A satire about political advertising, family values, and the qualifications required to have an opinion.
In the television lounge at Willowbrook nursing home, June was explaining that the quiz-show contestant’s third husband was almost certainly the reason she knew so much about poisons. A campaign ad interrupted her analysis: a politician in a garden, his family arranged around him.
“I love my children,” he said. “And I REALLY love my grandchildren.”
June lowered her knitting.
“Well, that was a slap in the face for his kids.”
Arthur frowned. “He said he loved them.”
“Yes. Then he brought out the premium package for the grandchildren.”
The garden vanished with a sharp musical sting. The opponent appeared in a suit and tie outside a courthouse, beside a creepy black-and-white photograph of the accused.
“Forty years ago, a man was accused of sexually abusing a child. Harold Bell was his defense lawyer.”
Enormous red letters filled the screen: HE DEFENDED HIM.
“When children needed protection, whose side was Harold Bell on?”
The candidate reappeared, holding his granddaughter’s hand.
“I know who I’m fighting for.”
His name filled the screen above a promise to keep families safe. A small voice hurried through the campaign disclaimer, and the quiz show returned.
“I bet his daughter feels like a pile of shit after watching that,” June said. “He REALLY loves his grandkids. What about her?”
“He said he loved his children,” Arthur said.
“Before the upgrade.”
“Did you hear what the other man was accused of?”
“Yes,” Evelyn said. “The right to a fair trial and all that. Bloody inconvenient when you’re making an ad.”
Arthur turned toward her.
“You’d feel differently if you had grandchildren.”
June folded her arms. “So would his daughter.”
Evelyn looked around the room. Leonard was examining a biscuit. Arthur had settled back with the satisfied expression of a man who had dealt with an objection. June was still personally offended on behalf of a woman she had first seen forty seconds earlier.
“What did the lawyer do wrong?” Evelyn asked.
“You saw it,” Arthur said.
“I saw a lawyer wearing a suit. Admittedly, it was a nasty tie.”
“He defended that man.”
“Yes. They put it in letters big enough to read from the car park. Did they say he broke a rule? Hid something?”
“It’s about judgment.”
“Then why did we start with somebody else’s grandchildren?”
“Because he understands families.”
June pointed at the television. “Not all of his own, apparently.”
Leonard put down the biscuit.
“How many children has he got?”
“Three,” Arthur said.
“Grandchildren?”
“Nine.”
Leonard considered this.
“Could be an aggregate figure.”
June stared at him.
“What?”
“Three children, nine grandchildren. He could love each grandchild less and still have more love in the grandchildren column.”
“He’s not ordering paving slabs, Leonard.”
“Then he should be clearer.”
Evelyn reached for the remote. “Shall we see if the other channel has a candidate with a transport policy?”
Arthur put his hand over it.
“Hang on. It’s coming on again.”
“Of course it is. The grandchildren have a media budget.”
The politician returned to his fence.
“I love my children. And I REALLY love my grandchildren.”
June made a disgusted noise.
“His daughter probably drove him to his colonoscopy. Does she get REALLY loved? No. That goes to the little sod who drew him as a potato with legs.”
“You’re making things up,” Arthur said.
“So is he. Nobody’s measured it.”
The musical sting sounded. Harold Bell appeared outside the courthouse. Beside him, the accused man’s photograph looked as though it had been found in a cellar.
Leonard leaned forward.
“Was he black-and-white at the time?”
“The photograph’s old,” Arthur said.
“So’s the lawyer. They’ve managed color for him.”
“Would you stop picking at it?”
The narrator asked whose side Harold Bell had been on.
“The side he’d been hired to stand on,” Evelyn said.
Arthur sighed.
“It’s easy for you to be clinical.”
“I’m in a nursing home, Arthur. We all have our specialties.”
“You haven’t got children. You don’t know what it feels like.”
“To hear a cello and forget my question?”
“To want to protect someone.”
Evelyn turned in her chair.
“I would quite like to protect the afternoon quiz show. But apparently that doesn’t count unless I’ve pushed a contestant out of my vagina.”
June laughed into her knitting. Leonard took the biscuit after all.
Arthur looked injured.
“You don’t know what you missed.”
“I’ve been sitting next to it for six years.”
“I mean children.”
“So do I. If I’d had a crystal ball as a girl and seen what those little brats would do to you, I’d still have had no children.”
Evelyn looked him over.
“You’re a birth-control superfood, Arthur. Or at least a raisin.”
“My grandchildren are a blessing.”
“Then why do you pretend to be asleep when they arrive?”
“I rest before visits.”
“You rested through Oliver’s entire Easter holiday.”
“He had a tablet.”
“Yes. We all watched a man shout at a video game for forty minutes. Your eyes never opened, but your hand found the call button.”
Arthur adjusted his cardigan.
“That boy is very advanced with technology.”
“He ordered sixteen chicken nuggets from your phone and left you the bill,” June said.
“He was hungry.”
“So was Leonard. He didn’t get one.”
Leonard nodded. This remained an unresolved matter.
On television, the candidate promised to protect the next generation. His granddaughter leaned against him while he looked toward a point just above the camera.
Arthur softened.
“Look at that. You can’t fake that sort of affection.”
June gave him a long look.
“You were married to Brenda for twenty-three years.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Apparently the woman deserved an award.”
The ad ended. Evelyn finally acquired the remote, but before she could change channels, Leonard asked her to leave it.
“I want to see whether Bell answers.”
“Answers what?”
“The accusation.”
“Which is?”
“Well, that’s what I want to find out.”
Evelyn put the remote in her lap.
“Forty years ago,” she said, “a man worked as a defense lawyer. If they’re alleging he did something improper, tell us what it was. If they’re not, they’ve spent a fortune telling us his old job.”
Arthur shook his head.
“You keep leaving out the children.”
“The accused man’s alleged crime involved a child. That doesn’t make the lawyer the accused man.”
“Nobody said it did.”
“Then why am I looking at his photograph beside those enormous red letters?”
“It’s a serious subject, Evelyn.”
“Yes. That’s why I would quite like a serious sentence about it.”
June had been studying the campaign leaflet Arthur had brought down from his room. It showed the candidate’s family on the same lawn, with everyone looking remarkably pleased to be available on a weekday.
“There she is,” June said.
“Who?”
“The daughter. At the end. She’s holding someone’s coat.”
Arthur glanced at it.
“That’s his son.”
“Well, he looks fed up too.”
Leonard held out his hand for the leaflet.
“Any great-grandchildren?”
“Not that I know of,” Arthur said.
“That’ll shake things up.”
June nodded. “Straight to the top. The grandchildren won’t know what’s hit them.”
“Perhaps he’ll release an updated statement,” Evelyn said. “I love my children, I REALLY love my grandchildren, and the new baby’s getting the house.”
Arthur folded his arms.
“You can mock it all you like. Family tells you something about a person.”
“It tells you who’ll be arguing over the jewelry,” June said.
From the corridor came a shriek, followed by the sound of something plastic being dragged along the wall. A small boy appeared in the doorway, looked at the residents, and shouted back to someone out of sight.
“He’s not in here!”
“We’ve checked,” Evelyn told him. “Try the other end.”
He disappeared. A cartoon continued playing at full volume somewhere behind him.
Arthur smiled.
“Lovely to hear children in the place.”
“Then take your hearing aids off mute,” Evelyn said.
Arthur’s hand stopped halfway to his ear.
The quiz show returned long enough for the host to congratulate a woman on winning a washing machine. Then another commercial break began.
Evelyn looked at the clock. She had asked reception that morning about transport to a hospital appointment. The home could arrange a car, but there was an additional charge, and she needed someone to accompany her. Neither detail had been settled.
“Has either of them said anything about getting people to appointments?” she asked.
Arthur picked up his leaflet.
“He says he’ll stand up for families.”
“Will he sit in a taxi with me?”
“You know what he means.”
“I keep hoping he’ll tell me.”
The garden appeared again.
June groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake. Leave the daughter something.”
“I love my children,” the candidate said. “And I REALLY love my grandchildren.”
Arthur nodded despite himself.
Leonard began counting the children on his fingers.
Evelyn pressed mute. The candidate continued smiling, then vanished. The lawyer appeared beside the accused. The red letters filled the screen.
Without the music, everyone was quiet for a moment.
Then Arthur reached toward the remote.
“Put the sound back on. You’re making him seem less convincing.”
Satire note: All characters, candidates, advertisements, dialogue, and incidents in this story are fictional. The story satirizes campaign rhetoric, not alleged victims or the seriousness of crimes against children.