A Christmas Cameron

by Benedict Arthur

  The Phantom pointed its spectral finger at the huge blank screen. David looked up – nothing, just a blank, black screen. He looked back at the Phantom who stood quiet and dark beside him. He fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very cold. He once again turned his gaze to the screen and after a few moments a tiny dot of light appeared in the centre. This dot grew and grew until it became a huge picture of the upper half of a very well groomed man dressed in a dark blue suit. The bronze skin of the man’s face was covered in just enough growth of hair to give the appearance of a subtle shadow and his fair hair was slicked over fashionably to one side. The man also gave the impression that he was squinting and frowning ever so slightly. David recognised the man in the screen but before his memory could bring forth the name, words appeared at the bottom of the screen.

  “STATEMENT FROM PRIME MINISTER DAVID BECKHAM”

  David’s eyelids retracted back as far as they were able, so prominently did his eyes protrude upon reading the words. He stood for a moment with his mouth open before glancing at the Phantom then back at the screen in disbelief. Although he had eagerly entertained and conversed with Mr. Beckham, in the hope of adding some glamour to his image – he had always considered him to be somewhat simple and of low intellect, in short not a man to be taken seriously save for his celebrity kudos. How was it then that by some miracle, he had ended up in the highest office in the land? To David, seeing the other David’s image up on the screen with the subtitle ‘Prime Minister’ was similar to seeing a lost and longed-for lover stepping out with a person of questionable character, thus rendering the previous relationship meaningless.

  As Prime Minister Beckham began to speak, his voice was pumped into the square by two large speakers either side of the screen. Throughout his address his eyes remained fixed to the piece of paper from which he read.

  “It is with great sadness that I report to you the death of David Cameron, former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. He died at home today after a short illness. On behalf of the nation I would like to offer our condolences to his family at this sad time.”

  “The cross-party consensus is that his actions as Prime Minister would not warrant him being granted a state funeral, however Sky TV have stated that they would be happy to televise the proceedings if his family is in agreement. They would like to hear from any potential investors who might be interested in purchasing advertising space.”

  “After his time as Prime Minister ended, Mr. Cameron came under much criticism and in recent years he withdrew from public life including the House of Lords. I would however like to give my own personal tribute to David.”

  “He was always very supportive of my political career and he was the first Prime Minister to get elected on the back of success in the reality TV style debates. That was the first time that people were able to formally select their politicians based on their camera-friendliness and sense of style. It laid the foundations for the very program that allowed me to get elected and for that I am truly grateful. Thanks Dave, and rest in peace.”

  ``Spirit!'' said David, shuddering from head to foot. ``I see, I see. The case of this unhappy end might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Oh God!'' After David spoke these words, the space surrounding him and the spirit seemed to take on a great significance. Glancing around them he realised that they were stood almost alone in front of the fourth plinth. In spite of the huge screen announcing his demise, the people went about their business without any perturbation. The tourists continued to mill about the fountain. The children continued to stare up at Nelson on his column. In front of the Christmas tree, a brown haired girl squealed with delight as her companion bent down on one knee and opened a ring box. The other people standing nearby gave them a little applause.

  “What little impression I left on people’s hearts” said David. He raised his hands to his face and bent his head as if to weep but at that very same moment he glimpsed through his fingers a solitary couple who were stood just beyond the spirit listening intently and staring with serious faces at the great screen. His tears were detained for a moment and a tiny flicker of hope leapt up inside him as he approached the couple so as to hear how they conversed.

  “Gosh, he is still very handsome for an older man isn’t he?” said a young lady in a brown winter coat, directing her gaze at the screen.

  “He certainly is” said a slim man with a similar hair style to Prime Minister Beckham, with whose arm the lady was linked. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to a bit of that.”

  David wailed and cried out in agony. “Is there no person in this town, who feels a tender emotion because of my death? If there is, show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!”

  --

  The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight. A grey-haired man of no more than sixty years was sat on a brown sofa chair. His face appeared careworn and sad and upon David’s arrival, he was watching the television with rapt attention. On the screen was the very same address that David had himself just seen. As Prime Minister Beckham announced David’s death, the man’s lower lip began to quiver and by the time he had mentioned camera-friendliness and style, the man was weeping freely. Upon hearing his sobs, the man’s wife rushed in from the kitchen clutching a wet plate and a tea towel.

  “Jack, what’s wrong love?” she asked.

  “He’s dead” he said.

  “Who’s dead?” said his wife with an anxious look. She sat next to him on the couch.

  “Cameron, that’s who. David Bloody Cameron. He’s finally dead.” Replied the husband and his tears fell more freely.

  The woman placed her plate and towel down on the floor and put her arms around her husband. She leaned her head against his and silent tears began to slip down over her cheeks. “Oh love” she said “maybe it’s time to just let it go now. Maybe it’s over then eh?”

  “I can’t let it go” sobbed he husband. “I found him, I found him laid there. How can I ever let it go?”

  The woman said no more but kept her husband in her embrace. She turned off the TV with the remote control and they sat in silence.

  David was confused. He looked over at the spirit who was standing near the doorway to the room. Just to its left, a newspaper article that had been framed and hung on the wall caught David’s eye. He walked over and began to read.

  The page was numbered 23, suggesting the article had never been headline news. David scanned his eyes up the page and read.

  ‘DISABILITY SYSTEM FAILING’ SAYS DEAD MAN’S PARENTS

  The parents of a disabled man who died after being found fit for work told The Custodian, that the Disability Testing System just isn’t working.

  Michael Roberts had suffered from a debilitating illness since being a young child. He was diagnosed, age four, with a condition which meant that even with the strongest medication; he could be affected with severe seizures sometimes several times a day. As a result of this, his lifestyle was severely limited and he was unable to work and was forced to rely on benefits.

  In spite of this, when Michael was assessed by the Government’s new fitness to work panel, conducted by a private IT firm he was judged fit enough to work and his benefits were cut. The decision was appealed by Mr. Jones and his family and eventually the Department for Work and Pensions agreed that they had made a mistake. But it was too late; Mr. Jones had already died of a massive seizure.

  His parents who lived just next door to Michael have stated that they are in no doubt that the stress and anxiety of losing his benefits contributed significantly to his death. They state that from the moment he received the letter saying that his benefits were to be cut, he became incredibly withdrawn and consumed with anxiety about how he was going to pay his bills and support himself. One day, a few months after receiving the letter of withdrawal, Michael’s father, Mr. Jack
Roberts had gone over to his house to investigate why his son had missed a doctor’s appointment. Mr. Roberts found his son collapsed on the floor of his bedroom. Attempts to revive Michael by his father, mother and medical staff were unsuccessful and sadly he passed away. He was just 24.

  Although the family acknowledge that Michaels seizures were life threatening, his parents have stated that they unequivocally believe that the stress incurred as a result of the government’s new assessment system, killed their son. In an interview, Michael’s father said “I truly believe that we live in a society that has a lot of compassion towards people who are unable to look after themselves. But the government and their cruel policies do not reflect this. I don’t want people who have no idea about by son’s life, deciding what he can and cannot do. They have no idea how he lived, what his life was like. I am all for people who can work being sent back to work, but Michael was not one of them. And he’s not the only one. This system needs to be changed – people are dying.”

  Michael is one of two million people that have been put through the governments’ controversial ‘Work Capability Assessment’. The government have repeatedly deflected criticism that they are concerned solely with cutting the benefit bill and have claimed that they wish to save lives, not money by getting people back to work. Michael Roberts’ parents and many thousands more, disagree.

  David took a step back from the article. He looked across at the couple huddled together on the sofa then back again at the article. That it was framed and hung no longer seemed strange. Instead, he got a fleeting sense of the vulnerability and desperation that had compelled these parents into an understated public display of grief.

  --

  David and the Phantom left the solemn scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where David had never been before, although he vaguely recognised the street names, and their associated bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; and many of the shops and houses were boarded and closed. Garbage was strewn about many of the byways and alleys so that the area carried a heady unpleasant smell of decay. The Phantom halted alongside one such alley.

  The alley was very dark, and shrouded in shadow. David glanced into it with obedience to a secret impulse, anxious and somewhat frightened to know for what reason he had been brought there. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out a thin pair of legs jutting out from behind a pile of black bags, just a small way in from the alley’s mouth. The upper portion of the person was obscured but he could see quite clearly that the dirty jeans that clothed the thin legs were covered in blood.

  “Spirit!” he said, “this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!”

  Still the Ghost pointed with a finger towards the body as if imploring David to investigate further.

  “I understand you,” David returned, “and I would do it, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power.”

  Again the Phantom seemed to look upon him.

  A man dressed in a black, padded winter jacket came walking down the street. At that same moment a black cat darted out from the alley causing David to jump and cower behind the spirit. The cat’s movement disturbed some of the black bags, drawing the attention of the passing man towards the mouth of the alley. When he saw the legs jutting out from behind the rubbish, he ran over and began pulling the bags away. In doing so, he revealed the body of a woman slumped over to one side. Her jeans were covered in a blood stain that extended from her groin down to her knees. The man stopped and pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and called for an ambulance.

  The ambulance arrived very quickly accompanied by two police cars. “There’s a pulse” said the first paramedic that arrived as he examined the woman where she lay. With those words, the speed of action of those in attendance increased even further. David stood some distance back and watched the police and paramedics place the woman onto a stretcher and mover her towards the ambulance. Just as she was about to be placed inside, David caught a glimpse of Sam’s lifeless face. Her eyes were closed and the clear oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose carried only the faintest hint of steam condensed from her failing breath.

  --

  David took a step back but found his way blocked by the Phantom. A terrible cold enveloped him as the Phantom raised his arms and encircled him in its robe. When the spirit opened its arms again, they were stood in a large room in an Accident and Emergency department. At the centre of the room lay Samantha on a hospital bed. She was surrounded by screens and tubes and instruments. Several doctors and nurses bustled around her.

  An Anaesthetic doctor tilted Sam’s head back and expertly inserted a tube down her windpipe before connecting the tube to a machine that began to re-inflate her lungs. At the same time, another two other doctors in green uniforms stuck needles into both of her hands and a nurse in a blue dress cut away at the dirty T-shirt and jumper covering the top half of Samantha’s body.

  “Oh shit, she’s pregnant” said the nurse upon seeing the bulge in Sam’s abdomen.

  “Crash bleep the Obstetric team” shouted one of the doctors.

  “We need some blood” shouted the Anaesthetic doctor.

  “Obstetrics have called back” said one of the nurses “they’ve got two emergency cases in theatre - they can’t leave”

  “Right call, their Consultant to come in from home then” shouted a gangly male Accident and Emergency Registrar.

  “She’s already in” said the nurse. “She’s in the second theatre.”

  “Damn” said the A&E Registrar. “Right call round any of the other Consultants, even if they’re not on call. Tell them that she’s had a major pregnancy haemorrhage and tell them that we need them now!”

  The heart monitor connected to Sam began to bleep faster and faster and then stopped.

  “She’s arrested!” said the Anaesthetic doctor. “Start CPR” One of the nurses climbed onto the side of the bed next to Sam and began to vigorously compress her chest.

  Two midwives rushed into the room, one of whom clutched a bag full of drugs. Another nurse who was stood to one side explained the situation and one of them rushed over and pressed a fetal heart microphone onto Sam’s tummy. The speaker emitted a faint da-dum, da-dum, da-dum. Even as she held the microphone in place, the sound got slower and quieter.

  “We need to deliver this baby, or they’re both going to die” said the Anaesthetist who had taken over the chest compressions for a time.

  “Any news on another Consultant?” said the A&E Registrar.

  The nurse who was stood with the phone to her ear shook her head. “One is out of the country and I’m not getting any answer from any others. The A&E consultant is on her way in.”

  “We can’t wait, you’re going to have to do it” said the Anaesthetist looking at the A&E doctor.

  “I can’t said the A&E Registrar, I’ve not done a Caesarean section before – I’ve not even seen one since medical school.”

  “See one, do one” said the Anaesthetist. “You’re going to have to try!”

  The A&E doctor looked at the woman laid in front of him, about to die. He looked at the flat line of the cardiac monitor that should have been filled with the reassuring peaks of a beating heart. Finally, he looked at the midwife pressing the fetal heart monitor into Sam’s tummy and heard the dying sound of the baby reaching out from inside.

  “Right, get me a blade”

  --

  The A&E registrar trembled almost uncontrollably as the made the first incision. Images of himself stood in a courtroom being convicted of manslaughter squeezed themselves between his thoughts, impeding his concentration. He made a first cut just below Sam’s belly button; the incision, from an unpractised hand was too high and too small and too shallow. A tiny string of red pearls spread across Sam’s abdomen as the blood oozed from the cut. The doctor kept on cutting, deeper and deeper. At first he could see some familiar structures, a tiny layer of fat, then muscles in the abdominal
wall; but as he went, the motion from the compression of Sam’s chest, the poor light and the terrible urgency made for a terrible challenge that would have intimidated even an expert hand.

  “I can’t see anything” he said, “I can’t see anything!”

  The registrar made an incision in what looked like the uterus but before he could do any more, bowel and other contents of the abdomen obscured his view. He plunged his hand into Sam’s abdomen to try and feel his way, to try and guide the baby out.

  David watched as the Registrar’s arm went further and further inside until he was nearly up to his elbow. Blood poured out of the wound and all over the floor of the room. All of a sudden, his hand emerged holding a single tiny foot. He reached in again and pulled out another. Grasping the baby by both its feet, he pulled – tiny thighs, buttocks, back, arms and finally a head emerged from the gore. He cut the cord and handed the pale, floppy, crumpled and bloody baby to the midwives. Blood continued to pour from the wound.