But this is what it is.
A chance.
I sit down at the table, no papers in front of me, no speech prepared if I’m now leading the party and therefore England, no key notes. I won’t need them, and that isn’t arrogance.
Blair went home two days ago, Ben with her. She’s back at the Loch, her engagements minimised, Micky and Ben watching her like a hawk over its young.
If there’s ever a choice to make. They win.
That’s why today doesn’t feel like it should. That’s why I should do this job; because there are other things more important than power.
Love.
Ben
I half know who it is when the door opens, before I’ve seen them. For whatever reason today feels auspicious in more ways than Isaac becoming what everyone needs him to be.
Today feels like an ending.
I turn around and see the person I expected. Someone I’ve never met before, but probably knows enough about me, enough to know that I don’t like being cornered.
“Mr Goldsmith.” I face him and stand head on, looking him in the eye. He’s armed. He isn’t used to being armed. He gets other people to do his dirty work for him.
“Benjamin Smith. A surname so similar to mine. How are you? It’s good to finally meet.”
He doesn’t offer me his hand, which is good for him as if I’d taken it, I’d have broken it off.
“Why are you here?” I know the answer but he’d be even more suspicious if I don’t ask.
“Finishing business. Franklyn has just gone to say goodbye to Blair.”
It takes me three seconds to land him on the floor.
Another two and he’s unconscious.
Blair
My room feels empty.
The bed is beautifully made with the throw cushions artfully placed and the arm knitted blanket that was a gift from a women’s charity in New Zealand after a visit there two years ago.
I sit down on the bed and curl up to warm my stomach. Familiar pains have started. Period pains.
I’m not pregnant.
I don’t know what I should feel. Happiness isn’t there. I don’t want to celebrate and there’s no glory in knowing I have my child-free life for a little longer. The list of issues being pregnant would’ve raised would’ve been lengthy. I’m not married; I wouldn’t know who the father is; the father could be the English Prime Minister or a man associated with extremist groups; I’m about to be crowned Scotland’s Queen.
Not being pregnant solves all of those, but I don’t feel any relief. The cramps tell me that I've made my mind up to what I do want.
I inhale deeply and quieten my heart. Today is a quiet day. I have little to do other than find out the outcome of the leadership vote and issue a statement. For the rest of it, I can read, speak to my mother who’s on holiday in the Caribbean, check how Elise is.
There’s a familiar knock at my door and my heart starts to pump hard.
The door opens without me saying to enter and Franklyn stands there, wearing his usual suit, his shoes polished so hard the dim light from the window glows back.
“It’s good to see you, Blair. How was London?”
My back straightens and I try to look behind him, but he’s closed the door. He isn’t due back off leave for another three days. Micky has the security tight and I’ve no idea how he’s gotten to my room.
