by David Belbin
‘How does it feel to be one of Blair’s babes?’ he asked.
‘I’m hardly a babe,’ Sarah said.
‘I think you are,’ Andrew assured her.
Sarah accepted the compliment. There had been a photoshoot that morning with all of the new female MPs. Their wide-eyed optimism reminded Sarah of herself, two years previously. An MP’s job quickly become mundane. Doable, even satisfying at times, but never glamorous. Sarah had missed out by arriving halfway through the government’s term, long after all the committees had been doled out and alliances between new MPs had been forged. The thrill of her by-election victory soon faded. The most exciting part of being an MP was campaigning to get the job. As this election drew closer, she’d helped prepare policies for the near-certainty of power. Her excitement had been dampened by the conviction that she would not be re-elected.
Yet here she was. Was there any feeling better than getting something you’d long since given up on? She couldn’t explain to Andrew how exhilarating this job was, how it made sense of everything she’d done up to this point in her life, how she was living in every moment and couldn’t wait to get out of bed in the morning. She spotted the Prime Minister’s Press Secretary.
‘Would you like me to introduce you to Alastair?’
Sarah watched her guest gladhanding, greasing. It was funny, she reflected, that in all of their conversations, neither she nor Nick had once mentioned Andy . . . she meant Andrew.
Her new office would be ready tomorrow. The Home Secretary had assured Sarah that her concerns about penal reform were shared at cabinet level. Her appointment had created little waves of approval in the liberal press and drew barbed comments about needle exchanges in prisons from The Times and Telegraph. But prisons were low-profile and Sarah was young. She was not being touted as a high-flyer, yet. Even if she did the job well, she couldn’t expect to get into the top team before the next general election. When she was more than likely to lose her seat.
At least the media no longer had her tagged as Jasper March’s totty. Jasper, having lost to a Liberal Democrat, was one of yesterday’s men. He would have to bugger a dozen blokes on Brighton Beach in broad daylight before he saw his name in the tabloids again.
‘So you’ll be spending the next few months slogging round Her Majesty’s high-security hotels, eh?’ Andrew said. ‘Not my idea of fun.’
‘As long as I don’t run into any more old boyfriends,’ Sarah said.
‘Alastair said something about a party for donors at Number Ten.’
‘Are you a donor?’ Sarah asked, surprised. At university, Andrew was always known for being tight with his money.
‘No, but he assumed I was, since you were giving me tea on the terrace. How much would I have to give to get the big invites?’
‘Ten grand is the smallest sum that would get their attention. You’d have to hint it was a down payment while you waited to see if the new government delivers on its promise. But do you like all that rubbing shoulders stuff? I run a mile from fundraising events.’
‘Business is business. Liking’s got nothing to do with it.’
Sarah had a meeting to go to. Visitors weren’t allowed to walk around the Commons unescorted, so she saw Andrew out of the building.
‘Let’s do dinner next time,’ he suggested.
‘As long as you don’t mind eating late. Lots of legislating to do. By the way, what job were you going to offer me, had I not won? I’m curious.’
‘It hardly matters now,’ Andrew replied. ‘I never worked out a title. Head of Public Relations might have done it.’
‘I don’t know anything about PR,’ Sarah protested.
‘Don’t underestimate yourself. I suspect you can do anything you turn your mind to. And thanks for giving me Gill Temperley’s number.’
‘Did you get on with her?’
‘I did. She’s weighing up offers, but reckons she’ll have a lot of time on her hands now her party’s out of power. She might be able to give me a couple of days a week to do the job I wanted you to do.’
The glint in Andrew’s eyes indicated that he hoped for more than work from Gill. Sarah wondered if the Tory MP was interested. Gill had scraped back into office, but had already made it clear that she wouldn’t be seeking a shadow cabinet post. Like most members of the last government, she would want to make money, catch up on the opportunities missed during eighteen years of power.
Sarah and Andrew exchanged pecks on the cheek. Andrew hailed a taxi. Sarah went back inside to meet a prospective secretary. Replacing Clare was her top priority. Sarah used to share her with her Nottingham East counterpart, but Clare had managed to get herself elected in what had hitherto been a safe Tory seat. Now that she was a junior minister, Sarah needed somebody full time. She would have to delegate nearly all of her constituency case work. The person she was about to see had short, blonde hair, blue eyes and a weak chin. He came highly recommended by his former boss, who had lost his seat.
‘I’m not a Tory,’ was the first thing Hugh Race told her.
‘So your reference says.’
‘And I’m not gay.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if you were. It might even be an advantage.’
‘I only say that because I know you’re aware of my previous employer’s . . . predilections, and I didn’t want you to think I got the job because there was anything going on.’
‘You want to follow a career path in Parliament because you’re more interested in government than you are in party politics. That’s fine. My last secretary was a candidate and she hardly got any work done in the last eight weeks. So there’s a big backlog and I need somebody who can catch up quickly, who can make minor decisions independently. According to Jasper, you’re very good at that.’
‘Mr March was a very good employer. He made my duties clear. I’d never take on anything that was properly a member’s remit.’
Sarah wondered whether Hugh would take charge of her, rather than the other way round. Good secretaries were hard to find, especially now, with all the new MPs sloshing about the house. Hugh was easy on the eye, too, good looking in a pale, effete way. He could be one of Gill Temperley’s ‘researchers’.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll put you on the same salary scale you were on with Jasper. Three months’ probation and no hard feelings if either of us wants to back out at the end of it. How does that sound?’
‘Excellent,’ Hugh said. ‘When do you want me start?’
Sarah pointed at the two bin bags full of mail waiting for attention.
‘Now.’
She collected an inch-thick pile of faxes that had arrived during her absence. Near the top, she saw that the BMA foundation for AIDS was about to publish its survey on the availability of condoms in state prisons. That was something she ought to be able to move on quickly; it probably wasn’t ‘sexy’ enough to be one of the hundred projects in a hundred days to be announced over the next three months. But things might change.
There was no need for the new government to be as cautious as the party had had to be until now. The size of their majority had shocked everyone. After a landslide, people expected large changes. Prisons didn’t work and they were her responsibility. If she got everyone who didn’t belong in prison out, the government would make a huge financial saving. The biggest cut, she liked to say at meetings, would be in human misery. That was what she had come into politics to do, the kind of achievement it was worth making sacrifices for. Nick knew that. He would understand.
She had waited all of her life for this.
EPILOGUE
AUTUMN 1997
The meeting took several weeks to set up. Sarah had not forgotten the favour Eric did for Nick Cane on her behalf. The Chief Constable would want something in return. Men always did. But first, he reminded Sarah of an offer he had made before the election.
‘In four years time, you’ll be even better qualified to run the association. So if you don’t hold on to your seat . . .’
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br /> ‘That’s awfully nice of you, Eric, but I’m not looking to pack a parachute just yet. And I may not be so popular with your colleagues once they’ve seen what I do when I actually have some power.’
‘Power, in my experience, is largely an illusion. While you have it, you’re most conscious of what you lack, and of how little you can affect the things that matter to you. Only when it’s gone do you realize what you had.’
The coffee arrived. Both of them took it black.
‘How are the kids?’ Sarah asked, delaying the question she’d invited him over to answer.
‘Youngest started at university this week. Strange feeling, the empty nest. Makes you wonder why you go home at the end of the day.’
That was enough small talk. They only had ten minutes before her next appointment.
‘I wanted to clear up a loose end or two.’
‘Of course,’ Eric said. ‘I looked into that matter for you. I checked out your friend as well, Nicholas Cane.’
‘I didn’t ask you to . . .’
Eric shrugged. ‘I put my neck on the line where he was concerned. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t left either of us open to embarrassment. But he’s living an exemplary life, as far as we can tell. Volunteers at a drugs rehabilitation drop-in centre, keeps his probation appointments, hasn’t done any more illicit cab driving.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Sarah said. ‘We’ve not spoken.’
‘Who knows, in time, you might be able to use him as a consultant,’ Eric said. Seeing that he’d got her attention, he went on. ‘I hear rumours. Downgrading cannabis from Class B to Class C, virtually decriminalising the stuff. Any truth in that?’
‘Not my department,’ Sarah said.
‘Be a good thing, if you want my opinion. The laws at the moment, we make outlaws out of the middle-class punters we need on our side, make youngsters think that if we’ve got cannabis wrong, we’re probably wrong about the hard drugs, too. And we’re not.’
‘I agree.’
‘Cane, he wasn’t just growing the stuff, you know. He was a cocaine dealer.’
‘Really?’ Sarah thought it best to affect ignorance, even though Nick had told her about the coke.
‘Not big-time, but it made his sentence a lot heavier.’
‘How did you catch him?’ Sarah asked, remembering the bitter hints that Nick had given. He even suspected his own brother. ‘Nosy neighbour smelt something?’
Eric shook his head. ‘Same as the way we caught him driving illegally. Anonymous tip-off.’
‘How anonymous?’ Sarah asked, her heartbeat accelerating.
‘Not very. We traced the call to his brother’s home.’
‘His brother told you about the dope growing?’
‘No, it was a woman’s voice on the phone. Some kind of family trouble, it’s often the way. You rarely get to the bottom of it.’
Sarah had never met Nick’s sister-in-law, a teacher with a little baby. She wondered why the woman had it in for him.
‘That’s interesting to know,’ she told Eric. ‘What about the thing I asked you to check for me: Ed Clark. Has he resurfaced yet?’
‘No, but he’s on an Interpol watch-list. I’ve talked to them. Clark’s bought a place in St Lucia, is setting up some kind of property business there. Nineteen-year-old girlfriend, place on the beach. Sounds like paradise to me. How did we end up in such mundane jobs?’
Sarah didn’t answer this. She liked, no, loved her job. Whereas Eric was brushing fifty. In the police, that was retirement age. No wonder he was jaded.
‘We’ll never find out, will we, what really happened that afternoon?’
‘Probably not. You get used to that in my line of work. But if anything does crop up, I’ll let you know.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Want me to keep tabs on Cane, too, update you as and when . . .?’
‘I don’t think so, Eric. He’s entitled to a private life.’
Sarah stood up and Eric followed suit.
‘Talking of private lives,’ he said, ‘there’s a weekend get-together coming up – the police committee and one or two interested parties. Hambleton Hall, do you know it? Lovely hotel on the edge of Rutland Water. Michelin Star chef. We could really use your input on a couple of matters. Not too heavy an agenda, mind. Plenty of time for relaxation.’
There it was, the quid pro quo.
‘I should be able to manage it,’ Sarah said. ‘Fax me the details and I’ll run it past my diary secretary.’
Eric gave her his most suave smile and kissed her on the cheek. When he was gone, Sarah poured herself a glass of water and tried to collect her thoughts. She was about to meet the press officer of the Prison Governors’ Association to coordinate her tour of the UK’s most improved jails, but she had other things on her mind. She couldn’t, she decided, betray Caroline Cane. Telling Nick would solve a mystery for him, but it would poison his relations with his sister-in-law. And Sarah was still Nick’s friend. Friends didn’t get involved with each other’s family feuds, not if they wanted to stay friends. As for Ed Clark, the guilty went free all the time. So, he was living a life of luxury. So what? Get over it.
The phone rang, announcing the arrival of her next appointment.
Nick didn’t see Polly for five months. Then, one October night, he happened upon her in the Lion. She had more slap on than she used to. The mate she was with had pulled and Polly was adrift. It would have been churlish of Nick not to buy her a drink. Polly looked wary, but accepted the offer. She bought the second. After two more rounds she let him walk her home. Nick figured she’d already drunk enough to talk openly, but he produced a quarter-bottle of scotch anyway.
‘Have you heard from him?’ Nick asked, when she’d sent the babysitter home.
‘Ed? Not even a card. He got what he wanted from me.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He wanted to prove he could get me back, after being inside. Me being with him stopped people thinking he was guilty, saying he only got out on a technicality. He was always going to piss off when the compensation came through.’
‘But you dumped me for him.’
‘I didn’t dump you,’ Polly reminded him. ‘I tried to, but I couldn’t. Then you walked in on me with him so I couldn’t stay with you.’
‘You mean you’d have kept seeing me if I hadn’t found out?’ Nick asked this gently, without recrimination in his voice.
‘Ed didn’t know about you at first. I wanted you, not him.’ She gave a hard frown. ‘Turned out you were knocking about with Sarah Bone anyroad.’
‘Sarah wasn’t after me,’ Nick said. ‘Not really.’
‘Happen she wanted to prove she could still have you, same as Ed with me. If Ed sets his mind on something, he gets it. Is she the same?’
‘I suppose so,’ Nick said.
He’d glimpsed Sarah in town one day, heading past the Royal Concert Hall to the Labour Party offices on Talbot Street. Despite the summer heat, she wore a tailored trouser suit. She’d had her hair restyled, cut a little shorter. He saw then that nothing could resume between them. Sarah lived on a different planet from him. He’d been chasing the ghost of a relationship.
Polly kissed him and he kissed her back.
‘It was always you I wanted,’ she told him. ‘Why don’t you get in bed while I check on the kids?’
He’d not meant to sleep with her, but would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. And the sex, ten minutes later, was good. Sex with Polly was always good. Over too quickly, but that was because it was so intense, for both of them: a visceral, animal pleasure. Afterwards, she found it easier to talk. That was what he was banking on. They cuddled.
‘Why couldn’t you say no to Ed? Would he have hurt you?’
‘Not in the way you mean.’
‘Explain.’
‘Listen to him: explain. There’s always the schoolteacher in you.’
‘Sorry.’ He waited for her to explain anyway.
/> ‘I did a stupid thing and Ed knew about it. He could have got me into trouble.’
‘What was it?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I think I’ve guessed already.’
‘You can’t have,’ she muttered, head turned away from him.
‘You want to tell me,’ he insisted. ‘You have to tell someone. It can’t be right that only Ed knows. It gives him too much power over you.’
If he was wrong about what had happened, she would ask him what he meant. But she didn’t. Nick waited, nuzzling her chest, listening to her heartbeat speed up and slow down. When she began, her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Me and Ed, it started out as a bit of fun. I’d married Phil too young, never been with another bloke and there I was all of a sudden, stuck at home with two kids. Ed chased me, spent money on me. I was flattered, but it weren’t meant to go anywhere. We’d have finished in a month or two if Ed hadn’t got arrested. Then, when Ed got out of prison, first time, he came round, wanted to start up again. I didn’t want to know. Until Ed told me how Terry had bugged my bedroom. That was how he got caught.’
She paused, collecting herself. When she started again, her voice was louder, colder. ‘I had no idea. That my own brother could . . . I went straight round there. Terry didn’t deny it. He said we both got what we deserved: Ed in prison, me – separated, halfway to being divorced. That’s when I hit him. Terry hit me back.’
‘It was self-defence.’
‘Yeah. Terry were too strong for me. He pushed me away, would have hit me again if I’d given him chance. I picked up the nearest thing I could reach. A golf trophy. The base were made of slate.’
Polly stopped, leaving him to fill in the blanks. She had killed her own brother. How did you deal with that? On the drive to the airport, Ed had warned him, only Nick had lacked the imagination to understand. It had taken him months to figure out what Ed was getting at.
‘How many times did you hit him?’ he asked.
