Libby burst into tears at the sight of her sister out cold. “Anna, Anna,” she was shouting as she walked alongside, “can you hear me?” She dashed over to the car and yanked open the door of the front passenger seat to talk to the driver, completely oblivious to the press pack who were by now right behind.
“We’ve got to get her to hospital quickly,” she screeched. “She’s pregnant.”
Marie fought back another wave of nausea as she again watched Anna collapse live on AllNews 24, which was repeating the clip over and over.
She knew it must have been the strain of all the recent allegations that had finally taken its toll, and she felt worse still to think she had been central to it. But the final blow was the realisation that Anna was pregnant. What if she lost her baby? It would all be her fault. And though she had decided to quit her job at her lunch meeting with Damian, it was too little too late. She hadn’t intended on resigning when she first arrived at the restaurant, but as he pushed her to take the promotion, Marie realised she could no longer contribute to a paper she didn’t believe in. She hated its values – or lack of them – she hated her boss and she had come to hate herself. So now she was unemployed and watching a woman she admired, but had set out to destroy, buckling under the strain and in danger of losing her baby. A woman who she knew had faced the toughest of childhoods – the very, very worst of situations – when Marie had only ever known the safety and security of two loving parents.
She glanced at her watch. It was only four o’clock but she thought she could allow herself another glass of wine to try and relax. The black cloud of depression hung heavily over her again, not even slightly dispersed by her decision to leave the paper.
She headed for the kitchen and plucked the bottle from the fridge door before quickly returning to the living room to recharge her glass. She took a few gulps then filled the glass to the top again before taking a seat on the sofa and staring at the phone. She knew she should call her dad to tell him about her resignation but she had been dreading that conversation for fear he would disapprove of her rash decision. She picked up the receiver and dialled her parents’ number.
“Hello Dad,” she said cautiously when he answered.
“Hello dear, how are you?” he asked.
“Not bad, not bad…” she hesitated. “Just wanted to let you know that I’ve resigned from the Echo. I handed my notice in yesterday after being offered a promotion.”
“I see,” he said flatly. “Were you unhappy there?”
“Yes. I had been finding it more and more difficult to produce the kind of stories they wanted me to. Particularly the ones against Richard Williams and his wife.”
“I can understand that. The one at the weekend seemed particularly unpleasant. The poor man couldn’t help being in the photo after all. Didn’t mean he was up to anything himself.” The line went quiet for a few moments before her father spoke again. “What are you going to do now?”
“Well,” Marie said, taking on a defensive tone. “I’ll be sending my CV off to a few other papers this week – I’d be so much happier anywhere than the Echo – and I’m also thinking of applying to the Red Cross to be a press officer.”
“I hope that something will come up for you soon then, dear.”
Marie gulped back a few more swigs of wine and wondered why the alcohol wasn’t relaxing her. In fact, she was feeling increasingly agitated. She couldn’t understand why her father sounded so disengaged. Like he was just so disappointed with her work on the Echo that he’d almost given up on her.
“Is everything okay, Dad?” she asked anxiously.
“We’re fine, dear. We’re just about to head off to the supermarket to do the weekly shop.”
“Okay.” Marie wanted to ask if he was angry with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to confront him. “Love to Mum then,” she said. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, dear. Thanks for calling.”
Marie put the receiver back in the handset and started to cry. She felt so completely lost. She’d given up her job and her income on the spur of the moment and she’d soon be in financial trouble if she didn’t come up with something else. In her heart of hearts she knew it would be tough getting work on another paper, broadsheet or tabloid, after the trash she had produced over the last few weeks and she couldn’t imagine a charity would feel particularly compelled to take her on either. Her career was surely finished.
She would have to retrain and, to do that, she’d need to ask her parents for financial support. After the shame they’d had to endure over her work in recent weeks, she was going to top it off by asking them for money.
Her head spun. She felt nothing but self-hatred and despair. Then an idea came to mind that made her cry even harder.
She walked back through to the kitchen and opened one of the cabinet doors to reach for the little box she kept medication in. She looked inside and pulled out a packet of paracetamol before opening it up. She noticed there was only one missing from a box of twenty. That should be enough, she thought.
Richard eventually made it over to the hospital at six o’clock in the evening, having had to abandon the last day’s campaigning and catch a flight to London from the midlands. He was supposed to be travelling to Bristol right now – along with Anna – to spend the eve of the election in their constituency, but that would have to wait.
He rushed along the hotel corridor to Anna’s room, easily marked by the police officer standing guard outside.
Once inside, he saw Anna propped up in her bed watching the evening news.
“You needn’t have bothered phoning to say when you were coming,” Anna smiled. “I’ve been charting your every move from here,” she said, nodding towards the television.
“That’s modern communication for you,” he laughed, then kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I’ve not had a chance to sleep for all the tests they’ve been running. Either I’ve been wired up to something or they’ve had a band round my stomach to listen to the baby. Neither of us has had any peace.”
Richard felt a wave of complete devotion to Anna as he looked at her lying so serenely on her hospital bed, her face completely devoid of make-up, yet still to him so beautiful. He kissed her again lightly on the cheek.
“I love you,” he said. “But you’ve got to take it easy from now on. I’m so sorry for pressurizing you to come with me the other day.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just tired. If the doctors want to call that exhaustion then so be it. They want me to stay in another night but I should be out tomorrow to come with you to the count.”
“Don’t be silly, Anna. You go straight home tomorrow. I’ll have plenty company at the count and you can save your energy for Downing Street. Just pray that we get there.”
His eyes widened with what Anna recognised as a mix of fear and excitement.
“You’re going to do it,” she said, suddenly sombre. “I can feel it.”
“And will you be happy?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
“I’ll try,” was the best she could muster.
Richard swallowed hard as he grasped her hand and hoped this wasn’t going to turn out to be a no-win situation.
On the ground floor of the hospital two ambulance staff wheeled a new patient through the entrance to the Accident and Emergency Department. “Her name is Marie Simpson,” one of them announced to the waiting medical team. “She appears to have taken a paracetamol overdose. Neighbours heard her collapse in her bathroom thirty minutes ago and she’s been out cold since…”
Kelvin paced his Downing Street office while Joy and Reggie sat helplessly, just waiting to be verbally savaged. It was after nine in the evening and Kelvin should have been on his way to his Buckinghamshire constituency, but he had delayed his schedule by twenty minutes to talk with Joy and Reggie. Over the course of the day, it had become clear that one or both of them was to be blamed for the Democrats’ unexpected
publicity coup – Anna’s collapse – and they were now being called to account. To prove his point, Kelvin was forcing them to watch a very animated Esther Yarleth on AllNews 24 who was grilling two studio guests about the latest twist in the campaign.
“What is it about Anna Lloyd that is resonating so much with the British public?” she asked excitedly. “We have received literally thousands of messages of support for her from concerned well-wishers today, all saying how refreshing it was to see someone from the world of politics actually speaking their mind, and how awful it was that she had been under so much pressure. To what do you think she owes her popularity, Marcia?”
“Well,” replied the Women’s Alliance founder, Marcia Haynes, “Anna Lloyd has come to represent the struggle of many women; whether they are suffering in their careers, from domestic abuse, or in a rocky marriage, there is something in her life that they will be able to relate to. And, of course, she has become something of a voice for women both young and old.”
“Patricia Drake,” Esther said, turning to her second guest, the haughty chairwoman of Women for Families, representing those who believed the world of work should be for men only.
“I certainly think Anna Lloyd has come to represent a great many things over this campaign,” Patricia smirked. “Not all of them positive. But I do admire the way she spoke out today and refused to be bullied by the press. I am also pleased to see how, over the course of this campaign, she has stepped back from her own work commitments to support her husband, and I certainly wish her a speedy recovery.”
“Good God,” Kelvin boomed. “When even Patricia Drake is eulogising about that woman, we know we’ve got problems. We are talking about a former call girl here for fuck’s sake.”
“Former escort,” Joy instinctively corrected him, then immediately regretted it.
Kelvin glared at her in both anger and disgust.
“You’ve got the cheek to sit there and pick me up on something like that, when you’ve spent the last two weeks mooning around doing bugger all except ruining my chances of being re-elected.”
Joy braced herself for the remainder of what was to come and tried not to notice the flush of red that was quickly making its way from Kelvin’s neck to his forehead.
“I am seriously beginning to wonder, Joy, if you were actually deliberately planted within my party to screw up the Alliance campaign.”
“I’ve wondered the very same thing,” Reggie said smugly, clearly relieved that it was Joy who was taking the heat and not him.
“Just to remind you,” Joy replied calmly. “It was you who approached me to work for this party. I believe I have acted professionally at all times, and always in the best interests of the Alliance. I told you when I agreed to take the job that I have no particular political allegiances, but that I didn’t want to see the Social Democrats win this election. However, having gotten to know you over the last two or three weeks, I can categorically say that is no longer the case.”
“Get the fuck out of this building,” Kelvin said, leaning menacingly into her face. “You’re a disloyal bitch. You’d better get on the first flight back to New York in the morning because I’ll make sure your name is mud in this country.”
Joy collected her bag from under her feet and slowly stood up.
“Kelvin,” she said, calmly fixing him in the eye. “After tomorrow, I’m quite sure no one will ever listen to a damn word you say again.”
19
Voters to Decide as Britain Heads to the Polls
Wednesday, 6th May, 2009, UK Newswire – Voters go to the polls today in the general election which will decide whether Social Democrat leader Richard Williams can end eight years of Alliance government to become the youngest Prime Minister in over a century.
After a month trailing the length and breadth of the country in the quest for votes, the three main party leaders know their fate now lies in the hands of the electorate.
Following a final day of campaigning, Prime Minister Kelvin Davis, Richard Williams and Liberal leader, Giles Henderson, will this morning cast their own votes in their constituencies.
Polling stations around the country open at seven a.m. and close at ten p.m. – with the first results expected around eleven thirty p.m.
The Democrats have led the opinion polls for the majority of the campaign, but dropped several points in recent days following claims that, in his early parliamentary career, Williams was involved with the Alliance MP Lizzie Ancroft who was, at that time, addicted to cocaine.
Williams was yesterday forced to abandon campaigning for two hours to visit his wife, the actress Anna Lloyd, who was rushed to hospital after collapsing outside a residential school whilst making a public statement in support of her husband.
It was revealed by Lloyd’s sister that the actress is in the early stages of pregnancy. Hospital officials said last night that she was suffering from exhaustion, but both mother and unborn child were expected to make a full recovery after a period of rest.
Both the main parties are said to privately believe today’s vote could be close, with the SDP facing a tough fight to win many of the key marginal seats where the election will be decided.
In the end, turnout could be crucial. The last general election in 2005 saw a turnout of 59% and there are concerns that there could be a similarly depressed vote this time around, following what was considered to be a campaign marred by dirty tricks and smears.
There are further fears among Democrat strategists that supporters who became disaffected after a series of claims about the personal lives of Richard Williams and his wife, Anna Lloyd, could simply stay at home or cast a protest vote for the Liberals.
The uncertainty over the result has been heightened by the large numbers of undecided voters, with the final opinion polls suggesting more than two in four may have yet to make up their minds.
Faced with the long wait at his Bristol constituency home, Richard had decided it would be best to walk to the polling station and he had risen early so he could be among the first to arrive. His mood was apprehensive as he braced himself for both the results and Anna’s response. Her reluctance and unease at the prospect of becoming a Prime Minister’s wife deeply unsettled him.
He decided to distract himself by offering to make coffee for Henry and Sandra and the array of Special Branch officers camped around the house. Henry had leapt in to help him whilst Sandra sat watching the breakfast news.
“Any word on Anna?” Henry asked Richard quietly.
“I’ve not called her yet. She’ll still be sleeping,” Richard replied. “I thought I’d speak to her after voting.”
“Good idea,” Henry agreed, whilst loading a few coffee-filled mugs onto a tray. “I had noticed she’d been a bit quiet these last few days but I didn’t realise she was so tired. I feel a bit guilty for urging her out on the campaign trail with us.”
“Me too,” Richard said flatly. “The last few weeks have been really tough on her, it would have been a struggle anyway but adding the pregnancy on top has really flattened her. I just hope she’s going to be okay.”
“Course she will,” Henry smiled encouragingly. “Anna’s a trouper. Here,” he held the tray out to Richard. “You take these to the cops outside. It’ll make for a good picture.”
“Okay,” Richard took the tray and headed through the hallway towards the front door. He balanced the tray against the wall and used his right hand to free the snib. As soon as the door was open the flashbulbs snapped into action and the photographers chortled loudly as they watched Richard struggle to rebalance the tray, the contents of the coffee cups beginning to slosh around.
“Sorry guys,” he said sheepishly, as two male officers rushed forwards to help him.
“Not a problem, sir,” the older of the two said. “That’s a lovely thought. We could all use a nice cup of coffee at this time in the morning.”
“Precisely,” said Richard.
“We’ll take the other three to the officers round
the back for you,” the policeman said as he scooped up the remaining cups and laid them out on the window-ledge, ready to be distributed. “And I hope your wife makes a speedy recovery, sir,” he added.
“Thanks. That’s kind,” said Richard before heading back inside the house, his thoughts turning to Anna again. Surely her fears for the future were simply down to exhaustion and a natural apprehension about what lay ahead, he reassured himself. But he wished they’d had more time to prepare themselves for this new life they could be about to embark on. They had, he knew, much to discuss when all this was over. He just hoped she would still be by his side, whatever the result.
Anna switched off the TV news and turned back on her side again in the hope of catching some more sleep before another nurse came in to take her pulse and disturb the very thing she needed most. She had watched Richard casting his vote and felt saddened that she couldn’t be there to support him. But she was also relieved. Shut away in the hospital room, hidden from cameras and probing reporters, she felt more at ease than she had done in months, perhaps even years. With such security she wondered how she was ever going to face leaving and desperately hoped the doctors would encourage her to stay another night so she wouldn’t have to face the pandemonium of the election result. She knew it was wrong. She knew that, in many ways, her exhaustion was a bit of a betrayal. Why couldn’t she just take it all in her stride? And what had happened to her over the course of just a few weeks to prompt such a change of heart on fame – the very thing she had fought so hard, for so long to achieve? She should be desperate to have her moment in the global spotlight. In the end she guessed she had reached her saturation point. The revelations about her past had left her exposed and vulnerable. Then came the terrible and destructive rift with Richard, followed by the utter madness of the intense public scrutiny and becoming an overnight “People’s Princess”. And through this process she had come to realise that the only thing that mattered was the security of family life and the company of those you really love. Those ideals were pretty far removed from the insanity that would be life in Downing Street. How on earth would she be able to take her baby for a walk? A peaceful stroll down to a local café to meet with friends would surely be impossible. Life’s simple pleasures were about to be wiped out in an instant leaving her and Richard as nothing but a pair of public figures going through the motions and never stopping to enjoy the most precious gift of family life. If Richard really loved her he would understand why it was so important to her to protect their child from a chaotic existence – more privileged but, perhaps, just as bewildering as the one she herself had experienced.
Polls Apart Page 21