Page 139 of The Unlikely Pair
The corridors stretch endlessly before me, a labyrinth of sterile white walls and gleaming floors, a cold, impersonal maze. I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead.
Prunella studies me closely as I get into the car, and I try to school the emotions threatening to crush my chest.
What did I expect from Toby? Heartfelt declarations of love? Whispered confessions about how much we mean to each other?
We are back in reality now. And the reality is I’m Harry Matheson, the third generation in my family of MPs from Brambleshire. I’m the leader of the Conservative Party. I have an election to win.
He’s a prominent figure in the Labour government trying to win re-election. We are now back to being adversaries.
I have a lifetime of experience with schooling my emotions to draw on.
But every mile I travel away from Toby makes it harder to breathe.
Toby told me not to get lost in the wilderness again. I might be on the M5 motorway rather than stumbling through a Scandinavian forest.
But I’m still feeling lost.
Nation’s Jaw Drops: Missing MPs Found Alive After Forty-Two Days
Back from the Wild: MPs Prove Harder to Lose Than a Bad Penny
Lost MPs Found: Now Ready for a Much-Needed Bath and a Cuppa
From Frostbite to Spotlight: MPs’ Wild Adventure Ends with a Hero’s Welcome
Forget Wilderness Survival, Can They Survive the Latest Polls?
The rescue of Toby and me has definitely sent the media into a frenzy.
Along with the Conservative Party, if the wild enthusiasm on display from my communication advisors and party hierarchy as they sit around the table in my study is anything to go by.
Outside the vast windows are the sprawling lawns of the estate. While I was away, the last of summer wilted away, and the tree branches are now stark and leafless under the gloomy sky.
Voices swirl around me.
“Harry’s rescue has completely changed the election. We can pin this as a story of true British grit and resilience. The public will eat it up. Picture it:From the Scandinavian Wilderness to 10 Downing Street: Harry’s Heroic Journey,” Kimberly, my communications advisor, says.
“Nothing like everyone assuming he’s dead for over a month for them to actually appreciate him,” Amanda says smugly.
“Risen from the ashes like Jesus.”
“We could play up the Christlike analogy.”
“It’s a pity he shaved off the beard. We could have reinforced that narrative visually. He looked like a modern-day prophet. Stripped to the essentials, focused on what truly matters, ready to lead his people to a brighter future.”
“You realize that as Jesus lived in the first century in the Middle East, he would have most likely had brown eyes, dark hair, and olive-brown skin,” I say wearily.
“Unfortunately, a Labour MP also survived, so we can’t really play the survival of the fittest, nothing will defeat the Conservative angle,” Amanda says.
Unfortunately, Toby also survived?Unfortunately?
My sole aim for the last six weeks of my life has been Toby’s survival, and the idea it is seen as a negative by those trying to get me elected causes nausea to rise up inside me.
“Actually, I think we can play the Toby Webley angle to our advantage. Talk about Harry’s bipartisan strengths, how he can work across the aisle,” Kimberly replies.
What would Toby say if he could participate in this conversation? It’s something I can’t stop myself from thinking constantly.
I can almost hear his voice in my head, that wry tone he gets when he’s about to make a cutting observation. “Ah, yes, let’s reduce a life-altering experience to a cheap campaign slogan. That’s sure to resonate with the voters.”
