Page 15 of The Unlikely Pair
Toby entered five years later, standing for and winning the electorate of Havenbridge East. He’d been closely aligned withOliver Hartwell, one of the stars of the next generation of Labour politicians, and I’d watched their friendship with a suspicious eye. When Oliver became prime minister, he appointed Toby his chief of staff. When Oliver’s marriage broke up a year later, I’d closely studied their interactions in the Chamber and in the press coverage, searching for any clues that their relationship had changed, but found nothing.
Then, of course, Oliver shocked the world by falling in love with the Prince of Wales and resigning from politics.
Now, as Kade finishes his safety briefing and retreats to the cockpit to start the engine, Toby blows out a breath.
“I hope this weather system doesn’t delay us from the opening address. Every moment of this conference is crucial. It’s such an important event for humanity.”
So much passion and intensity light up Toby’s face that I'm briefly mesmerized before my cynicism kicks in and breaks the spell.
“Must you always be so melodramatic about everything?” I ask in a cool tone.
Toby’s eyes narrow. “I’m sorry, Harry, I tried to be like you, but they couldn’t find the right-sized stick, so apparently, I’m destined to go through life without one up my arse. It’s a tragedy, I know. Yet, somehow, I survive.”
“All I’m saying is that histrionics won’t actually bring us closer to achieving a goal.”
“Because God help us if we show emotion about the survival of the planet,” Toby says.
“If you insist on getting emotional about something, perhaps you should direct your attention to the latest farce of legislation on social welfare funding your government just passed.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot that empathy is a foreign language to you, Harry,” Toby says.
“And I neglected to remember that fiscal responsibility is a mythical concept to you, Toby,” I reply.
The glare I receive in response doesn’t send the usual thrill through me.
Versions of this conversation have been happening for over fifteen years. Toby and I will never see eye to eye on any issue. Suddenly, I just feel tired.
I retrieve the briefing papers for the conference from my briefcase with an air of authority. “As pleasant as it always is to converse with you, I have some papers that require my attention.”
“I definitely wouldn’t ever want to get in the way of you improving and educating yourself,” Toby retorts.
He leans forward to retrieve his laptop from his bag and we begin to studiously ignore each other. It takes a concentrated effort to disregard the presence of someone a mere two feet from me. To ignore the way his knee splays out slightly, how the cuff of his blazer has scrunched up to reveal an inch of his wrist, and the way his forehead creases into two small lines as he concentrates.
But over two and a half hours into our flight, it reaches the point where I can no longer ignore him. Toby’s now tapping his fingers relentlessly on the seat rest, frowning at his watch. I snap my head up and glare at him. “Do you mind? Some of us are attempting to concentrate.”
“We should be there by now,” he says.
I glance at my own watch and see that Toby is right. We should have landed a few minutes ago.
I experience a brief lurch of unease in my stomach. “Didn’t Kade say he was going to have to skirt around a weather system?”
The frown lines on Toby’s forehead deepen as he grabs his phone and begins to scroll through it.
“My mobile doesn’t seem to have any signal. But it doesn’t look like any storm systems are nearby.” He peers out the window at the perfect blue sky.
“Perhaps a qualified pilot is better at interpreting meteorological data than you are,” I say.
I’m expecting Toby to snark back, but instead, his gaze flicks past mine to the door to the cockpit and then back again.
“Have you read the briefing papers for the conference?” I ask because I can see he’s uneasy, and I have an inexplicable urge to mitigate his unease, which I cannot explain in any rational way.
“Of course I’ve read the briefing papers,” he replies.
“I find the emission reduction targets to be a tad too optimistic,” I say.
He rolls your eyes. “So even the catastrophe of the warming planet is not enough to get you out of the grips of the fossil fuel industry.”
“Of course you would love to pretend we live in a perfect utopia where we can just cut off our dependency on fossil fuels without impacting our economy and the quality of people’s lives.”
