Party Games (2 page)

Rodney felt himself blushing through his thick layer of face powder.  “Well, I can’t really speak for my colleagues and the party at large who voted for me, but I like to think that I am able to detect public mood and what concerns voters in this country and act on this with development of responsible, practical policies.”

“And would you say that you haven’t much of a tough shell, that you can’t take criticism from your colleagues, or would you describe yourself of a bit of a bruiser?”

Rodney cringed inside. 
A bruiser? 
Wood wanted him to be either a poodle or a pit-bull terrier, but he considered himself neither.  “Well, like all politicians, I’m only human, I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t affected when people criticise me in public.  With regards to my colleagues, I have always said that my door is open for those with anything they wish to discuss with me.  I like to think I have ‘open leadership’, there is much talent within the Parliamentary Party and sadly I can’t squeeze all of it into the Shadow Cabinet, so constant feedback is vitally important to me.”

“Talking of your Shadow Cabinet,” Wood began, his forthright, professional tone the antithesis of the mischievous glint in his eye.  “Any hints on when we could expect your long-awaited reshuffle?”

Rodney chuckled.  Wood knew the rules.  “Come on, Graham, you can’t expect me to say anything about that.”

Wood pushed.  “So you’re still deciding?”

Rodney simply smiled.  It was the tell-tale signal that of course he had decided, but the journalist would have to wait along with everyone else.  It was a waste of a question, but Wood had been duty-bound to ask, of course.

“Who would you say is your political hero?”

Now this was something Rodney
could
answer.  He changed his secretive smile to his assuring one.  “My political hero would have to be Edmund Burke.  He spoke of continuity and stability, but also of pragmatism.  Burke once wrote ‘circumstances give, in reality, to every political principle its distinguishing colour and discriminating effect’.  I like to think of myself as a pragmatic politician, ready to adapt to circumstances rather than expecting them to adapt to my principles.”

Wood shifted in his chair, putting pen to paper.  Another tick.  “Moving on to Cornish devolution, Mr Richmond, considering your personal interest in it, do you see it as an issue which reflects over the whole country…”

Clare coughed loudly directly behind Wood.  Filming suddenly cut out and the journalist twisted round, his expression furrowed in annoyance.  It was still two minutes off the ten minute break. 

“I’m sorry.”  Clare said, stepping towards the leader.  Rodney indicated to the technicians to remove his microphone.  “You can have him back later today, four o’clock’s not too late is it?”

Wood frowned, but his tone was amicable.  “No, that’s fine, we’ve still got a lot to get through but I’m sure we can rattle through it.  Statement from the PM, is it?”

“Yes, it is Graham.”  Rodney cut in as he rose to his feet.  Deborah was over by the door, glancing pointedly at her watch.  “We’ve been asking for it long enough, you can always report it as a bit of a victory for us if you like.”

Wood grinned knowingly as Rodney patted him firmly on the shoulder.  “I’ll see you later then Graham, once I’ve slaughtered the PM in the Chamber.”  The Party Leader snatched up the remaining doughnut, and with his entourage, marched with significant purpose from the room.

*****

Sat in his modern Parliamentary office in Portcullis House, shrouded in semi-darkness, Colin Scott, the Honourable Member for Romsey and Deputy Leader of the Conservative Party, poured himself a triple shot.  He hated Mondays.  Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, he didn’t
hate
Mondays, as it meant he could finally get away from the drudgery of a weekend down in the constituency.  Tonight, however, he had to stay late to vote, and was in a terrible mood.  Not that the impotent Chief Whip, Tristan Rivers, would have noticed if the whole of the Parliamentary Party had gone to the
Red Lion
pub instead of the ‘no’ lobby. 

Colin had been invited, through guilty politeness, for a drink by two of his Shadow Cabinet colleagues but he had declined after pretending to give it thought.  They could watch the interview with the appallingly sycophantic Graham Wood from the bar if they liked, surrounded by colleagues praising their glorious leader’s skills on camera, but Colin wanted to savour it alone.  That way, if he felt the urge to punch the wall, it wouldn’t find its way into that gutter rag
The Morning Engager
.

Colin’s gaze drifted down to the business card playing between his fingers.  One phone call and it would all begin to fall nicely into place.

He had to admit, Richmond came across quite well.  Handsome, with a natural confidence, Richmond oozed charm.  He was busy doing his ‘human’ bit and he certainly looked the part – but then again, Colin thought in annoyance, he always did. 
Edmund Burke
.  Very smooth.  The leader had learnt his lines well.  Still, everyone knew Wood to be the easiest interview around.  Wood was gently massaging Richmond’s ego again, asking him about girlfriends. 
Who bloody cares?

Colin sank back into his green easy chair and focussed his gaze on his whisky bottle.  He gripped its neck until his knuckles turned white – if he screwed the lid back on and stuffed it back in his drawer then he wouldn’t have to slip into drunken unconsciousness.

The questioning turned to the Deputy’s least favourite subject – Cornish devolution and the forthcoming Bill in the Commons.  For some inexplicable reason Richmond had attached himself to the issue like a limpet to a rock, as if it would save his leadership from drifting out to sea with the political tide.  Colin saw it as unimportant, to the electorate at least.  It was a selfish political manoeuvre.  A man like Colin Scott was all in favour of manoeuvring of the most self-obsessed kind, but he didn’t think it wise to put the party’s fortunes on the line.  He had been telling Richmond that for months, but he felt his opinion, and his ‘job’, mattered little. 

Richmond was squirming on the issue of health, a desperate, half-baked policy despite his level-headed Chief of Staff warning him not to try to develop policy too fast. 
With one hand we giveth, with the other we taketh away
.  Wood was right to pick up on the flaws.  There were many.  It surprised Colin, because Richmond was usually a perfectionist.  His campaign against Colin fifteen months ago had indeed been perfect in every way.  He had a competent, attractive, female campaign manager and at 39 he had youth on his side.  Richmond sounded good, Colin sounded smug and insincere, Richmond
looked
good, Colin fared better in radio interviews.  He hadn’t stood a chance against a professional journalist.  The old cliché of style over substance.

Colin wrinkled his nose and breathed deeply.  Here was the biggest mistake of the interview: Richmond would stay on after the next election even if the party did badly.  There was much to do, a political mountain to climb.  It may take a couple of terms to make the party electable again..
.
He rolled his eyes. Well, he certainly had given the journalists the hook they needed for their story.  Maybe he wasn’t such a professional after all. 

With a light head and heavy heart Colin thumbed his BlackBerry, his eyes fixed on the card.  But as he shifted from his chair there was a small, unexpected tap on his office door.  He glanced at his watch – 11.03pm. 

“Hello?  Colin, are you in there?”  A familiar, Lancashire voice called through the crack of the door. 

Shit.
Colin fumbled for a mint, slotting the business card hurriedly into his wallet.  He opened the door to see a tall, slim man with a crop of curly blond hair smiling broadly at him.  Colin returned the gesture, blinking through the bright light of the corridor.  He was well rehearsed in pretending to be pleased to see someone he would rather not talk to.

“Jeremy, hello.  You’re still around?”  Colin purposefully blocked his office entrance.

“Well a Party Chairman’s job is never done, just been watching the boss.  Thought you might still be here.  How do you think our guy did then?  Did you watch him?”

Colin pursed his lips.  Jeremy Cheeser, Member of Parliament for Wensleydale, looked distracted, but he always did.  It bothered Colin, the way the Chairman was always so incredibly
nice.
  He might have even liked him, if it wasn’t for their personal history and Jeremy’s blind loyalty to the Leader.

“Yes, I thought he did well.”  He lied, swallowing his mint and forcing another smile.  “Covered all the bases I think.  The headlines tomorrow will of course be about his admission that he wants to stay after the next election even if we do badly.”

Jeremy grimaced, but said nothing.   He might have agreed that it had been a bad move, but an awkward silence descended. Colin expected nothing more than a guarded reaction to anything negative he might insinuate.

Colin coughed.  “Is there any other reason why you’re here?”  He prompted.  The alcohol seemed to be catching up with him, his brain soaking it up like a sponge in a bath.

“Ah, well, I just thought….I’d check you were ok, as I was passing.  Dropping some stuff off at the office.”  Jeremy indicated to the heavy folder tucked under his arm and avoided eye contact, but Colin could spot the sympathy. 
It was the same every year.

 “I’m fine.  Thanks for the concern.”  Colin responded flatly.  His old university friend’s ‘moral Christian duty’ repulsed him and Colin didn’t give a damn if Jeremy thought he was going to hell.  He considered that the bloody place may have even been more preferable.

 
“How’s Linda?  And George?” 

Jeremy’s face lit up.  “Oh, it was George’s fourth birthday yesterday, Linda insisted on throwing him a party for his nursery friends, complete chaos of course! Anyway, Linda’s fine.  She’s on nights tonight, she won’t slow down no matter how much I nag her.  I said to her the hospital won’t fall apart if she needs to take a day or two off, especially as she’ll soon be on maternity leave anyway, but she just says that she’s the doctor so she should know best!”

Something stirred deep inside Colin. He suppressed it instantly.  “Well, give her my best.”

“I will.  We should have dinner sometime, the three of us.  Actually there’s a mutual female friend of ours coming round next week - we could make it a foursome.” Jeremy flashed a smile. The timing of the invite had set-up written all over it and Colin mentally balked. 

“Maybe.”  Colin muttered, thumbing his personal mobile in his pocket.  He wondered if the girl might text him tonight, beg him to visit.  He hoped she would.  He longed for her.

“Well, just let me know.”  Jeremy patted his colleague on the arm.  Colin noted his desperation to get away.  “Anyway, best dash, I already feel guilty enough for not being able to see George before bedtime.  Thank goodness for nannies!”

“Quite.  See you tomorrow. Actually, have you heard anything about..?”

“Reshuffles?  No, not a bean.  Rodney’s very good at keeping it close to his chest, but it’s for the best I suppose.”

Jeremy hurriedly bid his colleague goodnight.  Colin stood alone, switching off the television.  He wished he could forgive him for preventing him from becoming President of the Oxford Union all those years ago.  He wished he could overcome the jealousy he felt.  He wished he could forgive himself for all that happened, block out the flash-backs which woke him in the night, cold sweat moistening his face and pillow.

Colin stared at the black screen through the dim light.  The girl wouldn’t text this late, but he knew he could visit her if he desired.  He snatched up his wallet, flipping it open.  The picture he was so used seeing had worn over the years; it was dated and the colour had faded, but when he gazed at it he felt strangely at home.   Colin ran his finger over the plastic which shielded it, those beautiful, smiling blue eyes staring back at him but without recognition of the sadness in his heart.  Sometimes he would experience such anger and frustration, while sometimes he would feel nothing.  The passing of the years hadn’t made it any easier.

Sighing heavily, he remembered the business card.  He still had a call to make, and the rate things were moving waiting another day could be too late. Anyway, he was paying him enough.  He’d better bloody well be awake.

Two

Tuesday, 4pm

It was the talk of the Members Tea Room.  The usual 5 o’clock Shadow Cabinet meeting had been unexpectedly cancelled at the last minute, prompting rumour and speculation.  Retreating to his office to await his summons by the Leader, nobody was more aware of the current buzz around Westminster than the Opposition Chief Whip, the Right Honourable Tristan Rivers MP.

“You’ve got your head in the sand again.”  Tristan could hear the assiduous Deputy Chief Whip’s worryingly familiar words ringing in his ears.  Perhaps Bradbury was right.

He sat behind his desk and buried his nose in
Hansard
, the daily record of Parliamentary debates.
Best to carry on as normal
.  He could hear the faint chatter of his junior whips and he knew full well what they were discussing.  He didn’t particularly care they weren’t scared of him, but most of them had undermined him for long enough.  Just because he wouldn’t keep a ‘little black book’ of a few recalcitrant colleagues, or strong-arm them into the correct lobby, his whips had turned their fire on him in their own little revolt.  But, Bradbury had argued, in the nicest possible way, if Rivers couldn’t keep his own troops in line, what hope was there for the rest of the Parliamentary Party?

“I don’t condone the ‘jobs for the boys’ attitude around here.  It’s got to change.”  Tristan had told him.  Bradbury merely sighed.

Tristan breathed deeply and glanced at the clock.  Moments later, his BlackBerry message came. 
It was time.