“And,” Andrew interrupted, “the People’s Party will argue that it should be the PM.”
“Exactly,” Nigel picked up the thread of conversation once more. “Only that won’t happen. So the sacrificial lamb will be…” Nigel made a drum roll on the table with his fingers.
“The Chancellor, Peter Ludlow,” Andrew stated.
“Exactly, important enough to show the public we are truly sorry for the mess left by The People’s Party, and that we mean to address the matter of Goldstar with the utmost urgency.”
“Right, yes, I see; any thoughts on the replacement?”
“If pushed,” Nigel stated, as he walked around the desk, and stood looking out of the office window, “I would say, the person who brought all this to the attention of the cabinet, is in with a damn good chance.”
Chapter seventeen
It had been one hell of a week. Goldstar had been taken into state ownership, followed quickly by Meridion Finance and Chester. Every expert on the planet seemed to be of the opinion that the financial crisis had been unavoidable, and one MP after another, on both sides of the House stood up in Parliament and blamed the opposing Party for the reckless lack of financial regulation that had led to the melt down. Yet, strangely enough, none of these self-styled experts had thought to raise the matter before the global economy had imploded. Because, in economic terms, it was a small world after all, and once the American banks were in trouble, then that was basically it. Investors had no confidence in the market anymore, its existence having been built upon an intertwining stack of credit, and, Andrew thought, rather like kerplunk, once a few straws had been withdrawn, there was nothing to stop the marbles from falling.
Private life had been placed on hold, and Andrew was not the only junior minister who had taken to sleeping at the office on more than one occasion. The esteemed buildings of government had been transformed into a hostel for the desperate. It was increasingly a time of firsts for Andrew, not only sleeping at his desk, but giving the odd press conference, in which he regurgitated the Party line. All ministers, junior and otherwise, had been well briefed upon what to say – It was a global matter, and thus in some ways beyond the control of Westminster, and, the previous government had left them a legacy of poor regulation when it came to the banks, and they had been investigating ways to change that when the crisis broke, both roughly translated as, it’s not our fault.
At the moment the polls showed that the majority of the populace still believed Prime Minister Blackthorn to be the man to sort it all out. He exuded gravitas, simply by being older than his opponent. However, as Nigel correctly predicted, the same did not go for the Chancellor. Ludlow’s position was looking increasingly precarious. A matter of some embarrassment for Andrew, who had indeed been mentioned as his possible successor, but for the time being, still had to sit beside Ludlow, and other ministers, during their frequent meetings.
Andrew stretched and yawned once more, followed swiftly by Nigel.
“Maybe we need more coffee,” Nigel remarked.
“I was thinking more along the lines of, maybe it’s time to call it a day. It would be nice to go home at a reasonable hour,” Andrew replied, and then wondered how, one o’clock in the morning had suddenly become known as a ‘reasonable,’ time to leave work.
“Maybe, but we’ve only a little more work to do on the figures for tomorrow’s meeting.”
“I don’t care, I have ceased to care, because I’m too tired to care.”
Nigel grinned at him. “A very lucid argument, well put.”
Andrew scrunched up a ball of paper and threw it at him, Nigel laughed this time. “Well if that’s the best you can do, maybe it is time to call it a day.”
“I’m not going unless you do too,” Andrew said, standing to pull on his jacket.
“I won’t be far behind you, I just have to-”
“No,” Andrew interrupted, “I’m going, so you have to as well, otherwise I’ll have to stay, and it’ll be your fault entirely when I fall asleep at tomorrow’s cabinet meeting.”
“Well I would hate to be the one to ruin your career.” Nigel grinned as they walked into the outer office, where he picked up his jacket.
“Good, we’ll finish off in the morning, the meetings not till eleven so we’ll have time.”
“Meet back at six?” Nigel asked.
“Six? No way, half seven will do it. We’re trying to work out how much we can save on the paper budget, not the world.”
“Said like a future leader.”
“Yeah, now bugger off and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Andrew said.
*****
Molly stirred as Andrew slipped into bed behind her; she took hold of his arm and pulled him close.
“Whoever you are,” she murmured, “you’ll have to leave before my fiancé arrives home.”
Andrew laughed gently and kissed her shoulder. “I’ll be sure to do that. He must be a lucky man, this fiancé of yours.”
“Oh, he is, I’m quite the catch.”
“Marry me Molly.” Andrew hadn’t even known of his intention to say it, until the words were spoken, but once he heard them, it suddenly became a matter of great importance to him.
“You already asked me that, remember? And I’m pretty sure I said yes, although at this late hour I could just be hallucinating,” she replied.
“No, I mean, let’s set a date, make it soon.”
Molly turned to look at him, he had her full attention now. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, why wait any longer? It would be good to have something nice to focus upon, something just for us.”
“But we’ve hardly put any savings aside to pay for it yet.”
Andrew felt his mood deflate, why did practicalities always get in the way of impulsiveness? “I know, I just…”
“Hey,” Molly nudged his chin with her nose. “I didn’t say no.”
“You mean it, I just… I love you so much and-”
She kissed him hard on the lips.
“Would you mind it though Molls, I know we talked of a big wedding and all-”
“Hey,” she interrupted him once more. “I’m marrying you because I love you Andrew, not because I want the fairy tale extravaganza. I’ll start phoning registry offices tomorrow, phoning my mother and telling her, you can do that.”
Andrew kissed her on the forehead.
“I just got re-engaged,” Molly murmured. “We can do better than that.”
*****
Despite the lack of sleep, and the early morning, Andrew couldn’t help but feel elated by his discussion with Molly. He strode into work at seven-fifteen, take out cups in hand, to find Nigel already at his desk. In fact, he couldn’t actually remember a single occasion when he’d been the first to arrive.
“Morning.”
His sunny tone obviously surprised Nigel, as he looked up from his work, his brow creased in wonder, then he accepted his coffee, stood up, and hustled Andrew into his office.
“You’ve heard then,” he stated.
“Heard what?” Andrew asked.
“The PM’s summoned Ludlow for a meeting this morning, the smart money is on him asking the Chancellor for his resignation.”
“What? How do you find out these things?”
“When you’re at the bottom of the pile, those at the top can be tremendously indiscrete about talking in front of you. They tend to dismiss you as not important enough to consider. Anyway, I assumed that was the reason for your good mood,” he explained.
Andrew sat at his desk. “Why would I be in a good mood at the prospect of Ludlow losing his job? No, Molly and I have decided to bring forward the wedding, and arrange something as soon as possible.”
Considering Nigel’s attitude toward Molly, Andrew was gratified to see a broad grin split his face. “That’s excellent, the public are much more likely to accept a, soon to be married Chancellor, than one who merely lives with his partner.”
“What, I… honestly Nigel
, just when I think you’re human after all. Firstly, I’m greatly touched by your response to my impending nuptials, and secondly I’m pretty sure there will be a long line of more well-known candidates for Blackthorn to consider before he gets to me.”
If Nigel was supposed to be shamed by Andrew’s sarcasm, he was not. In fact he carried on, having disregarded any talk of it at all.
“But don’t you see?” he asked. “The fact that you have no connection, in the public’s view, with the financial crisis makes you the perfect candidate. Plus, who better to understand the mess the banking sector has landed us all in than a former banker?”
“Ignoring all the obvious arguments against my appointment, don’t you think the fact that I am a former banker will work against me?”
“Of course not, you were a junior office worker, if that,” Nigel answered cheerfully.
“I feel I should be insulted, but I refuse to allow my good mood to be sabotaged when I’ve only been in the office,” Andrew looked at his watch, “four and a half minutes.”
“That’s the spirit,” Nigel grinned as he headed for the door, “Oh, and congrats on the Molly thing.”
In fact it was impossible for Andrew not to get caught up in the game of Chinese whispers that whipped through the Treasury offices. An air of barely suppressed excitement bubbled through the cubicles, not because Ludlow was unpopular, but because the air of intrigue broke through the humdrum normality and was a change from the stress of the past week. An air of guilt had hung over the whole department, as if they personally, each and every one of them had been responsible for the economic downturn. Having a joke with your colleagues, smiling as you left work, was felt to be both insensitive and inappropriate.
For Andrew, favoured candidate to succeed Ludlow, the day became increasingly claustrophobic. He’d wanted to stay in his bubble of happiness over Molly, but now had to maintain an air of grim reluctance every time he left his office, in order for his good mood not to be misinterpreted. When the call came to go and meet with Prime Minister Blackthorn, he’d walked through the floor, head buried in some official looking papers, so that he didn’t have to meet the gaze of anyone as he passed.
On his return he didn’t have to feign stunned acceptance because that was exactly how he felt. As always, despite the fact that he’d returned as soon as his meeting with the PM was over, the news of his appointment as Chancellor preceded him. Congratulations were shouted, hands were outstretched to be shaken, and some people even clapped as he made his way to his office. Andrew felt as if he should make some sort of speech, but as he couldn’t think of anything to say he merely mumbled his thanks and entered the outer room. As soon as he did so, Nigel rose and grasped his hand, pumping it enthusiastically before pulling him into an embrace.
“Well done, a thoroughly deserved promotion,” he said.
“Well, I don’t know about that, I mean you did-”
“Never mind that,” Nigel interrupted him, guiding him into what would soon be his old room, “we need to prepare your statement to the press.”
“Of course, yes.” Andrew still couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t sure whether he’d been given the role because the PM had faith in him, or because the economic situation was sure to worsen and he didn’t want any valuable colleagues to be sacrificed in the future.
“I need to phone Molly, and my parents.”
“Of course Chancellor, as you wish,” said Nigel, throwing in a mock bow for good measure.
Chapter eighteen
Sue
Sue watched the TV screen without a thought to what was going on, she merely stared sightlessly in its direction, not through boredom but because she didn’t know what else to do. Her chest heaved and her breath quickened, trumpeting through her nostrils until a quiver of emotion escaped and she had to gulp it back in. The results were in, she’d spent three hundred pounds in order to be seen by a private neurologist, only for him to conclude that as he could find nothing of any importance, he believed the most likely diagnosis to be that of some form of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. In other words he’d read the notes supplied by Dr Grove and felt obliged to concur. If only, Sue wished, the scathing letter from the CF clinic had been amongst them. And now she did cry, hot tears that made her throat ache and her head pound, because now she had to tell her parents, Lottie, and her friends the results too. And every time the medical profession failed to find the cause of her problems, she felt herself justifying her continued absence from any employment, just that little bit more. She scrunched up the letter and threw it across the room, and then she leaned forward until her forehead rested on her hands. She was angry, with her body, with the world, she wanted to scream and pace, but instead she ran a bath and sat there until she could order her thoughts. Okay, she’d hoped for more, well…a lot more really from her visit to the private clinic, but it obviously wasn’t meant to be. It didn’t mean she had no options left, just that she’d ticked another one off the list; which in turn meant she was a step closer to a diagnosis and a return to work. In the mean time she had her new career as writer of erotic fiction to think about, as well as trip to the Pain Management Unit. There were positives on the way and those were the things she should concentrate upon. Pep talk over, she washed her face and got ready to face the day.
It wasn’t long before she was sitting discussing the disappointing results of her private healthcare appointment with her Dad, as he drove her to the medical assessment that had been organised as part of her claiming Employment and Support Allowance. He too sat steely faced with disappointment for a while, until finally uttering, “Damn doctors, they’re like sheep. Have they not got the ability to think independently of one another?”
“I know,” Sue sighed. “It was a complete waste of money.”
“Well, maybe the doctor you’re seeing today will have an opinion on what’s wrong. You never know.”
“Maybe,” Sue agreed. “Although I’m not sure that’s part of their remit.” In fact, Sue wasn’t sure what to expect at all. She’d had to fill in a fair sized booklet for her ESA claim, and the notes she’d received on her appointment warned it could last from an hour, to an hour and a half. Still, if it helped the money go to those who needed it, instead of the serial benefits cheats who’d never worked a day in their life, Sue was all in favour of it.
The medical assessment was to be carried out by a company called TOST, their centre was based within a non-descript office block and down a corridor whose overriding colour was grey. She had to be admitted after announcing her presence to an intercom, beside which was stuck a sign declaring that the staff within would not put up with any abusive behaviour, verbal or otherwise. Sue began to feel rather apprehensive, and when she was admitted into yet another corridor by a security guard, she had an almost overwhelming desire to justify her existence once more; to tell anyone who was listening that she was genuinely ill and not like the majority of people they were used to dealing with. Instead she went with a pleasant smile and a cheery hello. The guard merely pointed to a door on his left, Sue thanked him, wanting to display good manners, a further sign of the fact that she did not belong there. A woman sat within a cubicle within a tiny room, she at least smiled at Sue while she checked her passport and papers and then invited her to sit and wait. There was only one other occupant in the room, a girl of around Lottie’s age, and as there were no magazines to hide behind, Sue couldn’t help but give a few curious glances in her direction. There didn’t look like there was anything wrong with her, she seemed pretty composed and had obviously come on her own and, moments later when a woman stuck her head around the door and said her name, she got up and left without any assistance. She looked fit, normal, much like she herself did, Sue concluded.
She hadn’t time to follow through on that line of thought, when a man poked his head around the door and said her name. Sue rose gingerly to her feet and walked steadily after him. Every few steps he would turn around and look at her, not with a smile or any small t
alk but, she realised, to assess how she was moving. Sue resisted the urge to slow down and shuffle that little bit more, she didn’t need to, after all her claim was genuine. At the end of another long, grey corridor, the man stood and gestured for her to enter a small room. A sting of apprehension pierced Sue’s stomach, although she couldn’t exactly say why.
“Good Morning ma’am, my name is Doctor Jihaab,” he said, taking his place on the opposite side of a solid desk. He wore a very serious expression and large glasses that seemed to magnify his searching gaze.
“Good morning,” Sue replied, biting down the urge to call him sir, due to the air of officialdom that seemed to surround him.
“My job is to carry out a medical assessment on behalf of the DWP. It is not my job to decide whether or not you are entitled to Employment and Support Allowance. Do you understand that ma’am?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Good, please excuse me if I have to stop at any point ma’am, it is only because I have a lot to fill in on the screen.” He gestured to the computer monitor as he spoke.
“Yes, that’s fine,” Sue repeated.
“Ok ma’am,” Dr Jihaab said, spreading out some papers on the table that Sue recognised as the manuscript she’d had to fill in when she originally applied for ESA.
She looked down at them, and increasingly started to feel like she were at some sort of job interview, and one for which she hadn’t done nearly enough preparation.
“Right ma’am, it says here that you live on your own, is that correct?”
“Err, yes, although my daughter comes home from university to stay in the holidays.”
“But most of the time you live on your own?” he persisted.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So you can manage the stairs in your home, is that correct ma’am?”
“Well, yes, I mean, sometimes I have to stop half way, but I can get up eventually,” Sue replied, trying a grin and a shrug at the end.
The glasses remained steady. “And you can dress yourself, bath yourself ma’am?”
An Ordinary Working Man Page 8
