by E J Greenway
“Like he did over Jack Fisher, you mean?”
Suddenly Anthea showed Tristan what a wonderfully forceful arm she had as her hand caught him clean across the face. He reeled, his cheek stung, a mixed feeling of satisfaction that his cutting remarks had had the desired effect and total devastation he had managed to break her heart. He wanted more than anything to hold her and tell her he was forever hers, but the bell was sounding and they had minutes to get to the lobby. Turning on her heel, her head held high, Anthea walked away.
On reaching home Tristan went straight to his weights and his running machine; his mental energy was such his body couldn’t relax so he felt the need for a good work-out, but no matter what he did he couldn’t get Anthea out of his head. The clear memory of her face, streaked with furious tears, tore at his heart until he stopped running and collapsed onto the floor, holding his head in his hands. He gulped down a pint of water. What had he done? Ruined any chance of happiness – and his sex life. Why strive to be a success, dream of reaching the Cabinet, when his mistakes in life had taught him there was far more to fulfilment than a stack of red boxes?
The Party Chairman’s office had called him to schedule in a “quiet drink” the following evening, but it was more than obvious he was being summoned by the Powers That Be, thinly disguised as a casual pint down the local. Jeremy had simply beaten him to it. It was perfect timing.
*****
Pulling his tie from around his neck, Colin flicked on the lights of his dark kitchen. It was stark and far too large for one man living on his own. He enjoyed cooking but never got much time to do it, and with nobody to share his cuisine with it all made it seem rather pointless anyway. It occurred to him that was the second thing he shared in common with Richmond. Loneliness. The first, of course, had been the indefatigable Rosie.
He felt empty, both emotionally and physically, his stomach grumbling. He slung some bread into the toaster and fished out a jar of jam before lighting a belated post-coital smoke. A post-coital, post-bad news smoke.
Colin watched the toaster thoughtfully. A third similarity to Richmond might have been his desire to lead his party to victory at the next election, but the Deputy considered that their motives were really quite different. He felt Richmond simply wanted the best prize of all without even knowing why; if the man had any convictions at all he kept them to himself. Colin had many convictions, but none of them included giving opportunists like Richmond the benefit of the doubt. His leadership style contained all the passion and fire of an atheist praying to the very God in which he did not believe, in the hopes he could convince himself of his existence. He momentarily amused himself by wondering whether Jeremy’s faith was a comfort to him when under strain. He could imagine him every night, in sensible cotton pyjamas, praying next to his bed for Richmond’s salvation before climbing under a thick duvet and performing his husbandly duty with Linda, the lights off and his eyes firmly shut. Colin chuckled, but as he chewed his toast he brought his thoughts back to his original contemplation, those bewildering and inconvenient feelings he was experiencing in the car as he drove home.
As he lay down for fitful sleep, alone in a cold bed, Colin’s thoughts were very much back in Kathryn’s bedroom, but not, for once, for private gratification. She had reluctantly taken his money and relaxed him in the usual way, her hands drifting expertly about his body, all his worries melting pleasurably away. His day had been most trying and he hadn’t gone to her for more agro in his life. She existed merely to make it simpler, not more complicated. But then, moments after their frantic love-making, and with tears swimming in her wide eyes, she had told him the most unfortunate news. She was sure it was his; the condom must have split, that was the only explanation. Colin had replied sharply that perhaps she was lying, she had drunkenly shagged some fellow Tory student and now she was just trying to trap him, and why the fuck wasn’t she on the pill like he assumed? She cried heartily, pleading with him - it was his, she hasn’t slept with anyone else. To his desperate annoyance, he could see in her face that she was telling the truth.
That was all he needed; this girl, who thought she knew it all, who thought playing student politics would get her the career she said she dreamed of, was now claiming she was pregnant with the child of the Deputy Leader of the Conservative Party. The timing, as sod’s law would dictate, was impeccable. It would need dealing with quickly. He couldn’t go into a leadership contest with the threat of exposure over his head, and although he could never be one hundred percent certain the baby was his, it was worth keeping her quiet. She would know only too well that she could get a hell of a lot of cash for her story, far more than Colin could pay to shut her up.
For the first time, Kathryn had appeared scared of him. The anger in his voice, the clenching of his fists only served to back her into a corner and eye him with disappointment and hurt. Ignoring this attempt at emotional blackmail, he had instructed her to book into the best private clinic she could, under a false name, and he would pay the costs. He wanted to see an invoice as proof and wouldn’t pay a penny more than it asked for. Then he had softened his approach, taking her hands and kissing her fingers, muttering that it wasn’t her fault, that it was best if she kept quiet, for both their sakes. He had worried that she would start mentioning feelings again, but before she could, his lips moved to hers, not wishing to hear about her love for him, or how they could be together. They couldn’t. It was that simple.
They had talked as he began to dress, her inquisitive eyes watching him closely while her naked form remained wrapped in the duvet. She had turned the subject away from babies, mentioning seeing him on the news, sat on the bench next to Rodney Richmond and looking very much the Honourable Gentleman in a blue pastel tie, a shade which in her opinion suited him so well. With a melancholy laugh she told him what an odd feeling it was, watching him in his other world, the public face which hid his little vice so well. On occasion Colin had been sure she had wanted to ask why it was that such a prominent politician couldn’t get himself a good, respectable wife to sleep with rather than paying someone less than half his age, but she probably thought it facetious.
“I may not be able to visit you for a while.” Colin had warned her, fastening his belt. Her disappointment had been palpable so he had sat next to her on the bed, running his fingers affectionately along her cheek and across her shoulder. She took his hand and nuzzled his palm, her soft breathing ticking his skin. “Nothing to do with…well, your situation, it’s just I have an awful lot on at the moment. Just let me have the invoice for...the clinic.” He said softly.
He had marvelled at her vibrancy and youth, reminding him of the age gap, muttering that his forty-eighth birthday was approaching rapidly and at twenty she had everything to look forward to in life. In a tender moment Kathryn tried to turn the conversation back to the ‘mistake’, the fate of the thing he alone had decided upon, but he brushed her off. He felt queasy as he leant over Kathryn’s wash basin, a tight knot in his stomach. He paused for a while, staring at his reflection. It was the right decision. Had he been fully alert he may have noticed, on returning to the bedroom, that his mobile wasn’t quite as he left it on her sideboard, almost as if it had been hurriedly picked up then put back while he was out of the room.
As he left, Colin had briefly gazed upon the girl he had kept hidden for so long. She stared at him with a confused mix of love and disappointment. He didn’t speak, as he wasn’t sure he could. Then he had walked out, wondering whether he would ever return.
Wednesday
“I had that dream again last night.” Rodney sighed as the car cruised through Carriage Gates. Privately Rodney longed for the days when he would have enjoyed the luxury of a Jaguar, or equally plush vehicle, but in the days of the congestion charge, continuing economic prudence and concern for the ozone, that extravagance appeared to be unavailable.
“Was he stood on the end of the pier again?” Fred asked.
“No, this time he was threatening t
o jump from the Elizabeth Tower.” Rodney said. “It was terrible, I kept saying over and over that I was sure she loved him, but he couldn’t hear me. The poor sod. He jumped this time but I woke up before he hit the ground. I’ve never suffered with nightmares before.”
“I’m sure Stanley Lambert didn’t commit suicide over you, sir, no matter what the papers say. I hate to be so frank with you, sir, but sounds to me like that woman slept with half of Fleet Street before he topped himself.” Fred’s dry sense of humour could sometimes get himself into trouble, but not with Rodney, and he would sometimes confide in him in the quiet of the car. The driver’s opinion was not formed around political motive and his bluntness was often a refreshing change to an ‘inner circle’ which pussy-footed around him like he might shatter.
“Looking forward to thrashing the PM at PMQs today, sir?” Fred asked as he drew the car to a smooth halt.
“Not really.” Rodney muttered. Fred gave a grunt of acknowledgement then opened Rodney’s passenger door. The Leader stepped out with an arm-full of papers, spotting Deborah approaching across the courtyard, attached to her mobile. “To be honest, Fred, I don’t look forward to much at the moment. Want to swap jobs?”
*****
“This is, I know, something Anthea and her team is aware of,” the Chief Whip began, producing a delicate sniff. It was post-Prime Minister’s Questions and the weekly Shadow Cabinet meeting was winding up. “But it is now certain that the Cornish Bill is to be brought forward in tomorrow’s Business Statement, to next Wednesday. It seems…”
The Deputy Leader, gulping his coffee, suddenly and noisily sprayed it back into his cup and began to choke urgently as a low murmur of semi-surprise at the news passed around the table. Bronwyn Davies frowned at this rude interruption, her accusatory stare fixed on her colleague who gasped for air and wiped his mouth on his hand.
“Are you ok, Colin?” Rodney asked vaguely. Something just upset your plans?
Barty Phillips offered Colin some crumpled tissues from his pocket.
“They’re clean.” Barty smiled. Colin eyed them with suspicion and accepted them tentatively.
“I’m fine.” Colin said, breathing deeply. “Carry on.”
“Anyway,” Bronwyn continued. “It appears Ian Harvey’s so concerned about losing he doesn’t want the revolt to gain even more momentum. This is turning out to be one hell of a rebellion and if it’s too controversial then I’ve heard the PM would rather it would fall and get it shelved before the next Parliament. Along with Harvey.”
“This whole Bill is bloody nonsense. Has Harvey hinted at any concessions?” Steven Sharkey asked.
“Not at this stage.” Anthea interjected quickly. “But I think we are right to endorse rebel calls for a referendum so we at least have something positive to say at Second Reading.”
Everyone around the table knew about Cornish Weekly but it had become the ‘great unmentionable’ around Rodney. This exasperated him, as did the belief of some that Anthea could get away with yelling at him when they couldn’t. Their row hadn’t remained private for long thanks to an inexperienced intern in the Leader’s Office having the story groomed out of him by a particularly sly journalist. The young man felt Deborah’s wrath once the story was picked up and he wasn’t seen around the Parliamentary estate again.
“But we are definitely voting against the entire Bill? Even if Harvey does cave in and include a referendum?” Barty enquired in a puzzled voice. Rodney sometimes wondered whether the whole thing completely baffled his education spokesman - not just the Bill, but being an MP in general.
“Yes!” Anthea and Bronwyn answered in unison, the word sounding a little brusquer than intended. Nodding, he fell silent and returned to tapping on his tablet.
“Can I just say, before you all go,” Rodney announced as his colleagues began to shuffle their papers restlessly. “That I hope we can put the events and reports of the past few days behind us. I know what everyone has read in certain newspapers and that I have spoken to a number of you privately but I felt a formal apology to you all was desirable.”
Sharkey blinked in surprise but didn’t speak, while Colin’s steely expression remained.
“I’m sorry certain things had to come out the way they did.” Rodney continued, his voice soft and low as he briefly caught Anthea’s eye. He couldn’t bear the thought of her with Tristan. “But, of course, not everything is as it appears in the papers, no matter who has said it, and things get taken out of context. I just hope that I have the trust, and loyalty, of all of you.”
Derek Bradbury muttered a low ‘hear, hear’ and produce a grateful smile, but Rodney sensed the mood and moved on quickly, desperate for them to leave on a high note. “Right, this will be our last meeting before the vote, so with a bit of luck and a very fair wind we’ll be back here on Thursday for champagne. Anthea, Bronwyn, I’ll know your teams will work well together on this, we all have great faith in you.”
Anthea smiled in thanks, but Rodney noticed her tiredness. He glanced at Barty as he rose from his seat, looking troubled and distant. He felt perhaps he should be a better boss, be a friendly ear, ask if he could help. It struck Rodney that, for all the attention a person could receive, one was still drifting alone, swept along by the tide, never quite in control. Barty looked like he felt the same.
*****
“We both know what this all about. You want to hear it from my own mouth. You and every other fucker in this place.”
The Party Chairman gave Tristan a dark look at this outburst, but relaxed back in the deep leather couch they were sharing, indicating he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. A combination of unessential voting and the lateness of the hour meant that the exclusive Smoking Room, with its expensive Axminster carpets, elaborate wallpaper and comfy leather chairs, was practically deserted.
Tristan took a gulp of his brandy and slammed the glass down on the table in front of them, bitterness and intoxication clouding his face and judgement. He no longer cared how much he drank, perhaps he deserved everything that had gone wrong in his life.
“Well? It’s not unreasonable to wonder.” Jeremy said quietly. “And you do look pretty rough, so I’m assuming not everything’s well. If you’re in difficulties, in any way, there are colleagues you can talk to, me included.”
“So you can go straight to the Leader?” Tristan snorted. “I’m not about to do a Stanley Lambert, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I’m not necessarily going to tell Rodney anything. I can be discreet.”
“I don’t need a political shrink, Jeremy, I was Chief Whip until last week. Alcohol’s good enough for me. It can be great for the soul, better than that Bible of yours you carry around, I can tell you.” Running his hand through his hair Tristan felt the sickness rising, the same sickness he endured after Scott had plied him with drink and blackmailed the living hell out of him. Tonight, however, he wished he could drown in the stuff. He stared at his empty glass. “You’ll want to get home soon, won’t you? Must be wonderful, to go home after a hard day to someone who loves you, to have a kid waiting for you. I had that once.”
“We’ve worked closely for a long time and I’m sorry the way it all ended at Chief.” He smiled sympathetically, but Tristan shook his head. “I’m glad you’re back on the PAC, you’ll be chairman in no time.”
“Spare me your sycophancy.” Tristan mumbled. “I like you, Jeremy, but your optimism can sometimes be bloody annoying. Not everything is solvable with a grin and a rousing speech of ‘all hail to the Leader’.”
“Now you’re just being damned unreasonable, Tristan! This isn’t you talking! Ok, so you want me to ask you outright? Have you been having a relationship with Anthea? And is there a plot against Rodney?”
“Finally, you get to the point.” Tristan laughed cynically. His foggy mind told him to be relieved, it was all about to come out, just as he had decided, but his heart felt heavy and his soul battered.
“This isn’t a game.” Jeremy hissed, pushing his Coke aside. “You know what I’ve heard - about you, about Anthea, about…Colin.”
Tristan shrugged, folding his arms. “No, I don’t know what you’ve heard. Why don’t you tell me? Not that my private life is anybody’s bloody business, even if people in this place think it is.”
“Alright then. I’ve heard that you and Anthea were seen leaving the Savoy together, amongst other things, and that you went to Colin’s little get-together. I know that doesn’t prove much, and fine if you don’t want to talk about Anthea, but you shouldn’t feel the need to align yourself with Colin. Stay loyal to Rodney, it’s the best way. You were Chief for long enough to understand the implications of open warfare.” Jeremy stared at Tristan imploringly.
“It’s not quite as simple as choosing my loyalties.” Tristan said gravely. He closed his eyes and suppressed the nausea. It was time to give up the whole ‘badly-done-by’ routine before Jeremy stormed off to tell Rodney how uncooperative he was being. Finally he was to be honest about his dire situation and about his past. Completely honest. He explained about Anthea as Jeremy listened, no hint of prejudgement or annoyance in his expression, just interest and perhaps a hint of pity.
“Anthea doesn’t know about what I used to be. Since I messed up my life with Nicole I feel I’ve become a different person, but I just haven’t been able to shake off what an absolute idiot I was. It was before I was selected, but I had a string of affairs; meaningless affairs; and a small gambling problem. Well, medium-sized, I suppose. Nothing illegal, no dodgy loan sharks, but although I made good money in the City I even ended up selling our car to get enough cash to last me a few weeks. Nicole tried to understand at first, but I just couldn’t change. I thought a political career would give me the meaning I was lacking, and it did, I’m very different now.”