Sing Like You Know the Words (47 page)

Tim greeted him brightly.

-Hi David. Nice morning for a
demo; could be warmer; never mind.

-What are you doing?

-It’s not what I’m doing mate,
it’s what you´re doing. Come to remind you about some basics. You
know what? Killing people is wrong, especially when there’s no good
reason for it.

-Tim, don´t make a fool of
yourself like this. I remember what you went through, but we´re
talking about Saddam Hussein here: the man is a mass murderer.

-Well kill him then, by all
means, just leave everyone else out of it. Oh, can’t do that can
you? Never mind. He´s a mass murderer; so what kind of murderers
will you and your friends be?

-I haven’t got time to talk
about this now.

-That’s alright, we’re not going
anywhere. We’ll see you later on.

After a day or two they somehow
became accustomed to protesters living outside the gates. The
others came and went, but Tim maintained a permanent vigil,
accompanied by a young girl who seemed to have attached herself to
him. When Patricia was working from home she invited them in for
tea. Tim accepted gratefully, but the girl seemed suspicious,
though she was quick enough to ask for use of the bathroom once
they crossed the threshold. Tim followed Patricia into the
kitchen.

-That sign of yours was a good
idea, she told him. The one that says, honk if you want to stop the
war. Our road´s been quite noisy for a few days. I flatter myself
that I live in middle England. I´d never have thought that so many
neighbours cared about anything other than work and shopping. Just
goes to show. Sugar?

-Two or three please, if you can
spare it.

-I think perhaps we can. But
aren’t you both a bit cold out there all the time?

-Edith was sleeping rough for a
month or two before we met; she’s tougher than me, but I manage. It
is nice to get inside for a minute though.

-She seems like a nice girl

-Good job you’re saying that
while she’s off having a pee. She wouldn’t take to being called
nice.

-But very young. How old is
she?

-I never asked. Why, is it
important?

-I suppose not.

-Have you got any cakes?

-Of course; just here. Help
yourself. Anyway, it’s good to see you looking so well. Last time I
saw you, well you looked like you were at death’s door

-I’m clean now if that’s what
you mean. Can’t afford not to be. There´s too much to do. Listening
to David and his friends talking shit has done me some good at
least. You should speak to him Pat. I know he doesn´t believe what
he´s saying. Even if he has only a little bit of influence, he
should use it. It could be like a snowball rolling downhill. It
only needs to be started off. Everyone knows that the war is a
fucked up idea: it takes a few people to admit it and then we can
all stop pretending to believe.

-You know we agreed we wouldn’t
talk about that.

Edith joined them.

-About what? she asked.

-It’s okay, we were talking
about trying to persuade my friend David not to be a prick.

-It’s useless talking. We should
be throwing bricks through the windows.

-Yeah, right on girl. I expect
you deliberately didn’t flush the toilet. But we should go. It was
nice to see you Pat. Remember what I said. We’re not going anywhere
so come out and chat, anytime. Got any smokes?

-I don’t.

-Just a last thought to leave
you with then. You remember the first time this happened. They
called it a war, but it was more like a killing spree. And it was
all over the television every day: reporters getting carried away
with excitement as they watched explosions from their hotels.
Remember that line of tanks and trucks heading back from Kuwait,
that was shot and bombed to pieces as they were trying to get home.
It was a six lane highway blocked with the wreckage of two thousand
vehicles. There were bodies in them, with all the flesh burned
off.

-I didn’t know what I was
supposed to feel. I was crying and I could remember being in the
South Atlantic on the boat with the planes coming at us. I thought;
the bastards have made a mistake, showing this. People won´t stand
for this being done in their name. But here we are, twelve years
later, and it’s kicking off again. And my friend is on television
telling everyone that this will all be justified in the name of
peace. And he tells me not to act like a fool.

There was no answer that
Patricia could give, but there was not much that she felt she could
say to David either. At first the protest had annoyed David, more
than Patricia expected. Later he was interested enough to ask
Patricia what they were saying, though he had no intention of
speaking to them himself.

-It’s just too easy for them, he
complained. All they have to say is that war is bad, as if we
didn´t already know. Nothing constructive about what we might do
instead. It makes me weary: a complex situation like this, and they
think it makes a difference if you hold up a banner and chant.

-Do you really think that anyone
who doesn´t have an alternative all worked out can´t have a valid
opinion? Patricia asked him.

-I don’t think opinions are much
use without knowing something about the subject.

-Protest isn’t about writing a
policy document David. That´s your job; that´s why you are the
government. A protest is about saying that you are going about
things in the wrong way. You find another way if it needs to be
done. It´s called democracy I think.

-Maybe you should be out there
with them.

-Maybe I should. Lawyers have
the same function you know, or at least they should have. That´s
the rule of law: it doesn´t tell you what to do but you have to
follow the rules. But you never had time for all that theory did
you? You were always in such a hurry to go out and make money.

-It was never just about the
money; you know that. And you know that in the end we have to
answer to someone higher than the people. We have to do what we
know is right.

-Don´t bring that into it. You
think there’s a god who could care less about your view on foreign
policy, or that you can know his wishes better than the people you
represent?

Later, a police officer called
at the house, eager to move the protesters on if David and Patricia
would make a formal complaint. It turned out that the grass verge
was part of their land and not attached to the public highway.
Patricia met him at the gate, talking with Tim and being harangued
by Edith, who was behaving as if she wanted to be arrested.
Patricia thanked the officer for his concern and told him that no
complaint would be made. In case he should be thinking of taking
matters into his own hands, she went on to remind him that the
right to peaceful protest was enshrined in law, and any trespass on
her land was clearly a civil matter outside the officer´s
jurisdiction. Tim and the officer looked equally confused, but both
nodded agreement and the policeman left.

So far as Patricia was
concerned, David would have to learn to live with the situation.
And though it seemed that the protest never caused him a moment´s
doubt about his own actions, eventually David seemed almost pleased
to have his old friend nearby, even as an enemy, and even if he was
living under a plastic sheet in the street.

One night, after dinner,
Patricia asked David if he thought they should invite Tim and the
girl in for drinks. David’s reply was wistful.

-I think he’s happier where he
is; out there with Edith or Emma, whatever her name is. He seems
ten years younger. I don’t know where he suddenly found the
energy.

Patricia didn´t answer for fear
of starting their argument again. It comes from having a cause that
you believe in she thought. Having a purpose can give you energy
you didn’t believe you had. She remembered a time when David had
known that, or at least she’d thought that he did.

Chapter Fourteen

It was unusual for Matthew to
receive a call from David in the middle of the day.

-Get yourself down to my office
Matt, I need your help. I’ll see you in thirty minutes

-What about work?

-This is work.

David’s voice had been different
from usual. His words were short and to the point, but the tone was
tense; worried even. David was always polite when he asked you to
do something, but normally he spoke with that confident ease that
made you know that it had never entered his head that you might
turn him down. Today he sounded almost pleading, and Matthew was
intrigued. He left the office as soon as he could decently get away
and drove straight to David’s house.

The office was what had once
been David’s snug; the place where they had spent so much time
drinking and talking, in a past that seemed very far away. There
was still a well stocked supply of alcohol, discreetly hidden away
in a long beechwood cabinet, but the old furniture had gone, with
the exception of one ruined chair with scuffed wooden arms and
cushions of faded green baize barely supported by the sagging
springs. Everything else about the room was modern and efficient
looking.

Something was very wrong with
David. He could not sit or stand still. Harold was already there
when Matthew arrived, frowning importantly but saying nothing. He
took his lead from David, and it seemed that David could not make
up his mind how to begin. He kept picking things up, and putting
them down; talking about inconsequential matters. It took a while
before he said anything about the reason for his call.

-I’ve had a very interesting
telephone conversation with one of my constituents, he began,
finally.

-It’s not like a politician to
worry about constituents, between elections I mean.

-Please: I don’t need sarcasm
just now. This man rang me last night: I don’t know him, and I’ve
never spoken to him before. I don’t even know how he knew that I’m
his member of parliament. He’s been living in Spain for a while.
The name may mean something to you; Mitchell Walcott. He seems to
think that his story would have been in the papers not so long
ago.

-Yes, there was something; let
me think. Maybe two years ago? Nothing much as I remember, just a
small businessman who ran away. He had a partner, an ex-police
officer, that’s why it made the news. The partner was disabled: he
was one of these have-a-go heroes: took on some thugs who were
burgling the office and they injured him quite badly. Walcott was
the bookkeeper. A few days after the robbery he took off with all
the cash in the business and left this poor chap in the lurch.

-That was the story in the
paper. The way Walcott tells it is a little different, but that’s
not important.

-What is important?

David threw up his hands and
then shrugged

-Who knows? Nothing probably. It
was a phone conversation and he was excited, not making a lot of
sense. I tried to steady him down, but then he went paranoid on me.
Said he couldn’t talk about it on the phone. He wants to see me in
person, or someone else he knows he can trust. Said he can’t get
out of Spain, and that his life is in danger. He told me that he
thought that maybe if enough people know his story, then maybe it
wouldn’t be worth him being killed to ensure his silence, but what
the story is, I don’t know. Some kind of high level cover up.

-David, when I left the office,
I was writing a story about two families that lived next door to
each other for the last fifteen years and now they’ve fallen out
over some bushes. An international conspiracy involving hit men
sounds more exciting. On the other hand, it’s just possible that
your caller is just a little crazy, or that he’s spent up and
trying to blag a free ride back home. Maybe he’s just fell out with
some of the local small time crooks. He sounds like the type.

-I agree, any one of those
scenarios is likely, but we have to check it out.

-Tell me why?

-I’m his member of
parliament.

-But tell me why you are
interested. Spare me all that guff about your responsibilities. You
must get as much attention from crazy people as I do, and this guy
probably doesn’t even vote if he’s living in …

-Madrid, he says, but he
wouldn’t give me an address or contact details. Says he’ll ring me
back tonight to suggest a time and place, if I can find a way to
make him feel safe.

-And where do I come in?

I can’t go myself. In any case I
could tell that he finds it hard enough to trust me so far as he
has. But you’re a local celebrity Matt: your name is in the paper
every night. He’ll feel that he knows you already, and he’s
desperate to talk to a journalist to get his story out.

Matthew considered this.

-Very flattering. Look, every
month I have to waste my time with at least one conspiracy
fantasist who gets past my assistant. I expect you hear from them
all the time. I don’t need to get on a plane to find another one.
In any case if Walcott seriously thinks I am the man to help him
break his story to the world’s press, he definitely is deluded. You
have to do better than that David. Tell me the real reason.

-Something about this is a lot
more important to him than he is saying, Matthew thought. Harold’s
looking like he wants to punch me, gripping the arms of that chair
so hard he might tear them off. That gives me a good feeling at
least.

-Think of it as a favour to me,
David replied. There’s something about the story that concerns me,
even if I don’t know what it is. Occasionally you just have to
trust to instinct. You’ll be travelling at my expense of course. A
paid for weekend in Madrid can’t be too terrible. You know, he may
not even show up, but at least if you go we can say we tried. On
the other hand you might get a good follow up story to that
burglary and absconding case, who knows. Check up on the partner
when you get back; it could be one of those sympathy pieces about
him rebuilding his life after being crippled by thugs, while his
pal is living it up in the sun. That sort of rubbish.