* * *
Sasha was surprised by the warm welcome he received on the doorsteps and in the streets during the last week of the campaign. Se
veral people commented on the fact that Fiona had refused Sasha’s challenge to a public debate on the grounds that she couldn’t agree on a date with all the candidates, which produced another favorable headline: ANYTIME SUITS ME SAYS LABOUR CANDIDATE.
“You’ll know you’ve made it,” said Alf, “when they replace the words ‘Labour candidate’ with your name.”
“Especially if they get the spelling right,” said Mrs. Campion.
Alf nodded toward Charlie, who was chatting to a young man outside the local Jobcentre. “And what’s more,” said Alf, “if your wife was the candidate and your mother agreed to open a restaurant in Merrifield, we’d have a far better chance.”
During the last few days before the vote, Sasha didn’t even bother to go home, but slept in Alf’s spare room, so he was always up in time to greet the morning commuters.
* * *
Polling day was one long blur as Sasha rushed around the constituency, knocking on doors that had a tick on the party’s internal canvass returns, to remind their supporters to vote. He even drove some of the elderly, lame, and lazy to the nearest polling station, although he wasn’t sure that all of them actually voted for him.
When the polls closed at ten o’clock on Thursday evening, Alf told him, “You couldn’t have done more. In fact I’d say you’re the best candidate we’ve ever had.”
“Thank you,” replied Sasha, then whispered to Charlie, “It was a one-horse race.”
After half a pint of bitter and a shared packet of crisps in the Roxton Arms, Alf suggested they make their way across to the town hall, where the count was already under way.
When Alf, Sasha, and Charlie entered the main room, they were greeted by rows and rows of long tables, where volunteers were placing ballot papers into separate piles, while others were counting them, first in tens then in hundreds and finally thousands.
They spent the next couple of hours walking around the room, discreetly checking the piles. Alf told Sasha more than once that he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When the town clerk, as returning officer, announced the result just after 3 a.m., a gasp went up from the Conservative ranks, while the Labour Party workers began applauding and slapping Sasha on the back.
Alf wrote down the figures on the back of a cigarette packet and stared at them in disbelief.
Roger Gilchrist (Lib) 2,709
Fiona Hunter (Con) 14,146
Screaming Lord Sutch (Ind) 728
Sasha Karpenko (Lab) 11,365
Janet Brealey (Ind) 37
“I therefore declare that Fiona Hunter has been duly elected as the Member of Parliament for the constituency of Merrifield,” announced the town clerk.
Fiona stepped up to the microphone to make her acceptance speech. She began by thanking her party workers and went on to say how much she was looking forward to representing the citizens of Merrifield in the House of Commons, but never once mentioned the names of her opponents. When she stepped aside to allow Sasha to take her place, she received less than enthusiastic applause.
Sasha followed and accepted defeat graciously, congratulating his opponent on her well-run campaign, and wishing her success as Member of Parliament. Once all five candidates had delivered their speeches, Sasha left the stage to rejoin his team, who were celebrating as if they’d won by a landslide.
“You’ve cut their majority from twelve thousand two hundred and fourteen to less than three thousand,” said Alf. “That will look very good on your CV, and God help whoever follows you as our candidate at the general election.”
“Won’t you want me to stand again?” asked Sasha.
“No, we won’t expect you to do that,” said Alf. “Not least because I have a feeling you’ll be offered several winnable seats before then, possibly even a safe Labour one.”
“I’ve loved every moment of these last three weeks,” said Sasha.
“Well, you don’t have to be bonkers to be the Labour candidate in a seat like Merrifield,” said Alf, “but it certainly helps. My final responsibility as chairman is to make sure you catch the last train back to Victoria.”
“I think you’ll find it’s the first train to Victoria,” said Charlie.
As they walked onto the platform for the last time, Alf kissed Charlie on both cheeks, then shook hands warmly with Sasha.