audience. Christopher smiled, and glanced back at the photograph.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Maisie Sue, suddenly clutching at his arm. ‘There’s trouble brewing.’
The President had paused next to Charlie Smith, pointing to the dog and the door in an unmistakeable gesture of eviction. Charlie shrugged, stood up and said, loudly enough for everybody in the room to hear, ‘I just thought you could do with a few more voters in the audience, that’s all. But I’ve got better things to do with my time anyway.’
He walked out, the dog scurrying apologetically behind him. Just as they went through the door, Charlie bent and scratched the dog’s ears and said something to him. Probably telling him he had nothing to apologise for, thought Christopher. Unlike some dogs, who seemed to think they owned the place, Charlie’s dog had a constant air of disentitlement.
The President walked down to the front of the audience and headed for Jock McLean.
‘Come on,’ said Christopher to Maisie Sue. ‘Jock isn’t going to put up with this. We’d better make sure there isn’t any bloodshed.’
He had no idea how he would prevent bloodshed if it came to the point, but it seemed like the right thing to say. But before they could even get to the scene of the confrontation, Jock had scooped the wee white dog on to his lap. He glared at the President.
‘... not taking up any room,’ Christopher heard him say as they approached. ‘You should have a no dogs sign on the door if you didn’t want people to bring their dogs with them.’
‘It isn’t a case of having to have a sign on the door,’ said the President, sounding even more exasperated than he had before. ‘People should know not to bring their dogs to an election meeting. What if everybody brought their dogs? There could be a fight. It would distract people from the serious business of the occasion.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Jock. He held on tightly to the dog. ‘I didn’t come along hoping to hear anything serious. I was hoping for a fight. Not between the dogs, either. They’re not all that interested in politics. Usually.’
‘Just keep hold of him on your knee and it’ll be fine!’ snapped the President. ‘But this doesn’t mean everybody and his dog can come marching in here any time. This is a special concession on one occasion.’
Christopher was close enough to hear him mutter to a younger man with a handful of leaflets, ‘You’d think a retired teacher would have more sense – but they’re always the worst.’
‘Oh, my,’ said Maisie Sue again. ‘That’s one unhappy bunny.’
Maisie Sue’s voice tended to carry for quite a long way, and the President turned and glared at her. The younger man scuttled off towards the back of the room and the other man advanced towards the semi-circle of chairs where Amaryllis had engaged in conversation with a woman in a Fair Isle jumper. Christopher narrowed his eyes. There was something disturbingly familiar about the scuttling man.
‘I see they’ve let Young Dave out,’ said Jock McLean as Christopher sat down next to him.
‘What?’
‘Don’t look now,’ Jock hissed, perhaps sensing that Christopher was about to do just that. ‘He’ll know it was me that told you.’
‘Well, somebody was bound to tell me sooner or later,’ said Christopher.
Further along the row, Jemima sniffed in disparagement. ‘I don’t know how he’s got the nerve to show his face around here after what he did.’
‘It’s a wonder anybody’s mad enough to let him be part of their campaign,’ said the older Dave from his place next to Jemima. ‘But I suppose El Presidente thinks he can get away with anything.’
‘Aye,’ said Jemima, nodding. ‘He thinks it’s in the bag. Just because his family’s known in these parts. I could tell you things about his family,’ she added cryptically. ‘Things he doesn’t want coming out.’
She had lowered her voice to such an extent that they all had to crowd in to
‘Oh, dear,’ said Maisie Sue, suddenly clutching at his arm. ‘There’s trouble brewing.’
The President had paused next to Charlie Smith, pointing to the dog and the door in an unmistakeable gesture of eviction. Charlie shrugged, stood up and said, loudly enough for everybody in the room to hear, ‘I just thought you could do with a few more voters in the audience, that’s all. But I’ve got better things to do with my time anyway.’
He walked out, the dog scurrying apologetically behind him. Just as they went through the door, Charlie bent and scratched the dog’s ears and said something to him. Probably telling him he had nothing to apologise for, thought Christopher. Unlike some dogs, who seemed to think they owned the place, Charlie’s dog had a constant air of disentitlement.
The President walked down to the front of the audience and headed for Jock McLean.
‘Come on,’ said Christopher to Maisie Sue. ‘Jock isn’t going to put up with this. We’d better make sure there isn’t any bloodshed.’
He had no idea how he would prevent bloodshed if it came to the point, but it seemed like the right thing to say. But before they could even get to the scene of the confrontation, Jock had scooped the wee white dog on to his lap. He glared at the President.
‘... not taking up any room,’ Christopher heard him say as they approached. ‘You should have a no dogs sign on the door if you didn’t want people to bring their dogs with them.’
‘It isn’t a case of having to have a sign on the door,’ said the President, sounding even more exasperated than he had before. ‘People should know not to bring their dogs to an election meeting. What if everybody brought their dogs? There could be a fight. It would distract people from the serious business of the occasion.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Jock. He held on tightly to the dog. ‘I didn’t come along hoping to hear anything serious. I was hoping for a fight. Not between the dogs, either. They’re not all that interested in politics. Usually.’
‘Just keep hold of him on your knee and it’ll be fine!’ snapped the President. ‘But this doesn’t mean everybody and his dog can come marching in here any time. This is a special concession on one occasion.’
Christopher was close enough to hear him mutter to a younger man with a handful of leaflets, ‘You’d think a retired teacher would have more sense – but they’re always the worst.’
‘Oh, my,’ said Maisie Sue again. ‘That’s one unhappy bunny.’
Maisie Sue’s voice tended to carry for quite a long way, and the President turned and glared at her. The younger man scuttled off towards the back of the room and the other man advanced towards the semi-circle of chairs where Amaryllis had engaged in conversation with a woman in a Fair Isle jumper. Christopher narrowed his eyes. There was something disturbingly familiar about the scuttling man.
‘I see they’ve let Young Dave out,’ said Jock McLean as Christopher sat down next to him.
‘What?’
‘Don’t look now,’ Jock hissed, perhaps sensing that Christopher was about to do just that. ‘He’ll know it was me that told you.’
‘Well, somebody was bound to tell me sooner or later,’ said Christopher.
Further along the row, Jemima sniffed in disparagement. ‘I don’t know how he’s got the nerve to show his face around here after what he did.’
‘It’s a wonder anybody’s mad enough to let him be part of their campaign,’ said the older Dave from his place next to Jemima. ‘But I suppose El Presidente thinks he can get away with anything.’
‘Aye,’ said Jemima, nodding. ‘He thinks it’s in the bag. Just because his family’s known in these parts. I could tell you things about his family,’ she added cryptically. ‘Things he doesn’t want coming out.’
She had lowered her voice to such an extent that they all had to crowd in to
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