The Mummyfesto (13 page)

‘Oh,’ said Sam, reaching into her bag and pulling out an envelope, ‘I nearly forgot. This is for you.’

‘Thank you.’ I tore open the envelope and pulled out the printed card inside. It read: ‘
You are invited to the inaugural meeting of a new political party at Number Ten (Fountain Street, Hebden Bridge) on Sat. 2nd March at 8p.m
.’

I looked up at Sam and smiled. ‘Fantastic. You can count me in.’

Sam frowned at me. ‘No, it wasn’t supposed to be that easy. You were supposed to say I’m crazy, ask me a hundred questions and tell me you’d think about it with a highly doubtful expression on your face.’

‘You are crazy,’ I said. ‘Certifiable. But you happen to have caught me at the one moment when the world as it is seems crazier still.’

Sam grinned and hugged me. ‘You won’t regret it,’ she said.

‘I know,’ I replied.

‘Why can’t I stay up for the meeting?’ asked Oscar for the seventy-third time as he finished his spaghetti and wiped the tomato sauce on his lips all over his cheek with the back of his hand. It wasn’t that he had a burning desire to talk politics for three hours, simply that he hated missing anything.

‘Remember what I said, love. It’s going to be a lot of talking and not very interesting for children. Plus it starts after your bedtime.’

‘But it’s a Saturday,’ said Zach. ‘People in my class stay up for
Britain’s Got Talent
on a Saturday and that’s not as important as running the country.’

Whilst I was pleased that Zach recognised that tonight was more important than winning a talent competition, I doubted that the G8 Summit would take place with the
politicians’ children in attendance. I looked at Rob as I gathered up the bowls. He gave me that look which said, ‘How the hell are you going to get out of this one?’

‘I tell you what,’ I said, turning back to the boys. ‘Why don’t we have our own little meeting now instead? You boys can tell me all the really important things we can do to make the country a better place and I’ll tell your ideas to Jackie and Anna.’

‘OK,’ said Zach, seemingly mollified. ‘How about putting more ramps everywhere so children like Oscar can get around more easily?’

‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘And how lovely that you started by thinking of others.’

‘I would like pizza and carrot sticks every night for tea though, too,’ he added.

‘That’s fine,’ I said with a smile.

‘And ice cream,’ said Oscar. ‘I’d like ice cream every night.’

‘OK. And what about something nice for other people?’

‘I’d like them to have ice cream every night too,’ said Oscar.

Rob snorted a laugh of approval as he scraped the plates over the compost bin.

‘While we’re at it, maybe we could have a chippy on every street corner as well,’ he added.

‘Thank you for your contribution.’

‘And how about proper headphones issued with all iPods so we don’t have to mess about with silly little earphones that never stay in properly.’

‘I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously,’ I said, giving him a look before I turned back to the boys.

‘What about things that would make school better?’

‘I know,’ said Zach. ‘A big telescope in the playground so we could look up at the sky. And binoculars for bird-watching.’ I nodded enthusiastically and started writing their suggestions down on a piece of paper.

‘A stage so I could do shows and tell jokes,’ said Oscar.

‘A nature trail,’ said Zach.

‘A banana tree, hot chocolate coming out the taps and not having to be quiet all the time.’

I smiled at Oscar and scribbled them down. I couldn’t help thinking that he had the makings of a Monster Raving Loony Party candidate.

‘What are you going to be called?’ asked Zach. ‘You’ll need a name if you’re going to run the country.’

‘I don’t know,’ I smiled. ‘I haven’t got that far yet. You two will have to think of something for us.’

‘Does it have to have party at the end?’ asked Zach.

‘Yeah, it does really.’

‘The Cheeky Monkey Party,’ said Oscar.

‘Thank you, love,’ I said. ‘I’ll write that one down too. Now, thank you both for your suggestions. I’m going to clear the tea things away while Daddy gets you ready for bed, OK?’

‘Do I have to have the cough machine tonight?’ asked Oscar.

I glanced over at Rob. Oscar so rarely complained that I was at a loss to know what to say when he did.

‘Oh, it’s not a cough machine tonight,’ said Rob, wrapping his arms around Oscar. ‘It’s a fire-breathing dragon and you’re going to be the knight. Are you up for the challenge?’

‘Yeah,’ roared Oscar, and set off at full speed out of the kitchen, followed by Rob.

‘It’s not really going to be a dragon, is it, Mummy?’ asked Zach.

I ruffled his hair, wishing that sometimes he wasn’t quite so worldly-wise. ‘No, love. But he’ll enjoy the game, won’t he?’

Zach nodded, gave me a hug and headed upstairs after them.

Anna arrived first. I opened the door to find her immaculately dressed as ever and brandishing a bottle of something red.

‘I wasn’t sure what you’re supposed to bring to the launch of a political party,’ she said, ‘not having been to one before. But I figured a bottle of Rioja wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘Thank you,’ I said with a smile. ‘As we’re making up our own rules as we go along, I think that’s a very good one to start with.’

‘Oh, and I thought we’d need some sustenance, so I brought these as well.’ She handed me a small brown paper carrier bag from the local deli. Inside were two tubs of olives, a pot of houmous and some organic sesame and red onion crackers.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Although this means I can no longer claim that we came from humble beginnings.’

She smiled and followed me through to the kitchen. I’d thought it was reasonably tidy until she was standing in the middle of it. Anna always made anyone and anything around her look untidy in comparison.

‘Are the boys in bed?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Not asleep yet, though. They both really wanted to stay up for this.’

‘Esme couldn’t quite get her head around the fact that I was going out on my own for the third time this year!’

‘Did you tell her where you were going?’

‘Yes. Didn’t tell her what we were doing, though. She thinks we’re just having a chinwag.’

‘What about David?’

Anna hesitated. ‘I didn’t tell him exactly. I just said we were going to be talking politics.’

I nodded. She looked down. I poured a glass of wine for us both and one for Rob, which I put on the side for later. I sensed from Anna’s response that, unlike me, she was not going to get her partner’s wholehearted support over this. And I didn’t want to make that any harder for her than it clearly was.

Another knock on the door.

‘Hello,’ said Jackie. ‘I’m calling on behalf of the Three Stroppy Cows’ Party. I’m wondering if we can count on your support in May?’

‘You can if you come up with a better name than that.’ I laughed, as I gave her a hug.

‘I thought it summed us up quite well.’

‘Not sure it will appeal to the voters, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh well. Back to the drawing board.’ Jackie clomped through to the kitchen and deposited a plastic Co-op shopping bag on the counter. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t run to actual champagne. I’ve just gone for the cheap fizzy plonk and a tube of Pringles.’

‘Fabulous. Thank you.’

‘Hi, Jackie,’ said Anna, rising to give her a kiss on both cheeks.

‘Oh,’ said Jackie, gesturing to the wine and olives on the table, ‘I’ve come to the wrong party, haven’t I?’

‘Not at all,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve bought some teabags and a packet of digestive biscuits. There’s room for all tastes here.’

Jackie grinned and sat down. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Are you going to tell us your crazy plan now, or is there going to be some big fanfare and simultaneous internet launch?’

Anna sat back down and looked at me too. I realised I hadn’t planned what I was going to say properly. I hadn’t even come up with a decent name for the party. And these were far from salubrious surroundings. I could already see the entry in Wikipedia reading, ‘The party was founded around a kitchen table in a small terraced house in West Yorkshire.’ It was now or never, though. And it really didn’t matter that we wouldn’t have a grand beginning. What mattered was where it might end.

‘OK,’ I said, as I sat down and turned to the notes I had scribbled on my pad. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a splurge.
It might not make much sense, but please bear with me.’

Jackie and Anna nodded.

I took a deep breath. ‘Our lives could all be improved by government action. Jackie wouldn’t have to fret about her mum if the government made sure that social services and hospitals looked after people with Alzheimer’s properly, Anna wouldn’t have to worry about Charlotte being bullied if effective anti-bullying measures had been brought in years ago, and nor would she have to deal with so many screwed-up young people at work if our society cared for them properly. The hospice wouldn’t have to face scaling down its respite provision if all children’s hospices were fully government-funded and we wouldn’t have had to raise thousands of pounds for a powerchair for Oscar if the government had prioritised giving children with disabilities better mobility above stupid things like hiring fig trees for a month for a building in Whitehall.’

Anna and Jackie were nodding.

I carried on. ‘The trouble with our government and our society is that the weakest and most vulnerable are treated appallingly because they have no voice. We will give those same people a voice by putting them at the heart of everything we do. We believe that if we put that right, everything else will follow.’

I glanced at Jackie, who had a smile on her face.

‘I like the way you’re saying “we”. You’re sounding like a politician already.’

Anna, however, did not seem so convinced. ‘So let’s get this straight. You’re actually proposing that we set up an
entirely new political party from scratch and run for parliament in the general election in a couple of months’ time?’

‘Yep,’ I said, ‘That’s about the sum of it.’

Anna nodded slowly. ‘And what constituencies are you proposing we stand in?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ve been giving it quite a bit of thought, and obviously you guys get to decide for yourselves, but my suggestion is that you do Calder Valley, Anna, as you live and work here. Jackie does Halifax because she was born and brought up there and I do Huddersfield because it’s got the hospice in it. That way we’d have three adjoining constituencies.’

‘That’s supposing that we all got in, of course,’ said Anna.

‘Exactly.’

I turned to look at Jackie. She had a huge grin on her face.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Just you,’ she said. ‘Being off-your-rocker crazy.’

‘Do you not want to do Halifax?’

‘I’d love to stand in Halifax. It’s like being asked to a really wacky kid’s birthday party. The one everyone wants to go to and you didn’t think you’d get an invite for.’

‘I hate to be the party pooper,’ said Anna, ‘but it will all end in tears if nobody votes for us.’

‘Oh they will,’ I said.

‘Why are you so sure about that?’

‘Because we have a secret weapon.’

‘And what’s that?’ asked Anna.

‘Mum power.’

Anna and Jackie both looked at me with somewhat bemused expressions. Clearly I was going to have to explain how it would work.

‘Think about how we’d all fight to the death for our kids,’ I said. ‘Then multiply that strength of love by all the mums in the UK. If we can harness that power we can achieve anything.’

‘She’s right,’ said Jackie. ‘Look what happened with Shirley. And you see mums like us on the local TV news every night; fighting against knife crime because their child was stabbed or taking legal action against some drug company because of the side effects their child suffered.’

‘There was a woman on last night,’ said Anna, ‘fighting for answers from the MoD because her son had suffered post-traumatic stress and gone AWOL in Afghanistan and instead of helping him they’d bloody imprisoned him.’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘And there are women like that all over the country. We’re going to get some of them to stand for our party in other constituencies and the rest to drum up support for us. On their own they’re one small voice struggling to be heard. If we put them together behind a common cause they can make one hell of a racket.’

‘So how exactly do you propose we do that?’ asked Anna. ‘Get the word out, I mean.’

I smiled at her and raised my eyebrows. ‘You tell me, Ms Mummyblogger of the Year.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Anna,’ I said, ‘you have more followers on that blog and on Twitter and Facebook than some political parties
have members. It’s an obvious way to spread the word and get other people involved.’

‘She’s right,’ said Jackie. ‘And it would be a hell of a lot more effective, not to mention cheaper, than advertising, because those people all feel like they know you. They trust you already.’

‘As long as they don’t think it’s an abuse of that trust,’ said Anna.

‘Remember who we’re doing this for,’ I said, topping up Anna’s wine glass. ‘It’s for their families as much as ours. We’d give them a real stake in it. Ask women across the country what they’d do if they were Prime Minister.’