High society (24 page)

TEN DOWNING STREET

P
eter had never been in the Cabinet room. The great ring of chairs around the huge shiny table, so often photographed occupied by earnest ministers, were empty now save for four. His, the Home Secretary’s, the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s and, at the centre of it all, the Prime Minister’s.

There was a phrase Samantha often used in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking…‘It doesn’t get any better than this.’

Peter always thought it rather an effective sentence, somewhat tainted now, of course, in the light of his discovery that she was either a frigid, father-obsessed emotional timebomb or else a sex mad, father-obsessed emotional timebomb. But nonetheless it was still a good phrase and as Peter sat facing a smiling Prime Minister he knew that, Aids scares and worryingly intense and unbalanced lovers aside, it certainly did not get much better than this.

Then the PM spoke. ‘Peter, I’ve asked you here today because I want you to do something very tough for me. Very tough indeed. I want you to drop your Private Member’s Bill.’

The coffee cup froze in Peter Paget’s hand. The smile fell from his lips with an almost audible thud. Such disappointment was unbearable. Had he been brought into these elevated surroundings merely to be lobbied once more to fall upon his sword?

The Prime Minister smiled. ‘No, we want you to bring your proposals into the fold, Peter. We want to put your bill into the next Queen’s Speech.’

Peter had been wrong a moment before. This had just got a very great deal better. ‘You…You mean make it policy?’

‘Yes, I do. What we’re proposing is the biggest, bravest, boldest shift in the social management of this country since the introduction of the Welfare State. If it works, this administration will be seen as one of the true greats, and it’s down to you, Peter. You are our weapon, you have the credibility, the insight, the experience and, if I’m honest, the wounds of battle to swing the country behind us. I’d like to invite you to join the Cabinet, Peter. I’m creating a new post, Minister for Drugs, and I want you to fill it.’

THE PAGET HOUSEHOLD, DALSTON

P
eter Paget’s daughters had fought their way back from the local newsagent, a journey that required a police escort to get them up their own garden path.

‘Dad, it’s crazy, it’s berserk. There’re eight pages on you in the Telegraph.’

‘There’s fifteen in the Independent and twelve in the Guardian. Both leaders are claiming they thought of the whole idea first.’

‘Which is 50 not true. They were going for decriminalizing pot or whatever, as if that would do anything.’

‘It was you, Dad. You did this. You’ve electrified the sodding country!’

It was true. The announcement of Peter Paget’s new position and the speech he made that same evening in the house had caused a genuine sensation. A worldwide sensation. He was not only on the cover of every British newspaper, but many of the papers around the world had given him serious coverage too. What was more, so far at least, most of the coverage had been on the whole favourable. Not every editorial on the planet was backing wholesale legalization, but nobody was denying that this was a debate that was far too late in coming.

‘They’re calling you Churchillian, Daddy.’

‘Well, it was one hell of a speech…‘ Cathy was devouring the front-page quotes. ‘ ‘Life of the nation’…‘defence of the very values by which we live’…I must say, though, I thought the bit about it being May 1940 in the war against drugs was perhaps a teeny bit OTT. It did sort of invite the comparison with the Great Man.’

‘Of course it did,’ Peter replied happily. ‘I’m no fool.’

After the girls had disappeared to their respective rooms to begin the daily task of emailing and texting their friends, Angela and Peter Paget found themselves alone together, or as alone as any two people can be when their garden is full of journalists. They had scarcely had a private moment since the maelstrom of Peter’s needle prick had engulfed their lives.

‘It does seem incredible that you’ve come so far so quickly, Peter.’

‘Well, it’s all down to that ridiculous accident, I suppose. Absurd, really, as if that makes any difference.’

‘It’s not all down to that. People were beginning to think differently anyway. It’s the power of the argument. You’re right. That’s the point, and they can all see that.’

‘Well, I hope so. I certainly didn’t expect to gain a seat in Cabinet on the issue.’

‘Congratulations, Peter. It’s been a long time coming.’

‘All the sweeter, I suppose, to get it through campaigning for something that truly matters rather than for oiling and toadying about the place.’

‘Peter. Are you having an affair with Samantha?’

It was so sudden, so unexpected.

‘I…’

He had known Angela for twenty years. She was too sensitive, too clever, to ask such a question unless she knew.

‘I…I’ve had sex with her.’

She stared at him for a moment and then turned away. Turned away in what seemed, to Peter at least, like revulsion.

‘Oh dear. Oh dear, Peter. That’s a bit painful, I must say.’

‘I’m sorry, Angela…’

Angela’s body twitched in a manner that suggested she was not currently interested in apologies. ‘How long has this been…Oh God, I can’t believe I’m about to frame that pathetic sentence. It’s ridiculous.’

Silence.

‘Well, come on, then. Let’s get it over with. How long has it been going on?’

‘Not long. It’s over…I mean, it has to be over. It was just a silly thing. Sex — ’

‘Do you love her?’

‘No!’ That at least he knew was true. ‘No. It was sex, that’s all…a couple of times.’

‘A couple? A politician’s couple or an actual couple?’

‘Four. Four times.’ He plucked the figure from the air. He did not know how many times. Twenty? Thirty?

‘Do you want to know where? When? I’ll tell you.’

‘I’m going to ask you again, Peter. Do you love her?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ever?’

Good question. ‘I was…fond of her. She’s been very — ’

‘Yes, I know how fucking supportive she’s been. You’ve told me often enough.’

‘It was madness, Angela. I should have been stronger, but I wasn’t…We spent so much time together, we were working so hard — ’

‘Does she love you?’ Angela Paget had a lot of good questions.

‘I doubt it. Well, she’s fond of me as well, but no, not love. She knows I’m married, I’m unavailable — ’

‘Don’t be too bloody sure of that!’

‘Angela, please.’

‘Look, Peter, this is tough. Very, very tough. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with it, but I know that this can’t be about me at the moment. You may be about to be pronounced HIV positive, for Christ’s sake! Besides, everything you’ve worked for, everything we both believe in is finally beginning to happen. Why did you have to ruin it all?’

‘Angela, none of that matters. I love you…’

And he meant it. The sudden realization that he might be about to lose her had brought him hurtling back into the heart of his marriage.

‘It does matter, Peter! It matters a lot right now, and what matters most of all is Cathy and Suzie.’

‘Of course.’

‘So what I need to know now and, believe me, Peter, everything depends on your answers being honest, is the nature of this relationship. What it was, what it is and what you intend it to be. You say that it’s not a love affair, that you had sex four times?’

‘I’m thinking, looking back, this is awful. Five. Perhaps five.’ In a way he sort of believed it. Did the detail matter? Not if the substance was honest, surely. He did not love Samantha…He had never loved her…and if perhaps he had thought in some insane moment of otherness that he did love her…if he had even said as much to her…on numerous occasions…well, he knew now, standing before the wife whom he was in danger of losing, that it had all been an illusion. Nothing more. Illusion.

‘You see, Peter. Right now I’d like to leave you.’

‘Angela!’

‘But I shan’t. There’s too much at stake in our lives, too much that honestly matters. A diversion now, a stupid scandal, would be just the kind of pathetic thing that people in this country would seize upon to avoid actually having to think about anything, and you are making them think, Peter. Besides, you’re too famous. Three months ago if I’d left you we probably wouldn’t have made the papers. The girls would have at least been able to watch their home break up in private. But now, my God, every one on the planet would know their business. I can’t do that to the girls, or to myself, quite frankly — ’

‘But, Angela, you mustn’t leave me anyway.’

‘Afterwards, who knows? I expect things’ll get easier. I’ll hate you less…But that’s why it’s so important that you’re honest with me, Peter. Is it over?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would it have been over if I hadn’t discovered it?’

‘Yes! Yes, absolutely.’

‘Does she know it’s over?’ The tiniest pause was enough. ‘So it isn’t over yet, then. When will it be?’

‘It’s over now, Angela. It was before you found me out, I swear it. I’ve been agonizing about what a fool I’ve been and how to let Samantha know that we’ve been stupid and we mustn’t — ’

‘So you don’t think she’ll feel the same as you? You don’t think that it’ll be easy to get out of this? Admit it, Peter, she loves you.’

‘She’s fond of me.’

‘Peter. This is going to be very messy. If she loves you, she’ll fight.’

‘She doesn’t love me! She only thinks she does.’

‘Peter. You are in shit, we are in shit. These things can never be ended easily. But end it you must, and if I am to stand by you, you must swear to me now, from the bottom of your heart, that you will do it immediately.’

NATIONAL EXHIBITION CENTRE, BIRMINGHAM

T
he two Brummie teenagers were very, very excited.

‘I can’t believe ‘ow good these seats are! Only forty-eight rows from the front. That’s mental, that is.’

‘Well, Sonia queued all night the day before they went on sale, didn’t she?’

‘Don’t, it just makes me want to croi just even thinking ‘bout her. All them foreign women an’ ‘er sleeping on the floor, it’s disgusting.’

‘Did her mum tell you she’d written to the Thai royal family? No reploi yet, but I think it’s supposed to work sometimes.’

‘It’s just so weird. I mean, it’s like surreal or something…Thinking of her, in jail in Thailand! I mean, I can just close moi oies and see her, ‘ere with us, ‘having a laugh, ‘ear her voice…it’s loik…she went off for a week’s ‘oliday. We all said, ‘See ya, babes,’ and she just evaporated.’

‘That bastard at the Rum Slinger, ‘im what give ‘er all them Es. He said she’d be all roit.’

‘Yeah, but come on, Sal, would yow ‘ave done it?’

‘Don’t be sodding stupid.’

‘Exactly. Only Sonia would be that mad. That’s why she didn’t tell us what she were up to. We’d ‘ave stopped ‘er. Sonia was always mad, weren’t she?’

‘It was so nice of ‘er mum to give us her Tommy tickets, though.’

‘Well, she would have taken yow anyway.’

‘Rubbish, she’d have taken yow.’

For a moment both of Sonia’s friends thought that they would burst into tears.

‘Actually, she probably would have taken some wanker of a bloke she’d met that day, wouldn’t she?’

‘Yeah, that’s Sonia…‘ang on, I think it’s starting. This is sow cool!’

Tony, Tommy’s tour manager, was not often charmed by the women who sought access to Tommy, but Gemma was different. Quite apart from anything else, her brother had cerebral palsy, which was how she and he had been able to get past all the Exhibition Centre security and manoeuvre their way right up to the door of Tommy’s hospitality lig. Gemma knew that nothing unmans the vast bulk of a security guard better than a sweet girl with a disabled brother, and she had worked her passage well. Now she had only to get past Tony and she would be in.

‘Please, he’d just like to meet Tommy, that’s all. Just to thank him for such an amazing show and all the things he’s done for Comic Relief. Comic Relief have given some big grants to initiatives in the disabled community here in the Midlands.’

Tony knew that Tommy actually took his charity work seriously when he was straight enough to think about it, and since the after-show party was hardly rocking he decided to let Gemma and her brother in. Til take you to him, but please don’t stay long. He’s too polite to disengage and so he gets trapped.’

‘We won’t. Promise.’

They made their way through the crowd of liggers and fans, local DJs who’d supported the shows, record-shop bosses, a few Midlands celebrities, and local footballers and athletes.

When Tony brought Gemma over Tommy was sitting behind his minders idly thinking about a song lyric…I’m too fashionable to pay for my drinks…I want to be seen, but not with you…If nobody’s photographing me, do I exist?

‘This is my brother, Gary.’

Gary’s speech was quite severely impaired and the room was noisy. Tommy suggested that Gemma and Gary come to his dressing room. Gemma was aware enough of her good looks to see that Tommy’s hospitality was only partly driven by sympathy for Gary. Nonetheless, Tommy made a considerable effort to talk to him, discovering that he was studying civil engineering at Birmingham University but that the facilities for the disabled were by no means everything they could be.

The three of them talked for about fifteen minutes, after which Gemma smiled at Tony, who was hovering at the doorway, and said that she and Gary must go.

‘No way,’ Tommy protested. ‘Let’s go back through to the party. Have another drink.’

Gemma smiled. ‘Pretty amazing getting pressed to hang out with you, Tommy, but we don’t want to overstay our welcome and the late-night buses are crap.’

‘Bollocks to that. Have another drink, we’ll get you a car later.’

‘Well, that’s just stupidly nice of you, but in fact Gary has an exam at nine in the morning.’

This was true, but Gary pointed out that Gemma did not. He was a good brother and reminded Gemma that, while he had to go, she could stay. It had become clear during the conversation that Gemma was at least as big a fan of Tommy’s as Gary was. In the end, despite Gemma’s protests, it was decided that Gary would take Tommy’s kind invitation of a car home and that Gemma would stay for a drink and the car would return for her later.

‘Or not,’ said Tommy, who was nothing if not forward.

Gemma’s blush was the prettiest thing that Tommy had seen in as long as he could remember. The ridiculous bender that had followed his Brits adventures, the hectic rehearsals, the weeks on the road had all passed in a blur of beer-soaked, speed-driven, coked-up, acid-tasting nastiness, and now suddenly he was sitting in his dressing room with a real person. A nice person. Prettily dressed, but not trying to get laid. Admiring of Tommy, but not gushing or boring about it. Blushing sweetly at his naughty innuendos. What a change she made.

That old cliche ‘a breath of fresh air’ fitted her perfectly. Tommy knew that he just had to shag her.