A political thriller, following the lives of the residents of Darke Street after a radical politician is murdered on their doorstep. The neighbours are thrown into turmoil, as each one is under suspicion- as well as every MP in the House of Commons.
Only one thing is certain: THIS changes everything.
I sat at the literal edge of my seat, watching the TV screen intently. The election had been just days ago; now the newscaster was announcing the results.
"West Lothian- Liberal Marxist Movement.
East Lothian- Liberal Marxist Movement..."
She went on, reading out each county from north to south.
"Glasgow East- Liberal Marxist Movement...
Dumfries and Galloway- Liberal Marxist Movement....
Yorkshire- Liberal Marxist Movement."
I started shaking in my chair. We were winning! For the first time in about 30 years, we were winning. It was all the other party's faults of course. They'd made such a mess of things, the public didn't know who else to vote for. Someone loyal and trustworthy. So they turned to our leader- Marcus Radivorski- and trusted him. A wise choice.
"Greater Manchester- Liberal Marxist Movement.
Greater London- Liberal Marxist Movement.
Derby and Kent- Liberal Marxist Movement."
"Yes!" I screamed leaping out my seat. "Oh, thank God, we've won!" Now we had a chance of freedom, Marxist-type freedom.
My wife stepped daintily in from the kitchen, looking frightened.
"I see you won," she whispered. I'm not in the party, of course, but it felt like a personal victory.
"Yes!" I grinned, "yes, we won!"
She sighed, and rolled her icy blue eyes. "So that's it then?" she asked, "Radivorski's in Parliament. You'll put the kids into one of his crackpot schools..."
"They're not CRACKPOT schools," I snapped, "they're educational institutions, where children learn the importance of liberty and Marxist theory-"
"It's brainwashing," was her reply. I scowled. I hated it when she was like this.
"I can't see why you're so cynical!" I spat, in her face, "that man is going to liberate our nation-"
"Oh here we go again! Another anti-authority rant. This isn't the Seventies, Jonathan! You should have better things to do than to stand in front of bulldozers and "give peace a chance!"She'd almost squared up to me now, her delicate shoulders were thrust back, her hands on her hips. An argumentative pose.
"Well, I can't see anything better than doing my part to get this country out of the mess the aristocracy put it into!" I blurted. I took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Look at us, Naomi," I said, softly, "here we are, in this tiny shithole of a flat-"
"Don't use that kind of language," she whispered, "the kids are in the next room-"
"That's irrelevant. The point is, we could have it so much better! With Marcus in Number 10, we could live in a proper house. Ben and Sam could have their own rooms! And you could go to night school, and I could get a good job-"
"Bullshit!" Naomi shouted, ignoring what she'd warned me.
"You're so hypocritical," I pointed out.
"Oh, really? Look who's talking, pothead!"
"Shut up, bitch!"
I let go of her, shoving her away from me. The news was still on, but I switched it of angrily, then turned to face her.
"I don't see what your problem is!" I cried, "they're just a party-"
"They're terrorists! They're extremists! They're so, so dangerous!" she began to weep, "and if you're still going to support them, and encourage our children to get invovled... then I can't live with you any more."
I stood still and stared at her. She was beautiful, there was no denying it. Blue eyes. Soft, thick blonde hair. She had an amazing figure, a perfect hourglass. And her face was astounding- her skin was pale like ivory, with not a single blemish ruining her visage. I loved her. Honestly, truly loved her.
"Please don't do this..." I murmered.
"It's for the good of my children," she replied. "I can't have them staying with a radical..."
And she packed her suitcase. Just like that. And I stood and watched as she thrust Ben and Sam's toys into a bag and left. The boys are only three and four, they probably thought they'd see me the next day. But Naomi assured me I'd never see them again.
I turned back, and slumped in my chair in front of the telly. I reached for the remote control, and switched it on. The news was still on, discussing the election results.
"Marcus Radivorski will be hosting a victory rally tomorrow, beginning in Darke Street at three o'clock."
I jolted out my chair again. Marcus Radivorski was making his speech... here? It was amazing how I still got excited about this, just after my wife had walked out with my kids. But then again, as Marcus had once said, "Liberty rises above all things".
"I might just go along to this rally, " I thought. It would be... encouraging.
But I had some people to call first. Some old friends.
I got up and went into the hall, where our- my- phone sat on a humble coffee table. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the handset and dialled a familiar number. The phone on the other side rang twice, then was picked up.
"Hi," I said, "It's Jonathan. I have something I need to arrange with you..."