‘I’ve been dumped before,’ Nick said, then he saw from the way her face was contorting that this wasn’t what Caroline was talking about.
‘It was you, wasn’t it, who called the police?’
Caroline nodded. ‘Joe told me, so proudly, how you grew the stuff, how you were making a fortune, but he wouldn’t get involved. He was impressed with you. I thought he might change his mind. I was angry that you’d asked him, that you’d let your younger brother get involved in something so dangerous.’
‘He was only just starting the cab firm then,’ Nick told her. ‘He – you two – could have used the money. I thought the risk was pretty low. And I needed someone I could really trust.’
‘I was angry with you, Nick. I wanted you out of the way. I’m so sorry.’
She was crying again when the nurse came back in, holding his as-yet-unnamed niece. The nurse gave Nick a patient smile.
‘Her first, isn’t it?’ She said, producing tissues. ‘Mothers do get emotional at these times.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ Nick said. ‘Can you give us another minute alone?’
When she was gone, he leant over Caroline and the baby, who smelt of everything that was real, and fresh, and new. The past was gone. The next generation had begun. He said what he had to say.
‘I’m glad you told me, but it’s water under the bridge now. We’re family. We stick together no matter how much we hurt each other.’
Caroline kissed him on the mouth. ‘You’re treating me better than I deserve. Unlike your brother. Go on, get going to your MP. You must be desperate to find out how she did.’
In the car, Nick tuned into a local station. Radio Nottingham was covering the announcement in Nottingham South, an easy Labour win. This was the second Labour win in the city tonight, the commentator said, but that meant nothing – North and East were also safe Labour seats.
He knew he was mad, driving again after what had happened earlier. If the police caught him, Nick would be locked up for sure, in front of a judge in the morning, back in nick by midnight. Three more years. It didn’t bear thinking about. But Joe might well need the cab and Nick was already in deep shit. The students’ union was only a ten-minute drive. He took the risk.
Where did Joe take Nas for sex? Nick had no idea. Joe had never asked for a spare key to his flat, and Nick wasn’t sure if he would have offered it if he had. Maybe he sprang for a cheap hotel room.
The bar was heaving with excited party members. A big screen TV was predicting a Labour majority of over a hundred. Every time a victory flashed up on the red bar at the bottom of the screen, there was a loud cheer. Nick looked around, picking out faces, failing to put names to most of them. No Joe. Most partygoers were glued to the TV.
‘Get ready everybody,’ a voice said over the PA. ‘She’s here!’
Both of the hall doors opened at once. A scrum of people pushed their way through. It took a moment for Nick to see who they were carrying. He had never heard a football crowd give as hearty a roar as the one that greeted Sarah, her legs akimbo, face beaming. Waving both arms in the air, the triumphant MP was carried to the small stage at the front of the hall, where the scrum set her down.
Sarah wobbled to her feet. Her hair was messed up and the grey suit she was wearing had become dishevelled. She pushed her hair back before giving the crowd an enormous smile. That set them off cheering again.
‘Comrades,’ she said. ‘Friends. I can’t believe we did it. If we’ve won in West – not narrowly either, but by nearly two thousand votes – it means that we’re about to see the biggest Labour victory since 1945. Possibly the biggest Labour victory ever!’
The cheers resounded. Nick joined in. She had won, as he had wanted her to win. She might have saved his bacon tonight, too. Sarah deserved the best the world could give her. But now he’d never get together with her again. Looking at her on the stage he saw the same woman he’d stood beside at her first victory, fifteen years ago. He realized how much he still wanted her. He ought to be by her side now.
‘I want to thank you, all of you, for working so hard and to say that I won’t let you down.’
‘You’ve never let us down!’ someone yelled.
‘I’d prepared this plucky little good-loser speech and now I have no idea what to say except, this is wonderful and we all really deserve it. Let’s enjoy tonight because, tomorrow, the real work begins.’
She left the stage to a tuneless but gusto filled rendition of ‘For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow’. Champagne corks popped. Nick took a glass.
‘Nick! You made it! Come and have a drink!’
Sarah threw her arms around him and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. She smelt of sweat and expensive perfume.
‘How’s your sister-in-law?’
‘Fine. Lovely baby girl. Seven pounds two ounces.’
‘Brilliant.’
Nick felt conspicuous. The half glass of warm champagne did little to help. He needed to sink two or three pints before he could relax around Sarah, who was now accepting a kiss from his younger brother. When did Joe arrive?
‘It’s marvellous news,’ he was saying. ‘You won’t remember me, but . . .’
‘Of course I recognise you,’ Sarah shouted. ‘Nick’s brother. Congratulations on your news, too. A little girl. You must be so thrilled.’
Seeing Joe’s dumbfounded expression, Sarah hesitated. As somebody else came to congratulate her, Nick tapped his brother on the shoulder.
‘Been trying to get you all evening. Where the fuck have you been?’
‘Incommunicado. Sarah’s got the wrong end of the stick, yeah?’
Nick shook his head. ‘I left Caroline twenty minutes ago. Tell her you were at the party but didn’t get the message and your mobile’s malfunctioning. She might just buy it.’ He handed his brother the key to Stuart’s car, adding where it was parked.
‘She’s okay? The baby’s okay?’
‘They’re fine. Congratulations. Now get the fuck out of here.’
‘I owe you one. Here, take this. I never drive with it. Cheers, bro.’
His brother handed Nick his tobacco pouch then pushed his way out of the crowded hall. Nick stood near Sarah, watching her accept congratulatory hugs from friend and foe alike. Everybody wanted to be part of her success. Tony Bax came over, his eyes watering. Seeing Nick, he raised a fist.
‘All four seats Labour. We didn’t even get that in ’forty-five. It’s wonderful.’
On the TV screen, big Tory names were falling fast. Rifkind was gone. Jasper March, they were saying, was in trouble. Michael Howard, the Home Secretary, might lose to the Liberals. Gill Temperley’s seat was no longer safe. Even Michael Portillo was considered to be in danger. The Labour leader was boarding a plane to London. The TV kept showing a crowd of familiar, famous faces at the Royal Festival Hall.
Time accelerated. At three or so, Nick checked his brother’s tobacco pouch and found, as he’d expected, some skunk in a separate bag at the bottom. He sat on the loo and skinned up a couple of small spliffs, then went outside for a smoke. He could hear the radio playing through an open window. The results had taken on a surreal flavour. Portillo – the Defence Minister who most expected to be the next Conservative leader – had lost his ‘safe’ seat. Jasper March was in a recount. Optimists began saying that the Tories were finished, gone for good.
The mild night was starting to become a little chill. The results were slowing down. Nick could hear a few people leaving. One set of footsteps approached him.
‘I thought you might have left,’ a familiar voice said. Sarah.
‘Wouldn’t have gone without saying goodbye,’ he told her, hiding the joint by cupping it in his hand.