High society (20 page)

THE FIFTH FLOOR RESTAURANT, HARVEY NICHOLS

L
ook, Em, the fact that Tommy Hanson kicked you out of a car in Brixton and you met some black man who called you a honky cockteaser doesn’t give you any right to lecture me about my life. Is that why you’ve asked me out to lunch, to give me a lecture?’ Lizzy pushed her uneaten salad aside and lit a cigarette. She was tall, beautiful and famous. One of that elite breed of clotheshorses known as supermodels. She walked up and down for a living and she did it very well indeed. Emily, having eaten the whole of her salad, now made a point of helping herself to Lizzy’s. She was healthy now, after all.

‘I’m not lecturing you.’

‘You are. You’ve turned into one of those fucking NA evangelists.’

‘I’m just saying that it feels good to be clean.’

‘Darling, the reason it feels good for you to be clean is that you were so shit at being on drugs. You couldn’t handle them. One snort and your knickers were on your head. God, it was embarrassing. Being clean for you means that you’re not out at some club making a complete idiot of yourself for the delight of the tabloid-guzzling hoi-polloi. I, on the other hand, do not have a problem. I’m good at drugs. I like them.’

‘Nobody’s good at drugs, Lizzy. People just think they are. Drugs keep you from facing up to your problems.’

‘God, if getting clean means you start talking like you’re on morning telly thank God I’m a raver.’

‘What have you had today?’

‘As much as I fucking want. Look, I’ve been taking coke for years. Bit of smack, too, occasionally, pills, E, the lot, and I love it, OK? What’s more, during the time I’ve been breaking half the laws in this country I’ve climbed to the top of my profession, amassed a fortune of not a few million quid, performed before royalty on numerous occasions, opened a breast cancer initiative with the PM’s wife and been awarded an OBE. Not bad for a habitual criminal, eh? What’s more, it’s not as if what I do is a secret. I’ve been done over in the Mirror enough times. By rights the cops should have thrown me in clink years ago, but nobody cares. Drugs are fine as long as you can afford good stuff, as long as you don’t screw up and start breaking proper laws, the ones that count. Even heroin is cool — ’

‘You are so deluded, Liz. You’re in such personal denial.’

‘Even bloody heroin. It isn’t smack that kills you, it’s bad smack and what people have to do to pay for it. All I have to do to pay for mine, and what’s more pay for the very best, is walk up and down in a small piece of silk looking sulky.’

‘Heroin addiction isn’t a joke, Lizzy! I’ve seen people so screwed up that — ’

‘Exactly, and when you see me burgling and whoring to get high, tap me on the shoulder and give me your bloody boring ten point lecture. Until then don’t worry about it. Look at Eric Clapton: he was on the stuff for years, wrote his best music during the time, don’t know why he bothered to get off it really. That author — what’s his name? — Will Self, took smack on John Major’s plane! Amazing, didn’t even get busted, nobody gave a shit. Now he’s presenting comedy quiz shows. Nobody cares about drugs any more.’

‘I presume Clapton got off it because he resented his dependency.’

‘Well fine. If you resent your dependency then get off it. Personally I don’t.’

‘All right, all right. I’m just saying that you’re not as bloody healthy as you think.’

‘I never said I was healthy.’

‘You’re too bloody thin, that’s for sure.’

‘What, too bloody thin to make millions a year? Do me a favour. Look, Em, I’m not saying I’m not fucked up. Of course I’m fucked up. I take a lot of coke and pills with my Rice Krispies. Most of the girls do. I’m just saying that it isn’t killing me — what’s more, I still look great. I’ll tell you what’s killing me: forty Marlboro Red a day, that’s what’s killing me, and they’re legal…And I notice you’ve gone back onto full-strength yourself, darling, since your miracle cure.’

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, WESTMINSTER

P
eter knew, medical results aside, that his life had changed. The policemen at the door had saluted him. The cloakroom girl had seemed quite misty-eyed. Scarcely familiar colleagues and opposition members had come up and shaken his hand. Suddenly he was surrounded by friendly faces. Nothing, however, had prepared him for the reception he encountered on entering the chamber for the first time since his accident.

The entire house rose as one and applauded.

He could hardly believe it. Nor could he believe that, as he took his place behind the government front bench, the Home Secretary, the Home Secretary no less, turned and gave him a thumbs-up before approaching the despatch box.

‘Madam Speaker. The Right Honourable Member for Dalston North West and I have had our differences in the past over policy, although I must say I’ve always applauded the clarity and courage of his vision.’ This was news to Peter, but you take your good fortune where you find it.

‘A radical vision, a bold and challenging vision that brings into question all that which we thought was certain. Yes, Madam Speaker, of late we all in this house have had the pleasure of applauding the Right Honourable Member for Dalston North West’s vocal pyrotechnics.’

Applaud? Again Peter remembered things differently, but, as his daughter Cathy was fond of saying, ‘Whatever.’

‘Now, however, it falls to me to salute his personal courage and offer on behalf of the house our very best wishes to him and his family. Mr Paget has fallen victim to the consequences of the very issue in our society about which he cares so passionately. We can all imagine how trying a time it is for the Right Honourable Member and his family as he awaits the doctor’s reports and all that we, his friends and colleagues, can do is wish him well.’

Peter Paget rose to reply. It had been some days since his accident and he was feeling a great deal better. He knew that percentage-wise his chances were very good. He also knew that if, as he had begun to hope, he was in the clear, that moment of horror cramped up against the junkie Robert Nunn might just have been the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him.

‘I thank my Right Honourable Friend the Home Secretary, but I am sorry to say that he is wrong. The best wishes of this house, gratefully received though they are, are not all that you can do for me. Instead you can support my bill!’

A BROTHEL, BIRMINGHAM

T
he Hungarian girl handed her blanket up to Jessie, who lay shaking on her bunk. ‘Take it, please, you are very cold.’

‘Thanks very much. Thank you very much.’ Jessie had been twitching and sniffling all night. Fortunately for her the other girls were too tired and stupefied to be irritated more than a little by it, or by her constant trips to the toilet. Jessie’s nose and eyes were running and her clothes were wet with sweat, which was part of the reason why she was shivering so much. She was becoming feverish and was half hallucinating, but even in her abstracted state she knew that whenever any of her captors were near by she must not give her symptoms away. The drama of withdrawal would not be an unfamiliar sight to her abusers and they would not approve of it. Drugs played a central role in maintaining docile order in the house. The last thing Goldie and his acolytes wanted was a girl getting straight enough to start thinking for herself. Each time her captors came to take her to work or to offer her food or drugs she struggled to appear stoned and happy. The effort was immense, as her whole body seemed bent on betraying her at every moment. Her mouth yawned even though she wasn’t tired, her skin ran hot, then cold, shivering and sweating all at once. She had pains in her muscles; her bones and joints ached and she feared that they were becoming inflamed. Her arms twitched and jerked as she lay on her bunk or as clients lay on her. She suffered sudden and massive anxiety attacks followed by fits of anger that made her want to throw her fists into the face of whichever man was currently paying for her. But somehow she kept control, even remembering to put condoms on her clients.

She had two allies to help her through: allies in her mind, at least. Both girls. The girl Maria, who had been dragged out defending her name, and also the girl Jessie used to be.

PARKINSON, BBC TELEVISION CENTRE

I
n the past few weeks my next guest has leapt from relative backbench obscurity to being recognized as one of the foremost politicians of his time. He is a man who has almost single handedly shaken the nation out of its apathy about what is perhaps the greatest issue that faces our society today. The issue is drugs. The man is, of course, the Right Honourable Peter Paget, MP.’

Watching him on the green-room monitor, Samantha felt an intensity of love she could hardly bear. He was not just her lover; he was her hero. A great man, who had risen to a great challenge.

He was her father.

Peter was cheered as he descended the famous staircase. Parky hugged him warmly, a deliberate gesture which Peter much appreciated.

‘So, Peter, welcome to the show. You can hear that everybody’s pleased to see you.’

‘Yes, it’s very nice, a lovely welcome. Thank you.’

‘Yes, I wish I got a cheer like that. All I get’s ‘Oh, it’s him again…‘ But never was a welcome more deserved, because you’ve had the courage to tackle one of society’s great taboos and you’ve got us all thinking, you really have.’

‘I’ve only been speaking my mind, Michael. It’s a privilege to be able to do so.’

‘And you’ve paid a high price for that privilege. I’m referring, of course, to your terrifying accident. Has it changed your thinking at all? It must have done.’

‘Yes, Michael, in so much as it has strengthened my absolute conviction that the drugs war is lost and that the only way to create a drugs peace is to give a lead to every civilized nation in the world and legalize drugs.’

‘That’s all drugs? No exceptions? Crack cocaine? ‘Ice’?’

‘All drugs, Michael. Half-measures, decriminalization of dope, et cetera, will merely make matters worse.’

‘You oppose partial decriminalization?’

‘Of course. The criminal community sees weakness and exploits it. They go to areas where the police are taking a so called ‘softly softly’ approach and use the resulting shop window to pedal harder drugs. The net result is that the whole idea of legalization is fatally undermined, and then reactionary voices in the press say, ‘You see! We make pot easier to obtain and immediately more heroin is sold.’ ’

‘So you’re saying that it’s all or nothing?’

‘Well, obviously, Michael! Half-measures are what my daughters are fond of calling a ‘no-brainer’. They’re totally useless, worse than useless. Of course criminals will use areas of policy waffle and confusion to increase their grip on a defenceless community. And it’s the most addictive drugs from which criminals profit most. The people who take them have to have more and at present they’re obliged to shop from murderers and gangsters! And pay gangsters’ prices! Which means the drug-takers become criminals and terrorize the wider community to feed their habit. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if you require a selfish argument for legalization look at the crime rates in your area! Drug addicts steal, that’s a fact; they rob you and me to get high, Michael. When will we wake up? We’re handing society over to the mob; in fact we’ve already handed it over. It’s almost too late.’

There was applause at this, which Parkinson was happy to let run its full course. ‘Peter, on a very personal note, and I know you won’t mind my asking you about this, it’s possible that, as a result of your accident with a drug addict’s needle, you are HIV positive. Or perhaps that you’ve contracted hepatitis.’

‘Yes, that’s so. I’m told that it’s unlikely but entirely possible. All I can do is wait the required weeks for tests to yield conclusive results.’

‘All this must be terribly hard for your wife and family.’

‘Yes, it is. It’s very hard, but as you say, we’re a family, we stick together, and my wife and daughters support me absolutely in what I’m trying to achieve. There are millions of families in Britain, families of every kind, who have a right to be protected under the law. Instead, the law as it is at the moment systematically legislates to destroy their communities.’

‘And you’re quite certain that if drugs were legal you wouldn’t currently be in the dangerous position in which you find yourself.’

‘Absolutely certain. Nor would Robert, the man whose needle I encountered, be the piece of human wreckage that he is. He might still be a heroin addict, but he’d be no threat to himself or to me.’

‘But would there not be thousands more addicts? Millions, possibly?’

‘Would you be one, Michael?’

‘Well, no, but — ’

‘Your wife? Your children? I don’t think mine would. President Lincoln once said that you can’t permanently do more for people than they are capable of doing for themselves. He was right. Government cannot change human nature. Kids will always experiment with things they shouldn’t, and they need education and protection, not police persecution. In the United States they once tried to ban alcohol. That one insane experiment tells us everything we need to know about drug control. People didn’t drink less, they just drank illegally. They paid no tax, some of them went blind from wood alcohol, and they financed the birth of organized crime that has plagued American society ever since.’

‘Speaking of booze, what do you think about that? Is that a dangerous drug?’

‘Dangerous to anyone who has the misfortune to be out and about when the pubs chuck out. Collective consumption of alcohol is a stimulus to violence, any policeman will tell you that. This is not the case with E. Drunk young men fight, loved-up young men hug each other. It’s a fact. There are clubs that once required twenty bouncers which now use only one, simply because young people have changed their drug of choice. Every week hundreds of people are injured and killed as a result of drinking. You don’t see them on any front page and yet the whole nation knows the names of the handful of people who’ve died from taking E.’

‘Now that’s not, strictly speaking, true,’ Parkinson protested. ‘We all remember the tragedy of poor Leah Belts. But I’m sure you’re aware, Peter, that deaths from ecstasy are doubling on a yearly basis. Forty people died in 2001 alone. Can you name them, Peter? I can’t.’

‘You’re right, Michael, and I’m sorry, it was a foolish thing to say. But you say forty people died in a year having taken ecstasy; next year perhaps there’ll be eighty. But I tell you that six thousand people a year die directly from alcohol misuse! Six thousand! I don’t know their names either. Nearly ninety thousand NHS hospital admissions a year result from mental or behavioural problems caused by alcohol.’

‘Good lord.’

‘At peak times eight out of ten casualty admissions are alcohol related. One in seven people killed on the road are killed because of alcohol.’

‘Extraordinary.’

‘And yet, as I said, deaths from E continue to make the headlines.’

‘But nonetheless they’re doubling annually. Surely that’s a cause for concern?’

‘Of course it is, Michael, but I put it to you that they may well be doubling because E is illegal.’

‘Because of it?’

‘Yes. If ecstasy were produced legally under licence it would be less toxic, purer. Kids could be sure of what they were taking and they would have directions for use.’

‘I must say, it’s a compelling argument, and there’s no doubt that you’ve caught the imagination of the country with your views, Peter. Yet it’s only weeks since you were being vilified in the press.’

‘Mine is an idea whose time has come. I even have hopes that the major parties will remove the whip and allow their people a free vote when my Private Member’s Bill comes before the house.’

‘So, Peter, I have to ask you this, you know that. I know you’ve spoken on this issue before, but I’d like to ask you again. Do you take any drugs yourself?’

‘Yes, I drink, and if it turns out that I’ve been unlucky in my encounter with Robert I shall be taking a cocktail of highly expensive and dangerous drugs until the day I die.’

‘I mean illegal drugs.’

‘No. None whatsoever. Absolutely not, and nor would I if they were legal. But you don’t need to take drugs to be affected by our drug laws and drug-raddled society. We’re all affected.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly made me think. You’ve made us all think. Peter, you’re a very good and a very brave man. Ladies and gentlemen, Peter Paget!’

The applause was loud and genuinely warm.

‘And now somebody who is himself no stranger to drugs, having fought many a widely publicized battle with their insidious influence on his life. Joining us tonight before starting a massive national tour tomorrow, a tour that has already sold out, breaking all previous records…Tommy Hanson!’

Tommy appeared at the top of Michael’s stairway striking poses that managed to be simultaneously both pure pomp-rock posturing and an indulgently amused, ironic take on pure pomp rock posturing. Tommy always had his cake and ate it.

‘You all right! OK! Sound. Yeah!’ he shouted, arms outstretched.

He trotted down the stairs doing an impressive scissor-kick off the last four while swinging his arm in a superb moment of air guitar exuberance. He answered the huge cheer that this provoked with a face and hand gesture that said, ‘Yeah, I know I’m a wanker, but it’s a laugh, in’t it,’ at which the audience laughed warmly.

Tommy crossed the studio floor, hugged Parky, shook hands with Peter Paget, and nestled down in the chair recently vacated by Peter, who had now moved himself one seat along as instructed by the floor manager.

‘All right, Parky? Thanks for ‘avin’ me on an’ all. All right, Peter? Top chat that, big time.’

After a few moments of bonhomie Parky brought up the subject that was on everybody’s mind. ‘Tommy. Last night. In jail? Am I right?’

‘Sadly, yeah, Parky. I were a right tosser…Can I say ‘tosser’ on telly? I don’t want to get into any more trouble.’

‘Yes, that’s fine. We’re all grown-ups here.’

‘What I did was dead stupid and I reckon the police handled the whole thing brilliantly, ‘cos kids could ‘a been hurt, so big up t’the Met. As for me, I were a twat…Can I say ‘twat’? Oh well, I ‘ave now anyways. But I were. I were a right twat. I deserved to get banged up and I was. So fair play to the coppers, no complaints there at all.’

‘Crowd-surfing? Down Oxford Street?’

Tommy’s sheepish grin was enough to provoke laughter and cheers from the studio audience. Yes, he had been very, very naughty, but what a lad! What a boy!

‘It were mental, Parky, dead mental. You should try it, man. Wind in your hair, bunch o’ birds reaching up and grabbin’ at you. I reckon I was moving quicker than the traffic does these days…‘ Tommy turned to Peter. ‘Maybe you lot up at Parliament should think about that in terms of transport policy.’

‘I’ll see what I can do, Tommy.’

‘Can I just say, Parky, can I just say that I think Peter here is right? He’s an amazing bloke and just absolutely top ‘bout the things he’s sayin’. ‘Cos too many kids are dyin’ out there, right? And summat’s got t’be done.’

Peter smiled broadly. ‘Tommy and I are old pals, Michael. We hooked up at the Brit Awards to discuss how to get young people involved in my campaign.’ That’s right, because I reckon what Peter’s saying is top.’ Once more Tommy’s open charm carried all before it. Peter Paget almost found himself believing that he and Tommy Hanson really had become co-campaigners at the Brits.