PoW: Chapter 7: surface and symbol
George looked up in surprise as Boris appeared, a glass of champagne in his hand.
"Where is Peter?"
"Fighting in the wars. Metaphorically speaking," he took a sip and went on hurriedly. "You needn't become worried."
"Why would I be worried if Lord Mandelson took into his head to actually fight in the wars?" George asked curiously as the other man left the glass with his assistant slipped inside the car with him.
"Come now, George. We know of your friendship and I shall not be hypocritical enough to comment on it. He is a very persuasive man. The Dark Prince is not an idle title, but enough of that. I've just come from David's office."
George had been expecting Peter to show up during the conference if not after, but surrounded by journalists and cameras for the post-mortem, he hadn't even glimpsed his shadow. In fact, he was certain he had heard them asking for him.
"How's he holding up waiting for news from the front? Nick's in there as well I presume," he said to Boris.
"I had a go at him and now presumably, it's David's turn. Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You had a go at him?" George repeated faintly. Having grown unaccustomed to wine, he probably drank too much during lunch. He was becoming light-headed.
"You would think David would be less surprised to learn the Lib-Dems have been cooperating with Labour. It has been a long time since the Coalition agreement.
"Of course he's surprised," George said. "He trusts Nick."
"More than us?"
"They were leaders of the country for three years." David's secret were his own and George wasn't about to tell Boris what David was willing to offer because of it though the thought had been plaguing him all morning.
"Dictators."
"Quite."
For a while they were silent as the car sped toward the meeting place. They couldn't hear shots fired from this faraway, but Peter would give them updates. George was concentrated on the possibilities of what it would mean.
"Contra mundum."
"What?" George had missed the first part.
Boris smiled, or was it a smirk? "Don't worry about it," he said. "Look, there's Peter's dog."
And sure enough, George saw a canine gamboling around the bushes. There was no sign of the owner.
"We will have to go in." Boris told him as the car came to a stop in front of a fountain. "The side-entrance, I believe he said."
He led them through a barely discernible footpath through the neglected garden, the dog running around them. As they approached the house, the wrought iron frames became visible, but all the windows had been shattered; fragments of glass glittered on the earth below. What remained of the furniture inside looked destroyed. George could see scorch marks on the walls.
Peter was waiting for them in a large untidy study among bookcases and haphazardly stacked wooden crates. A half-empty platter of sandwiches was balanced on top one of them.
"I'm very glad to see you both," he said, greeting them warmly. The dog leapt and tried to lick his hand. Peter managed to produce a tennis ball from somewhere and set it rolling toward the end of the room.
"Is that your dog?" George asked.
"By all means, no," Peter said. "Someone's stray took a liking to me. Sit." The dog dropped the tennis ball and sat by George's leg, looking up at him with large liquid dark eyes, its heavy tail thumping the carpet. Absently, George patted its head, and kicked the ball away; the dog chased after it into the hall just as someone closed the door.
Peter was maneuvering them toward a table half-hidden in the shadow, away from the partially-boarded windows. Except for the mess, the room hadn't been damaged, though there were dark rectangles on the walls where pictures had been removed. George didn't know the house and there was no sign of the owners. He wondered how Peter Mandelson came by it? what was in those boxes? and why there was a picture of him from twenty years ago, in his Bullingdon suit from that group photograph peeking out from beneath some other papers?
"Salvaged from Alastair's house. His kitchen fridge, to be precise." Peter said, peering over his shoulder. George then noticed all the other things laying around it. There were folders, books, receipts, and small knick-knacks that he had at first dismissed at part of the general mess of the room that on second look, he realised were everyday things that anyone might have placed in a house before packing it up in a hurry.
"We were all young once," Peter was saying, picking up the picture and wiping away the dust. "Though you don't look much changed after a quarter century. Anyone might suspect that you own a portrait in the attic.”
Boris gave a short laugh.
"You don't disagree, do you, Boris?" Peter said, sounding amused.
"There are worse deals," said Boris, pointedly. “But I’m not certain where we are at in the story if you want to make analogies. I should warn George to stay away from lords, or is it too late?”
George didn't follow the remark. "What happened?" he asked Peter.
"What? To Alastair? Nothing. He packed up and left long before anything happened, and is probably writing a novel somewhere beautifully scenic. Another thriller. " He sighed, as if wistful.
George hadn't thought about Alastair Campbell in a long time. After all, the man mattered less and less the longer the Conservatives in government. With a start, he realised that mob must've gone into his house as well. In their accounting, the list of government's crimes did not begin with the Coalition government. He had no particular liking for the man, but the house invasions were subject to universal hatred; those who spearheaded the movement had been pilloried even by their own.
Peter had his glasses in hand and had a corner of it in his mouth. Coupled with his reputation, it made him look sinister and he had encouraged the perception. "Well, gentlemen, I'm sure you're more interested in the future after David's war than the doings of my old friends,” he said.
The irony of the statement was striking. At that thought, George abandoned all thoughts of pity.
"David's war," Boris said, "is our war. This is merely the second conflict with the lords. I've always had great respect to our system but this time, they've gone too far."
"The lords, though no longer in government, are still British subjects," Peter followed, "with rights to protect their persons and property as far as the law allows."
"But their persons are absent and their security companies, I believe, have objectives other than to preserve their goods, lands et cetera."
"Yes, of course.” Peter had a hint of smile. “We do notice most of them are not in Ireland."
George narrowed his eyes, but it was Boris who seemed to take offense. "Now look here, Peter. It is of matter of fact that not a hundred miles from here, the Xe Services and good how many other so called private armies and security companies, are engaged in combat with our countrymen."
Peter looked unmoved. "Whatever the outcome, there will be casualties. The question is who will be responsible for the bloodshed? Will it be members of the dissolved house of the lords, the secretive current government, or the electorate you call the mob?"
And they had arrived at the crux of the matter: who will bear the blame? George hadn’t expect Peter to be so forthright. And there would be plenty of things for which justice would be expected, Peter Mandelson informed them. The courts would be tied up for decades to come if they attempt to solve it legally and he could see that the outcome could benefit neither the government nor the opposition. Britain could not be seen as a country that was scrabbling for power amidst rebuilding. It would be both uncivilized and undignified. The economic and social isolation of the United Kingdom during the floods had partly ensured its relatively stable survival and partly due to their Parliament-- he didn't say government. It was their job that the story Boris and he tells the world reminded them that British character and traditions were the cause.
Someone brought in the tea. It sat steeping in the pot, untouched; the steam curling and rising in the center of the table beside the lit candles.
"And," Peter added, "The government, I think, is losing the war, but we can't return to an anarchic state especially since the lords are not here."
George looked again at the footage playing on the screen of the laptop. The satellite link was dark but there were enough cameras on the ground that it was clear they were losing. He wondered if he would return to see the MPs being rounded up. The sky had darkened; the room had grown cold. From the corner of his eye, he saw Boris hair was glowing softly. Peter had picked up a strawberry from the plate was holding it toward the flame, as if examining it. Shadows waved around them both. Suppressing a shiver, "What do you want?" George asked finally.
"Nothing unreasonable," answered Peter Mandelson, turning to face him, and said, “All the storms’ are in the same teacup,” and the pinpoints of light in the perfect dark of his eyes vanished as a shadow briefly fell over them.
The largest gathering of mercenaries in England since the Norman Conquest stopped advancing 125km away from the seat of government. George shrugged off most of Boris’s commentaries on the way back and wished his hands would stop shaking.
-=-=
For two weeks, the offices of Downing Street could not sleep. News of the violence couldn’t be suppressed. Wolves at the door, the air was aflutter with rumours and speculations, but the entire Parliament, for once, held the same line.
Nick closed the blinds to block out the dawn and sat down in front of his desk staring at the new set of numbers that had appeared on his desk.
"The numbers are not going to change however long you stare at them," David said. Nick looked up, surprised. He hadn't heard the door open. "Believe me, I've tried," David sounded tired, "though you’re looking at a happier set than I’m accustomed.”
One hundred and forty-seven. Eighty. Sixty-three. Five.
"They're really leaving," said Nick. He hadn’t dared to sleep despite the all-clear.
“Yes, departed from our shores, never to return. They were only men doing their jobs,” David said, hollow-eyed, though Nick felt pinned by the gaze. “Convenient of them to only send foreign nationals. They can be prosecuted for illegal entry at least.” He waved a hand and said, “But we shall have that for later. For now, what are you willing to do?”
“Are you really asking?”
“I always ask,” David said, sitting down opposite him. “And I always mean my questions but this needs your support.”
“To hide it. Hide the fact that the foreigners who actually were invading us would be let off and the people who hired them rewarded.”
“There are no heroes and villains in the story, Nick. You should know that by now. If we can't stand together on this, it leaves the government vulnerable and no one needs to know.”
No one needs to know a lot of things in this government, Nick reflected. He didn't realise he had spoken it aloud until he saw David's expression.
“We have to support George.” David leaned across the table and looked at Nick a bit sadly, “At least, I have to, in this. For us.”
The Tory Prime-Minister could be obligated to support the deals of the Tory Chancellor brokered regardless of his own opinions to prevent undermining the authority of his leadership. And likewise, his Lib-Dem Deputy Prime-Minister of the Coalition had to do the same for the government though it would be against his own principles. Nick was familiar with the reasons, the arguments, and what came afterward. Though awarding contracts exclusively to firms backed by the former members of the House of Lords for the reconstruction - and Nick wasn't as naïve as to suppose that the lords weren't partially financed by the coterie of international bankers who had held the entire Britain ransom - could be arguably beneficial, the moral quality was dubious. There were too many deaths to be considered accidental. They had lost a war, though they could and would deny that one existed. Nick didn't agree with David that there could be no villains. Villainy was still possible.
Partly angry and frankly betrayed, at David for putting him into this situation again despite all his promises to the contrary and partly reassured because despite David's accusations, he was asking-
“We can't repeat history.” Nick shook his head. “I can't. If you-” He swallowed. “If you do intend for this Coalition to stand-”
“You know I do,” David interrupted fervently. “The Conservative party has changed under my leadership. They won't offer you as the sacrifice. I won't let them.“ This time, it went unsaid.
Recalling the comments he had heard before, Nick had his doubts but the efficiency of this society under David was startling. He had been an effective leader. It was Nick who was not. Nick started to wonder if it was the Coalition Government itself that David found important or merely himself. If he left- But of course he could not; that had been one of the first rules.
“British investments into British economy- there's nothing wrong with that,” David continued. “It is nothing different than what we all agreed to before. If the entire government could endorse the idea the whole thing would be buried and we're better off than before.”
“Though people died,” Nick said quietly. He realised he was going to trust in yet another one of David's promises.
“It is a very well-negotiated term of surrender,” David laughed and grasped Nick's hands. “Now I just have to convince the Leader of the Opposition.”
“But David,” Nick said, “I have not agreed to support it. I,” he forced his voice to remain calm and said, “I cannot. As you said, they are gone and will not return. George could promise whatever he likes to them, but those are still Conservative promises.” David inhaled sharply as Nick continued, “I will not oppose it in chamber. I have agreed to remain in government with you and so I will remain, but as part of a Coalition.” He hesitated, wanting to ask whether that was enough. He, like David, always meant his questions but, this time, he was afraid of the answer and remained silent.
-=-=
Ed Miliband’s private office was in a quiet side-street, the brick-walls climbing with ivy. David strolled in the front door, greeted the secretary with a nod and found Ed standing near the window, looking a bit lost. The curtains were open, but he only had a view of the fields.
“I hope you're doing better than me,” David said. “Nick's not pleased with me.”
Ed scoffed, turning around. He was looking only about as bad as all of them. A row of perfectly arranged rubik cubes sat on the windowsill. “Are you hoping that I would find you more pleasant?”
“A man can always hope,” David joked. “But if he's not on board with what we discussed earlier, I need to know where you are in this.”
“You know I can't divulge that,” Ed said, unapologetic. He didn't sit, so David remained standing as well. “Unless you're looking to change Coalition partner, but Labour-Tory would be unorthodox even by your standards. Is the reunited couple in trouble?”
“Nothing like that,” David said, quelling the sudden fear that rose at the question. He hadn't expected Nick's reluctance. Considered it, yes, but not expect it. “But as you know, the problem is the entire government. We've been so long cooped in here that if we're to bring our entire system forwards, we have to ensure that we don't forget anything. It's a bit like moving, we don't want to leave anything behind, however small.”
“Even sentimental things that would be worthless to anyone else.”
“Particular those,” David said.
Ed gave him an assessing look. “What do you want me to do? You are talking to the Opposition.”
“And I hope a friend,” David said, “who understands the same difficulties and necessities I face,” he smiled and said, “but who has different approach to them.”
“I told George when he first came back, before he gave the first speech on the budget” Ed said. David wasn't aware that George met with any of the current Labour members beyond the public and neither had told him. Then again, neither was obliged though it confused him. David didn't think Ed Miliband, of all people, would tell George that he had been removed as a matter of policy. Afterwards, George had accused everyone from OBR to Mandelson, not Labour. Guiltily, David recalled the accusations he had thrown at Nick. “I warned the chancellor that he can't depend Britain's recovery on individuals who are parties unto themselves, but he gave me the usual, still believing it's his best choice. Tories never learn, even from their own experiences. I'm not surprised that Nick said no. About time, I think.”
“You have ears everywhere,” David said, impressed but wary. The most recent conflict, despite the loss, had made one thing very clear- the people were very well-organized. If Ed was not the leader of the Opposition and as trapped in the system as he was, he really could suppose there was yet another so-called revolution brewing. “But the chancellor did and I think it is still better for both the government and the opposition to continue to hold the same line until we are certain that the state of Britain will survive. Then, of course, this arrangement can come to an end.”
“Like the arrangement you have with the Lib-Dems, David?”
“It's far too early to tell,” David said carefully.
“Perhaps Nick Clegg will complete his metamorphosis and finally fly away,” Ed mused.
David frowned. He didn't like being reminded of their wish for what they consider and even engineer into an eventuality. “Nick's a grown man and his own party-leader. He makes his own choices.”
Ed smiled. “Yes, choices to do a knight's tour, while you're all English.”
David's frown deepened. He was going to ask for clarification but then the PA came in and reminded Ed he had a prior appointment.
-=-=
"I wouldn't doubt the strength of your relationship with each other.”
George could stand it no longer. "What has he been telling you about us?"
Boris, startled, stared at him for a moment then shrugged. "There was Kassiopi," Boris reminded him quietly. "You know I'm not prejudiced. It doesn't matter to me either way."
"Kassiopi's a long time ago,” said George, confused. “Why should it matter now?”
Boris had been infuriatingly calm while George had been fretting. Lately, though backing his plans, David had been looking at him very oddly while Nick Clegg seemed openly hostile. And, judging by how gingerly they were talking around each other and their public disagreement with each other, George suspected that they had a row. He wasn't privy to the information but now that he knew what to look for, it was disturbing how obvious they were. Still, since they were only as obvious as they were before, no wonder David was confident that it could continue. George had no doubt that their affair was continuing and had shrugged off all suggestions to the contrary. If David had the good graces to back him up despite his obvious misgivings and the strain it placed on him and Nick, at least George could show the same loyalty.
He still didn't know what Boris knew. A moment ago, the man had gotten up, checked the latches on the windows, closed the curtains, and was now placing a chair under the door knob. George started to grow alarmed but then Boris came back and he looked serious, in his way.
"It's only a single battle, not the war. And even if David lost the war, we have not. If you will put away your prejudices. a return to status quo is best we can hope for,” he said.
"What are you saying?"
"Why do you think Peter Mandelson negotiated with you, other than your Dorian-Gray charms?”
“Guilt,” George nearly said, but his discretion got the better of him.
"The current New Labour doesn't like him," Boris said, then he lowered his voice. George wondered if he knew about the microphones. "But there's still David Miliband. He's been gone just long enough to return fresh from any associated wrongdoings by the government of the last three years, but experienced enough to engender a certain faith by the populace. All he needs is a good spin doctor and I do think he would be able to challenge his brother.”
George's mouth had fallen open. He closed it.
"George, if David's Coalition government doesn't succeed. We are here. There can still be a Tory government. The Coalition had been a compromise, not a necessity.”
That had certainly been the situation at first, but George knew that David would disagree now. But perhaps -
Boris was continuing, rather brazenly, “If Labour would be managed under a fresh leadership, then, too, perhaps should the Conservatives if it proves necessary.”
The naked ambition in the thought was exciting. George turned his mind carefully toward more pressing issues, like the fact that it wasn't the right time, surely. How many more years? came the treacherous thought. He hadn't indulged in the question in a long time. Boris was watching him. It was easy to discern the answer he expected, but giving it proved much more difficult and complicated.
At length, Boris said, “It would be much easier if Nick is a Tory.”
“Then there's no Coalition,” he said, suddenly wondering if Boris knew of David's predilection that George had found so startling. After all, they were at university together and George wasn't stupid to what Bullingdon could mean to different people.
“Exactly,” Boris said, seemingly satisfied. “It would be a Tory government, completely, and we would not have the trouble their lot is causing us now.”
Except, the Conservatives still couldn't be certain of a majority even with Nick Clegg. Part of his current appeal was that he was different. And with Nick Clegg's integrity compromised - he had protested too hard for his Lib-Dem virtues - and the Lib-Dem party alienated, it could easily guarantee a win for Labour which would ally with the betrayed Lib-Dems. David must've made all sorts of promises (again) for them to make it this far.
George couldn't help thinking that Boris thinking of his own ambitions.
“Have you told our David yet?”
“I'm telling you,” Boris observed shrewdly. “I don't know what's necessary to convince him either way.”
But unlike Boris, he knew exactly what was necessary.
-=-=
But once the cameras turned back on and towards government, the 24 hour media watch resumed as if it had never been interrupted and Nick and David, almost constantly surrounded by the ministers of their own parties, were as suddenly apart as if the Channel was still between them.
True to his word, Nick did not disagree with David in chamber, but stories of their disagreement via indiscreet remarks, accidentally disclosed memos, inventive journalistic techniques, trickled steadily into papers, tabloids and out the mouths of news anchors. His friction, and by extension, his party’s friction with the Tory majority government, became subject of public debate.
His aides bring in the news clippings every morning. Everyone had an opinion whether they liked or disliked him, liked or disliked Cameron, and, more importantly, whether the government, after so much secrecy, could be trusted. These opinions buried the more arcane economic details of Nick’s new appointment and responsibilities.
But the mood was one for peace. The critics were shushed. People who disliked the Tories preferred to preserve Nick’s story, only a little altered so that it was a journey of rebellion instead of redemption, and willingly weaved evidence of his friction with the Tory majority as proof of his non-complacency, his basic decency.
The support for Nick worried the older Conservatives, constantly anxious about a mass defection and set against any change by the Lib-Dems. Then David confessed, very quietly, in midst of a rambling explanation in the toilets, the tap still running, that Nick was right and that he hoped that he could be forgiven for his high-handedness.
Nick listened, allowed his frustration to run, quoted Mill’s “On Liberty” in midst of it, then stared at the earnest face opposite him, quite helpless. He swallowed, looked down, unseeing, and looked up and met David's eyes with a look that he intended, and did, quicken both of their breathing. Inappropriateness be damned. He had missed him.
“They’ll be looking for us-” David said tightly, as if the words were strangled out of him.
“They are not,” Nick said. The tense was important.
Nick watched David take in their surroundings. He started to withdraw, but then David’s eyes darkened and one hot hand curled around his wrist.
“Just like old times,” he said and pushed a cubicle door open.
Nick couldn’t help but laugh, muffling the sound against David’s shoulder. They had very little time alone, and the space was very small, which might’ve prompted queries of mechanics, but they had learned the answers to those questions very early.
The soft questions launched by the Opposition at the PMQs proved far more disturbing. After the third week, though buoyed by the confidence that the reconstructing and restructuring programmes and schemes were all going at the expected pace, Nick expressed suspicion at the lack of challenge at Cabinet.
Across from the table, David said that it meant their briefings were working. To Nick’s surprise, beside him, George disagreed, which somehow morphed to vaguely agreeing when it became apparent that the other Conservatives were adamant in their consensus that Labour was flailing.
Their certainty was based on their uncertainty at their Coalition partner's loyalty; they were trying to be convincing. Following Nick's example, Lib-Dem ministers had leveraged the Tory uncertainty to push forward agendas that had been previously dismissed. Thus, they were, in contrast, much more objective and suspicious regarding Labour's sudden fatigue, but they were also few in number and suddenly feeling like the outsiders again despite being in government.
Whatever talks with Labour had stopped, quite abruptly, Nick learned, to the relief of some and the obvious distress of others. Vince was unhappy and constantly looking outside the window at the Lib-Dem meetings. It was difficult not to notice when he looked up at the sky six times in a ten minute conversation. He seemed to be making it a pointed habit; more alarmingly, others followed it. Nick didn't know if they were expecting a change of weather or appealing to it. When he finally asked, catching Ed Davey after another disconcerting round of DPMQ, he told Nick that he was looking for planes.
“We're reopening the airports and I keep expecting more people to come back.” He paused then said, “We are on a flight route.”
It seemed reasonable enough. The police had returned to guard the frontsteps of Number 10. There had been a return of doorstop photo-ops, but Nick suspected that he was talking about specific people and asked as much.
“Everyone.” There was an odd despair on Ed’s face. “Otherwise there would be no point to all this.”
He had been one of those on the negotiating team, following Vince, but Nick wondered if he had genuinely approved of that alliance or it was merely out of resentment against him. He wondered still how many of his own MPs distrusted his leadership or even his convictions. And yet, they were to define new borders to the constituencies. It would be a reform act with Lib-Dem principles, he reminded Ed, but he still looked despondent. It was unsettling, but then, most things were.
-=-=
David paced in his office, suddenly indecisive.
“You should turn on the lights,” said George, feet still against the table.
“And perhaps open the curtains as well so all our colleagues passing by can form their own conspiracy theories,” David threw back, but he stopped and leaned against the wall instead after switching on the desk lamp. The darkness was becoming oppressive.
“All I’m saying is that when we announce this policy, there will be inevitable questions from the Treasury and since I’m signing off on it, there is no need for a full disclosure. The vaults in Switzerland have not been compromised; there is no need to default on loans. We are still able to draw on it should anyone-”
“Nick should see it,” David said, more firmly this time. “He would have a better idea of the implications should be there a transfer the money from abroad, despite the Hoares being a British bank.”
“The whole point is for the Lib-Dems not to have warning.” George was clearly exasperated, then he said, in what was distinctively sarcastic manner, “But I forget sometimes that Nick is now in a different category-” David made a warning gesture, but George continued, “that his walking tour of the continent has now made him an expert on international finances though he is disagreeing with us on every turn. I’m surprised Vince hasn’t resigned given his leader’s new appointment.”
David thought he had heard the phrase somewhere before, but it was late, they were both harried, and George was being obnoxious. “It is his right as my deputy to know the policy announcements before they are announced,” he said. “And the right of the Lib-Dems to disagree if they like.”
George eyed David, “Most people are capable of separating their private and political lives.”
The Coalition was doing what it was suppose to do and what it never did when it was first in place: appealing successfully to the voter base of both parties; everyone found something they liked and dismissed those policies or people they didn’t like as inevitable compromises. The Coalition Government, this government, was the majority government both by law and by fact. Nick’s latest role was significant, but David couldn’t say that aloud. In a world with no privacy, a reaffirmation of a private agreement, for all its political nature, seemed too precious for exposure.
“I’m sorry, George, but I can’t.” David spread his hands. “He will have to know and if we are challenged on it, so be it. We just have to make sure it is an internal conflict, opaque to the press.”
“Hah!” George set his feet on the ground. “I think you are living in a fantasy, David. We can trust individuals like Nick because we know him, but an entire party of strangers? A significant proportion of the voting population, many of whom threatened to secede in recent memory? You know the Opposition is just waiting to pounce if any Lib-Dem MP decided to remind everyone about the last round of spending cuts and divulge what happened to it.”
“They are not strangers to me,” David said with meaning. “And the Opposition will not pounce?”
“How do you know?”
Realising his mistake, David placated. “Because you will make sure they have no opportunity and this fantasy, you see, is actually reality. It is a matter of perception.”
-=-=
In George Osborne's mind, the thoughtlessness of which David and Nick conducted their affair bordered insanity. He had told no one. He wondered if everyone knew anyways and, after the revelation, was preserving it like an odd souvenir.
All government have their secrets, their number probably tallied only into the average. Nonetheless, he didn't need to be coached in basic politics to know that the absence of scandals only meant the next one would make up in magnitude the current lack in number. Food, clothes, shelter, optimistic future- now all they need was entertainment. Even if the matter of politics had regained some of its former dignity, politicians were another matter.
He had thought to mention it, and after he was informed that PMQ was trending on twitter as Prime Minister’s Quips, at the end of Cabinet, George recommended that David perhaps should tone down on the jokes.
“It’s effective,” said David, always quick on the defense. “And people like them.”
He was convinced, but George was less certain and judging by the pained look on Nick’s face, he wasn’t the only one. “But it is not putting forward our agenda and policies,” he argued, hoping for some help.
“Listen to him,” Nick said before he left the room, but George thought he sounded as if all his arguments had been to no avail.
“Our agendas are being put in place regardless,” David said lightly.
And George had to fall silent. He would’ve remained silent had not sitting in 1922 Committee meetings been such a disconcerting experience. “It is not conveying enough authority,” he dared.
“For whom?”
“For anyone,” George replied, frustrated. “This government needs to provide a strong leadership.”
“This government has,” David said sharply, “and is continuing to provide leadership.”
“What about party leadership?” George couldn’t help asking. Boris had many friends, many enemies, and a discombobulating manner that he knew was useful but now found dangerous because it was directed toward himself. He found himself suddenly unable to know what he wanted- merely government or, especially given the recent events, a completely Tory government.
The question made David pause. He looked, all of a sudden, guarded and dangerous at the same time. “You do want to be party leader, then?” he said quietly. “I know you have waited for a long time.”
“I’m not going to jump the queue,” George tried to reassure his friend, “but there might be others.” Boris Johnson for one, he thought, but didn’t bring up the name. Boris’ dilemma, he knew, was worse than his own. Boris would have a safe-seat, but only at the expense of upsetting established arrangements in which he had played no part. If George arranged for a leadership contest which he could win, then it meant a reshuffle at the highest level.
“Everyone in government is here for the long haul,” David explained, relaxing a little. “No matter what they say, it is very much like school. We are away from our families whom we miss and yet whose presence are impossible. Sometimes, we wonder if they have forgotten us. But the importance thing is just have to keep a goal in mind. And I think you will find that this commitment is often very difficult for people.” He hesitated then spoke as if telling some awful secret, “Sometimes, they can become confused. So you see, it is very important that we are here, together.”
“Here then,” said George, smiling, but he felt he had been ambushed. I still know about you and Nick, George thought, but even that seemed useless. They knew too much about each other. And he had heard the point: David was making it clear that he was replaceable except that he, David, would not replace him. Going to war against him would only benefit others. As always, the threat and flattery came all at once.
-=-=
“So who won?” Nick asked, heartsick as he listened to his sons argue first in Spanish, then in English, before finally answering about the first Real Madrid game in a mixture of both.
He was a man divided many times, with an aptitude for containing multitudes that he hadn’t realised until he had to draw upon the talent, if it could be called such. He realised now Miriam knew when she saw him in Brussels and that was why she had been so insistent and later, so defeated. His heart still twinged at the memory. Back then, and indeed, for a very long time afterwards, he still thought they could reunite as a family. Delusions and fantasies both. Or perhaps, merely a lack of forethought and perception. Why should their stability be upset by, this time, not from exigencies but by his own wilful shiftlessness? At least there would be summers, he thought, actual summer holidays, as the call ended and he reviewed the parliamentary schedule again.
His atheism didn’t incline for him to believe in miracles, but he understood the desire and wished for one nonetheless- that villages, towns, cities, and lives could be rebuild in a day. Even Job had surely had times of doubt when he planted the first field, put up the first beam, or met a woman he was fond of for the first time after his suffering finally ended. Or perhaps he hadn’t, as that had rather been the point, faith in some invisible ultimately benevolent force.
Nick sighed, glancing inadvertently at the window. A thick dark cloud had covered the sky,the light muted, rendering even the trees into a sort of grimy relief. His office smelled of paper, sweat, and stale coffee. There was an itch under his skin. He craved a cigarette. To his surprise, he encountered George when he emerged from his office.
“I will be frank with you here,” George said without preamble, seemingly to have decided to walk with him, “but I think you’re onto something when you said the Opposition has been entirely too quiet. They must be plotting again.”
“I have had this conversation,” Nick interrupted impatiently. “It wasn’t not the Labour party.”
“I know,” George said, surprising him. “It’s both parties. Rather, it’s not parties, it’s people, though of course primarily Labour."
“I see.”
“But it was very elaborate,” George laughed a little. “And they still haven’t brought down the government. In fact, that couldn’t have been the point at all. That was what Peter was trying to tell me.” He brought up one hand against his chest and rubbed at his wrist absently. Nick couldn’t help drawing his eyes to the motion, though his mind resolutely refrained from seeing what it revealed. “That was why he was so alarmed about you. He hadn’t expected you.”
“It’s far too complicated,” Nick said, agreeing, slowing his steps, trying to think back to that day in Brussels. He hadn’t expected Peter Mandelson either, or George Osborne. Were they colluding the whole time?
“And then David is convinced that you are in-” George paused, grimacing, evidently searching for a word, “agreement.”
There were people passing them. Nick couldn't help feeling he was speaking in some sort of code. “We are,” he admitted, uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more quietly?” he suggested.
“Oh God, no,” George said, matter of in fact, “David will know.” He followed this remarkable statement by asking Nick if David had ever threatened him, apart from the premiership. “He doesn’t have to, usually, of course. He knows how to bide his time. We all do. More importantly, we know when to wait.”
They would’ve been old men otherwise. Timing was half of politics. That the Opposition was waiting Nick had suspected. The thought that David, too, was still waiting, drifted across Nick’s mind. David said he had been waiting for him, but Nick had returned. Surely they were all merely waiting for the Normalcy that would come after the reconstruction.
“What do you think he’s waiting for?” he asked. George clearly had a point to make.
George said, “David made sure I understood that I would never be able to win a leadership contest against him.” He sounded almost bitter, “And he’s right, not without everything coming out of the dark and I don’t think we are ready to dismantle the Conservative party.”
And so you are doing me a favour, Nick understood, acutely aware of how tenuous all of their positions were, maintained in a dangerous balance. Lib-Dems, as a party, might resent him for falling into the sway of the Conservatives, but George definitely did begrudge him of his influence over David.
And yet, his question was going unanswered. George seemed to regret bringing up the topic at all and was now wrapped in some internal debate. But Nick, against himself, was in suspense. “What is David waiting for?” he repeated.
At length, George said, “In the last three years, while you and I have been away, the Commons functioned as it always have, except for the matter that the entire political system is closed.”
As far as Nick was concerned, the political system had always been closed, divided between the two major parties until David and he reached across party lines. The critics of the Coalition, too, had decried the insularity of the members of government: public school boys and millionaires. He failed to get the significance, but for George Osborne, who had always been within the circle whenever there was one, perhaps the experience was novel enough to be disconcerting.
“You are not following, Nick,” George said. “The Opposition is suppose to challenge the Government, the leaders of either party are suppose to be held accountable to their party whose members are dynamic, but they lived in an enclosure, so instead of parties and party leaders being checked and balanced against each other, they have reached an ultimate equilibrium. David and Ed Miliband’s leaderships are undisputed and unquestioned.”
“That’s absurd,” Nick couldn’t help saying, affronted, “it was a national emergency. You’ve read the Hansard. You know the policies. They were making sure that the government remained. You just can’t take everything for granted, just because you were not subject to-” as he gestured, his hand hit a vase. It wobbled dangerously for a moment, breaking the flow of his words. “It’s not all just politics. You weren’t there. The uncertainties...” He couldn’t continue, unwilling to remember, and knowing that he couldn’t explain even if he did. Even now, alone in the dark, he could still hear the panic and the violence. Sometimes, guiltily, he was glad that Number Ten would never emerge from the waters.
“No, I wasn’t, not for all of it,” George was undeterred, the inflection of disapproval evident, “but you’re right, I did read the Hansard and everything remained the same except for the matter that the Opposition and the Government had never been so cooperative. It’s one thing to know, intellectually, that ideologies tend to converge to the center and election strategies need to be planned accordingly. It’s another to see ideologies actually converge in practice. Everything must have been easier before we came back and now, they’re again.” They went through the door to the back garden. George collapsed onto one of the chairs. “The field is theirs, we’re still pawns.”
Nick thought: and you hate the feeling, that was why you sought me, hoping for sympathy or-
“You asked me what David was waiting for. You would like to think he waited for you, Penelope for Odysseus, if you like. He would probably even admit to it, but they were all waiting. When it comes down to it, they were all Telemachi at home, helpless. And in interim, he and Edward Miliband have worked out a system where the House, the debates, the questions, are mere formality. They are dividing Britain between them and waiting for the Act of Parliament of the new boundaries to be formally declared.” George directed his conclusion the tabletop, “It’s a very long game they’re playing.”
It was just as well, Nick had never liked the Homeric analogy. They all suffer in the comparison. George was mistaken and furthermore, surely he had chosen the wrong audience. He must know that Nick would never side with him against David, especially if the perceived hurt was the Tory ideology. As for Edward Miliband- there would’ve been no need for the promise between David and him then. Nick couldn’t believe that David was that great of an actor. In fact, he knew he wasn’t.
“We can’t know that now.” The other man was rubbing at his wrist again. “It’s too late to find out what happened. Ed Miliband is impossible to talk to without arousing suspicion and David already made his position clear.”
“Exactly, you can’t know,” Nick said, emphatic. The deterioration of David and George’s relationship was none of his business. George’s personal ambitions even less so. He saw no reason to enlighten him regarding the extent of David and his ”agreement”. “Unless you can time travel,” he added facetiously, wishing a little that was what he could do, except into the future.
“No.”
George looked pensive, but Nick got the feeling that it was not an entirely honest answer. It was a ridiculous idea, but George projected an aura of, not exactly dishonesty, but someone who had truth moulded and shaped to be used as a very effective weapon.
“And the worst thing is, Nick, at this point I no longer care as long as everything and everyone comes back. I thought you might be tired of playing the puppet, regardless what you think you might feel or how much you enjoy David’s attentions, he’s not-” George stopped, evidently deciding that he had said too much. “What will you do for Christmas this year?”
“Your family-- “ This time, Nick stopped himself. There were ghosts all around them. Everyone’s circumstance was his own. Even for a change for a topic, it was better not to press.
“Have you noticed, Nick, that there are no children?” George said, already distracted.
“We evacuated them,” Nick answered automatically.
“But where did they go?” George asked wearily, standing.
“With their families, whereever they could,” Nick said, growing worried.
“There are no graves either,” David said, coming up behind them. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I better go.” George sent Nick an indecipherable look then turned to David. “Nick agrees with me that the Opposition hasn’t been as effective as they should be.”
“Fortunately for us,” David said amiably as George threw up his hands and left.
“It is good of him to talk to you about it,” David had a cup of tea in hand. “You look like you’re dying for a fag.”
“That obvious?” Nick brought up a cigarette to his lips. Wordlessly, David put down his cup, drew out a light from his pocket and lit it for him, The flare of flame wavered, Nick’s hand reached up and curved around David's against the wind.
“I saw you from the balcony,” David said, “I wish you actually quit. This ruins your lungs,” he complained as usual, letting Nick’s hand linger before removing his.
“I’m rationing. So you did expect to see us here.” Nick inhaled, ruining his lungs and settling his nerves with one breath.
“No, I came to find you,” David said. “Did George tell you about the Swiss investments?”
“No,” Nick said. “I thought the Treasury couldn’t get them back.”
“Apparently we can. For the first time in history, probably, the Swiss are unfreezing funds and releasing them. It’s still all there and viable. Some of it even fungible. He wants to use them for the budget.”
“And hope no one looks too closely at the numbers?”
“The Lib-Dems will be briefed, but certainly not the press. Can you imagine the chaos? It’ll be time and distractions Britain can’t afford to waste. Everyone will be on the look out for government’s hidden treasures and secret accounts. I can see the headlines,” David said, “and feel the headaches, too.”
“Yes, keep the disagreements amongst ourselves this time.” Nick considered it possible.
“You don’t think the European group else will give us trouble?”
“There’s no reason,” Nick replied. “The Lords got what they wanted. The last thing the bankers want would be for us to not use it and let it sit. Are you sure Labour is not keeping an account of their own?”
“They probably are,” David admitted, “but we need it for the balance sheet and they would like the idea on principle, they’ve been on it for long enough.”
“I thought we are not practising Keynesian economics?” It would be like another round of quantitative easing, injecting liquid asset into the economy, reviving people’s comfort in spending rather than that they still need to hoard for difficult days ahead. The dangers of inflation was still present, but they had already suffered the alternative and with the Euro in place, Britain won’t shoulder the impact alone.
“Practical needs must. ” David said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And end justifies the means for you, I suppose. For George, too. It was his idea.”
He didn’t ask what Nick and George spoke about and Nick didn’t volunteer. George had said nothing he didn’t know before. David Cameron was a dangerous man, but so were they all, when it comes down to it.
“George doesn’t know,” Nick said, “about our agreement.”
“He can probably guess,” David said calmly. “You needn’t stare at me like that. We know each other, even if you caught him by surprise. He’s been a politician for most of his life and now Boris is back, probably talking about Coalition being unnecessary, but I wish he wouldn’t do this. I need you all.” David smiled. “The government would only function if the people who formed it remain.”
“Perhaps you should tell him,” Nick suggested, disturbed. If even David admitted that George could intuit the extent of their relationship, it cast a rather more sinister light on the conversation he just had. Perhaps it was more than simple discomfort, George really must’ve been desperate and even earnest. Nevertheless, there was also the notable absence of mention of the accounts. “He seems a bit upset.”
The smile disappeared. “He didn’t choose to come back.” David said wistfully. “Not really.”
There was no accusation, but Nick wondered at himself, “I brought him back, without asking.” So much for the Liberal conscience. He had only thought of the politician, not the man.
But David shook his head. “You hardly had him in chains. He could’ve left. If Labour could import their spin doctors in, he could’ve got out. He could’ve destroyed us. He can do so even now, but he won’t.” There was something bitter despite the reassurance. “We all question our sacrifices sometimes.”
Except they were who they were, they would always come back to the same answer, and David was a man who got his own way. Nick, so long in the Tory Prime Minister’s orbit before the floods, already knew all the dangers he presented without George’s warnings. “But we get a lot out of it.” It wasn’t cynicism. It was never about a balance sheet of pros and cons for him and he must believe the same of David Cameron and even of George Osborne.
It was perhaps inadvisable for him to remain when he had been offered the alternative but Nick possessed a certainty of himself, in his own influence over the course of history. Atheists and the irreligious did not have crises of faith. There was no eternity. They couldn’t afford the time.
-=-=
Chapter 8: turning and turning