The Winter Rose (61 page)

And so they were in limbo. They barely spoke. She made sure she was
out of the house when he came to see Katie. He made sure he left before
she returned. Last week, though, he'd lost track of the time and had
stayed too long. She'd come into the hall just as he was leaving. She'd
nodded at him wordlessly and moved off toward the stairs, but he'd
caught her wrist and stopped her.

"I miss you," he'd said. "And I love you."

"Then why did you leave me?"

"You know why. There are some fights you can't win, Fiona. Even you."

"I can try, damn it!" she said, wrenching free of his grip.

"What will it take, Fee? What does Sid Malone have to do to make you
give up on him? Me warehouse is gone. Alf's dead. You were almost
killed. Your attacker was killed. What will satisfy you? Seeing him kill
someone himself?"

She had stalked off then, furious. Her anger, combined with her
stub-bornness, would not let her back down. Not yet, at any rate. But
soon, he hoped, for he hated living apart from her, hated being at odds
with her. She needed him, he knew she did. And he certainly needed her.
Everything he did felt pointless without her by his side. He was weary
in his body and weary in his heart. It had been a hard few weeks, a hard
campaign, a hard fight.

And now he wondered if it had all been for nothing. Would anything
change because of what he'd done? If Lytton won, would he follow through
on his promises? Joe didn't know. He didn't know anything any-more,
other than that he wanted to go home. To be welcomed by his wife.

To crawl into bed beside her. To tell her everything that had
happened. Just the two of them talking in the dark. He wanted to make
love to her and fall asleep in her arms. Instead, he fell asleep on the
hard desk again. It was dark in the room and very late when he felt a
hand on his shoulder, shaking him violently.

"Joe, you tosser, get up!" a voice bellowed.

"Jesus Christ, Jimmy, give me a minute, will you? I'm shagged," he said groggily.

"No! You have to come downstairs. Right now! It's finished, Joe. It's over."

Joe raised his head. He fumbled in his jacket pocket. "Hold on a mo'.
I've got me concession speech here somewhere. Lytton won, did he?"

"No, he didn't."

"You're joking! It's Lambert? Lambert's the new MP?"

Jimmy beamed at him. "No, you silly bugger. You are!"

Joe stared at him, stunned and speechless.

John Burns, a Labour leader and an adviser to Joe throughout his
cam-paign, burst into the room. "I've just had a telegram!" he shouted.
"Keir Hardie's taken Merthyr Tydfil and Richard Bell's won Derby. That's
three victories for the new Labour Party!" he crowed.

"Three?" Joe said. How could Burns be excited about three bloody
seats? The Tories and Liberals had undoubtedly won hundreds between
them.

"Three's a start, lad. In the last government we had only one seat.
We've tripled our presence! Pebbles can start avalanches, you know.
Labour's out of the gate and on its way! Today, three. Next time,
thirty, and the time after that, three hundred!"

"Crikey, Joe, get up, will you?" Jimmy said.

Joe struggled to his feet.

"We've got reporters downstairs," Burns said. "They want a speech.
Make it a good one. Photographs, too. Smarten yourself up, lad. I'll
tell them you'll be down in a few minutes."

As Jimmy and John trotted back downstairs, Joe straightened his tie
and raked his fingers through his hair. He tucked his shirt into his
trousers and buttoned his jacket. A bath and a change of clothes would
have been ideal, but this would have to do.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, preparing himself for what
was ahead. Excitement and emotion began to replace the weariness he'd
felt. He realized that he'd won. He'd actually won. He was an MP now,
part of something much bigger than himself, and he knew that after
tonight he would never be the same man again. But it was more than that.
He sensed that his city, his entire country, would never be the same
again. There would be celebrations tonight--here, in East London. In a
valley in South Wales. In a mill town in the Midlands. Burns was right.
This was the start of something. The Tories, the Liberals they'd all
courted the working man, they'd taken his vote, and they'd given him
nothing in return. Now workers would have a voice--a small voice, yes,
but a voice. Someone would speak for them, tell their story. Someone
would fight for them in Westminster.

It was a victory, at once small and monumental, and for Joe it was
bittersweet. He was proud, excited, beyond happy, but he wished Fiona
were here. He wanted to share this with her, just as they had always
shared everything else. He wanted to feel her arms around him, her hand
in his. He wanted to see her eyes shining ...for him.

This had to stop. They had to get back together.

He knew what to do. He would go to see Sid Malone himself. He would
go, not as Sid's brother-in-law, but as the new MP. He would go
alone--no police--and he would call a truce. They would talk. And he
would warn Sid what lay ahead if he did not shut up shop. He had no idea
if he'd suc-ceed or not, but he knew that the gesture alone would show
Fiona that he understood her, that he cared. He would try--for her.

Joe opened his eyes and headed downstairs. There was a feeling of
excitement in the polling room. Election workers were chattering madly.
Members of the press scribbled and smoked and looked at their watches.
Freddie Lytton, haggard and gaunt, was talking to them, trying to put a
brave face on defeat. Dickie Lambert had already left.

Joe was spotted immediately.

"Mr. Bristow! Can you give us a statement, sir? Mr. Bristow, over
here! Mr. Bristow, can you hold it right there? I need a photo."

Joe first went to Freddie and shook his hand. Freddie gave him a tired smile and congratulated him.

"Mr. Bristow, have you a speech?" a reporter shouted. "Any words?"

Joe turned to them. As he did, he caught a glimpse out of the
school's open doors to the street beyond. Men stood in it. His
supporters. Now his constituents. Working men who'd been standing there
in the cold for hours, who faced an early start in the morning.

"Aye, gentlemen," he said. "I've some words. But they're for them."
He hooked his thumb in the direction of the door. "For the people who
just made me their MP. You're welcome to join me outside if you want to
hear what I have to say."

John Burns heard him. He smiled, then hurried out ahead of him.

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the Honorable Member for Tower Hamlets--Mr. Joseph Bristow!"

For a split second there was a shocked silence and then a deafening
cheer went up. It grew, rolling down Brick Lane, not stopping. Hats went
up in the air. Grown men hugged one another like children. Some of them
danced. Lights went on in houses, doors and windows opened, people came
out and stood on their steps in their night clothes, and still it
didn't stop. Little kids rubbed their bleary eyes and bawled. Men opened
bottles of beer and toasted one another. Housewives banged pots
together. And still it didn't stop.

Joe finally held up his hands, trying to quiet them, trying to speak,
but they paid him no attention. He turned to Burns. The man was
grinning from ear to ear.

"See that, lad?" he shouted, clapping him on the back. "Know what it's called? Hope."

"Holy cow, Albie, that's Norman Collie!" Seamie said.

"Where?" Albert Alden asked.

"There! Halfway up the steps, hands in his pockets. See him?"

"He was with Mummery on Nanga Parbat, wasn't he?" Albie said.

"Yes, he was."

Seamie and Albie and everyone who knew anything about mountains knew
that five years ago Collie, Albert Mummery, and another British
mountaineer, Geoffrey Hastings, had made the first attempt at the
Hima-layan peak. Mummery and two of his Sherpas were buried in an
avalanche and never seen again. Collie and Hastings survived.

"Do you think we could talk to him?" Seamie said.

"I bet he only talks to the other mountain gods," Albie said. "Crikey, Seamie, look! There's Nansen!"

Seamie spun around. He saw the man walking across the street. A tall
Norwegian, with white-blond hair and a walrus mustache, he was hard to
miss. "Fridtjof Nansen," he whispered, awestruck. He took off his cap.

Albie laughed. "You're not going to genuflect, are you?"

"I might."

Nansen had been the first to cross the Arctic Ocean in an attempt to
reach the North Pole. When his ship, the Fram, had become hopelessly
icebound, he'd continued the journey on foot. He hadn't made the Pole,
but he had succeeded in pushing north to 86� 14N--the highest latitude
ever attained.

"I wonder who else is here?" Albie said.

"I don't know, but let's go in before all the good seats are taken," Seamie said.

The two men were fishing in their pockets for their membership cards
when a voice behind them called out, "Albie! Albie Alden, wait for me!"

Albie grimaced. "Oh, no," he groaned. "It's Willa."

"Where?" Seamie asked. He looked around. There was a wiry boy in plus
fours with a rucksack over his shoulder running toward them, but no
Willa.

"Hi, Albs!" the boy said, then he noticed Seamie. "Seamie? Seamie Finnegan! Is that you?" He kissed him on the cheek.

"Steady on, mate," Seamie warned, taking a step back.

The boy burst into laughter. "Seamie, you great bloody fool, it's me! Willa!"

"Willa? What happened to your hair?" The last time he'd seen her, at a
garden party at the Aldens' house more than a year ago, her long brown
curls had been neatly plaited and pinned. Now they barely grazed her
chin.

"I cut it off. It was always getting in my way. Mum had fits. Took to
her bed for a week. How are you, Seamie? It's been an age. What are you
doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Seamie explained that he'd left school--and why--and how his sister
had reacted to the news. Then he told her that he was staying at hers
and Albie's house until Fiona cooled down. Or until he got himself on
the Dis-covery Expedition. Whichever happened first.

Willa's eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked and Seamie noticed
that she had changed since he'd last seen her. She had only ever been
Albie's pesty sister, but now she'd become something more--beautiful.
When had that happened? Even her cropped hair and her brother's old
tweed jacket couldn't diminish her beauty.

"Do you think you can do it? Do you think you can get a place on the expedition?" she asked, when he'd finished talking.

"I mean to try. I've got a strategy. I've decided not to approach
Captain Scott. He won't give me the time of day. That's why I'm here
tonight. I'm going to approach Ernest Shackleton. He's a third
lieutenant in charge of holds, stores, and provisions. I know the best I
can hope for is a dogsbody job and he'll be the one handing them out.
If he turns me down, I'll keep trying. I won't take no for an answer.
I've got to go. I've got no choice. It's either that or move crates of
kumquats around my brother-in-law's warehouse."

Willa laughed. "I wish I were you, Seamie. How lucky you are. Imagine
if you do get to go. You'll go places no human being has ever gone
before. See things no one's ever seen."

Her large moss-green eyes held his and for a few seconds he could not
look away. Embarrassed, he finally broke her gaze and said, "What about
you, Willa? What have you been up to? Albie told me you were in
Scotland. On holiday with some friends."

Willa grinned. "I was. Sort of. I was in Scotland and my friends were
there, too. But they stayed in the hotel. I went to Ben Nevis. Cracker
of a mountain." Seamie raised an eyebrow. Ben Nevis, in the Scottish
High-lands, was the highest peak in Britain. Those who climbed it had to
be good navigators as well as good climbers for its weather was rough
and un-predictable and the routes were often obscured.

"Take the Ben Path, did you?" he asked.

Willa smirked. "The granny climb? No. I climbed the Carn Mor Dearg Ar�."

"Really?" Seamie said, trying his best not to sound too impressed.
He'd tried that route twice, and both times he'd had to give up because
of sheeting rain. "You must have had good weather."

Willa shook her head. "Sleet and rain and the wind blew a gale."

"Turn back, did you?"

"No. Took a bit of doing, but I got up." She laughed. "And got down again. It's the getting down part that counts, isn't it?"

"Look, you two, you can stay out here talking about climbs all night
if you like, but I'm going inside. I want a seat. See you later, Wills,"
Albie said.

"Wait, Albie!" she said. "I want to go with you. I rushed back just
so I wouldn't miss Shackleton's talk, but the train was late and I don't
have my card and I couldn't get home in time to get it. Let me come in
with you, will you? As your guest."

"Looking like that?" Albie said.

Men greatly outnumbered women at the RGS lectures but a few women
were in attendance this evening--all properly attired in dresses or
suits, overcoats and hats.

"Come on, Albie, be a brick!"

"You can't come in like that, Willa! What will people say? You're a
girl, not a boy. It's not proper. You'll get us all thrown out, and I
don't want to miss this."

Willa gave him a dirty look. She snatched Seamie's cap and put it on
her head, tucking her curly brown hair up under it. "Now I'm a boy, all
right?"

"Go home, Wills," Albie said through gritted teeth. "If Mum finds out
you were out and about in London dressed up like a bloke, she'll gut us
both."

"She won't find out. How will she?"

"She always finds out and I'm always the one who catches it."

"I won't go home," Willa said. "I'll wait outside. Right here on
these steps. In the dark. Prey to every robber and murderer in London.
Alone and defenseless."