The Logical Candidate

By Nicholas David Evans

Matthew and Marcie Hatch live in a Mews in central London with their Poodle, Poodley.
Life has been good to them, Marcie is possibly going to be the next UK Prime Minister and Matt's career as an engineer in the arms industry has been, shall we say interesting. Everything changes when an incident at Matt's work, makes him face the truth about everything he has been doing since he left school.
After totally losing his calm during a live TV interview, things take a dramatic turn for the worst.
Marcie is kidnapped and Matt unwittingly and unwillingly becomes the figurehead of a British revolution, the kind of revolt not seen since Oliver Cromwell came ashore in Torquay. With the help of Jasmine his strange but sexy neighbour, he must save Marcie and stop the revolt from becoming a bloodbath.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicholas David Evans
• Release date: May 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301024636

Nicholas David Evans

I was born in Rotherham, Yorkshire but moved to Dorking, Surrey at an early age. Completed a formal apprentiship in Engineering, then moved to New Jersey, USA where I lived for several years. Later I returned to the UK and lived in Devon. Currently, I reside in Fuerteventura with my wife Sonya and lots of dogs (she works for a dog rescue charity). I have a passion for science and technology, I try to not only 'think outside the box' but 'live' there as well. To me, cynicism is an admirable personality trait. I am and will remain, young of heart and mind, and am an incurable romantic. Life's a garden 'dig it'!

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The Logical Candidate

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Nicholas David Evans

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Copyright 2013 Nicholas David Evans

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DEDICATION

for Bradley and Abigail

Chapter 1

A normal day?

Treading on Poodley was not the most heinous of crimes, as a matter of fact it was the last thing I wanted to do. It wasn’t exactly a routine, but strangely, it did seem to occur at least twice a week. In all of the previous instances, I had so far managed to avoid putting my full (and not inconsiderable) weight down fully on the little treasure. This had often in the past, resulted with me entirely losing my equilibrium, often ending up prone on the bedroom carpet.

On this particular occasion through a combination of gymnastic manoeuvres that would have impressed Olga Corbett, and by hanging on to the Corby trouser press, (Marcie`s, not mine), I managed to remain mostly upright.

Despite her yelp I knew that she was not hurt, but looking at her sweet innocent face I got the impression that perhaps she was just a little bit disappointed, that on this particular occasion, I had not dropped to her level.

I was sure that by the time I opened the box of treats in the kitchen as per our routine, she would have forgiven me. Unfortunately, when it came to my forgiveness, I had a feeling that Marcie in her usual early morning stupor would not.

Marcie is far from being an ogre; nevertheless she is one of those people who require a stimulant in the morning before they can communicate in a human and humane manner. After she had yet another late night, I suspected that a high dose of caffeine would be required in order to transform her to her normal, rational, lovable state. In my opinion the great Robert Louis Stevenson probably derived his Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde characters on somebody close to him who also had a caffeine requirement.

I have known right from our first night together, that unlike me, she is definitely not a morning person, but as far as I was concerned, the benefits of loving her far outweighed this one small fault.

Why she always chose to lie in the same hazardous space on the floor (Poodley that is, not Marcie) is beyond me, as is the early morning temperament of the usually adorable Marcie.

Poodley and I went downstairs to the kitchen to make peace and coffee, as I had predicted she was easily mollified and also as I predicted, the deluge of unanswerable questions started; Do you always have to make so much noise first thing?

Over the years in my life I have developed a strategy that allows me to vent my pent up sarcasm, and more importantly to do it without causing offence or escalating the trivial to inappropriate heights.

I don’t consider this tactic as pandering to her, or as wimping out for the sake of peace and quiet. I personally and firmly believe that my genetic gift of being good-natured almost all of the time, actually brings with it a responsibility to infect others with my congeniality.

I employed this strategy, and whilst grunting appropriately out loud, I only properly answered her in my head; Actually I was trying to be really quiet; anyhow it was neither my idea nor my preference to have the bloody dog in the bedroom in the first place.

Is she alright?

As a matter of fact her tail is wagging and I get the feeling she is enjoying my predicament, maybe that’s why she always lays under my bloody feet.

Do you have to go in so early today?

Actually no I don't, because probably due to a bout of temporary insanity, I quit my job yesterday.

You haven’t forgotten we both have to be at the studio by six-thirty tonight?

Oh shit.

The gravity of this question demanded an honest reply out loud, so I lied, no, of course not.

Some mornings are more of a trial than others, but being reminded that I had to appear with her on live TV later that day, just about finished me off.

It was a fortnight ago that she had explained to me that our appearance on the show would help boost her ratings at the polls. The formulae of the show called not only for the famous, but for the spouses of the famous to be there in attendance, specifically for public inspection and possible ridicule.

Trying to avoid the ordeal by spotlight, I had pointed out quite forcefully, (for me), and in no uncertain terms that my career in the arms industry might be more than a slight stumbling block to her campaign to lead the party. She had listened to, and then totally ignored my entirely justifiable protests and countering them simply and calmly; Your profession will come out one way or another anyway, we will just need to be sure that we spin the fallout in the right direction. Hans, Fogel and Garmen are a reputable firm and your personal credentials are impeccable, but besides that, are you aware of how many jobs here in England are dependent on the industry? Or how England leads the world in associated technologies?

Sensing that I still had my doubts about the prudence of my appearance, she had spent three evenings of her very valuable time actually validating my own career to me, and thoroughly briefing me for the ordeal by TV.

Maybe a week previously, I would have bought into her justifications of my work, but not now, not after everything I had seen.

With all the soul searching I had been doing over the last week, I had finally come to the conclusion that there was not, and had never been any reasonable, logical, vindication for the work I had been doing since I left school.

Since the incident, I had been so preoccupied with my own internal dilemmas, (to the point of being physically sick), that I had entirely forgotten all about the scheduled appearance on `The Keith Spalding` show.

I thought that perhaps now would be a good time to tell her about what had happened last week, she had not said anything to me that I would consider to be out of the ordinary, but I was sure that she must have noticed I had been acting weirder than usual. Most importantly she should probably be made aware that as I had resigned from my job at HFG yesterday, my being a senior engineer for an arms manufacturer would no longer be an issue.

As I slowly climbed the stairs I pondered as to how I should broach the subject of my unemployment and the reasons behind it. I was arguing the pros and cons with myself of exactly how the tricky subject could be raised, when I managed to make a decision just in time, as I reached the top landing.

I went into our dimly lit bedroom and put the tray on the nightstand, leaning over her I swept back her blonde curls and kissed her ear.

Here’s your coffee, I am going to gulp mine and run.

I had just crowned myself the King of Procrastination; I did not think it was quite the right time to tell her. I had decided that first I should to talk to someone wise, someone who I could trust, the decision as to whom was easy. Despite his immaturity, dad was not only the ideal person for the job; he was the only person for the job.

Dad would logically and without being overly critical help me get things straight in my own mind.

If I had to describe dad, I would probably say that the George Lucas character `Yoda` was based directly on him, he was man to be admired, a wise, calm, knowledgeable and rational being, and although he had thus far failed to levitate a ‘Star fighter’ from the depths of a swamp, I was sure that if he had to, he could, unfortunately the similarities did not end there; there were certain physical similarities too.

Unlike so many others less fortunate than Marcie and I, money would not be a problem. I was forty-two and through some hard work and lucky investments, I had made enough of it to retire. Marcie was thirty-seven and the youngest candidate ever to vie for the leadership of her party. Incidentally it was the party that by all recent surveys and polls would be making up the next U.K. government.

We had always shared our problems but with the election looming, the last thing I wanted to do was burden her with mine. The one thing I knew that would upset her most, was that I had not confided how distraught I had become over the situation.

For the first time since we had gotten together, I had really hidden my feelings from her. If I am honest with myself I had done so partly because I was deeply ashamed, ashamed of how little thought I had actually given to my professional ethics and career so far. Looking back on it now it seems moronic, that after leaving school I had just fallen into a career, without actually giving too much deep thought as to what effects my labours were having. I have no mitigating reasons that could in any way justify my professional life so far.

Even after all these years I love her intensely, but only after she has consumed at least two cups of Java.

We had first met at a party given by the Dean after I had delivered a lecture at The University of Surrey, on The effects of the Armaments Industry on Worldwide Engineering Standards. Surprisingly (at least to me), it had been really well received, making me feel a bit like a geek pop star. Members of the faculty and the student body were given an impromptu invitation to the Deans' apartment for cocktails. I had already changed out of my suit and into more casual attire, and was about to go leave for the station, when the invitation was extended to me. Initially I was extremely reluctant, but the Deans' wife was extremely insistent, she won.

After a few drinks it degenerated into the party. Our first meeting is embroidered in my memory.

The apartment was filled with intellectual types and the air was so heavily polluted with Simply Red, that the Led Zeppelin band members on my t-shirt seemed to be cringing; or maybe it was just wrinkled.

I was talking to two girls in the corner of the small kitchen, both of them were wearing cocktail dresses that sported huge shoulder pads, that would have enabled them to be line-backers for the Dallas Cowboys. I was trying think of a reasonable excuse to escape, when a vision of simple beauty, wearing jeans and a pinstripe shirt, (that was held into a delectable waist by a belt sporting a BSA buckle), approached me carrying a half empty pint of Guinness.

Do you really think that the need for standardisation of barrel size, enabled technology to make great leaps forward?

Do you always introduce yourself with a complicated question?

Marcie.

No need to be like that, I only wanted to know your name.

No, I said Marcie, my name it’s Marcie.