Heads You Win

A palpable gasp went up around the hall. Only Charlie didn’t look surprised. But then, she’d already heard the speech several times.

“And if that’s not bad enough,” continued Sasha, “I’m also a first-generation immigrant. And if you’re still looking for an excuse not to vote for me, I was born in Leningrad, not Merrifield.”

Alf looked anxiously out from the wings to see that the audience had been stunned into silence.

“But please allow me to tell you something about this particular carpetbagger. I was, as I said, born in Leningrad. My late father was a brave man who won the Defence of Leningrad for defending his homeland against the Nazis during the siege of that city in the Second World War. After the war he worked his way up from dock laborer to become works supervisor in charge of eight hundred men. A position he held until he committed a crime for which he was put to death.”

The audience were now hanging on his every word.

“Of course, you will want to know what that crime was. Murder, perhaps? Armed robbery? Fraud, or even worse, was he a traitor who’d betrayed his country? No, my father’s crime was that he wanted to form a trade

union among his fellow dockworkers so that his comrades could enjoy the same benefits that everyone in this country takes for granted. But the KGB didn’t want that, so they had him eliminated.

“My brave mother, who is sitting among you tonight, risked her life so she and I could escape the tyranny of Communism and begin a new life in this great country. I went to school in London and, like Ms. Hunter, won a scholarship to Cambridge, where, again like Ms. Hunter, I became president of the Union, and was awarded a first-class honors degree.”

The first round of applause followed, giving Sasha a moment to relax, look down at his speech, and check the next sentence.

“After coming down from Cambridge, I went to work in my mother’s restaurant, while at the same time attending night school, where I studied accountancy and business management. My mother may have won two Michelin stars as one of the finest chefs in this country, but she’s rubbish when it comes to balancing the books.”

Laughter and warm applause greeted these words.

“I fell in love with and married an English girl, who now works as a research fellow at the Courtauld Gallery. Our first child is due on election day.” Sasha looked up to the heavens and said, “Could you possibly make it the day after?”

This time the applause was spontaneous and Sasha smiled down at his wife. A buzzer sounded to indicate that he only had thirty seconds left. He hadn’t anticipated such prolonged applause, and needed to speed up.

“When I first came to Merrifield to fight the by-election three years ago, I fell in love for a second time. But you rejected this suitor and gave the prize to my rival, although the margin was slim enough for me to hope that you were perhaps suggesting I should try again. Now I am asking you to have a change of heart.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “I want to share a secret with you which I hope will prove how much I care about Merrifield. Before this election was called, I had the opportunity to contest a London seat with a Labour majority of over ten thousand. But I declined that opportunity because I have something else in common with Ms. Hunter. Like her, I want to be the Member of Parliament for Merrifield. I may be a carpetbagger, but I want to be your carpetbagger.”

Half the audience rose to hail their standard-bearer, while the other half remained in the seats, but even some of them joined in the applause.

Munro waited for Sasha to return to his seat and the applause to die down before he said, “I call on Ms. Hunter to respond.”

Sasha looked across at Fiona to see that she was furiously crossing out whole paragraphs of her prepared speech. Finally she rose and walked slowly toward the lectern. She smiled nervously down at the audience.

“My name is Fiona Hunter, and I have had the privilege of representing you as your Member of Parliament for the past three years. I hope you will feel that I have proved worthy of your support.” She looked up, to receive a smattering of applause from her most ardent supporters.

“I was born and brought up in Merrifield. England is my homeland, always has been and always will be,” a line she immediately realized she should have left out. She quickly turned the page, and then another. Sasha could only wonder how often the words “carpetbagger,” “interloper,” “outsider,” even “immigrant,” had been removed from her script.

Fiona stumbled on, talking about her father, Cambridge, and the Union, all too aware that by allowing her rival to go first, she had given him the opportunity to steal her best lines. When the buzzer went to warn Fiona that she had thirty seconds left, she quickly turned to the last page of her speech and said, “I can only hope you will give this local girl a second chance to carry on serving you.”

She returned quickly to her seat, but the applause had faded away long before she’d sat down.

No one could have been in any doubt who had won the first round, but the bell was about to go for the second, and Sasha knew he couldn’t let his concentration lapse for even a moment.

“The candidates will now take your questions,” said Munro. “Please keep them brief and to the point.”

A dozen hands immediately shot up. Munro pointed to a woman seated in the fifth row.

“How do the two candidates feel about Roxton’s playing fields being sold off by the council to be replaced by a supermarket?”

Fiona was on her feet even before Munro could say who should respond first.

“I learned to play hockey and tennis on those playing fields,” she began, “which is why I raised the issue in the House, at Prime Minister’s Questions. I condemned the proposal then, and I will continue to do so if I am reelected. Let us hope that is something else Mr. Karpenko and I have in common, although it seems unlikely, as it was the Labour council that granted planning permission for the supermarket in the first place.”

This time she was rewarded with prolonged applause.

Sasha waited for complete silence before he responded. “It is correct that Ms. Hunter spoke against the council’s proposal to build a supermarket on the site of Roxton playing fields, when she raised the subject in the House of Commons. But what she didn’t mention is that she is the PPS to the Shadow Minister for Rural Affairs, who has never once supported her. Why not? Possibly because the shadow minister would have pointed out to Ms. Hunter that an even bigger sports center is being built three miles down the road at Blandford, with facilities for football, rugby, cricket, hockey, tennis, and a swimming pool, thanks to a Labour government. If I am elected as your member, I will back the council on this issue, as they have had the common sense not to allow arbitrary political boundaries to influence their better judgment. Be assured, I will always support what I believe to be in the best interests of the citizens of Merrifield. Perhaps Ms. Hunter should be elected not to Parliament, but as President of the Not in My Back Yard society. Forgive me if I try to consider the bigger picture.”

When Sasha sat down, the audience was still applauding.