The Pornographer's Wife

by Amy Cross

  “I'm not here to canvass you,” she replied, making her way over to him, “it's just...” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure there was no chance of them being overheard, before turning back to him. “It's just that I heard a quite awful rumour and I thought I should warn you in advance so you can head it off at the pass. A few people have been muttering about it, but I don't agree with that sort of thing at all so in the interests of fairness I felt I should let you know what's going on.”

  “What kind of rumour?” he asked. “If you're trying to play some kind of game with me -”

  “Not at all,” she insisted. “Heaven forbid, no, quite the opposite. I'm trying to keep things scrupulously fair. I want my husband to beat you to the nomination, of course, but it must be due to a proper debate, not some kind of scandal. I simply abhor the current trend in politics for the private lives of individuals to be splashed all over the tabloids and picked apart in detail. How are your wife and children, by the way?”

  “They're fine,” he replied with suspicion. “What exactly are you on about?”

  “Something was passed to me,” she told him, reaching into her bag and taking out a tattered envelope, “and I'm sure it's a forgery, so that's why I wanted to alert you that someone seems to be trying to bring you down.” Opening the envelope, she took out an order form and a cheque. “Someone claims that you were trying to purchase mail-order pornography from a company that advertises in certain rather dubious magazines. You know, one of those nasty little companies that takes cheques and posts out the most ghastly photos to men all over the country.”

  As soon as he saw the items she was holding, the colour seemed to drain from Garnside's face.

  “I told them it had to be nonsense,” she continued, “but the person who handed me these things anonymously said that you'd ordered several times, and that proof could easily be provided to the newspapers if you ran for parliament. I mean, it's obviously rot, I can't imagine a man such as yourself being interested in such things, especially not... Well, you're a happily married man with a lovely family, so there's simply no way that you'd want to buy pornography, is there?” She looked down at the order form for a moment. “I mean, the images aren't even of women, they're -”

  “Let me see that!” he snapped, grabbing the form and cheque. “Well, this is... I mean, it's not true!”

  “Of course not,” she replied, “I don't for one moment think that you'd be interested in pornography, I just...” She paused, forcing herself to hold back a faint smile as she watched the sheer horror spreading across his face. “Well, the people who approached me, they say they have several order forms, as well as cheques signed by you, and they seem to think that the whole thing could be proved. I mean, they seem hell-bent on causing a huge scandal, so I thought I'd warn you so you can take precautionary measures to nip things in the bud. So long as these claims are false, you have nothing to worry about, do you?”

  “Who gave these to you?” he asked.

  “An anonymous tipster,” she replied. “God knows how these things start, but... Well, I just wanted to alert you to the situation. Of course, Donald and I don't believe such horrid claims, not for one second. Anyway, I must get back to the hall and listen to the rest of his speech. I look forward to hearing the debate between the pair of you later. I expect it will be spirited and fair, and I can assure you that Donald will make no mention of these false claims that are being put around. He wants a fair fight, after all.”

  As she turned and made her way back out to the main hall, she couldn't help but allow herself a smile. Rejoining Carol, she looked up at Donald and felt, for the first time in many months, that things were finally looking up. Glancing across the hall, she saw Garnside emerging from the toilets with the order form and cheque still in his hands, and she could see that he knew the game was over. All that was left was for him to make a choice: he could either fight on and try to deny the rumours, or he could gracefully withdraw from the race and spare his family the humiliation.

  Either way, he'd already lost. Donald Heaton would be the party's candidate for the next election.

  TODAY

  “No,” Carol said as she led Mary along the path that led to her cottage, “Graham Garnside died several years ago. Car crash, I think. It was a quite awful story, actually. The man had separated from his wife and there were all sorts of rumours swirling around. There are some people who aren't even sure it was a real crash, if you know what I mean.”

  “Suicide?” Mary asked, feeling a shiver run through her body at the thought.

  “I'm just saying,” Carol continued, “that apparently there were no tire marks leading off the road toward the tree he hit, almost as if he didn't brake. Plus, although there were no witnesses, a farmer heard the crash and said he just heard the impact, no screeching rubber or anything like that. If you ask me, old Garnside gave up and drove into that tree on purpose.”

  “How dreadful,” Mary replied, taking a seat at the table as Carol laid out some tea and cake for them. “He never really recovered from losing out to Donald, did he?”

  “Why did he quit the contest, anyway?” Carol asked. “I know he said he was doing it for the sake of the party, but that was obviously a lot of rubbish. Graham Garnside only ever did things for the sake of Graham Garnside, so he must have had some other reason.”

  “I don't suppose we'll ever know,” Mary replied, watching Carol with a hint of suspicion. “Some wheels turn silently and invisibly in the background, affecting things without being seen themselves.”

  “But I'm nosy!” Carol roared. “I want to know everything!”

  “You must practice the art of patience.”

  “True enough,” Carol replied, gasping with pain as she took a seat. “I should be getting a new hip next month. Bloody well better, anyway. This one's driving me crazy.”

  “So how is life in Dalston?” Mary asked, looking across the garden and spotting the canaries in their cages. “I must confess, I had no idea you'd moved here until I looked you up in the book last night. It's been so long since we spoke.”

  “I know,” Carol replied, “I can't even remember the last time you came to visit. I haven't seen you since Don's funeral.” She paused for a moment. “I suppose that's my fault as much as yours, eh? We only live half an hour apart, but neither of us has made much of an effort. We must fix that going forward. How's Sophie, by the way? Still at university?”

  “She's home for a few days, actually.”

  “She took Don's death so hard, didn't she? I still remember her face at the funeral, I honestly didn't know that someone could cry so much, I was worried she'd become completely dehydrated. And then later at the pub, during the wake, I found her sobbing in the beer garden all alone. I've never been very good at saying the right thing, so I just gave her a hug. Probably didn't help much.”

  “She misses him terribly,” Mary replied. “She very much admires him and values his reputation. In fact, she thinks her father was the greatest man who ever lived.”

  “Well,” Carol said with a smile, “he wasn't too bad, was he, old Don? He got there in the end, with a bit of a push and a shove from you.”

  “He most certainly did,” Mary conceded. “I was right about him, too. As soon as he got to Whitehall, he just blossomed. My God, he was brilliant. He only spent two terms as an MP before moving to the civil service full-time, and after that it was just promotion after promotion. There was even a time when I thought he might end up returning to parliament for a senior cabinet position. At one point, there were whispers he could be used as a stalking horse to bring down the PM, but still, one mustn't get too greedy, must one?”

  “Hard to believe he was the same man who spent all those years trying to launch business after business. Remember when he tried to flog used carpets?”

  Mary smiled.

  “And kitchen designs! What ever possessed him to try selling fitted kitchens? The man was barely capable of making a cup of tea, for God's sake! What
did he end up making his money in, again? Suits, wasn't it?”

  “Yes,” Mary replied. “Suits.”

  “Such a wonder,” Carol continued. “Anyway, at least he got to -”

  “You're the only person I know who lives in Dalston,” Mary said suddenly.

  “Am I?”

  “You are.”

  “Right.” Carol paused. “Does that matter?”

  “It might.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “I actually took the time to go through a telephone directory and check all the names,” Mary continued. “I used the internet as well. There are only seventy houses in the entire village, and out of all of them, the only person here with any connection to either Don or myself is you. How about that?”

  “Well... It's interesting, I suppose.”

  “I think it could be rather significant,” Mary said firmly, keeping her eyes fixed on Carol as she looked for any hint of guilt. “I've been thinking a lot about Dalston of late, and about us. I know we haven't been very close over the last few years, but I'm struggling to think of any reason why you might have an axe to grind.”

  “An axe?”

  “You must understand,” Mary continued, “that Don and I have been busy. If you feel that we abandoned our old friends, that's simply not the case. We had to focus on the bigger picture, plus there was Sophie to raise and everything that her upbringing entailed. Don was in London all week every week, so I had to look after Sophie without any help and -”

  “I know all this,” Carol replied cautiously. “You don't have to tell me how hard it is to raise kids, Mary. I got five of the buggers out there into the world.”

  “So is there anything that Don or I did that might have upset you?” Mary asked. “Anything at all, because if there is, I'd rather have it out in the open instead of... Well, instead of letting it fester. I don't believe in sneaking around behind people's backs. One must be direct and straightforward.”

  “What's got into you?” Carol asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don't know. Why don't you tell me?”

  “I have no idea what you're on about,” Carol continued, “but you're starting to spook me a little. Come on, Mary, I know you're not one for casual social visits, so you've obviously come here for some reason. Spit it out.”

  “I...” She paused, fully aware that she still wasn't quite certain of her footing. “Why do people keep saying that?” she asked finally, playing for time. “Does no-one believe that I could just visit a friend without having some kind of ulterior motive?”

  “Frankly, no,” Carol replied. “I don't blame you one bit, it's just your nature, but you most certainly aren't a very casual kind of person. Even now, I can see that look in your eyes. Your brain's whizzing away.”

  “I'm not a robot.”

  “Don would never have risen to such a prominent position in Whitehall if you and he hadn't been a little different compared to the rest of us,” Carol continued. “Both of you, you were always very focused and determined. That's good, it's wonderful, but it has a few drawbacks too. Don't worry, though, I understand entirely and I'm not remotely bothered. I enjoy it when you swing by, even if I have to decode your true purpose, but...” She paused, eyeing Mary with suspicion. “Today feels different. You're worried about something, or annoyed. Come on, old bird, spit it out.”

  After looking at her tea for a moment, Mary suddenly reached into her bag and took out her gloves.

  “You can't leave!” Carol said, clearly shocked. “You only just arrived.”

  “I have errands to run,” Mary replied, getting to her feet as she slipped her hands into the gloves. “I might be retired, but that doesn't mean I don't have a life. Besides, Sophie's at home and she's in a terrible state, I should be with her.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I'll deal with it. Goodbye, Carol, I -” Turning to leave, she stopped for a moment and then turned back to see her friend's astonished expression. “Leave it,” she said finally. “Whatever you think you could gain, just leave it alone, do you understand?”

  “Leave what alone?”

  “I know it's you. It has to be you, you're the only one I know in Dalston. Did you really think I wouldn't work it out?”

  “Work what out?”

  “I just never thought that you'd use such horrible language,” Mary continued. “I don't know what you think you can achieve with any of this, but I can only assume that you want to bring Don down now that he can't fight for himself, but please, just stop. Whatever slight or injury you're trying to fix, it's in the past, and dredging up everything that happened with Sarah is in no-one's best interests. You don't even know the whole story!”

  “What are you talking about?” Carol asked. “Who the hell is Sarah?”

  “I'll go to the police,” Mary replied. “How would you like that? I'll go to the police and I'll have you charged for threatening behaviour. You can't just go around making wild accusations against people. Don was a good man, and he and I made friends in some pretty high places over the years. Think about that before you write another of those vicious little notes. If even one more arrives at my door, I will make sure that all manner of hell comes raining down on you, Carol. I refused to be beaten back then and I refuse now!”

  Carol stared at her.

  “I hope I've made myself clear,” Mary said finally, before turning and walking quickly toward the garden gate.

  A few minutes later, as she sat alone at the bus stop, she removed one of her gloves and wiped a tear from her eye. Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to stay calm, she looked up at the grey sky as a slow, nauseating sensation began to creep up from her belly and into her chest. She couldn't help thinking back to the look in Carol's eyes earlier, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she might just have been wrong when she made her accusations.

  Then again, if Carol wasn't the one, then she had no other suspects. There simply wasn't anyone else who could possibly have discovered the truth.

  THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

  “To our next MP!” shouted Robert Neville, raising a glass of champagne as everyone else at the table began to clap. “Finally we'll send someone to Westminster who knows what the bloody hell they're doing!”

  “To Donald!”

  As glasses were clinked, emptied and refilled, Mary couldn't help but look over at Donald and smile. For as long as she'd known him, they'd been working to this moment, and now they were so tantalizingly close. Graham Garnside's sudden withdrawal from the contest had left Donald unopposed, and now there was only the matter of the general election to deal with, in a constituency that had voted the same way every year since time immemorial. Barring disasters, Donald was guaranteed to enter parliament.

  “You must be proud,” said Hilary Neville, nudging Mary's arm. “It's not bad being a politician's wife, you know.”

  “Try being a plumber's wife,” said another woman sitting nearby.

  “Or a priest's!” said another woman.

  “I'm sure,” Mary replied, forcing a smile as she sipped at her champagne.

  “Catch up,” Hilary continued, nudging her again. “It's good bubbly, you know.”

  “Absolutely,” Mary said, taking a slightly larger sip but still holding back from drinking too much.

  “To the politician's wife!” Hilary shouted to the others, raising her glass.

  “To the politician's wife!” everyone roared.

  Smiling politely, Mary took a sip of champagne, but she was feeling distinctly uneasy now that everyone seemed to be looking at her.

  “I just want to say,” Donald announced, getting to his feet a little unsteadily, “that I could have done none of this without the constant support of my darling wife Mary. I know it's a cliché for a man to say that he needs a good woman behind him, but in this case it's absolutely true.” He turned and raised his glass toward her. “Mary, without you I don't know where I'd be right now or what I'd be doing, but I know for certain that I woul
dn't be half the man I am today. I owe you everything, and I will never, ever forget that debt.”

  “To Mary!” Robert Neville shouted.

  A roar went up, almost deafening Mary as glasses were clinked all around her. Realizing that everyone was watching, she finally forced herself to empty her own glass before sitting back and taking a deep breath.

  “I think I should probably have some water,” she muttered as everyone around her continued with their conversations. Getting to her feet, she excused herself for a moment and made her way over to the restaurant's bar, where she ordered a bottle of water for the whole table. After a few seconds, however, she began to feel unusually warm, and suddenly she felt as if the air in the restaurant was very still and heavy, almost as if she couldn't breathe properly.

  “Here you go, M'am,” the barman said, placing a bottle of water in front of her. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine,” she replied, “I just... I don't quite know what's come over me.”

  “It's pretty hot in here,” he continued. “The air conditioning's down again.”

  “I might just take a breather outside,” she told him, downing half the bottle of water before turning and making her way to the door. She felt strangely light on her feet, as if she might start floating away at any moment.

  Once she was outside on the pavement, in the evening's cool air, she immediately began to feel better. The sound of traffic was almost enough to drown out the cheers from inside the restaurant, but when she turned to look through the window she spotted Donald enjoying another toast and she couldn't help but smile. She'd always imagined the moment when he secured a Westminster run, and everything was proceeding exactly as she'd expected. Best of all, Donald seemed to be transforming so fast, shedding much of his old self and maturing rapidly to become the kind of statesman she'd always desired. The old days of struggling for money were receding into the distance, and she knew deep down that she'd soon have to turn to her next task: producing a child or two. The thought didn't exactly fill her with joy, but she knew it was her duty as a politician's wife.