by E J Greenway
“Colin will hate you even more, now he knows you slept with his ex.” Anthea said, raising a smile. “I’ll leave you to your speech, I’m sure we’ll be having far too many conversations about Colin over coming days. Do you promise to leave Cornish devolution to me now?”
“I promise.” Rodney nodded as Anthea turned the door handle. “That’s if I survive longer than the next 24 hours.”
*****
“That silly cow’s finally getting what she’s due! It’ll cause chaos at the Engager offices!”
The words instantly built up a fury in Colin so forceful could barely breathe. He stared at the old man, aghast. “What?” He asked disbelievingly. He must have got it wrong.
“Like I said, Richmond has a past. Well, quite a recent one, as it turns out.” Dickenson sniffed out a laugh, but Colin now felt numb. Physically and mentally. “They had a one-nighter five years ago. Then we got a tip-off from someone who saw Richmond and dear Rosie all over each other at an Engager reception a little over two years ago while Jenny sipped her Bollinger, obliviously, in the next room. That woman’s got more notches on her bedpost than I’ve had libel cases. No disrespect to your relationship with her, of course.”
The urge to punch the old man in the face overwhelmed Colin. He frowned sourly.
“Now Jenny’s found out, she blames Richmond for her father’s untimely death. No wonder the guy felt suicidal – financial irregularities, to put it mildly, and a wife who shags young Tory men in hotel broom cupboards.”
Colin didn’t feel like being in Dickenson’s company any longer. It suddenly all felt a mess.
“Time to stop dithering, Colin, and grow a pair. You screw up, I screw you over. It’s as simple as that. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Dickenson took his leave as the rain began to fall from a grey, miserable sky of seamless cloud, the London skyline shrouded in an impenetrable mist. Colin was boxed into a corner, held to ransom. His BlackBerry vibrated in his pocket; a reminder about the blasted tennis game with Cheeser. The Chairman hadn’t cancelled, and to do so might be counterproductive to the cause, so he thought he’d better make nice and go.
He hung his head and thought of Rosie. Fifteen years ago, nine after the biggest loss of his life, Colin had met the formidable Rosie Spencer at a charity dinner party thrown by her future husband, publishing entrepreneur and Labour donor Stanley Lambert. She had been an ambitious journalist - she had had no wish to face Colin Scott across the green benches.
He had made no bones about his desire for power, lamenting his talent was not being recognised enough by Number 10, but although she had laughed and touched his arm, there had been no mocking. An instant connection between the two began, and although normally Colin would have found the idea of any sort of relationship with a socialist highly undesirable, in many ways he and Rosie had been alike and he felt no harm in trying it out, just to see where it might go.
It was a good few months of sporadic dating and intimacies before Rosie decided Colin should meet her 15 year old daughter Jenny, the girl who was to eventually gain a very rich step-father who would treat her like his own flesh and blood until the day he died. Jenny had been suspicious of this man who had entered his mother’s life and Colin wondered if Jenny’s negativity towards him had anything to do with Rosie’s sudden decision to dump him. He would never know for sure.
Colin thought he was falling in love, but after a year his political career was beginning to take off while Rosie was climbing the journalistic ladder. They grew apart naturally until Rosie told him it was over with no hope of it ever being rekindled. He had hid the hurt and disappointment; instead returning to wallowing in his guilt and flashbacks as if Rosie had been merely a distracting interlude in his life. Maybe they were far too similar, too selfish and desperate for the limelight.
Now he knew the truth about Richmond, he felt quietly impressed. He could consider that Richmond would play so dirty as to sleep with his former girlfriend simply to demonstrate that anything Colin once wanted he could take for himself, but in reality Colin was more pragmatic. He knew he would have been the better lover – he was, of course, better than Richmond at most things. Every tabloid under the sun would want to keep it rumbling on, possibly bringing himself into it, digging away in the dirt. Richmond wasn’t about to sleep with a married woman then date her daughter and get away with it lightly. Somehow the Martin Arnold affair already felt a very long time ago.
*****
“Out!” Jeremy yelled as Colin dived for the ball, grinding to a halt on the indoor tennis court and pointing beyond the white line. “Game!”
Obviously exhausted, Colin leant his hands on his knees and panted. “Fine, you win – although I dispute it was out.” He waved his racket at the line.
Jeremy smiled wryly. He had hardly built up a sweat, but saw Colin’s need for a break.
“Shall we stop?” He said, jogging to the net and tossing his colleague an energy drink. “Catch a breather?”
“No, let’s keep going.” Colin gulped the liquid. “We’re only two games in and I’ve got to head off fairly soon.”
“Oh?” Jeremy tried his best to sound casual. He grabbed a ball from his shorts pocket and bounced it. “My serve. Busy night ahead?”
Colin had positioned himself at the other end of the court, racket at the ready, now composed. Jeremy served and Colin countered accurately and smoothly, and a good rally ensued, but Jeremy’s worry grew at a lack of verbal response to his question.
“Look, this has gone on long enough.” Jeremy suddenly said, smacking the ball in Colin’s direction.
“Long enough? I thought we were just getting started.” Colin said in nonchalant tone as he returned the hit.
“You know what I mean.” Jeremy served again and Colin responded forcefully. “Time to back off.”
The ball volleyed back and forth between the two men as they spoke.
“Back off? I wondered why you didn’t cancel our match.”
“Really, Colin, you’re doing a lot of damage to the party.” Jeremy slammed the ball harder than he intended, but to his surprise Colin moved swiftly and sent it straight back. The ball ricocheted off the top of the net and collided with the side of Jeremy’s head, knocking him backwards, the throb in his temple instant and disorientating. He dropped his racket and blinked.
“I believe that was out! Love, fifteen!” Colin announced triumphantly. “Who are you to tell me to back off, this concerns Rodney and me, not you, and by hell it’s personal! And don’t give me that righteous look, I’ve seen it from you a million times!”
Momentarily speechless, Jeremy brought himself to his senses, his jaw setting. “But that’s just it, it concerns all of us, when all the time it’s about one thing and one thing only – your bloody ego!”
For the briefest moment, Colin stood dumbstruck, his racket hanging limply at his side, gaping at Jeremy’s sudden temper. Jeremy couldn’t prevent the fury inside his chest, years of trying to understand collapsing around him.
“I remember that look on your face at Alice’s funeral, but not one of sadness, one of determination and – I don’t know – pure hate, I suppose!” Jeremy continued as Colin simply stared. “And you asked me, while we stood at her freshly dug grave, whether I would run for President of the Union. On the day of her funeral, Colin, who the hell does that? I remember what you said, that if I ran, consider our friendship over. I can only commend you for being true to your word. Linda said it was your way of grieving. Colin, you’ve been grieving for twenty-six years!”
“I don’t need your psychoanalysis, thank you! Save it for the voters!” Colin snapped.
The tennis match forgotten, Jeremy faced Colin across the net. “How do you exist? How do you sleep, how do you function, with all this...rage inside you? I’m sorry Alice died, I’m sorry you feel you hate everyone...”
“Oh, spare me the Godforsaken lecture!” Colin said dismissively. “You and your perfect fucking marriage, all your fucki
ng friends, ‘cos everyone loves Jeremy fucking Cheeser and his endless positivity!”
“What would Alice say if she were here? She’d say enough is enough! She would hate to see what you’ve become!” Jeremy loathed playing the Alice card, but Colin’s expression told him he was getting nowhere.
“Do you want me to be sorry? Is that it?”
“Yes, but sorry for what?” Jeremy said, exasperated. “Sorry for undermining everything Rodney has been working towards, sorry for all the leaks, sorry for all your selfishness and your bloody games? And here’s me, good old dependable Jeremy, trying to hold it all together, the voice of reason, piggy in the bloody middle once again between you and Rodney! You’ve got to let it all go, Alice wasn’t your fault!”
“But I can’t! I would never, ever expect you to understand!”
“Then get some help, professional help!”
“I can’t do that either! I can kiss my career goodbye if it gets out I’ve seen a shrink!”
“Just a counsellor then, nobody would need to know, perhaps if they could get you to open up a bit...”
“I SAID NO!”
Jeremy grabbed his tennis bag and flung it over his shoulder. It had been a disaster and he was furious with himself for causing an unproductive row.
“Then I give up. I give up trying to be a decent colleague to you, making excuses for you, trying to patch up that so-called friendship we once had. Every time any of us try to reach out to you, you throw it right back in our faces! You have to accept that Alice is dead, Oxford was a long time ago and that Rodney is leader! Unite behind him with everyone else and tackle the real enemy out there!”
“I can’t!” Colin shouted desperately. “I need to do this, and not just for me! It’s for the greater good!”
“Bollocks to that!” Jeremy retorted. “It’s for you, and you alone! I’m done, you’re on your own! Pretty soon Rodney will tell you to put up or shut up, and I won’t be there to help you!”
Colin shook his head, fighting back what Jeremy thought to be tears. “I don’t need your help, I never have! You just think I’ve needed it!”
“Then it’s just as well! Just deal with your demons, Colin, before you take the whole damn party down with you!” Jeremy headed for the hall’s exit, but turned one final time to the colleague he felt he had failed. “You’re going to end up a lonely, friendless old man, with a life full of regrets! Bit of advice, get yourself a girlfriend. Find someone to love, if that’s even possible for you these days, then perhaps that coldness in your soul might melt and you’ll finally see what a complete narcissistic bastard you’ve become!”
Eleven
Monday evening
“Just stay calm, everyone will be here in a minute.”
“I’m telling you now, Matthew, Jeremy Cheeser can go fuck himself.” Colin poured himself a glass of wine in his office and handed the bottle to Matthew Gaines, the only colleague he felt he could completely trust. Matthew was a troublemaker to Richmond, a loyalist to Colin and someone he needed if he were to succeed. “The way he spoke to me, all high and mighty, full of psychobabble and crap about broken friendships! I could bloody spit!”
“I did suggest you cancel, remember.” Matthew said sagely. He topped up a row of glasses and pinched a crisp. “You really will have to start listening to me if you want to take on Richmond. But just forget what Cheeser said, he’s just trying to unnerve you. Richmond will have sent him to try to stop you and he blew it so the Leader’s Office will be even more twitchy now.”
“How are the numbers looking?” Colin asked, calming himself. Matthew was right, as always.
“Better than I initially thought. A quick tally round the tea room should give you support of around thirty colleagues at the moment, with around twenty or so coming tonight, and it sounds as if support out in the associations is reasonably strong. But you’re going to need those final few nominations to take it to twenty if you’re to stand. I’m working on it.”
Matthew’s estimation turned out to be near accurate, with twenty-five specially selected potential supporters squeezing into the Deputy’s office, chatting, drinking his wine and waiting expectantly for him to declare civil war. The final attendee burst into the office and surveyed the scene like a predator may keenly observe its weak and helpless prey. Over six foot and broad-shouldered (which was a good job, some muttered privately, so he could carry round his the weight of his incredible ego with ease), the Deputy Chief Whip cut quite a dominant figure in his pin-stripe and Cambridge University tie; a slightly portly stomach but with a slim face which indicated that he might have been quite the catch in his younger days, for a submissive woman who didn’t mind his views about her gender, of course. Colin smiled, but most eyed the arrival of David Fryer with an air of suspicion.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” Colin began after calling everyone to order. “I know it’s late, and a Monday, but I hope you have been having useful discussions. It’s very important to be able to talk freely about policy, and the direction of the party in general, and I’m delighted to hear you sharing your….opinions.”
There was a low ripple of knowing laughter, but Tristan’s expression remained stony at the back of the room.
“This is a very critical time for us,” The Deputy continued importantly. “The Europeans are next year and there are issues which will need to be discussed honestly and openly with the British electorate. Most of you will know my position on UK membership of the EU and I can no longer hide my...concern about the lack of a promise of a referendum by our party – unlike over the quasi-important issue of Cornish devolution….”
A murmur passed the lips of a few present as the implications of Colin Scott’s words sank in.
“But isn’t it the case, if you excuse me playing Devil’s Advocate,” one MP, a budding new recruit to the Scott cause, piped up. “that the official line is that Cornish independence is an issue of vital importance; one of the Government’s flagship policies and symbolic of Harvey’s desire to force regionalisation and create yet more bureaucracy?”
Colin smiled, nodding. “Indeed, you are completely correct. But I can’t help but feel Richmond’s taking his eye of the more important balls out there – I think Richmond missed a big opportunity today with his education speech. What about our position on health, or even cut-backs on defence spending? I feel these issues are being ignored, and the time is coming to make our voices heard. When did you last see Richmond in the tea room? He ignores the party at his peril.”
Colin continued as his audience watched him, captivated. “We must not forget the issues which concern our voters the most; taxation, decent public services, the right to own their own homes and to enjoy low interest rates. It is true that our great party is at its best when at its boldest, at its worst when we are cowardly. The opinion polls are telling us we are certainly not being the former.” The Deputy Leader spoke as though he were in the throws of a leadership campaign, canvassing his colleagues’ support, and a bizarre feeling of déjà vu swept over the guests. As his speech drew to a close, he hoped many were beginning to think the unthinkable. Matthew Gaines was a big beast in the growing rebel camp and many seemed keen to bend his ear.
Nice speech, Fryer indicated to Colin with a small smile of approval. The Deputy may have not been the most charismatic or charming man on a one-to-one level but to a general audience he had a way with words and was a better orator than he gave himself credit.
Once they had heard Colin speak most of his colleagues hung about politely for a short while until they began to drift away. Some looked faintly incredulous as they left his office having had their fill of free alcohol, while others muttered their private support to Matthew and Colin himself on the way out.
“You know they’re taking their political lives in their hands.” Matthew said with a chuckle.
If Colin had been selling himself, he wasn’t quite sure if he was running at a loss or not, but he had enough spies to get a realistic assessme
nt of their reaction once they had digested what he was heavily hinting at. Chinese Whispers could be dirty, deceitful and downright inaccurate at Westminster, so he had no idea what exactly would reach Richmond’s ear. The Leader’s bodyguard Robert Williams would no doubt be on the case.
Colin caught Tristan’s eye as his office emptied. There was an acknowledgement between the two men but Fryer was still hanging around, quite obviously wishing to catch Colin on his own. Tristan shot Fryer a suspicious glance as just the three of them were left, each with their own egos, each with their own agendas.
“There’s something we need to discuss.” Tristan announced dryly to Colin after he drained his glass, ignoring Fryer who continued to stare at him like a paid-up minder.
Colin’s lip curled. “Of course there is.” He could sense Tristan’s unease at Fryer’s presence, watching as he turned on Fryer so he could feel the full force of his fury through a hateful glare, but Fryer snorted and folded his arms to indicate he wasn’t going anywhere.
“You still here?” Tristan enquired frostily. “Haven’t you got someone to go and humiliate?”
“Carry on, don’t mind me.” Fryer retorted as Colin raised a sly smile. “I’m quite enjoying myself.”
Tristan took a step towards him, thunderous. “Bugger off, David, this doesn’t concern you.”
“Where the hell d’you think you get off talking to me like that?” Fryer growled, the veins in his neck bulbous under his skin. “Remember who I am, Rivers, and who you are! You’re not in charge around here anymore, I’m Deputy Chief and you’re…you’re..!”
“I’m what? Hmm?”
“You’re a nobody, sacked as Chief Whip for being shit at your job!”
“I resigned, I wasn’t sacked! And I resigned because I got fed up of having to deal with utter scum like you! And d’you know what? It feels great to be free of it – free of you!” Tristan hissed triumphantly. Fryer was rocking from one foot to the other, his face contorted with bitterness. Colin knew his campaign manager wasn’t used to being talked down to, nobody would dare. Except for Colin himself, of course. He would soon put him in his place.
