Heads You Win

“Unpaid, I might add,” she said firmly.

“And my committee,” continued Alf, “couldn’t think of anyone better qualified to take on Miss Hunter.”

“But surely it would be wiser to select someone with more experience, who has at least some knowledge of the constituency.”

“We don’t have the time to go through the normal selection procedure,” said Alf. “We assumed the Conservatives would at least have the decency to wait until Sir Max was buried before they announced the date of the by-election, but they took advantage of the fact that we don’t have a candidate in place.”

“How typical of Fiona,” said Sasha as the waiter returned with their coffee, which allowed him a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m flattered,” he said once the waiter had left, “but my problem is I simply don’t have the time…”

“The by-election will be held three weeks from today, on Thursday, March the thirteenth,” said Alf. “And as Sir Max had a majority of twelve thousand two hundred and fourteen, you have absolutely no chance of winning.”

“Then why should I waste my time?”

“Because,” said Mrs. Campion, “if you were to reduce the majority in a Tory stronghold, it would look good on your CV when you eventually apply for a seat that you might actually win.”

“But you’re a local man, Michael, why don’t you stand?”

“Because Fiona Hunter always terrified the life out of me, but if she discovered that you’re the Labour candidate, she’ll be the one who’s on the back foot for a change. Besides which, you know more about her than any of us.”

“I’ll need a little time to think about it,” said Sasha. “How long have I got?”

“Ten minutes,” said Alf.

* * *

“The motion before the association is that Sasha Konstantinovitch Karpenko be selected as the Labour Party candidate for the constituency of Merrifield. Those in favor?” said the chairman, looking around the assembled gathering. Twenty-three hands shot up. “Those against?” Not a single hand was raised. “Then I declare the motion carried unanimously,” Alf Rycroft announced to as loud an ovation as twenty-three people could manage.

By the time Sasha boarded the last train back to London, he knew all twenty-three of their names, and not one of them thought he had a chance of winning.

“Another woman?” said Charlie as he crept into the bedroom just after midnight, determined not to wake her.

“Just over twenty-eight thousand of them,” said Sasha, as he placed his head on the pillow and explained why he’d traveled down to Merrifield that morning and returned in the evening as the Labour candidate for a by-election. “So you won’t be seeing much of me during the next three weeks.”

“Congratulations, darling,” said Charlie. She switched on the bedside light, and threw her arms around him. “What do you know about your opponent?”

“Everything.”

“How come?”

“It’s Fiona Hunter.”

Charlie caught her breath and sat bolt upright before saying, “You have to beat her this time.”

“Not possible, I’m afraid. They don’t count the Conservative votes in Merrifield, they weigh them.”

“Not this time, they won’t,” said Charlie, “because I’ll be on that train with you tomorrow morning, so she’ll have to beat both of us.”

“But you’ve got your thesis to finish.”

“I handed it in last week.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to wait until I hear

d the result.” She leaned across and kissed her husband. “Sleep well, my darling,” she said, before placing her head back on the pillow. “You must be exhausted.”

But Sasha couldn’t sleep, as his mind was racing with all that had happened in such a short space of time. He’d thought he was preparing for a party booking, and had ended up being booked by a party.