Heads You Win

Back home by midnight and hopefully asleep by 1 a.m. Not always possible, because just like with an actor treading the boards, the adrenaline doesn’t conveniently stop the moment the curtain comes down. Four hours’ sleep before the alarm goes off, when he started the whole process again, only thankful that it was one day less until the election.

* * *

On the morning of the debate, one local poll gave Fiona a two-point lead, while another had the two candidates neck and neck. It didn’t help steady Sasha’s nerves when the local TV station announced that there had been so much interest in the debate that they would be showing it live at prime time.

Charlie selected the suit (gray, single-breasted), shirt (white), and tie (green) that Sasha would wear for the encounter that evening. She didn’t interrupt him while he rehearsed salient lines and well-honed phrases whenever they were alone. But if he asked for her opinion, she didn’t hesitate to respond candidly, even if it wasn’t always what he wanted to hear.

“Time to leave,” said Charlie, checking her watch.

Sasha followed her out of party HQ and joined her in the back of a waiting car.

“You look so handsome,” she said, as they moved off. Sasha didn’t reply. “Don’t forget, she’s just not in your class.” Still no response. “By this time next week, it will be you, not her, who’s sitting in the House of Commons.” Still nothing. “And by the way,” she added, “perhaps this isn’t the best time to tell you, but I’m thinking of voting Conservative.”

“Then let’s be thankful you haven’t got a vote in this constituency,” said Sasha as the car pulled up outside Roxton Town Hall.

* * *

“If you win the toss,” said Alf, who was standing at the top of the steps waiting to greet them, “you should speak second. Then you can respond to anything Fiona raises in her opening remarks.”

“No,” said Sasha. “If I win the toss I’ll go first, and then she’ll have to respond to what I have to say.”

“But that would be handing her an immediate advantage.”

“Not if I’ve already made her speech for her. I think I’ve worked out what her line of attack will be. Don’t forget, I know her better than anyone.”

“It’s a hell of a risk,” said Alf.

“The sort of risk you have to take when the polls are this close.”

Alf shrugged his shoulders. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, as they walked onto the back of the stage and the moderator came across to join them.

“Time for the toss,” said Chester Munro, the veteran anchorman from Southern News.

Sasha and Fiona shook hands for the photographers, although she never once looked him in the eye.

“Your call, Ms. Hunter.”

“Heads,” said Fiona as Munro spun a silver coin high in the air. It bounced on the floor before coming to rest to reveal the image of the best-known woman on earth.

“Your choice, Ms. Hunter,” said Munro. “Will you open the batting, or put Mr. Karpenko in first?”

Sasha held his breath.

“I shall allow my opponent to speak first,” said Fiona, clearly pleased to have won the toss.

A young woman appeared from the wings and powdered Munro’s forehead and the tip of his nose, before he marched out onto the center of the stage to warm applause.

* * *

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” said Munro as he looked down at the packed auditorium. “Welcome to the debate between the two main contenders for the parliamentary seat of Merrifield. Fiona Hunter, the current member, is representing the Conservative Party, and her opponent, Sasha Karpenko, is the Labour Party’s candidate.

“Each candidate will make a three-minute opening statement, which will be followed by questions from the floor, and then we will end proceedings with both of them making a two-minute closing statement. I will now invite the two candidates to join us.”

Sasha and Fiona appeared from opposite wings of the stage, each of them greeted with rapturous applause from their own supporters. Sasha wished he was back in the Fulham Road enjoying one of his mother’s moussakas and a glass of red wine, but then he spotted Charlie and his mother smiling up at him from the front row. He smiled back, as Munro said, “I shall now call upon Mr. Karpenko to make his opening statement.”

Sasha walked slowly forward, placed his notes on the lectern, and waited for the audience to settle. He glanced down at the opening sentence, although he knew the entire speech by heart. He looked up, aware that he only had three minutes in which to make a lasting impression. No, Alf had told him to think of it as 180 seconds, that way you’ll make every second count. For the first time, Sasha wondered if Alf might have been right when he suggested that whoever spoke first would be at a disadvantage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sasha began, fixing his eyes on the tenth row of the audience. “You see, standing before you, a carpetbagger.”