As he left the cabinet office, a final copy of the budget was pressed into his hand by Nigel. “The PM will have a look at the comment on welfare reform, but I think it will be passed. It’s not a major change, just a statement of intention.”
“Excellent, thank you for all your hard work on this Nigel,” Andrew said.
“That’s fine, let’s just hope its sum ends up to be greater than its parts,” he replied, smiling as he did so.
“Yes, lets.”
“You seem a little distracted Chancellor, is everything alright?”
“You mean besides the whole presenting a budget to the House in a couple of hours?”
“Yes, besides that.”
He was silent for a while before answering because in truth, he wasn’t absolutely sure why he still felt so hesitant. “I just wonder…I wonder if we’ve gone far enough,” Andrew finally replied, half to Nigel, half to himself.
“In what way?” he asked.
“In compensating the middle ground of savers, those who’ve worked all their life and found their nest egg to be worth nothing,” Andrew answered.
“I think we’ve done what we can, I agree it’s not enough, but once we get the economy moving, we can look to do more.”
“Yes, oh just ignore me, I’m thinking of my parents situation, personalising politics is never a good idea,” Andrew said ruefully.
“On the contrary,” Nigel replied, “it’s what gives you the will to succeed, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I’m sure you’re right, anyway,” Andrew added, “all I have the will for at the moment is a mug of coffee.”
“Café or office?” Nigel asked.
“Let’s head to the café, be amongst normal people before we hit the Commons.”
“Well, as it will be full of civil servants I’m not sure they qualify as normal people,” Nigel replied.
“You really are a dreadful snob at heart,” Andrew said, chuckling as he spoke.
“I’ve never denied it my friend; now, let’s go get you hyped on caffeine for your afternoon performance.”
It was surreal, that moment of calm, Andrew was always amazed by the reality of it before the storm hit. He’d long since appreciated why so many politicians and civil servants hid themselves away in the offices of power, cocooned in their own little bubble of self-delusion, because it became a world unto itself. Of course you were questioned, your policies challenged, but it was, Andrew felt, rather like being at university, you existed within a separate world of academia and intrigue. It was a world with its own food source, gym, club, and restaurant, everything needed to sustain and entertain you, so you didn’t have to foray out into that other strange existence called real life. The higher the office you achieved, the greater was your remoteness from those things that had motivated you to join the political merry-go–round in the first place. So, it often came as something as a shock, stepping away from that existence, where change and policy came dangerously close to being nothing more than a theoretical exercise, and moving back into life, dealing with reporters, opposition MPs, and, god forbid, the general population. It was a sudden shift from confidence to justification, which left the inexperienced staring helplessly into the light of a cacophony of reporter’s questions.
So, Andrew had his smile already fixed before he stepped out, red case held high in the air, for the traditional photo call. He’d decided on a reassuring grimace, after all he didn’t want to seem to be too delighted, not in the present economic climate. Nigel had felt a wave would also be inappropriate so Andrew merely nodded in response to the reporter’s calls, and climbed into the car that would deliver him to the Commons. Once he was safely inside, Nigel stepped out and joined him.
“Off we go, into the breach…and all that,” he said.
“Very helpful analogy, thanks for that,” Andrew replied, shaking his head in despair at his friends attempted humour.
“I wonder when it will be acceptable for the Commons to join the technological age, and get rid of paper,” Nigel commented.
Andrew shrugged. “Papers reassuring, people like to see you read something a bit more substantial than a screen.
“It would be more environmentally friendly to take your iPad,” Nigel replied. It was a well-known source of irritation for him, paper files simply didn’t exist anymore inside the walls of power, as everything was prepared, edited and circulated electronically. Yet, it then had to be printed onto good old fashioned paper for the House of Commons.
“I prefer reading from paper actually,” Andrew said. “I think I would be terrified that when the moment came to read the budget, my laptop would crash, or I’d constantly lose my place on my hand held tablet. Besides it’s not the same, is it, coming out of the building and waving a phone, or a laptop case.”
“I’m not saying get rid of that part of the day, just, instead of a paper bundle you could pop your tablet in. Think of all the extra room,” Nigel grinned as he spoke, “you could get your sandwiches in, or a bottle of brandy depending upon how your day was going.”
Andrew laughed. “Yes, I can see the headlines, Chancellor, drunk and incapable, when I open my case to find the bottle has smashed, saturated my sandwiches and caused the tablet to short circuit. No, I think, in this instance, I’ll stick to paper.”
“Dinosaur,” Nigel mocked.
“I’d rather be a dinosaur, than labelled an alcoholic,” Andrew answered. “Anyway…shit, we’re here.”
“We are indeed,” Nigel responded. “It’s a good budget Andrew.”
And because Andrew had now heard that so many times, he just smiled in response as he climbed from the car.
Once inside he took his place next to the PM, as the speaker called for order. He looked across at his opposite number in the People’s Party, an outwardly demure, but fiercely ambitious, middle aged woman called Claire Bint. Andrew had chatted to her on the way in, she’d just returned to work following the birth of her third child and tonight would be her first night away from home. Her resulting parental guilt had been washed away by her giddiness at the prospect of a full night’s sleep. It was a bizarre relationship, Andrew mused, that which existed between the ruling party, and the opposition party MPs. On a basic level they could chat, socialise and be generally civil to each other. When the occasion demanded, like a royal wedding or a state funeral, they strove to be seen chatting and relaxed in each other’s company, but put them in the Commons and they threw the most appalling comments back and forth. It had taken a while for Andrew to separate the strands, he would never forget Peter Wells coming up to him in the Commons Bar and congratulating him on his marriage to Molly, just after he’d called him a money grabbing leech. Andrew’s first instinct had been to punch him, but as no one else seemed to be perplexed by the mix of MPs, he’d just said thank you, and bought him a drink.
Stillness in the air told him it was his turn to speak. He stood and moved to the lectern, the Prime Minister patting him on the back as he did so. He placed his papers down and took an inwardly calming breath.
“This budget is for the hard working men and women of this country who, together with ourselves, are working to rebuild the economy and make Britain great once more.” Silence and the odd muffled cough, so far so good, Andrew felt the urge to say thank you and sit down, end his budget there while everyone was in agreement.
“It’s a budget that rewards endurance, and the stoical determination to make do and mend. Because we are, thanks to the People’s Party…” The first roar of noise from the opposition hit him, and he waited for the Speaker to call order, he would not raise his voice to be heard. “…thanks to the People’s Party,” he reiterated, “in the worst economic climate for almost a century. But I am confident that we are on the right path to recovery…” more jeering, “and…and this budget is, by necessity, demanding but fair.”
And so he continued, in a piecemeal fashion, item by item, as the audience to his great performance roared and remonstrat
ed with each other. If they’d had popcorn, they would have thrown it, but they would also have long since been asked to leave the theatre. It was a spectacle which Andrew had never quite fathomed, for whose amusement did they behave in such a way? To each other, and themselves, they looked ludicrous, and to the general public they’d become an embarrassing side show, one that preached of manners and civility yet couldn’t employ it themselves.
As Andrew expected his announcement to reduce the top rate of income tax by five per cent received the biggest howl of disgust. Through practice, he’d learnt to remove himself, ever so slightly from the proceedings in the House, focus on what he had to say and block out the rest. But the shouts of, looking after their own, how many millionaires in the party, and, shame on you, filtered through, despite his best efforts to detach. It took a long time for order to be restored.
“And,” he pressed on, “we intend to make forty million pounds of savings on welfare reform. Our honourable friends have allowed a culture whereby living on benefits is, for many, a lifestyle choice and not a necessity. We intend to crack down on those who have opted out of contributing to society, and instead are happy to sit back and take. It should never be the case that those who work hard, and instil in their children a valuable work ethic and pride in their place in society, should earn less than those who choose to drain valuable resources that could otherwise be spent on hospitals or schools.” Andrew paused for a sip of water, they’d been right to include a statement of intent on welfare, despite the expected boos from across the House. People, like his parents, deserved to know they were valued, deserved to have more to show at the end of their working life than someone who’d simply sat back and expected their life, and their children, to be funded by the law abiding tax payers of Britain.
“I shall announce, in a separate bill, the steps taken to reform the welfare system…” a slight pause to signal a change of topic, “… There shall be a two pence rise in petrol prices, but we have listened to the concerns of the consumers and shall delay it until October of this year.”
And so he carried on, in the end it took almost fifteen minutes to read a budget which should only have taken ten. Andrew’s head was spinning and his throat parched by the time he was able to commend it to the House, he then sank gratefully down onto his seat, but maintained his outward show of confidence and composure, it was not over yet, and he was pretty sure what the first tirade of attack would focus upon.
And so it began, the leader of the Opposition sprung from his seat with such relish, he appeared to have been almost ejected from it. Andrew waited. Hudson hadn’t lasted more than a few months after his Party’s defeat at the General Election, and had been replaced by Michael Rhodes, originally a popular choice he had failed to make any lasting impression. Opinion polls showed he was perceived as too young, too inexperienced, and too weak in his attacks upon the Republicans. The unions didn’t like him because he’d condemned several strikes by public sector workers over changes to their working conditions, and he was now universally received as, Middle of the Rhodes, because of his refusal to name which economic cuts he would reverse if the Peoples Party found themselves back in power. If the Opposition had felt they could get away with a second leadership change in the space of one parliament, they would have done so. As it was Rhodes had a window of around two years to persuade his Party and their supporters of his worth.
“This wasn’t a budget for the working men and women of this country; it was a budget for the Republican elite. How can the Right Honourable Gentleman justify lowering the top rate of tax for his cronies, when he’s going to increase the level of taxation our pensioners have to pay?” Loud cries of, ‘shame on you,’ accompanied Rhodes’ first challenge.
Andrew stood slowly, as if Rhodes’ comment wasn’t worthy of a reply, and silently damned Blackthorn and his insistence upon the bill. “The reduction of the top rate of tax will only affect a handful of people, Mr Rhodes seems to have ignored the fact that by increasing personal tax allowance we are freeing millions of people from the system altogether.”
“I wonder if the Chancellor would care to tell us just how many members of the cabinet the tax reduction will effect.”
“We all know the Right Honourable Gentleman is fixating upon the reduction in tax because he recognises the strength of today’s budget, and can find nothing more to challenge.”
“I simply wish to know why you feel you can give a tax break to the rich, while everyone else is expected to pay for it, with wage freezes and cuts in their working hours.”
“Because we need to be an attractive proposition for the private sector, it is they who will help lead this country out of the worst economic downturn in almost a century, a problem caused entirely by the People’s Party.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you Chancellor, but your policy of deep and fast cuts isn’t working, a fact you would know if you lived in the real world.” That got the biggest jeer of the day so far.
“In this budget alone we have taken several million people out of the tax system, reduced corporate tax on small businesses and encouraged the banks to start lending again, as well as creating hundreds of thousands of apprenticeships in order to reduce youth unemployment; all things that, under the People’s Party, were either reduced or obliterated altogether. Perhaps my Right Honourable Colleague would like to comment upon that.”
Andrew was starting to enjoy himself; he could feel the thrill of the debate coursing through his system. He no longer felt jaded by the struggle of making himself heard as he’d presented the budget, but felt alive and ready for the fight. Rhodes, however, was struggling; he’d allowed himself to be placed in a defensive position and began to sound rather petulant in comparison with the authoritative voice of the Chancellor. Andrew could almost hear the Peoples Party give a universal sigh of irritation as Rhodes failed to regain the initiative.
An hour later and it was all over. “If you’d replaced those papers with an ipad, we could have been having a celebratory drink by now,” Nigel commented. “They should really have a small drinks cabinet built into the back of these seats, like in the good old days.”
Andrew laughed. “Not an image you wanted plastered over the news, us two siting in the back of an official car, drinking alcohol. It would no doubt be paired with a picture of packed commuters struggling on the tube.”
“Yes,” Nigel agreed. “You’re probably right, it’s a shame though.”
“Damn, I knew the Opposition would pick up on the reduction of the top rate of tax. I told Blackthorn it was a bad idea, I can guess what the headlines will be tomorrow morning,” Andrew said.
“Yes, it was a bit of an obvious one, the intention may have been sound but the image it portrays is unfortunate.”
“I’ll say. I wonder how many millionaires there are in the cabinet,” Andrew mused.
“All I know is, unfortunately, it’s not us,” Nigel grinned as he spoke. “But it is a good budget, tough but fair.”
“Yes, I think so, and I’m sure once everyone’s picked over the bones of it, they’ll recognise it to be necessary,” Andrew replied.
“Rhodes crashed and burned pretty quickly, it was almost too painful to watch,” Nigel said.
Now it was Andrew’s turn to grin. “He did, didn’t he? He’s the perfect Opposition MP, he makes us look good through his own ineptness.”
“All down to the skill of his opponent, I mean it Andrew,” Nigel stated as the Chancellor rolled his eyes. “You’ve come a long way, a few years ago and that train wreck could have been you.”
“Christ, I wasn’t that bad was I?”
“Well, I didn’t like to say anything at the time, but…” Nigel joked. “Okay, here we are, solemn face on Chancellor, the reporters want their sound bite.”
The car swung round in front of a mass of microphones and cameras. Andrew took a steadying breath and stepped out of the car.
“Chancellor, how many millionaires are there in the cabinet?”
“Chancellor, will you personally benefit from…”
“Why did you reduce the top rate of tax now, do you think…”
“Isn’t it true that the average working man will…”
Chapter thirty-one
Andrew looked at his watch and allowed himself a grimace of relief, it was just past midnight and budget day was officially over. He’d repeated the party line, which was supposed to make a reduction in the top rate of tax acceptable, so many times, that he’d started phrasing it in different ways, trying it on, like a suit, to see which comment fitted the best. Still, he was pretty confident the mornings headlines would not be dominated by, millions better off as the Chancellor increases personal tax allowance. What was it, he wondered, about the country that meant it always wanted to focus upon bad news? Prior to the Olympics being held in London in 2004, there were few headlines that celebrated Britain’s readiness to host the games, just one gleefully reported hitch after another. The population would rather cheer for the underdog than the person in the lead, christ, by now the voting public had probably decided he’d bullied Rhodes into submission.
“Here we go,” Nigel announced, heading into the office. He’d been out and collected all the early editions and his arms overflowed with newspapers.
“Is it…?” Andrew nodded toward the stack as he spoke.
“Pretty much,” Nigel confirmed, spilling the sea of headlines over the Chancellor’s desk. “Everyone else gone home?”
“Yes, I told them they may as well, nothing much to be done now, and tomorrows going to be a busy day,” Andrew replied.
“Yes, you’re giving an interview on breakfast news in the morning, your response to the headlines.”
“I am? Maybe I should just stay up and power on through. According to some of the more tabloid end of the market, I’m the devil incarnate anyway, and I don’t think he sleeps.”
An Ordinary Working Man Page 18
