Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “Great. So it could be worse than we think.”

  Anne set herself the task of monitoring the local news bulletins and had the radio playing quietly on her desk. While Marnie and Ralph prepared supper on Sally Ann, she watched the TV news in her attic room. When the BBC’s Look East programme came on, and the newsreaders announced a survey of opinion for the European election, Anne phoned through to Marnie and Ralph who scrambled on board Thyrsis to catch the item, while Anne set her VCR to record it.

  The reporter stood in Northampton’s main shopping street asking passers-by what they felt about the ‘cricket test’. Opinions were divided, with some thinking it reasonable for ‘incomers’ to support their ‘old country’, while others believed they should support the country they had adopted as home. Marnie was just muttering that this was getting nowhere, when the interviewer produced an elderly man in the market square, describing him as a veteran of Dunkirk and the Second World War, a Mr Huw Parry-Thomas.

  “You’ve lived in Northampton for over fifty years now. What do you do, sir, when Wales play England at rugby?”

  A smile spread across the old man’s face, and he drew himself up to his full height, which was far from impressive, and looked into the camera, speaking with a strong South Wales valleys accent. “I wear my leek with pride.”

  Ralph clenched his fist. Anne sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. Marnie wanted to hug him.

  21

  Brandon was back on the offensive the next day. He started a series of tours round the county, speaking in market squares and village halls, spreading his poison. Leaflets were dropped through every letter-box by an army of supporters, each dressed soberly with neat hair-cuts and clean shoes. It looked like the invasion of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. No trace was seen of the thugs associated with New Force. Brandon’s banner was a union flag draped over a portable lectern that he used for every speech. His backdrop was a Transit van bearing on its side in big letters the slogan: Put Britain First!

  Anne lugged her portable TV down to stand on her desk so that they could watch the news at lunchtime. Anglia ran a report on the election trail, featuring sound bite interviews with the main party candidates. They caught up with Brandon who mysteriously until that moment had been elusive somewhere in the north of the county. His three minutes live in front of the camera stole the show. He delivered a short sharp attack on the European Union.

  It has led our country to being run by hordes of unelected, faceless bureaucrats in Brussels who have nothing better to do than put a ban on curved bananas. (Weak smile.) They want to abolish our favourite chocolate because it doesn’t conform to some spurious standards and subsidise inefficient European farmers so that they can dump cheap, low-quality produce on the British market as a means of weakening our economy. It’s time Britain woke up, time we took back control of our own lives, our own future, our own country.

  All of this was said in a firm but moderate tone talking direct to camera. The interviewer suggested that his line was regarded as extreme by commentators and opponents alike. Brandon smiled condescendingly, replying in the same reasonable tone.

  I followed the same line when I was a government minister under Mrs Thatcher. I have never wavered. This is not extremism. It’s common sense. I challenge anyone to debate with me in public the question of who can best serve Britain’s interests. Let my opponents from the other parties stand up and be counted, and let public opinion decide. I trust the British people and I will accept their judgment.

  “Blimey, that’s depressing,” Marnie muttered.

  “He’s very persuasive,” Anne agreed.

  Ralph seemed less impressed. “Old-fashioned rhetoric. None of it original. The wake-up call was Hitler’s line: Deutschland erwache. Trust the people, was what Thatcher said.”

  “And she never lost an election,” Marnie pointed out.

  The TV news bulletin saved the best till last. According to a poll carried out that morning, Brandon had slipped back two points since the last survey. Marnie called it the Parry-Thomas factor, but Ralph was more cautious, reminding her about the margin of fluctuation. The differences were too small to be significant.

  Marnie seemed unsettled. “I wish we weren’t stuck in the middle of all this. I wish Brandon would just go away, leave us in peace, take all his nasty thugs with him.”

  “You could get away,” Anne began. “You could have a break in Italy with Estelle, if things are getting you down. I can hold the fort for a few days.”

  “Oh Anne, I didn’t really mean …” Marnie shook herself and sat up straight. “Right. Come on, Marnie. Pull yourself together!” She smiled. “So, what’s our next move?”

  ”We counter-attack as before,” said Ralph. “I’ll draft another reply.”

  “It’ll be hard countering that performance,” Marnie said.

  “No. It’s easy. We can hit back with a few facts. There are fewer civil servants in Brussels for the whole of the EU than in one major ministry in London. Every EU country needs the UK to have a strong economy so it can buy and sell in the market place to build a sound Europe. The curved bananas thing was nothing but a tabloid distortion.”

  “Pity we can’t find Mr Parry-Thomas and wheel him out to say all that. Facts aren’t very compelling just by themselves. We need something a bit sexier.”

  “How about Serena?”

  The sound of Luther’s voice made them turn sharply. He was in the doorway with Estelle looking up at him.

  “Come in,” said Marnie. “You may have a point there. She’s certainly more striking than George Stubbs.”

  Anne laughed.

  “She’s sexy as hell,” said Luther. “She’d be ideal.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Estelle interjected. “Would you really want to push her into the spotlight?”

  Luther shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Well, not to put too fine a point on it, she’s black.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Actually, Estelle may be right there.” It was Ralph. “First, we’d be opening up a straight black versus white argument. Brandon would love that. It might not be wise. Also, we could be putting her at risk.”

  Marnie ran a hand through her hair. “Who, then? Any ideas?”

  “What about me? On behalf of the Community Alliance, of course.”

  Everyone looked at Estelle.

  “You?” Luther was incredulous.

  “Sure. Why not? Aren’t I sexy enough?”

  “No, it’s just …” He looked around as if trying to find inspiration. “I mean, in a way it’s not your fight. And you’ve only just arrived here. Nobody knows you.”

  “That’s my advantage. I’d be hard to track down, just a spokesperson for the community. I’m not on the electoral roll or even in the phone book. And don’t forget, I’m about to leave the country for several days.”

  “No comebacks,” said Marnie.

  Ralph nodded. “I’ll get on with that statement.”

  *

  Marnie spent the early part of the afternoon in discussion with Estelle. They went through the Umbria project room by room, while Anne fielded incoming calls and did her best to follow progress on the drawing board. The draft design was ready, and Estelle would visit the house to make sure everything hung together, before putting the scheme to their client. Marnie was delighted with Estelle, her flair, her sense of space. She was telling her what she thought of her work when Anne called across the room.

  “Can you take a call from Serena, Marnie?”

  Estelle sighed. Marnie recognised it as a hint of impatience.

  “Can I call her back shortly?” She inclined her head towards Estelle.

  “I told her you were in a meeting, but she sounded as if it was urgent.”

  Estelle nodded, and Marnie went to her desk to pick up. Anne pressed the buttons.

  “Hi Serena. How are things?”

  “Marnie, is there any chance of a meeting this afternoon?” Her voice was leaden.

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bsp; “Well …”

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”

  “Of course. What’s bothering you?”

  “Not on the phone.”

  Serena’s tone left Marnie in no doubt that whatever was on her mind could not wait.

  “OK. When do you want to come?”

  “Could you come up here to Garfield Primary School?”

  Marnie paused. “What time?”

  “Around four, half past?”

  “I’ll be there. Shall I bring Ralph?”

  “Bring the Seventh Cavalry.”

  *

  Garfield Primary School was a single-storey red-brick cluster of buildings set in a sea of tarmac playground near the town centre. It was built around 1900 at a time when institutions were meant to last for ever. Headings were carved in stone over the main doorways: Boys, Girls, Infants, Babies.

  When the cars drew up to park by the office entrance, the children and teachers had departed. Marnie had mustered a fair squadron of the ‘Seventh Cavalry’. In the Discovery she brought Ralph, Anne and Ronny. George Stubbs transported Margaret Giles, Estelle and Luther in the Range Rover. With the military associations of Land Rover and their colour schemes of dark green and Marnie’s favourite navy blue, they had a look of ‘combined operations’ about them.

  Serena was standing outside the main entrance to guide them in. She looked cool and business-like in a light blue denim trouser suit, but she did not look happy. They went to the staff room where she had set the chairs in a circle. Once they were all seated, she paused before speaking.

  “You’ve had a death threat,” said Ralph.

  His quiet tone of voice made the words all the more chilling. Everyone looked at him in surprise. Serena nodded. There was a collective intake of breath.

  “When was this?” said Marnie.

  “I had a phone call in the office this morning. It was a man.”

  “Is it possible you might be mistaken?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Can you remember the exact words he used?”

  “I’ll never forget them. You want the full version? He said you’re dead, you black bitch, you’re fucking dead. That was all he said.”

  “Not much room for doubt, there.” Marnie’s voice was almost a whisper. “Quite a shocker.”

  “Yes.”

  Margaret Giles began, “Serena, we’d all quite understand –”

  “There’s no question.” Serena cut her off. “I wouldn’t have asked you all to come here if I was going to pull out. I’ve always known this could happen.”

  “What do you want to do?” Marnie asked.

  “We must make sure you don’t feature as a figure-head in our actions,” said Ralph. “We’ve already been talking about how we spread the load as far as statements to the press are concerned.”

  “That’s good. But I still want to go on running the summer scheme programme. I’m not giving that up.”

  “A backroom job,” George agreed. “Vital but not in the public eye.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “It makes sense. Pity, though. You’re prettier than I am.”

  The group smiled and looked at George with his balding head, bull neck and tweeds.

  “Only marginally,” said Marnie.

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  During the faint laughter that followed this exchange, Anne leaned over and whispered in Marnie’s ear.

  “Shall I pop out and get the paper? There’s a newsagent on the corner opposite.”

  Marnie nodded, and Anne quickly left the room as Luther started speaking.

  “Don’t worry, Serena. Your friends will protect you, day and night if necessary.”

  “That’s one of the things that’s worrying me.”

  “You think we should try and get you police protection?” said Estelle.

  “Not that. I think the threat was just meant to frighten me, make me back off. No, it’s the other implications that bother me.”

  “That’s why you wanted us to come here,” said Ralph. “You’re worried about the security of the building.”

  “Yes. We’ve seen what New Force did to the community centre. I think they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to this school.”

  “Does the caretaker live on site?”

  “No, worse luck. He’s the other side of town.”

  “So it’s up to us,” said Marnie. “Unless we can get the police to keep an eye on the building.”

  George shook his head. “I doubt they’d have the manpower to mount a guard round the clock. And that’s what you need.”

  “Let’s just think about that, George. What do we have to do to make the building secure?”

  Ralph opened the bidding. “At the least, ideally, we’d need someone here to raise the alarm if anyone tried to attack the place.”

  “The school’s occupied during the day,” said Marnie.

  In the background they could hear the sounds of cleaners moving tables and chairs. A vacuum cleaner was humming in some distant corner.

  “The head and secretary will probably be around until about five on most days,” Margaret observed.

  “But not in the school holidays.”

  “No.”

  “And not at weekends,” Ralph muttered.

  “Weekends,” Serena repeated. “I’d been thinking we might need to do something starting next week. I was going to get Rod to drive round in the car last thing at night just to check that all was well.”

  Anne opened the door and returned to her seat beside Ronny, holding the evening edition of the paper. Unobtrusively, she set it on her lap and started scanning it, pen in hand.

  Ralph stood up and looked out of the window. “It’s a very open site, though it’s overlooked on all sides by houses.”

  George turned in his seat. “We can’t rely on someone looking out during the night and happening to spot some villains preparing to throw a petrol bomb.”

  Ralph sat down. “I just thought it might be a deterrent. I can’t see the education authority allowing someone to stay here overnight.”

  “Who said anything about asking them?” Serena.

  “Well, you are an officer of the authority, aren’t you, Serena? You’re part of the Youth Service.”

  “Yes, I am. That doesn’t mean I have to ask questions when I know the answer will be negative. But it does mean I can get access to keys to the building.”

  “And I have inflatable mattresses and sleeping bags on Sally Ann,” Marnie added.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard any of this,” said Margaret Giles, head teacher of one of the authority’s schools.

  Marnie changed the subject. “Anything in the newspaper, Anne?”

  Anne pulled a face. “Barely a mention of our statement, just a few lines on page seven.”

  “Anything else?”

  Anne held up the front page. It looked as if it had been designed by Josef Goebbels. Under the headline, BRANDON TARGETS SCROUNGERS, was a photograph of the BFP candidate standing on the roof of a car, holding a megaphone, addressing a crowd in the middle of Kettering. That afternoon’s statement singled out so-called refugees and asylum-seekers, who were in reality nothing more than economic migrants, flooding into our country to line their pockets.

  “What the hell is the paper playing at?” Marnie was indignant. “They can’t be on the side of Brandon and his cronies. Whatever happened to balanced reporting?”

  “We’re up against a sharp cookie,” said Ralph. “He pins us down with statements that demand boring factual replies, and while we’re dealing with them, he hits the press with sound bites.”

  “The other parties get coverage on page three.” Anne opened the paper. “But it’s all defensive, boring like Ralph says, statistics and stuff.”

  “Brilliant,” Serena said bitterly. “That’s all we need.”

  “Do you want the bad news or the worse news?”

  Everyone stared at Ronny.

>   “There’s worse?” said Marnie.

  He nodded. “The bad news is that Brandon has jumped five points in the ratings. The three main parties have all gone down.”

  “Tell us the worst.”

  Anne held up the next page. “New Force have lodged an official complaint with the Home Office about a march in Northampton being banned by the police. They say they’re being victimised and will not be held responsible for any consequences.”

  It was breath-exhaling time again.

  “New Force,” Serena muttered. “My death threat’s no coincidence, is it? We can’t leave the building empty for the whole weekend.”

  “This could be dangerous.” Margaret Giles looked grim. “What if we did have someone here, and New Force tried to burn the place down? They could be injured, or worse.”

  “It’s all at ground floor level.” Marnie was in planning mode. “There are smoke alarms, extinguishers, fire doors. It’s not that risky. All we’d need is someone to be here to call for help if anyone suspicious showed up. We could have two people at a time, one sleeping, the other keeping watch.”

  George shifted uneasily in his seat. “I’ve got a committee meeting on Friday evening, and we’re going to dinner at my sister’s in Warwick on Sunday evening, not back till late.”

  “Anyone else got commitments?” Marnie asked. “And we realise you can’t be involved in this, Margaret. That’s understood.”

  “Damn,” Luther murmured. “We’ve got tickets for Friday night in London.”

  “We could cancel if you want us to, Marnie,” said Estelle. “We were planning to stay at the flat in Barnet and come back Saturday morning.”

  “No. Stick to your plans,” said Marnie. “I wanted to do the first stint anyway, to try it out. I’ll do Friday night.”

  “Me too,” said Ralph.

  Anne frowned. “Shouldn’t someone keep an eye on Glebe Farm?”

  “Good point.”

  “Shall I come with you then, Marnie?”

  “That would leave Ralph at home.”

  “That’s fine,” he agreed.

  “I could come for a night,” said Ronny. “Count me in.”