Consequently, she became increasingly confused and anxious; on bad days she felt she hardly knew what she thought about anything any more, was lost in a spiral of self-doubt and insecurity. She also became obsessed with the fact that he had never taken her to Laura’s grave. Laura lay there, in the churchyard in his village, a precious, private part of his life that Alice was to be eternally kept from. It was as if he had a mistress, but one she could not possibly fight and certainly not confront.
Some situations were easier than others to deal with: and this was one of them. Laura would have been as excited and determined as Tom, so Alice’s path was clearly marked. Next day she found Purbridge on the map; and was so excited, she broke the rule and rang Tom in his office.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but you’ll just have to win this seat. And I’m sure you will.’
‘Why this sudden enthusiasm?’
‘Tom, do you realise what’s quite wonderfully near it? Sandbanks! If that’s not an omen, I really don’t know what could be. Our lovely Sandbanks, where this little one started her life. Clearly she has to go on living there, doesn’t she? I think she’s a girl, by the way.’
Tom, masking the irritation with her that he increasingly felt, agreed it could be seen as an omen. Anything that was going to make her put more effort into his cause could only be a good thing.
The other two prospective candidates were, in theory, promisingly less suitable, one extremely left wing, the other unmarried. ‘People like a family man,’ said the national agent.
Poor Terence Bright turned out to have a heart condition as well as Parkinson’s; his doctor said he should resign immediately, or he wouldn’t answer for the consequences.
Alice was spared much of the practical work of a supportive spouse; even Tom could see that with one very small child and a fairly advanced pregnancy, she couldn’t possibly be expected to constantly travel hundreds of miles to appear on platforms beside him. However, one terrifying ordeal was obligatory: her interview by the selection panel. This took place at Labour Party headquarters in Purbridge; a large, ugly Victorian building, apparently devoid of any form of heating. Alice was shown into a very large room, with crumbing lino on the floor and grimy windows; a vast table was the only furniture. Three people sat at the table, a rather stout woman and two men, one of them, Richard Darrett, the chairman of the selection committee; he stood up as she entered and indicated an upright chair set several feet away from the table. She could never remember being in so unwelcoming an environment and wondered if the Conservative set-up was any better.
She presumed she was intended to sit down, and did so, rather nervously, tugging her skirt down over her knees and hoping the very modest make-up she was wearing wouldn’t be considered tarty. They nodded approvingly on hearing that she had a small child, and would shortly have another and that, apart from caring for the family, her only occupation was supporting her husband in his political ambitions.
‘Now, there is one thing that worries me,’ said the woman. ‘It appears you attended a private school.’ She made this sound rather as if Alice had spent time in prison.
But Alice was ready for this one. ‘Yes, but only because of the war. It was a boarding school in the depths of the country. My parents lived on the outskirts of London, and they naturally wanted me to be safe. But I believe passionately in the grammar-school system.’
They all nodded approvingly; there were four grammar schools in the Purbridge area, two for boys, two for girls. She knew she was on safe ground; she had taken great care with her research.
‘And – would you be able to support your husband by joining him in the constituency at weekends? There will be a lot to do. Not just his surgery.’
‘You mean the school visits, the amateur theatricals, the concerts, organising help in various ways for people who need it? Supporting local charities? Yes, of course. I shall enjoy all that very much.’
On and on it went. When Alice joined Tom and the constituency agent, Colin Davidson, in the dreariest pub she had ever been in, she was close to exhaustion.
‘I’m afraid I was hopeless,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, I did my best.’
Three days later the selection of the new Labour candidate for Purbridge would be made and the result announced; Tom had gone down for the occasion, desperately nervous, none too hopeful. Alice wanted to go, but he told her it would be such a depressing occasion and there was no point her being there.
‘You can be waiting at home for me with a consoling supper and some nice cold beer. I still can’t get over having a refrigerator.’
‘Nor can I,’ said Alice. ‘But Tom, are you really so sure you haven’t been selected?’
‘Absolutely. I don’t know why I ever agreed to go for it,’ he added gloomily. ‘Must have been mad.’
Next day she was strapping Kit into the pram when the phone rang. It was Tom.
‘Mrs Knelston?’
‘Yes. Tom, you know it’s me, what’s the matter?’
‘You are addressing the prospective Labour MP for Purbridge. I can’t quite believe it myself. I’m over the moon, I can tell you. And a lot of it is thanks to you. So very well done and thank you, Alice. I’ve got to go now, give an interview to the local rag. God, it’s exciting. We’ll go out and celebrate tomorrow when I get back.’
Alice couldn’t think of anything she’d like less; she was so tired she could hardly hold her knife and fork at supper at home, but she managed to express delight. They couldn’t afford to go out to dinner so it probably wouldn’t happen. But she was wrong. Donald Herbert took them out to dinner again, to the Boulestin on the edge of Covent Garden.
‘It’s a charming place, thought it would be slightly less masculine than Rules which I had considered, and this is your treat as much as Tom’s. You did wonderfully well, Alice.’
They both smiled at her and raised their glasses; she smiled back, and thought how nice it was to be considered of value in her own right for once. One day, maybe, just maybe, she would go back to work . . .
But first there was the election to get through.
Ned’s practice had grown slowly over the past two or three years. Paediatricians were a comparatively new breed and it was taking time for the public to accept them. His National Health practice at St Luke’s, where he recently moved, was very busy, however; and seemed to have a purpose that the private practice lacked, insofar as he saw desperately ill children. They were often malnourished – through ignorance and laziness, rather than poverty as they would have been before the war – existing on diets of chips, sweets, and canned vegetables and fruit, and the new much-admired convenience foods like meat pies that were largely pastry, sold in tins. He began to make a name for himself in child nutrition, explaining to mothers that fresh food and plenty of milk provided the vitamins that built bones, encouraged growth, and improved their dental health as well.