When he got through to Alice, she sounded rather cool, but reassured him there was no problem with Kit; and then, rather as if offering a cup of tea, asked if he would like her to come to Purbridge the following day.
‘I always said I would if I could,’ she said, as he sank down, speechless with shock, onto a large box of pamphlets which promptly fell over, depositing him on the floor. ‘Tom, Tom, are you there? Oh, good. Ned – rather conveniently, I must say – says Kit needs one more day in hospital. I’m a bit suspicious actually; I think Jillie might have had a word because she knew I wanted to come, and of course he couldn’t be safer anywhere than here. My mother’s coming up to visit him in hospital and to take over from Mrs Hartley at the end of the day, although I think they might actually come to blows over Charlie. Anyway, I’m at your disposal. I can be there by ten – I’ve looked up the trains – and I’m all ready to smile for the cameras, kiss other people’s babies, and have eggs thrown at me, if required. Oh, and you can stay down there tonight, Mrs Hartley’s dying to have both children to stay. I thought you could use the time. So where will you meet me? At the station?’
In that moment, Tom forgave her everything.
An icy calm had descended upon Alice. She felt cool, detached and quite, quite numb; she had decided that, until after the election, there would be no showdowns, no fights, no possibility of her being accused of wrecking his chances any further. She would go into battle afterwards, knowing no remorse, no guilt even, knowing she had done her best for him. It was surprisingly easy.
Now – what should she wear? She tried not to think of Diana Southcott’s beautiful, elegant clothes. It was pointless – she couldn’t compete – but she needed to go home and sort some clothes out. She might, if she hurried, be able to go to Freeman Hardy and Willis and buy the navy court shoes she had admired in Woman’s Own that week. All her shoes were scuffed and down at heel, she couldn’t go on stage as a political wife wearing those. And they would go with her pleated Terylene skirt, and perhaps that blue angora jumper she’d never worn – never an occasion more worthy of it.
‘Friend Tom? Hello, darling. It’s me, Diana.’
‘What are you doing ringing me here?’ Tom hissed into the telephone someone had just handed him. ‘How did you get this number?’
‘Well, that’s not a very nice greeting. Really, Tom, I never know where I am with you. I got it from your office. And I only wanted to wish you luck for tomorrow. I do hope you get in.’
‘Not very likely, I’m afraid,’ said Tom, ‘but thanks anyway. Alice is coming down in the morning, might help a bit.’
‘Well, not if they know it was her idea to take your son to—’
‘Diana, please. But thank you again for that –’ he realised someone was hovering, threatening to take the phone from his hand – ‘that information you gave me on Saturday night. It was extremely helpful.’
‘OK, OK, I get the picture. I’ll go. By the way, I might be moving to New York for a bit. Anyway, I’ll let you go, you’ve got an election to win. Good luck, Friend Tom. I won’t leave for New York without saying goodbye.’
‘Bye. Thanks again.’
Tom rang off and then went outside and stared down Purbridge’s main street. Against all odds, all the danger Diana represented, he didn’t want her to go to New York, didn’t like the prospect of a life quite without her. Perversely, she was one of the few people he actually trusted and how he would have got by that weekend without her, he could not imagine . . .
It was a long, hard day; Alice’s new shoes had had a bad time of it.
Tom met her off the train, started her on a crash course of polling-day behaviour even before they had left the station.
‘It will be like the by-election, only tougher. We’re going to polling stations, all day long. The main thing is to smile. Smile at the voters, smile at the tellers, smile at the cameras. The local press will be about, may want an interview with you. Smile at them, smile at the party workers, smile at the press, smile at hostility, smile at compliments.’
‘I think I get the idea. Smile.’
They had reached Labour Party HQ by now: Colin Davidson greeted her enthusiastically.
‘My goodness, you do look smart. How’s the little fellow? Must have been dreadful for you. But you being here today should make a big difference. You’re a very popular lady down here, you know; we call you our secret weapon. Now, have a cup of tea, give you strength for the day ahead. And how about a buttered scone? Made by my wife.’
Had he not said that, Alice would have refused the scone, but she feared that would be taken as a slur on his wife’s cooking. It proved to be both delicious and nourishing.
Her face ached from smiling by lunchtime, her feet ached from her new shoes well before that; there was no place for an aching heart as well. They progressed from polling station to polling station, both large and small; at one of the major ones, the Purbridge Gazette asked Alice for an interview.
The reporter was handsome, very young, a bit cocky, but polite. He asked Alice how she would feel about living in Purbridge if Tom won and she told him she couldn’t wait. ‘I especially love Sandbanks, of course, it’s so beautiful, and we had a week’s holiday there in a caravan.’
‘Good. Of course, Sandbanks is the posh end of town.’
‘Yes, but I like Purbridge itself too, and everyone’s been so welcoming and kind, it feels like home already. And my little boy loves the quay.’
‘Would that be the little boy who’s been ill and in hospital? How is he now?’
‘Much better, thank you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here?’
‘How was it you and your husband took him to a private hospital, Mrs Knelston? I’d have thought Mr Knelston, with his devotion to Aneurin Bevan, would have chosen the National Health Service?’
‘Ideally, we both would,’ said Alice, without a breath of hesitation, ‘but it was literally a crisis. Kit’s life was in danger. We were lucky that we have a friend who is a paediatric surgeon, and he took Kit into his hospital and he was in the operating theatre in a couple of hours.’
‘I see. And – don’t you think a casualty department would have responded as quickly?’
‘We would have hoped so, but we couldn’t be sure, and believe me, if your child is that ill, you want certainties.’
‘Of course. Lucky you to be able to afford such a certainty.’
‘Well, it did take all our—’ She was going to say, ‘savings’, but he had folded his notebook shut.
‘Well, thanks for finding the time to talk to me, Mrs Knelston, and good luck with the vote.’
She was afraid she hadn’t done very well. It must have shown in her face, for a woman came out of the small crowd which had gathered to watch the interview and the photographs being taken, and said, ‘Don’t you upset yourself, dear. We’d all do the same, if we could. He’s too young to understand. You don’t take risks with your child’s life. Is he still in hospital?’
‘My mother’s looking after him today,’ said Alice, half truthfully, ‘and the other children too.’