For Evil to Flourish. Dubya Ph.D Lorimer
Allan spoke directly to his local MP.
'What about you, Mr Wellington, would you support or condemn someone who injured a burglar in their own home?'
'Clearly I could never condone the use of excessive force in these circumstances, but I would support anyone the courts felt were acting reasonably. However, a point I would make is the commitment this government is making towards the causes of crime, mainly poverty, particularly amongst the youth of today.
By eliminating the hardship many youngsters face, we can steer them away from a life of crime, reducing the probability of the kind of situation you describe occurring.' Keith Boswell jumped to his feet.
'What would you know about hardship among the young?'
'You lived a life of privilege, and didn't even know it. You probably thought everyone went to private school like all your friends, neighbours and relatives, with your skiing holidays and your trips abroad, your tutors to make sure you got to university.....'
'This has got nothing to do with my upbringing...' Wellington was trying to say.
Boswell ploughed on,
'Or if you didn't make it to university, one of daddy's friends would find a cushy job for you at their firm. The chances are that the only person you ever met who lived in a council house was the cleaner or the gardener! And yet you think you can empathise with some kid growing up on a tough estate in a household where nobody has a job! The nearest thing to hardship you ever experienced was a bad zit before a hot date, and yet, for the kids who have nothing, you even took away the slim chance they may have had to go to university. Took away the chance to make a better future for themselves, by increasing tuition fees beyond the reach of all but the middle classes.
At least some of us here have an idea about dealing with hardship, some of us know what it's like to scrape down the back of the sofa for a few pence to buy a loaf of cheap bread and a tin of beans......'
Wellington was now rolling his eyes in mock despair, infuriating Boswell even more,
'Oh yes, you can laugh Mr Wellington, the MP who had the brass neck to claim expenses for the cost of a landscaper to plant a flowerbed in his front garden displaying his party's logo in blooms! And you still seriously expect us to trust you, of all people, to do the best for our kids! I don't think so.'
'I would point out that I paid back every penny of that expenses claim.' Wellington protested.
Allan Ross decided that he had heard enough.
'This lot would put tits on a milk bottle.' he muttered under his breath before getting up to leave. As he headed for the door Chalky Whiteside caught his eye, made the universal sign for “Fancy a pint”, Allan nodded and they headed for the door together.
Chapter 3
Julie watched David's Porsche pull away, waving just before it disappeared out of the gymnasium car park, then climbed into her own car. She sat for a moment staring into space, feeling the euphoria gradually subside, to be replaced with an overwhelming sense of guilt. She thought about Allan. And about David. And about the mess she was getting herself into.
It had been so easy to convince herself that this was no sordid little affair. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so alive, so desirable, so in love. David made her feel like a teenager again. She found herself watching out for him at the gym, or at the bar everyone seemed to end up in afterwards, and she pined like a silly schoolgirl when he wasn't around. He appeared to find her interesting and funny. They had real conversations instead of the monosyllabic grunts the family seemed to exchange at home.
Her reverie was broken by a group of skateboarding school kids hurtling past, squealing with excitement. She anxiously scanned their faces, checking that John and Mandy weren't among them.
Finally, she came to a decision, and flipped open her mobile.
'Emily? Hi, it's Julie here, how are you doing?'
Julie had a favour to ask of Emily. A favour in return actually.
They had first met a few weeks ago, not long after Julie had started a keep-fit course at her local gym. Emily was of similar age, married, and rather ironically considering she had no kids of her own, ran a children's nursery business. Her husband George was a businessman, (Julie rather got the impression he was more married to his work than he was to Emily, which didn't seem to bother Emily too much).
Julie had been a little puzzled when Emily received a call on her mobile one evening, and began speaking in a language Julie didn't recognise. Clearly, whoever was on the other end was upset, and at first Emily was being sympathetic, but gradually her voice turned harder, until she sounded quite angry. After the call was over, Emily explained that her business also supplied au pairs, and she had been dealing with a Romanian girl who was having problems.
'Some of them are just silly girls, you know, and they get upset at the slightest thing,' she explained, 'Sometimes you have to be a big sister to them, a shoulder to cry on perhaps, and other times you have to play the tough headmistress!'
Attractive and outgoing, Emily would flirt outrageously with the guys at the gym, always knowing the right thing to say or do to have them eating out of her hand. Julie would notice them attempt to pull in their stomachs, and exercise just that little bit harder when Emily wiggled past. And if Julie joined her in the wine bar afterwards, they were never short of admirers queuing up to buy them drinks.
She was slightly shocked, though, when Emily grabbed her arm recently, pulled her aside and told her in a conspirational whisper,
'Anyone asks, you were with me in Dino's wine bar on Tuesday night after the gym. Until about nine thirty.'
Julie arched her eyebrows in surprise,
'Something I should know about? Or someone?'
Emily grinned, tapped the side of her nose with a finger.
'Better you don't know.'
Now it was Emily's turn to repay the favour, something she seemed more than happy to do. Of course she was curious, but Julie stood firm.
'Better you don't know.'
Emily laughed,
'Hah! Got the message babes, don't worry, it'll be our little secret.'
In the Cross Keys public bar, Allan got the drinks in, while Chalky made himself at home at a table next to Rob, a salesman at the local Ford dealership and Jim, a workmate of Allan's.
'How was the meeting, Chalky?'
'Usual crap. If they're not fighting one another, they're covering their own arses.'
Chalky had been a manager at Rutherfords, formerly the biggest factory in the area before being badly hit by the recession, and forced to close down more than a year ago. Now into his mid fifties, he had struggled to find another job, but kept himself occupied with some voluntary work, as well as being a committed member of the local neighbourhood watch scheme, and a familiar face at community meetings. He also ran the Cross Keys football team which included Allan, Rob and Jim.
Rob was always complaining that this season would be his last, that his knees just weren't up to it any more.
'Could hardly walk into work on Monday morning, just getting too old for this lark!' was a familiar cry from him.
Privately, Allan was starting to find himself agreeing with him, although pride would never let him admit it, not while Chalky was running around keeping pace with the younger players like Jim.
'Allan here managed to put the cat among the pigeons though,' said Chalky as the aforementioned arrived at the table with the beers.
'Told everybody that any