David Belbin - Bone & Cane

‘Looking good, eh?’ Tony Bax said, winking at her. ‘Do they need us out there yet?’

‘In a few minutes,’ Sarah said.

There were too many people in the TV room, so Sarah wandered through the dingy sports hall until she found the ladies’. When she returned to the hall, she stood at the back, watching the watchers. Easier to do this than gawp at TV and have to discuss what she saw. The counters began to empty the ballot boxes.

‘Have you seen the exit polls?’ One of the volunteer scrutineers whispered. ‘They’re predicting a majority of eighty to ninety.’

Sarah nodded unenthusiastically.

‘What do you reckon?’ Winston asked.

The votes were being put into piles for each party.

‘Not sure,’ she said, unwilling to believe the evidence of her own eyes. ‘We haven’t seen anywhere near enough yet.’

Winston stared at the growing piles, counting votes the way a professional gambler counted cards. ‘West’s too close to call,’ he told her. ‘If the vote’s like this everywhere, we’re talking about a landslide.’

Nick had the radio on. The first results weren’t far away. He’d taken a couple of councillors he knew from way back to the Labour workers’ party at Trent University’s student union building. Neither of them had recognised him. Nick had fallen through the invisible net that separated the connected from the unconnected. He’d felt this way when he was sixteen. Then he’d gone to university and become someone.

Could he reinvent himself? Joe had managed it. Andrew too. Nick could start again, but it would have to be somewhere new. The decision was beginning to harden in his mind.

He was being called on the radio.

‘Nick?’ Stuart’s voice was agitated. ‘Know where Joe is?’

‘At the Labour Party do. Probably plastered by now.’

‘Right, I’ll send someone to try and find him.’

‘Don’t you want me to . . .?’

‘No. Get over to his house. Caroline’s gone into labour. You’d better run her to the hospital, pronto.’

Nick accelerated. When he got to Sherwood, Caroline was in the hall, leaning on the end of the banister. Her waters had broken.

‘I don’t want to mess up Stuart’s cab,’ Caroline groaned, holding out an old beach towel. ‘Spread this across the back.’

Nick took the towel then helped her into the car. The hospital was only a two-minute drive.

‘Where’s Joe?’ she asked, once she was settled in. ‘His mobile’s off.’

‘On his way,’ Nick said, though that was presuming Joe really was at the election do and not still in bed with Nas. Caroline moaned. Nick drove fast.

‘Over there.’

They entered City Hospital and turned towards the maternity unit. Nick sounded his horn. Caroline had already rung them. She was expected.

‘You’ll be all right now,’ he said.

‘Nick? Stay until Joe arrives, please?’

‘Of course I will,’ Nick said, though being in on the birth was the last thing he felt like doing. He spoke into the radio. ‘Where’s Joe? Was he at the do?’

‘If he’s there, they haven’t found him yet. We’ll keep looking.’

Nick swore. Behind him, he heard a siren. Why would they need sirens inside a hospital? He parked and opened the door for Caroline, had to help her out. When someone tapped his shoulder, he thought it would be a nurse. It wasn’t.

‘Is this your cab, sir?’ the officer asked.

‘Not now,’ Caroline moaned.

Two porters were coming. The policeman was reaching over the driver’s seat, peering at the ID tag hung beneath the rear-view mirror. Luckily, Nick had replaced Stuart’s tag with Joe’s when he took the car.

‘You’re Joseph Cane?’

The nurse spoke at the same time. ‘Is that the father?’

‘No,’ Caroline moaned. ‘It’s my brother-in-law.’

‘Are you Joseph Cane?’ The officer repeated.

Had the policeman heard Caroline? Nick didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have time for this, but it began to dawn on him that he could be in trouble. Even a small infringement of the law could break his parole and send him back to prison. He must stay cool. When in doubt, Nick had long since figured out, it was always best to tell the truth.

‘No. I’m his brother. Joe isn’t around and his wife’s in labour. That’s why . . .’

Caroline was being wheeled away and couldn’t confirm or deny any story he told.

‘So you’re driving this cab illegally?’

‘I wasn’t charging her, for Christ’s sake! Look, she might drop the little bugger at any minute, so if you don’t mind leaving it for now . . .’

The officer smiled firmly. ‘You did just break the speed limit. So, a couple more questions, if you don’t mind. You say that you haven’t been driving this cab for hire?’

‘No.’

‘So who was observed driving it earlier this evening, outside Trent Students’ Union and later on Gregory Boulevard?’

Nick began to sweat. ‘That would be my brother.’

‘When did you take over from him?’

‘I gave him a lift then brought the car back to his at about eleven.’

‘So you dropped him at an election party then went home to look after his wife? Have I got that straight?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Your brother wears glasses, I see, unlike you.’

Nick hadn’t had time to get the clear-lensed pair from home, which was probably a good thing. He would only get in deeper. This was worse than he’d feared. They knew that he’d been driving a cab for hire. He’d definitely broken the terms of his probation. Once they found out who he was, he’d be back inside.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘can’t this wait? I promised Caroline that I’d stay with her.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ the officer said. ‘You are under arrest. You do not have to say anything, but if you do not mention now something which you later use in your defence the court may decide that your failure to mention it now strengthens the case against you . . .’

Sarah couldn’t concentrate on the counts. She kept losing track and didn’t want to discuss the numbers with any of the other scrutineers. Her colleagues were each watching one of the counters: local government workers on overtime. The result would be closer than anybody could have predicted. Impossible to say how close.

What if she won? Superstitiously, Sarah hadn’t planned a speech. It was down to the winner to thank the police and the returning officers but the rest was a blank. Winston was walking over. He had just completed the most contentious part of the evening, when the candidates or their representatives checked the spoiled ballots and marginally unclear votes. The returning officer had the final say over which ones were valid and which weren’t, but the parties could have their say, too. If there was a recount, every decision had the potential to be crucial. But Sarah had never been involved in a recount. She thought of them as a kind of urban myth. Before Winston got to her, Sarah’s mobile rang.

‘Is that Sarah Bone, the MP?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m the custody sergeant at Canning Circus police station. We’ve got a gentleman under arrest who insisted on making his mandatory phone call to you.’

‘Is it one of my constituents?’

‘I don’t think so, ma’am.’

Sarah wasn’t a member of the royal family, but sometimes the police got their knickers in a twist over rank and titles. Sarah let the ma’am work in her favour.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Nicholas Cane.’

‘And what’s he done?’

‘Driving a taxi cab without the appropriate license.’

‘And you’ve got him in custody for that?’

‘He’s on probation, ma’am.’

Probation . Of course he was.