by Fay Keenan
Grabbing a double whisky, he seated himself in one corner, where he could observe the comings and goings without being too conspicuous himself. As he was checking AllFeed, once more on his phone, he didn’t notice the shadow falling across his table until it was too late.
‘Well, you’ve really fucked this one up, haven’t you?’ The voice of Cora Mellish, Secretary of State for Health, cut into his thoughts as Charlie put down his phone hurriedly. As Cora thudded down into the chair opposite him, a drink in her hand, he wished he had just buggered off back to the flat.
‘Hello, Minister,’ Charlie said wearily. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Cora took a long sip of the gin and tonic she’d brought with her and seemed to be letting Charlie stew. Having nothing else to do but drink, he continued to do so. The Scotch was having a warming effect on his body, even if his bones felt perennially cold since all of this had started.
After making him sweat for a moment longer, finally, Cora put down her own drink. ‘Indecisiveness is probably the worst trait a politician can have, you know,’ she said conversationally. ‘And public indecisiveness is even worse.’
‘You saw that car crash of an interview with Ruth Middleton, then?’
‘Couldn’t miss it, really – connected as it is to the very current topic under discussion in the committee. What the hell were you thinking?’
‘I don’t think I was, actually,’ Charlie muttered. ‘I suppose that means I’ve burned my bridges already with you and your department.’
Cora let the silence hang between them, and Charlie felt the sweat trickling down his back. What was it about this place that made him feel as though he was back in school at every turn? Eventually, she spoke.
‘Indecisiveness might be a politician’s worst trait in the eyes of the public,’ she said. ‘But passion, and real emotion, can often be a vote winner. Despite making a mess of that interview with that meddling cow Ruth Middleton, your willingness to stand up for a cause you believe in before that was impressive, particularly so early in your career.’
‘I thought you didn’t approve of my support for that particular cause,’ Charlie said dryly. ‘Certainly seemed that way when I was in your office.’
Cora shrugged. ‘I might have been a bit hasty. Initiative is a good thing.’
Charlie put down his drink and looked her straight in the eye. ‘What am I missing here? You as good as told me to step away from the CF issue. Why are you saying this now?’
Cora looked a fraction less composed. Obviously playing for time, she took another sip of her gin and tonic. ‘The PM’s had a word,’ she said quietly.
‘Really?’ Charlie’s heart leapt. ‘About what?’
‘Apparently our Prime Minister was impressed with the way you managed to ask that question, and has asked me to keep an eye on you.’
Charlie’s head started to spin, and it wasn’t just the whisky. ‘Even after that interview?’
‘Charlie,’ Cora said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘This is the twenty-first century. What matters is how you connect with people on a personal level, and how you conduct yourself on social media. After you asked that question, you, and the CF issue, were trending on Twitter for an hour. The public has got hold of the story, and combined with your recent girlfriend’s campaigning, it’s got a platform that a lot of other campaigners would die for.’
‘But you told me to leave it alone.’ Charlie shook his head in confusion.
‘Things might seem slow-moving and traditionalist around here, but they move faster than you think.’ Cora eyed him speculatively. ‘Perhaps I was a little hasty in warning you off the issue.’
‘How do I know we won’t be having a different conversation in another week’s time?’ Charlie said. ‘I’m not sure I can keep up with the speed of change in this place.’
‘Well, you’d better learn,’ Cora said firmly, finishing her drink. ‘No one wants to get left behind, especially if you’re young and ambitious. Think about it.’ She stood up and gave him a fleeting, not quite warm smile. ‘Have a good weekend, Mr Thorpe.’
‘You too, Minister,’ Charlie replied.
As she left, he shook his head. More confused than ever, Charlie took his time finishing his own drink, and then decided against having another one. It was about time he headed home, anyway.
The conversation with Cora had thrown him off balance; he was so confused. As he walked through the cooling air back to Farringdon, he felt a restlessness that was at odds with his indecision. He just didn’t know which way to jump.
Pulling out his mobile phone, on impulse he searched out a number, and then, heart pounding, waited for it to be answered.
‘Hello?’ The voice on the end of the phone sounded tired, and a long way away. ‘Who is it?’
Charlie took a deep breath. ‘It’s me, Dad. I need to ask your advice about something.’
There was silence as his father, presumably, digested what Charlie had said.
‘Been a long time since you’ve asked your father for any advice. What makes you ring me now?’
Charlie laughed hollowly. ‘I know I’ve not been the best at keeping in touch since I moved south, but I’m in a bit of a pickle, Dad.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. That on-the-hop interview was a disaster.’ His father was never one to mince his words.
‘I know.’
‘So, what are you going to do about it?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me.’
There was a heavy sigh on the end of the line. ‘When you first told us you were going into politics, can you remember what I said to you?’
‘That line about anyone who wants to enter politics probably shouldn’t enter politics?’ Charlie said quietly.
‘Well, not that bit, but the next bit, really.’
‘Refresh my memory, Dad.’ The scent in the air, soot mixed with low cloud, suggested rain, and Charlie upped his pace a little.
‘That sooner or later you’d be faced with a political decision that you’d need to take with your head or your heart. That there would be consequences all round, and that you’d need to see the bigger picture as well as the details. Do you remember?’
Charlie’s eyes blurred as he reacted to the sudden gentleness in his father’s tone. ‘I do,’ he murmured.
‘You need to decide what’s more important, and act accordingly. There are so few conviction politicians left in this game. Are you going to be one of them? Or are you going to play at pragmatics for your career? The rewards for both could be different, but equally great, and really, son, the choice is yours.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Charlie said, rubbing his eyes wearily with his free hand.
‘What for?’ the old man barked, not unkindly. ‘I probably haven’t helped much. But I thought it was worth reminding you of the rules of the game. At least as I see them.’
‘You’ve helped more than you know,’ Charlie said. ‘Bye, Dad.’
‘Don’t leave it so long between calls next time,’ John Thorpe said, by way of parting. ‘And come and see your mother soon. She misses you.’
‘I will. I miss you both, too.’
Charlie pressed the end-call button and swiftly pocketed his phone before the rain started bucketing down. Turning up his jacket collar, he headed up the road to his flat. As he drew a deep breath to try to steady his thoughts, he was struck, like a bolt from the blue, of how precious every breath Harry Jamieson took was, not just to him, but to his family, who were campaigning so hard on his behalf. And in that moment, when the cool night air filled his lungs, he knew exactly what he needed to do. Checking the train times app on his phone, he looked to what time the earliest train back to Willowbury was in the morning.
47
‘Thanks for stepping in at such short notice, Chelsea,’ Holly said on Saturday morning as she checked over the things she’d packed into her backpack. She was about to go somewhere a bit unusual for a deep-vision meditation session and was f
eeling more than a little nervous about it. If she forgot to take anything with her now, she wouldn’t just be able to nip back into the shop and get it, so she had to make sure she had enough supplies.
Although, really, since the session was to be held in the outdoors anyway, she actually needed fewer things, she figured. A few bottles of water for after the session, her phone in case anything came up urgently at ComIncense, or with Harry, and a towel for her hair, since the mist that had been descending all morning had finally turned into rain, and that was about it.
‘No worries,’ Chelsea replied. ‘Rather you than me, up there on a day like this.’ She peered out of the front window of the shop, where she’d been adjusting the display, and wrinkled her nose. ‘I guess I’m what you might call a fair-weather meditator!’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ Holly smiled. ‘There’s something immediate about deep vision in the rain. You should try it sometime.’
‘I don’t fancy trying to meditate when I’m soaked through to my underwear!’ Chelsea shuddered. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll hold the fort here while you and your mad punters do.’
‘I’ll see you a bit later,’ Holly said. ‘If anything comes up, call me.’
‘I will.’
Holly threw her backpack into the passenger seat of her car and headed towards her destination. She didn’t have time to walk there today, and the last time she had been up there the weather had been completely different and she’d had company. Shoving all thoughts of that particular company firmly out of her hopefully soon to be cleared mind, she focused on the techniques she was going to use in this deep-vision session.
In some ways, the rain amplified the thoughts and emotions, so it could be very helpful for pinpointing what might be holding her back. Although meditating in the sunshine was more physically comfortable, there was something about doing it in the rain that left you feeling cleansed.
She had a group of ten coming, including Rachel, who she’d invited along for some moral support, since it was the first time she’d led a session in this very special place. Also, if anyone needed escorting back early, Rachel could do it for her. They were all going back for a warming drink afterwards, anyway.
The sight never failed to awe her as she drove closer, its presence magisterial and powerful even in the mist, as it rose majestically from the green landscape all around. It was a beacon of spirituality and sent a shiver down her spine every time she saw it rising to the sky. She would never tire of living in its shadow. She pushed away the memory of the kisses she and Charlie had shared last time she was there and tried again to focus on the landscape.
As she parked the car, she could see a few people from her group had already arrived. She was pleased to see they’d all worn sensible footwear for the mildly strenuous walk up the hill.
‘Morning!’ she said cheerily. ‘Sorry about the rain, but it’ll make the meditation session a little different today.’
‘No kidding,’ one of the group laughed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever done it in the rain before!’
‘It’ll be a whole new experience, especially with the mist rolling in around us,’ Holly said, determined to put a positive spin on it for those who might still have doubts. She glanced around the group, and, as the last couple of people arrived, did a quick headcount. ‘OK. I think we’re all here. Are you ready?’
‘As we’ll ever be,’ said Rachel.
‘Best foot forward, then,’ Holly said, feeling like a Scout leader.
Heading up the group, she drew a deep breath, preparing mentally to lead her first ever deep-vision meditation session on Willowbury Hill. The trouble was, the harder she tried to forget what it felt like to be here with Charlie, the more those memories stubbornly refused to go away.
48
A little time later on Saturday morning, hot off the train from London, the rain lashed down on Charlie’s back as he panted upwards towards Willowbury Hill’s summit. ‘How the fuck does anyone meditate in this bloody weather?’ he said to himself as he tracked further up. His heart had both leapt and sunk when Chelsea had, albeit reluctantly, revealed where Holly was heading. His white shirt, untucked and unkempt, was drenched already, but the humidity made him sweat as he put one foot in front of the other. He prided himself on being reasonably fit, so why was it, then, that he was struggling to breathe as he hoofed it up the hill? Why was it that his heart felt constricted and his stomach was turning somersaults?
The mist swirled all around the base of the hill, and it was as if the landscape itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what the outcome of this meeting would be.
Further, further, further up the hill he went, stomach fluttering more and more with nerves as he tried to think about what the hell he was going to say to Holly when he got to the top. I love you; I was wrong; I’m a twat, was the simplest way to put it, but how could nine words, any words, possibly sum up everything he’d put her through? From the unwanted media attention to the furore over his ill-advised indecision, he just didn’t know where to start. Would he listen to her if the situation was reversed? Probably not, he conceded.
But he had to try. Had to drag himself up this bloody hillside in the warm, pouring rain and talk to her. If she didn’t want to know after this, then fair enough; he was prepared to admit it was over. But if there was just one tiny chance that she would…
A harsh, guttural yell pierced the air as Charlie was about twenty yards from the top of the hill. From his position, he couldn’t yet see the group that Holly was leading, but Charlie’s heart nearly failed him at the sound. Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any more nervous, more yells tore the humid air at the top of the hill apart. Panic gripped him at the sound as he imagined finding Holly in some sort of terrible state. Perhaps, distraught, she’d stumbled in the mist and rain and was now lying injured?
‘Holly!’ he shouted against the raindrops that were now splattering into his face.
No response. Then another yell.
Picking up speed, he dashed up and around the side of the hill, stumbling up the steps that were hewn into the earth as he neared the top, until he spotted several seated figures, legs crossed, facing outwards, looking over the view of Brent Knoll and Steep Holm, yelling their heads off into the rising wind and rain.
Charlie felt weak with relief, before a feeling of total embarrassment and stupidity took over. Slowing to a rather humiliated shuffle, he dropped his head, sweeping his rain-drenched hair out of his eyes as he did so, and then burying his suddenly shaking hands in his pockets.
‘One more time,’ Holly’s raised voice entreated. ‘Let all of that negative energy go; be filled by the positive energies of the hill and the forces that reside here.’
And yet again, guttural yells sounded across the vale.
‘And relax.’
Charlie saw Holly’s head drop to her chest, the graceful curve of her pale neck revealed as her sodden plait flopped over one equally white shoulder, drenched a deeper, almost blood red by the driving rain. Frozen there, transfixed by the vision of a soaking-wet Holly, it took him a moment to realise that he’d attracted the attention of her group, some of whom were now turning to look at him with either ill-disguised irritation or humour in their eyes.
‘Are you here for the deep-vision meditation session?’ a woman on the end of the row said, uncrossing her legs and turning towards him. ‘You’re a bit late – we’ve just finished.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘No. I’m not here for that—’ he paused, considering his next words carefully, ‘sort of thing. It’s your instructor I need to see.’
Holly was still facing away from him, her head bowed to the ground, the raindrops dripping from her plait and running down her back.
‘Holly,’ Charlie said gently. ‘I really need to talk to you.’
Time seemed to stand still as Holly slowly turned her head to look at him. Even from ten yards away, he could see the mixture of emotions flickering in her green eyes. First i
rritation, then hurt, then, and he was sure he didn’t imagine it, hope.
‘I’m in the middle of something,’ Holly said quietly.
‘Um… I thought we’d finished,’ the woman next to her said. ‘I mean, not that it wasn’t, er, therapeutic, but I’m soaked through to my knickers, sitting here. Isn’t it time we went back down the hill?’
Holly turned and smiled briefly. ‘Absolutely. If you want to head off home, that’s fine, but if you’re up to dropping back into the shop, there are towels, tea and cake down there.’ As the rest of her class staggered to their feet, Holly remained sitting but turned to Rachel. ‘Can you sort the drinks and cake out? Or tell Chelsea to do it? I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Sure thing,’ Rachel said. As she passed Charlie, she looked him straight in the eye. ‘Fuck her up again, and I will remove your testicles,’ she murmured, smiling sweetly as she did so. Charlie didn’t want to know just how literally to take that threat.
Eventually, he and Holly were the only two left on the hill. Holly still hadn’t stood up.
‘May I join you?’ Charlie asked, walking hesitantly over to where she sat, gazing out over the rain-soaked but nonetheless impressive vista.
‘Well, you’ve already scared off my class, so feel free,’ Holly said quietly. She looked, uncharacteristically, utterly defeated. Charlie’s heart ached.
The pause between them seemed to stretch for an eternity. Not worrying about his suit trousers, that were probably ruined beyond all redemption anyway by the rain and the mud, he plonked himself down next to her, turning to look at the view, to see what she saw. Suddenly, all of the primeval yelling made sense. The rain was easing and the rolling mists were beginning to clear. There was something about that view, even about the wide-open space between himself and the still semi-shrouded land and seascapes beyond, that made him want to yell out too. The sound built up inside him, rising in his chest until he felt he couldn’t contain it for a moment longer, and he released it, a long, loud, scream into the warm wind and what was left of the rain.