Polls Apart (4 page)

Richard was by Henry’s side now as they made their way to the front door of the college, flanked by security and the ever-increasing team of press officers and aides who now accompanied the two men on each outing.

“How did Anna take the news?” Richard asked, his eyes bulging slightly with the pressure of what lay before him.

“Everything’s fine, Richard. Let’s focus on your speech and we’ll talk afterwards.”

Henry heard Richard’s sharp intake of breath when they reached the doors of the college and were confronted by a sea of press all keenly waiting for an update on the state of his marriage.

“You’ll be fine,” Henry whispered. “Just stick to the wording we agreed and don’t take questions.”

Richard executed a well-practised “I’m in control” smile as he reached the podium at the top of the college steps. He cleared his throat before leaning in to the microphone.

“Bristol College can be proud of its place as a centre for educational excellence; an achievement that was reflected in the enthusiasm of all the staff and students I met here this morning,” he began.

“Every child and young person deserves the very best education but, sadly, still all too few will be privileged enough to benefit from state-of-the-art facilities such as the ones I have seen here today.”

Richard remembered his speech training and deliberately slowed his next line down to accentuate every word. “It is my desire to change that. And it is my desire to make sure that every single child who has a career ambition will be given the very best chance of achieving it.”

Richard paused for a moment, allowing his message to sink in with those watching and listening. He looked around the wall of cameras in front of him, hoping to make eye contact with every single viewer before he ventured further. Both he and Henry knew how important it was that they trusted him right now.

“We cannot… will not, be distracted from our goals. Britain needs the Social Democratic Party and I will not stop until we deliver the very best for the people of this country. There will be challenges along the way – and there will be those who try to throw me off course. I spoke with my wife Anna this morning. She has been deeply hurt by the recent allegations thrown at her but she knows too that we cannot let such gossip stand in our way. She has decided today that she would like to withdraw from the glare of the cameras for the next few weeks, during which time I will be one hundred per cent focused on the task in hand. The task of renewal, of courage and of victory. I thank you.”

Anna continued to stare into the screen long after she had turned the picture off. Her mind spun like cherries on a fruit machine as she tried to sort through what Richard’s statement actually meant for their marriage. By the time her thoughts had settled she was clear on the answer: she had just been dumped on national
TV
without even a hint of prior warning. Six years of marriage thrown away in an instant – all to save Richard’s face. She had thought when they’d talked things through the night before that she had convinced him they could come through this together. Before they switched the light out to go to sleep he had stroked her arm and said: “We’ll come out fighting tomorrow, Anna. We’re a winning team and it’ll take more than a shoddy little tabloid tale to finish us.”

He’d got up at five thirty that morning and kissed her softly on the cheek as she lay dozing. She’d heard him confidently bidding the press pack outside a good morning before getting into his car and speeding off to the party
HQ
. Anna had told herself how lucky she was to be married to such a loyal man yet, just a few hours later, he’d betrayed her without so much as a goodbye.

Her mobile rang on the coffee table in front of her and she saw Joy’s name flash up on the screen.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Anna, I just saw Richard’s speech,” Joy said breathlessly like she was running to get somewhere. “I’m on my way over to pick you up.”

“Where are we going?” replied Anna with the meekness and uncertainty of a small child.

“You can’t stay where you are, Anna. You’ll be hounded. We need to get you somewhere safe and quiet where you can think things through. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

Anna went quiet for a moment as she tried to think of a place she’d feel secure – and comfortable. Then it came to her. “I want to go to Libby’s,” she said. “I need to be with my sister.”

T
uesday 31
st March,
2009
, UK Newswire – The actress wife of
SDP
leader Richard Williams was forced to leave their home to save her husband’s political career, according to tabloid reports.

In a speech on Monday, Williams said Anna Lloyd had “decided she would like to withdraw from the glare of the cameras”, but unnamed friends of the actress claim the announcement was made out of the blue and against her wishes.

Williams was forced to make an announcement on the state of his marriage after allegations were printed in a Sunday newspaper claiming Lloyd had previously worked as a professional escort.

The story came just days after Prime Minister Kelvin Davis announced a general election would be held on Wednesday,
6
th May. The newspaper claimed that Lloyd worked for the Mademoiselles escort agency in
1994
for a period of six months.

SDP
spokesperson Henry Morton denied Lloyd had been forced into a separation saying her move from the marital home in the Highgate area of London had been a “joint decision”.

He added: “As Richard Williams stated on Monday, Anna was very upset over recent newspaper allegations and decided she wanted a period of privacy away from the public spotlight. Richard supported her wishes and she was in no way forced to move out of their home.”

When pressed on whether Lloyd’s move constituted an official separation, Morton said: “This is simply a practical solution which allows Anna some time away from the cameras whilst Richard gets on with the important job of winning the next general election – a task he is absolutely committed to carrying out for the people of this country.”

Marie Simpson was quietly enjoying picking her way through her tuna and bean salad when she became aware of an unsettling presence nearing behind. Although Damian liked to creep up behind his staff and catch them unawares, he was rarely successful in his efforts because of his involuntary throat-clearing habit. Marie heard the familiar rasping sound from around ten paces away so made sure she shut down her Yahoo mail page before Damian rounded the corner to her desk. The
Sunday Echo
office was mainly open plan but Marie sat in a corner of the newsroom with several other reporters, all separated by annoying and ineffective partitions which didn’t offer any privacy and meant you had to stand up to speak to your workmates.

She swiveled around in her chair just in time to catch Damian’s furtive glare as he approached. Marie noticed he was even scruffier than usual today, with his creased shirt, ruffled greying hair and loose tie. All the female reporters in the office agreed that Damian had a strange kind of bad-boy appeal, but the lines on his face – the product of years of chain-smoking – made him look older than his actual age of forty-one.

“Marie,” he said, in a falsely cheerful voice. “How’s the Lloyd story coming along? You tracked down any of her ex—clients yet?”

“I’ve tried to contact everyone Sylvia named, but they’re either ex-directory or they won’t talk. Most of them are highly-paid professionals who don’t need the money.”

“Right, time for plan B then.”

“What’s that?” Marie asked, already afraid of the answer.

“We run an interview with Lloyd. The heartbreaking story of how she was betrayed in her hour of need by the man she loves.”

“Have you spoken to her then? Has she agreed to do it?”

“This needs a woman’s touch, Marie,” Damian winked in what Marie found to be a patronising way. “You give her a call and – in the nicest possible fashion – let her know that unless she does an interview we’ll let her old clients do the talking.”

“But we don’t have any of her clients.”

“Use your loaf, Marie,” Damian snapped before giving an agitated grunt. “She doesn’t know that does she? Now I want this sorted by the end of today so I need you to get on to it as soon as you’ve finished your bird seed.” With that Damian took off and left Marie to watch him saunter back to his office with all the affectation of a man trying to appear comfortable in his own skin.

Marie swallowed back a wave of nausea as she considered the prospect of trying to talk Anna Lloyd – who must surely hate her more than anyone else in the whole world right now – into divulging her innermost secrets to the
Sunday Echo
. She knew the outcome would rest on how well she managed to veil her threats, keeping her tone friendly whilst leaving Lloyd in no doubt she had little choice.

This was the type of task Marie hated – particularly when her heart was just not in this story. The “scurrilous end” of tabloid journalism as her father called it. She would much rather have been chasing stories on major social issues, rather than harassing politician’s wives, but Marie also knew the only way out of this kind of work was to resign and she simply couldn’t afford to do that right now. While this job was hardly feeding her soul it paid the mortgage and that was what mattered most.

And, at twenty-nine, this could mark a much-needed turning point in her career. Until last week she’d never worked on a really massive exclusive – those jobs were always handed to the chief reporter or other favoured hack. So this was her chance to get up the ladder and start regularly working on the kind of stories that would move her from the middle to front pages. And she supposed that was where she should be. If she could get to the top of her game, perhaps then her father would drop the snobbery against what he called her “type of work” and finally be proud of her. As the only man in her life, her father’s approval meant everything – perhaps it would even help her conquer the desperate insecurity and lack of self worth that had shadowed her since childhood.

She sighed then opened up the contacts file on her desktop and leafed through it until she got to L. She found the number buried at the bottom of the screen. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone and dialled.

Bob Guthrie was the first person to raise a smile out of Richard in forty-eight hours with his unintentionally humorous attempts to flag down a passing waiter or waitress. Bob was Shadow Chancellor, with a deceptively bumbling exterior that masked the agility of his knowledge-packed mind. With Ray Molsley sitting to his left, sharing the moment, Richard let all the tension of the past few days go and laughed raucously at Bob’s feeble finger ripple which wouldn’t have attracted a passing bee if his hand had been covered in honey. Feeling a mixture of pity and impatience, Ray finally stepped in and waved his hand vigorously as their waiter walked away from a nearby table. “Another bottle of red,” he said loudly.

Bob tried to hide his obvious shame, but couldn’t prevent the lighter shade of crimson from creeping up his neck into his cheeks.

“Don’t worry Bob,” said Richard, patting his friend and colleague on the back. “Fortunately you have other assets to compensate for your inability to order at a restaurant.”

“And fortunately you have me to do it for you,” chuckled Ray. The three men had been close friends since Richard’s first months in Westminster. Bob had won his seat eight years ago at the same time as Richard. They were also similar in age, though Bob’s ruddy cheeks and portly frame added at least another three or four years to his looks. Ray had acted as an unofficial mentor (and drinking companion) to the young
MP
s. Richard knew Ray’s initial hand of friendship was not purely down to kindness, but rather his ability to spot future leaders. Although publicly seen as a jovial man of the people, he was in fact a shrewd and considered character, his one handicap in politics being his big heart. He had confided in them at a similar dinner two years ago that he knew they would both go on to great things and that’s why he’d stuck with them, though Richard knew the bond went much, much deeper than that. In each other they had found kindred political spirits. They had a thirst for change that would not be quenched until they achieved it.

Bundled together in the packed Italian restaurant in Highgate, the three men found a safe haven to relax and offload. It was a place they would regularly meet to bitch about colleagues and, if they weren’t too drunk, talk strategy. The restaurant was dimly lit, giving it an added feel of secrecy and conspiracy.

Richard finished the last of his soup and tried to get his mind back onto the election campaign, which they had met to talk about. But it was too late. Anna’s face was now firmly etched in his mind. He so desperately wanted to talk to her but she wouldn’t return his calls. He realised why, of course. The moment Henry had finally chosen to confess that he’d forgotten to warn her about his speech – on the train back to London – he knew he’d lost all chance of keeping her on side. He hadn’t wanted a long-term separation – he hadn’t actually wanted any separation – but he had foolishly accepted Henry’s advice to part for a couple of months to get them through the election and into Downing Street. He had thought he was doing the right thing. He had thought that sacrificing their happiness was a selfless act, done for the good of the country. But within hours of making the announcement he had seen his decision for what it was: an act of utter panic, which could only show him to be weak and disloyal.

The control was slipping away from him and he sensed their marriage could be in real trouble. Particularly if she wouldn’t even talk to him.

“I can see we’ve lost you again Richard,” Bob said, offering his colleague a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Have you managed to speak to Anna yet?”

“No.” Richard hung his head. “She won’t answer my calls or texts.”

“She’ll come all right,” said Ray, with a confidence Richard knew was based on nothing more than optimism. Realising his dining companions expected him to back up his statement, he added: “She’s been stung by the announcement and she needs time to heal. But she’ll soon see you were only trying to do the right thing for everyone.”

“Do you think it was the right thing?” Bob asked, his candour jolting Richard from the safety of his depressed mood.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Well, I guess you could have stood your ground and said that Anna’s past had nothing to do with the party’s future.”

“Oh that’s wonderful, Bob,” Richard held his hands up in frustration. “You tell me this now when there’s no way back. I asked you to be at that meeting on Monday morning to decide what we should do and you didn’t bloody turn up so it’s a bit late now to hit me with the ‘stand your ground’ talk.”

“I didn’t turn up because Henry had ordered me to talk to every
TV
and radio show in the country to cover your arse. The man deliberately sets things up so I can’t make key meetings. I thought you would have twigged that by now.”

Bob looked at Richard for a response but he stayed silent. “Richard,” he continued, “Henry knew if I’d been there today I’d have told you to stick with the woman you love and not go dancing to the media’s fiddle.”

“Look it’s done now,” Ray jumped in. “There’s no point sitting arguing over what’s already happened. Anna’s going be just fine and we’re going to concentrate on winning the bloody election so let’s just stay focused shall we?”

Though he had stopped talking, Richard continued to glare at Bob – partly out of anger, but mainly because he knew he was right and it was killing him.

Anna watched in bemused admiration as her sister raced around the kitchen piecing ham sandwiches together, grabbing drinks and yoghurts from the fridge and, moments later, producing three packed-lunch boxes.

“You’ve managed to turn that into an art form,” Anna chuckled.

“Yeah, well it’s the only form of art I’d ever be able to produce,” Libby replied only half-jokingly whilst trying to tame her wildly curly hair back into a bun.

Libby’s husband Dan appeared at the kitchen door and collected the three lunches. Anna could tell just by watching the two of them that they had perfected a morning routine that rarely wavered by even a minute.

“Jasmine, Ollie, Rupert, let’s go,” Dan shouted with the authority of an army major.

Anna smiled as she heard the thunder of feet on the stairs and through the hallway until the children’s faces appeared alongside Dan’s and they stood together like a ramshackle Von Trapp family. Jasmine, who at eleven was the eldest, shared her mother’s corkscrew curls and fox-like pointed features. Ollie, two years younger, with his tousled blond hair inherited from his father and bright blue eyes, appeared to Anna to be an exquisite urchin – an impossibly beautiful scruff. And little Rupert was a law unto himself with wide-eyed, asymmetrical features like no one else in either family. Unlike his brother and sister, Rupert was immensely well turned-out, taking great pride in his appearance despite being only six years old.

“We’re off then ladies,” said Dan.

“Bye Mummy, bye Auntie Anna,” Ollie called. Libby rushed forwards to kiss her children, slightly panicked at the thought they could turn around and leave without saying goodbye properly.

“Bye kids,” Anna shouted after them. “Have a good day at school.”

As stressful as the last few days had been, Anna couldn’t help but feel glad that they had created the opportunity for her to spend some time with her family like this. In the six years she had been married to Richard, she had never stayed with Libby and had only seen the kids on the odd afternoon. She’d never stopped to imagine her sister’s existence as a wrung-out housewife, always dashing here and there trying to organise her family. From where Anna was sitting she could see that Libby’s life – though pretty much devoid of luxury – was worth a hundred of her own. While her sister was surrounded by people who would be bereft without her, there was no one who couldn’t live without Anna. In fact, she realised, she was little more than an ageing commodity that could be as easily disposed of as an empty can of Coke.

Her breakfast duties over, Libby sat down at the kitchen table opposite Anna and let out a long sigh. “It’s only quarter-past eight in the morning and I’m already bloody exhausted,” she laughed.