Bran flakes consumed, Sue retrieved the letter, to open with her morning cuppa. She hadn’t managed a sip before her arm froze halfway to her mouth. She had received no marks whatsoever in her assessment, and as such was no longer entitled to claim ESA. Therefore, the letter advised her, she should either return to work if she had an employer, or claim Job Seekers Allowance. Sue could feel a hot flush creeping up her face, as the breakfast she had just eaten threatened to come back up. She was totally and utterly floored, and unable to think. Because, how could she not have scored anything? She’d explained she could no longer walk very far, and sit or stand for long. Yes, she expected her condition to improve, but in the mean time she needed that little bit of help to get her over the worst. Worries and concerns started crowding her thoughts, she knew she couldn’t work at the moment, but without any money… well, she couldn’t finish the thought because she didn’t know what the conclusion was. For the first time she looked around herself, at the home she and Lottie had created, and felt it starting to slip away. Not to mention how crap she would feel about telling people, her parents, her friends, Lottie, they all expected there not to be a problem getting ESA, much like Sue herself. Telling them she hadn’t qualified, and hadn’t even received a point, was like saying, yes, it’s true, there really isn’t anything wrong with me. The doctors could find nothing, and now the DWP agreed with them. Christ, Sue thought, maybe it was all in her head after all. What other conclusion could she reach? Everyone kept saying they could find nothing wrong, as if Sue was choosing to live this lifestyle. She’d gone from a well-paid job that she loved to watching every penny she spent. And once her redundancy had gone she wouldn’t even have enough money to cover her bills, despite having brought their cost down. Well she had to tell someone about it a because she was far too wound up to put it to one side and drink her tea.
She phoned her parents, and Mark Bailey answered. “Hi dad, I know it’s early, but I just got the results of my medical assessment, and…well, I got no points.” Sue could feel the tension in her head, as she struggled to hold back the tears.
“No points,” her dad repeated. “How can that be right?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what I got.”
“So, what does that mean?” he asked.
“I’ve either got to go back to work, if I have a job to go back to, or claim JSA.”
“What…but that’s ridiculous, you lost your job because it was decided you couldn’t carry out your duties due to ill health. Did you tell them that at the medical?”
“Of course I did.” Sue could feel herself getting defensive, so she took a long steadying breath. “I explained everything, but it obviously didn’t have any effect.”
“Well, it just goes to show that the whole lot of them are nothing but a bunch of flaming idiots.”
There was a pause in the conversation as Sue could hear her dad quickly filling in her mother on the situation. “Hang on, your mam wants a word.”
“Hi, what’s happened?”
So Sue explained it again, repetition made it no less painful.
“But how can you claim JSA, when you’ve been declared unfit for work by the doctor?”
“Mam, I have no idea. I’m going to have to go through everything and see what on earth I’m supposed to do next.”
The conversation with her parents soothed Sue, in that; they never questioned her right to be on ESA. It turned her fear into anger and resolve. She was not going to accept their findings; she was going to challenge them instead. The following morning she would go down to the Citizen’s Advice Bureau and find out what exactly her options were. For now, she would drink her tea in righteous indignation.
Chapter twenty-one
Eleven months later - October 2010
Andrew
Andrew thought he would smile until his cheeks split and his heart burst. He felt Nigel’s steadying hand on his shoulder and realised his whole body shook with the absolute joy of watching Molly being escorted down the aisle toward him. He’d have been happy with a simple registry office service, having no particular religious leanings, but he was so happy Molly had persuaded him to go for the traditional alternative. She had been right of course, there was something about standing in church, waiting for his bride, that was exquisitely pure. As she drew level with him he took the hand offered by her father, and then paused to lift her veil back. He could see that she too had been crying, and yet she had never looked more beautiful. He took her hand once more and raised it to his lips. If Nigel hadn’t cleared his throat and patted him on the shoulder, he doubted he would even have heard what the vicar was saying, let alone realised his part in the ceremony. Molly smiled and turned to face the altar, encouraging Andrew to do the same.
“Do you, Andrew, Michael, Proust, take this woman Molly, Justine, Amber, to be your lawful wedded wife, to have…” Andrew couldn’t even process what the vicar was saying to him, all he knew was that it was essential he got his bit right. A slight sheen of sweat broke out on his brow, as his mouth dried up. He bit his tongue to encourage some moisture, otherwise he feared, when the time came, he would be unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, in order to speak.
And then the vicar was silent, nodding at Andrew, his eyes flashing a signal to say, it’s your turn.
“I do,” Andrew rasped.
By contrast Molly seemed to be having no such trouble, although he did note the slight tremble in her hand as he placed the ring on her finger.
Then everyone was clapping and they were walking back down the aisle, and Andrew was relieved, but also, proud, because this woman had chosen him to be her husband, and that must mean something grand, surely?
The reception was much more relaxed. They had kept things small, personal, an indoor oasis after the storm of press coverage when they’d left the church. Andrew had refuted Nigel’s suggestions as to whom he ought to invite, and simply asked those he wanted to be there. Family and the few friends he’d managed to maintain some connection to, in light of his new ministerial role. He’d reluctantly accepted that his position as Chancellor meant he no longer owned one hundred per cent of his life. But he’d also learned, with Nigel’s help, that he could control which aspects of his personal and professional life, the public gained access to and he’d had no intention of playing politics with the start of his married life.
They’d hired a small room in Bosworth House, it was classy, elegant and beautiful. Molly’s colour scheme of cream and gold complimented the ornate panelling, delicate chandeliers and long windows, dressed to frame the view of the formal gardens beyond. As Andrew stood beside his bride, greeting his guests, he truly believed he had never been happier, and yet, years later, when he tried to recall details of the day, all he could remember with any clarity was Molly’s smile.
The speeches were well received, hitting the right balance of humour and emotion. Molly had not been thrilled at Andrew’s choice of Nigel as his best man, but she’d accepted his right to the role. So, the fact that he managed to make her cry and laugh within his ten minute delivery was quite a triumph.
Molly’s father found it difficult to talk at times, his voice overcome with emotion. Molly was, after all, a much loved only child. And this was it, he recognised Andrew as the man who was now responsible for his daughter’s happiness and wellbeing, a role that had been his for so many years.
Andrew had a great deal of affection for his in-laws, Frank and Edith Amber. In their early eighties, they were older than his parents, although they both looked much younger and were still incredibly active in their community. They’d been retired for many years, and had been hit hard by the Goldstar crisis, and resulting low interest rates. They hadn’t been as canny as Anthony Proust, varying his investments to reduce the risk, and had lost a large proportion of their savings. Still, they hadn’t complained, but had carried on. They’d sold the family home, marketing it for a quick sale, and had bought a smaller home in the same area. Having thus releasing
a lot of their capital, they were now able to relax financially once more. Frank had insisted upon contributing to the cost of the wedding, as father-of- the bride’s right, despite Molly’s protestations that they did not need to. Andrew respected them enormously, they hadn’t complained about the financial position they’d found themselves in, or demanded state help as a right, but had helped themselves and adjusted their expectations accordingly.
Anthony Proust’s speech was warm and witty, often at the expense of his son as he related several embarrassing episodes of his youth. His father had finally decided to retire several months earlier, at the behest of his wife, and had taken up golf. Joyce complained that she’d actually seen more of him when he was at work, and had promptly taken up the sport herself. Determined they would at least spend some of their golden years together. As they’d not lost quite so much because of the on-going financial crisis, they’d managed to stay put, but had to cut back on the little things, like weekends away, that Andrew felt they had worked hard for and deserved to have.
In all of the speeches, his position as Chancellor had been fuel for hilarity; his careful money management as a child. The fact that he’d never trusted banks even then, keeping his money in his Thomas the Tank Engine piggy bank.
All in all it was a wonderful, exhausting day, and at the end of it Andrew was glad to lay his head down upon his pillow and look into the eyes of his wife.
*****
The following morning Andrew moved slowly toward wakefulness, wishing to enjoy the moments before the day began, and to relish the memories of the day just passed. His thoughts lingered on Molly, as he turned onto his side and finally opened his eyes expecting to see his bride, Mrs Andrew Proust. Unfortunately his wife was nowhere to be seen. They’d stayed in the bridal suite at Bosworth, and as it was to be their only honeymoon Andrew decided they deserved to be spoilt, and the sumptuously dressed room did not disappoint. Still, Andrew would have preferred a week away in the sun, but Nigel had warned against such frivolous expenditure in the midst of financial hardship for many in society. He had reluctantly agreed, although secretly believed that as he’d earned his wage, then surely he was allowed to spend it in whatever way he deemed fit. He might have argued the point, but for once Molly had actually agreed with his friend, and so one night of lavish indulgence was all they were allowed.
“Molly?” Andrew called.
She immediately answered, popping her head around the bedroom door, “Good morning Mr Proust.”
“Good morning Mrs Proust,” he replied. “Now, would you like to tell me why you are up, and fully clothed. I had rather different plans for the morning.”
“I bet you did,” she grinned as she answered, “but our breakfast will arrive in a moment and I thought one of us should be in a fit state to open the door. I don’t want any secretly taken pictures of myself, hair a bird’s nest and dressing gown array, appearing in tomorrow’s papers.”
“My darling Molly, you think of everything.” When, he wondered, had politics become just as much about image as about policies? An offhand remark, the wrong expression on your face, and your career could be finished. He’d sat in enough meetings with worried cabinet ministers, as they thrashed out ways to spin unfortunate news, to know that you were no longer merely judged on what you had accomplished.
He heard a knock on the door of the suite, which was answered by his wife, then the gentle murmur of Molly’s voice as she thanked the server, followed by the sound of a door closing and her soft tread as she reappeared in the bedroom.
“Looks delicious,” she commented, pushing a tray laden with food toward the bed. “Right, I won’t be long.”
“Won’t be long? Where on earth are you going now?” Andrew asked.
“Why, to put my nightie back on of course, and then after breakfast, if you’re really lucky Mr Proust, I may just let you take it back off again.”
Andrew shook his head at the retreating form of his wife, as her tinkling laughter floated out of earshot. Wow, she really was his wife, he couldn’t believe it, I mean it was immense, and fragile, and wonderful all at the same time. The fact that he now got to spend the rest of his life with her, well that would do very well, very well indeed.
Chapter twenty-two
“Urghhh,” Andrew groaned once more, “I mean, why should I be denied the joy of spending a few days with my new wife?”
They were walking past the vast array of cubicles on their way to his office, as he voiced his objections to the lack of any honeymoon period, yet again.
“Well, if that is in fact a question, and not you complaining for the sake of it, then I fear you’re in the wrong job Chancellor,” Nigel replied.
“Yeah, well I feel better if I moan about it. Okay, what do I need to know?”
“Well, firstly each…” Nigel stopped talking, and slowed his pace ever so slightly, to receive two cups of coffee from an anonymous junior, who no doubt thought his career trajectory secure because Nigel Purser had chosen him to fetch the morning beverages. “Where was I…oh, wrong one, you have my black coffee.”
Andrew and Nigel exchanged cups, their brisk stride uninterrupted by the fluid malfunction. The Chancellor had ensured that as he was promoted Nigel filled the space he had vacated. Andrew had thought it would be difficult, Nigel was not to every ones taste, but his suggestion had in fact been greeted with enthusiasm. It had eased some of his guilt, that he had risen professionally on the back of his friend’s diligence. Nigel of course refused to see it that way, he’d merely regarded it as his duty to report the information he’d heard about Goldstar, how it got to the right people was of no consequence to him. In a profession where a colleague would chat happily to you over drinks in the bar, then vote against you at the drop of a hat if it led to personal gain, Andrew believed that Nigel must surely be the last of a forgotten breed, a truly selfless individual who merely acted for the common good.
“Okay, the purpose of the meeting is, of course, for each of the Chief Secretaries to the Treasury to present their proposals for budget cuts to the various government departments.”
They turned at the end of the foyer and headed up the first set of grand stairwells.
“Don’t be misled into thinking that they have in anyway agonised over their suggestions. Each Secretary will have liaised with the department in question and negotiated a figure that makes them look good, but causes little financial pain.”
They turned left at the top of the staircase and headed along a further corridor.
“And why would they do that?” Andrew asked. “I never did in that position.”
“That, my dear soul, is because you are too honest for the murky world of politics, which may just be the quality that makes you PM one day,” Nigel replied.
“What…no way…I, anyway, carry on with what you were saying,” Andrew spluttered, a red flush gradually sweeping up his face.
They turned and headed up another staircase.
“To answer your question, because you never know when you may need to call in a favour. Therefore it’s a good idea to ensure as many people or departments are indebted to you as possible. So, getting back to my earlier thread, take whatever money saving ideas they have, and demand a further twenty per cent.”
“An extra twenty per cent, as much as that?” Andrew asked, as they walked along a shorter corridor.
“Oh yes Chancellor,” Nigel stated as they came to a stop. “At least twenty per cent.”
“Okay then.”
Andrew opened a heavy wooden door in front of him, and announced, “Good morning every one, thank you for your promptness, let’s get down to business shall we.”
At one point, during a meeting that lasted almost three hours, Andrew truly felt he was losing the will to live. As one Secretary after another stated that they couldn’t possibly see how to demand further cuts from the various government departments. In a meeting where pettiness was never far from the table, Andrew felt they had indeed reached an all-ti
me low when an argument broke out over which was the cheapest way to secure paper directives, paper clips, which were of course re-useable, or staples.
In the end he had relented slightly and demanded each Secretary find an extra fifteen per cent of cuts, from each department. It was now his duty to collate all the monies actually saved, with those he hoped to further save, and take them to the PM, who, if Andrew understood the game correctly, would then demand he go back and get a further five per cent of cuts. Upon leaving the meeting Andrew found himself cross and out of sorts, this time he marched back to his office in silence. He didn’t need to ask Nigel to accompany him because, well, he always did. As soon as the door was shut, Andrew felt the pressure explode in his head, and find release through his words.
An Ordinary Working Man Page 10