Polls Apart

by Clare Stephen-Johnston

  “He said he found her [Ancroft] way too outspoken for a woman and that he saw her as an embarrassment to the party,” Carruthers alleged.

  An Alliance Party spokesperson conceded Mr Davis had shared several dates at Downing Street with Franchesca Carruthers, but denied claims of sexism.

  He said: “The Prime Minister is entitled to a private life, just like any other human being. He is not, however, a sexist and has nothing but admiration for Lizzie Ancroft and the great work she does on behalf of her constituency and the Alliance party.”

  The allegations came as the Social Democrats maintained a healthy lead in the polls, despite Davis’s recent bounce following the release of the two missionaries kidnapped in Manila. The SDP is nine points ahead of the Alliance Party with ten days to go until Britain votes.

  Joy found herself a nice, dim corner in the coffee shop and sat down. She savoured every second as she laid her cup in front of her before lifting the book out of her bag, opening it and placing it on her lap. She was going to enjoy this twenty-minute break from Alliance HQ. The pressure of working in the press office was becoming unbearable. There was hardly a second where someone was not demanding something of you. She felt she had to be across absolutely every media comment or Reggie and Kelvin would be down on her like a ton of bricks. Her working life now was in sharp contrast to the days when she was her own boss, handling Anna’s publicity. She wondered where it had all gone wrong. She had spent her career in communications and yet there had been a total breakdown on that front between her and the two people she had once been closest too.

  She blamed Henry, she blamed herself, she blamed the shitty existences called the worlds of showbusiness and politics. Within these worlds there was no reality, only illusions.

  Her mobile started ringing. She thought she had turned the damn thing off, but she clearly hadn’t and it was Downing Street – and almost certainly Kelvin. She wavered before plucking up the courage to answer.

  “Hello. Joy Gooding speaking.”

  “I have the Prime Minister for you.”

  Joy raised her eyebrows at the pomp and ceremony surrounding the man she now knew to be totally unworthy of it.

  “Hi Kelvin,” she said, certain her casual greeting would piss him off.

  “Joy,” he started tersely. “It has occurred to me that your decision to place the exposé on the Williamses’ marriage with the Sunday Echo has now triggered some kind of tit-for-tat, just as I feared.”

  “Well, they will be looking to gain some ground, yes.”

  “Yes,” Kelvin echoed sneeringly. “In my view they’re not only gaining ground, they’re absolutely trouncing us when it comes to press coverage.”

  “I can understand that you’re angry about the Carruthers story, Kelvin. But, of course, legal action is still an option if the claims she made against you are untrue. I mentioned that to Reggie last night.” Joy smirked to herself, knowing that legal action would be out of the question in this instance.

  “Let’s just worry about winning the damned election, rather than pissing around with lawyers, shall we? You agreed to turn your attentions onto Williams and deliver a highly damaging story about him so please just get on and do your job so I can keep mine.”

  The line went dead as did any pleasure Joy had managed to reap from her two minutes of solitude. By now she hated Kelvin with a vengeance. But she also knew she couldn’t bear to see Richard, Anna and Henry celebrating at Downing Street without her. So she would finish what she had started. Then figure out what the hell she was going to do with the rest of her life.

  The air was thick with tension as the three women travelled in silence, squashed together in the back of the chauffeur-driven car like feuding schoolgirls waiting outside the headmistress’s office. They were to be at the women’s refuge in Kent for nine thirty in the morning, so it had been an early start. The car had collected Anna first before travelling south of the river to collect Sandra and Libby. Aware that Sandra viewed her as nothing more than a frivolous liability, Anna hadn’t even attempted to make an effort with her. Henry had insisted she joined them on the visit “just in case the press interest gets out of hand” and simply wouldn’t take no for an answer when Anna protested. Her only defence had been to invite her sister along for moral support. Sandra had openly sneered when Anna told her they would be picking up Libby, making it clear she found the thought of accompanying the two of them even more laughable.

  “It’ll be a family affair then,” she’d said, raising her eyebrows in what Anna had found to be a very dismissive manner.

  Libby had tried to break the ice by offering her two fellow passengers a ginger-nut biscuit, but this gesture had only seemed all the more bizarre to Sandra who’d openly guffawed, turning her down with a wave of the hand and a “not for me”. She’d then sat glued to her Blackberry in silence while Anna and Libby nibbled on the biscuits and exchanged a few self-conscious sentences, aware Sandra would be paying far more attention to what they were saying than she was letting on.

  Ten minutes later Sandra laid down her Blackberry and started to give the women a quick briefing on both the refuge and the SDP’s planned policy of creating one hundred more centres like them in the UK to offer sanctuary to those affected by domestic violence. She spoke slowly as though addressing children, taking care to emphasise important points whilst looking at each of them to make sure they had understood.

  Anna, she explained, was to meet the staff first before having morning tea in the lounge with the residents. “Don’t worry though,” she’d added, “they usually make sure the complete nutters are kept well away from important visitors – though you always have to be prepared for anything. Just try not to look shocked if something strange happens. Keep your cool as though you’re used to dealing with such situations.” Afterwards, Anna would be expected to say a few words to the press outside. “Keep it simple and don’t get emotional,” Sandra advised. “And don’t make any statements or answer questions about policy. In fact, don’t answer any questions at all. We all comfortable with that?” she asked, her tone clearly implying there would be no room for disagreement.

  Anna and Libby had dutifully nodded their heads before deciding the best course of action for surviving the journey unscathed was to say as little as possible – which seemed to suit their travelling companion more than adequately.

  Though his caller ID always flashed up as unknown, Victor Nemov’s thick Russian accent allowed the person he was contacting to establish his identity well before he’d finished uttering his first word.

  “Damian,” he said, pronouncing it Demien.

  “Good morning, Victor,” Damian replied with a shrill voice he knew gave away his anxiety but couldn’t seem to stop himself doing it.

  “How are we doing on election coverage? Are we knocking competition for six?”

  It always amused Damian to hear Victor’s Pidgin English, which he had failed to improve on despite the countless private tutors he had employed to help him crack the language. It was the only chink in his armour Damian could find, so he regularly used it to his own psychological advantage to uphold what little bit of confidence he could retain in Victor’s presence.

  “More than six, Victor. We’ve stolen the show in this campaign with a set of absolutely cracking exclusives.”

  “Okay, okay,” Victor said in an impatient tone that was designed to remind Damian he was rarely impressed with what had already happened. “I had discussion with Kelvin Davis yesterday.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Damian, holding his breath.

  “Yes, he didn’t feel our front page was strong compared with News on Sunday and the Social Democrats is gaining ground.”

  Damian raised his eyes to the ceiling with the realisation that Kelvin had likely got Victor worked up into a panic that the knighthood he’d no doubt been promised if the Alliance won, was fast sailing down the river. Now he would be asked to come up with an exclusive that would ensure the SDP was well and truly crush
ed at the polls.

  “We need to finish this on top, Damian. What have we got for Sunday?”

  “Well, we’ve got a great celebrity kiss-and-tell and…”

  “I’m not interested in celebrities right now!” Victor shouted.

  “I know, Victor. I was just about to say we’re also working on something huge about Richard Williams.”

  “What huge?” Victor asked, his English fast deserting him now he was worked up.

  “Something that will undermine everything Richard Williams has said about his reunion with Anna Lloyd.” The second the words had left his mouth, Damian regretted them. They didn’t have a story about one of the Williamses having an affair, or anything even close – but now he was going to have to come up with one.

  “You’ve got someone who says they have affair with Richard Williams?”

  “Not quite, but we’ve got a very big lead which I can talk you through in the next couple of days once we’ve fully checked it out.”

  “Okay. You let me know when you’ve come up with goods. We need big story; big sales.”

  “Got it, Victor. I’ll call you soon.” Damian ended the call and put his head in his hands.

  The staff at the refuge were warm and welcoming and Anna immediately felt at ease as she was led, along with Libby and a sullen Sandra, into the reception room where several residents were waiting to meet them. The room was large and bright and not at all like the shabby, dingy dwelling that Anna had imagined. Against her wishes, but very much in line with Sandra’s, television cameras had been allowed to film some of their visit. The TV crews would not be allowed to capture what they were saying, but they would be able to use footage of Anna greeting the women who had agreed to appear on camera. The first of those was a young single mother called Jessica who Anna thought looked a lot like Libby when she was younger, with her naturally curly hair and warm, open face, free of make-up. She smiled encouragingly as Jessica was led over to meet her. Anna immediately noticed the young woman was shaking so she took her hand as they exchanged hellos, then leant forwards and whispered: “Don’t worry. I’m nervous too.”

  Jessica smiled shyly, tears filling her eyes. “I asked if I could meet you today,” she told Anna, “because I wanted to thank you for saying what you did about abuse. When I saw that someone as beautiful and successful as you had been through the same as me it made me feel better about myself.”

  Anna’s hormones raged within and she battled not to burst into tears herself. She knew she would be accused of acting if she dared lose her composure. Instead she gave Jessica a friendly rub on the arm and said: “It means a lot to me to hear that. Thank you. How are you finding the hostel?”

  “Really good,” the young woman replied. “The counselling here has helped me a lot and I’m feeling better about being able to get a job and that.”

  Anna studied Jessica’s face for a moment, and saw in the dullness of her complexion and the faint lines already beginning to form in her skin that life had not been kind to her. She also knew there would never be a fairytale ending for Jessica. No weekend stays at Chequers, no first-class travel, no luxury hotels. Jessica would likely live in poverty every day for the rest of her life, the memories of abuse and neglect still burning away, undiluted by the kind of distractions and indulgences that filled Anna’s days.

  Kelvin doesn’t care about Jessica, Anna thought. But I do. She glanced over at the refuge manager who was waiting to introduce her to another resident, before turning back to the young woman.

  “I really wish you well, Jessica,” she said. “It’s been lovely to meet you – and thank you for talking to me.”

  Anna turned to find Libby sitting behind her in deep conversation with a middle-aged woman, and felt glad she had invited her along – even if her primary motivation had been for moral support. Meeting others who had been through similar situations was as therapeutic for Anna and her sister as it was for the women they were there to help. Libby beckoned Anna over and introduced her to Alice who had waited until her youngest son had left home before she decided to flee from a violent husband. As she listened intently to Alice’s story of a life destroyed by a man who had lost all control, Anna’s attention was momentarily distracted by the sight of Sandra sitting on the other side of the room, holding the hand of a young woman. Sandra’s face was side-on so Anna couldn’t be absolutely sure, but she could have sworn she was crying. To see this iron woman showing something that looked decidedly like emotion came as a total shock to Anna and she found it very difficult to turn her focus back to poor Alice. Could it be that Sandra wasn’t quite as unreachable as she made out?

  The forty-five minutes that had been allowed for meeting residents passed all too quickly and Anna promised both herself and the staff that she would come back again, when the election was over, to spend more time there.

  Anna and Libby walked along the corridor of the refuge together towards the front entrance where the press contingent was waiting for her to say a few words. Sandra walked in front alongside two protection officers who were increasingly becoming part of Anna’s day-to-day life. It often crossed her mind that if she required an entourage of this size just as a wife of the opposition leader, what on earth the situation would be if and when they lived in Downing Street?

  Once outside, Anna saw a large press pack had gathered and there were a few familiar faces among them of the reporters and photographers who were now regularly assigned to follow her around. She remembered Sandra’s pep talk in which she was told not to answer any questions but just to say the few words Henry had sanctioned the previous evening. Standing in front of so many cameras and microphones, Anna began to feel a wave of anxiety-induced nausea. She searched around for Libby who instinctively read her cue and came to stand by her left-hand side. Sandra, sensing her discomfort too, came to stand nearer her right.

  Anna tried to replicate Richard’s calm, authoritative tone as she began to make her statement working from the prompt notes Henry had given her.

  “My sister Libby and I have just spent the last hour meeting some of the residents at this refuge. Their stories were hard to listen to, and the suffering they have endured is as shocking as it is completely demoralizing. To think that in this day and age women and their children still live under the daily threat of violence and abuse should be something that casts shame on all of us. We haven’t done enough. Governments have not done enough – and it’s time to change all that. The inclusion in the Social Democrats’ manifesto of another fifty centres of this kind throughout the UK is a major step in the right direction,” she looked up momentarily, blinking against the harsh flashlights, before returning to her notes. “Women and their children must be given shelter from harm – and the chance to rebuild their lives. We owe them this much and I will be fighting every step of the way on their behalf.” Anna paused. She was now supposed to say “thank you” then immediately turn from the reporters to walk back to the car. But, there was something else she still had to say. Something she owed the women she had just met. This time there were no notes.

  “Most of you will by now be aware of the abuse my sister and I suffered at the hands of our stepfather. It was violent, it was humiliating, and it destroyed any sense of self-belief we could have ever have hoped to enjoy. The only thing that saved us from total destruction was each other. We were not alone…” Anna bowed her head as she fought the pricks of tears in her eyes and the tightness of the emotion threatening to claim her voice.

  “I want every woman and child in this country who is suffering harm to know that they are not alone either.” Anna swallowed hard again. “Thank you.”

  She felt Sandra’s hand tuck under her arm as she began to lead her to the car. She could hear the cries of the reporters behind her: “Anna… Anna… Why did you not speak out earlier about your abuse? Will you separate from Richard Williams after the election?”

  Anna tried to drown out their questions. She knew she was no fraud – and, as far as she knew,
neither was her marriage. But she still had some way to go to convince the press of that. For now, at least, the public seemed to be on her side.

  As Sandra marched the two sisters back to the car, protection officers in front and behind, Anna suspected she would be in trouble for straying “off message” as Henry would put it. Almost as soon as she’d had that thought, Sandra’s mobile rang. As the caller didn’t even give her the opportunity to say hello, Anna immediately guessed it was Henry.

  “No, it wasn’t planned, Henry,” she heard Sandra reply.

  Libby, who’d obviously picked up on the call too, smiled encouragingly at Anna.

  A protection officer opened the car door and let Anna in first, followed by Libby and then Sandra who was still talking animatedly on her mobile.

  “To be honest, I don’t think it matters that she was emotional,” Sandra told Henry, much to Anna’s surprise. “You don’t go through what she’s been through and not feel something when you see others in a similar position. She spoke from her heart and I think people will appreciate that.”

  Anna turned to Libby, giving her a wide-eyed glance and raised eyebrow that asked “did she just say something in my defence?”

  Sandra ended the call then gazed out of the window for a few moments, joining Anna and Libby in watching the chaotic scenes outside as photographers and reporters pushed and shoved one another in an effort to get near the car as they pulled away.

  From behind the security of the blacked-out windows she finally turned to look at her travelling companions. Her face was devoid of the haughtiness with which she usually liked to greet them. Instead, it was a total blank, stripped of its hardness.

  “I’m not so different from you two,” she said quietly. Anna and Libby stared back at her, unsure of what to say. “My dad enjoyed a drink you see; but we certainly didn’t enjoy watching him. At first he’d get all happy and silly, then he’d get a little sentimental and morose and then he would just get angry.”