outside the town hall.

  There was a roar as someone emerged.

  It was a man in his fifties, his hair rather long, wearing a mismatched suit, as though he’d dressed in a hurry that morning. He stood on the top step and waited for the noise to die down.

  He looked calm and unagitated. He looked superior.

  ‘I can tell you this won’t do you any good,’ he said. ‘We are not swayed by emotions, we are only swayed by budget.’ There was a roar of discontent.

  ‘So I suggest you all go home,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, you would, mate.’

  A policeman joined him on the step.

  ‘Get back in there, you faggot,’ came a voice from the crowd.

  The man in the suit seemed to find a good reason for going back in. ‘We’ve nothing to hide,’ he said, ‘and you’ve nothing to gain by staying out here.’

  Emma came up alongside Larry in the crowd.

  ‘They want their supper,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Larry said. He thought of her talk about pinnacles and he began to push his way through the crowd towards the bottom of the steps. When he was in earshot of the man, he called out, ‘I’d like a word with you, if you don’t mind.’

  The man turned back from the door which the police officer was holding open and looked at him, surprised. ‘How can I help?’ he asked.

  ‘Have your children got a garden?’ Larry called.

  The man’s face hardened. ‘You should know better,’ he said.

  ‘You sound an intelligent man. Why don’t you act it?’

  ‘Why does the council waste money on driving lessons for single parents who can’t afford to buy a car? Let it go on the important things — a place to take their children where they can be outdoors and where their parents can make contact with others — it’s a lonely business, bringing up a child.’

  ‘And you’d know, would you?’

  Larry could feel people pushing up behind him. There was a surge and he almost lost his footing. The noise had increased and so had the people. He stood on the next step up. He saw police helmets cut through the crowd like shark fins.

  The crowd surged again. He turned, suddenly afraid for Bill. Larry heard Jean’s voice in his ear. ‘You all right?’

  He turned, crushed against her. ‘What’s going on?’

  Jean grinned. ‘Rent a mob,’ she said. ‘They’re planning to march to Trafalgar Square.’

  ‘We haven’t got permission —’

  ‘Bloody rabble,’ the man in the suit shouted from the doorway and was swiftly escorted inside. The door slammed shut.

  Thwarted, the crowd gave another surge. Larry felt the breath being squeezed out of his lungs. He found himself pushed towards the bathers and he braced himself against falling. Behind the bathers the police formed their own barricade. A young Asian boy was breathing heavily next to him, Larry could feel his breath on his face. He turned and could no longer see Jean — instead a small gang of Asian youths were surrounding him and the youngest, in a yellow sweatshirt, was screaming something at the impassive string of officers. He lunged forward at them, hitting the bather.

  Larry looked on in disbelief. The march, the peaceful march, had swelled into — what? Everybody’s boiling pot. Where had these Asians come from with their anger and their hate? Everyone was fighting for themselves, he too, yes, he too.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ he shouted to the boy, inches from him, above the noise, ‘it’s not worth it.’

  The boy looked at him uncomprehendingly. For a moment he was distracted, his eyes unfocused as if he’d been pulled out of a dream. And he lunged again at the string of police. The barrier gave, sliding away, and Larry found himself poured through. There was a shout from the officers. They came undone like beads of a necklace and swarmed the boy neatly, packeting him up and taking him towards the waiting vans.

  His friends looked at Larry. One took hold of his jacket. Larry found himself inches from half an eyebrow just like his own — the rest of it eaten up by a scar.

  He raised his forearm with difficulty. They were pressed so close together; he had never before been so close to a human being that he did not know in all his life. He wrenched the arm away and from somewhere to the left of him came a shadow, briefly but noticeably enough to register on his consciousness, and a heavy blow hit him on the left hand side of his forehead. He felt as though he had slammed in to it. Through the blinding pain he felt the adrenaline rise in him and turn to rage. He blinked and threw a punch. He felt his arm being twisted behind his back. Hands were on him, bundling him up. He tried to heave himself free and turned and to his relief he found he was being held by a police officer.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, still struggling, ‘I’ll be all right now.’

  ‘In the van, sir.’

  ‘Yes, but —’he strained to look around him at the seething crowd. He was no longer a law-abiding citizen, he was on the other side, an enemy of law and order, and it had happened so quickly. He was being pushed rapidly towards the van and he looked round, frightened for Bill and Helen and Lily and Emma. He was raging with frustration, being jostled — ahead he could see the van...and beyond it a television crew.

  ‘DADDEEE!’ One loud scream rose above the din. Larry turned his head, frantically trying to find his son, but a spark inside him glittered for a second — he had called him daddy! He caught a glimpse of a pale face, riding high on Helen’s shoulders, but someone pressed his head down as he entered the maw of the van and the doors were pushed closed behind him.

  It was quiet inside, away from the noise. The darkness after the sun subdued them. Larry could feel his heart hammering and he looked at his watch.

  There was an hour to go before the coach came and he wouldn’t be on it. A wave of fear washed over him.

  He wouldn’t be on it now.

  PART SEVEN - Seven’s Heaven

  38

  As they spil
led out of the meeting room, Megan checked her messages. ‘Ring Paul Camberwell at Triton,’ she said aloud, showing the message to Lisa.

  Megan could feel the lift of adrenaline, the excitement, and the apprehension. If Larry doesn’t get it, we’ll be celebrating anyway, she thought. It’s no disgrace to him when he’s got this far.

  Lisa was watching her, a small smile suggesting to Megan that she was reading her thoughts perfectly.

  ‘Okay,’ Megan said, clapping her hands, ‘let’s find out what’s going on. And the winner of tonight’s prize of one well-paid job in advertising is —’she tapped out Paul Camberwell’s private line number — it’s Megan Lawrence. Yes, Paul Baker’s got the experience. Yes, Larry. Right, I’ll tell him. Thanks, thank you, Paul.’ Her eyes were wide, and as she put the phone down Megan felt as though she’d bungee jumped off Tower Bridge.

  ‘LARRY’S GOT IT! HE’S GOT THE JOB!’

  Lisa’s face seemed to mirror her own — eyes wide with astonishment, face split with an uncontrollable grin of sheer pleasure. She shook her head. ‘I love this game,’ she said, her eyes shining.

  ‘You can ring him,’ Megan said to Lisa, ‘he was your man really. And your first big search. I’ll get a bottle from the fridge.’

  Wow! She’d hoped for it but hadn’t dared believe it and her heartrate seemed to be beating off the scale. She grabbed some paper cups and took a couple of bottles into research to break the good news and went back to Lisa, pouring out another two paper cups full and ready for a few words with Larry.

  Lisa was still holding the phone. As Meg looked at her queryingly, Lisa looked at the receiver as though it had sorely let her down. ‘It’s the answerphone,’ she said with a shrug.

  Megan listened. ‘That’s funny,’ she said, replacing the receiver. She checked her watch. ‘It’s ten past five,’ she said. ‘He’s probably gone to Sainsbury’s.’ Her spirits took a slight dip, but only very slight. Just then, Nigel came in and saw the bottle on the desk. ‘Ah!’

  ‘What a shame, we’ll have to open another bottle,’ Megan said in a martyred tone.

  ‘Larry got it, didn’t he?’ Nigel said.

  ‘YES!’ Megan said, punching the air. ‘And it looks as though he’s going to be the last to know! Who’s for a drink? I’ll just give Zelda a ring to let her know. We’ll go to the club, shall we? I can try Larry from there and he can bring Bill with him — they’ve got a creche there which is open until eight.’

  She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Zelda?’

  *

  The Mannington Club was a short walk away. Although it had only been open for a couple of years, the atmosphere was one of faded comfort. The Colgin Partnership had taken out a corporate membership and they piled in while Megan headed for the bar to get the drinks.

  The club tended to fill up after work and the noise inside was indescribable. In the corner opposite, the television was on, adding to the din.

  Megan distributed the drinks and squeezed across to Lisa, handed her her glass.

  ‘Here’s to you, Lisa, for spotting Larry’s potential,’ she said.

  ‘Sometimes it’s easier when you don’t know a person. There are no strings. It makes life simpler, somehow.’

  Megan had the impression that she wasn’t only talking about work.

  A waiter came through, handsome and very young and virginal in his white jacket.

  As he walked past, Lisa raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think he’s gay?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Is he your type?’ Megan asked in surprise, taking off her jacket. Lisa hardly ever spoke about men at all, and had certainly never rung anyone from the office.

  Lisa smiled, and didn’t reply.

  ‘You’ve got something of a reputation with men,’ Megan said, and someone pushed her from behind. She fell against Lisa and spilled some champagne down the front of her skirt. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, brushing at it.

  ‘It’s all right. Champagne doesn’t stain. You were saying?’

  It suddenly didn’t seem such a good conversation to pursue. ‘I just wondered,’ she said, tailing off, remembering that once she’d thought her guilty of sleeping with Gerry.

  Lisa was still smiling. ‘The truth is that like most career women, it’s not a man I need behind me, it’s a wife.’

  Megan agreed fervently. She raised her glass. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  Megan thought she’d better try Larry again. Drinks on an empty stomach were never a great move, and at this rate she’d be wiped out by the time he got there. She gave her glass to Lisa to hold, and made her way to the stairwell.

  The future was taking on something of a soft-focus gleam. She could see life getting back to normal with the Triton job. They’d be equals again, which was important.

  She dialled the number and got the answer phone. Forget it, then, she thought, and checked the time. It was almost six.

  She made her way back to Lisa, who had ordered another two glasses in the meantime. ‘He’s still not in,’ she said.

  ‘By the way, you know Dave Westacott?’ Lisa asked. ‘He took me to Langans last night to impress me. He’d booked a table downstairs. We were shown to our table on the ground floor and he said rather loudly that he’d specifically asked for a downstairs table. And the waiter said, “Sir, downstairs is the kitchens.”’

  Megan giggled. She knew Dave. ‘I went there once with Ron Spry — you know how pompous he is. There were no side plates and when we took a roll, he broke it up in the ashtray. Worst thing was, I didn’t want him to think I was doing the wrong thing by putting it on the cloth, so I used the ashtray too!’

  Lisa started to giggle. ‘Men, what can you do with them? You can’t live with them and you can’t shoot them.’

  With a smile on her face, Megan leaned back against the oak-panelled wall. Her eyes drifted to the flickering television screen.

  It was a scene in which a mob of people were chanting, led by a man in a dark blue jacket who looked as if he’d walked into the wrong shot. It looked like Larry. She nudged Lisa.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘That guy looks like Larry.’

  ‘Yeah. What’s he shouting about?’

  Megan leaned forward and squinted at the screen. ‘I don’t know. Can’t make it out.’

  It was impossible to tell, with the noise in the bar, whether the crowd was shouting at all. It could just as easily have been singing, or yawning. But suddenly the camera jerked. Now there was no mistaking the mood of the people. The yawns were snarls and the man in the blue jacket turned his head and looked straight at them.

  ‘Megan?’ Lisa said.

  Megan had got to her feet. Larry had turned away from them now and behind him, in the melee, in the pack of howling people, Megan could see Bill, his face pale and his eyes baggy and round with amazement. And he was on some blonde’s shoulders. With an expression of glee she was looking at Larry, and Larry, turning back to the camera — to her, Megan —lunged, and Megan could see a police officer grabbing him, and the scene cut to a tanned, auburn-haired reporter, her hair waving in the breeze and her name printed beneath her in neat letters, and she was followed by a commercial for PG Tips.

  Megan was looking open-mouthed at the screen.

  She was not sure what her main emotion was — whether it was anger or astonishment.

  ‘That was Larry,’ she said.

  The bar was so full that Lisa was pressed against her. Megan couldn’t take her eyes off the screen, despite the fact that the news had ended and that Larry was very unlikely to turn up, now, in a tea advert.

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘He was with some blonde. She was holding Bill.’ Megan put down her glass. ‘It was a playgroup thing, he’s mentioned it once or twice. I’d better get home.’

  ‘They sure didn’t play like that in my day. Do you want me to come with you?’

  Megan felt for her handbag. ‘Umm — no, it’s all right. I’ll get a taxi.’ Whatever she was feeling �
�� and she wasn’t sure what it was at the moment, but whatever the emotion — it was on a slow burner.

  Lisa was now crouching down, feeling for her own bag. Unfortunately she must have picked up the wrong end of it and there was a general clatter as lipsticks and loose change and a cylinder of Hermesetas fell out, all spilling and spinning and rolling around the floor.

  Megan got on her knees again and scooped things up by the handful, getting trampled on in the process. She straightened up, her blonde hair flopping in her eyes and her face flushed with the effort.

  Lisa held the bag open and Megan dropped her finds in. ‘But what was he doing?’ Lisa asked. ‘What was he demonstrating about?’

  Megan shrugged. ‘He’s trying to stop the playgroup from being closed. I haven’t really been listening, it didn’t seem that important.’

  ‘He’s become a raving Leftie,’ Lisa said, looking in her bag and sifting through the coins.

  Megan looked at Lisa. ‘Did it seem to you that he’d been arrested?’

  ‘Kind of, yes. Yes, I should say so.’

  ‘You can’t live with them and you can’t shoot them,’ Megan said ruefully.

  They pushed their way down the stairs and went outside to look for a taxi. The street was busy and they had to keep moving, just to stay in one place.

  The orange glow on the roof of a cab caught her eye.

  ‘You get this one,’ Lisa said, and Megan bent at the passenger window and told the taxi where she was heading and she got into the back. She slid down the window and Lisa gave her a card. ‘It’s got my address on,’ she said.

  Megan took it and looked at the crowds on the pavement. Juxtaposed was the image of Larry with a megaphone in his hand, surrounded by people in camouflage. He’d looked as though he was starting a private war.

  ‘Hey, Megan,’ Lisa said through the window, ‘this husband of yours, he’s been having you on. He didn’t look housetrained to me.’

  Nor to me, Megan thought, nor to me.

  39

  ‘Name?’