Nothing but admiration.
Len carried in the cardboard boxes. Len put them on Terry’s desk. Len went back down for more. Terry opened the boxes. Terry stacked up the bundles on the desk. Terry counted out the cash. Len brought in another box. Len left it on the floor. Terry put the bundles back in the boxes. Terry noted down the names of the donors and the amounts donated. Len came back with another box. Len said, ‘That’s the last one for now.’
Terry nodded. He asked, ‘There will be people outside all night?’
‘It’ll be safe enough in the safe,’ said Len. ‘Just bring it up when you’re done.’
Terry shrugged his shoulders. Terry got on with it –
Len left him to it. Left him alone among the boxes –
It was Boxing Day, 1984.
Terry went back to work. He wrote down the names of the unions and local authorities. He pencilled in the amounts. He banged away on the calculator. He put the money back in the boxes. He taped up the boxes. He wrote words and numbers on the cardboard in black felt-tip pen. He sat back down in his chair under the portrait of the President. He took off his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He swallowed another two aspirins. He drank another cup of cold coffee. He blinked and put his glasses back on –
The red light on his phone was flashing on and off, on and off, on and –
There was always a chance.
Terry picked it up. Click-click. Terry said, ‘Chief Executive speaking.’
‘Merry Christmas, Comrade Chief Executive,’ she said.
Terry’s stomach tightened. Turned and flipped. He said, ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘I’ve got a present for you,’ she giggled. ‘Your Christmas present.’
‘A Christmas present for me?’ asked Terry. ‘Really?’
‘Sorry it’s a day late,’ she said. ‘When would you like it, Comrade?’
Terry looked at his watch. It had stopped. He said, ‘Where are you?’
‘Where do you think?’ she laughed.
Terry wound up his watch. He said, ‘Just give me an hour to sort things out here.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ she said and hung up.
Terry put the phone down. He picked it back up. Click-click. He dialled home –
He listened to it ring and ring, echo in the empty hall of their empty home.
Terry hung up. He picked up a box to take up the stairs to the President’s office. He put it back down. He opened it back up. He took out four big bundles of cash. He put them in his briefcase. He taped up the box again. He changed a three into a two on the top of the box. He altered the figures in the book. He carried the first two boxes down the corridor to the stairs. He took them up to the President’s office. He put the boxes down in the corridor. He knocked on the door –
The music symphonic, deafening.
‘Who is it?’ shouted Len from the inside.
‘It’s me,’ replied Terry, ‘the Chief Executive.’
The music stopped and Len unlocked the door. He said, ‘All done?’
‘Nearly,’ said Terry. ‘Just the last four.’
Len picked up the ones at Terry’s feet. Terry glanced inside at the President –
He had his glasses on, writing at his desk. He didn’t look up at Terry Winters.
Terry went back down for the rest of the money. Len followed him.
They picked up the last four boxes. They carried them out to the stairwell.
Len asked, ‘What you doing tonight, Comrade?’
‘Why?’ said Terry. ‘Why do you ask that?’
Len said, ‘Just asking, that’s all.’
‘Sorry,’ said Terry. ‘Been a long day.’
Len followed Terry up the stairs. Len said, ‘Been a long bloody year, Comrade.’
‘You’re right there, Comrade,’ said Terry. ‘You’re right there.’
Terry kept open the door for Len with his back. The boxes in both arms –
Len stopped in the door. He stared at Terry. He said, ‘So what are you doing?’
‘Think I’ll just go home to the family,’ said Terry. ‘Yourself?’
Len nodded. Len said, ‘Planning to picket a power station.’
‘With the President?’ asked Terry.
Len nodded again. Len walked down the corridor. Len said, ‘Join us, Comrade.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Terry, ‘but I have neglected the wife and kids this Christmas.’
Len stopped outside the President’s office. Len turned to Terry Winters. Len said, ‘Just put the boxes down there then, Comrade. I’ll take them from here.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Terry. ‘I can bring them in for you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Len. ‘But you’ve done enough, Comrade.’
‘Merry Christmas and happy New Year then,’ said Terry. ‘And to the President.’
‘And to you and your family, Comrade,’ said Len. ‘Theresa and the kids.’
Terry Winters walked back down the corridor. Terry took the stairs two at a time. He went back into his office. He picked up his briefcase. He locked the door behind him. He switched off the lights as he went. He took the lift down to the ground floor –
There were no Tweeds. No Denims –
Just the Red Guards on the door.
Terry gave them a tenner for a drink and wished them season’s greetings.
Terry clutched the briefcase. Terry walked quickly to the car.
Terry drove to Hallam Towers. Terry went straight up to Room 308 –
Terry had an erection and a briefcase full of cash.
Terry Winters knocked on the door. Terry said, ‘Room service.’
Malcolm caught red buses. Malcolm took black taxis –
The streets quiet, the city dead. The trains empty, the ghosts overground –
From station to station. Place to place —
The lights blew in the wind. The lights fell in the rain –
His shoes full of holes on pavements full of holes. His dirty raincoat in a dirty doorway —
Hobart House and Congress House. Claridge’s and the County Hotel —
The buildings quiet. The buildings empty.
Malcolm had his key. Malcolm took the lift –
An old black man pushed an industrial vacuum cleaner down the seventh-floor corridor. There were rope marks around his neck. There were scars across both his wrists. The light flickered on and off, on and off. The lift door opened and then closed —
Deserted silences. Deserted spaces —
From place to place. Room to room –
The bodies hiding in the fixtures. The bodies hanging from the fittings.
A young Asian woman washed industrial-strength bleach down a seventh-floor wall. There were whip marks across her backside. There were wounds around her vagina –
She was naked from the waist down. Bleeding from the waist up.
The television in the corner switched itself off and on, off and on —
The Prime Minister talked of resolution. The Prime Minister talked of exorcism.
‘Everybody’s saying it’ll soon be over,’ said Diane. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘I know,’ said Terry.
‘Two months, maybe even less,’ she said. ‘That’s what they’re saying.’
‘I know,’ said Terry again.
‘The finances won’t recover,’ she said. ‘The Union will split in two.’