The Captain and the Prime Minister

by Catherine Curzon

  “Okay—we’ll do that. Kick a ball about with the Madastair.” Tom couldn’t help but feel sorry for the twins, though—no ducks to feed in the Serpentine, no ice-cream seller on a bicycle. And all because Tom had trusted the wrong person.

  “I’m doing my best,” Alex said quietly. “Could be worse—you could be doing a door-to-door this morning like me.”

  “This shouldn’t have happened.” Tears pricked the back of Tom’s eyes. Some big, brave captain he was. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  Alex stroked Tom’s hair. “It’s not much of a break, but as soon as the kids get out of preschool on Friday let’s head to Chequers and have a long weekend? We’ll eat bacon sandwiches and turn off the phones.”

  “That is a brilliant idea!” Tom brushed his lips against Alex’s and, just as they were about to kiss, the twins’ footsteps hurried along the corridor. Tom broke away. “Incoming small children. Should we?”

  We should. But it’s not up to me.

  “Let’s,” Alex decided, slipping his arm around Tom’s waist as the children burst into the room. There in Alastair’s pocket was the Madastair, seemingly a permanent fixture nowadays. “Good morning, minis. How were your dreams last night?”

  “I met Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle,” Madeleine told them.

  Hadn’t she noticed?

  “I bet she was pleased!” Alex scrubbed her hair. “Me and Tom have got some news—”

  Alastair looked at his sister with undisguised triumph and announced, “Told you!” Then he asked, “Are you getting married?”

  Madeleine gasped, as if she only now realized what her father’s arm around Tom’s waist meant. “Can I be a bridesmaid?”

  “We’re not getting married yet.” Her father laughed. “But…Tom and I are a couple now, properly. We love each other.”

  Madeleine nodded, her smile growing. “Like Bertie’s daddies at school?”

  “Yeah, just like that. It doesn’t mean that we’ve stopped loving Mummy or you two or any of the gramps, it just means that we love each other too.”

  “Or Billy?” Alastair asked, looking to Tom for his answer.

  “Everyone loves Billy!” Tom said.

  “And I love breakfast,” Madeleine said with an earnest nod, and Tom laughed.

  Alex scrubbed her hair, then Alastair’s too. He looked a little less tense, Tom thought as his lover kissed his cheek, though perhaps that was wishful thinking. Yet as Tom prepared breakfast and Alex got into his regular Saturday casual-but-not-casual clothes, the flat felt oddly lighter. The story was out and, there was nothing they could do now other than show people that they were nothing more special than two men in love.

  “I forgot to tell you,” Alex told the twins as he pulled his jacket on. “Yesterday morning, I caught Gregory feeding Billy scraps of ham. He’s a secret cat fan!”

  Tom laughed. “See, like I said, everyone—even Gregory—loves Billy.”

  Madeleine paused at her cornflakes long enough to say, “Billy is a famous cat. Like Mog.”

  “Just like Mog.” Alex kissed each of the twins on their cheeks then, apparently without a second thought, kissed Tom’s cheek too. “I’ll be home this afternoon and we’re getting pizza and ice cream. Love the lot of you, have a lovely morning!”

  Tom took the twins into the garden to play. They didn’t mention the park, but the presence of Billy, sunning herself in a flowerbed, must have made up for the lack of ducks. Tom turned off his phone—he was working, after all, and the twins were his priority, not replying to texts and phone calls from friends. Once it was switched off, he lost the temptation to look online and see what people were saying.

  But Alex was never far from his thoughts and Tom wondered what sort of welcome he had been met with. He hoped that the constituents Alex had represented for nine faithful years would remember all the work he’d done for them, but what if they didn’t? What if they let Stuart’s rotten story and the scandalous hints in the article sweep all of that good work away? What if being gay was more important, more distasteful, than any benefit Alex had brought them?

  It’s not the 1970s.

  Once the twins were flagging in the heat, Tom took them upstairs and gave them squash to drink in front of the cartoons. He switched on his phone and sent Alex a text.

  How’s it going? T xxx

  For a couple of minutes there was no reply, and no matter how many times Tom checked his phone, it remained resolutely silent. He had just decided not to check it again when it rang, Alex’s name flashing up on the screen.

  Tom swiped the screen at once. “Alex? Are you okay?”

  There was a huge amount of noise behind him, so loud that Alex had to raise his voice to be heard. Had he stumbled into a carnival?

  “Darling, I’m fine. I thought you might’ve been wondering how it was going.” He heard another voice, muffled, prompting Alex before his lover went on. “Do me a favor, just get on Twitter and check for a hashtag? Love is love.”

  “Okay!” Tom brought up the app and when he looked he saw—he saw what looked like a parade. With Alex at its head. “What on earth is happening, Alex?”

  “I’m not entirely sure! I think we’ve become a bit of a cause.” He laughed, disbelieving. “People are taking this muckraking business very seriously on our behalf!”

  “You’re kidding! But see, I told you—your constituents think you’re great, Alex!” And so do I. And if people were actually out in the streets giving Alex an impromptu parade of all things to show their support, then Stuart and the newspaper who’d swallowed his gossip had made a dreadful error of judgment.

  “Not everybody’s happy about it,” Alex told him. “But I’d say we’ve got a lot more friends than enemies!”

  Tom sighed. “I’m so bloody relieved, Alex. I can’t tell you how much!”

  “Look, I don’t think I’m going to be able to escape this without saying a few words, there’re TV cameras here.” From somewhere behind Alex Tom heard the sound of whoops and cheers, as though it were a party. “But I’m not going to talk about us, okay? I think this is all a bit bigger than that.”

  “You’re probably right,” Tom said. “I’ll put the telly on in the kitchen—the kids are watching their cartoons in the lounge. Break a leg! Or don’t.”

  “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, darling. Love you!”

  “Love you too!”

  Tom flicked through the channels, and soon found a live news report which seemed to be taking place where Alex’s parade had been happening. Even the reporter looked delighted to be covering a story like this as behind her, a crowd filed past filled with people of all ages and genders, creeds and classes.

  “—think we’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” she said, gripping her microphone in rainbow-gloved hands. “It’s completely impromptu and appears to be the public’s reply to stories in the press this morning regarding the prime minister. It’s safe to say he’s as surprised as all of us at what’s happening at his regular constituency walkabout today!”

  “And so what’s the mood of the crowds, Penny?” the studio anchor asked. “Are they largely supportive of Alex Hart?”

  She put her finger to her earpiece, listening intently, then nodded. “Oh, it’s like a festival. We’ve found one or two dissenting voices, but people are telling us very clearly that they’ve had enough of press intrusion, and that they’re really ready for change.”

  The anchor, who evidently had to argue such things to avoid accusations of bias, asked, “Is there not an argument to be made that the prime minister’s sexuality is in the public interest? What would the people gathered there today reply to that, do you think?”

  A small crowd had assembled behind Penny and she glanced back at them. Then she smiled down the lens and asked, “Would you like me to ask them?”

  “Yes, they are the public, after all!”

  Tom was beginning to think that the anchor would’ve quite liked to have been outside with Penny.

&nb
sp; “You’ve all come out in support of the prime minister.” Penny took a step back, closer to her little audience. “Do you think his sexuality is a matter of public interest, or doesn’t that matter to you?”

  A woman with her hair in intricate plaits pointed at the camera. “No! It doesn’t matter! He’s doing a good job, we all love Alex around here—and if he loves a man, why should that matter? The newspapers need to stay the hell out of people’s private lives. They wouldn’t like it, so why do it to someone like Alex?”

  Beside her an elderly man in a porkpie hat nodded, waiting until the microphone was in front of him to say, “He no more did the dirty on his wife than I did. Let the man be happy, we’ve had enough lying bastards in the job, he’s one of the good lads!”

  Tom smiled at Penny’s efforts to look disapproving. “I do have to apologize for the language just then, we are live, these things happen.”

  The news anchor wore a wry smile. “Erm…yes, thank you, Penny! We’d like to apologize to viewers for any language heard on this live broadcast of what appears to be a monumental occasion on the streets of East London.”

  “And they’re saying in the crowd that other demonstrations are happening across the city under this Love Is Love banner and—” As one Penny and the crowd turned, peering at something the lens couldn’t see. Then she set off at a clip, chased by her camera. “Alex Hart is about to make a statement, we’re going to try and catch it!”

  The anchor took over for a moment as the outside broadcast camera jogged about in the corner of the screen. “We’re live in East London at an impromptu parade—some might call it a protest—in support of Alex Hart, the prime minister, whose private life has received comment in the press this morning. Mr. Hart is going to make a statement. Penny, can you tell us what’s happening now?”

  The children pottered into the kitchen and gazed at the television as the camera panned to show Alex, standing on what looked like a pile of market crates. At the sight of their father they cheered, and Tom felt a rush of affection for him, the pride and love he felt almost overwhelming.

  “I’ve served this constituency for nine years,” Alex announced, “and it’s been a privilege. I don’t have a speech, I don’t have anything prepared because I wasn’t expecting anything like this. I think we’re all in agreement that we’re tired of muckraking and press intrusion into private lives, but for now all I really have to say is…you’re right. Love is love!”

  Tom clapped just as the crowd burst into applause and the twins joined in too. He punched the air and said, “Go, Alex!”

  “Go, Daddy!” the twins chimed in, their small hands raised too. As the reporter handed back to the studio Alastair took off on a lap of the kitchen, cheering his approval and waving his hands above his head. It was as he was on his third circuit that a message from Alex appeared on Tom’s phone.

  I’m coming home xxxxx

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tom woke up in Alex’s bed the next morning—the whole country would know, and in a way, Tom was glad. Having to creep about, hiding who you are, was something Tom had had to do in the past, and he was glad that was all over. Now they weren’t creeping, they were somehow at the head of their very own march.

  Metaphorically speaking.

  Their phones had been switched off last night when even the well-wishers had become a bit much, and though outside the city was awake, the prime minister was sleeping. Tom lay there, watching him, knowing he wouldn’t have to slip out before the twins woke up. If they found him in their father’s bed, they wouldn’t think it odd at all. And no one now would raise an eyebrow even if Madeleine reported that Tom had tickled Alex’s feet again.

  But what would #LoveIsLove mean for Alex’s decision about the future? It hardly mattered, if they’d be spending it together.

  Alex shifted slightly in bed, just enough to put his arm around Tom’s waist. Without opening his eyes he whispered, “Hello, Captain Southwell.”

  Tom kissed his eyelids. “Morning, Prime Minister!”

  “I had a dream that we all ate far too much pizza and watched cartoons until way past the children’s bedtimes.” He opened his eyes. “Or was that exactly what happened last night?”

  “It was indeed.” Tom yawned. “Then we had a good kip. Seems to me like an excellent way to celebrate.”

  Alex stretched his arms above his head, lifting his back from the mattress for a few seconds. Then he turned onto his side and kissed Tom, softly murmuring, “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Tom danced his fingers over Alex’s back, enjoying the warmth of his body against him. “I hope there won’t be anything else in the media about us. I didn’t have an easy time as a kid, so I don’t want to be the reason for you getting more crap flung at you.”

  “You look worried.” He propped himself up on one elbow and blinked down at Tom. “You can talk to me, darling, you know that.”

  “It’s just…do you think they’ll dig about for scandalous stuff? Even the smallest thing about me?” Tom’s throat was tight—he didn’t want Alex’s opinion of him to change, but maybe he’d find out anyway once the press were tipped off. “It’s my fault Stuart went to the Mail in the first place, and it was all so long ago, and I’ve put it behind me, and I’ve changed—I don’t talk about it, it don’t even really think about it. But…”

  “You’re a decorated soldier.” Alex kissed his forehead, but Tom’s stomach plummeted. There was so much before all of that. Stuff that was from another lifetime, but now…now he was public property. “You went through every security check known to man to get this job. Tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “I just don’t want you to think badly of me.” Tom winced, closing his eyes as he went back through his memories, to the places he never liked to return to. “You know how I looked after my brothers and my sisters—I told you my mum was ill, didn’t I? Thing is, she drank. And I’m so scared I’ll end up like her. I nearly did. When I about fifteen, I suppose—by then I’d been caring for my brothers and my sister for years, and I sort of…snapped. I’d go out with this crowd, they just hung out at a bus stop and drank cider, but…some of them ended up in prison. I didn’t, but some of them were dealing weed and did a bit of vandalism. Bored kid stuff. But if that got in the papers—that’d be pretty shit, wouldn’t it?”

  “No.” Alex shook his head. “Why would it be shit that someone who raised his siblings—raised them well, mind—looked after his mum and served his country with distinction had a few moments of teenage madness? I don’t mean this to be patronizing, darling, but you’re a bloody amazing example of what you can achieve.”

  “I joined the athletics club at school—well, I told you about that, didn’t I? But that was why. I was running—literally running away from all of that. From that hazy, comfortable feeling when I had cider in my stomach, because otherwise I knew I’d end up like my mum. From the kids in the gang breaking windows. From all of that.” Tom stroked his toe against Alex’s foot. He wished to stroke all of him, all at once, because it was better than returning to his memories of the past. “By the time I went to Sandhurst, my siblings were old enough to look after themselves, and now…well… David’s in Australia, Kaz is stationed in Gibraltar, and who knows where Rob will fly off to next! I just feel sad, you know, that Mum never saw us achieve what we have. Drank herself to death. I don’t want any of that in the news. Not a word of it.”

  “If I were an editor, and I’ve known a few, and I was planning to run a scandal story about—what’re they calling us? Rolex? Tolex, isn’t it? Well, I’d take a look at the way public opinion went yesterday and I’d spike it.” He kissed Tom, letting the touch linger. “Because who wants to be the only one at a party telling everyone to turn the music off and go home?”

  “Do you think so? I hope you’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all that.” Tom’s frown melted as he said, “Even got a text from Dad yesterday—there were so many, I forgot to mention it! Him and his re
gulars at the taverna all giving a thumbs up. He’s mellowed in his old age. We’ll have to go and see him on his Greek island one day—the twins will love the beach.”

  “Do you know, I’m prime minister and I’ve really achieved nothing against you. I’ve been extraordinarily lucky— I didn’t realize just how much until Gill got sick. I’ve never had to struggle, never had to fight… Maybe you should be running the country?”

  Tom laughed. “I’d be rubbish at it. I’d challenge the opposition leader to a duel if he pissed me off! I mean, I know the Duke of Wellington did, but steady on.”

  “That’s not very Love Is Love, Captain Southwell! Shouldn’t you be handing him a daisy and a cup of green tea instead?”

  “See what I mean? I’d be rubbish!”

  “I’d never think badly of you.” Alex gathered Tom into his embrace. “You should be proud of everything you’ve done, darling. I love you.”

  * * * *

  It was shaping up to be a fairly average Sunday, despite the drama of yesterday. Breakfast was late, and Tom hadn’t been able to get the twins out of their pajamas before midday. Late in the afternoon, the Madastair was driving the fire engine across the floor, Billy batting at it, when someone knocked at the door.

  It’ll be nothing.

  “I’ll go?” Tom offered. Alex was too busy trying to find the corner pieces of Madeleine’s jigsaw to be disturbed, surely, and he greeted Tom’s suggestion with a smile.

  “I’ll make you a cuppa when you get back,” he promised. “Or once we’ve found the corners.”

  Tom whistled a tune as he went to the door. He saw Jenny and a CPO through the spyhole. What the heck was she doing turning up unannounced?

  Tom’s stomach clenched as he said, “Jenny?”

  “Hello, Tom.” She pushed her hands into the deep pockets of her cardigan and pursed her lips. “I take it you’re going to invite me in? It’s you I’ve come to see.”