I slam the door shut and gasp at the driver. “Go!”
One reporter runs after us as the taxi pulls away.
I bend over and put my face between my knees to avoid the cameras.
“Are you a marriage breaker, Alice?” He shouts, running on the street.
“It’s not true, it’s not true. There’s nothing to break,” I whisper to my knees. “He’s not cheating.”
My knees listen but don’t answer.
“Where to, love?” The taxi driver asks forcing me to lift my head a couple of inches and peek through the window. We’re free of the reporters at last. I give him my address and sit up, allowing myself to breathe.
The reprieve is a short one. As soon as the cab rounds the corner into Vauxhall Cross, we see them – another gaggle of reporters and cameras cluster around the entrance to my building. Jesus how did they know? Clearly, they’re not as stupid as their questions. They’ve worked out that if I left the House of Commons, I’d be going come.
Once again, my head down on my knees, “Can you drive round into the supermarket, please, to the underground car park?”
There’s a service entrance in the car park that leads into my block of flats. Mercifully, it’s clear. The cab pulls over; the meter reads £12.80; I rummage in my bag, find a £20. and give it to him. “Keep the change.”
Chapter two
Alice
Two hours later, standing in my stockinged feet, I gaze out of my twenty-second-floor window. If there are any reporters not camped outside my building, then they’re probably trying to call me. Both my work and personal iPhones lie on the table, both of them switched to Do Not Disturb. My family and Clive are the only numbers allowed to come through, but he hasn’t called yet.
He’s probably having to be careful in case his phone – or mine – are hacked. It wasn’t so long agoThe News of the Worldwas forced to close for just such a hacking.
The TV drones on in the background, repeating different versions of my own story. The reporter who broke the news is being interviewed. Unable to stop myself, I watch. Apparently, he spotted us together coming out of a wine shop in Plymouth and decided to follow a hunch.
I drop my head into my hands.
That bloody wine!
It was my fault. Clive suggested we order room service, but I wanted something special to celebrate. Clive, sweet loving man that he is, insisted on paying the £50 for the Saint-Émilion red. Today, he’s going to pay again. That bottle of wine is going to cost us both a lot more than £50.
The television camera zooms in on an identical bottle in the studio while the presenter jokes, “Well clearly, this was no ordinary working evening, not with a £50 wine.” They all titter.
My phone rings and I leap on it. But it’s not Clive, it’s my sister. I am tempted to ignore the call. “Hi.” I answer sounding scared even to my own ears
She’s worried of course, and I do my best to reassure her.
“No, he didn’t lie to me.” I say for the umpteenth time.
“Alice, sweetheart, I know you love him. We all liked him. But he wouldn’t be the first married man to use the old lie about my marriage is over, then go home to his wife.”
I take a deep breath; this is not going to be easy, or fast. The clock in the corner of the TV screen says, 11:25, the disability debate starts in five minutes.
“You say they’re separated, but are they really? Does his wife know their marriage is over? Has he moved out of the marital home? The marital bed?”
“They’ve lived in different homes for four years. Everyone knows this. His wife only ever appeared when they had to campaign for his seat in the by-elections two years ago, when they had to look like the perfect power couple for the press. And everyone in Parliament knows about our relationship.”
“Yes, but politicians are all liars, I bet half of them are having affairs and covering for one another.”
“Even Sir Alan, her father? For God’s sake, we have dinner with him once a month. He knows we’re in love and it’s serious.”
“Then why hasn’t he divorced his wife? I mean you’ve been together for a year.”
I sigh. My sister is loving and generous, and she cares about me, but she doesn’t understand the world of politics. “Because there’s an election coming up next year. You know what would have happened if they’d started divorce proceedings now, it would becometheissue instead of his work. We were waiting until after the elections next year to before breaking the story.”
