An Ordinary Working Man

by Gillian Ferry

“You can’t appeal against the appeal, that’s it. Well, you can if you have grounds to do so on a point of law. Unfortunately, that doesn’t include lies being printed about you. They can say what they want about me, come to any conclusion they wish and I have no right of redress.”

  “I see, well this isn’t really a matter the chancellor can interfere in, it is a legal process, after all.”

  “Yes…” she leaned toward him as she spoke, and her voice became more confident. “…but it’s a process that is completely unfair, it’s a means of getting benefit numbers down by exploiting the system, and the people it targets are those who are in most need.”

  Nigel straightened up, time to bring things to a close; he wanted to get back to the office and do some proper work. “I’m sure you’ll agree Miss Bailey, that in the present economic climate, everyone must play their part in bringing down the deficit, and that includes those who have exploited the welfare system.”

  “I don’t care,” the woman stated.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t care about the people who are claiming benefits fraudulently, because when you go after them you always promise that those most in need will be protected and that’s simply not true, we all get the same crappy treatment.”

  Oh god, this truly could go on for ages, and he needed a decent cup of coffee, perhaps…

  “It seems to me, Miss Bailey, that what you’re really saying is that you want to be able to work.”

  “Well, yes of course.”

  She seemed to deflate before his very eyes. “I’ll get in touch with the local Jobcentre Plus, see if there’s anyone you could go to for advice. How does that sound?”

  “Well, yes, that would be great but-”

  Nigel sensed another argument, but once more he quickly interrupted. “Excellent, I’ll get that done for you.” He stood as he spoke, walked to the door and opened it. Thankfully she responded to his lead and rose also, as she walked out through the doorway he said, “Thank you for coming Miss Bailey.” And then he closed the door and gave a long pleasurable sigh, thank god that was over. He gathered up the photocopies he’d promised to look at and walked over to the waste paper bin then he stopped and thought better of it, one never knew who would go through the trash, he’d take them back to the office and shred them there. And then he was going to find out who the lackey was who’d pulled out of doing the surgery because of family issues, and make sure his life was hell for several weeks to come.

  *****

  There were always people milling around at the office, in spite of it being the weekend; it was a concept the machinery of government never really honoured, although it was well known that weekend days were a good opportunity to slip out potentially unpopular policy changes. The televised news bulletins were shorter and on at different times, and people tended to be out with their families. Nigel placed his briefcase down beside his chair and removed the post-it notes stuck to his computer terminal, he’d given up asking for any messages to be written down in the jotter on his desk because, apparently, that was too difficult a task to master. There were only two directives, one to phone his sister and the other to give Andrew a ring.

  He tossed the request to phone Ruby in the bin, it was the third one this week, and the only reason she ever got in touch was to berate him for his lack of attention toward their mother. Nigel didn’t see why he should increase his filial visits to more than once a month; he refused to be blackmailed by pleas of loneliness following Sir James’ death. After all, his mother had a wide circle of friends, and had become heavily involved in all sorts of charities through her friendship with Nancy Malton. Although Nigel had been rather surprised at some of the causes Sir George allowed his wife to support, everyone knew Retreat was just an excuse to give freeloaders an even easier existence at the taxpayer’s expense.

  The next message was from Andrew, asking Nigel to give him a call when he got back to the office. He almost thought about ignoring that one too, but that action would be somewhat harder to explain. He sighed and picked up the receiver.

  “Hi Nigel, I thought you’d be in,” Andrew said.

  “Well, obviously you are too, can you remember those strange things? What were they called? Weekends I think. Anyway why are you answering your own phone, what’s happened to your secretary?”

  “I sent Stephen home, I’m only working on the Welfare Bill and I thought it would be nice if one of us saw our spouses,” he replied. “Anyway, if you’re going to be in a while, and you are of course in no way obliged to be-”

  “Oh, of course,” Nigel interrupted.

  “-then I thought you might like to go through some of the proposals with me.”

  “I thought the bill had been finalised, and it was off to the speech writers to tweak the language.”

  “It was, but I’m just…well, why don’t you come over and we’ll have a chat.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in ten.” Nigel hung up and frowned, what was the matter now? Christ, he swore it had never been this hard to keep Andrew on course in the beginning. He was due to see Sir George in a few days, to confirm the form the finalised Bill would take. He picked his briefcase up from beside the chair, and headed back out the door. Why couldn’t Andrew just stop thinking and do what he was damn well told to do, like so many oblivious public servants in the past. Still, things were coming together nicely, there was no use playing their hand too quickly in the campaign to make Andrew PM, the fire of discontent was still being stoked underneath Blackthorn. But, with an election imminent Nigel was beginning to wonder when it would be time for Andrew to take-over, surely before the formal election began would be the wisest course. Or maybe his caution was irrelevant, if Sir George and those above him had fixed upon Andrew as the next PM, maybe it was more a case of ensuring he did nothing stupid, rather than claiming Blackthorn had. Nigel felt an alien pang of sorrow, the only one he could discuss politics with in any real depth had been his father, even if the conversation was in such coded terms that at times father and son had difficulty understanding each other. He shrugged off the unwelcome melancholy. It was hard though, being patient when you could see the big picture just around the corner, close enough to touch but not yet enjoy. What must it have been like for those who had managed the status quo of politics, knowing they would never see the result of their efforts or maybe they believed they had, being completely unaware that their part in the grand Republican production was that of a caretaker and little else. Nigel had been truly blessed to be born at the eve of the opening night, whether it was by accident, or design if you believed in such things, and he didn’t. Yes, luck may have played its part but he was damn sure he was going to enjoy every second of the new world order. In fact, much like Christmas when he was a boy, he was sure the sweet taste of anticipation was even better than the event itself.

  *****

  The outer office was deserted, just as Andrew had said it would be, and the door to his office was half open. Before he could announce his presence the Chancellor shouted, “Nigel is that you?”

  “Yes, I stopped off and got you an espresso,” he replied, although his diversion to the coffee shop had been more to satisfy his own need than any anticipated desire of Andrew. He could still taste the cheap instant.

  “Excellent, thanks, although I’m probably way past my quota, and it’s only…” he stopped and looked at his watch, “…christ its two-thirty already.”

  “What’s Molly up to today?” Nigel asked, convention required him to ask, although he really didn’t care. The two had not grown any closer, in fact Nigel believed her to be responsible for the disturbingly miss-placed social conscience Andrew had acquired as of late.

  Andrew took the offered cup. “She’s gone shopping with Josie. How did the surgery go this morning? I’m sorry you got landed with it, but Jim’s mother passed away suddenly.”

  Nigel bit back the rather derogatory comment aimed at Jim and instead replied, “The usual mixed bag, road humps, wind farms
, the bin collection. I know, I know…” Nigel added as Andrew rolled his eyes, “…but as I told you all those years ago, refuse rounds are important to the electorate, when you run for PM, that will be the platform that gets you elected.”

  Andrew laughed as he spoke, “I don’t think we’re quite ready for that yet.”

  Nigel noted the change, a month ago and Andrew would have dismissed the possibility of running for the top job, he hadn’t done that. The seed had been planted and had finally germinated.

  “Anyway, I logged the issues and I’ll pass them onto the relevant people,” Nigel said.

  “Was there any feedback upon my proposed intention to reform welfare?”

  Nigel pretended to ponder the question, while that awful, boring woman forced her way into his conscious. What had she been called? Julie, no…Pr…Sue, that was it. He erased the memory. “It didn’t feature a great deal, it was mostly local concerns, but those who touched upon it, I would say they would be in favour.”

  “And you’re basing that assumption upon…”

  “Simply the offhand comments people make, you know the stuff…they work hard to make ends meet and yet those who’ve never worked seem to want for nothing etc.”

  “Hum.” Andrew sipped his coffee, sat back in his chair and frowned.

  “So, are you going to tell me what the problem is Chancellor?” Nigel asked, copying his action in one of the seats opposite him.

  “It’s not really a problem as such, more a wanting to make sure…”

  “Of…” Nigel prompted.

  “Of the Welfare Bill-”

  “Andrew,” Nigel interrupted, “you’re talking about something the cabinet have been working on for months. That everyone, including and especially the PM are happy with, are you now telling me, two months before you’re due to present it to the House, you’re dissatisfied with it?”

  “No, of course not, it’s just…I don’t know, I was talking to Molly…”

  Damn that interfering woman!

  “…and she was, I suppose, playing devil’s advocate and it made me see things…well, a little differently.”

  “I see.” Nigel made a conscious effort to stop his fingers drumming upon the chair arm. “Well, it’s always helpful to get another opinion, it helps you to prepare for the opposition you may face in the House, although I doubt Molly came up with anything we haven’t predicted as possible sticking points ourselves.”

  “No, no, maybe it was more the way she said it, it was less of a political exercise coming from her, more of a personal reaction and as such, harder to argue against.”

  “Okay,” Nigel leaned forward, placed his coffee on the floor and folded his hands in his lap. “You’re Molly and I’m you, let’s go through the proposals, point by point.”

  “Okay, okay, well I suppose the main issue surrounds that of means testing child benefit-”

  “We always knew that was going to be the hard one to sell,” Nigel interrupted.

  “-quite, so how can we, or rather you, introduce a piece of legislation which, at its core, is fundamentally flawed. How can it be fair that a household where perhaps only one parent is working, and who earns just over the cut-off point of fifty thousand pounds, loses their child benefit, when next door may be a couple where both parents work and earn forty five thousand pounds each, giving them a joint wage of ninety thousand a year, and they still get it.”

  “Simple, it’s not fair, but it’s the best we can do, means testing a joint wage would involve so much red tape that it would overshadow any savings we make. Furthermore, without making the savings on child benefit we wouldn’t be able to guarantee the winter fuel allowance to pensioners. And finally, are we really saying that fifty thousand plus pounds a year isn’t enough to cloth and feed your children? In the present economic climate tough choices have to be made, and we all have to do our bit to get the deficit down.”

  “But are we unfairly making more demands upon the middle class?”

  “No, and the other measures will show that, that we respect their views and applaud them for striving to make a better life for themselves,” Nigel stated.

  “And how exactly are we planning on doing that…Molly’s words, not mine,” Andrew added.

  Nigel paused and took a sip of his espresso before answering; he could feel a headache beginning. “By increasing the hours worked a week from sixteen to twenty four before anyone can claim the working tax credit, we’re sending a message to say it’s unacceptable for a person to choose to work just sixteen hours and be rewarded by the state for doing so when the majority of tax payers in this country are working full time to support their lifestyle choice. By capping housing benefit we’re ending the inequality in society that says, if you work only a limited number of hours or don’t work at all, then it’s okay for you to be living in a five bedroom house in the city while the full time employed save and live within their means. The ordinary working men and women of this country should not be going off to work, while the curtains of their neighbours remain closed as they lie warm in their beds.”

  Nigel stood up and began pacing as he spoke, “By restricting Child Tax Credit, stopping it after three children we’re rewarding those who plan their family around how many offspring they can afford to have, instead of encouraging the unemployed to breed like rabbits, expecting the rest of us to pick up the tab.”

  “Finished?” Andrew asked.

  Nigel stood in front of the Chancellor’s desk and placed his hands upon it. “For Christ’s sake Andrew, you know all this.”

  “I do, I do, it’s just, Molly has this way of saying things.”

  “Then I suggest you take a long hard look at your beliefs and be absolutely certain of what you say in the House, because the opposition you face there will be a lot worse than what Molly can throw at you, as you should damn well know by now,” Nigel couldn’t help the anger seeping into his voice as he spoke, Christ that woman could wind him up, even when she wasn’t there.

  Andrew stood and faced him across the desk, his voice too had hardened in response to Nigel’s goading, “I know where my political beliefs lie, but I’m not so arrogant that I don’t consider the opinion of others.”

  “And that’s fine,” Nigel counted, “in the privacy of your own home, but not in the House.”

  Chapter thirty-six

  A few days later Nigel stood, once more, at the door of 21 Dean Street, smoothing down his tie as he awaited admittance. Irritation still prickled as he thought back to his conversation with Andrew, following the Saturday morning surgery. In fact, Andrew had been rather cool toward him ever since. Oh, he knew he was going to have to crawl back and make amends at some point, he couldn’t allow a petty argument, if it even qualified as that, to drive a wedge between them. Christ, he couldn’t even imagine what would happen if Sir George ever found out about the rift, but then, how could he? There had been no-one else around. Still he would visit Andrew that evening, invite him for a drink and smooth things over. Which, to be fair, he should have done straight away, but, and he couldn’t explain why, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew every plan for Andrew rested upon his influence over the future PM, and yet, even knowing all that he did, he’d found it impossible to grovel before him. Maybe for once in his life, he’d wanted the luxury of indifference. Anyway, that evening he would make things right, he was actually starting to feel a tendril of fear winding itself around his gut, an almost alien emotion to him. What if Andrew remained cool toward him…what if he’d jeopardised the power and money for, nothing…what if…what if?

  The club door opened, and Porter stood back to allow Nigel entry. “Good afternoon Sir.”

  “Good afternoon Porter,” Nigel replied.

  “Sir George is expecting you.”

  “Thank you Porter.”

  Security checks completed, he was duly presented to Sir George. And in that instant Nigel knew, he could tell straight away, from the careful rise and fall of Sir George’s scowlin
g gaze, to the way he slowly finished his drink, as if Nigel were as significant as a dust ball on the edge of a skirting board. He didn’t know how Sir George had been made aware of the exchange, but informed he certainly was; christ, he shouldn’t have left it so long to make peace with Andrew. It wasn’t as if they’d argued, it was nothing more than an offhand comment. Plus, he and Andrew had verbally spared before, he’d challenged him before, christ he’d needed to at times. But, this time the exchange had taken on a more personal tinge, and that was the difference. Nigel resisted the urge to clear his throat, he may have felt the weight of disapproval upon him, but he was damned if he was going to show it.

  Finally, Sir George finished his whisky, stood and walked to a side room. He neither spoke nor looked at Nigel, so sure that he would be followed. And Nigel did follow him, and as he did so, he felt anger become the overriding emotion, banishing the cowardice of uncertainty. One day, he would be in Sir George’s place, or higher still, while the old man was retired out to pasture and on that day, by god, he would make Sir George wait, and differ to his every word.

  Nigel closed the door behind him and turned to find Sir George’s gaze upon him, eyebrows drawn tightly together. He sat, but did not indicate that Nigel should. “Well?”

  Nigel deliberately misunderstood his one word question. “The Welfare Bill is complete, our policies are in place and nothing of any importance has been added to it.”

  “Do you think me a fool Mr Purser? You are aware of the critical importance of your place at the Chancellor’s side, a role you have been directed to cultivate these past twenty years.”

  How, how the hell could he know? Unless…that was it, government offices were obviously bugged and with equipment so advanced, it was capable of evading any regular security sweeps. He should have expected that.

  “My influence and relationship with the Chancellor is intact. It is my role to challenge him, to push him if necessary, in order for him to achieve our aims.”

  Nigel’s gaze never left Sir George’s, his reply deliberately matter-of-fact.