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Telling Priya the truth about Tom had been the best decision Sally had made in a long time. Having a girlfriend to talk to again had lifted Sally’s soul. She had always suspected Priya was a bit prim, an unlikely candidate to be a useful sounding board and gossipmonger. How wrong she was. Little by little the two of them had demolished the wall their professional relationship had dictated and begun to communicate like proper chums. If Sally were twelve, Priya would be her new “bestie”, even a potential “BFF”, but they were grown women so such epithets would be ridiculous. And she was so easy to talk to, Sally was able to share things she wouldn’t have dreamt of telling Mel, knowing the Judge Judy levels of disapprobation that would come her way.
The one slight downside was that productivity in the office had gone down somewhat, but luckily the House was now in recess for the party conferences, so there’d be time to catch up. She’d had to wing it in a couple of committees this week, as Priya had run out of time to produce her usual tight brief, complete with highlighted key points and suggested questions. Sally was confident it would settle down again once the initial excitement wore off.
They were sitting in the cafe off the atrium in Portcullis House, enjoying a much needed caffeine boost and working through a pile of invitations. A good couple of inches deep, they were to various fringe meetings and receptions at the upcoming Conservative Party Conference. Sally had been many times, but this would be her first time attending as an MP and she was determined to make the most of it. Conference was renowned for the plotting, drinking, and dalliances that naturally occurred whenever a group of like-minded individuals were sequestered away together, but she was determined to try and stay out of trouble. Rather awkwardly she would be sharing a hotel room with Tom, as it had been booked months ago. Plus, she needed to maintain the illusion they were happily married. At least she’d been able to switch the reservation to a twin room rather than a double, not an unusual request given the number of marriages of convenience in the Tory party.
‘The Spectator bash looks good, that usually draws some big names,’ Priya said.
‘Yes, definitely. They usually have some yummy canapés. Have we had any requests to be on panels at all?’
Priya dug out a small selection wrapped in a red rubber band. ‘Afraid not, but I’ve kept a few aside that I thought you could usefully make a contribution to from the floor.’
‘As long as they’re not about Brexit.’
Priya threw all but one of the invites aside. ‘There’s one on social care funding that should be pretty high profile.’
Sally frowned. It was very early days, so no surprise her profile was too low to be of interest as a top table speaker. She needed an issue that she could push and make a name for herself, but preferably one that had a chance of being solved while she was alive on this earth. ‘Pass. Nothing on the environment?’
‘Not that I saw, unless you want to debate air quality targets in a post-Brexit Britain?’
‘Hard pass.’ Sally picked a few of the invites off the top of the pile and flicked through.
‘Somebody’s popular, I see.’
Sally looked up to see who was attempting to be charming. She felt a mix of annoyance and arousal to see it was Geoff Parker-Jones. ‘Geoff, what are you doing here?’
Geoff presumptively pulled up a chair and joined them at the table. ‘I had a little business with Hugo, was walking through the lobby and saw you from afar.’ He turned to Priya and held out a hand. ‘Geoffrey Parker-Jones, an old and, I’m certain, dear friend of Sally’s.’
‘Priya Varma, I’m Sally’s parliamentary assistant.’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance.’ He turned back to Sally. ‘I’m glad I spotted you, Sal, I was hoping to pick your brains.’
Sally now regretted quite how open she’d been with her assistant, who was wearing an “I bet you are” look on her face. ‘Perhaps we can finish this off later, Priya?’
Priya nodded and gave a tiny wink to Sally as she gathered up the invitations. ‘Lovely to meet you, Geoffrey. I’ll see you upstairs, Sally.’
Sally waited until her assistant had left. ‘What can I do for you, Geoff?’
Geoff swung his chair out from under the table and crossed his long legs. Sally tried not to stare at the outline of his thighs as the cotton of his pinstripe suit tightened around them.
‘Hugo’s asked me to put together a steering group to come up with ideas for the next manifesto.’ Geoff’s smug expression suggested he thought this quite the honour. ‘The PM wants to ensure there’s no repeat of the mistakes from last time. She wants a fully thought-through platform, chock-full of big ideas and excitement, to rally the nation once all this Brexit stuff is out of the way.’
‘Definitely a good idea, not sure what it’s got to do with me.’
Geoff stretched and put his hands behind his head. Sally saw the outline of his chest and his trim waist as his jacket fell back.
‘Everybody knows you’re one of the most solid policy minds in the party. Hugo thought you’d be a real asset to the group. If you had time to fit it in.’ He gave Sally a smile, which she couldn’t read: could be sarcasm, could be genuine.
‘How much of a commitment are we talking?’
Geoff shrugged. ‘Whatever you’re willing and able to give.’
Sally was torn. Being part of this group would undoubtedly be a benefit, career-wise. She also had some strong opinions about the direction the Party should be heading in. The downside would be having to spend time with Geoff, particularly given this weird attraction she felt for him. ‘Can I think about it.’
Geoff unlocked his hands and reached into his inner jacket pocket. He pulled out a business card. ‘Deffo. Here’s where you can get hold of me, not sure if you have my current contacts.’
Sally took the card. It was ridiculous the number of ways it was possible to communicate with each other these days. Ironically, the more available someone appeared, the more distant they felt; all this texting and messaging enabled you to keep people at arm’s length, gone were the days when you actually had to speak to anyone, let alone be in the same room to maintain a relationship.
‘You OK, Sal? Is it Tom?’
Sally snapped back from her reverie. ‘Tom? No. What do you mean is it Tom?’
Geoff smirked, perhaps realising he’d hit a nerve. ‘You drifted away there for a moment. I wrongly assumed you were mooning after your dear husband. I can see now I was mistaken. You patently had more important matters on your mind.’
Sally collected her belongings and stood up. ‘I need to get on, Geoff. I’ll call you when I’ve had a chance to think about this policy group.’
Geoff, ever the gentleman, stood as well. ‘No rush. Give my regards to Tom. I hope he’s not too disappointed about Amersham.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sally’s heart sank. ‘The selection meeting hasn’t happened yet.’
‘Oh, hasn’t he told you? They’ve asked two candidates back for a final hustings. I’m afraid Tom isn’t one of them. But I am.’
‘I have to go.’ Sally rushed away before she started crying, screamed obscenities, punched him, or more likely a combination of all three.
*****
‘What the hell were you doing talking to that prig.’
Sally had no sooner stepped into her office than she was faced with Tom’s verbal assault. The fury on his face physically winded her and it took a second to gather her wits. ‘He was talking to me. There’s a difference you know.’
Tom was a bundle of rage, he was bouncing from foot to foot, his fists clenched. ‘That sodding bastard has stolen Amersham from under me. I suppose he couldn’t wait to tell you about that. It’s a bloody stitch up.’
Sally threw her purse on the desk and walked over to Tom. ‘I know. It stinks.’ She put her arms around him and nestled her head into his chest. ‘It’s completely unfair. You were by far the best candidate. Isn’t there anything we can do?’ She felt Tom’s body slowly become still. She felt his arms encircle her. She didn’t look up as she wanted to let him cry in private, like a man.
When she thought it was safe, she gave Tom a little squeeze and said, ‘So what’s next?’ Tom squeezed back, but Sally gently wriggled free. ‘You know us, we get knocked down, but we get up again.’
‘Don’t try and Chumbawamba me. I’m never going to get a decent seat.’
Sally went and sat on her sofa. ‘Not with an attitude like that you won’t. What’s still up for grabs?’
Tom joined her. ‘If we restrict ourselves to those that are winnable, it’s one of the Cambridgeshire ones and Croydon South. Any others are too far away.’
‘Fine, we’ll get you one of those.’ Sally looked at her husband and was surprised how affectionate she felt towards him. Nothing like a man in need to bring out a woman’s nurturing instincts. Damn you, biology.
‘The Cambridgeshire seat has a social this Saturday, a “meet the candidates” sort of thing. We can wow them with our double act like we did in Amersham, and this time there won’t be a Parker-Jones in the mix to queer the pitch.’
‘I can’t do Saturday, I promised to spend the day with Carl.’
Tom leapt up from the sofa. ‘Well that’s bloody great. What should I tell the local Chairman, sorry my wife’s not here, she’s too busy banging her bit of rough?’
‘Charming.’ Sally was not going to be dragged into a slanging match if she could at all help it, she simply didn’t have the energy for a fight.
‘You promised you’d help me. I’m your husband, you know. I could demand you came.’
Sally looked directly at Tom and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, thanks, sweetheart. I needed that.’
Tom’s face burned cherry red and he stormed out of the office.
Sally swung her feet up onto the sofa and stretched out. ‘Men. What is the bloody point?’