An Ordinary Working Man

by Gillian Ferry

  “I see, and?”

  “Well, as there simply isn’t the appropriate housing for those who would be willing to move, to go into, we would be enforcing a levy on those who can ill afford it. As a measure I think it’s going to be explosive. What we need to do is defer its implementation and announce a vast building programme of social housing, before bringing in the new legislation.”

  Nigel shook his head, “No, the public will never go for that, spending money housing perpetual benefits claimants; they want us to be tough on welfare not reward those who’ve never worked a day in their life.”

  “I know, and I agree with that. We will always reward those who strive to support their families, the hard working men and women of this country, that’s only fair. Those who choose a life on welfare should never receive more than families who perpetually do the right thing and pay into the system. But we are reversing that through the ESA and TOST assessments, and soon through the new disability living allowance procedures. We are introducing new work programmes, and jobcentre interviews, making it nigh on impossible for people to have a free ride. But there are those who are genuinely unable to work, either through physical or mental health problems, or because they are past the age of retirement; they are the most vulnerable and we must protect them.”

  “So, you’re thinking tougher measures will appeal to the right of the party and a social housing initiative will appeal to the left? I’m not sure any of our members are quite that liberal.”

  Good, Andrew thought, I’ve got him thinking.

  “But it makes sense. We all know the economy is stagnating; putting this kind of cash injection into the building industry, into our infrastructure, will have a massive knock on effect. The initial investment will be returned several times over, not only in rent, but the ripple effect of putting more people back into work.”

  “Still, Andrew, I’m not sure that-”

  “Look,” Andrew interrupted, “the housing benefit cap is going to affect thousands of families who will no longer be able to afford to live within our cities, they need somewhere to go, and building, not just houses but communities is the way ahead. Give people a decent home and a location to be proud of and they will act more responsibly, crime will fall, as we inject a sense of worth and purpose in people’s lives, they’ll want to find work, to better themselves. And the private landlords whose properties are vacant are going to have to fight for the remaining tenants, low paid workers who can’t afford a mortgage will now be able to afford to rent, and demand a higher standard of property from their landlords. It helps them to see themselves as home owners, and we build on that boost to their confidence by offering loans to those who are working hard and could afford monthly mortgage repayments, but can’t scrape together the deposit for a house or flat.”

  “You mean we’d lend them the money for a deposit?”

  “Yes, we’d guarantee that loan. It works Nigel, it really does.”

  Andrew was almost breathless, he felt invigorated just by putting his thoughts into words. Molly had helped to formulate the policy but it absolutely echoed his ethos and beliefs. The hard bit lay ahead, persuading his own party that the idea was valid and for that he needed Nigel. It was made all the more challenging by the fact that he was the Chancellor and not the PM. His message would have to be initially spread beneath the radar, and that was where he needed Nigel. He knew where the differing MPs’ allegiances lay, he knew who to approach, who to avoid and what to offer people. Andrew couldn’t risk playing his hand too early and alerting Blackthorn to his intentions. The initial guilt he’d felt when he’d first thought of challenging the PM had long since been swept aside in the fervour and excitement of his ideology. He wasn’t the fresh young politician from Meadow East anymore, happy just to do his bit; he wanted to be the next leader of the Republican Party, simple as that.

  “Well?” he prompted Nigel.

  His friend nodded. “That’s a lot to take on board, as I said when I came in, I’d like to go away and think about it, see if there’s any potential there.”

  “So, you’re not rejecting my premise?”

  “I need to think about it Andrew. Why don’t I come around tomorrow evening to discuss this further; if Molly will allow me in the house?”

  *****

  That day and the next passed achingly slowly for Andrew, it was a round of meetings and interviews. In the previous three months the economy had grown, but by only 0.1%; in other words it had stagnated. Government borrowing was up, as were the number of unemployed, although those claiming JSA had fallen. All things considered there was nothing there to reassure the population that they weren’t heading for a triple dip recession. Andrew desperately wanted not to be the Chancellor who presided over such a historic non-achievement, and there was no reason why he should. He could see a way out, yes it involved increased spending in the short term and thus contained more of the ethos of the People’s Party than that of his own, but he didn’t have a problem with holding up his hands and saying, it’s not working, let’s try something different. How the rest of Europe would react to that was a bit of an unknown, they’d already imposed strict sanctions, in return for bailing out potentially bankrupt countries. But then, he wasn’t suggesting a free for all, unlicensed spending with no structure; the other measures they’d introduced would remain, and as such times would still be incredibly hard for some, but they all had to share the burden of re-growth. No, all he was proposing was that in this one area, namely housing and the resulting infrastructure, they should spend in order to stimulate the market and, damn it, he was sure he was right.

  “What time will Nigel be here?” Molly asked, walking up behind her husband and massaging his tense shoulders.

  “Any moment now,” Andrew replied rather distractedly, giving his wife’s hand a pat as he rehearsed over and over in his mind the arguments he would use to win Nigel’s support.

  “Andrew…Andrew, darling, you’re miles away; would you like another coffee?”

  “What…oh sorry Mols, I was just thinking. Err, no, no more coffee for me thanks. I think I’ll open a bottle of red. Would you like a glass?” His wife stared at him, waiting for the penny to drop. “Oh, gosh no, of course not.”

  He smiled and took his wife in his arms. “When are we going for the next scan?”

  “Two weeks’ time,” Molly said, resting the palm of her hand on her husband’s chest. “And you, Mr Chancellor, had better be there.”

  Andrew kissed her on the tip of her nose. “And where else would I be? It’s in my diary, in red, circled and underlined as an absolutely unmoveable appointment.”

  “Well, it better be,” she stated, moving out of her husband’s arms and reaching for a bottle of red. “I think you should give up alcohol with me, even the smell makes me slightly nauseous now.”

  “For you darling anything; well, after tonight if that’s okay, I think I may need a drink, especially if Nigel is going to be…well, Nigel.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “When is he anything else?”

  She’d just finished speaking when someone knocked at the door. “Speak of the devil. I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks Mols.”

  He heard he wife walk along the hallway and open the door, and then the unmistakeable gravelly voice that belonged to his friend. He reached for the bottle of red and had just pulled the cork when Nigel followed Molly into the kitchen.

  “…well, once again Molly I’m deeply sorry about my outburst the other evening.”

  “I’m sure we both said things we regret Nigel.” She turned to her husband. “Let me get some glasses darling.”

  As she moved past Andrew she flashed him an expression of mock shock, obviously Nigel’s apology had been a little more direct than the one he’d received.

  “Shall we get comfortable in the lounge?” Andrew said.

  “Of course,” Nigel replied, graciously standing to one side for him to lead the way.

  So far so good, he didn’t see
m like he was on the offensive; his tone was mellow, for him, almost ingratiating, although maybe he was reading too much into the rather brief comments he’d made so far.

  Andrew sat in the chair, and Nigel positioned himself on his usual side of the sofa.

  “Well?” Andrew asked, needing to get straight to the point.

  “Well, I-” he stopped talking as Molly entered the room, turning instead to look at her. Molly stopped.

  “Would you like me to leave you alone?” she asked, as she handed them their glass of red.

  “Err, well, I’m not sure,” Andrew uttered.

  “It’s entirely up to you Molly, as we aren’t discussing any confidential matters of government, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t stay; except for trying to avoid the boredom of listening to us two.”

  Good god, was that actually Nigel telling a joke for Molly’s benefit? Andrew’s palms started to sweat, was he being nice because he was about to drop a bombshell of non-co-operation or was he being nice because he was about to jump on board Andrew’s raft of ideas?

  Whatever the reason, it wrong-footed Molly, she was left standing in the room utterly flummoxed and unsure of her next move.

  Nigel came to her rescue. “Why don’t you stay Molly, after all this affects you just as much as it affects Andrew.”

  “Yes, thank you Nigel. I’ll just go and get my tea, I won’t be a moment.”

  “Well,” Andrew shook off the air of bewilderment and asked the only question that really mattered. “Do you think my idea will work?”

  Nigel took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow exhale, as he examined the red wine he was swirling in his glass. “I think it could…yes, indeed it could.”

  “Excellent,” Andrew jumped to his feet as he spoke, his gaze on Molly as she re-entered the room, her smile complete and open.

  “Well, it won’t be easy,” Nigel cautioned.

  “No of course not, I know that,” Andrew sat down once more, eager to discuss the detail, forcing his euphoria into a calmer place.

  “I think the idea of a Unitary Party is a sound one. The population are sick of politicians, what with parliamentary expenses, affairs, court cases, they’ve had their fill and I think we need a rebranding, we need to show we’re willing to change and become the representatives they elected us to be.”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Andrew agreed eagerly.

  “I think it could be a vote winner and, come a leadership election battle MPs will want to be seen on the side of reform, and the push for a more enlightened government. However it is the timing of the coup that concerns me.”

  “In what way?” Andrew frowned as he spoke.

  “When were you planning on making your move for the top job?”

  “After the next election, I think we really have to get that over with first.”

  “And that is where I think you are wrong,” Nigel stated.

  “Go on,” Andrew said.

  “Well for starters it assumes we will win the next election, and that is far from a given. Plus, MPs are worried about the unpopularity of Blackthorn now. If he gets the Party through into another term of office they are much less likely to turn against him.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “That we make our move as soon as you announce the new levy on under occupancy, the day after in fact. And you do it with an article in one of the broadsheets, stating that although you are in favour of the bill, you do think certain additional measures will be needed to ensure its success, and the way to do that is via cross party agreement.”

  Andrew stood once more, but this time it was not through excitement. He rubbed his index finger along his bottom lip, could it work, did he have enough time to rally support? He looked at Molly but she remained silent and merely shrugged her shoulders as if to say, don’t look at me, I don’t know either.

  “That doesn’t give a lot of time,” he finally replied.

  “No it doesn’t, and that’s the beauty of it. Bold new ideas need a dynamic launch, sweep the Party and populace along with you, be the proverbial breath of fresh air.”

  Andrew wasn’t convinced, the announcement upon the under occupancy levy was only weeks away. Nigel stood up and stepped in front of him, causing Andrew to stop pacing and look up.

  “I believe it’s the only way your idea will succeed, if you hesitate you may lose it all; make no mistake Andrew, that if you run against Blackthorn and fail, your political career is essentially over.”

  Andrew looked at Molly, seeking approval to put his career on the line, she nodded once.

  “Okay, I agree.” God it felt good to have the words out into the open, some of his initial excitement stirred in his belly once more.

  “Excellent.” Nigel shook his hand, and then Molly rose and walked into her husband’s embrace.

  “Now,” Nigel said, cutting through their moment of tenderness, “your housing idea, that’s going to be a little more difficult to sell. The population like a government tough on welfare when they themselves are finding things difficult. I’m not saying no,” Nigel put in quickly as Andrew opened his mouth to speak, “but again it needs to be handled very carefully. Under no circumstances, when talking about your idea do you mention, council houses, housing associations or social housing.”

  “Well, that may be a little difficult, considering it’s the people in those categories that we’ll be targeting the new builds toward.”

  “I don’t care, when you’re asked, you talk about affordable housing, and nothing else.”

  “And if I’m pushed?”

  “Then you give a typical politician’s response, you talk about all the benefits your scheme will bring and you do not answer the question.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a cynic,” Andrew smiled as he spoke.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Nigel almost smiled himself.

  “It’s exciting though, isn’t it?” Andrew said, his gaze going from Nigel to Molly. “It reminds me of our first campaign at Meadow East.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is like that, we three against the world.” Molly laughed.

  “Well, let’s not get too carried away with nostalgia, this is going to be rough and it probably has more chance of failing than succeeding,” Nigel stated.

  “Forever the optimist my friend,” Andrew said, before adding, “I’d like to propose a toast, to new possibilities.”

  “New possibilities,” Molly and Nigel repeated, two glasses and a cup clanking softly together.

  Part three – The End

  Chapter forty-five

  Fifteen months later – May 2014

  Sue

  “I’m just being silly,” Claire said, as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “No you’re not,” Sue retorted. “This is your home and it’s just not right.”

  Her friend sniffed loudly, as she tried to regain some control.

  “Our Harry was born in this bedroom, twelve hours of labour. I called Fred all the names under the sun, threw a lamp at him in the end. He had to have two stitches.”

  Sue swallowed hard, as Claire reminisced, but couldn’t stop her own tears, a quick glance at Barbara confirmed she hadn’t been able to either. They’d both come to help Claire, and her husband Fred, pack up and move to their new, one bedroomed, bungalow.

  “I should be happy, a brand new house.” Claire tried to smile as she spoke, but it merely brought an air of desperation and despair to her face.

  “Mam, where do you…oh, mam.” Harry entered the room, and Claire quickly tried to dry her face, but she wasn’t fast enough. He crossed the room in a few strides and took his mother in his arms.

  “It’ll be alright mam, you’ll see, once you’re settled in and that.”

  Harry was a strapping six foot two, thick set, with a handsome face, crowned by a shock of jet black hair. He was the mirror image of his father and Claire absolutely doted upon him, a feeling that was obviously mutual. He’d also come to help pack up his parent’s
belongings, which was just as well, because, as Claire had commented, between her, Barbara and Sue, they couldn’t make up even one healthy body; in reality Sue and Barbara were there to look after their friend, and maintain a steady stream of tea.

  Claire finally broke free of her son’s embrace. “Now, what is it you wanted to know?”

  “Dad doesn’t know whether to put your tea pots in the kitchen utilities box, or the kitchen ornaments box.”

  Claire gave an exasperated sigh. “Dozy bugger, considering we’ve never used them these past thirty years, I think they can be put in the ornaments box.”

  Her son smiled as he replied, “Well, that’s what I said, but he said I had to come and check.”

  “I didn’t realise he took that much notice of anything I had to say.” Claire attempted a weak stab at humour, and everyone smiled accordingly.

  “We both know you’re in charge,” Harry said, as his mam swung a pillow in his direction.

  “Cheeky beggar,” she admonished as Harry dived for the door.

  The three friends sat down once more, the bedroom was the only place left they could do so, as the sofa and armchairs were already in the moving van. The bed, having no back rest, was less than comfortable, causing them all to stretch and pace the room to relieve their pain. But for now they just sat quietly, Sue and Barbara either side of Claire, absorbing the silence. Sue held her friends hand, trying to contain the anger and resentment she felt at her forced eviction, because there was no doubt that was what the move amounted to. Upon becoming Prime Minister, Andrew Proust had maintained the policy of raising a levy on under occupancy in houses where the inhabitants were in receipt of housing benefit; it had been labelled by its critics as, ‘the bedroom tax,’ and Sue thought it obscene and immoral. As Claire and Fred lived in a two bedroom council bungalow, and their son had moved out, they had been told they had to pay an extra forty-eight pounds a month toward their costs. At the same time councils had announced that due to a change in their funding from central government, they would have to ask those in receipt of council tax benefit to pay a contribution of twenty pounds a month. Sue had watched in horror, as Chancellor Mitchell from the Unitary Party, had spouted the usual ill-informed party line, that everyone had to contribute to the economic recovery and why should those claiming benefits be any different; after all it only amounted to five pounds a week, less than the cost of a packet of cigarettes, he added. He had been forced to apologise for that comment, but the image had stuck, and fed the frenzy of negative feeling toward those on benefits. It had become a, ‘them and us,’ state, with little common ground between the two sides. And it hadn’t been long before the People’s Party had endorsed the proposals of their opposite number, it had become so unpopular to champion those on welfare, that even their own party had abandoned them. They’d looked at the popularity polls and subtly re-aligned themselves with the middle class, any further down the social scale and you were committing political suicide.