The Great Dane

Chapter 6

Markus takes a seat at the back of the literal town hall, the big town hall debate between Patel and MP Strourton-Linley about to begin. His mind wanders, this being a part of local life he'd never imagined finding himself partaking in. He hadn't seen Aanya in close to a decade and her social media use was light at best these days. She's practically a stranger. He knew that the old Aanya, the flirty, smart rock girl with a nose stud, multiple earring combinations and early noughties cut-off jeans, wouldn't appear up there, but he couldn't shake the person he'd last seen before final exam season in a university bar.

The seats quickly fill and clapping brings his absent mind back to the room. Five candidates walk onto the stage, a couple of Independents, a Green and then the two big parties' candidates. Wow. He'd liked her rock chick persona, but this actually suited her better. She looked strong, confident, emanating a natural warmth that immediately drew you in. Her voice was smoother and a touch lower, like a creamy red wine. He unconsciously smiled to himself while watching her. Why? Perhaps it was that he knew something about her they didn't, he was special, sharing a secret with her about her past. Then again, it could just have been the now-absent nose stud.

The invite was for dinner afterward, but he wanted to try to figure her out first. This was an unusual situation in which to approach an old college friend, so he wanted to make sure of a few things. The debate gets going and Markus switches to his reflex journalist mode, impossible to unlearn. He doesn't really listen to the exact words but observes the phrasing, body language and reactions when the candidates aren't speaking. Who was she and why contact him now? Markus found himself lost in her presence, her natural charisma intoxicating.

Strourton-Linley is the perfect foil for Aanya, representing everything she isn't. The old guard, backward, with poor voting history on anything today's culture deemed normal and progressive, he seems to lack the energy of previous years. A safe seat, she still has a huge task ahead of her. However, in a room that had become stuffy with all the bodies in it, she's a gust of fresh air. Her arguments are considered but delivered with energy and fire (Markus thinks of those chilli shots at uni). She makes Strourton-Linley sound condescending. There's something off with him that Markus can't figure out. He assumes it's just a lifetime of money and privilege, quickly returning his gaze to her.

"Fox hunting is no longer an issue for us or the country. It's banned... yes I know people want to bring it back but I'd be surprised by that." Strourton-Linley says.

"I would take the ban further if elected. It's common knowledge that the legal trail hunts are used to allow dogs to sniff out and hunt real foxes. The elite hide their illegal, cruel sport behind this definition, behind their friends in his party." Patel is calm but he can hear the anger in her reply.

"We are delivering Brexit. The one that was promised. We owe it to you. To you who clearly voted for it." Strourton-Linley slightly misjudges the room with his party line, Patel fudging her response before hitting her rehearsed, dramatic blows.

"We need to talk about local issues. About local cuts across the board. We had a thriving, caring community driven to loggerheads with one another because of their cuts, their austerity, which by the way, never touches them. I'll personally promise right now to keep the A&E open. Fight for investment into our poorest areas in the shape of a new sports centre and after-school clubs. And importantly, literally clean up our streets." Point made.

"I'm angry. No. I'm pissed off." She swears like one of the people, Finch thinks, unable to recollect her ever doing so before.

"We need fire in our bellies, energy, a local focus to change our immediate lives. Right here and right now. I'm the only candidate here with the passion and the means to bring this about."

That's why this case is important. Local, tangible, a press story.

"I actually care!"

The last statement ruffled feathers across the hall. Finch slips out and walks the long route to the restaurant where he's meeting Aanya. He had a couple of hours and always did his thinking walking, normally with Brutus. Finch strides along a canal bank, weaving in and out of sporty types on wheel and foot. Does she mean it? He keeps asking himself, replaying her responses in his head. He keeps honing in on her practiced smile and wide eyes. Intoxicating, warm, shallow. I don't buy it. She cares, but I'm not sure it's about the local A&E. She too has something she's hiding. He saw it most mornings in the mirror. He thinks about the Aanya before and tries to find her in the woman who owned the stage. He looks over her social media again and concludes that maybe it's the job he was unsure of, a general cultural exhaustion of selfish, incompetent, corruptible leaders they've come to loathe. He's going to meet an old friend who wants a favour. What's he got to lose?