Polls Apart

by Clare Stephen-Johnston

  “Didn’t I? Sorry. Things have just been so chaotic lately.”

  “I’d have liked to have prepared myself a bit better before meeting him,” Anna tutted. She couldn’t sulk for long though because the two men were now standing by her side.

  Anna got to her feet quickly.

  “Good morning Ray,” she said breezily, kissing him on both cheeks. She then looked towards Don who quickly stepped forwards.

  “Don Monteith. Pleasure to meet you Anna,” the film director said, flashing her a tobacco-stained smile before leaning in to kiss her. He smelt of a mix of strong aftershave and cigarettes, which combined to create a rather sensual fragrance, Anna thought. He was shorter than she’d expected, but his lined and tanned face was attractive in an unusual sense.

  “A pleasure to meet you too, Don,” said Anna. “I’m delighted you’re joining us today. Will you sit with us for the journey?”

  “I’d love to,” said the director as he squeezed himself into the seat across from her at the window. He was quickly followed by Ray who sat opposite Richard. As the two politicians immediately started to discuss the day’s schedule, Don leant forwards towards Anna.

  “I have a lot of admiration for you after hearing about your upbringing and what you’ve come through.”

  “Thanks Don,” Anna smiled. “I really appreciate that.”

  “We have a lot in common actually,” Don added.

  “You mean you’re a stressed-out actress married to a politician too?” she laughed.

  “No, I mean I was physically abused by my father as a child.”

  Anna’s face dropped. “Oh,” she whispered, leaning in towards him so they could speak quietly.

  “He was a very angry man, and me and my two brothers were regularly leathered and locked in our rooms all day and night without a scrap of food. He also drank himself to death, which was a blessing really.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that about you,” Anna said, immediately sensing that the brash and intimidating persona Don liked to portray through the media, was actually quite far from who he was. He spoke in a very matter-of-fact way, despite the subject, but she thought his eyes told a different story.

  “Well, it’s not something I’ve talked about in the press to any great extent, but it’s still a big part of my life in a way. And I spent a lot of time thinking about it again when I read about you. I know where you’ve come from. And I know how hard you must have fought to get out of it and, I just wanted you to know that I really admire you for it.”

  Anna looked down at her lap and blinked back the tears she was struggling to fight because of Don’s unexpected kindness.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, his eyes full of concern.

  “No, it’s fine,” Anna replied, taking a deep breath. “It’s just been a crazy couple of weeks and people have been so lovely to me.”

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Don said, leaning sharply forwards again. “I always thought you were a bit shallow or something – just because of the kind of parts you’ve chosen in the past.”

  “They were all I was offered,” Anna promptly interjected.

  ”I see you in a totally different light now. You’ve got a lot to offer – politically, but also creatively.”

  “Thank you,” she said, beaming inside and out as she accepted the compliment paid to her by one of the UK’s best directors.

  “Where do you see your career going from here?” he asked, leaning in to show his interest.

  “I’m looking to take on more challenging roles,” she said confidently.

  “I want to break out of the stereotyped ‘bitch’ roles and take on something that requires subtlety and vulnerability.” Don nodded sagely, encouraging her to continue. “And, if I’m honest, I would like to try Hollywood in the future. I think it’s a natural progression for me.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. “And I’d be happy to help you.”

  Anna smiled casually as she tried to conceal her excitement. But, sitting on board that shabby battle bus about to set off for Derby, she realised, ironically, that by disclosing the pain of her childhood she had altered her image with both the public and industry. She was no longer seen as a one-dimensional glamour puss, but a serious actress on the brink of the kind of stratospheric stardom she had so longed for since her youth.

  It was a beautiful spring day and, as the sunlight beamed into Marie’s dockside apartment exposing more than a slight build-up of dust around the surfaces, she decided it was time she gave the place a serious clean. Working for a Sunday paper meant you got Sundays and Mondays off; also meaning at least one of your “weekend” days would typically be spent alone. Usually, Marie would take herself off to the gym or go to the supermarket, but she’d done both yesterday so she couldn’t put off the now unavoidable housework.

  She had lived a surreal existence these last few weeks, working almost every available hour – and most of that on the Anna Lloyd story. Now things had slowed down slightly, she knew she would have Damian on her back pushing for her to come up with another blinding exclusive.

  When she joined the Echo she had expected to at least enjoy the thrill of the chase, but soon discovered there was very little thrill involved when you worked under constant pressure. It was do or die. You either had a scoop or you didn’t.

  Marie was also finding it tougher and tougher to work for Damian who seemed to be relentlessly focusing in on her, expecting a major exclusive every single week. She couldn’t decide whether he liked her or loathed her, but there was no in-between. She was definitely getting undue attention from him and she didn’t know how to handle it.

  She found him quite an intriguing character, and there was something about him that made her feel a bit sorry for him. She liked his boyish qualities but really disliked his bullying streak. And just when she was on the verge of deciding she absolutely loathed him, he would reveal a very different side to his character. Like the previous Thursday when he had slipped out at lunchtime and returned with a huge beam on his face as he showed the picture editor the huge plastic truck he had bought his nephew for his fourth birthday. Marie had been gobsmacked by the way he spoke about the child. He had gone on for about ten minutes about how his nephew knew everything there was to about building sites and construction. And once he’d got started on the little boy, Charlie, it was like he couldn’t stop. Marie couldn’t help but gawp as he then launched into how clever his nephew was, when he began to talk, walk, potty train. The lot.

  “He’s unbelievable with numbers. He counts to a hundred, and he’s already adding up. I mean, he’s just such a bright kid and he’s never got his nose out of a book.”

  Only when Damian realised the picture editor was agitated to get back to work, did he finally move off. As he turned to walk back to his desk, Marie had caught the mix of embarrassment and loneliness on his face as he obviously realised he’d been rambling on about his nephew to someone who just wasn’t interested.

  Marie found her marigold gloves under the kitchen sink and pulled them on firmly as a sign of her intent to get the cleaning done. She then hunted out everything she needed to get through the whole flat. As she made her way towards the bathroom, where she was planning to start, she heard her mobile ringing. She ran back through to the kitchen and grabbed the phone from her bag – then groaned as she saw the name Damian Blunt flashing on the screen.

  “It’s my bloody day off!” she shouted aloud before answering the call. “Hi Damian,” she said flatly.

  “Marie, hi. Sorry to call on your day off…”

  No you’re not, Marie thought, or you would have waited till Tuesday.

  “… but it’s a big week for us and I’ve got a tip-off that I want you to get onto first thing in the morning.”

  “Right,” she rolled her eyes.

  “I’m told Joy Gooding has left Henry Morton. Now, the fact that’s happened right after the whole Anna Lloyd thing means I think there’s a good story in there. So
I’m giving you this one Marie, but I need you to deliver on it because we’ve got to keep coming out on top over this election campaign. The dailies will be on to it soon enough, so we need to find a good angle. You up for it?”

  “Yes, I’ll start making calls as soon as I get in,” she assured him without enthusiasm.

  “Right. Good.” Damian paused awkwardly. “You up to much today then?”

  “Yeah, eh, just heading out for lunch with some friends actually,” she lied. Marie didn’t want Damian to know her life was as lonely and increasingly meaningless as she suspected his was.

  “Great. Well, you have a good time then and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yes… thanks. Bye.” Marie ended the call and sat down for a moment on a breakfast stool next to her kitchen counter. Now she felt even more confused about where she stood with Damian. Was he testing her? Was he trying to give her a helping hand or setting her up for a fall? Either way, she knew already she was in for another tough week. She wondered when she would ever start to feel the sense of expectation and excitement with which she used to wake up every morning of her early career. Recently she increasingly seemed to begin – and end – each day with a sense of impending doom. Worse still, she was having trouble sleeping as she wrestled with both her conscience and the unending anxiety of producing the kind of exclusives that could and probably would destroy lives. She had no doubt Joy Gooding wouldn’t just hand her a story as soon as she put a call in, so, as usual, she was going to have to bully it out of her.

  She shook her head and almost laughed at the bitter irony that saw her now play the role of the aggressor when she had spent much of her childhood cowering from a crowd of angry playground tormentors who hated her for being smart and pretty. A seemingly unforgivable combination. She had promised herself then that she would never make another human being feel as shit about themselves as they made her, but she suspected she’d already broken that promise in the last few weeks.

  Marie let out a long sigh of despair as she set her mobile phone down onto the kitchen counter and stared at it as if searching for answers. She was dreading tomorrow already.

  As much as she desperately wanted to, Anna couldn’t put off facing Henry for much longer. He had looked distinctly huffy when he boarded the bus and saw Ray and Don sitting with Richard, so he’d sat himself down a few rows away and began barking orders noisily into his mobile phone to make his presence – and importance – known. Thirty minutes later he appeared by Richard’s side and told him he needed a word to which Richard had responded that he’d go to the loo first and then they’d talk.

  Henry had stepped back to let Richard past and had then loitered around the table again looking sheepishly in Anna’s direction.

  “Can I sit down a minute, Anna?” he finally asked.

  “Yes,” she’d replied sharply.

  Once he’d awkwardly manoeuvred his long limbs into the nearest thing he could find to a comfortable position, Henry cleared his throat, making it clear he was about to embark on a speech. He quickly glanced over at Don and Ray just to check they were still safely tied up in animated conversation before turning to Anna.

  “Look, Anna. These past few weeks have been tough on all of us…”

  “Some more than others,” she quipped.

  “Well, that may be true, but I’ve paid a heavy price for what’s gone on too.”

  “If you’re talking about you and Joy then you only have yourself to blame.”

  “There are two sides to every story,” he corrected. “Life with Joy could be extremely frustrating – and she’s certainly not the victim she likes to portray herself as. She was quite jealous of you, you know. She felt your good looks had granted you a very easy passage in life – which I must say, had tainted my view of you at times. She couldn’t have been more wrong, of course.” He leant in closer to Anna looking for a reaction, but opted to move on quickly when he found none. “That’s all irrelevant now, I suppose. For her part, she said she found me way too domineering – particularly over her relationship with you.” Henry was staring forlornly at his shoes, like a recently chastised schoolboy.

  “And is that true Henry?”

  “I suppose it is, Anna. I’ve just been so determined to let nothing slip and to make sure we’re all in tune, as it were, that I put her under more pressure than was right.”

  Against her better judgment, Anna allowed in a small amount of sympathy, which, once implanted, became difficult to suppress.

  “I’m sorry she left, Henry. It must be tough. But you have to know that you have caused both Richard and me a great deal of pain lately – and I think you’re lucky to have kept your job.”

  “I know, I know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve thought of little else these last couple of days and I can only apologise. I also know that you will find it hard to trust me now, but all I can say is I have only ever had both Richard’s and the Social Democrats’ best interests at heart. I don’t always get it right, but I am not selfishly motivated – and I can assure you that I will never interfere in your marriage again. You have my word.”

  Henry was looking directly at Anna now and she realised she was going to have to jump one way or the other.

  “Well, I’ve not always behaved perfectly myself, Henry. And Joy had quite a bit to say to me about the way I treated her. Maybe we should all put the last few weeks down to a learning experience and wipe the slate clean. Do you know Joy resigned as my PR?”

  “Yes, Richard told me. I can’t think what she’s going to do next. Maybe head to Thailand or something to “find herself”. I wouldn’t put anything past Joy,” he smiled.

  “She’s certainly unpredictable,” Anna agreed.

  Henry’s face suddenly tightened again as he worked his way up to another serious note.

  “I’m grateful that you can try and put everything behind you. But I need to acknowledge that I shouldn’t have pushed you out. I was utterly wrong and I know I’m lucky to still be here after what happened.”

  He held out his hand and Anna extended hers in return before they shook firmly.

  “Thank you, Anna,” Henry said, his face visibly relaxing. “I’ve been a bloody arse, but I just want this win so badly – for Richard, the party, and for the country. I think I’ve learnt my lesson, but you just let me know if I step over the mark again, will you?”

  “That’s one thing I can guarantee, Henry,” Anna smiled.

  Reggie felt sick to his stomach as he waited for Kelvin to make his grand entrance for the manifesto launch. Having worked with the Prime Minister for the last three years, Reggie was used to his late starts but, today of all days, he particularly didn’t appreciate the torture of having to stand beside an impatient press pack all growing increasingly frustrated at the delay. When he’d texted the Deputy PM to ask what the hold-up was he’d received the brief and cryptic reply: “Last-minute tweaking.”

  Just as Reggie was about to burst from the room to personally hunt Kelvin down, the door opened and the PM entered wearing a broad smile that suggested he was completely oblivious to the half-hour wait he had subjected his audience to.

  He strutted casually to the platform, before stopping in front of the large screen that carried their election slogan: Better for Britain.

  He launched quickly into some of the Alliance Party’s more familiar pledges before hitting on the new income tax cut. Reggie knew this would be seen as a desperate attempt to win over voters, but it was the best card in their pack right now.

  Reggie watched the smirking faces of the reporters as Kelvin banged on about a better-off Britain and just knew tomorrow’s headlines would be merciless. Reggie decided it was better to switch off, rather than mentally record the agony, so he allowed his thoughts to roam and his eyes to wander around the room.

  He looked over the row of cameramen squashed together at the back and wandered what job satisfaction they could possibly get out of a press conference like this where all they had to do wa
s stand like dodos, mindlessly recording the moment. Then, a glint of red hair caught his eye and he realised there was a woman standing on her own just to the side of the cameras.

  Reggie racked his brain as to who this woman could be. He thought there was something familiar about her, but he felt pretty sure she wasn’t a journalist and certain she hadn’t been authorised by him to attend. So if he hadn’t authorised it, who had?

  Then Reggie looked at her more closely and started working through a few possibilities, his mind hovering around make-up artist or civil servant when an alarm bell suddenly sounded within. He knew exactly who this was. It was Joy Gooding. And before he could even start to question why she might be there, he arrived at the answer. He’d heard she’d left Henry Morton and was no longer looking after Anna Lloyd so he bet she’d come knocking on Kelvin’s door – probably with the suggestion of insider information – and he’d fallen for it. That moron, Reggie thought. He couldn’t imagine what a showbiz PR could possibly have to offer a Prime Minister, other than advice on where he should have his teeth whitened. But then, Reggie realised, that was exactly the type of information that would impress Kelvin who he believed should never be left on his own, even for a minute, to make a decision. Joy Gooding, he was quite certain, would spell nothing but trouble.

  Both the hospital tour and walk-about in Derby had gone to plan and Anna sensed a quiet confidence growing once again in the SDP camp. Richard seemed happy and relaxed and even Henry had started joking again. When a hospital consultant had talked them through a new cosmetic surgery technique they had been successfully using on burns patients, Henry had teased Anna about the rumours that had circulated in the press a year ago that she’d had a slight facelift. “Is that the same procedure you had?” he’d cheekily whispered, prompting Anna to dig him sharply in the ribs with her elbow. And later, when they were back on the bus heading towards their next stop, Leicester, she’d heard Henry calling Richard “Dicky” again, when they were talking privately. It felt good to Anna to be back on familiar territory after so much uncertainty. And whether Henry’s apology had been genuine or not, there was no denying the great sense of camaraderie on the battle bus, with the events of the last couple of weeks only serving to motivate the SDP leadership even further in their quest for power.