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Union Business By David Gardiner
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Against the crimson evening sky the Christmas lights danced and sparkled on the shop fronts and country pubs by the roadside, their colours repeating in the puddles left behind by the recent rain. Brian held the steering wheel lightly with his right hand and drove automatically, with his usual calm assurance By his side Sheila, growing tired, let her head fall casually against his shoulder. Ignoring the two of them, Sweeny dozed lightly in the back seat, a manila folder of Students Union papers on his knee gradually emptying its contents on to the floor.
"Fellow students,” Brian intoned with careful diction, “we have come all the way from Belfast with a mandate to speak against a motion that I know almost everyone in this hall will expect to be carried by acclimation!" He lowered his voice. "How does that sound?"
Sheila smiled. "Well, it’s better than the other opening. Maybe you need to say who ‘we’ are."
"Yes you’re right." He cleared his throat. "Fellow students, we, the delegates from Belfast’s only non-denominational teacher training college, have come all the way to Margate today to speak against a motion…"
"It’s a bit long-winded," she interrupted, "and we won’t have come today, we’ll have come yesterday. And I don’t think it’s worth saying anything about the college being non-denominational."
He considered the objection. "But I want to make it clear that it isn’t a religious thing…"
"This is England, Brian. Nobody’s interested in religion. It won’t even occur to them."
"I’m nervous, Sheila. I think they’ll shout me down."
She giggled and squeezed his free hand. "Stop worrying. It’s a great speech. They’ll love it."
"Shit!” Sweeny had woken up. “The effing mandates are all over the floor. Can somebody remind me why we’re against it?"
Brian was quick to reply. "Because if the whole country is made to go Comprehensive like the Labour Party wants, it’s the end of Free Schools like Summerhill as well as selective schools. All experimentation in British education ends. It’s throwing the baby out with the bathwater."
"Why don’t you just say that then?"
"Well, I will say it, of course, but you’ve got to dress it up a bit. Make it sound impressive. It’s your boyfriend’s motion, Sheila. Why don’t you make the speech?"
"Because you’ll do it a hundred times better. Oh, look Brian. We’re here." She continued to hold his hand absent-mindedly as the town’s garish Christmas illuminations came into view and they sailed past the bright bustling slot-machine arcades and the huge over-lit amusement park with its switchback rides, roundabouts and dazzling neon-framed temples of hedonism. "We could look in there after we’ve registered," she suggested, squeezing his hand as she said it.
"Kid’s stuff Sheila." She looked him in the eye and smiled. “On the other hand,” he continued, returning the squeeze, “you know what they say about all work and no play.”
oo O oo
"Fellow students…. and workers… and students who are girls and not fellows… we have come all the way from… somewhere, damned if I can remember… with a mandate... to get pissed out of our minds. And as the President of the non-denomin..nomi…national…"
"Brian, why don’t you shut up and ask for the key?"
"I want you to know that as fellow students committed to the experimentation of the…"
"Could we have our key, please? Room three seven one."
The commissionaire located the correct key on the wall-board and handed it across. "And your room number, Madam?" he enquired coldly.
"Oh. Yeah. Nearly forgot. Three seven three." She took the two keys and pulled Brian jauntily away from the reception desk towards the lifts.
"After the revolution…" he began sternly. Sheila’s hand over his mouth prevented him from finishing the sentence.
oo O oo
"The people's flag is deepest red
"Will you shut up for Christ’s sake, Brian!" she laughed. "You’ll get the two of us thrown out of here."
"You’re right. Transportation, that’s the English way. They’ll have the two of us bundled off to Van Diemen's Land before you can bless yourself. Anyway, this isn’t your room. You’re a scarlet woman and you’ll have me excommunicated by the Reverend Mother."
"You’re not at the nuns’ school any more Brian. We’re in England. Those rules don’t apply here."
"Don’t they? Oh, alright. I don’t suppose you could undo this shoelace for me? It doesn’t seem to want to come off.
"Then raise the scarlet standard high
She silenced him with a gentle kiss, full on the lips.
oo O oo
"…and that was how it happened, Norman. We were both a little bit sozzled. We’d been on the dodgems and the big dipper and done a whole lot of childish things, and we were in a silly mood. What we did was silly, it didn’t mean anything. I know it’s no excuse, and things are never going to be the same now…"
He put his arms around her and hugged her tenderly. "He was okay to you, wasn’t he? He didn’t hurt you or anything?"
"No, of course not. He was lovely. Sweet. God, I suppose that makes it worse, doesn’t it?"
"To be honest, I don’t know what you’re so upset about."
"You don’t?"
He gently guided her on to the bed and sat beside her. "Maybe I’m strange, I don’t know, but as far as I can see you had a lovely night with someone we both know and admire. Nobody got hurt. It’s the nineteen sixties, not the eighteen sixties. These things happen. Sex isn’t a sin any more. People are free now—we don’t own one another. You did what you felt like, and that’s good. That’s the way I want it to be for us. Not only that but you came straight up here and told me all about it. We can be totally honest with one another. I think that makes us a bit special, don’t you?"
"You’re not angry then?"
"No, of course not sweetheart. I could do with a stiff drink though."
"You’re fantastic! I thought you would shout at me… throw me out… hit me, even."
He smiled and pulled her close for another hug. "I would never hurt you, Sheila. I would die first. You know, up till now it’s all been theories. Possessiveness is wrong, everybody should be free, we should all co-operate, share everything, not be jealous. But the truth is, I didn’t know how I would feel if something like this actually happened. It’s just so different to how we’re supposed to feel. I mean, everything we’ve ever read, everything we’ve ever seen on TV or in the pictures—it was all telling us that we should be jealous and angry and feel threatened… but I don’t feel that way at all."
"How do you feel?"
He considered the question. "Like a butterfly that’s just crawled out of its pupa. I feel like I’m opening my wings for the first time and soon I’m going to fly."
"I think I feel a bit like that too. I can’t believe that I’ve found a man like you."
"It’s all real, isn’t it? All that stuff Winstanley wrote three hundred years ago. We don’t have to go on doing the same things over and over again. We don’t have to recreate the world that we were born into. We can break with the past. Write our own sociology. It’s never going to be the same again, Sheila, you were right on that one. It’s our turn now and things are going to be different. It’s not just us, it’s the whole youth of the world. Last August half a million people in America sat down together in a field to listen to music. No police, no government, no religion. Just peaceful people listening to music, making love and feeling good. The old order came to an end right there. We don’t know what we’ve created yet, but the world had better watch out!"
"Don’t you ever stop making political speeches, Norman? I don’t really understand any of that stuff. All I know is, I wanted Brian at that moment, and I couldn’t see any reason not to act on it. I was just being selfish, I suppose."
"Life is politics, Sheila. Politics is life. Your spending the night with Brian was a political act, whether you knew it or not. Everything you do is political. If you’ve got any integrity, how you live your own life is an expression of how you think life ought to be lived. When you die, that’s when you stop being political."
oo O oo
Sheila carried her tray to the only unoccupied table she could see in the Students Union canteen and sat down. All through the day she had experienced the sensation that people were watching her, taking more interest in her than was usually the case. She tried to dismiss it as irrational but the feeling wouldn’t go away. Thus it was that she kicked the table and almost knocked it over when a shrill female voice from very close behind her demanded: "Is your name Sheila?"
She turned. The young woman who had accosted her was red-haired, freckled and slightly plump. Her eyes were on fire with hatred.
"Yes. Do I know you?"
"I’ve got something to say to you, bitch. You keep away from Brian if you value your good looks. I have friends."
The stranger turned and walked towards the exit. Sheila swiveled around again in her seat. The blood had drained from her face and she had lost her appetite.
oo O oo
Brian retained his dignity when the two of them came through the door marked "Sabbatical SRC President", but his unease was plain. "Sheila, Norman, great to see you. Sit down. What can I do for you?" He smiled awkwardly at Sheila.
"We need to talk, Brian. All three of us." Norman spoke calmly but he was flushed and his heart was pounding. There was a pause. Brian met Norman’s eyes, looking more apprehensive than they had ever seen him before. "First of all, I know about Margate."
Brian calmly touched the button on his desk intercom. "Vicky, we’ve got some important union business to talk over. Could you make sure we aren’t disturbed for a while?" A grunted acknowledgement came from the machine.
"It’s all right, Brian," Sheila reassured him before he could speak again. "Norman isn’t jealous. You’ll still get his vote when you come up for re-election."
The President’s lower lip trembled but he managed a smile. "I don’t know what to say, Norman…"
"No need to say anything. We both fancy Sheila like crazy. Luckily she fancies both of us too. And… a person’s love isn’t a scarce resource like North Sea Oil. It doesn’t diminish with the giving. In fact, it gets bigger. That’s what I believe."
"Well said, Norman, well said." He shook his head as though to make sure he was really awake. "God, this is a weird conversation…"
Sheila reached across the desk and took his hand. "It’s okay, Brian, it really is okay. But something has happened…"
His eyes opened wide. "You don’t mean…?"
"No, nothing like that. I’ve been on the Pill since I was sixteen. It’s your girlfriend, Brian. At least I assume she’s your girlfriend. I never knew you had one."
"Noreen?”
"She didn’t get around to introducing herself. Is she about my height, red hair, pale skin with freckles?" He nodded. "It was Noreen. Why have you never mentioned her?”
“Well, she’s not a student, and she finds all this student politics a bit of a turn-off, so I don’t normally bring her with me." He looked from Sheila to Norman and decided to come clean. “Well… okay, the truth is, if you want to pick up votes in a mainly female college being single is a better image than being attached. It’s not a secret but it’s not something I want to emphasise.”
“She threatened me, Brian. She said she had friends and they would readjust my face."
Brian looked genuinely mystified. "I didn’t tell her, Sheila. I swear to God I didn’t…"
There was a brief pause. "What room was Sweeny in?" Sheila asked at last.
"The bastard! The lousy interfering bastard!"
"Take it easy, Brian," Norman urged. "It’s just something we have to sort out, that’s all. I’m not having Sheila threatened like that. It’s just not on."
"Damn right it’s not on! God, you think you know people…" He touched the intercom again, then seemed to decide against it. Sheila walked around to where he was sitting and hugged him from behind.
"Is it true?" she asked quietly. "Does she have friends like that?"
"I don’t know, sweetheart. I really don’t know. But with the kind of people that are around now—all these mad factions with bombs and guns, burning people out of their houses and knee-capping one another, you can’t ignore a remark like that. "
"She’s upset and hurt," Sheila went on, "I know that. She’s probably saying things she doesn’t mean. She must have heard about this in a very unpleasant way. Maybe if we could talk to her we could explain."
Brian put his hands on his forehead and leaned on the desk. "She’s not like you, Sheila. She’s not going to take this well."
"Do you know where we can find her?" Norman asked. "She was in the canteen at lunch time so she can’t be far away."
Brian buried his head deeper in his hands. "I know where she is," he confirmed, "but I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. I’m way out of my depth here, guys."
For a while nobody spoke. Sheila started to massage Brian’s shoulders. "It’s tough at the top," she told him, kissing him on the right ear.
"The way I see it," said Norman in a tone that told them a political oration was likely, "the three of us are family now. We have to look out for one another. We can’t let anybody threaten Sheila, but we don’t want to trample on anybody’s feelings either. There’s something so big going on here that I don’t think we’ve really grasped it yet. We’re a unit—a threesome. Something that’s barely existed before in Western society. That’s a precious thing. We need to protect it. Nurture it. See how much further it can go. Defend it if necessary against people like Noreen. People who wish us ill. I think there’s going to be a lot of them. I want us to be strong and survive. I’m excited about this. Noreen is our first problem, probably the first of many. What do you want to do about her, Brian? What do you want to happen?"
Brian looked up. "You mean—do I want her… in the family?"
"Something like that."
"It would never happen, Norman. Never in a million years."
"So, once again, what do you want to happen?"
Brian hesitated and placed both his hands over Sheila’s before he replied.
"I wish I knew if this is real. If it’s going to last or go anywhere. If it’s even possible."
"Nobody knows those things. There isn’t a formula that you can apply to something like this, or a model that you can look at. We’re the model. It’s up to us. If we want it enough, we can make it work. And I don’t mean just for us. Maybe we can show people that the world doesn’t have to be based on possessiveness and competition and… every man for himself. There are people all over the world thinking the same way we are. Those are our real family. Have you heard about Winstanley, Brian?"
"Everybody who's heard one of your speeches at the Council has heard about Winstanley. I’m afraid I always saw it as the curse of Ireland in another form. Living in the past, I mean. Go on, tell me again."
"Winstanley was thinking much the same things three hundred years ago. He got a group of poor people to farm the common land in England and share all their produce and all their possessions. They didn’t even go as far as us, the people who were afraid of them said that they held their wives in common—that was how they described it—but it wasn’t even true. Maybe that was the bit that defeated them. Maybe they didn’t understand that the main people you have to change are yourselves. We’ve got the germ of a new kind of human society here. A new way for people to relate to one another. Maybe the world doesn’t have to be divided into the rich and the poor. Maybe there’s no need for armies and money and national boundaries. If we can sustain that vision, think of where it might lead, Brian. Think of the implications. You’re a good person. Your heart is in the right place. We both know that and we want you to come along with us. We’ve only got one life and this is the most important thing we can do with it. But we’ve got to believe in ourselves, Brian."
Brian stood up and hugged Sheila gently, just the way Norman had when he had been told about Margate. The pair stood still for a moment, entwined in each other’s arms. “You know I’ve always admired that stuff you talk about in Council, Norman, but it’s too far out for me. I’m an ordinary socialist. I want a better world but I don’t know if I want to go as far as you do. I don’t know if I’m willing to pay the price. Even if we didn’t live together, if this… three-way relationship… became public knowledge, do you think any woman in this college would ever vote for me again?”
“Yes, Brian,” said Sheila quietly, “I would.”
He looked down at her and despite his efforts to keep his composure she could see his eyes becoming moist. “I want you, Brian,” she said in an even quieter voice, “I’m asking. Forget about Norman for a minute.”
It was obvious that he was making a superhuman effort to retain his composure. "Alright,” he said hoarsely, “I’m in. Do you have a membership card or anything?"
Sheila laughed. "We could get one printed."
“God, there goes my Student Union career. Good Catholic boy turns anarchist. They’ll crucify me.”
“It’s a way to get remembered,” Norman assured him with a smile.
"Come on," he guided them towards the door, "we’re going to talk to Noreen. We’ll have to work something out, I don’t know what. I think I’ve lost her now anyway.”"
"Won’t she be scared," Sheila protested, "all three of us coming to see her?"
"Maybe," Brian admitted, "but it’s a good way to show her that you’ve got friends as well."
As they strode through the concourse of the Students Union, all three hand in hand with Sheila in the middle, heads turned and eyes followed them from every corner of the huge space. Conversations ceased and a few involuntary gasps escaped the lips of the puzzled observers. Just before the exit, Brian turned and addressed them as though he were on the platform in the main debating hall. "Wish your president luck, folks. He’s about to try a new kind of student union."
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