Party Games

by E J Greenway

  There was a pause. “No. Not from what I remember.” Colin said quietly. “But that’s not the point!”

  “Well, it really is the point, I’m afraid.” Matthew shrugged. “If it’s not libellous, well, you’re a bit stuffed. Just laugh it off, it’s the only way.”

  Colin rubbed his eyes and his shoulders slumped. He knew how much worse his press coverage could get should Jeremy Cheeser open his big vegetarian mouth.

  “And now, Matthew, you’re bottling it over the vote tonight.” Colin said testily. The coffee had given him a headache. All his effort with Dickenson had been for nothing.

  “Look, Colin, I’m on my third and final warning from the Chief. After that it’ll be curtains for me at the next election.” Matthew replied defensively. “We’re on a three-line for God’s sake and even I can’t justify rebelling on this one. I’m going out of my way to support you here and I’m doing my best in the face of bloody strong opposition both around here and on my home turf…”

  “Yes, yes, alright I get it! Just don’t strain yourself!” Colin retorted, throwing his media manager an angry glare. After all Matthew Gaines, serial rebel extraordinaire, had said about tonight’s vote here he was, caving into Whips Office pressure. The Deputy Leader drop-kicked his empty paper cup in the direction of the bin but it bounced off the rim and dregs splattered over the short-pile carpet.

  “Today’s Telegraph isn’t much use, either.” Colin said indignantly, sucking the drips off his fingers. He scooped up the broadsheet and re-read the editorial.

  “Colin Scott has been waiting in the wings ever since he was beaten to the leadership, his recent actions behind the scenes just as damaging as his words of indictment against Rodney Richmond’s style. If Mr Richmond is to succeed in his quest to transform a stagnant party, and show he is a man of substance, the likes of Mr Scott and his self-serving opportunism must be dispensed of.”

  Everything was working to time, Colin thought, but now Dickenson had made him a laughing stock and newspaper support was minimal.

  “You’re the media man out of the three of us, Matthew, so let’s get to the crux of it, tell us where we’re going wrong. We all worked damned hard last night, I didn’t get off the phone to one hack or another until the small hours and it seems for pretty much nothing. Richmond’s bloody News 24 charade still dominates.”

  Gaines looked momentarily disgruntled then took a deep breath. “I think the idea that Tristan would succeed as a stalking horse against Richmond is laughable in the media – if I may be blunt, I am more in agreement with David – time to ditch him. And forget Culverhouse, too. You need a bigger hitter than that and Sharkey’s lot are more willing to talk than they were a week ago. I just think they want to see action not just words from you before Steven considers his position.”

  Colin nodded, chewing his lip. The gesture wasn’t lost on Fryer, who looked disgruntled and muttered something about always considering Matthew’s advice, even when it was identical to his own.

  “Where the hell is Tristan anyway? I texted him an hour ago to be here.” Colin noted Tristan’s untouched coffee cup. “Richmond’s stooges have told him to stay away, I bet...”

  “Oh, crap.” Fryer suddenly muttered. “I don’t believe it.”

  Colin and Gaines glanced at each other blankly then leaned over Fryer’s broad shoulders to see he was furiously scrolling through the Westminster Whisperer. Colin watched Fryer’s shocked expression for a moment, but on losing his patience, snatched the phone from his sweaty grasp, read hurriedly then flopped back into his chair in stunned silence.

  “It’s rubbish!” Fryer protested.

  Matthew interjected hurriedly, trying to keep the situation calm. “I don’t see why Patrick Hornby would put this up on his blog today of all days. The guy’s got no love lost with Richmond after that whole candidates list fiasco.”

  “David, tell me what it’s referring to!” Colin ordered indignantly. “Hornby poses a perfectly legitimate and relevant question when he asks ‘so why, after twelve years faithful service, didn’t Mrs Gardner, David ‘deep fat’ Fryer’s Association Chairman, sue for unfair dismissal after her unceremonious sacking?’”

  Matthew snorted out an unsubtle laugh but Fryer had fallen silent. Colin shot him a dark look.

  “Is this because of something you’ve said to Barty?”

  “Everyone knows what Barty’s been up to with Hornby!” Fryer garbled suddenly.

  Colin folded his arms, jutting out his jaw. “I thought you thought it was nonsense and that we didn’t want to appear homophobic!”

  “Well, I, er...in the end decided some things are best left alone.” Fryer glanced at his backbench colleague for some sign of support but Matthew simply looked nonplussed.

  “You asked Phillips about it and he told you where to go didn’t he?” Colin swirled around his office, throwing his arms up in despair. “So now – now he’s told Patrick bloody Hornby over a post-shag smoke just so he’d go and dig up some dirt! Obviously someone knew just who he needed to speak to in your local party for a bite-size story which is quite obviously something bigger!”

  “Well…”

  “It wouldn’t be hard for Hornby to get something on you, David. You’ve enough enemies around here, if something’s iffy some people would hardly need encouragement if Hornby’s been asking questions.” Matthew commented haughtily.

  “You’ve still not answered my question though – what is it referring to?” Seething, Colin brought up the blog post onto his computer screen. Above the article loomed a garish caricature of Fryer with his trousers down, his modesty hidden by the Party logo.

  “Yes I did sack her, six months ago, and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it relevant!” Fryer snapped belligerently.

  “It is relevant, David, if you’ve done something you shouldn’t have! Something that stinks to high Heaven on a blog that everyone round here bloody reads!”

  “Fine.” Fryer crossed his arms. “We had a bit of a…bit of a fling. In the end I had no choice but to…”

  “A fling? For how long exactly?” Colin demanded.

  “Err, well…”

  “How long?”

  “Colin and I need to know, David.”

  “Ok, ok, about three years.”

  “Three years?” Colin repeated in dismay. “That’s not a fling that’s practically a marriage!”

  “It was an on-off thing! More on than off, admittedly, but we weren’t in love or anything, it was nothing serious!” Fryer protested, covering his face with his hands.

  “Oh, but it is bloody serious if you got her sacked! Have you any idea in that thick brain of yours what this could do to me?” Colin barked, but Fryer’s expression darkened.

  “I’m sorry, but not everything is about you, Colin! Anyway, we’re all hiding something!”

  Matthew shrugged superiorly. “I’m not.”

  “And we now know your secret, don’t we?” Fryer shouted, gesturing to the crumpled Bulletin as Colin’s ears twitched. No, you don’t, you silly fat tosser, Colin thought.

  “Look, my wife knows all about it and she forgives me.” Fryer blurted out, waving disdainfully towards the computer screen.

  “You bang your chairman for three years, the details of which I do not care for, sack her to watch your own back, then fail to tell me so I have to learn about it from a bloody amateur in his fucking blog, and all you’re worried about is your wife’s forgiveness?” Colin shouted as Fryer looked dismayed.

  “Hornby’s just playing you with this, he obviously knows more than he’s letting on. It’s a warning shot.” Matthew said tersely. “David, you’ll have to apologise to Phillips, ask him to speak to Hornby, appeal to his better nature somehow.”

  Colin was about to turn and launch another tirade at his weary-looking campaign manager when a timid knock was followed by Lawrence poking his head around the office door, stirring all three men from their heavy thoughts.

  “Sorry Colin, but Sir Ge
offrey Dickenson’s on the line.”

  Colin cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “Ok, put him through.”

  Fryer and Matthew sat in awkward silence as the Deputy snatched up the receiver from his desk. Ten minutes later, Colin still kept the phone by his ear, although it had gone dead eleven seconds previously.

  “You’re right.” Colin murmured, carefully replacing the receiver. The fury had yet to fully surface, but his colleagues stared at him in silence, stunned at what they had witnessed. “Time to, err, drop Rivers. He was no use anyway.”

  “But I heard you say to – or should I say scream at - Dickenson that Rivers had been essential to your plans, just like you said it to me yesterday.” Fryer said unhelpfully, looking confused.

  “So Dickenson had a scandal involving Rivers, which could have conveniently knocked him out of the running,” Matthew asked. “And now he won’t publish it?”

  “Something like that. But no matter.” Colin had sunk into his chair. He was trying to think quickly, but nothing made any sense. What had Anthea known about the Bulletin, about Dickenson, to make him cave like that? His collar and tie suddenly seemed to be strangling him, Dickenson’s gruff voice ringing in his ears:

  “The kinky stuff will give you a pre-challenge boost, I can guarantee, and I did say that I would make sure you were prominent in my paper! But Rivers can be a stalking horse tonight or in a year’s time, I’m not publishing the stuff I have. Go to another paper if you feel you must, but I’m afraid I’ll have to destroy all my evidence. You wouldn’t fucking leave it, would you? Going to Culverhouse directly with your threats was the worst thing you could’ve done! I’ll still support you, but no more dirty tricks, do you understand?”

  Colin had always known not to depend on a man so notorious for his own fickle selfishness and greed and now it was confirmed. Slippery, self-centred bastards like him could never be trusted. Colin rallied himself as Matthew and Fryer kept asking questions, questions he wouldn’t – or simply couldn’t – answer.

  “Never mind all that! David, once it all comes out about your affair – and it will - you’ll weather it, just keep your head down and don’t say any more than you need to until it blows over. Matthew will advise you.”

  Matthew pursed his lips in surprise but said nothing.

  “Now, less of you, here’s what will happen. Get everyone together, all the names I have supporting me. How many is it now?”

  “Including yourself, twenty-three, with the two that came out overnight.” Gaines replied.

  Colin had discovered a new bounce to his step and a renewed confidence. Screw Dickenson, and Rivers. “Great. We need a meeting ahead of tomorrow morning. Once this bloody vote is out of the way, I’m finally going to resign.” He announced proudly.

  Matthew smiled slyly. “I do hope, though, Colin, you won’t declare your intentions straight away.”

  “You think I shouldn’t?”

  “Oh, no. Of course not.” Matthew smiled. “You’ve seen how they do it in Australia. Resign, publicly, of course, denouncing Richmond, then hold out for a bit. Richmond’s lot will be in chaos, I can guarantee. He’ll be totally fucked. Let the media have their fun, play the guessing games, then – bam! You hit him right in the balls.”

  Colin laughed, clasping his hands. “By then my numbers will have swelled, Richmond’s crap in a crisis, as he’s now showing, and colleagues will have had time to reflect. The Government wins tonight, Richmond backed a losing horse, Richmond wins, I ruin his fun. Marvellous! Matthew, you’re a genius.” He slapped Matthew on the shoulder before eyeing his campaign manager with distain. “But David, you’re making the tea from now on.”

  Fryer shuffled his feet despondently while Matthew looked sanctimonious. Colin indicated to the door, his face alight with a renewed passion for his cause.

  “Now, gentlemen, if you would excuse me I will ask you to go and continue to put various cats among Rodney Richmond’s pigeons while I pen my resignation statement. It has to be wonderfully personal, frank and straight from the heart. It will be my best piece of work yet.”

  *****

  Linda Cheeser glanced at her husband across the breakfast table as George attempted to spoon cereal into a toy truck. The Today programme blared into the kitchen as Jeremy spread Marmite firmly onto his toast and Linda wrestled the truck out of George’s milky grasp.

  “Good move of mine to get Steven Sharkey put up for interview on the leadership.” The Party Chairman said to his wife, waving his knife in the direction of the radio. “Solidarity and all that.”

  “Or desperation.” Linda sighed, wiping her son’s hands.

  “Well, it shows he’s supporting Rodney, Colin’s lot are putting it about that Steven may go on a joint ticket with him, but that’s rubbish. I did a sweep of the tea room yesterday; Colin may get forty to fifty votes at most in any contest.” Jeremy bit into his toast then gulped his coffee before jumping to his feet.

  “That’s quite a lot of votes, surely? And they’re the ones who may have being telling you the truth.” Linda pointed out, incredulous. “Anyway you need a haircut, you look like a mop. A sexy mop, in my opinion, but a mop nonetheless.”

  Tugging at his curls, Jeremy frowned. “I know, I know. It’ll be a late one tonight I’m afraid, I’ll have to hang around after the vote, whatever the result.”

  There was a lull in the conversation as they continued to listen to Sharkey’s interview. Naturally, it turned to discussing Colin Scott. Linda poked at her muesli thoughtfully as George chattered to his truck.

  “So you won’t be challenging Mr Richmond yourself?”

  Sharkey laugh softly, his baritone voice reassuring. “No, I have no desire to be leader at the moment and as I say, Rodney is doing a brilliant job and is the man to take us into the general election.”

  “And beyond that?”

  “Let’s just get through the next few years, James, but I fully expect Rodney Richmond to be the next Prime Minister.”

  Jeremy bent down and kissed Linda on the lips, patting her expanding bump. “Take it easy today. Do as you’re told.” He said firmly. “You’ve seemed a bit distracted the past day or two. You feeling alright?”

  Linda beamed, nodding sincerely. “Yes, totally fine. Just can’t wait until I’m actually on leave, that’s all. Hope all goes ok tonight, give me a call later.” She kissed her husband again, holding his face near hers. How she longed to share the secret, but she had promised the girl. The recording on Kathryn’s phone was to be her golden bullet, stored away carefully. She had listened to it in the car on Kathryn’s return from the graveyard, squeezing her arm gently and telling her that she had done well and not to cry. Yes, she had done very well indeed.

  Jeremy was looking at his wife with concerned blue eyes.

  “I just think Colin’s out to cause trouble. Rodney needs to sack him, and quickly.” Linda advised.

  Jeremy nodded sagely. “I know, just a bit longer now. I love you so much, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He kissed her one last time and ruffled George’s curly blond crop, telling him to be a good boy. With a brief greeting to the nanny as she entered the hallway, he snatched up his case and hurried out into the autumn sunshine where Albert was waiting at the kerbside.

  *****

  1pm

  “The numbers are looking good; very good, in fact. Sounds like we could do it – narrowly.” Peter handed Anthea the final draft of her speech as they headed along the corridor in Portcullis House. “I think this is about as perfect as it’s going to be now. Just say make sure you lay on thick the spiralling costs of it all, no matter how much time you get.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Anthea smiled, but she felt exhausted, and the debate hadn’t even begun. It would be a long afternoon and even longer evening, but there was light at the end of the legislative tunnel and her mood was buoyant. “Right, off to the tea room I think. Need some brain food and to feel the mood. Let me know as soon as we get wind of Harvey’s spe
ech – oh, and make sure the press office is doing its job. I want a lot of media after this, should it go our way.”

  The mood, as Anthea quickly discovered, was one of defeatism by the Government whips and quiet optimism on her own side. Devolution Secretary Ian Harvey, eating with his PPS in the tea room, waved with a sly smile as he saw her.

  “It’s still in the bag, you know.” He called briskly.

  “Don’t let your own MPs here you say that, Ian, or you may have an even bigger rebellion on your hands.” Anthea mocked. “Anyway shouldn’t you be memorising your big speech, you’re going to need all the persuasion you can muster. Just remember to wipe your shoes before coming into the Chamber.”

  Harvey’s chiselled smile turned slightly sour as a group of Tory MPs nearby laughed heartily. It was a few tight-lipped Labour MPs who appeared to be making him most edgy before he made a swift exit. Anthea chuckled quietly to herself as she scanned the menu, noticing Robert Williams hopping from one colleague to another, quite obviously reigning in pre-challenge support for Rodney.

  “All set, then?” A voice boomed from behind her. Jumping, Anthea looked over her shoulder to see David Fryer carrying a tray heaped with gammon and potatoes, a wry grin etched on his flushed face. “For the debate? It’ll be a late one, no doubt. We’ll be here till midnight if everyone has their say, it’ll be like old times.”

  Anthea sniffed out a laugh but the contempt in her eyes screamed at Fryer to back off. She moved away, snatching up the first sandwich she came to, but her bumptious colleague followed her and took a can of Coke.

  “So is Rodney worried? If not, he should be.” Fryer hissed in her ear, standing close. She shook her head, taking a yoghurt as Fryer’s eyes raked over her. “He needs to do a lot better than looking sincere on television if he’s going to survive a leadership challenge.”

  Anthea refused to turn to look at him as she was barely in the mood to eat as it was. “To be honest, David, I think it’s all blown up in Colin’s face in the past twenty-four hours. Rodney did a great interview last night and nothing – nothing – is going to prevent me from supporting him, and you can take that back to your boss, telling him where to shove his threats while you’re at it.”