Polls Apart (7 page)

Richard took another long slug from his glass, this time to finish it. His head was swimming with politics, pain and confusion. He missed Anna more than he could have ever imagined. He realised now that she was part of his internal fibre. He had only loved her more for her past, and how she had survived it, and yet it was now the very thing that separated them. He had a duty to his country to win this election and rid them of the hapless Alliance Party. But he knew too that he had a duty to his wife to make amends for his wrongdoing and try to win her back. He didn’t know which way to turn.

As he rose from the sofa to switch off the lamp and head upstairs to bed, Richard decided the best he could do was keep going. If he tried to choose which way to turn now, he knew he would only end up more lost.

T
uesday 7
th April,
2009
, UK Newswire – Prime Minister Kelvin Davis today opened his heart on national television to reveal he too had been forced into marital separation, like the actress Anna Lloyd.

In an interview on the
Today
with Lizzy and Paul
programme, Davis said he “knew the pain of an enforced marriage split”, adding that he felt “devastated” for Lloyd, who recently separated from
SDP
leader Richard Williams.

The
PM
also went on to launch a scathing attack on Williams saying he was “deeply shocked” over his decision to leave his wife following revelations of her past as an escort girl and conviction for the manslaughter of her stepfather who had abused her during her early teens.

He said: “What Anna suffered is unimaginable. And I’m just so dismayed that, at a time when she needed Richard most, he walked away from her. I know the pain of an enforced marriage split. I know the devastation it causes the one left behind.”

The
TV
interview was the first time Davis has opened up about his divorce five years ago from his then wife, Trish. The split came three years into his first term as
PM
and there were rumours at the time that his wife had felt pushed out because of her frumpy image.

But Davis told presenters Lizzy Pelling and Paul Stoddart that it had been his wife’s decision to leave because she “no longer wanted to live life in the public eye”. When questioned by Pelling on his motivation for publicly supporting Lloyd, Davis replied: “This isn’t about politics. This is about human decency – something which I believe Richard Williams lacks.”

A spokesperson for the Opposition leader said Davis was “blatantly capitalising on a private matter” between Williams and his wife.

Anna pushed back the covers of the hotel bed and reached for her mobile. It had beeped three times in the last hour, but only the third time managed to rouse her curiosity enough to make her actually sit up. It was ten twenty a.m., much later than Anna usually rose, but then she didn’t exactly have much on at the moment. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw one of the texts was from Libby. She quickly opened it. “I’m still too angry to speak to you but need to know where you are and that you’re ok. L”

Anna tapped out a quick reply: “Staying at The Metropole. Am fine. So sorry I’ve made things difficult for you. Couldn’t live a lie any longer. Press would find out soon enough anyway now they’re digging. Have things been awful? Love you. xxx”

Anna opened the remaining two texts from Joy. The first received at
8
am: “We need to talk. J.” Then the second at
9
.
15
: “Can you at least confirm you’re still alive?!”

She thought about how things had been left with Joy and wondered where it had all gone wrong. They used to be so close but that had changed over the last few weeks. Anna wondered if Libby had been right all along when she said Henry had only recommended that Joy work for her so she could act as his spy – and secret messenger. They had got along so well to begin with, and enjoyed mocking the sanctimonious self-importance their husbands often displayed. But once the political stakes got higher, the ground had shifted between them and the seed of doubt within Anna had grown and grown.

She stared at the message on her mobile and was just about to reply to Joy when another text came in from Libby. “House still surrounded by photographers now taking pics of kids. Not been out since you left. So yes, awful.”

Anna put her head in her hands. The last thing she had ever wanted was to hurt Libby and her family. She hadn’t intended to tell the reporter the full story, but the truth took her over and came flooding out. It had been hanging over her for twenty years and there had been nowhere left to hide. She hated that Libby was so angry, but once the press had twigged that she had dark secrets in her past, it was only a matter of time before they uncovered the manslaughter conviction. They had changed their surnames to Lloyd when they left the detention centre, but Anna had always thought it miraculous that none of their old school friends had ever gone to the press. Her looks had changed radically since childhood when she had been slightly chubby with mousy brown, greasy hair, in stark contrast to her now trim figure and glossy blonde tresses. Her accent was much crisper than before, something she had learnt at drama school, and she realised they must simply never have recognised her. After all, who could have imagined that the wretched little abused creature who skulked around the school corridors could have re-emerged as a successful actress and politician’s wife. Sometimes, that was even too much for Anna to believe.

Having successfully managed to balance two tubs of pad thai noodles on her left arm, Joy freed up the right to rummage in her bag for the house keys. For the neighbours overlooking the home she shared with Henry in Battersea, this must have been a familiar sight as, in the four years they’d lived there, she’d not once remembered to take her keys out of her bag before she lifted the cartons from the take-away every Tuesday night.

One of the tubs would usually sit out on the kitchen surface waiting for Henry to return later in the evening, while Joy would make light work of the second one. Rarely stopping to tip it out onto a plate – and usually eating it whilst standing.

Food – and her desire to eat lots of it – had become a significant issue in Joy’s life. As Henry became more and more busy, and they saw each other less and less, eating had filled the growing void in her life. But as she made her way through to the kitchen and slapped the cartons down onto the surface, she decided tonight would be different. Tonight she would eat slowly off a plate, sitting down. Tonight she needed to think.

Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing since the story about Anna first broke – mainly calls from reporters looking for interviews or information, yet she had barely spoken to her client herself. Things had changed between them in the last few weeks. There used to be a lot of trust, but the people around them had cut into that. Now, Joy suspected it would be difficult for them to carry on working together. She could tell almost instantly that Anna’s hawk-eyed sister was a force to be reckoned with and wouldn’t make life easy for her. Joy was used to dealing with intimidating people with big personalities, but it was the way Libby hung back and simply stared that had unnerved her so much. She didn’t have to say anything – the way she had looked at her said it all. Her eyes screamed: “I don’t trust you.” And Joy had known that she would soon lose her most high-profile client, because Anna would always follow her sister’s advice.

“You’ve got ten seconds to get yourselves down here or there’s no
TV
tonight,” Libby hollered up the stairs to the three kids. She had been dreading this morning since teatime yesterday when Dan had announced that he had a breakfast meeting and she’d need to take the children to school. Libby hadn’t left the house since Anna had revealed they’d killed their stepfather, her fear of the looks she’d be met with at the school gate had rendered her too terrified to go out. She had imagined the mothers hustling their children away from her before urging them into their classrooms so they could escape the violent beast in their midst. Dan, who would remain unfazed if a tornado was headed straight for him, had obviously failed to hear the whispering that must have been going on behind his back for the last few days that he’d been taking the children in. Ollie had never even mentioned the newspaper story since Libby had been forced to sit them down the previous Sunday to explain what had happened. She hadn’t told them she’d been sexually abused, just that her stepfather had been an extremely violent man who would have really hurt her and Anna had they not fought back. When she asked the children what the kids at school were saying, Ollie had simply replied: “They’re cool.”

Jasmine, who never missed an opportunity to tell a dramatic story, had said: “Oh my God, the girls at school were just like soooo amazed that Anna’s been staying with us – and that the paparazzi totally know my name. Can I have a sleepover party on Friday after school so my friends can talk to the photographers?”

Libby hadn’t been able to contain herself in response: “Has no one mentioned the fact your mother killed someone?”

“Oh yeah,” Jasmine had replied. “They think you and Anna are so brave. Gabby thinks I look like Anna, do you Mum?”

Dan had chuckled while Libby tutted at the children’s flippancy. In her view, even if people were on the surface being quite
PC
about it all, their true feelings would soon come out when the murderess turned up in person at the school. And today was that day.

Libby heard the familiar sound of feet hitting the upstairs landing and watched in silence as her three children appeared in front of her, one by one.

“Right then,” she swallowed hard. “I guess we’d better get going.”

Libby took a deep breath then opened the front door. The handful of snappers waiting outside – by now convinced she was never coming out – suddenly leapt into action, bulbs relentlessly flashing as Libby guided her children along the path. A few of the photographers walked ahead of them. Libby stopped for a moment, realising she’d have to make a split-second decision on whether to keep going or flee back to the relative safety of her home. She turned to find Jasmine beaming for the cameras, striking a variety of ridiculous poses, which were quickly copied by her brothers. Soon the three of them were sticking their tongues out, then forcing their mouths wide with their fingers.

“Come on,” Libby said firmly, pushing the children forwards. “I’d really rather you didn’t take pictures of the kids,” she said to the photographers.

“We’ve got our shots now. We’ll not show their faces,” one of them replied, backing away to stand at the side where he started looking over what he’d taken.

Libby walked on purposefully, while the children chattered excitedly about what all their friends would say when they got into the papers. Jasmine was desperately hoping she’d make
Heat
magazine, which Libby suspected was doubtful.

She couldn’t believe the continued interest in her and her family. She understood why Anna was still splashed across the front pages – but not her sister.

They cut across the park, before turning onto the street leading to the school. Libby could feel her heart racing as the familiar faces started to appear in front of her. First she spotted the mother of a girl in Jasmine’s class climbing out of her enormous Land Rover. She kept her head down, desperately hoping to avoid her gaze.

“Libby,” she heard the woman call loudly.

Everything inside of Libby screamed “noooooo”, but she turned to face the mother who was now bounding over to her from her car. Ironically, Libby thought, they’d never even exchanged names. But this woman by now had no doubt of Libby’s.

“How are you?” she was asking, with the most sincere look of concern Libby had ever seen. “I read all about your terrible ordeal – and I had no idea that you are Anna Lloyd’s sister. I just think she’s the most wonderful woman. I feel so connected to your plight. Pippa’s just desperate to have Jasmine for a sleepover, but I’d love to talk to you properly. Would you like to bring her over next Friday night and come in for a glass of wine?”

Libby was suddenly aware that she was expected to reply. Until that point she had simply stood with her eyes wide open and mouth slightly ajar as the woman spoke.

“That sounds lovely, yes,” was all she could manage.

“Fantastic,” the woman shrieked victoriously. “Pippa can give Jasmine our address. See you next week.” She waved casually as her daughter, who had been standing meekly by her side throughout, turned sheepishly to smile at Jasmine before trotting off behind her mother towards the school gates.

“Yuck,” Jasmine said in a loud whisper. “I don’t want to have a sleepover at Pippa’s. She’s a total swot.”

“Oh, sorry,” Libby replied vaguely.

As they neared the school, Libby caught sight of the woman she was dreading seeing most – Franchesca Carruthers, mother of four and queen bee at the school. She had appeared judgmental towards Libby even before she discovered she was a murderess so the thought of how she would treat her now, armed with this knowledge, was almost inconceivable. Typically, Franchesca had already delivered all four children to their classrooms – she was never late – and was now heading straight for Libby who smiled frailly in her direction before pushing the children forwards. But before she could take another step Franchesca had come to an abrupt stop in front of her, where she now stood with arms outstretched. At first Libby thought she was trying to wave them off the premises, but within seconds of being folded into a tight bear hug, she realised they were actually embracing.

“God,” Franchesca was saying loudly. “You’ve been through hell.” She let go of Libby, only to then cup her face between her large, matronly hands. “I have been fundraising for the
NSPCC
for the last thirteen years and not for one minute, did I ever stop to think whether someone I knew might have actually been abused themselves.” Tears were now welling up in Franchesca’s eyes while Libby just prayed that she would let go of her face. Fortunately, she obliged, opting now just to rest her hand proprietarily on Libby’s shoulder.

“I want you to know that you can talk to me
any
time, okay. If you need space, I can take the kids. If you need support, I can listen. I’m here, all right.”

Libby nodded, afraid to glance left or right over Franchesca’s shoulder in case she caught the eye of one of the small crowd of parents assembled around them, each one trying to appear as though they were doing anything other than staring.

“Thank you, Franchesca. I appreciate your support,” Libby finally replied in stunned monotone before setting off towards the school entrance again – mortified, but rather buoyed by her new-found status as a local heroine.