The Knives (10 page)

‘Aw, for crying out loud, what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Sorry, do I have all of your attention now?’

Andy had muscled in rapidly to seize Madolyn’s arm. ‘Give me the key, miss.’

‘Not until – don’t touch me! – this is a peaceful protest, okay?’

Blaylock gestured ruefully as far as his shackled hand would permit. ‘So what’s your next move?’

‘I would like five proper minutes of your time, please.’

It struck Blaylock that no one was watching – that Andy might yet hoist up this slip of a girl and haul her to the car where they could conceivably hack off the links. And yet, he thought better.

‘Okay, five minutes, if that’s the end of this caper.’

Andy’s brow furrowed. ‘Sir, this is not—’

‘It’s alright, Andy, Ms Redpath and I will go and speak in the back of the car, so long as she’s got the key.’

Ms Redpath nodded curtly. And so they stepped out together, absurdly linked, and trotted down the short steps to the Jaguar, Martin at the wheel looking thoroughly tickled by the spectacle.

‘Where did you get these?’ Blaylock asked her, to break the stiff silence.

‘From a sex shop in Soho. Surprisingly sturdy, aren’t they?’

As they sat, Blaylock massaged his wrist and could see Andy’s stern eyes in the rear-view mirror as Madolyn unbuttoned her coat so far as to reveal a plain grey pinafore dress.

‘You’re a lawyer, right?’ he tried scolding. ‘Why couldn’t you just arrange to come talk to me like everyone else? I’m not such an unreasonable man. But Andy here is a tougher proposition.’

Madolyn only raised her eyes as if summoning the strength to have congress with fools.

‘Okay, five minutes then, tell me about …’

‘Eve Mewengera. She’s from a poor village but she went to Nasret, studied, became a journalist. Her village has farmed for generations – mango, banana, papaya. She went back there and found the army had moved in, was pushing her family and everybody
else off their land for some big-money foreign interest. Anyone who tried to protest was harassed and beaten. Eve tried to report it and she got arrested for sedition, did three months. In prison she was raped by a guard. Friends of hers died. Once she got out they arrested her mother. So she scraped some money together, flew to London, applied for asylum – and she was arrested. After the usual back and forth with your offices her application was rejected and they hauled her off to Blackwood, where she’s now awaiting a flight back to hell. And she is being treated appallingly.’

‘The facilities are as functional as we can make them. That’s not taken lightly.’

‘We can argue that another time. I’m taking about Eve being sent to her death.’

Blaylock felt pressed to think quickly. There was something in the narrowing of the gaze she trained upon him, the forensic bullets she fired, that he found impressively focused, even daunting.

‘If we and the courts felt she didn’t qualify for protection then she can’t stay. She has an appeal, surely? Things can happen right up to the wire.’

‘Based on what she’s been through, she has no grounds for hope.’

‘Ms Redpath, you talk like her fate is sealed. This is not a dictatorship we’re talking about, it’s a government with whom we have bilateral agreements, we can get assurances she won’t be harmed.’

‘Oh please, they won’t be worth the toilet paper they’re written on.’

‘Well, then what can I possibly do for you?’

She produced a thick black ring-binder from her bag. ‘It’s not for me. Just look at Eve’s case. Obviously you can stop her removal.’

‘No, no, it’s not for me to interfere with a case that’s gone through the proper process. If I open up one—’

‘I know, act justly once and you’d end up acting justly all the
time. Anarchy, right? Then you would have to stop being oblivious to human pain and start seeing people as people, not just statistics that get in the way of your send-’em-home regime—’

She had riled him. He raised a reproving finger. ‘Now you’re out of order, I am not “oblivious to human pain”. Where do you get the nerve?’

She considered. ‘I’m sorry. I withdraw that.’

The ring-binder lay between them. Blaylock stared at it, sceptical, feeling her eyes still on him.

‘Okay. I will read your material. If I find grounds for concern, that something ought to be done that could be done – I will get back to you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But, to be clear, this is between you and me. If I read in the papers that your organisation has “got me on the spot” or “backtracking” or whatever, then all bets are off.’

‘Fine. My organisation doesn’t need publicity. This is Eve’s life, but there are many more like her, I won’t count it as some triumph to get you to pay attention. But if you can’t see the injustice here then you don’t need me to make your life any worse.’

Blaylock, tired of the joust, accepted the black ring-binder.

Andy, visibly unhappy, turned in his seat. ‘Sir, can I just confirm, you’re really content to leave the matter this way?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Restorative justice, right? I’ve no big issue with Ms Redpath’s behaviour. Consider me a satisfied victim.’

Madolyn nodded coolly and slipped from the car. Blaylock watched her re-pocketing her sex-shop handcuffs as she trotted back up the steps to the Excelsior.

Geraldine and Becky Maynard both stood by Blaylock’s door wearing matching looks of mournfulness as he strode toward them from the lift, still clutching Madolyn Redpath’s dossier.

‘Griff Sedgley just called,’ said Geraldine. ‘To say the Supreme Court granted the Bojan Bazelli appeal. Unanimously.’

‘Right. Great. Does Griff think we’re beaten, then?’

‘He said no further action would be in our interest.’

Becky pressed in. ‘I’m afraid a few papers have been on at me about your ex-wife. Too late for the
Post
but we can expect the broadsheets to say something. What would be our statement …?’

Blaylock exhaled his displeasure. ‘“We are disappointed with the court’s decision.”’

‘Is that it?’

‘Obviously if they want to say my ex-missus has given me a kicking round the courts then they’re welcome, whatever.’

Geraldine tried a soothing tone. ‘David, the Judicial Office says could you possibly see Lord Waugh at his
squash club
tomorrow morning? Eight thirty? It’s in Highgate.’

‘Jesus. Okay. Whatever. Am I meant to bring kit?’

‘I’ll check. Don’t forget you need to be at the Commons for seven?’

Blaylock grunted, having managed to forget the three-line whip that required him to attend the evening vote in support of government amendments on a Schools Bill. Worse – he now recalled – he had agreed to meet a delegation of backbenchers afterward, at the behest of his Parliamentary Private Secretary Trevor Parry, a notably sharp-elbowed Member who had coupled
his fortunes closely to Blaylock’s own.

‘Rory and Seema are waiting for you inside.’

‘Eh?’ Now Blaylock was vexed. He had not requested a delegation.

Rory Inglis, Director of Counter-Extremism Strategy, rocked gently backward in a chair at Blaylock’s meeting table, his fingers laced contemplatively across his white shirt. A Foreign Office veteran, still youthfully bright-eyed and pink-cheeked under a thinning flaxen fringe, when he was not notably deep in thought Inglis specialised in tossing pitying smiles in the direction of those who failed to think so deeply. It was with such a smile that he now greeted the Minister.

Blaylock, though, was looking at Seema Hassanli, one of Inglis’s most diligent ‘community officers’, sober in her black suit and Calvin Klein spectacles, her grave face framed by a black
hijab
.

‘Hi David,’ Inglis chirped. ‘I asked Seema along because she has a good eye on what I guess might be bugging you.’

‘There’s a few things you and I need to discuss first. If you don’t mind.’

‘Okey-doke. Seema, sorry, give us ten mins?’

Lips pursed, Seema gathered her files and departed. Absently Blaylock walked to his desk and set the Redpath file atop his in-tray. Hearing his door click shut he turned back to Inglis.

‘I had Sheikh Hanifa in yesterday, all het up again about Islamic societies on campus again. With good reason. And, of course, with al-Kasser back in the media – I feel I need to get my head straight on our counter-extremism agenda. What we’re doing and why.’

‘Gosh. As drastic as that?’

‘I don’t understand what we spend and what we get back. For instance – the Council of Student Societies, we work with them, right? We fund institutes who go and put inflammatory speakers in front of students. Some of those students, we’ve got them on
surveillance, I sign warrants on them. There are so many groups, and bloody acronyms, alphabet soup. Then I find one that we thought was fine is peddling anti-Western sentiments, and one I never trusted anyway has guys talking out of both sides of their mouths … And we get shot of one lot then they resurface under another bloody acronym …’

Blaylock felt he had gone on too long yet was waiting for Inglis to nod, indicate some sympathy or at least un-bridge his gnomic fingers. He waited in vain.

‘My point, Rory, is that we pitch a big tent and some strange birds come in to shelter. Do you disagree? Or are you fine with it?’

‘Some of these groups … Remember, they’re not monolithic, not exclusive, some of them find it as hard to run their ship as we do ours, right? They can’t always get everyone on-message. But, on the whole, it’s better we know what they’re up to. And show them we’re listening.’

‘I don’t want tolerated snakes in our midst.’

‘I hear you, David, but ask yourself, who
do
we want? Some kindly dragoman to reassure us? A nice old-school guy like Hanifa? Sure, but there’s a limit to what he can do. Or we could just talk to all the bright young Muslim guys and girls who are into liberal democracy and separating church and state. But that’s just what we want to hear.’

‘The justification for this spend is to counter extremist views, Rory. What’s that for, if not precisely to say that liberal democracy is better?’

‘It’s a lovely aspiration. But a long, long game. You have to try not to get agitated, see this as an ongoing operation. I understand you got in a strop with the Beeb over, what’s-his-face, Abu Blah-Blah?’

‘Abou Jabirman – Desmond.’

‘Right. I just wouldn’t go there if I were you.’

‘That’s exactly what Phyllida said.’

‘Well, there you go. My point is, don’t imagine young Muslims are filled with radical fire whenever he opens his big mouth. Radicalisation is a far more complex process, it takes peer group approval—’

‘Listen, you don’t need to tell me these guys’ knowledge of Islamic theology is shallow. I don’t imagine they’re impressively devout. I get that their thing is violence.’

‘Well, again, I wouldn’t assume Desmond is the messenger. He’s just working at his own career. He’s not stupid, Desmond. You need to be at least as astute as him.’

‘Are you saying I’m stupid, Rory?’

Inglis laughed, a little too long and loud. ‘My simple view, David, my sincere advice, is that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.’

‘I’ve never understood what that means. And you need to be aware, Rory, I’m still looking for cuts in our budget. What we’re spending in your area looks vulnerable to me.’

At last Blaylock felt he had succeeded in yanking the rug out from under Inglis’s hauteur. ‘Before you do anything hasty I trust you’ll take on-board my view?’

‘I will hear you but my decision will be final. Do you want to get Seema back in?’

Seema returned, seeming no cheerier.
Join the club
, thought Blaylock, drumming fingers on the table.

‘Seema,’ said Inglis, resuming his thinker’s posture, ‘the Minister’s been looking at some of the groups we work with and basically he doesn’t like all that he hears – fears we’re throwing good money after bad. Is that fair, David?’

Seema jumped in with assurance. ‘With respect, Minister, it could be the cheapest money you’ll spend. In my view you maybe need to hear more of what’s being said for yourself, not have it mediated.’

‘A degree of mediation is necessary,’ Blaylock offered, ‘if what’s being said is in Arabic, or Punjabi, or Urdu.’

A silence followed. Blaylock sensed he had set the room on edge. Even Inglis now sat up straight. Seema was looking closely at him.

‘Minister, how many Muslim friends would you say you have?’

Blaylock stammered slightly. ‘Obviously I know any number of leaders, representatives … I have contacts from community visits.’

‘Which community do you think you’re visiting when you go? Pakistani, Bangladeshi? Somali? Arab, Kurdish? Sunni, Shia, Ahmadiyya? Or just, y’know, a load of Muslims?’

‘I concede, I’m no expert in the regional or theological variations of Islam. The point is, I go wherever I’m invited. I’ll always gladly spend time with good people who sincerely want to make a difference.’

‘With respect – you don’t go there as a man. You’re behind a shield. You think your audience doesn’t know that? They see you doing your duty on the big “Muslim problem” … and they’re made to feel like just functionaries, too. Try treating them as people for a change.’

‘Well, I …’ Blaylock swatted his knee in mild exasperation, for his day seemed to be acquiring a theme. ‘It’s not easy.’

‘Not for any of us. So much of what I have to do has this narrow focus on young men and their discontents. I mean, what about women? They are passionate about issues, they can be agents for change. I spoke to a Muslim women’s group today—’

Blaylock pointed to her head. ‘Hence the
hijab
? You felt the need for a flag of convenience?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You don’t wear it to the office routinely, do you?’

‘It was appropriate for my audience today, yeah.’

‘So, is that not a shield of sorts for you?’

‘It’s not a hard thing for me to have honest exchanges with Muslims. For you, Minister, that’s maybe something to work on …’

‘I repeat, I’m always, always ready to have the argument.’

‘That’s been established, Minister. I put it to you that you might want to look like you want to understand, not just to have a punch-up.’

Blaylock could feel the black umbrage steam up in him at Seema’s words; if Inglis had not been sitting nearby, seeming to study him very intently, he might have let it boil over. Yet Seema herself seemed undeterred – un-possessed – by any fear of how he might react.

‘If you wanted to meet some people who are honestly trying to do good, there’s two great guys I know running a project out in Stapletree in Essex. Sadaqat and Javed? Sadaqat’s a qualified youth worker, mentor; at his local mosque he set up a seminar and a bookshop, and now he’s set this place up with his mate Javed, and it’s really impressive. If you met them and heard them out about what they’ve done and why, I bet you—’

‘Stapletree? Fine. Seema, you set it up and I’ll be there.’

‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’

Blaylock looked to the ceiling. ‘Aw, come off it. Guess what, I have a prior engagement, as you can imagine …’

‘And is it really so important?’

‘Ha.’ Blaylock recalled the Captain’s insistence that his ministers all be present and correct in black tie at the Carlton Club.

And then he thought again.

‘Actually, when you put it like that …’

‘So, come to Essex with me. It can be simple. Low-key.’

Blaylock had to laugh even as he rubbed exasperation from his eyes. ‘“Low-key”, aye. I hope these lads will be happy with my security crawling all over their gaff tomorrow morning. But, yeah, consider me happy to take your advice, Seema. Don’t make me regret it.’

Geraldine was at the door and gesturing. Blaylock rose.

‘Geraldine, sorry, there may just be a tweak to my schedule tomorrow night …’

With matronly precision, minutes in advance of Blaylock’s last engagement of the day, Geraldine packed up his ministerial box and Blaylock, belatedly remembering his pledge to Madolyn Redpath, shoved the black folder down into the red box’s maw. Finally Geraldine presented him with details of the squash club where he was due to meet with the Lord Chief Justice early the next morning.

‘He says he’ll happily hit with you if you’re up for it,’ Geraldine added as Blaylock peered perplexedly at the scribbled address.

Blaylock had never been much of a ‘House of Commons man’. On his arrival as a new Member seven or so years previously, pacing around outside committee rooms while he waited to be allotted a cupboard from which to represent Teesside South, he had found nothing instantly endearing. He was no Westminster anorak, and found the procedures of the place to be fustian, hidebound, irksome, utterly unimproved by the fulsome provision of subsidised dining and drinking. The quaint etiquette of Parliament being hardly more efficient than the manuals of the Civil Service, Blaylock felt himself further restrained from telling Phyllida Cox how much better he thought the machine could run.

Still, at certain rare moments, he had felt Westminster exerting some large and poignant charm over him. On one evening during his drear weeks of orientation he had wandered the low-glowing corridors of the Palace alone, finishing up in the vastness of Westminster Hall where he looked up to the great hammer-beam roof and felt a kind of piety toward all that had been raised there in the name of representative democracy.

Now, just in time, Blaylock strode from the Members’ Lobby into the Chamber, took the nod from the sergeant-at-arms and paced past the long and garrulous lines on the benches – Members anxious for their dinner, easily made miserable. Taking his frontbench berth he acknowledged his PPS Trevor Parry, keenly in the
row behind him, and Government Chief Whip Tim Charlesworth perched hawk-like by the gangway, a black Moleskine notebook held ominously to his breast.

‘The Question is as on the order paper,’ bellowed the Speaker. ‘We will move to division. Clear the Lobby!’

Back on his feet he moved with the throng out to the Aye lobby. Having given his name to the clerk Blaylock was shortly back out in the Members’ Lobby, whereupon Gervaise Hawley dallied over, smoothing his salmon-coloured tie between his finical fingers, a slight and acerbic smile pre-arranged on his face.

‘So, David, you’ll soon be prostrating your Identity Documents Bill before us?’

‘That’s right, Gervaise. Our day in court.’

‘I knew the day would come. Empires fall, great men come and go, tides rise and recede and yet, once again, as the deluge subsides, we see a lonely Home Secretary clutching an identity card and crying that everybody must have them …’

The allusion, too, had clearly been prepared in advance and Blaylock shrugged his acceptance of Hawley’s mockery just as Trevor Parry appeared at his side. Together the two repaired to Blaylock’s office behind the Speaker’s chair, a poky, perennially musty room with green leather Pugin furniture and a sideboard at which Parry busily dusted wine glasses and uncorked a Saint-Émilion Grand Cru.

Then they trooped in, the Honourable Members for Twining, Newhampton and Thanet, all bright new boys in the last parliamentary intake, keen to have their interests noticed, susceptible to blandishments. They paid their respects and took their glasses, and then Thanet stepped a few paces forward to make the demonstration to the Minister.