Heads You Win

“Eleven days to go, and then we can all get back to normal.”

“No, you can’t. Because then Sasha will be a Member of Parliament and your life will be even more hectic.”

“Elena, how many times do I have to tell you, he can’t win,” said Charlie, trying not to sound exasperated.

“Never underestimate Sasha,” said Elena under her breath, but although Charlie heard her, she didn’t respond, because she had to read the next letter a second time.

“What’s the matter?” asked Elena when she saw the look on Charlie’s face.

Charlie threw her arms around her mother-in-law, handed the letter to her, and said, “Congratulations! Why don’t you read it for yourself, while I go and open a bottle of champagne.”

* * *

COWARD!

screamed the headline on the front page of the Merrifield Gazette.

“But I never said that,” protested Sasha.

“I know you didn’t,” said Alf, “but that’s what the journalist assumed you meant when you told him you were disappointed that Fiona wouldn’t agree to take part in a public debate.”

“Should I complain to the editor?”

“Certainly not,” said Alf. “That’s the best free publicity we’ve had in years, and what’s more, she’ll have to respond, which will give us another headline tomorrow.”

“I agree,” said Charlie. “Let her worry about you for a change.”

“And I see your mother is also making the headlines,” said Alf, turning the page.

“She most certainly is,” said Sasha, “and it’s no more than she deserves, although even I was surprised that both restaurants were awarded a Michelin star.”

“Once this is all over,” said Alf, “I intend to take the whole team up to London so they can sample your mother’s cooking.”

“Nice idea,” said Charlie. “But be warned, Alf, the only thing she’ll want to know is why her son isn’t your Member of Parliament.”

“So what are we meant to be up to today?” asked Sasha, champing to get back to work.

“There are still a few villages in the constituency that you haven’t visited yet. All you have to do is walk up and down the high street, and shake hands with at least one local resident, so no one can say you didn’t even bother to visit them.”

“Isn’t that a bit cynical?”

“And make sure you have lunch at a local pub,” said Alf, ignoring the comment, “and tell the landlord you’re thinking of buying a house in the constituency.”

“But I’m not.”

“And then I want you back in Roxton to canvass the council estate between five thirty and seven thirty, when most people will be getting home from work. But you can take a break between seven thirty and eight o’clock.”

“Why then?”

“Because you’ll only lose votes if you interrupt someone while they’re watching Coronation Street.” Sasha and Charlie burst out laughing. “I’m not joking,” said Alf.

“And after that, do I keep on canvassing?”

“No, never knock on anyone’s door after eight. I’ve arranged for you to address another public meeting, this time at the Roxton YMCA.”

“But only twelve people bothered to turn up to the last one. And that included you, Charlie, and Mrs. Campion’s dog.”

“I know,” said Alf, “but that’s still five more than the last candidate managed. And at least when you sat down, the dog was wagging its tail.”