Pray for the Dying

Twenty-Five

‘It is for these reasons,’ Aileen de Marco concluded, reading from autocue screens in the conference room of the ugly Glasgow office block that housed her party’s headquarters, ‘that I am committing Scottish Labour to the unification of the country’s eight police forces into a single entity. The old system, with its lack of integration and properly shared intelligence and with its outdated artificial boundaries, bears heavy responsibility for the death of Antonia Field.

‘Not only do I endorse the proposal for unity, I urge the First Minister to enact it without further delay to enable the appointment of a police commissioner as soon as possible to oversee the merger and the smooth introduction of the new structure.’

‘Any questions, ladies and gentlemen?’ Alf Old invited, from his seat at the table on the right of the platform, then pointing as he chose from the hands that shot up, and from the babble of competing voices. ‘John Fox.’

‘Is this not a panic reaction, Ms de Marco,’ the BBC reporter asked, ‘after your narrow escape on Saturday?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘What would you say to those people, and there may be many of them, who think that it is?’

‘I’d tell them that they’re wrong. Scottish Labour took a corporate decision some time ago to support unification; we’re quite clear that it’s the way forward. On the other hand, the party in power seems less committed. Yes, I know the First Minister says that it’s the way forward, but there are people on his back benches who aren’t quite as keen.

‘We’ve been reading a lot this morning about the First Minister’s personal courage. . and I have to say that I admire him for the way he displayed it on Saturday, when even the senior Strathclyde police officer on the scene collapsed under the strain.

‘What I’m saying today is that it’s time for him to bring that courage into the parliament chamber and join with us in getting important legislation on to the Scottish statute book.’

She paused, for only a second, but Marguerite Hatton seized on her silence.

‘Do you have anyone in mind for the position of police commissioner, Ms de Marco?’ she asked.

Aileen glared down at her from behind her lectern. ‘There will be a selection process,’ she replied, ‘but I won’t have anything to do with it.’

‘Would you endorse your husband’s candidacy?’

‘I repeat,’ she snapped, ‘I will not have anything to do with the selection process. I’m not First Minister, and even if I was, the appointment will be made by a body independent of government. The legislation will merge the existing police authorities into one and that will select the commissioner.’

‘Then my question still stands,’ the journalist countered. ‘Will you endorse your husband’s candidacy?’

‘I’m sorry, Ms Hatton,’ she maintained, ‘I’m not going there. I’m the leader of the Scottish Labour Party, and I’m sure that I’ll have political colleagues on the new authority, but it won’t be my place to influence them in favour of any candidate.’

‘Or against one,’ she challenged, ‘if you believed he was entirely wrong for the job?’

Aileen paused. ‘If I believed that strongly enough about someone,’ she replied, ‘I’d say so in parliament.’

‘So do you believe your husband would be the right man for the post, even though he’s an authoritarian bully?’

‘Now hold on a minute!’ Alf Old barked, from the platform. ‘This press conference isn’t about individuals. It’s about important Labour Party policy. However, I have to tell you that I’ve met the gentleman in question and I don’t recognise your description. Now that’s enough out of you, madam. Another questioner, please?’

Hatton ignored him. ‘But isn’t that why you and he have just announced your separation, Aileen?’ she shouted. ‘Isn’t that why you ran into the arms of another man after your terrifying ordeal on Saturday, because Bob wasn’t there for you?’

Aileen de Marco had known more than a few intense situations in her life, and she was proud of her ability to stay calm and controlled, whatever the pressure. And so, it was agreed later, her outburst was entirely atypical, which made it all the more shocking.

‘Bob’s never been there for me,’ she yelled. ‘Why the hell do you think I’m divorcing him, you stupid bloody woman?’