Polls Apart

by Clare Stephen-Johnston

  Back at the house in Bristol, Richard paced the living room floor while Sandra and Henry huddled together at the dining table, their mobile phones constantly pressed to their ears as they gave orders down the phone. When they were not talking on their mobiles or to each other, they were glued to the television screens searching for clues as to the possible result or bickering between themselves over which marginals they thought the Social Democrats would win or lose.

  Richard stopped for a moment to take in the scene. History in the making, he wondered? Either way, he was bound to write about this moment in an autobiography one of these days. He noticed how at ease Sandra and Henry were in each other’s company and wondered if either of them had yet considered the possibility that they might become an item in future. He remembered how he and Anna had shared that same familiar ease with each other, before the pressures of public life had threatened to turn them into strangers.

  At four o’clock, Dan arrived with the children who had been allowed to leave school early and take the following day off in light of the significant occasion for their family. They were supposed to have been joined by Libby but she had stayed in London so she could visit Anna. Richard’s father and mother had also arrived from Cornwall.

  Shortly after five, Dan volunteered to brave the press pack outside and went off to buy fish and chips for everyone. He arrived back twenty minutes later, loaded down with a large box containing their dinners and looking like he’d been pursued by wolves; his hair all tousled and his jacket hanging down over his shoulders because he’d been unable to stop and pull it back on.

  “Bloomin’ ’eck,” he shouted as he slammed the front door behind him. “I wouldn’t fancy being a Hollywood star if that’s what life is like. They practically tripped me up on the path trying to get a shot of what I was carrying. They kept yelling ‘What’s in the box?’ and ‘Who are you?’ Terrifying.” Dan shook his head as he laid the box down on the table and allowed everyone to help themselves to their orders before taking their seats. The kids sat on the floor in front of the television in the adjoining lounge, trying to seem interested in AllNews 24’s election coverage because they knew it was the reason they were off school.

  At one point little Rupert made the mistake of asking Sandra if he could switch on to CITV, only to be shot down with an immediate “Not today, no.” Though she did ruffle his hair afterwards in a peace-making gesture.

  At five thirty, a new strapline flashed up onto the TV screen: “AllNews 24 Poll Gives Democrats Twelve-Point Lead”.

  “Uncle Richard. Uncle Richard,” Jasmine was shouting. “Look at that.” She stood pointing to the television, as the assembled grown-ups turned to see what all the fuss was about.

  “Bloody hell,” Henry laughed, almost hysterically, “that’s incredible.”

  “Let’s not get too carried away, everyone,” Richard quickly chipped in, fearing they would only be dropped from an even greater height if the actual vote went against them. “But that’s looking good,” he allowed himself to concede.

  He yearned for Anna at this moment – for the feel of her hand in his, calming him, balancing him. He was achingly close to his dream now, yet felt so distant from the one person he most wanted to share it with. Tomorrow would be different, he reassured himself. Tomorrow she would be back and the celebration could really begin.

  Marie opened her eyes and blinked rapidly as the light penetrated her skull like lasers. Her mouth was very dry and she felt extremely drowsy. She turned to her right to see the unfamiliar site of a metal frame around her bed, with a small pine cabinet just in front of her. It was then she realised she was in hospital and she groaned with fatigue and confusion. Had she got drunk and fallen over somewhere? Had she been attacked? Marie turned to her left and found her father sitting quietly, studying her.

  “It’s all right, dear,” her mother appeared by his side and patted her hand. “You’re in hospital. You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

  Marie tried to open her mouth to ask why, but her lips were so dry they were sticking together. Instead, she put her hands down on the mattress and attempted to push herself into a sitting position. Her father stood to help pull her further up the pillows, while her mother held a glass of water for her to sip.

  As she supped the liquid back slowly, a crushing memory flashing in front of her. She saw the box of paracetamol, she remembered the drinking. Oh shit, she thought. I tried to top myself.

  She looked into the tired, concerned faces of her parents and started to cry.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to do it. I just got myself into a state.”

  “Please don’t worry, Marie,” her mother said, leaning forwards to stroke her hand again. “We love you very much.”

  “I feel terrible, dear,” her father added. “You called me wanting to talk and I was rushing out to the supermarket to get chicken stock for your mother. She needed it quickly. I only wish I had stopped to talk to you. I’m so, so, sorry.”

  Now it was her father’s turn to cry, and he was quickly joined by her mother.

  “What made you feel so low, Marie?” her mother begged.

  “I’d been feeling down for a while, I guess,” she sighed. “I felt so bad about my work, and all the rubbish I’ve been writing over the election campaign. All the people I’d lied about and hurt.”

  “Who did you lie about?” Her father asked. “I thought you had to stand these stories up? Make sure they were accurate.”

  “I did, Dad, before I joined the Echo. But Damian got greedy and desperate to the point he just didn’t care what we printed. He kept saying “It’s not like they’re going to sue, is it?” Because he thinks if Richard Williams is voted Prime Minister he won’t want to get into a legal battle over his personal life. And he was probably right. It doesn’t make me feel any better about it though. I feel really, really disgusted with myself.”

  Marie began sobbing again, her head now pounding with all the effort.

  “I can’t believe I swallowed a packet of paracetamol and I’ve still ended up with a headache,” she joked between sobs.

  “That’s my girl,” her father smiled. “You can’t be so hard on yourself. You were just doing your job. And if you’re concerned that you’ve lied, then you still have a chance to put that right.”

  “How?” Anna asked.

  “By saying sorry,” he replied.

  By ten o’clock the relaxed, jovial atmosphere in the house had turned to palpable tension as the reality of what was about to be decided sunk in. Henry was downstairs in the living room monitoring the BBC news for the exit poll, while Sandra was upstairs watching ITV. The bulletins started simultaneously.

  “We’re on,” shouted Henry.

  Richard rushed through from the kitchen where he had been talking to Ray on the phone. Ray had kept insisting all the signs suggested they were going to win big, but Richard was still refusing to agree, not wishing to tempt fate.

  By the time he had squeezed past the three children, his parents and Dan, Henry was already on his feet.

  “They’re giving us three hundred and forty-two seats. That’ll do nicely.” Henry beamed as though they had just won.

  “It’s good. It’s good,” Richard said quietly before being embraced by his proud mother.

  “Oh Richard, darling. You’re so close. So close.”

  He then turned to embrace his father who had tears in his eyes.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “Richard’s going to be Prime Minister. My son is going to be Prime Minister.”

  Dan stood slightly further back, absolutely speechless, but grinning ear to ear.

  “Is Uncle Richard going to win, Daddy?” Jasmine asked.

  “Looks like it Jazzy, he laughed. Soon the three children were bouncing up and down with excitement. It was impossible to suppress it. They were on their way, and everyone could feel it.

  At 10.30 p.m., Les pulled up front to take Richard and hi
s parents to the polling station while Sandra and Henry followed in the car behind.

  “Don’t worry, I voted for you,” were Les’s first words when Richard opened the car door, raising a half-smile from his anxious passenger.

  By the time they reached the school hall where the votes were being counted the place was buzzing with press, party members, candidates and their families. Richard was swamped as soon as he entered the building with SDP supporters clamouring to shake his hand. The hour-long wait was agonizing – and only made easier by the unending announcements of Social Democrat wins from around the country. Finally the moment came and Richard made his way up to the stage with the other candidates.

  Sandra clutched Henry’s arm as they listened to the results being read out. They were confident Richard would win, but he needed to increase his twenty-two-thousand majority in order for the critics not to say he had personally been hit by the series of allegations made about him over the course of the campaign.

  “Michael Denton, Green Party, two thousand, one hundred and twenty-seven votes. Gareth Hill, Alliance Party, seven thousand, nine hundred and sixty-two votes, Elizabeth Fenton, Liberal Party, nine thousand, eight hundred and seventy-four votes. Richard Williams, Social Democratic Party, twenty-four thousand, seven hundred and eighty-eight votes.”

  Richard had to wait several minutes before the raucous cheering settled enough to enable him to give a humble acceptance speech in which he carefully thanked all those from the local constituency party who had helped him. He was cautious too not to sound overly confident of victory, simply remarking: “The tide is turning for Britain and we are ready.”

  Joy watched their smiling faces as they left the polling station. A jubilant Richard, closely followed by Henry and Sandra who were deep in conversation, his hand touching her back protectively as he moved her past the waiting press. They had become quite a close-knit team, she could tell. She imagined the celebration they would soon be travelling on to, the totally overwhelming realisation that you had just fought and won a general election campaign. That, in Henry’s case, he would be working in the most powerful communications job in the land. Joy switched the TV off, threw her head back against the pillow and started to sob. The tears fell one after the other as she tried to make sense of the past few weeks. Losing her marriage, her job and one of her closest friendships in the space of a few days, then making the crazy mistake of agreeing to work for Kelvin.

  She realised it had been a dumb move, made in the depths of her heartache. In the end, it had only worsened her pain as she worked day-in day-out in a job she hated for a man she absolutely loathed. And of course, by choosing to work for the Alliance, Joy had ruled out any chance of a reconciliation with Henry. Something that now the dust had settled she deeply regretted.

  She switched the bedside lamp off and tried to get to sleep, but it was no good. She had told herself over and over again that she wasn’t going to sit up all night watching the election and obsessing about her husband. Now she realised there was no way she couldn’t watch it. But in that moment she also made a promise she knew she had to stick to: in the morning she would book a flight to New York, pack her belongings and leave.

  20

  New Dawn for Britain as SDP Secures Election Victory

  Thursday, 7th May, 2009, UK Newswire – The Social Democratic Party today emerged victorious from a hard-fought and dramatic general election campaign, ending five years of Alliance rule.

  The party now has 340 seats in the House of Commons while the Alliance Party was left with just 248, a fall of over 100.

  Richard Williams, at forty-four the youngest British prime minister in over 100 years, promised he would deliver “a brighter future, through courage and determination”.

  Kelvin Davis resigned as Alliance leader saying: “I want to give the party a fresh start, under a new leader. All we need is a little time to reflect and recharge, and we will emerge stronger than ever before.”

  Liberal leader Giles Henderson, hailed the election win of 63 seats for his party as “a turning point which marked the emergence of a powerful new voice in British politics”.

  Meanwhile, many in the Alliance Party blamed their poor performance on Davis’s failure to engage with the public whilst Richard Williams and his wife Anna Lloyd had been forced to open themselves up in the face of several allegations made about their personal lives. Lloyd’s collapse on the eve of the election following an emotional public defence of her husband was also said to be a factor in winning public support – helping to secure the SDP’s victory after a rollercoaster campaign which saw unprecedented fluctuation in the polls.

  The actress, who is pregnant with the couple’s first child, is expected to leave hospital this morning before accompanying her husband to Buckingham Palace where he will be asked by the Queen to form a new government.

  An SDP party spokesman confirmed Lloyd had been suffering from exhaustion but had made a good recovery after “some much-needed rest”.

  Anna finished applying her lipstick and packed her make-up bag into her overnight case before perching herself on the bed again. She had been told the police officer guarding her room would let her know when Richard’s car had arrived and would then escort her down to the front door to join him.

  He had called her in the early hours from the car while on his way back to London to tell her the election result. She had fallen asleep in front of the television before midnight and was fast asleep when she heard the phone ring.

  “We’ve made it, Anna. We won,” Richard told her breathlessly.

  “I’m so proud of you, Richard,” she had replied woozily. “I knew you would make it.”

  “We made it, darling,” he corrected her. “I can’t wait to see you. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she had tried to reassure him, though she couldn’t imagine how she was going to cope with what now lay ahead.

  Now waiting to leave the hospital, her stomach was churning at the thought of facing the press again after a couple of blissful days away from the public glare. As soon as her outfit – a navy Joseph dress she had chosen with Camilla for this day several weeks ago – was delivered earlier that morning, Anna’s nerves had started. She let out a long sigh and began her breathing exercises. She could just feel the tension starting to ease when there was a tap on the door. She immediately jumped off the bed and reached to pick up her case, ready to leave. The policeman stuck his head around the door, but instead of announcing Richard’s arrival he said: “There’s a Marie Simpson here to see you, madam. She said you know her?”

  “Oh,” Anna replied, dumbfounded. Richard had told her Marie had tried to commit suicide – a piece of gossip passed on from Henry that she hadn’t taken seriously until now. “Umm… let her in.”

  A few moments later, Marie walked into the room looking suitably sheepish. Her face was devoid of make-up and Anna noticed she looked pale and drawn.

  “It’s true then?” Anna broke the silence. “You were staying here too.”

  “Yes,” said Marie. “I did something spectacularly stupid and ended up being admitted here on the same evening as you.”

  “That’s pretty ironic,” Anna laughed uncomfortably. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just very, very ashamed of myself.” Marie’s eyes were stuck to the floor as she struggled to compose herself. “What makes it worse is that I admire you so much for what you’ve come through and achieved and every story that I ever wrote against you felt totally and utterly wrong. I just came to hate myself.”

  “Oh Marie,” Anne gasped. “You didn’t… do that on my part?”

  “Not just you. It was a mix of things. I think I’ve probably struggled with depression for years and just hadn’t done anything about it. The staff here have been great though and I’ll be getting the right help now. Anyway,” she said, finally raising her eyes to meet Anna’s. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I did, and I really wish you well in Downing Stre
et.”

  “Thank you,” Anna smiled. “That means a lot. I know how it feels not to like yourself. I just hope you can get to a happy place again soon and know that you can move on from your past and build a good future.”

  “I hope so.”

  There was another knock on the door before the policeman opened it again to tell her Richard was waiting in the car outside.

  “I suppose I’d better go and face the world again,” Anna sighed.

  “They love you out there,” Marie smiled. “Enjoy it.”

  “I wish I could.” Anna leant forwards and kissed Marie on the cheek. Looking at the journalist, who felt she had sold herself out, she realised they had much in common. “We’re not so different, you know,” Anna said. “As a younger woman I also took jobs that only increased my self-loathing. I struggled for years to forgive myself but…” she clasped Marie’s shoulder, “you can make mistakes and still be a good person. It’s the only way you learn.”

  Marie nodded, her head still bowed. “Thank you,” she replied softly.

  Anna gave her shoulder another squeeze. “Take care,” she said before following the policeman down through the hospital corridor and back into public life.

  Richard was waiting for Anna near the door of the hospital. As soon as he saw her emerge from the lift he rushed forwards to embrace her while cameras flashed furiously outside. It was an awkward moment, they both knew, because it would appear to many to have been staged when, in reality, it was just a natural reaction.