Nocturne (3 page)

‘
I watched this.
’
He tossed me the video I
’
d sent. Twice.
’

‘
And?
’

‘
Crap.
’

He was a freckled, lean, intense-looking man. He wore a pair of
baggy cords and a rather nice collarless shirt. His sandy hair was
beginning to thin and he looked knackered but there was mischief in
his eyes and I liked that.

I looked down at the video in my lap. After my signed Van Morrison
CD, my Bournemouth major project was the most precious thing in
my life.

‘
Crap?
’
I inquired mildly.

‘
Yep. Every
cliché
in the book. Plus one or two I
’
d never seen
before.
’

‘
Isn
’
t that a contradiction in terms? A
cliché
you
’
ve never seen
before?
’

He studied me a moment then conceded the point with a grin.
Instinctively, I had the feeling I
’
d passed some kind of test. He
rummaged in a drawer and produced my CV.

‘
I went through this, too. Impressive.
’

‘
Thanks.
’

‘
You liked it down in Bournemouth?
’

‘
Sometimes. Half and half really.
’

‘
What does
that
mean?
’

I thought about the question, wondering whether he was serious. In
the end I decided there was nothing wrong with the truth.

‘
It was OK,
’
I said. I
had a good time, good mates, all that stuff, but
I think we were a bit pleased with ourselves.
’

‘
Socially?
’

‘
Politically. We were all too lazy, too complacent, too
…
I
dunno .. .
’
I frowned, trying to find the right word.

‘
Middle class?
’

‘
Yes, and privileged. Hard times were when you couldn
’
t find the
mobile phone. You know what I
’
m saying?
’

He put his head back, barking with laughter, then he began to flick
through the CV again. I
’
d sent a photo, too, paperclipped to the front .
page, but that seemed to have disappeared. His finger had stopped
halfway down page two.

‘
Tell me about the Politics Society. How come you ended up
President?
’

‘
I
wanted it,
’
I said simply.
‘
So I lobbied hard.
’

‘
Big majority?
’

‘
Best ever.
’

‘
And did it live up to your expectations? Did you enjoy it?
’

‘
Very much.
’

‘
Get lots of the big guys down? For the debates?
’

I nodded, naming half a dozen prominent politicians. Under my
stewardship, the left had been more heavily represented than usual, a
fact that seemed to amuse him.

‘
You feel comfortable in that kind of company?
’

‘
Yes, very.
’

‘
How about the Tories?
’

‘
Loathsome. Pond life with ties.
’
He smiled.

‘
Are you always this candid?
’

‘
Yes.
’

He pressed me for more names. I listed a couple of junior ministers
who
’
d deigned to appear for our end-of-term thrash. One of them he
evidently knew well.

‘
How did you get on?
’

‘
We didn
’
t.
’

‘
Why not?
’

For the second time, I wondered just how candid he wanted me to
be. A couple of minutes
’
banter had altered my first impressions.
Behind the seeming arrogance and the blunt one-liners, he was a good
deal more perceptive than I
’
d t
hought. He also paid me the com
pliment of serious eye contact, something that few men - in my
experience - will risk.

He still wanted to know about the junior minister.

‘
He was infantile,
’
I said,
‘
in every conceivable respect.
’

‘
Like?
’

‘
Like politically. Like socially. Like conversationally. Women be-
longed on a different planet. He was barely out of the egg.
’

‘
Did he try it on?
’

I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to suppress a laugh.

‘
Yes,
’
I said.
‘
Since you ask.
’

‘
And?
’

I looked away for a moment. The houses across the street were in
deep shadow.

‘
We put these guys up for the night,
’
I said,
‘
if they really insist.
There
’
s a little private hotel we use. It isn
’
t the Ritz but I don
’
t think he
was interested in room service.
’

‘
So how did you handle it?
’

‘
I
told him to fuck off, politely of course.
’

‘
And did he?
’

‘
He had no choice.
’

‘
Why not?
’

I shook my head at last, refusing to go any further. It wasn
’
t my job
to fuel this inquisitive man
’
s fantasies, though his Tory chum had been
so legless that even a child could have fought him off.

Brendan was back in the CV again, his interest in my sex life
evidently at an end.

‘
Windsurfing,
’
he mused.
‘
What does it take to get to the nationals?
’

‘
Practice.
’

‘
And?
’

‘
More practice.
’

‘
Are you always so forthcoming?
’

‘
No, it
’
s just
…
’
I was still thinking about his previous line of
questioning,
’
…
how much do you really want to know?
’

‘
I
’
m not sure.
’
The sudden grin transformed his face again.
‘
I
’
ve
never tried it. It looks bloody wonderful and I always tell myself I
’
ll
have a go but somehow never get round to it. I need a bit of incentive,
someone who knows what they
’
re doing .. .
’

He let the sentence trail away. I grinned back, playing dumb.

‘
It
’
s like riding a bike,
’
I told him.
‘
You do it, and you do it, and you
do it, and one day it just happens.
’

‘
Just like that?
’

‘
Yes. It
’
s about balance. And confidence, too. You
’
d be fine.
’

I began to warm to the subject, moving briskly through the stages
that had taken me from novice to runner-up in the National Slalom.
In this respect, Poole Harbour had been heaven-sent, God
’
s gift to
board-crazies like me.

Brendan had abandoned the CV and was leaning back in the chair,
his hands behind his head, his feet on the desk. His eyes had an
extraordinary frankness and he couldn
’
t have made it plainer that he
fancied me. I was telling him about a friend of mine, a serious
contender for the Sydney Olympics, when he interrupted.

‘
We
’
re doing a new series,
’
he said,
‘
and we
’
re looking for a
researcher.
’

‘
A what?
’

‘
A researcher. A fixer. A gofer. A meeter and greeter.
’
A languid
hand indicated the
Luvvies
poster on the wall behind his right
shoulder.
‘
It
’
s a political version of that. Thought you might be
interested.
’

I heard myself stalling, playing for time, asking for more details. I
’
d
come to London to change the face of social documentary. This man
wanted me to tart around while politicians made fools of themselves.
He was telling me about the meeting he
’
d just had with some
commissioning executive. The working title for the new programme
was
Members
Only
and the people at the Beeb thought the concept
was brilliant. Politicians would role-play their way through carefully
scripted situations, each tailored to their particular foibles. The risks
were pretty obvious but, p
oliticians being what they were
they
’
d
gamble anything for the exposure. The series, said Brendan, would
roar away. The bloody thing couldn
’
t fail.

‘
I
’
m not quite sure I.. .
’

Brendan leaned forward across the desk.

‘
You can,
’
he said,
‘
I
know you can.
’

‘
But I
’
m not sure I want to.
’

‘
Why not?
’
He had his hand out for the video. I gave it to him.
‘
This
is OK, as far as it goes, but if you
’
re serious, really serious, then you
have to be around these guys, understand the way they work, what
drives them, what keeps them at it.
’

‘
Ego,
’
I said at once.
‘
And money.
’

‘
Of course, of course.
’
He was smiling now, indulgent this time, the
kindly uncle.
‘
But it doesn
’
t end there, believe me. These guys are more
complex than they seem and, like it or not, they matter.
’
He tapped the
cassette.
‘
If you
’
re really interested in change, in doing something, then
you have to start at the top. You want to change the world? Fine. You
think the guys we elect are a load of wankers? Terrific. But get to know
them first. Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted. Rule
number one.
’