The group became increasingly close as the weeks progressed, awkward silences in the corridor were replaced with laughter. Because they did laugh, all the time, often despite the struggles they had all gone through. But there was also understanding and empathy, not everyone had the support of friends and family around them, and for that Sue realised how very lucky she was. Others in the group needed the warmth, understanding, and confidentiality it offered, and some of the stories were heart breaking. Because it wasn’t only they who were affected by their pain, but those around them, their understanding was fundamental to adopting the principles that enriched your life. Sue learnt how to accept the flare ups and low moods because she knew they would pass, and she was now more equipped to deal with them. She learnt how to pace herself and set achievable goals, such as increasing how far she could walk, beginning at five minutes outside on the path and increasing it by a minute each week. She learnt how to break up activities, and the art of relaxation. Everyone looked forward to the twenty minutes at the end of each session, when the pillows and mats would be laid on the floor, for those who could get down onto them, while others lay down on the beds at the back of the room. Julie’s melodic voice seemed to be pitched just right, and Sue felt herself transported to a vision of calm, and warmth, where her muscles relaxed and all tension faded away. John always fell asleep, and being of a generous build, inevitably began to snore, but even that became part of the serenity of the room.
The most entertaining discussion was on how to maintain some sort of sex life, or closeness to a partner, when dealing with chronic pain. Sue felt heartily sorry for Julie in the end, because the poor woman couldn’t make a comment without someone making a joke of it, and her face was scarlet by the time she’d finished. But it was an important issue, although Sue didn’t have a partner at that time, she didn’t want to think of her sex life being over, nor had she considered the difficulties her physical realities could bring. So, she decided to do some extra homework and borrowed a book from the unit on sexual relations, it turned out to be a revelation in its own right, there were positions in there she hadn’t even tried when she was fit.
Everyone was sad when the eight weeks were over, so they arranged to meet up once a fortnight in a local coffee shop. To be truthful, they were also a little scared, it was as if they were now deemed to be strong enough to fly the nest and put into practise all of the principles they had discussed, but they weren’t sure if they were able to. However Sue felt optimistic for the future, she was more able to handle her pain, and although she hadn’t completely accepted that there wouldn’t be a moment in the future when she would get a diagnosis to help her, she did acknowledge her pain was part of her, for now, and that life was still there to be grabbed. Yes, Sue thought, she felt excited and good about the future, she was ready, almost, to move on.
Part two - The Middle
Chapter twenty-eight
One year later-February 2012
Sir George opened the door and stopped in surprise, Nancy stood in the entrance hall, a glass of whisky in hand.
“Is everything alright?” he wasn’t so much concerned, as curious.
“Everything is fine George, I just thought it would be nice to dine together for once,” Nancy replied, a trifle testily he thought.
“It would?” Sir George asked, and then decided he would do better to turn his query into a statement. “Yes, it would.”
He removed his long rain coat, muffler, and gloves, hanging them up as he did so. He reached for the glass of whisky.
“Thank you my dear, very kind.”
Not that he was in any way fooled by this display of spousal affection, Nancy either wanted to tell him something, of which she knew he would disapprove, or wanted money to purchase something that he didn’t have an opinion on anyway. She led the way quietly into the dining room, the long mahogany table that could comfortably accommodate at least twenty, was set at one corner for just the two of them. Still, he noted she’d used the best china and lit candles in one of the silver candelabras. Sir George began to worry, whatever it was Nancy had on her mind, it was serious.
“I’ve made your favourite, chilled pea and asparagus soup,” Nancy said taking her place beside him and laying the starched white napkin across her lap.
Sir George took a sip, “Delicious my dear, as always.”
Nancy smiled pleasantly. “Have you had a good day, George?”
“Yes, yes, busy you know, but bearable.”
And because she’d asked him about his day, he felt obliged to reciprocate; a fact which he suspected was behind her inquiry in the first place.
“And yours my dear, how did the…” he searched his mind, which blasted club did she attend on a Wednesday, “…err, Women’s Association meeting go?”
“Very well,” she replied, as Sir George thanked his good luck at plucking the correct interest out of his mind.
To be truthful he should pay more attention when Nancy droned on about her various concerns, but, they simply weren’t that interesting. He would much rather eat alone in his study, where he could wind down after leaving the club, an arrangement that suited them both, most of the time.
“…in fact I think we should do it more often,” Nancy said, looking at him for a response. Blast it to hell, Sir George thought, he’d tuned out around flower arranging and now he didn’t know what to say.
He decided to go for non-committal, which, he found, was always a good move in such situations.
“Yes, quite possibly.”
Nancy stood up to take away the soup bowls. “Well, I don’t think dining together once a week requires that much consideration does it?”
The conversation had obviously veered away from Spring baskets.
“Of course not my dear, you’re absolutely right, it would be nice to do this more often.”
No doubt another fad, Sir George hoped.
Nancy returned a moment later with roast chicken and a selection of vegetables, another of his favourites; the communal dining was obviously not the only thing on her mind.
“Hope said she’d been reading an article on how it’s important not to lose touch with one’s spouse as one gets older,” Nancy said, placing the gravy in front of her husband.
“Did she?” he replied. He might have known as much, that damn woman was a nuisance. She’d only joined the W.A. a few months ago, and since then she’d filled his wife’s head with one ludicrous idea after another.
“And of course we’ll be doing the coffee morning…”
Sir George tucked into his meal; the roast chicken was superb just how he liked it. And of course he’d be away early in the morning, and not back until late the following day. It still bothered him, the coalition of Germany and France in asking for Britain to join the euro, laughable tactics really…
“…so I thought I’d make my lemon drizzle and coffee and walnut cake, and some cupcakes, everyone seems to be eating them these days.”
“Yes dear,” Sir George said. Of course he’d known straight away there was more behind that request, a fact later confirmed in the negotiations. In some ways it was very frustrating, not having the big picture and having to rely upon a faceless superior to decide policy.
“…and Judy is making her wonderful corned beef and potato pie, I shall be sure to bring you back a slice…”
“Yes, dear.” Sir George wondered when he would get the call, to move onto the next level. There would undoubtedly be plenty of competition, but he believed he’d executed every demand with efficiency, and remained a loyal General. Not that there was an option to do otherwise, once you were aware, in the smallest of senses, how countries were truly governed, it was an elite circle you never left and never betrayed. The financial rewards and the taste of true power were an intoxicating mix. He expected Nigel Purser may take his role, he was certainly the most competent and ambitious of those he was handling at the moment.
“…we usually split the proceeds amongst various charities, a
s you know, but this year we thought we’d add another…”
“Yes dear.” Still, there would be more demanded of Nigel’s talents soon, he’d managed the Chancellor’s career and opinions well enough so far, but the second stage of his development was yet to come.
“…because people are finding it so difficult to manage, we need to help those who are less fortunate…”
“Yes dear.” He’d go over his own instructions for the following day, make sure he was prepared and…hang on a minute, what did Nancy just say?
“Pardon me my dear, did you say you were donating part of the money to Retreat?” he asked.
“Yes George, honestly I don’t think you listen half the time. Hope suggested that in light of the present economic crisis we should do more to help those who are struggling.”
My god, Sir George thought, that blasted Hope woman, was a damn communist. He was so shocked he had to take a second to formulate his response.
“Most of the homeless people, who use Retreat, are on the streets by choice, when they should be doing their bit to contribute to society. And yet this…Hope expects those of us who have gotten up out of our beds, and worked for a living, to support them. It’s ridiculous, completely ridiculous.”
“Oh George, I knew that’s what you would say. Have you no social conscience?” Nancy replied.
Sir George could feel his initial irritation turning to genuine anger; he would not have such dangerous, socialist ideals in his house.
Nancy could recognise the signs. “Calm down George, mind your blood pressure, you’ve gone quite red.”
“Mind my…may I remind you my dear, that I and generations before me have worked damn hard to build this life, and have not sat and expected others to support us. The only reason these sorts of people use Retreat is because the money the tax payer has contributed to support them, has been spent on drink, drugs or cigarettes. No one in this country needs hand–outs, or homing, they are just too damn idle to help themselves.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know George, anyway Hope was very persuasive and the decision has been made.”
“God damn it Nancy, I…get me another whisky,” Sir George huffed, finally running out of steam.
“Yes dear,” his wife replied.
*****
The following morning Sir George was being driven to Goodfellow Lodge, he intended to arrive just before luncheon, as their partridge was particularly delicious; the serious business would begin afterwards. Never negotiate on an empty stomach, it made you weak and susceptible to compromise. However he did feel that perhaps he may not enjoy his meal as much as he should, because his constitution was still reeling from the previous evening’s discussion with Nancy. What on earth was the woman thinking of, listening to the likes of Hope Wilkes. He’d done some research upon the self-styled hippy, yes, it took a special sort of person to believe such socialist nonsense, and she was that person. She decreed the state of the ‘poor,’ from a large town house in the city, and if that upset her social conscience, she could easily retire to the country mansion to recover. As far as Sir George was concerned, she was the worst sort of idealist, a hypocritical one. And now she had Nancy believing her rubbish, and that worried him, because that was not the reaction to the financial crisis expected for their plan to succeed. He would raise the matter that afternoon, in such a way that did not suggest he was at all concerned; it never did to show your hand to the others, especially the Frenchman, even though they were supposed to be allies.
My God, a terrible thought struck Sir George, as he alighted from his car, and thanked the driver, what if his superiors knew of Nancy’s involvement in raising money for Retreat? In fact he may as well assume they did because nothing ever slipped by them, that was how they had remained so successful for hundreds of years. But what would their reaction be, would Nancy’s activities undermine his career in any way, or make them question the trust placed upon him? He was due to report back tonight upon the talks, he wondered if he should mention it, or would they have already dismissed his wife’s dalliances as trivial; in which case he would end up looking foolish for bringing the matter up. No, he decided, he would wait and see, but be alert for any signs of …well, of what he wasn’t sure. There was no get out option in his role, only…well, he didn’t know what the alternative was, but he could guess.
Despite Goodfellow Lodge’s contemporary style, Sir George did enjoy staying there; he could forgive the white marble, chrome and glass because the serving was outstanding. He could even forgive the chrome fire bowls one hovered around, instead of a comfy chair in front of a roaring log fire, because the chef was excellent and the maître ’ds knowledge of wine was exemplary. But the deciding factor in securing his approval, of a building he should really loath, was the golf course. It had been laid to perfection, with a free caddy service if needed. Sir George intended to play a round the following day, before he left, in fact the Italian and the German had accompanied him last time, and he’d had the joy of beating them both.
*****
Sir George sipped his coffee, strong with just a splash of cream, as he listened to the Italian. They would each take a turn in drawing together the intelligence they had received from their various contacts, and present the salient facts. It was then up to their superiors to sift through the updates given and use the information in any way they deemed useful.
“My countrymen are on the verge of electing their first right wing government in the last twenty years. Of this there can be no question. The populace is angry at the enforced cuts in their wage, and many have lost employment. The Right Wing has exploited this emotion, as we knew it would, and has made the common man believe he can have a role in determining my countries future. We have become isolationists in our beliefs, we blame…excuse me for saying so…” he nodded at the German, “…the Germans for blackmailing us into accepting their direction in return for handouts to try and stimulate the economy.”
“Good, very good,” the German responded. “While my country’s present government remains committed to ensuring the longevity of the European Union, my people are not. They see their own economy weakened by increasing financial handouts to other member states, and yet they are hated for it. Opinion in the streets is hardening, protest marches are increasingly turning to violence as they accuse the government of putting their position in Europe before its own people’s needs. Just as we had hoped.”
Sir George had changed to drinking tea by the time he was ready to contribute. It seemed the French doubted his fellow countryman’s desire for protest, he believed them to be weak and too accepting. Sir George may have agreed with him, they had done a very effective job in the past, of crushing the spirit of most unions, but he would not have them dismissed by a Frenchman.
“Our plan may be slower to unfold, but the gradual increase of pressure upon the ordinary working man, is the only way to guarantee his eventual explosion. If you may forgive me for saying so…” he addressed his comment to the Frenchman, “…we don’t react with a hot head, but with measured consideration. We are all working toward a common goal, and Britain will play its part. Violence will come.”
Debate continued into the evening, each step toward their eventual goal discussed, and dissected. Until a halt was called, and the five left to report back and receive instruction for the following morning. The monitors had remained silent, which was universally taken as indicating a job well done.
Sir George had decided to have a late supper; negotiation stirred both the blood and the appetite. So despite having already had a good lunch, he decided to partake in some duck. The breast, cooked in a rich plum sauce was wonderful. Sir George thought back over the day, making his own analysis of events. The next few years would be the messy part of the plan, manipulating the populace into protest and division had to handled just so. Still, he could see beyond that phase into a personal future of unimaginable wealth and influence, while he helped to lead those too ignorant to realise, into a future not seen
for hundreds of years in the United Kingdom. He smiled to himself and sipped his port.
Six months earlier – August 2011
Chapter twenty-nine
Andrew
“For fucks sake Andrew,” Nigel slammed his fist down on the desk in front of his friend. “You’re the chancellor, time to grow up and make some policies.”
Andrew made a show of lowering his voice, even though the offices around them had emptied of staff hours earlier. “Yes, and he’s the fucking Prime Minister.”
“Not for ever.” Nigel swept his hand in the air and paced to the office door and back. “Ministers, people, they need to see you as a possible leader.”
“But Blackthorn’s-”
“In fact no,” Nigel interrupted. “You need to see you as a possible leader.”
“Well for now I’m the Chancellor.” Andrew was aware how that sounded but for once he didn’t feel like apologising for being his friend’s boss.
“Then act like it, you’ll gain more respect for defying the PM than creeping up his arse.”
“He wants the top rate of tax reduced to forty-five percent in the next budget, there isn’t a lot of wriggle room there.”
“There’s always wriggle room, always a deal to be done, for fucks sake Andrew…” Nigel shook his head then said, his voice barely above a whisper this time, “…grow some balls. You used to be so…dynamic, so enthused by politics.”
“We’re in a different league now Nigel, and I’m…well I’m not sure what I am some times,” he replied.
Nigel slammed his fist down on the desk once more. “You listen to me mate, you’ve always had a clear vision for this country, always known in your gut what was right.”
“That was as a local MP, all this…” Andrew gestured around the office.
“All this, what?” Nigel challenged.
“Well, it’s-”
“Right in the heart of government,” Nigel interrupted once more.
An Ordinary Working Man Page 16