“And I really am sorry that the prime minister didn’t call you after I said I would get him to. I’ve been thinking about what might have …you know. I did try. Really I did …”
“That’s okay, Shirley. I know you did and I’m grateful. And I’m sure it wouldn’t have made any difference. Anyway, how are you? Oh, and by the way, I am no longer the Home Secretary – or anything else, in fact.”
“I know, but, it still sounds right to … Anyway, I’m fine, thank you. But really sad about your resigning.”
“Well, I’m very touched, Shirley,” said Tom, “And I really mean that. I feel like I’ve made a new friend. And if I’m right, I’d like you to do two things for me.”
“Yes, okay, anything.”
“Well, firstly, could you arrange for me to speak to the prime minister this afternoon, and secondly, do you think you could call me Tom?”
Shirley gave a little laugh.
“I’m not sure which of those will be the most difficult, Home Sec… You see what I mean?”
They both laughed.
“Actually, I think you might be in luck. Hold on, please.” There were a few moments of absolute silence. “Putting you through.”
“Hello, Tom.” The words were not so much spoken as sighed.
“I know you’re busy, Prime Minister,” said Tom, “but I just wanted to let you know out of courtesy that I shall be speaking to the press tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. I doubt if what I have to say will be quite so eloquently expressed as your announcement about me on Monday, but I can guarantee it will be more sincere. Oh, and I look forward to receiving your formal reply to my letter. I assume that, until I do so, I am still the Home Secretary. See you in the House tomorrow after my press conference.”
He hung up, then poured himself a small Jack Daniels and sat outside at the balcony table with his laptop in the warm afternoon sun to run through the notes he’d made for his meeting with the Press. Half an hour later, he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
He checked the monitor screen and pressed the door release for the main door at ground level, then stepped onto the landing to greet his former colleague. Jackie Hewlett looked as pleasingly attractive as ever, in a smart close-fitting jacket and skirt, which showed off her slim figure and legs to great effect. They kissed, cheek to cheek, and Tom escorted her onto the balcony, somewhat embarrassed that it was through the very untidy master bedroom, and left her briefly to get another shot glass and the whiskey bottle.
They chatted easily, sipping their drinks, for the best part of an hour before lapsing into a relaxed and comfortable silence. Jackie nursed her glass and looked out over the gleaming vista of the Capital.
“I’ll never forget how supportive you were, Tom, that time when Lucy went missing. You were right there at my side all the time.”
“It was only a couple of hours, Jackie. It was the least any friend would have done.”
Jackie turned to him. There were tears in her eyes.
“But it meant such a lot. I just wish there was something …”
“You’re doing it right now, Jackie.” He reached across and held her hand. “You’re right here with me when I most need a friend.”
She smiled and they lapsed into silence again for a while.
“You know what, Tom; I don’t know whether I want to carry on without you …”
Tom squeezed her hand.
“You’ll be okay, Jackie, and we’ll keep in touch, I hope?”
“Of course we will, but you won’t be there all the time any more and I always felt safe with you around. You know, from Andrew and …well … Grace, if I’m honest about it.”
“Grace? Why, what has she done? I wouldn’t have thought you’d have much contact.”
“I don’t. It’s something I can’t really put my finger on. I just get the feeling that Andrew has some kind of hold over her, and because of that anything you say in front of her goes straight back to him. I’m probably paranoid.”
“You’re one of the least paranoid people I’ve ever met, Jackie. But I can’t really see …” His voice tailed off.
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Jackie. “It probably is just me.”
“No, I was just wondering …”
He was interrupted by the bell ringing again.
He went to the door and checked the screen.
“It’s Grace, would you believe it?” he called through to Jackie, and then spoke into the intercom.
“Hi, Grace,” he activated the entrance door lock, “come on up.”
She beamed at him mischievously in the entrance to the apartment, holding one arm behind her back.
“A little something, just in case,” she said, revealing and shaking a jar of Columbian roast coffee beans. “Didn’t quite trust you to do the right thing.”
He forced a smile, taking the jar from her.
“Jackie’s here,” he said
“Oh, how lovely,” said Grace, her features set in a smile, but her eyes freezing over. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No,” he said. “Please, go on through.”
She set off for the living room.
“No, through here,” he said, waving her into the bedroom. She turned to him with a quizzical expression, her eyes as wide as she could make them.
“Are you sure I haven’t come at a bad time?”
“Straight through onto the balcony,” he said, recovering enough to be annoyed. “I’ll get you a glass.”
“I’ll wait here until you get it.”
“You could come back later, if you prefer,” said Tom.
“Oh no, I’d like to watch, if that’s okay?”
He got the glass and they joined Jackie. Neither woman spoke for several moments, eyes locked and expressions glacial. Grace sat down on one of the two available chairs positioning it so that she and Tom were facing Jackie across the table.
“Jackie.”
“Grace.”
“Well, now we all know each other,” said Tom, turning to Grace and holding up the bottle by way of invitation.
Grace nodded and he filled the shot glass, pushing it across to her. They sat in silence for some time staring out over the panoramic view.
“Anyway,” said Jackie, “I’ll leave you to it, Tom. I didn’t realise you had an important meeting.”
“No, don’t go,” said Tom, turning to Grace. “I’m not sure why Grace is here, actually.”
“No, Jackie’s right,” said Grace. “You do have an important – and private – meeting.”
Jackie drained her glass and got to her feet.
“I’ll see you very soon, Tom.”
She walked away through the bedroom without another word to Grace, Tom following behind her. At the door she turned to him and spoke loudly enough to be heard on the balcony. “Shame about the interruption; such a pity we couldn’t have taken that further. We must pick up where we left off next time. Take care, Tom. See you very soon.”
They hugged each other this time.
Tom stood for several moments, gathering his thoughts before returning to the balcony. Grace had moved her chair so she was now facing his.
“So,” said Tom, picking up the bottle and refilling Grace’s glass. “What’s important and private enough for you to make the effort to come round again?”
“Well I said I’d come back.”
“Three days ago. The idea must have slipped your mind once you’d left with what you came for?”
“Oh dear, we are feeling sorry for ourselves. Well, actually this has been the first chance I’ve had. Some of us have still got jobs, you know; which reminds me,” she went on, reaching into her shoulder bag to retrieve an envelope. “His Unholy Mightiness asked me to give you this.” She passed it to him.
He held her eyes as he took it from her, thinking about his interrupted conversation with Jackie. She raised her eyebrows in a gesture of innocence.
“I’ve no idea what it is.”
“No, I bet you don’t,” said Tom. “Quite the little Postman Pat, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Anyway, Postman Pat’s a man, isn’t he? Do I look like a man to you?”
She turned directly towards him in her chair and crossed her legs theatrically, causing her skirt to ride up high round her thighs. Tom let his gaze dwell for just a moment, and then looked up into her eyes again.
“So you’re telling me that you didn’t know this is Andrew’s letter accepting my resignation?”
“Is it?”
“And that he’s rushed it over here with you because I’ve just told him I’m holding a press conference tomorrow and will be assuming I’m still the Home Secretary until I receive this?”
He waved the envelope at her.
“You told him that!” Grace laughed. “Oh. I wish I’d seen his face when …”
“Don’t piss about with me, Grace. You came here on Sunday to ask for my resignation on Andrew’s behalf; then nothing for three days – no phone calls or anything – and suddenly you turn up with his acceptance letter just a couple of hours after I’ve threatened to make things awkward for him if I didn’t get it. I know I can be naïve and idealistic at times, but I’m not all-out stupid!”
“No you’re not,” she said. “So you can work out whether that’s the only reason I’m here.”
She slipped down further in the chair so that her skirt rode up even higher. Tom got quickly to his feet and turned away from her, leaning on the rail of the balcony and looking out over the river.
“I’m not sure what your motives are, Grace. If you want me to shag you, that’s fine. I can do it now, I suppose – no worries about ‘how will it look?’ and all that. Broken marriage anyway – just about – no working relationship between us, so no conflict of interest or whatever. But you only come when Andrew sends you. He’s probably told you to get laid in my apartment so he can publicly denounce me as a … whatever!”
“You’re getting paranoid, Tom,” said Grace. “But could we go back to that bit about you shagging me?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No! Not now; not today.” He turned to face her. Grace was sitting upright in the chair again and had pulled down her skirt. “I would like to believe that you want more from me, Grace. I mean, why wouldn’t I? So let’s try again. Come back another time, just for me, nothing else. And let’s see what happens.”
She sighed, and then smiled, rising from her chair and walking up close to him.
“Okay,” she pouted, “so here’s a test of your resolve and patience. I’m going to the US tomorrow on a four-week diplomatic assignment. If anything comes up in the meantime, do you think it can wait?”
She placed her hand against the front of his trousers.
“I think so,” he said, his voice faltering a little.
“If you’re not sure, I could stay,” she said, pressing her hand against him more firmly.
“I am sure.” He stepped to one side. “Anyway, I’ve got to get to work on my Plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Yes, now Andrew has accepted my resignation, I’ll get started on my campaign to fight for the vacant seat in Princes as an Independent. What do you think of that?”
“Well … good luck,” she said, and then smiled again. “But what if you get in? Wouldn’t we have a sort of working relationship again? I wouldn’t like anything to get in the way of… you know?”
“Don’t worry; I’ll make sure I major on something else. Improving the postal system, perhaps, so I can free up more of your time.”
She smiled, and walked through the bedroom to the door of the apartment. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly but reaching between his lips with her tongue. He walked her down to the ground floor entrance, this time shaking her hand and kissing her briefly on the offered cheek.
*
Back on the balcony, Tom’s thoughts turned to Mags and a feeling of guilt suddenly overwhelmed him. Not for what had just happened with his former colleague, but because he was here, away from the scene of so many harrowing memories; with the real prospect of a new life, one completely detached from his previous existence. Mags and Katey were at home, with reminders of Jack all around them, reinforcing their loss and locking them into their prison of despair. He had escaped and just left them to it. The only linkage to his late son in this new world was the name on the bottle he was reaching for to pour his next drink.
*
Week 13; Thursday, 18 June…
The sound of his mobile woke Tom. He scrambled to find it on the bedside table, knocking his half full shot glass and wristwatch onto the floor.
“Yes,” he rasped.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Tony? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I’ve got half the fucking world’s press here waiting to do sound-checks!”
Tom squinted at the display on the phone; ‘09:38’.
“Oh, shit! I’m sorry, Tony. I overslept.”
“Overslept? You sound like you had quite a lot of help. Please don’t tell me you’re not up yet.”
“Okay, I won’t,” Tom groaned, “but you’ve just happened to hit on the truth. I’ll be there in …”
“Twenty minutes? Because that’s how much time you’ve got. Look, whether you’re here or not, the cameras will start rolling at ten and the story will be just as big. ‘Tom Brown fails to turn up at his own press conference.’ Maybe even bigger.”
“Can’t you delay them for half-an-hour?”
“You know how these things work, Tom. All the major news channels have got live airtime scheduled for this. There’ll be people getting up at five and six in the morning in the US to hear you. What do you think they’ll do – show repeats of South Park?”
“I’m moving, right! I’ll be there just as …Jesus!”
“What’s wrong now?”
“Like I said – I’m moving. God, I feel like shit. I’m not going to make it for ten, Tony. Half-past, that’s the best I can do. Tell them I’m not well. It’ll be the biggest understatement they’ll get to report this year.”
“Okay,” said Tony. “I’ll tell them now and just perhaps they can reschedule the airtime. But ten-thirty – no later – or I’ll go live at that time with the truth.”
“Which is?”
“You’re too pissed to talk to them.”
“Look, why don’t you just tell them that now …”
“No, Tom, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. God knows, you’re entitled to drown your sorrows. I was just concerned about you, wondered if you were okay. I’ll hold them off. They don’t call me Alamo Dobson for nothing, you know.”
“Thanks, Tony; I’ll get there as soon as possible. I owe you.”
“I’ll collect, don’t you worry.”
Tom staggered around the bedroom looking for his press statement. He remembered taking it off the printer sometime during the evening but it had been lost somewhere between the balcony and the bedroom. Or maybe the living room, he thought, finding the first whiskey bottle empty on the balcony table. Did he take the papers through when he went for the second bottle?
Without any more time to waste on the search he went into the bathroom and made a poor and ill-advised attempt at a wet shave, cutting himself under his chin. He abandoned the task and went back to his bedroom in search of a tissue, picking up his watch from the floor and deciding there was no time for a shower.
He dressed hurriedly, putting on his suit over the boxer shorts and shirt he had crashed out in the previous evening. He pulled on socks and shoes, and grabbed a tie from the rack in the wardrobe, trying twice with the knot before leaving it loose and untidy after the second attempt. He checked his watch again – 10.20.
He fumbled, optimistically, with his car keys, dropping them onto the floor and kicking them under the dressing table in frustration. He couldn’t have driven, anyway, he knew
, and set off unsteadily down the staircase and out onto Victoria Bridge Road launching himself into the traffic to stop a taxi and almost colliding with a cyclist he had failed to see in the inside lane.
He all but fell out of the taxi a couple of minutes after 10.30, and the media group watched in disbelief as he patted his pockets looking for money that wasn’t there to settle the fare. Tony rushed across and paid the driver, and Tom turned slowly and dizzily round to face the gathering.
There were audible gasps of astonishment as he mounted the small stage in Riverside Walk Gardens and clutched the lectern for support. The trickle of crimson which was still clearly flowing from beneath his chin was causing a stain to spread along the collar of the crumpled shirt. His hair was uncombed and he had failed to tie the lace of one of his shoes.
He looked around the sea of faces, blinking his eyes into focus and attempting a smile which was more like a crooked grimace.
“Ladies and gentleman of the press …”
Tony stepped up beside him. “Just a moment, Tom, let’s get the mike sorted first.”
He clipped the radio mike onto his lapel as Tom gave a loud, unnatural laugh which ceased abruptly as the pain shot through his head. He turned to Tony.
“Are we on camera yet?” It was supposed to be a whisper but was loud enough for all to hear. They exchanged baffled and worried looks as Tom straightened up again and Tony stepped slightly to one side.
“Ready to roll,” he said. “Give Mr Brown his cue.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” said Tom, his eyes glazed and rolling. “I just want to say …thank you. That is, thank you for coming here today and … for everything else. You know, like reporting all I’ve done over the years. Because without you, there would be no Tom Brown. And without no Tom Brown … I mean … without Tom Brown, there would be no New Justice Regime. Just remember that.”
He wagged his finger limply at the group. No one was taking notes.
“And I want to thank everybody for their support at this difficult time. Well, not everybody – but I won’t say any more about that. I’ll just say this; I didn’t want to resign, because now I’ve got nothing. Nothing. But … well … you know how it is.”
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