‘We ought to eat something.’

‘Too tired.’

‘So am I.’ I kicked off my shoes and curled up on the sofa. ‘Tell me what’s happening.’

Will sighed. ‘Haven’t the energy.’

‘Oh.’ I studied my feet, encased in their light, evening tights.

‘I’m sorry, darling.’

I reached for the cushion and hugged it. ‘How would you feel if Dad and I went on a trip to Italy?’

Will snapped to attention. ‘When?’

‘While Chloë’s away. September probably. We haven’t settled on anything yet.’

‘Without me?’

‘Yes.’

Will put down his glass and came and sat down beside me. ‘Of course you must go. I know what it would mean to you.’ He paused. ‘But do you have to go this year? There is so much on…’ He took away the cushion and put his arm around me. ‘I need you on board.’ I sensed the energy flowing back into him as he concentrated on bringing me back into the fold. ‘Just at the moment, I’m not sure I could manage without you.’ He took another gulp of the whisky. ‘Perhaps I’m being selfish.’ When I did not reply, he said sharply, ‘Fanny, are you listening?’

I raised my eyes and saw my old Will: the clever, funny, passionate, committed man with whom I had fallen in love, and I wondered what he could see in me, and whether or not he was looking.

‘Ours is becoming a curious marriage,’ I heard myself say. ‘I’ve been trying all week to talk to you about your daughter… where do I come in the queue?’

‘Don’t be silly.’ This was said with a flash of irritation.

‘It’s true.’

He caught my chin. ‘Is this because I talked to Meg? She just happened to phone at the right time, you idiot.’

‘Partly.’ I shook his hand away and started to pick at the braid on the discarded cushion. ‘I mind about that.’

He sighed. ‘I honestly don’t think there’s any need to worry about Chloë.’

‘But I do worry about her. And I worry that I have to worry about her on my own.’

‘When she goes to Australia, she’ll forget Sacha; she’ll meet other people. It’s not so odd at her age to have a passion – if she does – for someone unsuitable.’

He was probably right, but I’d had enough politician’s answers for one evening. I heaved myself to my feet and went over to the window and looked out at the dull summer night. ‘I would like to go away with my father, Will. I don’t think he is all that well, and I’d like to spend some time with him.’

‘Rather than with me…’

I turned round and glared at him. ‘I’m going to forget you said that.’

Will set his glass down on the table with a snap. ‘Did you really suggest to Meg that she move out?’

‘Not exactly,’ I replied. ‘The idea was proposed, but not voted upon.’

‘Don’t you think you should have discussed it with me first? She’s upset and unsettled, and it can’t be good for her.’

‘Discuss things with you? What an excellent idea. I’ve being trying all week. Shall I see if Mannochie can squeeze me into your schedule at some point? Perhaps during one of your surgeries – between erroneous gas bills and the violent neighbours…’ I made for the door. ‘But right now I’m going to bed.’

As I walked down the corridor, he called after me, ‘I can’t hurt her, Fanny. I can’t abandon her.’

6

Will and I arrived back at Ember House from our curtailed French honeymoon in the small hours, smelling of the melons I had insisted we buy, which had filled the car with their sweet, ripe aroma.

Early next morning, we stumbled out of bed, hoicked clean clothes out of the unpacked suitcases, and drove into Stanwinton. Mannochie met us at the party headquarters on the high street.

Will was immediately claimed by a party apparatchik and Mannochie materialized at my elbow. ‘You must meet the chairman of the association and you must get on with her.’

‘Will I be put in the stocks if I don’t?’ I asked, and realizing that it did not sound very amusing, wished I hadn’t.

The headquarters seethed with people, and was stuffed with chairs, photocopiers and baskets overflowing with brown envelopes. The persistent sound of telephones piped above the movement and activity. Mannochie piloted me towards a table where a woman was directing an elderly couple on the sorting of pamphlets. ‘No slacking,’ she addressed them collectively. ‘No mistakes.’

‘Pearl, this is Fanny.’

A heavy woman, she pulled herself to her feet. ‘About time.’

Did she always speak in such staccato sentences? A gust of nervous hilarity threatened but I said, ‘Will and I got here as fast as possible. We drove through the night.’

Pearl Veriker should have met me before – wives have to be vetted - but at the time she had been in hospital. Tall and long-nosed, she did not trouble with fashion. Her cotton shirt clashed with her skirt and she wore flesh-coloured tights with white fretworked leather lace-ups. Her scrutiny, however, was clever and merciless. Eventually, she held out her hand. ‘I’ll call you Fanny since we’ll have a lot to do with each other.’

If I had hoped for consolation over my ruined honeymoon, I was wrong. ‘As you can imagine, it’s battle stations here. I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes.’ She glanced down at my bare legs under a short denim skirt. ‘I’m sorry, but it would be better if you wore tights and a longer skirt. The more far-reaching and revolutionary our ideas, the more non-threatening and respectable our appearance should be. You should have been told that.’

She meant: You should have known. I flushed at my ignorance.

A young woman carrying a pile of envelopes pushed her way past us. Pearl Veriker’s hand shot out and barricaded her passage. Where was Marcia taking these, she wanted to know. A brisk exchange ensued and the captive Marcia was released. ‘My job is to keep tabs. Keep an eye on everyone.’ Without a pause, she said, ‘I hope you’re healthy, it’s going to be a hard few weeks.’

‘I’m sure Will will brief me.’

‘Your husband, Fanny, is new to the game. Have you sorted out where you plan to live in the constituency if we triumph?’

‘When we come down we’ll stay with my father at Ember House.’

Pearl shook her head. ‘Won’t do. You need a quiet, modest, cheap house. It’s important that you have roots here.’

‘Apparently, we need a quiet, modest cheap house in the constituency,’ I informed Will in the privacy of the bedroom at Ember House.

One sock off, one sock on, he swung round. ‘We will live here. Of course. If we win. You knew that.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

Will peeled off the other sock and dropped it on to the floor. ‘I did explain.’

‘You said it was possible. I don’t want to live here. The bulk of my Battista business is in London. You forget, I’ve lived here most of my life and I know what it’s like. We want to be in London.’

‘Fanny…’ Will came over and sat on the bed. ‘Darling… look at me. This is important. We’re going to have to make sacrifices. Remember what we believe in. All the things we’ve agreed.’ He slipped down on to his knees beside the bed. ‘No one said it would be easy.’

I heard him utter the words, witnessed the conviction and belief that lit up his face. ‘Will, we don’t have to live here. We can come down, lots.’

‘There can’t be any half-measures. This is a war of sorts. I see it so clearly now.’

I gazed into the dark eyes that so delighted me. ‘Will, could I point out that truth is the first casualty of war.’

‘Mrs Savage, that is not being helpful.’


*

I gave my all. True, I was not an expert but Mannochie did his best to ensure that I became one. Constantly at my side, he murmured instructions, dropped information, prompted my replies. He told me about those who ran the town, owned the building businesses, set the local taxes, which housing estate was likely to vote for Will. He drip-fed me facts, statistics, advice, and taught me the rules of this strange campaign. Take no prisoners.

‘Mercy isn’t part of the deal, then,’ I teased.

He turned very serious. ‘No. And don’t let anyone persuade you otherwise, Fanny’

By then we were on ‘Fanny’ terms but he was never called anything but Mannochie. His Christian name, he said, was not for public consumption.

If I gained Mannochie, I lost Will – or, rather, my private Will. The public Will was surrounded by aides with clipboards, potential voters, voters who hated him. He was admired and spat at in equal measure. But one thing was constant: wherever he went, Will was noticed.

‘Don’t say anything,’ Pearl Veriker ordered. ‘Ever. That’s not your role.’

So, silently, I climbed on to the battle bus and went the rounds with my instructions ringing in my ears. Sitting well back on the platform, I attended meetings and came forward to stand (silently) beside Will to take the applause. Suitably dressed, I attended photocalls with my arm linked in Will’s, and the results were not bad.

‘It’s so lucky you’re good-looking,’ said Pearl. ‘Your husband obeyed orders.’

I stared at her and she patted my shoulder. ‘A little pleasantry, Fanny.’

If Pearl was cracking jokes, I could only suppose that she and I were making progress.

Obediently, I trudged the streets for hours at a time and knocked on doors. More often than not a woman answered, and I caught glimpses of interiors where baskets of wet laundry waited to be hung out, children’s bicycles and pushchairs cluttered the hall and school satchels spilled their contents. Sometimes their men appeared. If they did not like me they told me so, and if they were menacing, Mannochie pulled me away.

My feet swelled and my shoulders ached from the weight of pamphlets. It was a war of sorts, even if it had to be fought on the domestic front. On our lists, we ticked off blocks of flats where the walkways reeked of urine, and quiet, net-curtained homes in neat tree-lined streets. We trudged up gravel drives to capacious, well-maintained villas, which had been built by the industrial barons at the turn of the century Their occupants were the worst for they couched any hostility in a more polite and deadly form. ‘Don’t think any of you lot do much except tax us,’ said one heavily jewelled and made-up woman. ‘Can’t think what you get up to all day.’ She made to shut the front door in our faces. ‘Who did you say you were?’