by David Harley
She’s lost it, he thought.
‘You’ve no right to do that.’
‘You’re blind, Matt, you can’t see how your life looks to people on the outside. As long as you remain in politics - with all the violence, the threats, the name-calling - you can’t offer the children the stability they need. Quite the contrary – you’re a danger to their emotional development. Any family court judge would agree with me. Face up to it.’
She must have prepared this cheap trick in advance.
‘That’s utter nonsense – ’
‘I know you prefer speaking to listening, but for once, hear me out. Stop grandstanding: you’re not addressing an adoring crowd at a political rally, you’re in the living room in the house where you used to live, with the mother of your children. I asked you round this evening so we could make a fresh start, but you’ve made it obvious you’re not interested. I’m trying to save you from yourself, but you won’t let me come anywhere near you. It’s time you stopped drifting along in your private fantasy world, and came down to earth. This crazy political adventure is never going to work. You should get real before it’s too late – for the sake of the children, if you don’t want to do it for me.’
He hadn’t expected her to turn on him so soon. How quickly she could change from kindness to small-mindedness. He knew he mustn’t rise to the bait.
‘I realise it must be hard for you to understand,’ he replied. ‘So much has changed while you’ve been away. After the election, I’ll decide what to do with my life, but I can’t stop now. There’s too much at stake.’
Jenny tossed back her hair.
‘Do you know what I think? That you’re doing this entirely for yourself. You’re on some giant ego-trip, and to justify what you’re doing, you pretend your motives are noble and worthy. In fact you’re doing it out of selfishness. You’re only happy when the whole world’s looking at you. Thank God I had the courage to leave you.’
‘Let’s have this conversation some other time,’ said Matt, standing up to leave. ‘You’ve never had any interest in politics or respect for politicians, and I don’t expect I can change your mind over the next five minutes. I’ve got better things to do with my time this evening.’
As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
‘I’ll remember that, and I’ll tell the children,’ she said. ‘Since you’ve got better things to do, I suggest you leave this minute. I don’t want to hold you back. As you can’t be bothered to explain why you’ve embarked on your one-man crusade, I think I’ll give my vote to someone who’s more honest and straightforward. James Crouch strikes me as definitely the right person to lead the country.’
‘Very funny. Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. You always did lack a sense of humour.’
‘I mean it. I’ll campaign publicly against you. Crouch’s office phoned me yesterday to ask for my support –’
‘- That’s ridiculous. They’d never do that.’
‘You’ll see soon enough. I told them I wasn’t interested, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll tell the whole country what a complete shit you are under that smug exterior. You can tell your girlfriend that I’ll come after her too. I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned her, if she’s so important to you. I’ve been asking around, and I know everything about her past, probably more than you do.’
‘You’re making this up - anyway my relationship with Sam has got nothing to do with you.’
He began walking out of the room.
‘If you think I’m inventing things, ask your little friend why she never told you about her affair with Rob Griffiths.’
How pathetic – it couldn’t possibly be true, thought Matt, slamming the front door behind him and breathing in the fresh night air. Sam was the one person in the world he completely trusted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
In the days and weeks following his difficult reunion with Jenny, everything started to go wrong, so much so that Matt almost forgot her snide insinuation about Sam’s alleged affair. He had no doubt that the story was fabricated, putting it down to Jenny’s malicious intent – anyway, with everything else that was going on, it was the least of his worries. He still trusted Sam. He stored the question at the back of his mind and forgot about it. Nor did he take seriously the idea that Jenny might take revenge by allying with Crouch. She was trying to wind him up.
What weighed most on his mind was Jenny’s threat to deny him access to the children. He rang her to ask forgiveness for his behaviour that evening at the house. He was prepared to prostrate and humiliate himself, and unilaterally accept all possible blame for every cross word that had ever passed between them, if only he could get her to change her mind.
‘I’m terribly sorry if I hurt you in any way. It’s no excuse, but life is a bit stressful these days. Let’s forget what we said to each other that evening.’
‘Is this an apology?’
‘I said I was sorry and I mean it – what more can you want? All I’m asking is we simply apply our agreement that I’ll look after Sophie and Jack one afternoon a week and every other weekend. I promise they’ll have my full attention and they won’t come to any harm. I’ll make sure they’re happy and we’ll have fun together. It’ll do them good. That way, you’ll have some free time for yourself. Please. You know it means everything to me.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Jenny replied. One week later, she relented.
His momentary relief was not enough to slow down or ultimately prevent the opening of other hostile fronts in his increasingly flaky and fragile psyche. The whole world seemed to have it in for him, and he couldn’t understand why. He had only ever tried to act for the common good, as he saw it, yet his name was being continuously dragged through the mud on the Twitter. ‘Serial paedophile’, ‘mental dickhead’ and ‘fatcat lobbyist’ were among the least offensive descriptions of him on that were trolled all over social media.
Rebutting every accusation soon became too time-consuming, and he tried to ignore all but the most serious. As soon as he had dealt with one ridiculous, unfounded allegation, another would emerge, in a deliberate strategy of relentless bombardment. If it wasn’t sexual misconduct, it was financial impropriety. One day, fake evidence would be produced to show his links with human trafficking in Romania; the next day, he would be accused of tax evasion and the alleged possession of several bank accounts in the Cayman Islands; at regular intervals, he would have to rebut suggestions that he had a long history of harassment and sexual assaults against teenage girls.
Of course, he knew the accusations were grotesque and calculated to distract him, and he shouldn’t pay them any attention, but their sheer volume and creepiness started to make him feel weak and unclean, as if the poison had entered his bloodstream and was attacking his vital organs. He had never felt so drained and diminished.
‘Aren’t you rather overdoing it?’ Sam had said one evening, as she picked up the bottle of whisky that he had bought two days earlier and saw that it was already half-empty.
‘I’ve always been able to take my drink. It helps me to sleep. We all have our little weaknesses.’
Without saying anything, and with a sad and prissy expression that irritated him, she put the bottle back in the cupboard.
‘No moralising,’ said Matt. ‘I’ll decide how to live my own life, thank you very much.’
Sam turned and went into the bedroom without a word. He could sense her disappointment, and knew that he should apologise, but something held him back. He went to the cupboard and poured himself one last shot, but didn’t feel any the better for it.
Early one morning he received a call from his credit card company saying that his card had been used for purchases of luxury items – mainly jewellery, high-end designer clothes and electronic equipment – in Moscow and Hong Kong. The goods purchased amounted to over twenty thousand pounds. Had Matt bought these goods? Horrified, he replied that he had never visited either of those places and that his credit card must have be
en hacked into. The card company was very understanding, and promised him a complete refund and a new card, but the procedure would take several weeks.
At the same time his bank statements showed that four transfers of five hundred pounds each had been made to an account in Panama. A copy of one of the fake payment orders was retweeted twenty thousand times in less than twenty-four hours. The nationalist tabloids were salivating. Again, the bank promised a full investigation, which unfortunately would take at least two months. They offered to raise Matt’s overdraft limit, and waive any charges, but the damage had been done. His reputation was being gradually destroyed, he had to ask Alan for a loan, and above all he felt he had lost all control over his life. He couldn’t shake off the image of complete strangers poring over his personal details, with the aim of causing him maximum embarrassment and distress. Nothing was sacred or secret any more. He didn’t know who to trust or where to hide.
‘The plan’s working,’ said Penfold. ‘Barker’s losing his grip. In my view he won’t last the course until polling day – he’ll soon be in meltdown. To remove any doubt, we’ll slip something in his drink to bring on hallucinations – the frightening variety. Once he starts getting violent, we’ll make sure he’s captured on camera. We’ll have him sectioned under the Mental Health Act and placed in a secure environment.’
‘At which point I will express my deepest sympathy,’ said James Crouch. ‘I can see the press release already: “We may have had our differences, but that is part and parcel of the democratic process. Matt Barker was a formidable opponent, and I send him my warmest wishes for a full recovery and a speedy return to public life”.
‘Very neatly put, Prime Minister. We’re not there yet, however. With respect, we shouldn’t get complacent.’
‘You’re probably right – I was getting slightly carried away. Before you administer the coup de grace, I thought I might pay him a little visit.’
It was late afternoon on Wednesday, which was Matt’s day to look after the children. Because his flat was too small, he had agreed that he should come over to Jenny’s house while she went out for a few hours. She had recently resumed her old job as music teacher at the local secondary school, and had a full programme of piano lessons that afternoon.
The children were playing in the garden and Matt was alone in the kitchen, clearing away the mugs and plates after tea. They had shared a carrot cake and some chocolate hobnobs which Matt had brought with him. The children had eaten with relish, especially Jack whose voracious appetite, Matt proudly noted, increasingly resembled his father’s. Being with them lifted his spirits. Watching them laugh and giggle, and tell silly stories about the teachers at school, and smear themselves with chocolate, and spray each other’s faces with lemonade through straws, reduced him to tears of joy. Their cheerful innocence and total lack of malice rubbed off on him. This was a better world than the one he usually inhabited. For a few hours, the daily trials and tribulations of the election campaign, and Matt’s insecurities, were pushed out of his mind.
As Matt finished tidying up in the kitchen, he ran through the programme for the rest of the afternoon. For once there was no pressure or deadline to meet – they could take their time and do whatever they felt like. First of all, he would play with the two of them for a while in the garden. They might kick a ball about – quite aimlessly, back and forth, or in a triangle, not all competitively – and Sophie might want to show him her cartwheels. Or they could catch the bus to the high street and go to the toyshop, taking care not to buy anything that would annoy Jenny – in other words, no guns or swords for Jack, and nothing pink for Sophie.
He had just switched on the dishwasher when he heard the scrunch of gravel as a car drove on to the driveway, followed by doors slamming and then two muffled thuds. He wasn’t expecting anyone. The steps of several people marching up the garden path grew louder. Then came two insistent rings on the doorbell. He wondered why his security detail hadn’t prevented whoever it was from intruding on the property. Not expecting visitors, and feeling a tingle of apprehension mixed with resentment at the disturbance, he carefully hung up the dishcloth he was holding. He took a large kitchen knife in a sheath out of the drawer, stuck it in his back pocket and went to answer the door. They were probably Jehovah’s Witnesses or people collecting money for a local charity.
There on Matt’s doorstep, looking indecently pleased with himself and flanked by two beefy, sullen men, stood the prime minister. A smile lit up James Crouch’s unnaturally white teeth, as his pushed his way past Matt and took up position in the hallway, standing with his arms crossed next to the grandfather clock. The two men with him had also come inside and now stood in front of the door, which they had closed behind them.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ said Crouch. ‘I won’t keep you long. We need to have a little conversation.’
Matt had no time for Crouch’s silly games – he had only one concern drumming in his head.
‘Where are they? You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ he shouted, as he rushed forward, trying to push past the two men and reach the door. They roughly pushed him back, but he managed to reach the window in the hallway. He opened it wide and stuck his head out, and searched in every direction, but couldn’t see any trace of them.
‘Sophie! Jack!’ he called their names repeatedly, but there was no reply.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got everything under control,’ said Crouch, standing behind him. ‘We saw your two lovely children when we came in. I had a little chat with them, just to say hello. There’s plenty to keep them busy outside. We’re keeping an eye on them, and you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about. In case you were wondering, we’ve tasered your security men – they’ll wake up in a few minutes with a headache, but in the meantime we won’t be disturbed. Now if you don’t mind, could we sit down somewhere?’
Without waiting for Matt to reply, Crouch went in to the living room and sat down on the sofa. Matt stood over him, shaking and glowering. He saw that he was still in the sightline of the other two men, who remained in position by the front door.
‘What’ve you done with my children? Who do you think you are?’
Crouch languidly crossed his legs. His left shoe dangled in the air, exposing the heel of his silk burgundy sock.
‘Who do I think I am? That’s an interesting question, but probably not uppermost in my mind at this precise moment. You want to know that your children are alive and well, and I want you to face reality. It should be perfectly easy to come to some arrangement.’
Crouch plumped up the cushion next to him, but Matt refused to sit down. Matt heard the sound of children’s laughter outside, but before he could run to the window, the two men moved quickly over and pinned his arms to his side. Matt felt one of them pull the knife out of his back pocket. Crouch burst into laughter.
‘Expecting trouble, were you? How charmingly old fashioned. Relax. I’ve come to help, not to harm you. All this is getting a bit too much for you, isn’t it? I completely understand – believe it or not, I’ve been there myself many times. Politics can be such a bitch. She worms her way inside your head and feeds off your brain cells until you don’t know which way to turn. On top of everything else, you’ve been unlucky with the timing – three weeks before an election is not a great time to have a breakdown.’
Crouch nodded at the two men, who let go of Matt’s arms.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘You don’t have to pretend,’ Crouch went on. ‘I’m not one of those people who make cheap jibes about mental health issues. Quite the contrary, I know psychosis is a disease like any other and is nothing to be ashamed of – those who suffer from it simply need treatment and rest. You’ve got some very able colleagues who can pick up the torch when you drop out. I’m sure they’ll achieve a perfectly reasonable result. Then in five years time, you’ll have completely recovered. I’ll have retired and you’ll sweep the board.’
‘You’re wasting your time. I�
�ll never accept your offer. It’s not going to happen.’
‘You’ve misunderstood. I’m not making you an offer. I’m telling you what you have to do. Anyway, you’re probably not the best judge of your condition. What you need is to take some time off and see a therapist. Unless you do what I say, not to put too fine a point on it, you’re fucked. Now let’s see what the little ones are up to.’
Crouch stood up and walked to the front door, accompanied by his two heavies. The three men stepped outside, and started walking down the path, with Matt following close behind, his heart heaving and his eyes straining to find Sophie and Jack.
Suddenly there they were, unperturbed, playing behind the apple tree on the far side of the front lawn. Crouch had seen them first. Instead of proceeding down the path towards the car, Crouch strolled on to the lawn and, taking his time, kicked an old football across to Jack, who smiled and kicked it back. Matt shouted at Crouch to leave his son alone. Paying no attention, Crouch sauntered over to Jack and, putting a hand on his shoulder, ruffled his hair.
Two metres away, Sophie sat on the swing that was fixed to an upper branch of the apple tree, absorbed in twirling a pigtail. She didn’t notice Crouch approaching her from behind, and almost fell off the swing when he pushed her hard from behind. Her initial grin of excitement was soon replaced by fear and growing panic, as Crouch kept pushing the swing higher and higher. The more she shouted for him to stop, the higher he pushed it. Matt, maddened with worry but helpless, was vainly trying to wrestle his way out of the grip of the two bodyguards. At last, Crouch stopped pushing the swing and let it slow down slightly, and then aimed a sharp kick with his shiny black shoe at the small of Sophie’s back. Propelled forward off the seat, she banged her head hard against the jagged-edged bark of the tree trunk.
Matt, freed at last, ran at full tilt across the lawn towards his screaming children and scooped them up in his arms. As Crouch climbed back into his sleek black car with tinted windows, he waved at Matt. The car drove off at speed, scuffing up the gravel.