Polls Apart

by Clare Stephen-Johnston

  “Then I’ll warn the lawyers too,” Henry smirked.

  Lizzie Ancroft was just packing the final file into her briefcase before setting off for her constituency. She was due to address the local party members later that evening to give them their final pep talk before polling day. So far, campaigning had been going well and she was expected to win with a comfortable margin again.

  She stopped briefly by the coat stand to collect her jacket and took a moment to check her appearance. She frowned at the dark circles under her eyes, but decided she looked all right otherwise. Not bad for forty-three anyway, she thought. Ever since the tabloids had started describing her as the “babe of the Alliance party” she had become very preoccupied with her looks and was quite defensive of the position they had given her as “Westminster’s hottest MP”. This meant regular trips to the hairdresser to avoid any greys showing through her dark, sleek bob, which she was pleased to note was still perfectly in place. She smiled fleetingly at her reflection and was turning to leave when her office phone rang; the call display showing the number she dreaded seeing.

  She swallowed hard to clear the lump already forming in her throat, before picking up. What had she done now? was all she could think?

  “Hello, Lizzie Ancroft,” she answered.

  “I have Reggie Winecroft for you, Miss Ancroft.”

  “Thank you,” Lizzie replied as she awaited the onslaught. She knew whatever Reggie had to say to her would have come directly from the Prime Minister. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he was calling with an apology from Kelvin for saying she was the reason women shouldn’t go into politics. But the PM never was one for saying sorry or admitting mistakes so she guessed instead that he probably wanted something from her. Something he didn’t have the guts to ask her to do himself.

  “Lizzie, how are you?” Reggie asked in an unusually breezy tone, normally reserved for his party pets. Seeing as Lizzie had established a reputation for backbench rebellion and outspokenness, that wasn’t a category she fitted.

  “I’m fine, Reggie,” she replied cautiously. “Just about to head off to Brighton, actually.”

  “Of course, of course. Well, I’ll try not to hold you back but I do have a rather delicate matter that I need to discuss with you.”

  Lizzie’s heart sank. She had been waiting for this phone call for the last eight years.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “A Sunday newspaper is in possession of a photograph in which you can clearly be seen snorting a substance which looks suspiciously like cocaine. Were you aware of the existence of such a picture?”

  “Yes, I was aware of both the picture and the person who took it. It was someone within this party who promised me they would destroy it.”

  “Well, they haven’t and the Sunday Echo is publishing it this weekend. If you have any chance of your career surviving this then you’ll need to talk to them to set the record straight.”

  Lizzie closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Her parents would be devastated.

  “Oh, and Lizzie?”

  “Yes,” she said, unable to disguise her dismay.

  “Richard Williams is also pictured and the Echo are aware of your relationship so you’ll be expected to talk about that – and in terms which don’t present him well.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a relationship. We were both new MPs and he was trying to help me.”

  “It was a relationship. You need to work with us on this one, Lizzie. The Prime Minister’s support for you depends on it. If he chooses to throw you out of the party for drug-taking your career would never recover from it. So let’s not waste time debating semantics. You know what you have to do.”

  Reggie abruptly ended the call leaving Lizzie holding the receiver in one hand and her head in the other.

  17

  Cocaine-Shame MP Tells of Relationship with SDP Leader

  Monday, 4th May, 2009, UK Newswire – Social Democrat leader Richard Williams was again forced to defend himself against accusations over his private life following claims he had a relationship with Alliance MP Lizzie Ancroft, who has admitted to being addicted to cocaine at the time.

  Ancroft, 43, told the Sunday Echo newspaper that she dated Williams for “a couple of months” when he first became an MP in 2001. She spoke out as the newspaper published a picture of the Alliance MP apparently snorting cocaine whilst attending a party in the same year. Williams can also be seen in the background of the picture attending the same event, although he is not looking directly at Ancroft at the time.

  The SDP leader fervently denies claims that he was aware of Ancroft’s drug-taking saying it was “complete news” to him. In a statement to reporters outside his London home yesterday he admitted to once having a “close friendship” with the Alliance MP but reiterated that this was well before he began a relationship with his wife, the actress Anna Lloyd.

  “I was sorry to hear of Lizzie Ancroft’s struggle with cocaine addiction, but I must make it absolutely clear that I had no knowledge of her drug-taking whatsoever,” he said. “We were both new to the house and she had a number of personal problems at that time and I guess I became a confidante to her. That she has chosen to turn this into a tabloid story for the sake of political gain saddens me enormously.

  “For my part, I have never tried cocaine, I have never seen anyone take cocaine and I do not condone its use in any way. I am pleased Lizzie appears to have been able to put her problems behind her and I wish her well for the future.”

  But Liberal leader Giles Henderson said the revelations of Williams’ past relationship with an Alliance MP showed “a gross lapse of judgment”.

  “Voters are fed up with being confronted with new stories every week about Richard Williams’ chaotic personal life. In embarking on a relationship with an MP from another party, however long ago, he clearly showed either extreme naivety or complete ignorance of acceptable conduct.’

  Anna heard their six o’clock alarm go, but she didn’t bother to open her eyes. Instead, she buried her head deeper into her pillow and half-listened to the news headlines, which were unsurprisingly dominated by the weekend’s revelations, before drifting back to sleep.

  Soon she was back in her old house, in the darkened, shabby bedroom she had shared with Libby. Just being there immediately brought on the sense of foreboding she had lived with for most of her teenage years. She turned to look for the door, aware that this was a dream from which she should be able to exit. But as she spun around sharply she found there was no way out. She threw herself back against the wall, panic rising in her chest. It was then she saw him looming in the corner like a large shadow. The scar across his left cheek, the cold, pale-blue eyes so filled with hate. Graham reeked of evil. He was laughing at her again, as he had loved to do. “What you so frightened of?” he slurred as he moved towards her. “Anyone would think I was a monster. Do you not love me, is that it?” She tried to scream but no sound would come out. She thrashed from side to side, desperately trying to escape. He caught her arm, and she flailed at him with the other helplessly.

  Suddenly, it was another face looking down at her. She stretched out her hand to push the man away.

  “Anna,” he called.

  “Richard,” she replied blearily, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

  “Yes,” she replied. Sick and bloody tired, she thought.

  “Will you make Swindon this morning?”

  “No, Richard. I need to rest.” She turned away from him.

  “Anna,” his eyes searched hers pleadingly. “I hate to put pressure on you but you know how things look at the moment, particularly after that Ancroft story. If you’re not out campaigning with me today, people will assume there’s a problem between us – again.”

  “People? People will think? You mean the party will think, you mean the press will think, because most people don’t actually give a shit about the state of our mar
riage, they just want someone who’s man enough to run the bloody country without worrying about how the polls are going to react to every cough and spit.”

  “Oh Anna,” Richard shook his head. “You’re impossible. I can’t believe you’re back to this again.”

  “I’m tired,” she yelled, surprising even herself with the voracity of her response. And then the tears came, and once they started she couldn’t stop them.

  Richard put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m worried about you. What can I do?”

  “Just give me some time to rest, Richard,” she said, leaning back into the pillow. “I’ll be all right if I can just take today to get my strength back.”

  “Okay,” Richard replied. He stroked her hair gently then kissed her on the cheek.

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Bye,” she said, without turning to look at him. Then she listened, trying not to feel guilty as he walked from the bedroom, down the stairs and finally out to the car that was waiting for him outside.

  All things considered, she knew she should have got back on the campaign trail. But she felt drained – of energy and motivation. Pregnancy was taking its toll, as was the intensity of a wretched and bloody political campaign that had deprived them of any dignity they once possessed. She believed Richard when he said his so-called relationship with Lizzie Ancroft had been little more than “a couple of drunken snogs” as he’d put it, but she also felt angry that he’d got himself into that situation in the first place. No matter how tame the truth was, the media had gone into overdrive and the resulting coverage was very damaging. To Anna it felt like the final straw.

  The explosive mix of hormones and insecurity over her marriage had sent her spiraling into an almost constant state of fear and paranoia, transporting her straight back to the terrible past she hoped had been locked away for ever. Memories of the unforgivable neglect and abuse now met her at every turning.

  It had started just a couple of weeks after he moved in with their mother. Anna had been happily skipping down the hallway, about to run upstairs for her bath when Graham had cornered her. “Bath-time is it then? That’s nice. I like baths too. They can be so fun when you share with other people, don’t you think?” Then he’d winked and Anna, speechless and confused, made a half-smile then ran swiftly past him up the stairs and bolted the bathroom door. But there had been no bolt on their bedroom door, and with a mother who was too drunk to try to protect them – or even to care – she and Libby had been easy prey. His threats increased in their frequency and intensity. He would kill their mother if they told; he would slit her throat and make them watch. He’d tie concrete to their feet and throw them into a river. So it went on. Week after week, month after month, until Libby put a stop to it.

  Now he was back with her. Those old feelings of fear and hate so palpable again. Richard was the one man she had ever really trusted; now even that was in doubt. The insecurity that followed their separation caused her to ask herself daily whether he really loved her? Would he reject her again as soon as the election was over as so many commentators had speculated – or perhaps wait a few months to make it seem more respectable? Anna felt terrifyingly alone and vulnerable once again. She looked at the clock. It was too early to call Libby so she switched on the television for company and hoped she wouldn’t fall back to sleep again where Graham would surely be waiting for her.

  Marie felt distinctly uncomfortable as she stepped through the doors of the plush Mayfair restaurant where Damian had suggested they meet. She wasn’t supposed to work on Mondays, but he had caught her off guard just as she was finishing in the office on Saturday evening. She’d been putting her coat on and had turned to walk out the door when she found him standing right in front of her.

  “Very good work this week, Marie. You pulled it out of the bag again,” he smiled.

  “Well, that’s what I’m paid for,” she’d replied. In actual fact she’d felt horrible about the Ancroft story from start to finish, not least because it was a serious misrepresentation of the truth. Richard Williams had indeed been right when he’d described it as “journalism at its worst”. Not that Victor Nemov would care about that. Provided the story added the extra sales he was predicting, he’d figured they could afford the legal damages. And he’d also bet on the fact that, if elected, Williams wouldn’t want to get involved in an ugly legal battle anyway.

  “Let me treat you to lunch on Monday,” Damian had suggested brightly. “You deserve it for all the hard work you’ve put in over the campaign.”

  Reluctant as she was, Marie couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough. “Okay,” she’d replied unenthusiastically before deciding she had better try to sound vaguely grateful. “That would be great, Damian.”

  “Excellent. I’ll ask Helen to book us somewhere and drop you a text to let you know.”

  Marie had then spent most of the weekend dreading this very moment. She followed the maître d’ across the restaurant, finally arriving at the back corner where she found Damian waiting at a table for her, ready to celebrate their work.

  The first thing she noticed was the overpowering smell of aftershave. He’s made a special effort, she thought, adding weight to her theory that he had more than a purely professional interest in her.

  He smiled broadly as she approached and she swallowed hard as she caught what looked like a glint of ardour in his eyes. She supposed she might have actually found him attractive, if it hadn’t been for the constant pressure he had put her under – which had finally led her to breaking any kind of moral code she had.

  “You made it,” he said, standing to attention at the end of the table. He leant forwards, took her by the arms and kissed her on each cheek

  Marie smiled nervously before slinging herself into her seat. She wondered if her discomfort would be obvious to him, but then she remembered guys like Damian have a very thick skin. He beamed across the table as if they were life-long friends.

  “I’ve ordered some champagne,” he said, pointing to the bottle sitting in an ice bucket at the end of the table. The maître d’ filled her glass before wishing them a pleasant meal and, as Marie watched him walk away, she wished it was her who was making such an early exit.

  She took a sip of champagne and smiled again at Damian. “This is lovely,” was all she could think to say.

  “Well,” Damian leant across the table. “Victor is extremely impressed with your work over this election campaign. And, whatever the outcome, at least you and I know we pulled out all the stops and, at the very least, put a major dent in Richard Williams’ popularity. The early polls suggest he’s taken a bit of a bruising so very well done, Marie.” He raised his glass and indicated for her to do the same.

  “To many more blazing exclusives to come,” he said before taking a huge swig of champagne. Not wishing to be rude, Marie took a sip, but she was in no mood for celebrating.

  “Victor also asked me to pass on his personal thanks for your tenacity and dedication.”

  Marie felt slightly nauseous at the thought of Victor and Kelvin delighting over her stories.

  “That’s just great,” she said. “Just great.” Unable to maintain eye contact whilst lying, Marie buried her head in the menu. She saw they served fishcakes and thought That’ll do. There was no point in dwelling over what she was going to order as she wasn’t going to enjoy her food anyway.

  “I’m going for the oysters,” Damian said, staring at her intensely. Marie swallowed again. If he tried to feed her one that would be her cue to flee, she thought, before flashing Damian another fixed grin.

  “So while we’re drinking champagne, I’m hoping we can make this a double celebration.”

  “Oh,” Marie replied, trying to disguise her alarm. Surely, he wasn’t about to ask her out – or worse.

  “I wondered if you would do me the honour of becoming my deputy,” he asked earnestly.

  “What about Malcolm?”

  “Leaving,” Damian replied, without cla
rifying whether this was by choice or by force. “So what do you say?”

  He leant across the table again, fixing her with that same intense stare; one that suggested they shared some kind of bond, that they were similar animals with an unspoken understanding. It was an expectant, arrogant stare that didn’t even question her loyalty. And it was a stare that soon turned to a shocked frown when Marie delivered her reply.

  “No. Thank you.”

  It was one in the afternoon before Anna finally managed to get hold of Libby on her mobile phone. She had been trying her sister since waking at eleven but the number was constantly ringing out. Despite her best efforts to stay awake, she had fallen back to sleep only to have another nightmare – this time about Richard winning the general election in a landslide victory before announcing to the world that he was leaving Anna so he could focus entirely on his work as Prime Minister. In her dream, she had been watching from the side of the stage and had stupidly nodded along as if she had been aware of the announcement before Henry quickly escorted her off stage. Though she realised the events in her dream were completely improbable, it had left her feeling even more agitated and uncertain than before and she really needed to talk to her sister about it. She dialled the number again and felt a burst of relief and anger in equal measure when Libby picked up.

  “Where the hell have you been all morning?” Anna snapped.

  “Sorry. I’ve been doing the weekly shop at Sainsbury’s and I forgot my mobile.”

  “Libby, you committed to working for me and, although I don’t expect you to be on call every minute of the day, considering we’re two days off the election, I do need you to answer your bloody phone.”