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Sally had enjoyed her first few constituency surgeries. After years of working in politics, it felt good to finally be engaging with what the more pompous of her colleagues called “real people”, and trying to help them solve their problems. Some issues were easy, some trivial, some beyond her powers, and some were absolutely heart-breaking. It would take some more practice before Sally was able to detach herself sufficiently from the stories she was told, but she knew she had to strike a professional balance: she was an MP, not a social worker.
Priya had booked one of their regular meeting rooms they used in Pinner for this afternoon’s session. A beige box, but at least this one had natural daylight and padded seats. Sally opened the window to let some air in, it was a warm day for September.
After learning the hard way that an open drop-in was a recipe for chaos and irritation for all involved, they now offered an appointment system. A few routine benefits problems, a planning dispute, and a Somali woman whose mother had lost her appeal against deportation. Sally was relieved to see Priya had built in a tea break.
‘I thought you’d need a few minutes after that one,’ Priya said. ‘It’s always easy to discuss these big issues in the abstract, but when you meet the people who are affected...’
Sally took the mug of tea from her and opened the tin of biscuits she’d brought from home. ‘Everybody agrees there have to be rules, we just don’t think they should apply to us.’ She held out the tin to Priya. ‘Hob Nob?’
Priya took a biscuit. ‘How did the tour go this morning?’
Sally had a mouthful of digestive, but managed to let out a cri de cœur that fully expressed her feelings. ‘Americans.’
Priya nodded, accepting that as the full explanation.
‘Mind you, the son was gorgeous, which made up for the mother. Every time I felt like throttling her, I looked at him and realised she couldn’t be all bad if her loins produced something that beautiful.’
‘Really, he was that good looking?’
‘You’ve met my brother, marks out of 10?’
Priya looked down, embarrassed. ‘Definite 10.’
‘That’s what people tell me, but I look at him and can only see my idiot brother. Well, Zach looks much like Evan did when he was that age. But with better teeth.’
‘No wonder you didn’t let me give the tour.’ Priya looked at her watch. ‘We should really get back to it.’
Sally put the lid back on the tin, but not before grabbing a Jaffa Cake. ‘Who’s next?’
‘Kevin Hibbert. You remember the guy who has the issue with the Home Office? I tried to talk to him on the phone, but I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. He dumped another four boxes of papers off at the office. I skimmed through, but they’re all over the place. I thought it would be best to get him to come in and talk us through it.’
Sally sighed. She’d forgotten all about this one. Her Spidey sense was telling her this could be a long-running saga that required a magician to resolve. ‘Fine. Send him in.’
Priya went out to the waiting room and returned almost immediately, followed in by a tall, thin man, with wiry blond hair that reminded Sally of marram grass. ‘Mr Hibbert.’
‘Good to meet you.’ Sally stood up and extended her hand over the table.
Hibbert shook it vigorously. ‘Thank you for seeing me. I knew you were one of the good ones. That last one, right toff he was, barred me he did. That’s not right. I pay my taxes. I’m entitled.’
Sally felt a shiver of consternation run up her spine. She knew instantly this was going to be a fruitless endeavour, but she also believed he was right: it was her duty to represent him as much as any other constituent. ‘Please take a seat Mr Hibbert and let’s see what we can do to help.’ Sally looked at Priya, who mouthed “sorry” before taking her seat at the right of the table, notepad in hand.
For the next fifteen minutes, the man set out a meandering tale of alleged persecution by the Home Office, the police and the justice system that stretched back to a minor drugs offence when he was a teenager, some twenty or so years before. Hibbert barely stopped for breath and the recounting had the hallmarks of a well-rehearsed version of events. As he spoke his hands would fly in all directions, occasionally patting down his hair that would immediately spring back up. Sally bristled at the kinetic energy he was producing. Occasionally she held up her hand to stop him, to clarify what he’d said, but the longer he spoke the more convinced Sally was that the man was slightly unhinged. The only other viable option was that he was the victim of one of the most elaborate state-sanctioned multi-agency vendettas ever to befall a British citizen. Every now and then a fact or assertion would have the ring of truth and it was easy to see how a paranoid mind might interpret the set of circumstances and, over time, create a dangerous fantasy.
Finally, Hibbert was done. He sat back in his seat, laid his hands, palms down, on the table. ‘Well? What do you think?’
Sally let out the breath she had been holding for what felt like minutes. ‘That is a very complex case you have outlined, Mr Hibbert. I fully appreciate that this has been going on for many years now and I’m sorry you have not been able to resolve it befo—’
‘They wouldn’t listen to me,’ Hibbert burst in, his fingers starting to drum on the table, ‘wouldn’t listen. Do you believe me?’
Sally looked at Priya, she saw her notebook was full of scribbles, lines connecting chunks of words in circles, question marks, exclamation marks, crossings out. Priya’s notes were usually meticulous, Sally saw this as the perfect metaphor for the case in front of them. ‘Mr Hibbert, you have given us a lot of information today. I think we need some time to sort through it, along with the supporting materials you’ve sent us. I know you have been waiting a long time already, but would you give us a bit longer to get fully up to speed? Once we’re properly on top of it all, we can discuss how best to help you.’
Mr Hibbert’s fingers were still again. ‘How long?’
Priya coughed. ‘We have another surgery in three weeks’ time. Perhaps you could come back then, that should give me enough time to fully brief Mrs Archibald.’
Hibbert looked at Priya, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was judging the veracity of her statement. ‘Alright.’ He looked at Sally. ‘I knew you’d listen; I knew it. Been waiting years for someone like you to come along. Someone who’d believe me.’
Sally smiled at him, but inside was letting out a Wilhelm scream. She stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr Hibbert. Priya will show you out.’
Hibbert stood up, not breaking eye contact with her. He nodded slowly, picked up his papers and stuffed them back in the folder and followed Priya out.
Sally fell back into her chair. She took out her phone and called Carl.
‘Y’ello.’
Sally was relieved to hear his voice. ‘Hi, hun, it’s me.’
‘Hey, sexy. You OK?’
‘I miss you. Fancy coming back to the flat?’ Sally bit her lip; the sound of his beautiful deep voice made her feel simultaneously vulnerable and safe. If only she could reach into the phone and drag him out of it.
‘Thought you’d forgotten about me, barely heard from you this week.’
‘Let me make it up to you.’ Sally tried to sound seductive - never her strong suit. ‘Please, hun. I need you.’
Carl laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Already out the door, babe. You only ever have to ask once.’