45
Corrine
‘Have you seen the news yet?’ Yan texted.
‘No, why?’ Corrine typed as she made her way from her car and back into the house.
‘It’s Harrison. Look online. You can’t miss her. She’s everywhere.’
A knot appeared in Corrine’s stomach as she closed the door behind her and hurried to the kitchen. She opened the ITV News App and the MP was the lead story, alongside a video clip. Corrine recognized the location. Harrison had held a news conference on the steps leading into her New Northampton apartment block where she lived alone when working in the constituency. The rest of her time was spent in London with her family. For this performance, though, her husband, daughter and son were also in shot, standing either side, looking every bit as sombre as their matriarch.
Corrine squinted as she took in the woman’s appearance. The front left-hand side of Harrison’s forehead was bandaged, there was a plaster across her nose and both eyes were bruised. There was also visible bruising around her throat as if she had been choked. When she opened her mouth, one of her central incisors was missing.
‘What on earth have you done to yourself?’ Corrine said aloud. Harrison had sustained only one of those injuries before she was knocked unconscious to the floor. She could only assume the rest were feigned for the benefit of the cameras.
‘I have been the victim of a domestic terrorist attack,’ Harrison began. ‘Recently, a man appeared at my front door carrying a parcel requiring a signature. When I opened it, he punched me in the face. As I fell to the floor, he repeatedly kicked and hit me, yelling that he was doing this for Freedom for All. His goal was to intimidate me into turning against my party and my beliefs and to end my support of the Sanctity of Marriage Act. It was then that I fell unconscious.’
A pregnant pause followed as her husband moved to clasp her hand in a choreographed movement. Next it was her daughter’s turn to hold her mother’s arm a little tighter. Her son remained stationary.
‘Do not let Freedom for All fool you,’ Harrison warned. ‘It masquerades as a noble cause, giving a voice to the minority. But, in truth, it is not a political party. It is an extremist organization made up of deceitful, vengeful voices who have built nothing but want to tear down everything. They targeted Jem Jones and sent her to her death. And now they are launching violent attacks against women like me. They want to uproot what the majority of our country voted for in the last election, they have no respect for the opinions of others because they are set on punishing anyone who doesn’t fall into line with their beliefs. But I am not a woman who kowtows, even if it means I face further brutal assaults. Millions of people are reaping the rewards of the Marriage Act andtheyare who I represent. I am proud of what we have accomplished and what we will go on to achieve. And if you love our country, then you will feel exactly the same as I do. My family and yours will never be safe in a world where Freedom for All exists.’
Harrison ignored journalists’ questions and returned to the apartment lobby with her family, ensuring she paused first behind the glass doors for photographers to snap her husband drawing her head to his shoulder and planting a kiss on the crown.
Corrine was speechless. Almost everything the MP had said was a lie, including her injuries. But without putting herself in the firing line, Corrine was unable to offer a public counter.
‘What are you watching?’ her eldest daughter Freya asked as she appeared from the garden and peered over her shoulder. The clip automatically replayed. ‘Ooh, Will doesn’t look very happy to be there,’ she added and moved towards the fridge.
‘Who’s Will?’
‘That MP’s son. He’s in a couple of my art history lectures at uni. Nice guy, not like his mum by all accounts. Do we have any hummus?’
‘Second shelf down next to the carrot sticks. Why, what have you heard about her?’
‘He rarely mentions her as they had some massive falling out, but rumour has it they have an agreement. She pays his tuition fees and he shows up when she needs to wheel the family out for public events.’
Corrine didn’t have the opportunity to ask anything else before the kitchen door swung open. Mother and daughter turned to find a red-faced Mitchell.
‘Can you give us a moment,’ he growled at Freya.
She shrugged, offered her mum a ‘Good luck’ eyebrow raise, and left with a plate of snacks.
Mitchell closed the door behind her and waited until he heard her footsteps climbing the stairs.
‘What the hell is this?’ he continued, thrusting a tablet towards his wife’s face.
‘It looks like an iPad. Why, what do you think it is?’
‘This legal document bullshit from your lawyer claiming you’re applying for a fast-track Level Three divorce “on the grounds of domestic abuse”.’
‘If you already know, why are you asking me?’
‘I have never laid a finger on you in twenty-five years of marriage.’
‘Haven’t you?’ asked Corrine with mock innocence.
‘You know fine well I haven’t!’
‘Well, I have date-stamped photographic evidence that I’ve twice been injured and, to the best of my recollection, you were the cause.’
