An Ordinary Working Man

by Gillian Ferry

  Chapter forty-three

  March 2013

  Andrew

  “Molly, this is delicious,” Anthony Proust commented, as everyone one else echoed his sentiment.

  “Thank you,” she beamed as she spoke.

  “Well, it’s all in the gravy, you know.” Andrew laughed.

  “Ah, it was the same every Christmas Molly, take no notice of him. Mum would slave away for hours and then he or dad would swoop in, sort the gravy and take credit for the whole meal,” Josie stated.

  “Well, he did peal the veg too, so maybe he deserves a little credit,” Molly put her right hand over her husband’s as she spoke.

  Andrew smiled at her and felt his heart burst. To think, a mere five years ago and he’d never even met her, and now she was his. Molly squeezed his hand and then returned to her lunch.

  It was a wonderful meal, made all the more special by having everyone together, possibly for the first time since the wedding. Andrew had stated his intention, several weeks ago, to spend that Sunday, all day, with his loved ones and he’d worked toward it ever since. Molly had prepared roast beef with all the trimmings, with sticky toffee pudding and custard for pudding.

  Even the weather had behaved itself, so they had finally got to make use of the garden. It was like a walled oasis in the middle of the city, because of its position beside the Prime Minister’s residence, there was no traffic noise to contend with and no nosy neighbours overlooking them. They were able to enjoy the serenity of the mature planting and spring flowers, even if they couldn’t claim to have taken part in the upkeep. There was no huddling around a rickety picnic table whose splinters threatened to impale your skin, or whose frame rocked on its base causing one glass after another to topple, and ensure the need for plastic to be used at all times. No, this was an eating area fit for dignitaries, the chairs were comfortable, the table large, the cloth upon it linen and the wine glasses sparkled in the sunlight.

  “So,” Edith Amber asked, “is it true that you’re thinking of running for Prime Minister?”

  “Yes,” Molly’s father continued his wife’s thread, “the news is full of the possibility of a vote of no confidence in Blackthorn.”

  “Mum, dad,” Molly admonished, “no politics, not today. It’s Andrew’s day off. Isn’t it darling?” She leant over and kissed her husband.

  Andrew smiled. “The role of Chancellor is a demanding one in these troubled economic times, and one which I continue to devote myself too. I have every confidence in Prime Minister Blackthorn.”

  Andrew’s father chuckled. “Good response son, who came up with that one, you or Nigel?”

  “Hey, I stand by my statement,” Andrew paused, and then spoke in a mock whisper, “that Nigel and I have worked upon.”

  “I see, so-”

  “So nothing dad,” Molly interrupted, “no politics.”

  “You do realise my dear, that politics is a perfectly acceptable conversation around millions of tables,” he replied.

  “Well, it’s banned from ours,” Molly stated. “Anyway, Andrew and I have much more exciting news to share with you.”

  Molly looked at her husband, who nodded back at her, taking her hand in his once more. “Molly and I are expecting a baby.”

  “Oh I knew it,” Edith Amber squeaked, while everyone else started talking at once.

  Andrew gazed into his wife’s face, she looked so absolutely and completely happy. Truth be told, it hadn’t been a planned pregnancy, oh they’d talked about it but had decided to give it a few more years; Andrew to cement his political career and Molly to try out as partner for Brewsters and Bennet, where she still worked. Their initial reaction, as they’d stood in the bathroom starring at the little white plastic stick, watching a smiley face materialise in front of them, had been panic and confusion. That test, and the following five, had to be wrong, surely? But a visit to the Doctors had confirmed the home results, Molly was pregnant, and as they finally allowed the news to sink in a new emotion had risen to the forefront, excitement. They’d discussed everything from the colour of the nursery, to a fund for university, and the more they talked the more they wanted that baby. Molly was fit and healthy, but they’d both decided not to say anything to anyone until she was three months pregnant, now that time was here and everyone was on their feet talking and hugging at the same time.

  “I’m three months…we don’t want to know the sex…due in October…yes, that is why I didn’t want any wine with my dinner…”

  Questions and answers flew around in a haze of emotion, until Molly began clearing away the dinner plates. Josie, Joyce, Edith, Anthony and Frank immediately sprang to their feet to help her, which elicited yet more laughter, especially as Andrew had remained seated.

  “You forget that I’ve already had several months of, ‘I haven’t turned into a delicate piece of bone china just because I’m pregnant,’” Andrew said, in response to the ribbing he received.

  Anthony and Frank sat, reluctantly, back down in their seats, while the women insisted upon helping.

  “Well, our first grandchild,” Anthony stated, indicating Molly’s father with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t seem two minutes since I was changing Andrew’s nappies.”

  “Thanks for that dad, but yeah, I couldn’t be happier.”

  “Does Nigel know yet?”

  “Of course not, we wanted you all to be the first to know. I’ll speak to Nigel tomorrow, he’ll have to organise some sort of press release, stop any speculation before it begins. I just hope the press respect Molly’s right to privacy, I don’t want her to be…well, I just want her to be able to enjoy the pregnancy.”

  “The press will be alright, won’t they? I mean, what possible interest could the press have, once the news has been announced?” Molly’s dad looked to Andrew for reassurance, worry for his daughter’s wellbeing already creasing his brow.

  “Yes, of course, they should be. I mean it’s not as if Molly leads a high profile life of her own. It’s just…well, you know how things can get, and of course she’s young and beautiful, and gorgeous and wonderful and my wife,” Andrew stated, smiling once more because at that moment, with his family, talking about the baby, he felt himself to be the happiest, luckiest man alive.

  *****

  He was still beaming as he entered his office the following day, after bidding everyone a cheery good morning. Nigel followed him in, a look of deep suspicion on his face.

  “Nigel, my friend,” Andrew hailed him as he turned round, “coffee.” He held out a take away cup.

  “Has Blackthorn resigned and you’ve taken his place, all in the space of a night? Or is this just a joy of life thing?”

  “Nigel, Nigel,” Andrew shook his head as he spoke, enjoying the situation, “did you not know that life is a joy? You need to embrace its potential and smile more.”

  Nigel grimaced in response. “Yeah, I don’t think I can bear much more of this gay abandon. Please, go away and bring back the real Andrew Proust.”

  “This is the real me, Chancellor, husband…future father,” Andrew laughed as he spoke.

  “Future what…father? Is Molly...are you-”

  “Yes,” Andrew interrupted, he simply couldn’t stop the joy from spilling out. “Molly’s pregnant.”

  “Gosh, well that is news.”

  Nigel’s reaction was not exactly overwhelming and it cut through Andrew’s emotion, causing it to hurtle down to the ground.

  “Wow, don’t get carried away with the congratulations, will you?”

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry mate, of course it’s wonderful news.”

  If it was, the joy had yet to spread to Nigel’s face. Nevertheless he came around and enveloped Andrew in an awkwardly false man hug. “It’s just, I hadn’t realised you were trying.”

  “We weren’t.” Andrews tone was sharp as irritation spiked his words. He could almost see Nigel mulling over every possible political outcome Andrew’s news could have. Evidently the results must ha
ve been mostly positive because his face finally split with a rare Purser grin.

  “I’m sorry, I was just surprised, but I am genuinely glad for you, and please pass my congratulations on to Molly.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Andrew felt the tension in his shoulders release, had he, deep down on some dark level, worried about how the news would affect his political career? He shut the thought pattern off, before it arrived at a potentially unsavoury answer.

  “Yes, this is wonderful; it will only serve to highlight your vigour against the old dinosaur that is Blackthorn. Well done,” Nigel said, slapping him on the back and then taking his place at the other side of the Chancellor’s desk.

  Andrew sat down also. “Well, I’m glad you approve.” He tried to inject a heavy dose of sarcasm into his voice, enough to cover the relief that lingered there also.

  “Boy or a girl?”

  “Why does that affect my popularity in the polls?”

  “Girls generally produce more of the, ‘ahhhh,’ factor.”

  Andrew just stared at Nigel, lost for words, until his friend’s lips began to twitch once more.

  “Anyway, when do you intend to tell the PM?”

  “I have an appointment to see him at two this afternoon, I didn’t feel it appropriate to announce it at the cabinet meeting this morning.”

  “Good god no,” Nigel agreed. “The PM will think you’re trying to undermine him in some way.”

  “By having a baby?” Andrew shook his head in bewilderment, although, truth be told Nigel was undoubtedly right. There was a reason MP’s paused ever so briefly before answering a question or commenting upon something, it was to give their internal radar time to scan for intention and motivation before they committed themselves verbally to anything.

  “Especially by having a baby,” Nigel said. “You know as well as I, that many people in the party believe him to be too old, and too out of touch, to galvanise the voter in the next election.”

  It was true, there had been a special section on the news several days earlier, which had indicted Blackthorn’s personal popularity to be on a downward trajectory, despite several high profile visits that were meant to present him as a strong, virile leader, ready to take on the next election. Although a piece showing him running around a rugby pitch on an artificial inner city court had backfired somewhat, his comments overshadowed by the line of perspiration that ran down his nose only to hang on the end for the rest of the interview. Andrew had felt quite sorry for him in the end, it should have been re-shot, indeed it probably was, but somewhere along the line to post production the original had been seized upon. The Republican’s had complained, claiming it was a deliberate and biased attempt to show the PM in the wrong light, but the damage had been done.

  Andrew had never formally declared his desire to run as the next leader of the Republican Party, not to Nigel, not even to Molly. He’d joked about it of course, but had always placed some distance between himself and Nigel’s comments because if he accepted them and responded in kind he was committing himself to something utterly huge. At first he’d treated Nigel’s ambition for him with the derision he thought it deserved, and yet, here he was, Chancellor of the Exchequer, a meteoric rise through the rank and file; he was, in equal measure, the poster boy of the future and the upstart to be envied. But steadily, over the last few months, the thought of becoming PM had grown on him, in cabinet meetings he’d started to wonder how he would have responded, if he’d held the ultimate office. The thought no longer terrified him, but spurred him on, it was something he wanted and the longer he waited to make his move against Blackthorn the more desire turned into an acute need that played on his mind in the small hours of the morning.

  “Andrew…Andrew?”

  “Sorry Nigel, I was just thinking about…well, never mind that for now, what did you ask me?” Andrew replied.

  “I was just saying, would you like me to put something together, a press release along the lines of…The Chancellor and his wife are delighted to announce they are expecting their first child … when is it due?”

  “October 15th.”

  “…on October 15th. They ask that the press…oh, you get the gist, and then if the PM okays it, I’ll see it’s out in time for this evening’s news.”

  “Yes, thanks Nigel,” Andrew replied, somewhat absentmindedly, because he was thinking that perhaps now was the time, if not to go on the offensive against Blackthorn, to at least declare his intention to do so. “Nigel, could you come over to the house later? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  “Sure, no problem, am I allowed to know what it is?”

  Andrew looked at his friend, noted the crooked, almost smile he wore, and the gleam of excitement in his eyes; somehow he knew exactly what they would be talking about. However the Chancellor’s office was not the place to elaborate.

  “No,” Andrew smiled as he spoke. “You’re not. Shall we say around eight, unless I get stuck here, in which case I’ll let you know?”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” Nigel replied, as he took his leave.

  Yes, Andrew thought, I’m sure you will, and, he acknowledged, so will I.

  *****

  “What on earth are you doing home so early? I’ve only just gotten in myself.” Molly smiled as she walked along the hallway from the kitchen, mug of tea in hand. She looked fresh and new, soft and gentle.

  “I love you Mols,” it came out without Andrew even thinking it.

  “Okay, now you’re worrying me, has the PM sacked you, did he find out about the other woman?” Molly laughed as she spoke, but there was still an edge of wariness to her voice.

  “Everything’s fine, can’t a man come home early or at least at a reasonable hour, and spend time with his wife without there being a reason for it?” Andrew asked, as he took her into his arms, her hair smelt like cherries, and her lips held just a hint of strawberry balm.

  “A normal man maybe, but not a politician,” she laughed as she spoke.

  Andrew feigned an expression of hurt. “So, I come home early and am accused of not being normal, I get more sympathy from Nigel.”

  Molly raised her eyes heavenward. “Speaking of not being normal…do you want tea?”

  “Yes please,” Andrew replied as he shrugged off his jacket. “And be nice, Nigel’s coming over later.

  Molly came back out of the kitchen door. “Okay, now I know something’s going on, what’s up Chancellor?”

  Andrew sighed. “Nothing gets past you my darling; yes I have something I want to discuss with you. I’ll just get changed first, not be a minute.”

  He soon reappeared wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and took the mug of tea from his wife. They both sat, facing each other across the kitchen table.

  “Thank you, have you noticed how most major discussions in our life always seem to take place in the kitchen.”

  Molly raised her eyebrows at him. “You’re stalling, out with it before I do start to worry.”

  “There’s nothing for you to worry about, I just wanted to discuss…well I wanted to know what you thought about…you see the thing is-”

  Andrew struggled to find the words, it suddenly seemed such a preposterous idea. Molly placed a hand over his and interrupted his verbal uncertainty. “You want to run for Prime Minister.”

  Andrew was momentarily stunned. “Well, yes, how did you know?”

  “Darling I’ve been expecting you to tell me this for weeks, and yesterday confirmed my suspicions. Everyone was ribbing you about wanting to be PM and you never really denied it, in fact there was gleam of relish in your eyes that betrayed you instantly.”

  “Good grief, did everyone notice?”

  “Possibly your mother, but no one said anything to me.”

  Yes, if Molly had noticed then his mother would have too; she’d always had an uncanny intuition when it came to her children.

  “I see.” Andrew felt rather blindsided by Molly’s statement, and then he realised she w
as still smiling, her thumb stroking the back of his hand as she did so. “So, you would be in favour of such a move on my behalf?”

  “Of course, silly, I think it’s exciting and wonderful and, oh…” She stood up, moved behind him, encircling his shoulders in a hug, “My husband, the Prime Minister, wow.”

  “Well,” Andrew cautioned, “I don’t think it’ll be as easy as that, in fact it could, potentially, get rather messy.”

  “I know,” Molly replied, resting her chin on his shoulder.

  “And there would be certain expectations upon you…”

  She took her seat once more, Andrew noticed her eyes were red with emotion. “I know that too, and I only have one stipulation.”

  “Which is?” Andrew felt his body tense.

  “You absolutely have to find some premise to invite Hugh Jackman and Brad Pitt to our new home.”

  Andrew’s body relaxed once more. “And risk them sweeping my beautiful, wonderful wife off her feet, no way.”

  “They could bring their wives too, I suppose.”

  Andrew laughed, emotion cracking his own voice. “Then it’s a deal.”

  He stood and welcomed his wife into his arms once more, and sniffed back his tears as he spoke, “If it’s such a good idea, why are you crying?”

  Molly gazed into his eyes and tightened her grip around his waist. “Because I am so very proud of you.”

  “Oh Mols.” And then they both laughed and cried, and then laughed some more.

  “There’ll be more to discuss,” Andrew stated.

  “I know,” Molly replied once more.

  “And if my stab at the main job goes horribly wrong, then I could be out of politics altogether.”

  “I know that too.”

  “Christ, I love you,” he said.

  “That too,” she whispered, as his lips closed over hers.

  *****

  “Nigel, come on in,” Andrew said as he held the door open for him.

  “Thanks, good evening Molly and congratulations.” Nigel walked along the hallway and handed Molly a bottle of champagne. “I thought, even if you weren’t drinking anything now, it’ll keep to wet the baby’s head.”