David Belbin - Bone & Cane

‘You are. But it’s an election night and I’ve told Caroline I’m going to the Labour party do. Nas’s told her hubby the same thing.’

‘I thought you’d told her it was over.’

Joe shrugged, indicating the hopelessness of denying his sexual impulses. ‘Stuart’s covering the phones. You can use his car. One last time, please. Otherwise, I’ll have to drive myself and Nas will give me hell. God knows how many chances we’ll get once the baby’s born.’

Loads, if Nick knew anything about his brother. But he relented, promising Joe that he would turn up at the office later. The risk of being caught was negligible, especially since he had Joe’s ID. Sarah had invited him to the party, but he wasn’t comfortable about going, and didn’t fancy watching the TV election coverage on his own. If he pulled a long shift, he could follow it all on the radio as it happened. Nick meant to stay up until he found out how Sarah did.

He’d not returned her call yesterday. He didn’t understand why she’d lied to him about Ed. Sarah had slept with Ed and he had slept with Polly, a sad synchronicity. Nick must learn to live with both the women he wanted fancying a psychotic slaphead as much as or more than they did him. Ed had an animal force, a brutish intelligence that must be a total contrast to the wimpy-sounding social worker Sarah was with before. Ed was also an expert manipulator. Nick could just about see how Sarah might have given him a sympathy fuck as soon as he was released, then kicked him into touch, leading Ed to exaggerate the rest. If Sarah lost, Nick would forgive her for lying about Ed and take her off on that holiday, see if they could start things up again. And if, by some chance, she won, it would be over. He would finish his GCSE tuitions then make a new start somewhere else.

‘I’ll be back in at six,’ he told Joe.

‘Start earlier if you want.’

‘Better not,’ Nick said, then fed his brother a credible fib to cover up the absurdity of what he was about to do. ‘I’ve got an appointment with my probation officer.’

The appointment wasn’t until tomorrow, but it was a plausible lie. The best lies were the ones that stuck closest to the truth.

Election days can be very slow. The worst job was standing outside a polling station and taking numbers from voters to check against the electoral register. Sarah, as the candidate, wasn’t allowed to do this. Soon, canvassers would call on friendly voters to remind them that they hadn’t voted yet. This was called ‘knocking up’ and didn’t really start until late afternoon. To remind people earlier could be counterproductive. Voting numbers would be checked against the electoral register and the party’s record of voting intentions, so that only Labour homes would be visited.

If you were the candidate, time ought to pass more quickly. There were plenty of legitimate things to do, even if it was only saluting the volunteers as they went out to deliver the day-of-poll leaflet. But every ten minutes felt like an hour. Sarah travelled to and from each set of committee rooms, smiling all the time, trying to project an optimism she didn’t feel or expect party workers to share. She’d like to catch a nap but knew that she was too wound up to sleep. So she stopped at the main committee rooms for another mug of tea and prepared to rally the troops.

In a good committee room, time never hangs heavily. Nobody sticks around. The organiser gets workers in and out quickly and the candidate can be a hindrance. After a few minutes of bland conversation, Sarah went for a pee and came back to find an empty front room.

‘Sent out the first lot knocking up,’ Barry Griffiths, who was running the show, told her. He turned to a new arrival. ‘You’ve just missed ’em’, he said. ‘But if you hurry down the road . . .’

‘Sorry,’ said a familiar voice. ‘I have to go to work in a few minutes. I did all those leaflets you sent me out with. Thought I’d bring you back the spares.’

‘Good lad,’ Barry said. ‘Say hello to the candidate before you go. Sarah, this is . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Nick,’ Sarah said, smiling awkwardly. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

Once they were outside, she asked Nick. ‘Time for a quick drink?’

‘I can make time if you can.’

She took him to the pub round the corner, where Sarah was a familiar sight and nobody bothered her. Sarah sat at a table while Nick bought a tomato juice for her and a half of bitter for himself.

‘You didn’t need to come out today,’ she said.

‘I haven’t missed helping out in an election since I’ve been old enough to vote. I figured you needed more help than the other buggers.’

‘Thanks,’ Sarah sipped her drink. It was insipid without Worcester sauce, but she didn’t want to interrupt the conversation by asking for some. ‘I was expecting you to call.’

‘I meant to but . . . things on my mind.’

‘Did I hear you say you were going to work?’

‘Joe persuaded me to do one last day. The election’s got us busy.’

‘I hope you’ll come to the party tonight.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Nick said. ‘My membership’s been lapsed for five years and most people there would know why.’

‘Time to start rehabilitating yourself, maybe.’

He looked away and she reached out to him, squeezing his left wrist with her right hand. ‘Nick, this is me. Tell me what’s on your mind.’

‘This isn’t the place. I said I’d start a shift at six. I ought to ring for a cab.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m a spare part today anyway.’

They left their drinks unfinished. Cane Cars was only five minutes’ drive at this time of day, so Sarah went as slowly as she could. ‘Please talk to me, Nick. There’s something wrong. What is it?’

‘I went to see Ed Clark yesterday.’

‘Oh.’ Whatever this was, she knew it would be bad. ‘And?’

‘Ed said you were lovers. Described the purple birth mark on your groin.’

Sarah shivered, then exhaled. ‘I didn’t tell you the whole thing. It was too . . . ’ She wanted to say upsetting but that wasn’t the right word. ‘Degrading.’

‘It’s your business, not mine.’

Behind her, somebody sounded their horn. Sarah was forced to drive on. ‘I’m just going to pull over for a minute.’

They were on the edge of some playing fields, half of which had been replaced with ugly, new Housing Association builds.

‘He ripped my knickers off, Nick. He had my dress up round my waist. The room was brightly lit, so he got a good look, yeah. Then I kneed him in the groin. How could you think that I’d give myself to a neanderthal like him?’

Although she’d stopped driving, Nick still stared ahead. ‘You knocked yourself out to get him out of prison.’

‘Because I thought he was innocent!’

Her mobile rang. Sarah snapped a ‘hello’, then recognised her party leader’s voice. Taken aback, she stumbled out an apology for her abruptness. Tony pooh-poohed this in his most earnest, blokey manner. He told her how much he appreciated the work Sarah had done over the last two years. ‘I admire you sticking with your seat. It was the right thing to do, but I know you were given . . . options. If things work out for us tonight and they don’t work out for you, I want you to know this: we’ll find you a role. A good one.’

She didn’t need to tell Nick who she’d been talking to. When the call ended, he sounded impressed.

‘Call you often, does he?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘First time ever. Do you believe me about Ed?’

She turned to face him and they looked each other straight in the eye, only a few inches apart. ‘How can I not believe you?’ he said.