Best Friend, Worst Enemy Read online

  ‘It’s the smell of this stuff that does it’ said Rachel as they stood waiting whilst their food was being prepared in the greasy spoon cafe with its impossible bright lights, red plastic seats and white Formica tables. The place seemed to be full of sad looking misfits and lowlifes but they didn’t care. They were hungry and besides there were other normal looking late night revellers in there too so they didn’t feel completely odd.

  ‘I know’ said Sara. ‘Salad even smells boring’.

  ‘That’s because it smells of nothing’.

  ‘Exactly’ said Sara. ‘And I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like all the stuff that’s supposed to be bad for you. I walk into the canteen at work each morning and I really do intend to go for the Greek yoghurt but I get stuck at the bacon and that’s that’.

  ‘I love bacon butties’ said Rachel. ‘They’re second only to chips. But I suppose bacon will be off limits to your Jewish professor?’

  ‘I don’t know how deeply he is into his faith’ said Sara. ‘That’s something I’ll need to find out’.

  Once they’d consumed their platefuls of diet busting nourishment they walked arm in arm out onto the pavement and up towards the station entrance. They went inside and Rachel looked up at the electronic departure board for her train. She saw that it was on time and leaving from platform one, the first of the twelve platforms that began just beyond the main concourse.

  ‘I’ll walk with you’ said Sara.

  ‘They’ll think we’re a pair of lesbians’ said Rachel, giggling.

  ‘Maybe that’s what I should try next if it doesn’t work out with the professor?’ said Sara.

  ‘No love, you like your bit of cock too much’ said Rachel.

  ‘Then maybe I’ll start paying for it’ said Sara. ‘Get myself a fit looking escort’.

  ‘Only for an interim period, darling’ said Rachel. ‘Just to tide you over. Don’t forget you’ve still got a mounting wine budget to pay for and besides, I think it is going to work out with the professor. I just feel it’.

  The inside of Piccadilly station was cold even on a warm night and Sara walked Rachel round to her two-carriage local train on platform one which was furthest to the left. Rachel got on and pulled the window down so they could carry on talking before it left. Before they knew it, the whistle blew and they waved each other goodbye as the train began to get going.

  When the first explosion happened there was a second or two of silence before hysteria set in. Everyone was screaming as those who could run did so with faces that looked so bewildered they just didn’t know where they should be running to. Sara had been thrown to the ground but as she opened her eyes and touched herself all over to make sure she was still intact, she turned her head and screamed when she saw that the bomb had completely destroyed Rachel’s train. She started to gasp with panic. This was Rachel, her mate and her sister-in-law. Oh God, not poor Rachel. How the hell was she going to tell her brother Neil that the love of his life was gone? What were the children going to do without their Mummy? Sara wept. She wept for Rachel who she’d brought into town that night for a girls’ talk. If she hadn’t then Rachel would’ve been at home putting her little ones to bed. She wouldn’t have been blown up in whatever this evil madness was about.

  Then the station rocked again as a second and then a third blast went off at the far end of the platforms. Sara looked up and all around her was absolute chaos. Lethal weapons of broken glass and concrete came down from the sky like rain and Sara covered herself with her arms for protection, just like all the other survivors from the first blast were also doing. The noise of the blasts had been deafening but the noise of the screams and cries of all the people was a great deal worse. Sara could see two trains on fire and a bridge connecting two outer platforms to the main part of the station was also up in flames. She could see dead bodies everywhere and people who were still alive but too scared to move.

  Then she saw him.

  She locked eyes with him and immediately knew. He had a dark face and was wearing a light blue jacket, jeans and trainers. Rage got the better of her. She slipped off her shoes and set off in the direction of the man who started stepping backwards before turning around and running as fast as he could through all the debris and carnage.

  Sara gave chase down the long platform that was not only leading to where the remains of Rachel’s train was burning but also to where the second and third blasts had made the roof start caving in. She didn’t care less if the man she was chasing was strapped with explosives and about to take her into the next world with him. She just wanted to get him and make sure he answered for his crimes.

  ‘Stop him!’ she shouted to anyone who was capable of listening. ‘For God’s sake, stop him! I’m a police officer! Stop him!’

  At that moment a shot rang out and the man’s body contorted as the bullet ripped through his chest. He dropped to the floor just as Sara caught up and fell on top of him. She scanned all around but she couldn’t see anybody with a gun of any kind. Who the fuck had shot him? Why weren’t they coming forward to make sure they’d got the job done?

  Then she screamed in agony. The soles of her feet were covered in cuts from all the shards of broken glass she’d trodden on whilst running.

  Then, finally, she saw her uniformed colleagues running in her direction but there was still no sign of whoever had shot the man who lay dead beside her.

  FOUR

  Since the bombing had temporarily closed Manchester’s Piccadilly station, nearby Stockport was being used as the terminus for all London trains and Craig Sutherland stood up and put his jacket on as the guard on the train announced they would be at Stockport in a couple of minutes. Stockport was on the south eastern edge of Greater Manchester and Virgin trains had hired coaches to take people the further thirty minutes along the A6 to what was left of Piccadilly station. The logistical nightmare was going to last indefinitely. The bombers had done a pretty thorough job.

  It was just after five on Thursday afternoon and it had been a particularly difficult week down at Westminster. All Craig had wanted to do was to be back in his ravaged home city trying to do whatever he could to put things right after it had been ripped apart, but politics wasn’t as easy as some members of the public often told him it was and power came with its own restraints.

  He stepped off the train and walked through to the main forecourt in front of the station. Many of his fellow passengers had followed him to find the coaches that would take them into Manchester along with those, like himself, whose destination was Stockport. Craig was being picked up and he smiled when through the madding crowds he saw his partner Dean approaching slowly in his car. When he stopped, Craig placed his suitcase in the boot before jumping in on the passenger side.

  ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes’ said Craig who placed his hand affectionately on Dean’s shoulder. They’d been together for ten years and had been one of the first gay couples in the country to take out a civil partnership. The ceremony had been at Manchester Town Hall with all their family and friends there. Craig’s nephew and niece had been page boy and bridesmaid. Even though Craig and Dean had been together all that time and were used to Craig spending the week down at Westminster, they still enjoyed that shiver of anticipation for each other when he got back.

  ‘It’s been a shit week’ said Dean who wasn’t joking. The city had been plunged into fear. Everyone was so tense and scared. The shadow of a stranger was on every street. Suspicion was falling on anyone who was a Muslim. Dean had never known a time like it in Manchester and he feared for how the city was going to get back from it.

  ‘You can say that again’.

  ‘Well you’re home now, lover’ said Dean. He placed his hand momentarily on Craig’s. It was so good to have him back home. He’d been scared on his own. He’d been scared for Craig down there in Parliament which was one of the most obvious targets for any terrorist. He’d had this nightmare that more bombs had gone off and somehow they’d ended up separat
ed and couldn’t find their way back to each other. It had chilled him to the bone.

  ‘Thank God’.

  ‘But just in case you thought it was safe to go in the water again, you’ve got Nina Barry coming round to the office at six o’clock’.

  Craig threw his head back and groaned. ‘Oh Christ, the perfect end to the perfect week’

  ‘I did try to put her off’ said Dean who managed Craig’s constituency office. ‘But she was insistent’.

  ‘Like the whips when I was standing on their carpet yesterday’ said Craig. ‘And all because I dared to say in that speech that education is an essential part of creating greater equality’.

  Craig Sutherland had always wanted to represent the people. He liked the idea of being able to get things done. But soon after he was elected as MP for Manchester North, he realised that it wasn’t quite as simple as that. Before he could do anything as simple as looking after the needs of his constituents he had to negotiate an altogether more exacting beast and that was the Labour party machine. Nina Barry worked for the Labour party and looked after all the party’s interests in Manchester, with particular emphasis on the party’s elected representatives in the city. She had a tough as old boots exterior but underneath Craig had found a decent human being with whom he got on well, even though Craig wasn’t always in tune with party policy and frank exchanges often occurred between them. His recent speech on education was why she was coming to see him tonight. He hadn’t pulled any punches which was why the Labour whips office in parliament, the MP’s who’d been made prefects so as to keep the rest of them in order, had given him a hard time and why Nina would probably do the same.

  Craig’s constituency office was in the Failsworth Heights area of his Manchester North constituency and was above a launderette and a sandwich shop. He could always tell Nina’s mood by the way she came up the stairs. If he heard her coming up steadily one at a time then he knew she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. But if she leapt up the stairs two at a time and burst into the office like Wonder Woman who only had twenty-four hours left to save the earth, then she was clearly excited about something and couldn’t wait to spread the love. Tonight had been a mixture of the two but one thing Craig could always count on was Nina’s total lack of sartorial elegance. She was one of those Labour women who seemed to think that looking like she’d just been dragged through a hedge backwards was some kind of feminist protest against what she thought men expected women to look like. Craig didn’t buy into all the gender wars of the left. He would like Nina to wash the dirt from under her finger nails though from time to time.

  ‘Well you know me and private education’ said Craig as Nina listened whilst they sat in Craig’s private office. ‘I’m totally against it. I’m against faith schools, independent schools and bloody free schools. We should have one state education system for everybody and then the state can demonstrate that it’s done its bit to equalize opportunity for every kid. Private education perpetuates inequality and often in my experience it’s more about what the parents want to be seen to be doing for their kids rather than what’s actually best for their kids. Private education buys clever kids privileged access to the top professions and convinces thick kids that they’re clever just because they went to private school. To ban them is the only way we can give everyone a fair go no matter where they come from. Now the whips had their go at me yesterday and now, I presume, you’re here to do the same’.

  ‘Your comments generated a lot of press attention’ said Nina. ‘All the main news networks covered it’.

  ‘I know. I’m the one they interviewed’.

  ‘So you can see how it would’ve been embarrassing?’

  ‘Well if I thought that then I wouldn’t have made the speech in the first place’ said Craig. ‘Aren’t we allowed to be brave and fearless when it comes to articulating policy debate?’

  ‘You know we’re not’.

  ‘Well please don’t tell me you’ve been told to tell me to shut my mouth?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it that way’.

  ‘Well how would you put it?’

  ‘Okay’ said Nina. ‘Make me another cup of tea and we’ll put our cards on the table’.

  Craig rolled his eyes, ‘Very well, seeing as it’s you’.

  Nina was a chain tea drinker. She never had her hands free of a mug except for when she was driving. Craig went out of his private office to the small kitchen area they had at one end of the main office. Dean asked how it was all going. Craig said that he couldn’t really tell. Then Dean gave him a kiss on the shoulder and an encouraging squeeze of his upper arms before Craig took the tea back into where Nina was still waiting for him.

  ‘Thanks’ she said. ‘I’m gasping’.

  ‘You must be’ said Craig as he sat back down in his chair and started drinking his own tea. ‘It must be at least a minute since you finished the last one’.

  Nina stuck her tongue out at him.

  ‘Oh please!’ Craig exclaimed. ‘Where the hell have you been with that?’

  ‘Only my husband’s …. ‘

  ‘ … yes, yes, okay!’ said Craig, holding up his hand. ‘That’s enough of all that, thank you. Now come on, what is it you’ve got to tell me?’

  ‘Apart from telling you to wind your neck in on education?’

  ‘Which I won’t do but carry on’.

  ‘Craig!’

  ‘Look Nina, education is too important for me not to say what I feel’.

  ‘But we’re a party of aspiration’.

  ‘We’re also a party of social justice’ said Craig. ‘Or is that just for the leader’s speech at annual conference? Come on, Murdoch has been neutralised. Surely we can afford to be a little more relaxed about potentially offending the cherished squeezed middle?’

  ‘Alright’ said Nina, who was pragmatic if nothing else and knew she wouldn’t get any further with this one. ‘Let’s park that one for another time. There’s something else I need to talk to you about’.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The application to build a mosque at the top of Bourne Road?’

  ‘Yes, it’s before Manchester city council at the moment’.

  ‘I know’.

  ‘They’re due to debate it later this week I believe’.

  ‘I know that too’ said Nina. She fingered a long straggling mane of hair behind her ears and then carried on. ‘I want you to influence the Labour members of the council into voting against the building of the mosque’.

  Craig’s hackles were already rising. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually suggesting that, Nina’.

  ‘Craig, rightly or wrongly, you’ve got street cred with people who won’t even give me the time of day’.

  ‘And you wonder why when you want me to do something as preposterous as you’re asking?’

  ‘Craig, I’m thinking of your future career’.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You’re sitting on one of the safest Labour seats in the country and your stance on certain issues is of vital importance to the party’.

  ‘So I’ve got to behave like some kind of glove puppet with the party’s hand up my arse?’

  ‘Craig, there’s just been a devastating terrorist attack on this city’.

  ‘Thanks, Nina, I am aware of that funnily enough’.

  ‘So we need to tread carefully with our traditional supporters who are all frightened and angry about what’s happened and are looking to support extremist parties on the far right’.

  ‘I’m sorry but if you’re trying to draw some kind of connection then you need to use bolder colours because I’m not seeing it’.

  ‘Oh don’t be dense, Craig, it doesn’t become you’.

  ‘Are you seriously suggesting that I should persuade elected representatives to vote against the building of the mosque because some of our traditional supporters have turned against Muslims because of the bombing? Excuse me? This is the Labour party, right?’

  �
�I’m just being realistic on your behalf’ said Nina. ‘There’s a sizeable portion of Labour party supporters who wouldn’t like the fact that you were in favour of the building of the mosque’.

  ‘Tough’.

  ‘No, Craig!’ Nina insisted. ‘This is something you’re still not getting. You are sitting on a safe seat but what is a safe seat these days? A change in the direction of the political wind for some reason and you’d be in trouble. There are also decisions coming up to change the boundaries of all the Manchester seats. Yours could vanish’.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘I’m saying that we could choose to fight for somewhere else in the city and sacrifice your place here’.

  ‘Well thank you for being so fucking honest!’

  ‘I owe you that much’ said Nina. ‘Craig, I’m on your side’.

  ‘Nina, you’re on the side of your career and I’d be ditched like yesterday’s dishwater if you thought it was worth it’.

  ‘You’re not listening, are you?’

  ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Nina, but I believe that the building of the mosque is justified. It will only be the second mosque across this part of the city where ten percent of the population are Muslim’.

  ‘And many in the remaining ninety percent don’t want it built’.

  ‘I lead I don’t follow’.

  ‘Oh please, you’ll be telling me next you really do want to make a difference’.

  ‘Excuse me, when did the Labour party stop standing up for the rights of minorities?’

  ‘When it started costing us votes’.

  ‘You mean, when we started pandering to white working class bigots both inside and outside the party’.

  ‘When we started accepting reality’.

  ‘When we stopped acting on our values’.

  ‘You know Craig, sometimes I just can’t work you out’ said Nina. ‘You’ve got all the makings of a first class politician who could go all the way to the top and yet sometimes it’s as if you’re determined to throw it all away’.