Page 67 of Darling
“And what do you intend to do with them?”
“Nothing, Christian. I’d never do that. Not to you,” Bridget says, sounding sincere. I’ve no doubt, however, that she would do it to someone. “I’m going to make sure they disappear from Adrian Brooke’s arsenal.”
“Well, do forgive me if I don’t quite believe you.” I sit forward and scrub a hand over my face. “Dirty fucking politics. What am I doing with my life…?” It’s not a question to her, and I don’texpect an answer.
“Making things better,” she says. “Being one of the decent ones.”
“Yes, well, it’s tough to do that when you’re surrounded by vipers day in day out, Bridget. Sort of makes it all a bit of a fucking chore, if I’m honest.”
“Yes, I get that. But there are still a few of us left. A few of us who want to see you back here fighting the good fight.”
“Say what you bloody mean, Bridge.”
She sits back and levels a very serious look at me. “I think you’d make an extremely competent Prime Minister, Christian, I always have.”
“Or perhaps you think if I’m Prime Minister, you’ll still have a job and not be ushered out with Adrian and Jasmine?” It’s said meanly and spitefully, and I regret it immediately. Bridget doesn’t look offended.
“Or perhaps I’m just sick to fucking death of trying to make idiots look clever. Look, I buried my head in the sand and asked no questions last year. I just assumed Adrian wanted you gone because you were a threat to him—anyone with a conscience and morals usually is—and so I backed the woman out of some misplaced loyalty to my gender. I’m paying for that now.”
“I won’t work with Adrian Brooke,” I tell her, as though this is the only issue that needs to be worked out. “Never again will I bend the knee to that man in any capacity.”
“I have enough to ruin Ade if you want me to, Christian, and when you’re safely in No. 10, I can do just that without any connection to you.”
I blink at her, stupefied, terrified. “Who even are you?”
She gives me a vicious-looking smile. “I’m him but without a tiny dick between my legs, and the entire range of female emotions to sharpen my wits on.”
“I think you might be the most terrifying person I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you,” she says. “So, is that a yes? Will you come back?”
“You can’t just make me Prime Minister, not even you have that sort of power, Bridget.”
“I mean, I could give it a try. But I’m thinking Chancellor for now—Lyle has cancer, stage 4, and he’ll be bowing out soon enough. Then you only have to move next door when the time comes.”
It’s cold, clinical, clever. It’s madness. Is this even what I want? It had been once, yes, but now? It would be terrible for my health, just like the foreign office had been; long days and short weekends, and work that never stopped. But hadn’t this been exactly what I’d been telling Asher just last night? How I want to feel useful again? Do a job where I make a difference.
Chancellor is a role that matters, second only to the PM. I’d have to win a by-election first, and campaigning is a lot of work on its own, but I’ve never lost one of those. What would returning to London mean for Asher and me? Bridget could disappear those photos, but what about any others that may emerge, and I’d be once again putting myself under the kind of scrutiny that came with being in the British government. I could be months away from having to resign in disgrace (again) if I said yes to this and kept Asher in my life. And what could I offer him if I did? He is half my age and would someday want more than I can give him. Why then is there a note of discordant loss singing across my chest? Why then do I miss him like an ache in my chest already? How easy would this decision be if he were sat in front of me now?
“You’re asking me to jump aboard a sinking ship, you do realise that?” It’s not my main concern, most incumbentgovernments were sinking ships, but it’s the easiest concern to address right at the moment.
She thinks about this. “No, I’m asking you to be the lifeboat.”
Twenty two
Asher
“Damn, boy, this looks amazing,” Theo proclaims as I set the dish of veggie chilli down on the table. “I’m fucking starving.”
“Good, because I made way too much. I’m about to be eating this shit for weeks. My poor ass.”
“Speaking of,” Amata gives me a wide-eyed, expectant look.
“It was… intense. He was… well, like having a Diet Coke can pushed up in there. I felt my fucking guts being rearranged.”
“I’m eating,” Theo complains, mouth full.
“Congratulations,” Amata retorts without looking at him. “And he was nice? Treated you right?” she asks me. This has always been super important to her, whether these guys treat me well. She has a castration list ready for anyone who doesn’t.