Heads You Win

“I sometimes wish,” said Sasha, when he rose to reply, “that Ms. Hunter would, just for once, take a long-term view and look beyond next week’s election. The present average life expectancy in this country is seventy-three. By the year 2000, it will be eighty-one, and by 2020, when I will be sixty-eight, and eligible for the state pension myself, it is predicted to be eighty-seven. No government—of whatever color—will have the resources to keep raising the old-age pension year on year. Hasn’t the time come for Members of Parliament to tell the truth about such difficult and important issues as this, and not to spout platitudes, in the hope that they will scrape home at the next election? I’m an economist by profession, not a lawyer like Ms. Hunter. I will always tell you the facts, while she will always tell you what she thinks you want to hear.”

When he sat down, the applause suggested that there was no clear-cut winner of that round.

“There’s time for just one more question,” said Munro, pointing to a young man seated on the aisle.

“Do either of you think Merrifield United will ever win the FA Cup?”

The whole room burst into laughter.

“I’ve been a supporter of ‘The Merries’ since I was a child,” said Fiona, “and my father left me his season ticket in his will. But for fear of being told by my opponent that I’m only seeking cheap votes, I’ll admit that I think it’s unlikely we’ll win the cup, but I live in hope.”

Sasha took her place. “It was a magnificent achievement for Merrifield to reach the third round of the cup last year,” he said. “Joey Butler’s goal against Arsenal was a joy to behold, and no one could have been surprised when the Gunners offered him a contract. I was equally delighted that the board decided to use their cup windfall to build a new all-weather stand. But if I’m fortunate enough to become your member, don’t be surprised if you still find me standing on the terraces cheering on the home team.”

The young man who’d asked the question didn’t hide whom he’d be voting for, and Sasha felt the contest was back on an equal footing. Everything now rested on their closing remarks.

“As Mr. Karpenko spoke first at the opening of these proceedings,” said Munro, “I shall call on Ms. Hunter to make her closing statement.”

Fiona put aside her notes and looked directly at the audience.

“It seems I’m not allowed to mention the fact that I’m a local girl and that my opponent doesn’t come from this neck of the woods. I also mustn’t remind you that I beat Mr. Karpenko for the presidency of the Cambridge Union, and I beat him again at the by-election following my father’s death. And when winning this constituency became a tougher proposition for my party, I didn’t run away. But I can tell you, if Mr. Karpenko loses this election, you will never see him again. He will go off in search of a safe seat, whereas you know for certain that I’ll be here for the rest of my life. The choice is yours.”

Half the audience rose to cheer her, while the other half remained seated, waiting to see if their champion still had any arrows left in his quiver.

Sasha only had a few moments in which to consider how to counter such a brilliant and simple message, although he had no doubt that if Fiona lost, she would also be looking for a safe seat elsewhere. But he couldn’t say that, because he couldn’t prove it. The packed hall waited in anticipation, one half willing him to succeed, the other half hoping he would stumble.

“Like my father,” he began, “I’ve always believed in democracy, despite being raised in a totalitarian state. So I’m happy to let the voters of Merrifield decide which of us they consider best qualified to represent them in the House of Commons. I only ask that you make that choice based on which candidate you consider will do the better job, and not simply on who has lived here the longest. Naturally I believe that person is me. But if living in Merrifield is proof of commitment, I want you all to know that last week I completed the purchase of a house in Farndale Avenue, and that like Ms. Hunter, I look forward to spending the rest of my life in this constituency.”

Chester Munro waited for the applause to die down before thanking both candidates. “And I’d also like to thank you, the audience,” he said, but was interrupted by a young woman who appeared from the wings and handed him a slip of paper. He unfolded it and considered the contents before announcing, “I know you will all be fascinated to learn that a TV poll taken immediately following this debate shows Ms. Hunter’s support on forty-two percent and Mr. Karpenko also on forty-two percent. The remaining sixteen percent are either undecided or will vote for other parties.”

The two candidates rose from their places, walked slowly toward each other, and shook hands. They both accepted that the debate had ended in a draw, and they now only had a week left in which to knock out their opponent.

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