Oh God, thinks Serena, he’s not going to draw the parallel, surely he isn’t …
‘And these representations of mythical heroism make me think of our own modern-day heroes. The men and women we have gathered here to celebrate who, in courageous service to our country, faced down danger and returned home with life-changing injuries. And yet, like these statues, they have forged their strength because of what they’ve been through, not in spite of. What an honour it is tonight to be in their presence.’
Another smattering of applause. Next to her, Richard Take starts coughing. She glares at him, then passes him one of the glass bottles of water from the centre of the table.
‘And because I want to keep the focus of tonight on our incredible servicemen and women, I’d like to take a moment here to address the rumours that have been swirling around today …’
What rumours? Serena thinks. For a moment she wonders if he’s been caught shagging an intern. But surely he wouldn’t talk about that here? She swivels in her chair, frantically trying to find an answer in the crowd but all she can see are laughing faces and hefty pink flower arrangements – too big, really, for the centrepiece – and all the while Ben is talking about ‘not believing everything you read in the papers’ and then – out of the murk of people, she alights on Jarvis. He is smiling as he watches Ben on stage, reclining in his seat with one arm looped nonchalantly over the back, his jacket flapping open to reveal a burgundy cummerbund straining to contain his belly. Burgundy, she thinks, how tacky. And then: he knows. Whatever it is Ben is about to say, Jarvis knows and she doesn’t. She feels foolish. It was always going to be the two of them, standing shoulder to shoulder, swapping jobs, money, anecdotes and now even her.
‘So let me put a stop to the speculation right here, right now,’ Ben is saying. ‘This morning, I had a constructive talk with my friend and colleague, our Prime Minister, Edward Buller. He confided to me hisdecision to step down as the leader of our great Conservative Party and asked if I would consider standing. It’s my great pleasure to announce that I am, indeed, standing for election to leadership of a party it is my privilege to serve.’
Cheers from the audience. A single wolf whistle. More clapping.
‘And I’m delighted to say that I can already count on the support of a man who has worked alongside me in many capacities over the years. He knows the grit it takes to keep going, deeply understands the needs of the electorate and, I’m proud to say, he also holds his hands up when he gets it wrong, and comes back even stronger – a unique skill among the political classes, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
Polite, knowing laughter.
‘He’s here tonight. Please, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the stage my first backer, and, I hope, part of the dream ticket to ensure our country gets the leadership it deserves – Richard Take.’
Richard Take is standing now, buttoning his jacket over his ludicrous turtleneck, smiling and nodding and nodding and smiling and even waving to unidentified members of the audience as though walking through his own ticker-tape parade. He strides onto the stage and shakes Ben’s hand. Ben – in a move that will be much remarked upon in the next day’s newspapers as ushering in a new era of male emotional acuity in politics – brings Richard in for a prolonged bear hug, slapping him chummily on the back. All around Serena, people take out their phones to film videos and upload Instagram Stories and tweets to show that they, too, were there when this thing – this potentially momentous or perhaps not at all important but either way still a thing – happened.
In the ensuing babble of congratulation, Serena is unmoored. Standing for leadership? And with Richard Take, of all people! The unanswered texts finally make sense, but still – he could surely have found an opportunity to let her know? They’ve spoken about Ben’s desire for leadership a lot over the years and she has always been supportive of his ambition. But the fact that he didn’t make it an absolute priority to inform her told her that she wasn’t important enough tofactor into his decisions, either because he knew she’d go along with it or because it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t. The worst of it is, he’s right. She doesn’t want to divorce him. Ben gives her a comfortable life and social standing and she loves her children. Dragging it all through the courts would be protracted and embarrassing, with no guarantee that she’d get a financial settlement equal to what she deserved. Divorce was for oligarchs and soap stars, not for her.
So she makes a choice. Serena smoothes down her dress and begins to clap like the rest of them, a breezily proud smile on her face. It’s only when she looks to her side that she notices one person refusing to join in with the applause. Martin Gilmour has remained seated. Interesting, she thinks. Perhaps he hasn’t been as forgiving of past indiscretions as Ben would like to believe. She scans the crowd before letting her eyes rest on the plinth, half in shadow now, where Judith holds the knife aloft, the moment of final reckoning caught in stone. The twisted head of Holofernes looks blindly out into the darkness, strands of his hair casting shadows over the tiled floor.
VIII.
Richard
MICKEY MINTON LIVES IN ONEof the new apartments in the Battersea Power Station complex. To access it, Richard and Gary have to give their names to the security guard at the Boiler House entrance who is watching a football match on his phone. He motions them to the lift.
‘Eighth floor,’ the guard says, without looking up from the game.
‘Thanks very much,’ Richard replies. He is disappointed the guard doesn’t recognise him. Headlines from last night’s charity gala are on the front page of every newspaper and have led the morning’s news bulletins. TheTelegraphhailed it as ‘The Fitzmaurice Fightback’, with a picture of Ben beaming on stage at the V&A, hands outstretched to the crowd like a benign Roman emperor. Richard got a mention three paragraphs in, his name no longer prefaced with ‘disgraced’. Today, he has been reborn as ‘the controversial Richard Take, MP, whose recent media appearances have done much to reconnect with the youth vote’ and ‘who is expected to be cleared of any wrongdoing after admitting to using a work computer for personal use’. Not a single mention of pornography. Hurrah! He feels ‘controversial’ gives him a satisfying edge.
In the lift, watching the floor buttons light up one by one, he leans into Gary and says, ‘So. Controversial, eh?’
Richard bounces up and down on his feet. As a child, he walked on tiptoes until the age of five. He has never entirely shaken the habit.
‘Ha!’ Gary says. ‘Makes you sound like a disrupter, mate. A big bollocks Billy. We like that. We wanna lean into it. You see politics from the outside, from the angle of the common man.’
‘Or woman.’
‘Yeah, yeah, LGBTQ-A-B-C-D-plus-minus whatever – the thing is, you’re not up the arse of the establishment. You’re draining the swamp!’
‘I think bubbles and swamps are two separate metaphors …’
‘You’re a fresh broom,’ Gary continues. ‘Mickey’s gonna love it.’
The lift is constructed from brushed industrial steel, tinged with a coppery effect intended to denote exactly the right level of rust. Just enough to imply heritage; not too much to risk total disintegration. A bit like the Tory party, Richard thinks.
An hour after the leadership announcement, Mickey Minton’s team had mysteriously got back in touch after weeks of ignoring Gary’s email pitches. They’d asked if Richard was free the next morning, which seemed precipitate and suggested they’d probably had a guest drop out at the last minute. But Richard had said yes immediately and asked Terri to clear his diary. Mickey, a YouTuber with over two million subscribers, is very much where Richard wants to position himself.
His podcast is calledTalking the Mickeyand has been top of the charts for three months straight. The logo features Mickey in a ripped white T-shirt and a black fedora, rakishly tipped so that it casts a shadow over one eye. The overall effect is that of a camp detective who has decided to become a 1980s pop star.
‘Why does he wear a fedora?’ Richard asks, as the lift doors ping open.
‘Branding,’ Gary says, as if it were obvious.
