to sign that Cairo treaty then you must.’
Bryce offered a confused smile. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because it’s the truth.’ The woman nodded towards her son’s grave. ‘That’s a temporary headstone, the second this year. The others were smashed, Gavin’s picture torn up, the flags trampled on. I’m not the only one.’ She waved a hand around the cemetery. ‘Most of the other soldiers’ graves have been vandalised too, and the Jewish ones. The police say its kids, but everyone knows it’s not.’
Bryce shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have-’
‘Jihad, Mr Bryce. That’s right, and I don’t mind saying it, although most people are either too blind or too stupid to see it. Our cities are changing every day, slowly but surely, and Cairo will be the final nail in the coffin.’ The woman regarded Bryce for a moment, then said: ‘I’ve offended your socialist sensibilities, haven’t I? It’s interesting, without your teleprompters and prepared speeches you people are lost for words. Is it because you know I’m right, Mr Bryce?’
It was strange to hear such uncomfortable language from a respectable-looking woman; but, despite that, her words resonated with him. He remained silent as she produced a tissue from the sleeve of her coat and dabbed at her nose.
‘Politicians always make the mistake of confusing opinions with facts, and facts can be so politically inconvenient, can’t they? It’s no wonder people are leaving.’
‘Leaving?’
‘Yes, leaving. Emigrating.’ Her sharp eyes narrowed as she studied his face. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence, Mr Bryce. We’ve all seen the queues outside the embassies in London. Two families in our village have already gone. It seems everyone knows somebody who’s left, or is thinking of leaving. People are fearful of the future here, that’s why they’re moving away.’ She nodded toward her son’s headstone. ‘I’d go myself, but I can’t leave my boy.’
In fact, the figure for last year’s émigrés was five hundred and seventy-two thousand, Bryce recalled; but who knew if those were all migrants or holiday makers, or others simply returning to the land of their birth? The system had stopped recording the details decades ago.
‘I wouldn’t believe everything you read,’ he lied.
The woman’s face flushed, her heavily-veined hands twisting the straps of her handbag. ‘Don’t patronise me, Mr Bryce. Those two million refugees camped in the Egyptian desert will have the right to become EU citizens if that terrible treaty is signed, and we both know where most of them will be headed.’
‘Well, that’s not strictly-’
‘And why won’t the Arab nations or Turkey take them? It’s always us, isn’t it? I’m a Christian, Mr Bryce. I believe in charity, in helping those less fortunate than ourselves, but the system won’t be able to cope with so many people. If you sign that treaty it will mark the beginning of the end.’
Her eyes bored into him, her lower lip trembling. Bryce could feel her anger and was momentarily lost for words. It had been a long time since he’d encountered such animosity from a member of the public, certainly not since his days as a young MP, door knocking around shabby council estates. He glanced again towards the grave she visited, her only child, lying dead beneath her feet all these years. Was it any wonder she was bitter?
‘These are complex issues, Madam.’
The woman chuckled without humour. ‘Yes, of course, silly me. How could I possibly understand them?’ She got up from the bench and took a few steps to her son’s grave, kissing her finger tips and laying them gently on the headstone. ‘And besides,’ she said, stepping back onto the path, ‘I’m just a law-abiding taxpayer whose family has lived here for centuries. On what planet would someone like you ever have the interests of someone like me at heart?’ Before Bryce could reply the woman said, ‘Good day, Mr
Bryce offered a confused smile. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because it’s the truth.’ The woman nodded towards her son’s grave. ‘That’s a temporary headstone, the second this year. The others were smashed, Gavin’s picture torn up, the flags trampled on. I’m not the only one.’ She waved a hand around the cemetery. ‘Most of the other soldiers’ graves have been vandalised too, and the Jewish ones. The police say its kids, but everyone knows it’s not.’
Bryce shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have-’
‘Jihad, Mr Bryce. That’s right, and I don’t mind saying it, although most people are either too blind or too stupid to see it. Our cities are changing every day, slowly but surely, and Cairo will be the final nail in the coffin.’ The woman regarded Bryce for a moment, then said: ‘I’ve offended your socialist sensibilities, haven’t I? It’s interesting, without your teleprompters and prepared speeches you people are lost for words. Is it because you know I’m right, Mr Bryce?’
It was strange to hear such uncomfortable language from a respectable-looking woman; but, despite that, her words resonated with him. He remained silent as she produced a tissue from the sleeve of her coat and dabbed at her nose.
‘Politicians always make the mistake of confusing opinions with facts, and facts can be so politically inconvenient, can’t they? It’s no wonder people are leaving.’
‘Leaving?’
‘Yes, leaving. Emigrating.’ Her sharp eyes narrowed as she studied his face. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence, Mr Bryce. We’ve all seen the queues outside the embassies in London. Two families in our village have already gone. It seems everyone knows somebody who’s left, or is thinking of leaving. People are fearful of the future here, that’s why they’re moving away.’ She nodded toward her son’s headstone. ‘I’d go myself, but I can’t leave my boy.’
In fact, the figure for last year’s émigrés was five hundred and seventy-two thousand, Bryce recalled; but who knew if those were all migrants or holiday makers, or others simply returning to the land of their birth? The system had stopped recording the details decades ago.
‘I wouldn’t believe everything you read,’ he lied.
The woman’s face flushed, her heavily-veined hands twisting the straps of her handbag. ‘Don’t patronise me, Mr Bryce. Those two million refugees camped in the Egyptian desert will have the right to become EU citizens if that terrible treaty is signed, and we both know where most of them will be headed.’
‘Well, that’s not strictly-’
‘And why won’t the Arab nations or Turkey take them? It’s always us, isn’t it? I’m a Christian, Mr Bryce. I believe in charity, in helping those less fortunate than ourselves, but the system won’t be able to cope with so many people. If you sign that treaty it will mark the beginning of the end.’
Her eyes bored into him, her lower lip trembling. Bryce could feel her anger and was momentarily lost for words. It had been a long time since he’d encountered such animosity from a member of the public, certainly not since his days as a young MP, door knocking around shabby council estates. He glanced again towards the grave she visited, her only child, lying dead beneath her feet all these years. Was it any wonder she was bitter?
‘These are complex issues, Madam.’
The woman chuckled without humour. ‘Yes, of course, silly me. How could I possibly understand them?’ She got up from the bench and took a few steps to her son’s grave, kissing her finger tips and laying them gently on the headstone. ‘And besides,’ she said, stepping back onto the path, ‘I’m just a law-abiding taxpayer whose family has lived here for centuries. On what planet would someone like you ever have the interests of someone like me at heart?’ Before Bryce could reply the woman said, ‘Good day, Mr
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