Fifty-First State (21 page)

‘Seems a bit premature to start running for it,' Jeremy said. ‘We're not in this war. We don't even know if there's going to be one.'

‘But some people seem to think so,' Joshua said glumly. He saw the panic beginning in his own life. That afternoon, Beth had asked him if he thought she should retreat with their sons to her parents' small estate in West Yorkshire. They were due to spend Christmas there, anyway. Did he think she should stay on after they went back to school? Would they be in more danger there, near Fylingdales, or in London? Would he feel she was disloyal if she retreated with the children? Joshua, surprised by what he thought was overreaction, did not know whether his family would be in danger in London or Yorkshire. He said, ‘I think it's too early to start thinking like that.' Beth replied, sarcastically, ‘Well, you're in the government. You ought to know.'

He had gone straight from home to Saskia's flat, hoping to take her to bed. Instead, when he let himself in, although she always heard his key in the lock and the sound of the front door opening, she was bent over the coffee table, expertly snorting up a line of cocaine through a silver straw. Plainly she had decided to abandon any pretence that she never touched drugs. When he had protested, ‘Saskia!' she'd lifted her head and said only, ‘There's going to be a war in Iraq. And terrorists all over the place. How do you think I'm going to get through a party where everybody's scared? And talking about leaving?'

He told her he thought people were overreacting. She mentioned the explosion outside Selfridges. When Joshua said he could be badly compromised if found in a flat where drugs were in use, she responded, ‘You'd better go then.' And so Joshua had gone. It ought to have been a relief – he knew he should have ended the affair weeks before. But these
two episodes, with his wife and his mistress, had depressed him. And now Sugden's' wine waiter had left.

‘We've got to kill this bill at the second reading,' Gott said firmly. ‘It's scheduled two months from now.' He looked Joshua in the eye and waited.

‘It may die the death in committee. There are many constitutional questions. And protest mobilizing.'

‘Petherbridge will rush it,' Gott predicted.

Joshua nodded. ‘Right.' The nationalization of Iraqi oil had ratcheted the situation up several notches. He felt events moving faster, perhaps spinning out of control. He was thinking about his own career. If they could see off the MoD Land Sales Bill Petherbridge might go. He, Joshua, would have been one of the architects of the Prime Minister's downfall, and therefore a favourite with the new PM. Who did Gott, the kingmaker, see in the job? he wondered. He, Joshua, would get a ministerial post. He was young enough to rise from there, perhaps to the top, young enough to grab the fairy from the top of the Christmas tree. But if they lost – or even if they won and Petherbridge stayed in office – the consequences would be awful – deselection, back to teaching, a lower income and a furious wife.

Gott was saying to the waiter at his elbow, ‘I'll just take some quails' eggs. No appetite,' he said to the others. Joshua, after Beth going, and Saskia snorting, and knowing that whatever personal problems he had he was close to the heart of a political storm, also lacked appetite. He ordered a plate of whitebait and Jeremy, whatever his inclinations really were, the same.

‘I think we can do it,' said Gott. ‘Now there's pressure on Petherbridge to help the USA reinvade Iraq he'll be under continual scrutiny. The public don't want it. At least half the House of Commons don't want it. Overturning that bill will be seen as telling the US we won't go along with the war.'

‘The word's out. There was a deathly hush on our own benches when Amir Siddiqi talked about the Tory Party as being bought – wouldn't it help if you leaked the information about where the pre-election donations came from?'

‘You're not the only person asking. Everyone is. I'm working on getting rock-solid proof—' Jeremy snorted. ‘All right,' said Gott, ‘Jeremy is. Meanwhile I'm saying the details of the donations are public and the party accounts are still being worked on.'

‘What about Petherbridge's threats?'

‘One's dealt with. The other is a threat to my personal life. I made a mistake many years ago. I compounded it. Now it's caught up with me. Simple as that.'

Joshua would have liked to ask for details. He glanced at Jeremy who
gave him a warning glance and shook his head a centimetre in Joshua's direction, warning him to say no more.

Joshua speculated. Gott found in bed with a dead boy? Gott with millions of his bank's money stashed in the Cayman Islands? He had to believe Gott was not stupid enough to proceed if Petherbridge had some truly damning bit of information to use against him. But supposing he had? They'd all be in the soup, tainted by association.

The starters arrived and Gott looked at them, then called the waiter back. ‘Do you know what? My appetite's come back. I see they've got that good hare stew on the menu. Fancy some? I bet you do. Hollow legs – Jeremy,' he informed Joshua. ‘Fancy some yourself?'

‘I suppose so,' Joshua said numbly.

‘Eat up,' said Gott. ‘It all hangs on what the US President says when she addresses the nation tonight. But I expect she'll only threaten. She won't declare war before Christmas. She'll have a struggle to get consent.'

A former leader of the Conservative Party, one of those revolving-door leaders of the nineties and noughties, came over and murmured in Gott's ear. Then he clapped Joshua on the back and left.

‘Well,' said Gott, smiling, ‘that man's thinking ahead. He wants to be my friend.'

That was it, thought Joshua. If they overturned the sale of the bases Gott would be an important man. Edward Gott, kingmaker, he thought.

72 Whitechapel Road, London E1 January 14th, 2016. 10.30 a.m.

Julia Baskerville had spent Christmas in Houston with her husband and daughter and now, back in London, was conferring with her local Party Chairman, Mr Zulfeikar Zulani, a local businessman who owned three butchers' shops in East London. He had told her that three young men had been taken away over Christmas by the police. Their families did not know where they were. Two homes in the constituency had been raided and searched, although nothing had been found and the police had left the residents standing in the confusion caused by the search, without apology.

Julia told him, ‘I'll talk to DS Spring about it and see what I can do. But he'll tell me what he usually says, that the police were acting on confidential information and the young men will be investigated and released if nothing is found against them. You know it's happening all over the country. I'm sure you suspect the police are under orders to create disturbance and anxiety to frighten the community. It started after the Victoria Station bombing and got worse after the Selfridges bomb. So when I talk to DS Spring he'll know he has orders from on high to do exactly what he's doing.'

Zulfeikar Zulani looked tired. They had been political friends for many years although they still respectfully addressed each other as Mr and Mrs. But in spite of the formality they knew each other fairly well – Julia knew about Zulfeikar's increasing prosperity, that he had fixed his brother's passport, that young Aziz was disappointing his father by being lazy at college and hanging out with the wrong friends. In turn Zulfeikar knew of the difficulties Julia experienced while being, effectively, a single parent to her daughter – and secretly deplored her family arrangements. But neither mentioned, to each other or anyone else, what they knew of each other's lives.

‘I'll do all I can,' Julia told him. ‘But for all our sakes, I'm afraid of another bombing. It's not just that the police will come down harder – the government will change the law to allow for indefinite detention. This new government is ready to get very harsh.'

‘If the US invades Iraq and Britain joins them there will be more bombings,' he said, with certainty.

‘I know. I'm due to ask for assurances that won't happen.'

‘I wish you success,' he said, without hope. ‘It's being said that this government is being paid by the USA,' Mr Zulani said. ‘They're saying the election was bought with dollars.'

Julia had heard the rumours but thought they were just the result of tea-room gossip. But whether they were or not, the story had reached Whitechapel.

‘Who's saying?' she asked. She noted that Mr Zulani had been studying her face, as if to see what she knew or did not know.

‘Al Jazeera television,' he told her.

‘I've heard whispers,' she said. ‘But I thought it was fiction. Have they any evidence?'

‘They haven't given any.'

Gott, Julia thought. Gott would know if there was any substance to the story. But even if he did, would he tell?

Mr Zulani said, ‘Even if the story is untrue, it will be dangerous if it is believed.'

Julia only nodded. She was still thinking about Lord Gott. Zulani went on, ‘Two young men, probably from the National Front, attacked two Asian boys on Boxing Day. One is still in hospital, and likely to lose an eye.' He added, ‘You should know there is a group in the constituency called The Jihad. The leaders are from the Middle East. They are calling on the young men to resist. They are saying the US President will soon declare war on Iraq. And that Britain will follow'

Julia looked steadily at the man who had been her Party Chairman since she had been elected, and her predecessor's Chairman also. He had hesitated before telling her this bad news.

‘If the police think there is a network of terrorists here, they will come down harder. But if I do not speak, I am guilty.'

‘I won't mention it,' she said. ‘Not unless something serious comes to my attention.'

‘Our world is becoming a more dangerous place,' he said.

Hamscott Common Airbase. January 14th, 2016. 3.30 p.m.

The Prime Minister of Britain shook hands with the President of the United States while, behind them, the presidential jet screamed. The President leaned towards him.

‘I'll be counting on you, Alan,' she said.

The Prime Minister nodded. ‘I hope you will.' The President turned, surrounded by her guards, and walked lithely towards the plane. It was very cold on the tarmac and Petherbridge tried not to shiver as the aircraft taxied. The perimeter of Hamscott Common was two-deep in armed soldiers. Two helicopters rattled overhead. The permanent vigil, which consisted of five cold and obstinate peace demonstrators, had been arrested and their benders in the trees dismantled three days ago, before the President landed. The road to London had been cleared of all traffic for the cavalcade.

During her whole visit, the President had moved inside a half-mile wide cordon of empty streets and buildings. The ostensible reason for this was fear of terrorism, but the Prime Minister also knew that he could not allow the President to see the huge public demonstrations against her. Not that she was unaware of them. Petherbridge had hurried to reassure her. ‘The people who matter are with you. The rest will follow.'

‘You will back us?' said the President.

‘Of course,' said Alan Petherbridge.

The Silent Duck, Shepherd's Bush Green, London W12. January 14th, 2016. 3.30 p.m.

William Frith waited for Mo Al Fasi at the pub in the side street where they'd met in September. Mo had rung and asked to see him. William didn't know why. His own flat was still occupied by the Sutcliffes.

William and Lucy had spent Christmas in Spain with William's parents. They had both found the situation difficult to explain. On a walk through pines, the sun bright above and a light sprinkling of snow on the ground William's mother had cried, ‘
Why?
Why, William? It makes no sense.'

‘Things are getting worse,' William had replied, vaguely. ‘All these worries about another war and all these demonstrations …'

In spite of his job, or perhaps because of it, William was not interested in politics. His mother, however, was. ‘The European Parliament's more and more concerned about the American military having bases in Britain, without any checks at all. There'll be trouble with Europe if Britain goes to war with Iraq. But why do the Sutcliffes think they're safer in Shepherd's Bush? It's not rational.'

‘Marie isn't rational, Mum. You know that. I told you, she wants us all to die together.'

‘I'm surprised that with her head-in-the-sand attitude she even knows what's happening,'William's mother said tartly. ‘That woman needs urgent professional treatment. Anyway, the situation's ridiculous. Do you want us to come over and give you an excuse to say you need the room so they'll have to leave …?'

‘Not for the moment, Mum. We're all right for now. Joe's talking about making a move. And Marie's seeing a counsellor. Let's see how it goes.'

But William's mother remained unconvinced.

William was unhappy about what Mo might say. Did he want the flat back? Joe was paying towards the mortgage now and the family had settled into a bearable routine, eating together four or five times a week and spending most of the remaining time apart. But life was still hard, worse than William had been prepared to tell his mother. Marie was, as he had said, seeing a counsellor, but this was not the first, nor the second counsellor she had seen since she arrived in London. In fact, Mrs Wilmot was the fourth, Marie having seen off the first three by suddenly taking a turn
for the worse during therapy – when they began to get too close to making recommendations, said Lucy.

As to the Sutcliffes' move – William had not exactly lied to his mother about it but had not told the truth either. Just before leaving for Spain William had taken the bull by the horns and asked Joe what his plans were. He made the point that if Joe and Marie ever wanted to see a grandchild the situation could not go on as it was. Joe had countered by saying that he and Marie had been discussing selling up and moving to London. He suggested that because, however hard they saved, William and Lucy alone would only be able to get a slightly larger flat with a bigger mortgage, William and Lucy should also sell up, then both couples could pool their funds and buy a much bigger house in a nicer area. It was obvious to William that Joe had been thinking about this, checking the prices and doing the sums. And that Marie agreed with the plan, or, when it had been broached, had at least not burst into tears and collapsed, which was, effectively, agreement.