Page 5 of The Unlikely Pair

I’ve known Toby since we worked in the City as young professionals, before either of us was anywhere near Westminster. Our relationship could never be described as anything resembling cordial.

“Thank you for that astute piece of political insight,” I say.

“I’m known for my political insightfulness,” she says. “It’s why you married me. That, and the fact I’m so great in bed.”

I manage a snort. “Yes, you being so great in bed was definitely the deciding factor.”

She gives me a smirk in reply. Our unconventional marriage is not something we openly discuss with anyone, but it’s not exempt from Prunella’s wit in private. The joke being that we’ve never been to bed with each other, and Prunella frequently urges me to find someone else to take to my bed, although I have never indulged in her suggestion.

But it’s not something I want to dwell on now. I return my attention to the messages coming into my phone.

There’s a message from my director of communications.

Latest poll numbers are in. We’re up another three points! The public is clearly resonating with your stance on the new tax policy.

It’s followed by a message from a backbencher.

Harry, I’ve got a brilliant idea for a campaign slogan: Vote Conservative. We’re not just about austerity anymore! What do you think?

And a message from my speech writer.

I’ve emailed you a draft of your speech for the climate change conference. It’s a masterpiece if I do say so myself. I’ve managed to mention ‘fiscal responsibility’ and ‘the dangers of over-regulation’ in a speech about the environment. That’s got to be a first.

The last message serves as a reminder of the day ahead.

I deftly repress the emotions swirling inside me.

“For the record, I do not harbor any particular feelings towards Toby Webley.”

Prunella lazily turns a page of her newspaper. “Whatever you say, darling.”

I scrape my chair back against the herringbone brick floor. “I’ve got to get ready for my constituency surgery. I’ll head straight to the airport after that finishes.” I place an affectionate kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll be home next Monday.”

“Say hi to Toby for me,” my wife says with a smirk.

My constituency office sits in the heart of the village of Foxbury Green. The office is open, warm light spilling from the windows into the early morning.

My father is already inside.

This office used to belong to him when he was the MP, and he now oversees the running of it on my behalf. The walls are adorned with photographs and newspaper clippings chronicling the trajectory of the Matheson family’s political legacy. A recent article about my ascension to the party leadership is prominently displayed beside a faded clipping about my father’s first election win.

My father is an older version of myself, his dark-blond hair now interspersed with gray.

He looks up as I enter, eyes crinkling in a smile. My family isn’t one for overt displays of affection, so I greet him with a brisk handshake.

“Hello, Father.”

“Harry.”

My father took early retirement, resigning as a member of Parliament in his late fifties, paving the way for me to run as a member of Parliament. My grandfather was the one who urged him to retire when it became apparent he wouldn’t rise up the ranks and become the leader. Sometimes, I feel a fleeting pang of guilt that my father’s political career was cut short on my account.

I know my mother fusses that he’s not enjoying his retirement, but I suspect managing my office provides him with a sense of purpose, a way to stay connected to the political world. He’s always been more at ease among policy papers and constituent letters than on the golf course or in a garden.

“I’ve got the list of appointments here,” my father says now, handing me a neatly typed sheet of paper.

Even though I’m the leader of my party, I never forget my duty to the people of Brambleshire.

Whenever possible, I set up camp in my constituency office for what we fondly call ‘surgery.’ Thankfully, it doesn’t involve scalpels, just an opportunity for members of the electorate to meet with me and raise any issues they might have, from potholes to passport woes, which means I can then advocate on their behalf.