by Tom Watson
‘Really?’ Owen pours his beer into a glass and thinks of Kieron in the garden of his home a little more than a week ago, his biggest concern that his wife might catch him smoking and his casual dismissal of Jay. He could have been lying, of course. ‘A whisper campaign doesn’t sound like Kieron,’ he says. ‘And how did he get hold of the minutes? It was just Jay and Jay’s boss who had the version which leaked.’
‘Secret visits to Georgina, apparently,’ she says. Her voice is neutral. Owen carries his beer to the window and looks out into the street. No press pack today, just people coming home from work on half-empty buses. Some office workers carrying shopping bags.
‘Do you think Kieron was behind the whisper campaign, Chloe?’ It would be convenient to believe so. Kieron was rotten to the core after all, deserved all the opprobrium that could be heaped on him – a perfect sin-eater for the party.
‘I don’t know. No one is going to tell me where those rumours began,’ she says and then hesitates. ‘But Owen, I know I’d say just about anything to keep access to my children.’
‘Yeah,’ Owen replies. ‘Yes, any parent would, I suppose.’
They make their farewells and he picks up Jay’s medical file with a sense of dread and a foul feeling that he now knows exactly what he is looking for.
Five hours later Owen is in a dark corner of the executive lounge of the Park Plaza hotel. Phil joins him after twenty minutes, in jeans and a tatty grey T-shirt. His feet are bare.
‘I swear, I thought you’d come down in a velvet dressing gown and striped pyjamas, Minister,’ Owen says. ‘Congratulations on the promotion.’
The hotel is silent and Owen has chosen a place where they can’t be seen from the door. Phil still looks around carefully. The bar is deserted.
‘Very funny. Yes, I thought I was going to celebrate with a full five hours’ sleep, but no such luck. What the hell are you doing, Owen? If anyone sees us together, they’ll put two and two together and I’ll be out on my ear.’
‘It’s important.’
‘I mean, I can trust the security team, but still I’m not very fucking pleased about this.’
‘Phil, I said it’s important.’
Phil stops himself. ‘OK. Tell me then.’
‘Did you hear Kieron Hyde is claiming responsibility for bullying Jay?’
Phil rubs the sleep out of his eyes and hunches forward in his chair. The lighting in the executive bar is at a two-a.m. minimum, the pools of darkness smudged by the lights outside. ‘Well, Kieron was threatening to rain hell down on him, wasn’t he? That’s why we kept Jay off the candidate lists, so as not to provoke him any further.’
‘That’s what we were told, wasn’t it? By the Constituency Party in Coventry East, from our trusted sources in the Union. But I never heard Kieron say it himself.’ He watches Phil’s face in the gloom. ‘And he’s claiming responsibility for the whisper campaign and leaking the minutes too.’
‘Bullshit!’ Phil says automatically. ‘Not Kieron’s style.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Owen answers. ‘Look, Phil, what if it was Georgina?’
Phil shakes his head, sits back. ‘No, no way. I mean, I wonder sometimes what Georgina is capable of, but not this! She held his hand, Owen! She was right in the middle of it. No one knew better than her how much he was suffering.’ Owen waits, watching as Phil puts it together. ‘But if one of Jay’s colleagues at the Treasury had got to his computer and leaked the report, why would Kieron claim responsibility?’
‘And remember, Phil. I spoke to Debra Brooks from the Union. She thought Georgina was her friend too.’
Phil folds his arms around himself as if he’s cold, though the ferocious air-conditioning is keeping the air circulating at standard hotel temperature.
‘And there’s Liam, of course,’ he says eventually.
‘What?’ Owen asks.
Phil tells him, awkwardly, avoiding his gaze, about how Georgina reacted in the police station when he asked her about the pill case and how it got into Liam’s tent.
‘Shit, I knew it.’ Owen’s never felt so tired in his life. Tired and wired, a dangerous combination. ‘I’m glad it wasn’t you, though.’
‘Can you find a way to tell Liam I’m sorry for not speaking up?’
‘Will do.’
They see a movement by the door and both look. One of the hotel staff. Owen sinks back into his corner and Phil’s bodyguard ushers the man away. They wait until everything is silent again.
‘But it’s part of the same thing, isn’t it?’ Owen says. ‘She was desperate for that seat. Desperate enough to throw Jay’s pills into the tent next door. Fine, heat-of-the-moment, maybe. An accident. But I’m beginning to think she was desperate enough to marry Kieron and help him cover up what happened at the Union because she needed his political muscle too. If she would do that, spreading crap about Jay and leaking the report doesn’t seem like much of a leap to me.’
‘Fuck,’ Phil says, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. ‘She’s been my friend for years. Even after I left the party she never cut me off. She’d call me.’
‘Do you remember that fight we had with Jay, after Georgina stormed off, when he was trying to tell us about Kieron?’
Phil nods. ‘Of course, I can’t forget anything about that day. I’ve tried.’
Another movement catches Owen’s eye and he looks towards the door. Just Phil’s bodyguard again, shifting his weight. Phil is going to be watched twenty-four hours a day from now on. If Owen is ever going to tell him what he found in the medical files tonight after Chloe’s call, it’s going to have to be now.
Chapter 55
Wednesday 6 April 2022
Owen senses a holiday mood in Portcullis House with the arrival of the Easter recess. The government are keen to retreat and lick their wounds while the Labour MPs have developed something of a spring in their step. He takes the tunnel across to the Palace of Westminster for the last appointment on his calendar before heading back home to the constituency – an all-party reception in Westminster Hall to celebrate the new exhibition there. His last work appointment anyway; he’s having dinner with Anna again tonight.
The long walls of the ancient hall are lined with artwork, all responses to the COVID-19 pandemic. On the north wall are commissioned works from new and established artists, to the south are pieces created by the public at large, and between them the politicians and power brokers, researchers, assistants and the servants of the house move to and fro, trying to assess what has been gained or lost.
‘Owen, I’m glad I caught you.’
Owen turns round and finds the Labour Chief Whip at his elbow.
‘Judith! What can I do for you?’
She leads him over to a quieter corner of the hall, swiping a glass of white wine from a passing waiter.
‘You can stop asking questions about who was behind those rumours about Jay for one thing, cookie.’ She pulls off her mask to drink. ‘We’ve had one investigation already and that’s enough. The whole trade union movement is checking its closets for skeletons.’
‘Good thing too,’ Owen replies. Phil is coming down the shallow steps at the end of the hall. Sara is with him.
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She catches the look in his eye. ‘I mean it, Owen. Christ! I spent years telling women that being harassed by lecherous old farts was just part of the job – my generation were just so pleased to have a seat at the table! To tell the truth, I’m rather in awe of this younger generation who’ve refused to accept that. Good for them. But that is beside the point. Stop stirring things about Jay. It’s done.’
Georgina is coming down the stairs now, with the leader. She says something and he laughs. Judith follows Owen’s gaze. ‘I said it’s done, McKenna. We are talking about you as Shadow Business and Industry Secretary in the next reshuffle, but I need to know you’ve heard me.’
‘It was Georgina, Judith, I’m certain of it. Kieron’s statement is rubbish.’
&nbs
p; Judith is watching Georgina too now. She seems to feel them looking and smiles in their direction, offers a little bow. Judith smiles and waves back.
‘And I’ve learned, Owen, not to condemn people on the basis of speculation and rumour.’ That stings. ‘Enjoy the exhibition.’
She leaves him, and Owen starts touring the artworks, zigzagging between the professional and amateur. Each wall offers a swirl of grief and hope. Photographs, embroidery, delicate brushwork, angry or joyous slabs of oil paint; faces of confusion and determination, isolation and community swim up through the colours.
Sara wanders across to join him in observing a painting of the community around St Thomas’ Hospital. The huge canvas is awash with figures, each with their own story. She speaks without looking at him.
‘Phil says hi.’
He keeps his eyes on the painting. ‘Tell him “hi” back. And that no one is willing to point the finger at Georgina for the bullying. I’ve been warned off.’
She nods. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Are you going to say anything to Sabal?’
He focuses on the figure of a child chasing a pigeon across the canvas. ‘I can’t, Sara. I just can’t. Georgina’s been visiting Jay for years and Sabal thinks of her as a second daughter. Part of the family. Apparently, she went to him “when she learned what Kieron had done” and he believes her. I can’t take another child from him, even if it’s Georgina.’
She is quiet for a moment. ‘You’ve been to see Jay again?’
‘Yes,’ Owen says. ‘And I’ll keep going. I tell him about the music I’m listening to, play a few tracks. Read to him a bit. I have no idea if he is aware I’m there or not, but sometimes I think he is.’
‘OK. Time for me to go. Watch your back.’
‘You too.’
She steps back as if taking one final look at the whole image. ‘By the way, have you seen that Charlotte Cook is here? She and Georgina are working on a book.’
She leaves before he has time to reply. Owen glances at his watch, looks around. As far as he can tell, no one noticed them talking, then he goes to find Charlotte. She’s near the exit watching people come and go from the half-shadows, and as Owen approaches she looks up from her phone.
‘Owen! You’ll be shocked to hear Maundrill Consulting has just announced it is to cease trading. Seems the tactic of claiming Greg was running the whole operation failed to fly in the end. Oh, and the firm that inherited Victor Collins’s company has hived his work off to a new company. They’ve announced they are hiring your Professor Graves as a consultant. No doubt the new Secretary of State for Health will make sure Victor’s work is supported and made use of.’
‘I’m sure he shall. Charlotte, it was Georgina who leaked the minutes to you in 2009, wasn’t it?’
She looks vaguely amused. ‘You know I’ll never answer that question, Owen, so stop asking.’
‘I don’t think I shall stop. I’m certain she was behind everything that happened to Jay, but you are the only person who knows for sure. I’m sure she didn’t tell you at the time that the leak was intended to damage Jay, but you’ve read Lefiami’s report. You must realise the truth now.’
‘So?’
‘So for the love of God, don’t do the book. She’s too dangerous.’
Charlotte studies her phone again. ‘Do you know what journalists get paid these days, Owen? I’ll let you into a secret: it’s bugger all, and you should see what we are being offered for the book. My agent says it’s a frenzy. And you sound hysterical.’
He has to try. It was Charlotte who warned him about the story and the investigation. ‘I believe Georgina was behind everything that happened to Jay, Charlotte.’
She looks at him now. ‘What on earth are you taking about?’
‘Jay refilled his prescription for his inhaler the day before we left for Glastonbury. Then he started trying to tell us about Kieron. We shouted him down and Georgina stormed off. Think about it. Phil and I weren’t listening to him then, but we might have done the next day. What better way to make him go home than emptying his inhaler?’ Owen takes a drink from a passing waiter. He needs it. The image of Georgina in their tent, emptying Jay’s spare inhaler, has been tormenting him since the night he saw Greg and checked through the files. He tried to convince himself it was impossible, but Phil remembered Georgina storming off too, telling Jay she wished he would go home.
Charlotte is shaking her head. ‘Maybe he packed the old inhaler! State he was in! Maybe the new one was still back at your house.’
He finishes the glass and sets it down. A waiter sweeps it away.
‘I packed his things for him when we finally got it through our thick skulls he wasn’t coming back home. No new inhaler.’
Georgina is moving through the crowd towards them now. ‘Charlotte, you know I’m right. And you’re about the only person who really knows who she is. For God’s sake, be careful.’
‘Owen! Lottie! What are you two gossiping about?’ Owen and Georgina have hardly spoken since that encounter in the Chamber, though in public they keep up the appearance of cordiality. She puts her head on one side and Owen notices the beginnings of a frown. ‘Come on, confess.’
A young woman bustles across to them and touches her elbow.
‘What, Emily?’
‘The Leader wants you – we’re doing those photos.’
She beams at her. ‘Of course! Sorry, guys, we’ll have to catch up some other time, Owen. Bye, Lottie!’
Her advisor shepherds her away towards the waiting cameras. Charlotte exhales, then looks up at Owen. ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ she says, then heads off into the body of the Hall.
‘Yes, you do,’ Owen says to himself as he watches her go.
Chapter 56
Thursday 7 April 2022
Georgina is sitting by the bed, holding Jay’s hand, enjoying the scent of lavender in the air.
‘How are you, babes? You look good. I’m doing OK. Mum and Dad are moving to London permanently after Easter, which will be so useful with the kids. And they’ll supervise during Kieron’s visits too. Much better that way, I can’t bear to look at him.’
Georgina bends over and kisses Jay’s forehead. Squeezes his hand. They’ve dressed him in his green pyjamas today. They suit him.
She thinks she sees a flicker in his eyes. Perhaps it was the mention of Kieron. They’ve tried in the past to see if he can use gaze direction to communicate. The results were inconclusive, but they keep trying in between bouts of physical therapy, cleaning and feeding. Georgina is sure he understands her.
‘Charlotte and I are writing a book. I thought I might dedicate it to you. I don’t think there will be much need to mention the leaked minutes. Now the story is about poor Victor Collins and blackmailing lobbyists, everyone’s lost interest in our little household and our dramas again.’ She thinks of Owen, his expression when he watches her, and wonders what he suspects. It will be easier to keep an eye on what he is up to when he is on the front bench. ‘But if I hadn’t taken a bit of the shine off you, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. And it’s not my fault you left your laptop lying around.’
She sketches shapes over the back of his hand.
‘And at Glastonbury – why did you keep going on about the Union? You shouldn’t have done that. It was such an important time for me! I needed Kieron! You see that, don’t you?’ She knocks a tear away from her eyelash. ‘I didn’t mean to empty it completely. I just couldn’t stop, honestly it was like an outof-body experience. Like it wasn’t even me doing it at all. So strange. Then I was sure you would check and notice before you needed it. Such a tragic accident, my poor darling.’
She sits with him a while longer, enjoying the quiet, then she kisses his forehead again. Jay’s eyes track her out of the room, then flicker up towards the clock.
The nurses at reception take a second to watch Georgina leave the building, heading for her car, pressing the button on her key fob without breaking her stride. They admire
her devotion to Jay, the flowers and food she leaves in the staff room as a thank you for all they do for him. She’s the first person they call, after Sabal, if there is any change in his condition.
‘They should put her in charge,’ one says with a sigh.
‘Oh, they will one day,’ the other replies, ticking her out. ‘Prime Minister Georgina Hyde. Sounds good to me.’
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to our agents Broo Doherty and Rory Scarfe for the guidance and support throughout. We are also very grateful to the fantastic team at Sphere for their enthusiasm and patience. Particular shout-outs to Thalia Proctor, Stephanie Melrose, Lucy Malagoni and most of all to Ed Wood for bringing us together in the first place.
As always, our thanks to the writing community on and offline for keeping us sane while grappling with the past and the future – and to Ned: thanks for the cheese. This book could not have been written without the MPs, journalists and civil servants who forever remind us that politics is still a noble profession.
Finally, much love to Malachy, Saoirse, Gabriel, Rafa and Manny.
