Munro finally gave in and pointed to an elderly woman who had jumped up and raised her hand at every opportunity.
‘What plans do the candidates have for raising the old-age pension?’
‘Every Conservative administration has raised the old-age pension in line with inflation,’ said Fiona. ‘The Labour government has always failed to do so, possibly because under their stewardship, inflation has risen on average by fourteen per cent per year. So I say to anyone of pensionable age, if you hope to maintain, or improve, your standard of living, make sure you vote Conservative. Actually, I would say the same to anyone below pensionable age as well, because we’ll all get there eventually.’ This suggestion brought a loud cheer from the Tory supporters, who clearly felt their candidate had come fighting back after her earlier setback, and was now ahead on points.
‘I sometimes wish,’ said Sasha, when he rose to reply, ‘that Ms Hunter would, just for once, take a long-term view and look beyond next week’s election. The present average life expectancy in this country is seventy-three. By the year 2000, it will be eighty-one, and by 2020, when I will be sixty-eight, and eligible for the state pension myself, it is predicted to be eighty-seven. No government – of whatever colour – will have the resources to keep raising the old-age pension year on year. Hasn’t the time come for Members of Parliament to tell the truth about such difficult and important issues as this, and not to spout platitudes, in the hope that they will scrape home at the next election? I’m an economist by profession, not a lawyer like Ms Hunter. I will always tell you the facts, while she will always tell you what she thinks you want to hear.’
When he sat down, the applause suggested that there was no clear-cut winner of that round.
‘There’s time for just one more question,’ said Munro, pointing to a young man seated on the aisle.
‘Do either of you think Merrifield United will ever win the FA Cup?’
The whole room burst into laughter.
‘I’ve been a supporter of “The Merries” since I was a child,’ said Fiona, ‘and my father left me his season ticket in his will. But for fear of being told by my opponent that I’m only seeking cheap votes, I’ll admit that I think it’s unlikely we’ll win the cup, but I live in hope.’
Sasha took her place. ‘It was a magnificent achievement for Merrifield to reach the third round of the cup last year,’ he said. ‘Joey Butler’s goal against Arsenal was a joy to behold, and no one could have been surprised when the Gunners offered him a contract. I was equally delighted that the board decided to use their cup windfall to build a new all-weather stand. But if I’m fortunate enough to become your member, don’t be surprised if you still find me standing on the terraces cheering on the home team.’
The young man who’d asked the question didn’t hide who he’d be voting for, and Sasha felt the contest was back on an equal footing. Everything now rested on their closing remarks.
‘As Mr Karpenko spoke first at the opening of these proceedings,’ said Munro, ‘I shall call on Ms Hunter to make her closing statement.’
Fiona put aside her notes and looked directly at the audience.
‘It seems I’m not allowed to mention the fact that I’m a local girl and that my opponent doesn’t come from this neck of the woods. I also mustn’t remind you that I beat Mr Karpenko for the presidency of the Cambridge Union, and I beat him again at the by-election following my father’s death. And when winning this constituency became a tougher proposition for my party, I didn’t run away. But I can tell you, if Mr Karpenko loses this election, you will never see him again. He will go off in search of a safe seat, whereas you know for certain that I’ll be here for the rest of my life. The choice is yours.’
Half the audience rose to cheer her, while the other half remained seated, waiting to see if their champion still had any arrows left in his quiver.
Sasha only had a few moments in which to consider how to counter such a brilliant and simple message, although he had no doubt that if Fiona lost, she would also be looking for a safe seat elsewhere. But he couldn’t say that, because he couldn’t prove it. The packed hall waited in anticipation, one half willing him to succeed, the other half hoping he would stumble.
‘Like my father,’ he began, ‘I’ve always believed in democracy, despite being raised in a totalitarian state. So I’m happy to let the voters of Merrifield decide which of us they consider best qualified to represent them in the House of Commons. I only ask that you make that choice based on which candidate you consider will do the better job, and not simply on who has lived here the longest. Naturally I believe that person is me. But if living in Merrifield is proof of commitment, I want you all to know that last week I completed the purchase of a house in Farndale Avenue, and that like Ms Hunter, I look forward to spending the rest of my life in this constituency.’
Chester Munro waited for the applause to die down before thanking both candidates. ‘And I’d also like to thank you, the audience,’ he said, but was interrupted by a young woman who appeared from the wings and handed him a slip of paper. He unfolded it and considered the contents before announcing, ‘I know you will all be fascinated to learn that a TV poll taken immediately following this debate shows Ms Hunter’s support on forty-two per cent and Mr Karpenko also on forty-two per cent. The remaining sixteen per cent are either undecided or will vote for other parties.’
The two candidates rose from their places, walked slowly towards each other and shook hands. They both accepted that the debate had ended in a draw, and they now only had a week left in which to knock out their opponent.
*
Sasha didn’t seem to stand still for a moment during the next seven days, while Alf continually reminded him that the final outcome might be decided by only a handful of votes. He didn’t doubt that Fiona would be having the same message hammered home.
On election day, Sasha rose at two in the morning, quite unable to sleep. He’d read all the papers by the time he came down for breakfast. By six o’clock he was back outside Merrifield station imploring the commuters to VOTE KARPENKO – TODAY.
Once the polls opened at seven, he dashed from committee room to committee room in a gallant attempt to thank his legion of dedicated workers, who were refusing to take even a minute off until the last vote had been cast.
‘Let’s go and have a drink with the rest of the team,’ he said to Charlie at 10 p.m., after the BBC announced that the polls had closed, and counting was about to begin all over the country.
They walked slowly up the high street to cries of good luck, goodbye, and even, haven’t I seen you somewhere before? When they arrived at the Roxton Arms, Alf and the team were already standing at the bar placing their orders.
‘And the drinks are on you for a change,’ said Alf, ‘now that we’re unbribable.’
The rest of the team cheered.
‘The two of you couldn’t possibly have done more,’ said Audrey Campion as she handed Charlie a tomato juice and Sasha a pint – his first for three weeks.
‘Agreed,’ said Alf. ‘However, I suggest we all have something to eat before we go across to the town hall and follow the count, as it’s unlikely there’ll be a result much before two.’
‘Care to predict that result?’ asked Sasha.
‘Predictions are for gamblers and fools,’ said Alf. ‘The electorate have made their decision. All we can do is wait to find out if they’ve made the right one. So whatever you say now won’t make a blind bit of difference.’
‘I’d close the cottage hospital, start building the bypass and cut defence spending by at least ten per cent,’ said Sasha.
Everyone laughed except Charlie, who stumbled forward and clung on to the bar.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Sasha, placing an arm around her.