The only promise

Bennie collected the papers from the garden. Miep followed him along the wire, commenting loudly. Vera put the fallen cup in the bin. She handed Joep his soggy speech; a slug was sitting on the word win.

‘The opposition,’ he said, but his ears had turned red.

Ms Safia placed two stones on the table. ‘These will keep the papers down. And you don’t have to read your speeches.’

Joep went first. He looked at the children, at the goal on his poster and finally at Vera.

‘We’ve already got one goal,’ he said. ‘The net’s broken, that’s all. My dad can fix it. Yesterday he said I ought to learn how.’ He swallowed. ‘So I will. It’ll cost hardly anything.’

People clapped. Joep looked startled, as if he’d said something wrong and everyone had enjoyed it.

Vera pushed her slip of paper aside. ‘I’d like somewhere to sit without getting sand in my socks. A bench wouldn’t cost much. The woodworking club has some planks. I asked them. We can help with the sanding, and the grown-ups will put it together.’

‘With a roof?’ someone called.

‘There isn’t enough money for that. But there’ll be dry cushions underneath a lid.’

Then Joep introduced the honorary candidate. ‘Miep promises absolutely nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s her best quality.’

Miep stood on one leg. The mayor pointed. ‘She’s saving money on shoes.’

Everyone received two ballot papers: a white one for the junior mayor and a yellow one for the village mascot. The yellow paper listed Miep, the baker’s dog and a drawing of a potato wearing a hat. The youngest children had nominated the potato at the last minute.

Vera won the white ballot by four votes. Miep won the yellow one by a mile, although the baker complained that his dog hadn’t been given enough speaking time.

A week later the bench stood beneath the chestnut tree. Joep had sanded its back. Vera had found some blue cushions. The repaired football net had one remarkably crooked knot.

A sign hung on Miep’s pen: HONORARY MAYOR. NO APPOINTMENTS AVAILABLE.

Vera opened her book. On the other side of the fence, Miep came waddling over. She looked at the bench, at Vera and at the apple in her hand.

‘No,’ said Vera. ‘That election was fair.’

Miep had quite a lot to say about that.