Marjorie had short hair with a blue streak in her fringe. She wore linen trousers and clogs, with a peasant-style shirt and knitted waistcoat over it.
“I can smell the hemp from here,” Nigella muttered. “She’s lovely, though. She and her wife run an organicstrawberry farm out the back of Brimborne Upon Wylde. They’ve adopted two dyslexic Azerbaijani orphan girls.”
Marjorie gave a polite wave.
“Our next candidate is for the Labour Party, Dr Riz Patel,” Hetty said. If she had disdain in her voice for the Greens, she basically threw the card away that announced this guy.
“An Indian doctor, ground-breaking,” Nigella whispered, and I snorted despite myself.
Guy once again jumped up to greet the latest candidate. Dr Patel was … oh, actually … Dr Patel was pretty alright looking. In his late thirties with a surprisingly muscular build underneath his linen dress shirt and blue chinos. He bounded onto the stage with a sharp beard and dazzling smile.
“Well, I’d do him,” Sonia said to no one in particular.
There was a rustling beside me, and suddenly, I felt Nigella’s weight change as she turned in her seat. “You made it!” she said.
I turned to see who she was talking to and felt my lip curl out of instinct. My mortal enemy slash former lover, Simon Anson, slightly flushed from having to rush here, was taking his seat beside her at the end of our row.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he answered. He gave me a look. “Arden,” he said in a tone that was devoid of emotion.
“Simon,” I replied, keeping my eyes looking forward.
“You’re here, Simon. I was so worried you’d miss it, now that you’re off spying on people again,” Odette said, piping up.
“For fuck’s sake,” Nigella muttered and rolled her eyes.
“I don’t spy on people,” Simon said, giving a laugh.
Odette nodded and tapped her nose. “Course not.”
Sonia looked at me in want of an explanation. I shrugged. Posh people. Ain’t like I understand them either.
Nigella was in a matchmaking mood. “I wish you two would try being friends again,” she said to me and Simon. “If you got to know each other properly, I’m sure this … tension would break.”
Little did Nigella know we’d broken quite a lot of tension on my living room floor a few months back. The kind that involved me having carpet burns on my knees afterwards.
We both gave a non-committal noise in response.
Hetty was shuffling her cards on stage. “Our penultimate candidate is from the Liberal Democrat party, please welcome Ms Suzy Rabbit.”
Once again, there was applause as Ms Rabbit joined the others on stage. I saw Simon grimace as Guy did his recurrent jump up to greet her. Suzy Rabbit was a busty woman of about fifty with sandy blond hair. She wore a sensible dress and court shoes with a chunky beaded necklace that showed she was toning down her normally more acerbic style for today’s baby boomer audience.
“She’s good, she is.” Odette leaned over to tell us. “Her daughter was head girl at Tatiana’s school a few years ago. And she worked at the hospital in Warminster as an administrator, before that a nurse. She has that inside knowledge. Which means she’s very good at whipping those other lazy nurses into shape from what I hear – they’re so overpaid and spoiled—”
“The Lib Dems have come second in every election in this area since the end of the SDP,” Nigella informed me, speaking over Odette, thankfully. “But the gap has been narrowing every election. Last time they came within five points.”
“She’s in with a solid chance if Frobisher screws it up,” Simon said.
“But Guy will do well,” Odette said. “He’s so smart and is the natural choice.”
“Yeah, people around here will vote Tory rain or shine,” Sonia added.
“Our final candidate,” Hetty was saying, “is from the UKIP Party” – there were cheers and a few boos – “Mr Bob Thrall.”
Bob Thrall was a red-faced man in a pinstriped suit who shook Guy’s hand heartily as he stepped up and then instantly whipped out a hankie to wipe his perspiring brow. He hesitated before shaking Riz’s hand.
“Yikes,” I whispered.
“Runs a construction company in Blandford,” Nigella said. “Small bit of trouble with the taxman a few years ago, but I think he’s got used to living in the caravan now.”
