This Was A Man (34 page)

‘I’m determined to win a scholarship to the Royal Academy Schools.’

‘Bravo,’ said Emma.

‘Not good enough,’ said Grace. ‘We all know you’re going to achieve that. Raise the bar, young lady.’

Jessica hesitated for a moment, before she said, ‘I’ll win the Founder’s Prize.’

‘That’s more like it,’ said Grace. ‘And we’ll all be present when you accept the award.’

‘Your turn, Mama,’ said Sebastian, coming to the rescue of his daughter.

‘I’m going to join a gym and lose half a stone.’

‘But that was your resolution last year!’

‘I know,’ said Emma, ‘and now I need to lose a stone.’

‘Me too,’ said Giles, ‘but unlike Emma at least I’ve achieved last year’s resolution.’

‘Remind us?’ said Harry.

‘I swore I’d get back on the front bench and be offered a challenging portfolio now that Michael Foot had finally resigned and made way for someone who actually wants to live in
Number Ten.’

‘Which portfolio has Mr Kinnock asked you to shadow?’ asked Grace.

Giles couldn’t help grinning.

‘No,’ said Emma, ‘you wouldn’t dare! I presume you turned him down?’

‘I couldn’t resist it,’ said Giles. ‘So my New Year’s resolution is to frustrate, harass and cause as many problems as possible for the government, and in
particular its minister for health.’

‘You’re a rat!’ said Emma.

‘No, to be fair, sis, I’m a rat catcher.’

‘Time out,’ said Harry, laughing. ‘Before you two come to blows, who’s next?’

‘Freddie, perhaps?’ suggested Karin.

It had been Freddie’s first Christmas at the Manor House, and Jessica had mothered him like an only child, while Jake never seemed to be more than a few steps behind his new friend.

‘My New Year’s resolution,’ said Freddie, ‘will be the same this year, and every year, until I have achieved it.’ Freddie may not have intended to, but he’d
caught everyone’s attention. ‘I shall score a century at Lord’s, and emulate my father.’

Giles turned away, not wishing to embarrass the boy.

‘And once you’ve done that, what next?’ asked Harry, when he saw his oldest friend close to tears.

‘A double century, Sir Harry,’ said Freddie without hesitation.

‘It won’t be difficult to work out what you’ll want the following year, once you’ve achieved that,’ said Grace.

Everyone laughed.

‘Now it’s your turn, Karin,’ said Emma.

‘I’ve decided to run the London Marathon, and to raise money for immigrants who want to go to university.’

‘How far is a marathon?’ asked Samantha.

‘Just over twenty-six miles.’

‘Rather you than me. But put me down for five pounds a mile.’

‘That’s very generous, Sam,’ said Karin.

‘Me too,’ said Sebastian.

‘And me,’ added Giles.

‘Thank you, but no thank you,’ said Karin, taking a notebook from her pocket. ‘I already had Samantha down for five pounds a mile, and the rest of you will be expected to give
the same proportion of your income.’

‘Help,’ said Sebastian.

‘I’ll be coming to you last,’ said Karin, smiling at Seb before consulting her list. ‘Grace is down for twenty-five pounds a mile, Emma and Harry fifty pounds each, and
Giles one hundred. And Sebastian, as you’re chairman of the bank, I’ve got you down for a thousand pounds a mile. That adds up to –’ she once again consulted her notebook
– ‘thirty-one thousand, nine hundred and eighty pounds.’

‘Can I put in a plea on behalf of an immigrant art student from the new world, who isn’t at all sure who her parents are, and has unfortunately lost her scholarship?’ Everyone
laughed. ‘And what’s more, Freddie, Jake and I would each like to give ten pounds a mile.’

‘But that would cost you seven hundred and eighty pounds,’ said her father. ‘So I have to ask, how do you intend to pay?’

‘The bank will be requiring a portrait of its chairman to hang in the boardroom,’ said Jessica. ‘Guess who they’re about to commission, and what her fee will
be?’

Harry smiled, delighted that his granddaughter had regained her irreverent streak, along with her acerbic sense of humour.

‘Do I have any say in this?’ asked Seb.

‘Certainly not,’ said Jessica. ‘Otherwise what’s the point of being a father?’

‘Bravo, Karin,’ said Grace, ‘we all applaud you.’

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said Seb. ‘There will be a sub-clause attached to the contract. Not a penny will be paid if Karin fails to finish.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Karin, ‘and my thanks to you all.’

‘Who’s left?’ asked Emma.

Everyone turned their attention to Harry, who couldn’t resist making them all wait for a few more moments.

‘Once upon a time there was a remarkable old lady, who, just before she died, wrote a letter to her son suggesting that perhaps the time had come for him to write that novel he had so
often told her about.’ He paused. ‘Well, Mother,’ he said, looking towards the heavens, ‘that time has come. I no longer have any excuse not to fulfil your wish, as
I’ve just completed the final book in the William Warwick series.’

‘Unless of course your wicked publisher,’ suggested Emma, warming to the theme, ‘were to offer his susceptible author an even larger advance that he found impossible to
resist.’

‘I’m happy to tell you that won’t be possible,’ said Harry.

‘How come?’ asked Seb.

‘I’ve just sent the final draft to Aaron Guinzburg, and he’s about to discover that I’ve killed off William Warwick.’

Everyone was stunned into silence, except Giles, who said, ‘That didn’t stop Sir Arthur Conan Doyle bringing Sherlock Holmes back to life after his loyal readers thought Moriarty had
thrown him off a clifftop.’

‘The same thought did cross my mind,’ said Harry, ‘so I ended the book with William Warwick’s funeral, and his wife and children standing by the graveside watching his
coffin being lowered into the ground. As far as I can recall, only one person has ever risen from the dead.’

That silenced even Giles.

‘Are you able to tell us anything about the next novel?’ asked Karin, who, like everyone else, was hearing about the death of William Warwick for the first time.

Once again Harry waited until he had everyone’s attention, even Jake’s.

‘It will be set in one of the Russian satellites, probably Ukraine. The first chapter will open in a suburb of Kiev, where a family, mother, father and child, will be having supper
together.’

‘A boy or a girl?’ asked Jessica.

‘Boy.’

‘Age?’

‘Haven’t decided yet. Fifteen, possibly sixteen. All I know for certain is that the family are celebrating the boy’s birthday, and during the meal, not exactly a feast, the
reader will learn about the problems they face living under an oppressive regime when the father, a trade union leader, is considered to be a trouble-maker, a dissident, someone who dares to
challenge the state’s authority.’

‘If he’d been born in this country,’ said Giles, ‘he would have been the leader of the opposition.’

‘But in his own country,’ continued Harry, ‘he’s treated like an outlaw, a common criminal.’

‘What happens next?’ asked Jessica.

‘The boy is about to open his only present, when an army truck comes to a screeching halt outside the house, and a dozen soldiers break down the door, drag the father out on to the street
and shoot him in front of his wife and child.’

‘You kill the hero in the first chapter?’ said Emma in disbelief.

‘This is going to be a story about the child,’ said Grace, ‘not the father.’

‘And the mother,’ said Harry, ‘because she’s an intelligent, resourceful woman, who’s already worked out that if they don’t escape from the country, it
won’t be long before her rebellious son will seek revenge, and inevitably end up suffering the same fate as his father.’

‘So where do they escape to?’ demanded Jessica.

‘The mother can’t decide between America and England.’

‘How do they decide?’ asked Karin.

‘On the toss of a coin.’

The rest of the family continued to stare at the storyteller.

‘And what’s the twist?’ asked Seb.

‘We follow what happens to the mother and child, chapter by chapter. In chapter one, they escape to America. In chapter two, England. So you have two parallel and very different stories
taking place at the same time.’

‘Wow,’ said Jessica. ‘Then what happens?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Harry. ‘But it’s my New Year’s resolution to find out.’

‘T
EN MINUTES TO GO
,’ said a voice over the loudspeaker. Karin kept jogging on the spot, attempting to get into what the seasoned runners
called ‘the zone’. She’d put in hours of training, even run a half marathon, but suddenly she felt very alone on the starting line.

‘Five minutes,’ said the voice of doom.

Karin checked her stopwatch, a recent gift from Giles. 0.00. Get as close to the front as you can, Freddie had told her. Why add unnecessary time or distance to the race? Karin had never
considered the marathon to be a race, she just hoped to finish in under four hours. Right now, she just hoped to finish.

‘One minute,’ boomed the starter’s voice.

Karin was about eleven rows back, but as there were over 8,000 runners, she considered that was near enough to the front.

‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!’ the runners all shouted in unison, before a klaxon blared ominously. Karen pressed the button on her stopwatch and set
off, swept along by an enthusiastic tide of runners.

Each mile was marked with a thick blue line stretching across the road, and Karin completed the first mile in under eight minutes. As she settled into a steady rhythm, she became more aware of
the crowds lining both sides of the course, some cheering, some clapping, while others just stared in disbelief at the mass of human flesh, of all shapes and sizes, which was passing them at
different speeds.

Her mind began to drift. She thought about Giles, who’d driven her to the little village of tents earlier that morning to register, and who would now be out there somewhere standing in the
cold, waiting for her to appear among the also-rans. Her thoughts turned next to her recent visit to the House of Lords to hear the health minister answering questions from the despatch box. Emma
had coped well, and in Giles’s opinion had quickly got into her stride. As Karin passed the halfway mark, she hoped she was also in her stride, although she accepted the winner would already
be crossing the finishing line.

Giles had warned them that Karin was unlikely to complete the course in under four hours, so the family had all risen early that morning to make sure they could find a spot
where she was certain to see them. The previous evening Freddie had been on his knees preparing a placard that he hoped would make Karin laugh as she staggered past them.

Once Giles had returned to Smith Square after dropping his wife off at the A–D registration tent in Greenwich Park, he led her little band of supporters to the back of the Treasury
building and found a front-row place behind the barriers on Parliament Square, opposite the statue of Winston Churchill.

Karin was now approaching what was known by all marathon runners as the wall. It usually came at around 17 to 20 miles, and she’d heard so often about the temptation to
try and convince yourself that if you dropped out, no one would notice. Everyone would notice. They might not say anything, but Sebastian had made it clear that he wouldn’t be parting with a
penny unless she crossed the finishing line. A deal’s a deal, he’d reminded her. But she seemed to be going slower and slower, and it didn’t help when she spotted a 30 miles per
hour road sign ahead of her.

But something, possibly the fear of failure, kept her going, and she pretended not to notice when she was overtaken by a letter box, and a few minutes later by a camel. Go, go, go, she told
herself. Stop, stop, stop, her legs insisted. As she passed the 20-mile mark, the crowd cheered loudly, not for her, but for a caterpillar who strolled past her.

When Karin spotted the Tower of London in the distance, she began to believe she just might make it. She checked her watch: 3 hours 32 minutes. Could she still complete the course in under four
hours?