Heads You Win

“Are you sure?” said the man, “because my wife told me to vote Hunter again.”

“Is it true that you were born in Russia?” asked the next man Sasha approached.

“Yes,” said Sasha, “but—”

“Then I’ll be voting Conservative for the first time,” the man said, not breaking his stride.

“Hi, I’m Sasha Karpenko—”

“I’m voting Liberal,” said a young woman pushing a pram, “and even we’ll beat you this time.”

“Hi, I’m Sasha—”

“Good luck, Sasha, I’ll be voting for you, even though you haven’t got a chance.”

“Thank you,” said Sasha. Turning to Alf he said, “Is it always this bad?”

“Actually, you’re doing rather well compared to our last candidate.”

“What happened to him?”

“Her. She had a nervous breakdown a week before the election, and didn’t recover in time to vote.” Sasha burst out laughing. “No, it’s true,” said Alf. “We’ve never seen her since.”

“And to think I was the only man you wanted!” said Sasha.

“You’ll be grateful to us when you find a safe seat, and become a minister,” said Audrey, ignoring the sarcasm. It was the first time Sasha had considered he might one day be a minister.

“Look who I see on the other side of the road,” said Charlie, nudging Sasha in the ribs.

Sasha looked across to see Fiona, surrounded by a team of supporters who were handing out leaflets and holding up banners that declared VOTE HUNTER FOR MERRIFIELD.

“They haven’t even had to print new posters,” said Alf bitterly.

“It’s time to confront the enemy head-on,” said Sasha and immediately marched across the high street, dodging in and out of the traffic.

“My name’s Fiona Hunter, and I’m—”

“What are you going to do about the Roxton playing fields being turned into a supermarket, that’s what I want to know.”

“I have already spoken to the leader of the council concerning the issue,” said Fiona, “and he’s promised to keep me informed.”

“Just like your father, full of promises, with bugger-all results.”

Fiona smiled and moved on, leaving a local councilor to deal with the problem.

“Will the Tories increase my pension?” said an old woman, jabbing a finger at her. “That’s what I want to know.”

“They always have in the past,” said Fiona effusively, “so you can be sure they will again, but only if we win in the next election.”

“Jam tomorrow should be your slogan,” said the woman.

Fiona smiled when she saw Sasha heading toward her, hand outstretched.

“How nice to see you, Sasha,” she said. “What are you doing in Merrifield?”

“My name’s Sasha Karpenko,” he replied, “and I’m the Labour candidate for the by-election on March the thirteenth. I hope I can count on your vote?”

The smile was wiped off Fiona’s face for the first time that day.