Weeks in Naviras by Chris Wimpress Read Free Book Online

yelling it at him since he’d been home secretary. Weak, weak, weak . So unoriginal, and James knew he just had to bulldoze over the jeers, preferably without needing the Speaker to stick up for him. ‘The party opposite seems to forget how the public gave its verdict on them just two years ago,’ He bellowed at them. ‘His party asked for power back. And what did the public say?’
    He turned around to his own backbenchers and many of them yelled ‘No,’ in unison. Some of the Tories were slapping their thighs in affected hilarity. I noticed Oliver Drake, sitting quite inconspicuously on the under-used government benches in the very corner of the chamber. The old PM, latest in a long line of political failures who’d not even managed to last five years. I think he might have gone on to be one of the better leaders of recent times, had the brownouts not come so suddenly and severely.
    I’d been supportive of him; so had James, at least initially. In the final weeks of crisis I’d occasionally looked into Oliver Drake’s eyes and seen what he’d wanted. A statue of himself in Parliament, right opposite Thatcher. Or maybe even outside Parliament in the square.
    Deep down he knew that was improbable, if not impossible, the previous six months had been horrific for him, and for his wife, come to think of it. For the first time since he’d taken charge those truly awful things happened. The four day week was obviously devastating, but I think most people accepted the blame fell on previous administrations. A generational cock-up. I’d seen him quite randomly at a reception the day after the announcement, walking down the corridor and looking terrible, surrounded by his people. He didn’t stop to say hello to anyone. You could almost see the weight on his shoulders, which seemed to curve inwards near his neck.
    Drake assumed that because most of the Cabinet were relative newbies he could throw his weight around, but by that point James and the other leadership contenders had all been in play for a few years. They had their own views and exercised them through leaks and briefings. Drake very quickly lost control. Over the course of six months the mutiny intensified. I knew James and the Foreign Secretary had been talking a lot outside of Cabinet, they often called each other late at night. But other than that, it was hard to be definite. Until James entered Downing Street, I didn’t have anyone who could find things out for me. Once I had Anushka that started to change.
    I’d zoned out of the debate for a while, probably because I already knew what the outcome would be. Everyone did. Labour didn’t have the votes to bring down the government and they knew that. I think they wanted to blood James in his first week in office, see if any backbench Tory dissent could be smoked out. It didn’t happen. When the vote finally came at 10 o’clock, the government won by eleven votes. Easy-peasy, every Tory had voted the right way.
    Immediately the chamber emptied, as did the galleries. I felt lost for a second and sent James a message asking him where he’d be. He didn’t respond immediately but I knew exactly where his new office was, I’d been there a few times before when it had belonged to Oliver Drake - no; not belonged to, merely had been occupied by. I told Anushka to go home, leaving me to walk alone through the corridors that surrounded the chamber, lined with mostly unread books and files. As I turned around the corner I almost bumped into Liz Brickman, who had her back to me. I said sorry and she turned around.
    ‘Congratulations, Ellie,’ she said. ‘You must be glad tonight’s over.’
    ‘Well there’ll be more nights like this, I’m sure,’ I replied. It was difficult to talk to Liz, anything I said might be misconstrued. ‘What’re you doing back here?’
    She narrowed her eyes, shamelessly. ‘Trying to see who goes in and out of your husband’s new office, of course. Everyone knows he’s