The Candidate

The Candidate

Juliet Francis

Published by Juliet Francis.

First Edition Published 2015.

(c) Juliet Francis, 2015.

All rights reserved. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under any relevant copyright legislation, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

Cover designed by Caroline Pope.

Cover image provided with permission by Mike Taylor.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

For Mum and Dad

Thank you.

PROLOGUE

THEN

His last night at home was hot.

As he walked through town the final light from the long summer day touched, then left, the skyline. He rolled his shoulders, feeling his skin tighten, and the sharp sting of too much sun was a reminder of how he had spent the day. Enjoying the harbour on his father’s well-appointed ketch was not a bad way to while away a Saturday. But the perfect sailing conditions hadn’t compensated for his father’s criticism of what, for James ‘Mac’ MacNamara, was the pursuit of a longstanding dream.

Approaching Queen Street’s main intersection, Mac shot a look up the hill towards the glass tower where his father had his offices. He shuddered. His year or so playing at corporate law had been hell and he’d been glad to see the back of the place. Regardless of the old man’s reaction, resigning from the firm might have been his best career move yet.

Mac had tried hard to toe the line and live up to his dad’s expectations. He’d given law a decent shot, but had grown tired of pretending. What he wanted was a fierce, persistent dream, and he was his own man — it was time he chased his own ambitions.

Mac had always wanted to be army, and his father took that as a personal insult. The intense conversations of Mac’s teenage years had escalated into heated debates by the time he started university, and a real humdinger ensued when Mac signed up to the Army Reserve during his second year. For Mac it was middle ground: a way to satisfy both his own and his dad’s ambitions. Andrew MacNamara, however, hadn’t appreciated the compromise.

And anyway, Mac reminded himself, the gesture hadn’t been enough. He wanted more for his life than tinkering on the edges of the armed forces so he’d told his father that he was going full-time. Ever since — even on this, his last day at home — the campaign to change his mind hadn’t ceased.

Queen Street grew steeper. Mac picked up his pace and tried to let go of the frustration his father’s intractability caused. It was pointless going back over it. He’d wasted enough breath trying to get his support. More important things deserved his attention. Like selection, which was just around the corner. In spite of himself, Mac smiled. If his father knew the extent of Mac’s ambition he’d lose his shit completely.

And tonight. That was pretty damned important too.

Reaching his destination, Mac caught sight of his reflection and paused. Frowning, he wondered if he shouldn’t have gone to a bit more effort. The jeans worn soft at the knees hung off his 190 cm frame and while the dark green shirt picked out similar tones in his eyes, he needed a shave. He pushed a hand through his black hair and his frown deepened. How much did he really want this? Surely he would have prettied himself up a bit if he was truly intent on winning her?

‘You coming in, mate?’

Telling himself to stop second-guessing, Mac nodded to the bouncer and entered the building.

Rounding the short entryway he ran his hand up the smooth wood of the balustrade. He kept climbing and as the stairwell got busier, the heat of the day gave way to the heat from above. The half-open art deco windows looking over Queen Street provided some relief to patrons taking a breather from the partying further up but couldn’t disguise the heady, charged atmosphere. As he weaved past half-shouted phone conversations and those taking advantage of the dim light for less public assignations than the main bar could provide, Mac rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and wished he’d opted for a tee.

Reaching the top he glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. The argument with his dad had made him late.

As he stepped into the bar, the heady throb of music hit him hard. The place was packed; punters stood three or four deep waiting to be served while the tables that edged the perimeter were crowded. Beside the main entrance a live band belted out a sound that Mac would have typed as almost folk if it wasn’t for the bluesy overtones and a subtle edge of rock that ran through it. The lyrics, sung with a heartfelt intensity by a wild-eyed front man, soared over and through the crowd, setting the scene and upping the ante as only a good pub band could.

Mac scanned the room. Not at the bar … and not lucky enough to have nabbed a table overlooking city. He worked his way along the room. Finally, he saw her — tucked in on one of three stools edging the no-service area. And as it had a way of doing these days, his gut turned a slow, steady roll as he took Ginny in.

They’d been mates since school; he couldn’t pinpoint when his feelings for her had started to change. It had been subtle, a gradual awakening that once acknowledged, had quickly gained momentum. Now all he could bloody well do was hold on tight as it swept him downhill headfirst with the force of an avalanche.

One way or the other, it was going on the line tonight. Tomorrow he was leaving the city for the bach on the Coromandel Peninsula that his mum had left him when she died — the perfect setting for a self-imposed exile before he met his ambition head on and, if he was good enough, catapult himself into his future. But first, he needed to know if he had a shot with Ginny. He couldn’t leave until he did.

He pushed his way through the crowd towards her.

She sat hunched over her phone, texting fast. As he quietly and completely took her in he noted the two martini glasses — one empty and the other three-quarters full — and wondered how long she’d been waiting. Her messy length of dark brown hair was pulled carelessly back in a tail, and over her usual jeans a smoky grey top clung to her slim frame. The texting stopped and she looked up, doing her own scan of the room.

Seeing him, Ginny’s unashamedly pouty mouth turned up in welcome and he grinned in return.

Mac slid onto a stool, glad she hadn’t clocked his not-so-subtle voyeurism.

‘Hiya, Ginny — good to see you.’

‘You too, mate. Kept me waiting, though.’

‘Sorry, I got tied up with Dad.’

Familiar with the stormy relationship, she winced. ‘Ouch. You okay?’

‘Nothing new, Ginn.’ Mac tried and failed to grab the attention of a bar person. He glanced at the ‘No Service Area’ sign overhead. ‘Why do they bother putting seats here if you can’t get a drink?’ He turned back to her and enjoyed the jolt as their eyes met.

‘Is he still annoyed you won’t follow the light and sign up as a full-time suit?’

‘Yeah — he tolerated me being in the Territorials but only because he thought once I got a taste for law I’d give that up. He’s pissed off he hasn’t won his case, that’s all. Jen stood in my corner though.’ Mac was happy to give credit to his stepmother where it was due. ‘At least she agrees it’s my life to lead. Dad’s just stubborn and likes to argue.’

Ginny let out a laugh. ‘Like his son, you mean?’ Before he could counter the jibe she rushed on. ‘He cares, too, Mac. You’re his son, and it wouldn’t be normal if he was happy to see you join the army when you might have to go and … I don’t know … fight or something.’

He resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Fight or something? Yeah, he thought. Something like that.

It wasn’t usual but, as Army Reserve, he’d been eligible when that rare, almost covert invitation to apply for New Zealand’s elite SAS had come up. And he had applied, and had been accepted for the first stage of selection: a brutal, intense assessment that offered very poor odds for success. He hadn’t breathed a word of it to a single soul. Most of his mates — Ginny included — didn’t understand what he wanted for himself so he’d learnt to keep schtum. And anyway, Mac figured that by keeping quiet there would be fewer people to pity him if he failed, or like his father, front up to if he succeeded.

How Ginny figured in his becoming part of the top one percent in the armed forces, he wasn’t sure. Neither NZSAS nor Ginny would make a good mistress to the other, and although neither was guaranteed to become a reality, the two dreams were competing loudly.

He smiled at her. ‘Beer?’

‘Sure thing, cowboy. Let’s rack ’em up.’

He went to move off the stool and toward the service area when Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

‘No bother, Mac. I’ve got this covered.’ She rose up on her stool, stilettos balanced on the crossbar.

‘Hey, Jake!’ She gave a piercing whistle that made a couple of bartenders look over. One — a built-looking blond boy — grinned at Ginny and sauntered across, tossing a cloth over his shoulder.

‘Another martini, babe?’

‘No thanks.’ Ginny pulled a crumpled note from her back pocket. ‘Two Heinekens, please.’

Jake gave Mac a once-over, which Mac readily returned.

‘Babe?’ He frowned. ‘Know him well then, do you?’

‘How else would I keep myself entertained, and grab the last seats in the place? I let him work on his customer relations.’ Ginny caught the look on Mac’s face and gave him a playful push. ‘Hey, come on, Mac, loosen up. You have a beer and a seat. Be grateful that your best mate’s such a good flirt.’

She raised her beer in a half toast and took a drink. He matched her and they fell into easy chat. Mac knew her well though, and it was clear her mind was elsewhere. With only half an ear on what he was saying, she kept glancing at her phone.

‘Waiting for a call?’ Mac asked.

‘Sorry. Miles and I had another barney. It’s his turn to apologise.’

Mac took a drink, wondering how to play it. He’d never seen eye to eye with the long line of dropkicks Ginny had dated and this latest schmuck was no exception.

‘He’s a prick, Ginny.’

‘Mac.’ He heard the warning — loud and clear. ‘I’ve heard it before. Back off.’

‘You’re wasting your time with him, Ginn. And he is a prick. A married prick. And your boss.’

‘It isn’t that simple. He’s going to leave her. That’s what the fight was about. I’ve told him it’s me or her.’

Mac shook his head. ‘You’re a bloody smart woman, Ginny, but when it comes to men … you know better than to believe that shit.’ He placed his empty bottle on the bar. ‘He’s an arsehole. And a careless one at that.’ He stood up to order another round.

‘Careless?’ Ginny called after him. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

Mac leaned close so he could be heard over the band. As he moved in, so did she. Her big brown eyes looked straight at him, and the bow of her upper lip was inches away. His pulse, already unsteadied by the conversation, spiked as he clocked her proximity.

‘It’s careless to marry someone that doesn’t hold your attention longer than a few years.’ He pulled back, needing the distance. ‘Irresponsible to stay in a marriage you don’t want to be in anymore, and downright shitty to get involved with someone else before sorting your mess at home.’ He softened his tone when he saw he’d got her back up. ‘You deserve better than being someone’s bit on the side, Ginny.’

She stared him down and there was anger in her voice when she spoke: ‘Stop preaching, Mac. And go get me another drink.’

The wait to be served helped him to order his ragged thoughts. He’d struck a nerve, but pissing her off probably wasn’t the way to woo her.

‘Strike one, mate.’ Jake laughed and nodded at Ginny who was furiously shredding the label from her empty beer bottle. He took the money for another two beers. ‘Looks like you’re making excellent progress.’

‘Fuck off,’ Mac replied, and elbowed his way back.

‘Hey, look. I’m sorry.’ He placed the beer under Ginny’s nose as he sat down. ‘It isn’t you I’m angry at, it’s him.’

‘Yeah, I know. Thanks for looking out for me. But I can handle it. Dad.’

He took a drink, and so did she.

‘So,’ she said at last, ‘you may have dived off the corporate ladder but … well, things are looking up for me. I’ve been assigned to a new client. It’s a pretty big project.’

Grateful for the reprieve, Mac grinned at her. ‘That’s great, Ginny — congratulations.’ He knew how hard she’d worked to get where she was. A solid recruiter with a good firm, she was developing a strong reputation with her employer.

Ginny paused then said, ‘Yeah, well, Miles is helping me with it.’ She shot Mac a look and he realised there was no reprieve — she had just changed tack. ‘Married or not, he’s not so bad. Miles has done a lot to help me with this job. Taught me a lot.’

‘I bet he bloody well has,’ Mac muttered into his drink.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’

‘You could do a lot better, Ginn.’

‘Jesus.’ She shook her head. ‘Yeah, well, sometimes, so could you, Mac.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, you’re not exactly choosy when it comes to the ladies.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh, come on. ‘That last one was nothing short of a hussy. But you don’t see me shaking my finger at you, telling you to smarten up your act.’

‘Who? You mean Lucy?’ Mac raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s a bit strong, Ginny. She was hardly a hussy. We were just very … clear with one another about what was going on.’ He took a long pull on his beer. And no way was it going anywhere once it dawned on him that he’d fallen instead for one of his closest friends.

Ginny let out a snort of laughter. ‘Right. So it’s okay for you to go into something simply for a shag, but it’s not okay for me? Don’t be such a bloody hypocrite.’

‘Well, that’s the whole point, Ginn,’ Mac fired up again. ‘If it was just sex, then what would you care if he’s married or not?’ He glared, and she glared back. ‘Make up your mind what you’re after. One minute you’re after a commitment from the man, and the next you’re telling me it’s casual.’

‘Bullshit!’ Ginny got to her feet, narrowing her eyes. ‘Stop trying to make this into something it isn’t. You’re just not willing to afford me the same leeway you give yourself by the bucket load. What gives you the right to make a call about how I live my life? I sure as hell stay clear of the way you’re living yours.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with how I’m living my life, Ginn. My conscience is fairly clear.’

Ginny laughed, but not in a nice way. ‘I’m sure it is, Mac. I’m sure you sleep very easy once that outrageous ego of yours has been stroked by whatever piece of … flotsam you drag home. You’re a hypocrite.’ She turned to walk away.

Mac clamped a hand down on Ginny’s wrist. ‘Hold it, Ginn. There may be some truth in that. But at least I’ve got a bit of self-respect.’ Her eyes widened and she tried to pull away. ‘You may think you’re up for it, Ginny, but you’re not. I can see it written all over you. Every time these arseholes you attract like a fucking magnet get bored and move on. They’re just playing you, Ginn, and if you cared more about yourself you’d turn your back at the first bad line.’