Page 3 of The Unlikely Pair
Walking through the hallowed halls of the House of Parliament, it is impossible to ignore the history that permeates every stone and sculpture.
This history has a personal edge. My ancestors were hereditary members of the House of Lords for over four centuries. When the Peerage Act was passed in 1963, my grandfather renounced his title as the Earl of Ashbury, making him eligible to stand for election for the House of Commons.
He won the election easily and was an MP for thirty years before he retired, and my father took over.
Some families have businesses or valuable antiques they pass down through generations. Our family passes down the electorate of Brambleshire.
We’re a country where the weight of history carries significance, despite how much Toby Webley and the Labour government like to pretend otherwise.
Trailed by my aides still deliberating the legislation just passed, I slip into my office to retrieve my notes for my upcoming meeting.
My destination is the Carlton Club, a prestigious establishment that has long served as a haven for Tory politicians. As I step outside and make my way towards the waiting car, Paul, my ever-vigilant bodyguard, takes his place beside me.
“What do you have for me today, Paul?” I ask.
“Knock knock,” Paul replies.
“Who’s there?”
“Broken pencil.”
“Broken pencil, who?”
“Never mind, it’s pointless.”
I let out an amused huff, and Paul grins triumphantly. Paul has been one of my bodyguards since I became leader of the opposition, and he seems to delight in ambushing me with knock-knock jokes. It provides a brief moment of levity in my day.
“I’m hoping this meeting won’t be too protracted, and then we’ll make a break for Brambleshire,” I say to him.
I’m acutely aware of how my schedule impacts Paul and the other members of my protection squad. I try to dash back to my home electorate of Brambleshire when I get the chance, but London traffic means the short distance to my country estate in the rural heartland of England can sometimes turn into an interminable journey.
“Of course, sir,” Paul says.
The car pulls up outside the Carlton Club, a grand old building that, as the former Conservative Party headquarters, has witnessed its fair share of political intrigue over the years.
Inside, the club is a masterclass in understated luxury. I navigate the labyrinth of lounges and dining rooms to the conference room.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” I say as I sit at the long mahogany table.
Rupert Grange, my deputy leader, tilts his head in acknowledgment.
“Good work in the House today,” he says to me. “Unfortunately, Toby Webley’s characterization of the Conservative Party as crumbling and out-of-date is what appears to be doing the rounds on social media rather than any of the salient points you raised.”
I can always count on Rupert to highlight any weaknesses in my performance. The adage “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer” certainly applies to Rupert.
For years, I was perplexed as to why he seemed so familiar when I first met him. It wasn’t until I ventured into a seldom-used room in my manor house and noticed the taxidermized weasel that I realized what creature Rupert reminded me of.
“We can overturn the legislation once we’re in government,” Amanda, our party chairperson, says.
“What are our polling numbers?” I ask.
Amanda’s mouth curves into a self-satisfied smile. “We’re steadily increasing our lead. If I were a betting woman, I’d wager my lifetime savings on the fact that after May 5th next year, I’ll be addressing you as Prime Minister Matheson.”
It is fair to say that the Labour government has faltered since Oliver Hartwell stepped down as prime minister, having been plagued by a series of scandals and setbacks.
It is my duty, as leader of the opposition, to highlight the government’s shortcomings. And, as the polling data indicates, we’re successfully persuading the population that we’ll do a better job running the country.
“The election is still more than six months away,” I say. “That’s a considerable amount of time in politics. Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.”
