Anushka nodded.
I’d reluctantly agreed to take part in a news conference scheduled that lunchtime. As we walked into the press room and the cameras flashed, my expectation was the journalists wouldn’t balk at giving James a rough ride, would feel the PM was getting a free pass to re-election. I stood next to him, fully aware that I was a kind of human shield to temper the most audacious questions. Still a few came.
‘Prime Minister, doesn’t the fact the government continued unhindered despite your two-week absence from Westminster say a lot about your leadership style?’
James laughed it off. ‘Equally if things had been chaotic while we were recovering, you’d be accusing of me of having run an unsteady ship.’
‘Prime Minister, isn’t it true that there’s now a major disagreement between London and Washington over President Cross’s unequivocal support for Israel, and do you share the view in the Foreign Office that any military support for the Israelis would be in violation of international law?’
‘The British government’s position has been spelt out in numerous statements, repeated in duplicate and triplicate, the position hasn’t changed,’ said James. ‘Now perhaps there are a few questions for Eleanor?’
‘Mrs. Weeks, what was it like being reunited with your two children after so long apart from them, and had you spoken to them before today?’
I paused, leaned forward to the microphone. None of your damn business, I wanted to say. ‘It’s quite strange, because it felt like a lot longer for the children than it did for me,’ I said. ‘They’ve got lots to tell me, unfortunately I don’t have much to say in return.’
‘Mrs. Weeks, so many people have been praying for you these past few days, what are your reflections on that?’ This question came from a reporter I’d not seen before, one who’d broken protocol by not announcing their title beforehand.
‘I’m very flattered by it all,’ was all I said. Rosie made a hand gesture to signal there’d be no more questions. James said thank-you politely to the reporters, before we walked out of the conference room the way we’d come in.
‘I wish you’d been a bit more effusive when you’d answered that last one, darling.’ said James, as we walked hurriedly back upstairs.
‘Why? It was a stupid question,’ I said, slightly agog at James borrowing a word which to my mind belonged to Lottie.
‘It seemed a bit ungrateful, that’s all.’ He was doing his best not to sound irritated. Still I snapped back that I hadn’t wanted to do the bloody press conference in the first place. James flinched slightly, but didn’t reply.
That afternoon I went out to Eppingham to see my father, even though I knew it was pointless. I took the kids with me, primarily because I didn’t want them out of my sight for a minute. Of course Dad had no idea what’d happened in the preceding fortnight, in fact he barely spoke. ‘You look just like my daughter,’ he said to me, in one of the fleeting moments when his eyes were focused. ‘She never comes to see me anymore.’ The kids both stared at him wide-eyed. I began to feel guilty at exposing them to the sight of their demented grandfather.
After an hour I took the kids back to the old house in Eppingham. Both of them wanted to remain there and not go back to Number 10, and who could blame them, given they had so much more space in the constituency? The house had a musty smell, the tangy whiff of under-occupancy. It reminded me of Casa Amanhã in an unpleasant way; not from when Lottie had been alive, but how I’d last smelled it the night Luis and I fell out. But there was something else disconcerting about the house in Eppingham. I had a sense that it had been burgled, that someone had been nosing through my things while I’d been away. It was intangible but I couldn’t dismiss it.
We headed back to Downing Street at dusk and I was quite shocked to find that during the afternoon the place had been inundated with deliveries of flowers. Many of them from MPs and party staffers, but some from what politicians termed ‘ordinary people’. I was touched by their messages. A few said they would never vote for James in a thousand years but still expressed gratitude at my recovery. I have prayed for you every night, read one card, in what seemed like a very elderly woman’s handwriting. I looked at every message, but quickly became desensitised to the little missives inside them. Until I reached a small bunch of red and yellow tulips.
So glad you’re okay, Ellie. I miss you, and would love to meet soon. Love Gail x.
That first evening back in the attic I slept soundly, but the following night couldn’t sleep at all. Actually I’d dozed for about an hour before waking up with a little yelp. It didn’t disturb James, who as usual was right on the other end of the queen size bed, his back to me. I lay there for a few minutes, thinking about summer nights in Naviras when he’d tried to spoon me all night, making me too hot and forcing me to push him away. When had the spooning stopped?
The attack had occluded the near-constant remorse and pointless regret I’d been feeling about Naviras, but it was starting to reassert itself, long after I’d supposedly broken free of its gravity. I could feel the village pulling me back and down, but why? There wasn’t anyone left there with whom I had a strong connection, save for Carolina. It felt like the village itself knew only I could be mourning like it was.
I got up and went into the living room. In the dark I fumbled with the box on top of the set of shelves in the corner, pulled off the lid to make sure the key was there. The key to Casa Amanhã, or the padlocks securing it, at least. It was still attached to its leather cord and I picked it up, inhaling it, wishing for the smell of Luis in some way, tobacco mixed with sweat. I put the cord over my head, the key cool against my breastbone. I knew I couldn’t wear it all the time - that would’ve looked absurd - but I felt I should keep it with me, for emergencies.
Just before dawn broke I heard footsteps on the stairs and shortly Rav came into view.
‘Morning,’ I said, and he jumped slightly. I covered the key with my dressing gown.
‘What on earth are you doing up so early?’ he asked.
‘I couldn’t sleep, I wake up every hour. On the hour, almost.’
‘Sorry Ellie, you’ve been through a lot,’ he genuinely seemed pained for me. He had James’s red boxes with him, containing papers which needed the most urgent attention first-thing. He put them down on the desk in the corner.
‘No less than you,’ I beckoned him to sit down on the sofa opposite me. ‘Are you having bad dreams?’
‘No,’ he rubbed his eyes. ‘Sometimes when I wake up I think I’ve just been dozing for hours on end.’ He refused my offer of coffee, saying he’d already charged himself with gallons of it. As I went to the kitchen to brew some for myself he followed me, leaning hands-first on the counter.
‘I’m thinking of packing it all in, Ellie,’ he said, in a low voice.
I stopped pouring water into the coffee jug, put the kettle down and looked at him. ‘I’m not surprised, you looked exhausted even before what happened in Israel.’
‘No, it’s not that, actually.’ He blew out a little puff of air. ‘I need to get my life back; find a guy, have a relationship.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Do you know how long it’s been, for me?’
‘I know, Rav,’ I put my hand on his, almost telling him that it’d been almost as long for me, before realising my last time had been with Luis. ‘I’m sure James would understand if you resigned, you could even find a seat to fight.’
‘No, that’s just it.’ His voice rose and I shot him a cautionary look. ‘That’s just it,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know why, but I’m not interested in any of it, not any more.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since the attack. Well, since I woke up after it.’ Rav let go of my hand and padded slowly across the room, sitting down on the sofa. ‘I just don’t care about things like I used to, Ellie. None of it seems to matter, it feels like everything will sort itself out, one way or another. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance.’
I winced. ‘Well, we all have, I suppose.’
‘Yeah, but to do what? It’s made me realise there’s more to life than Westminster. I just feel there’s a message in all of this.’
I stared at the wall for a moment before pouring the coffee. ‘I wish you’d been elected to Parliament, Rav,’ I said. ‘You would’ve made a good MP, a good minister,’ I stopped pouring and looked at the wall. ‘I had a dream about it, once.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ I walked back into the living room. ‘I was watching you at the despatch box, the whole Commons in rapturous praise.’
Without warning Rav stood up almost involuntarily, like a spring had been released inside his legs. ‘Agh, sorry. Headache..’ He put his hands over his face. ‘It came on so quickly.’
‘Too much coffee, maybe,’ I put down my own mug. ‘And stress.’
‘Yeah,’ he still had his hands over his face, his voice was muffled. He sat back down. ‘It’s okay, it’s going away.’
‘So, you’ll tell James you’re thinking about quitting?’ I looked up at the small windows. Dawn was breaking, shafts of grey light poking through the gaps in the blinds.
Rav sniffed, turned his attention back to the papers on the coffee table. ‘Soon. But please, Ellie, not a word before I talk to him first, okay?’
‘Of course, you know I wouldn’t say anything.’ Again, I failed to mention that James and I rarely had such conversations anyway.
‘Yeah, that’s why I told you, Ellie,’ He gave me one of his grins. ‘I’d better go downstairs and see what’s on the news. Thanks for being a sounding board.’
Who knows whether these snatches memory might have surfaced more quickly, had I not been so exhausted. I was constantly tired at the time, no matter how much I caffeinated myself. ‘I’m going to get the doctor over,’ I said to James a few days later. ‘Maybe she’s heard of side-effects like this.’
‘I’m not all that keen to get her involved, L,’ he replied, grabbing hold of my hand and rubbing my fingers. ‘I mean, if we’d had the expertise to treat your condition in the UK, we wouldn’t have flown to America in the first place. Give it another day or two, yeah?’
Anushka asked whether I felt well enough to take on some diary commitments – she’d been adamant in the first week that nobody be allowed near me and the kids. She’d come up to the attic twice a day for a chat, often about nothing specific but just to check up on me. ‘We could see how you feel after PMQs next week, that’s assuming you’re okay to go and watch?’
‘Why PMQs?’
‘James thinks it’s a good idea.’
‘That’s incredible, he got annoyed at me once for turning up in the galleries like that,’ I was baffled but Anushka was only relaying the message and couldn’t offer any advice. ‘Okay,’ I said, groaning internally at the thought of going to the Commons. ‘But you’ll come with me? And I want to get there just before, and come back straight after.’
I’d developed a new relationship with attic; obviously still hating it, but the world outside felt gigantic and dangerous. Every car seemed like a potential crash, every staircase a possible broken ankle. I was ashamed at myself for feeling so brittle and weak, my main concern was renewing my bonds with the kids and making sure they were happy. This urge was re-enforced by James’s virtual estrangement from the three of us, which, I told myself, was understandable because he was so busy. He had his own bonds to renew; with government, the cabinet and the staff beneath us in Number 10.
Wednesday morning came around – a week after our return to London – and as agreed I made my way over to Parliament just before noon to watch James answer his first questions since the attack. Nobody was expecting a bunfight, in fact everyone was anticipating a fairly long statement from James at the start. Pundits predicted most of the questions would be on Israel and the deleterious effect the attack was having on the peace process. Still it was quite a set-piece event and a helicopter followed James’s car from Number 10 to Parliament.
As I walked through the building with Anushka I was struck by its gloominess, the lights all turned down to their lowest level in Central Lobby. We made our way to the gallery and sat down, the assembled public and press all staring at us as we took our seats. Anushka was flicking through the real-time comments from the journalists sitting to our right. She forwarded one to me. Ellie Weeks has arrived in the Commons, looking calm and upbeat, was how one hack had judged my arrival. I raised my eyebrows at Anushka and she just shrugged.
It was ten to twelve. James entered the chamber from behind the Speaker’s chair to loud cheers and waving of papers. Some of the cheers even came from the opposition benches - perhaps a little surprising, but I guess all MPs much preferred democracy to savagery, were glad to see the former had won out. As usual Rav was sitting in the advisers’ box at the back of the chamber, he looked up at me and nodded, smiling. I smiled back, but then felt my nerves tingle down the right-hand side of my face, as though someone had injected little ice crystals into my temple. It spread to my upper arms as the noise of the Commons seemed to become subdued.
‘Mrs. Eleanor Weeks,’ said the Speaker, looking at me as the chamber fell silent. The government MPs all looked up, as did everyone in the other galleries, press included. They were poised to take down what I would say, but of course I had no words. Why would they want to hear from me, not a Member of Parliament? It was unprecedented and out of order, nothing less than an affront to the Commons, surely. I couldn’t focus on anyone. I still didn’t know what I was going to say but I went to stand up anyway. Quickly Anushka pulled me back down. The noise of the MPs returned and a backbencher was on her feet, asking the last question of a minister before PMQs.
What was more shocking, that I’d hallucinated or that someone might’ve seen me rise slightly? I closed my eyes. My heart felt like it was moving from left to right inside my ribs. When I opened my eyes again Anushka was still looking at me ‘You’re okay,’ she insisted, calmly. ‘They’re all looking at James.’
‘I think it’s a migraine coming on.’
‘I’m not surprised, Ellie. Do you want to leave? I think people would understand if you did.’
I looked at the journalists sitting to my left. None seemed to be looking my way, they were fixated on the government benches. I looked at the clock, saw I had about two minutes before the Commons would be rammed and it would be impossible to escape without comment.
‘It’s all wrong,’ I whispered to Anushka. ‘James and Rav, they’re in the wrong place.’
‘What?’ Anushka’s nostrils flared.
‘I don’t know why, I don’t know,’ I could feel tears forming at the inner recesses of my eyes. ‘Rav’s meant to be the prime minister, not James.’
Anushka’s lower lip dropped in shock. ‘Ellie, you’re not making any sense,’ she hissed.
‘I know, I know,’ I felt the first teardrop slide down my left cheek, the side only Anushka could see. My other side still felt frozen and numb.
‘Okay, Ellie, let’s go somewhere quiet,’ she pinched my upper arm and stood up, practically pulling me up with her. We quickly made our way to the gallery’s exit and walked through, the doorkeeper standing next to it looking somewhat perplexed.
By the time we were in the corridor outside I’d recovered my composure, dabbed my cheeks with a tissue and was rummaging for my compact mirror to check my make-up. The leather cord attached to Casa Amanhã’s key became snagged in the clasp. ‘It’s okay, I’m fine, really.’ I said. ‘We should go back in there.’
‘No,’ said Anushka firmly. ‘Not a good idea. I’m sorry Ellie, we shouldn’t have pushed you so quickly.’
‘What do you mean we?’ I said it absently, trying to smother the mascara trail on my cheek with powder. ‘Be honest with me, Anushka, please.’
She sighed slightly. ‘The PM’s office were very keen to get you back on your feet,’ she frowned. ‘They really wanted you to be here. I said it was touch-and-go, to be honest, but I was talked out. I’m so sorry.’
By the time we had returned to Downing Street PMQs was wrapping up. My abrupt departure from the Commons had been noticed, but it was a minor observation ultimately lost in praise for James’s bravura performance. As expected the opposition had struggled to find anything they could attack him for. Anushka asked me if she could get me anything. ‘Just a cup of sugary tea, please,’ I said, turning on the TV as Anushka walked over to the kitchen area and switched the kettle on.
It was the final question of PMQs, put to James by a backbench Tory who was a ministerial bag-carrier. Will my honourable friend join me in congratulating St. Mark’s Parish Church in my constituency for raising enough money to save it from closure, and what more can the government do to preserve our historic religious buildings?
James stood up. ‘I’m delighted to hear my honourable friend’s constituents can continue to worship locally, and given myself and Mrs. Weeks have just agreed to have our two children christened, I’m very keen to look closely at the issues which threaten our churches and will write to him on this matter.’
‘Bastard,’ I said.
Chequers
I’m struggling up Travessa de Cosmo in the pouring rain, which is coming down vertically. The raindrops are falling so fast they seem to be stretched, leaving trails in the air behind them. There’s so much water in the street, flowing back down the travessa in a torrent, making it hard for me to make progress. My sandals are squishy from being submerged in the flowing water. The same sandals I was wearing... when, where? I’m wearing a bikini top and a sarong, both sodden.
All the cottages lining the travessa are boarded up, windows and doors covered by planks of wood, nails sticking out dangerously. A loud crack of thunder rolls overhead, bouncing down the lane. Coupled with the noise of the rain it’s impossible to hear the ocean behind me. I urge myself on, trying to wade as fast as I can without slipping. What’s my hurry; what I am I running towards, or away from?
Weeks in Naviras Page 27