“Don’t ask me, because I don’t know,” said Griff, as he drove out of the front gates. “All I can tell you is that if the exit polls are to be believed, the Tories have won by about forty seats.”

“Then it’s back to opposition,” said Giles.

“That’s assuming you win, and our polling returns are showing it’s too close to call,” said Griff. “It’s 1951 all over again.” Griff didn’t say another word until they pulled into the car park outside City Hall, when three weeks of pent-up frustration and not a great deal of sleep suddenly came bursting out.

“It’s not the thought of losing that I can’t stomach,” said Griff. “It’s the thought of Major fucking Fisher winning.”

Giles sometimes forgot how passionately Griff felt about the cause, and how lucky he was to have him as his agent.

“Right,” said Griff, “now I’ve got that off my chest, let’s report for duty.” He got out of the car, straightened his tie and headed toward City Hall. As they walked up the steps together, Griff turned to Giles and said, “Try and look as if you expect to win.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll have to deliver a speech you’ve never made before, which will be a new experience for you.” Giles laughed as they entered the packed, noisy room where the count was taking place.

A dozen long trestle tables filled the room, with council officials and selected party representatives seated on both sides, furiously counting or observing. Every time a new black ballot box was emptied onto the tables, a forest of hands stretched out and quickly sorted the names of the candidates into three separate piles, before the counting could begin. Little stacks of ten soon became stacks of a hundred, at which point a red, blue, or yellow band was placed around them and they were lined up like infantrymen at the end of the table.

Griff watched the process warily. A simple mistake and a hundred votes could be placed in the wrong pile.

“What do you want us to do?” asked Seb as he and Miss Parish came over to join them.

“Take a table each and report back to me if you spot anything you’re not happy about.”

“And what about you?” asked Giles.

“I’ll do what I always do,” said Griff, “scrutinize the votes from the Woodbine Estate and Arcadia Avenue. Once I’ve checked their returns, I’ll be able to tell you who’s going to win.”

Griff’s team took a table each and, although the process was slow, it was running smoothly. Once Giles had made a complete circuit of the room, deftly avoiding Fisher, he rejoined Griff.

“You’re two hundred votes down in Arcadia Avenue, and about two hundred up on the Woodbine Estate, so it’s anybody’s guess.”