Clare Bonito came top of her class. She was used to being a winner. That was why she sat straight in her chair. She was calm and in control.
The Prime Minister in contrast sprawled in his seat, looking ill at ease and uncomfortable.
“That the President of the EU is a liar and a drunk says it all really. It’s all you need to know.”
He spoke so softly she had to lean forward to make sure she heard every word. It was important not to miss one.
He glanced up and then away, apparently unable to look her in the eye. More like sparrow hawk than sparrow he thought but kept that thought to himself.
“So?” Better to make the other person do most of the talking. That way she gave away little and learnt more. Clare was good at that. She was good at silence. She was good with words. She was good with many things which is she was now in control of the third largest political party in the UK, coming from next to nowhere only two elections back.
The pause that followed allowed her to control the pace of the conversation. She was good with pauses. She liked the wait. Silence made most people, especially most politicians uncomfortable. Silence tempted them into talking. Often that way they would say something that exposed an opening.
“I do not want to be remembered as the man who led Britain out of the EU.” That statement seemed to drain the last of his reserves.
Nor the man to let Scotland go thought Clare but kept the thought to herself. She kept most of her thoughts to herself. That was another great strength : another lesson of a painful childhood watching other children get all the cake. Children like William Motion, the privileged Prime Minister, with his fake call me Bill and easy charm.
“So you will campaign to stay in the EU.”
His hand waved weakly through the air as he shifted in his seat. “No choice. Of course …….” Here his tone did change as some measure of strength returned. “I will do what I can to get the best deal for Britain, …… and only decide then. But ………”. He trailed off again leaving her in no doubt which way the decision would go however little he brought home : one rasher of bacon or twenty. The way things were going he would be lucky to get one. Somehow he would spin that into at least five.
More or less exactly the same thoughts were going through the PM’s head except he was far from confident about emerging with something sufficiently compelling to spin : especially as he already had a good idea of what would be coming out of the negotiations however long they went on. To be precise he was likely to have next to nothing to show for his efforts.
He could imagine all too well how the No campaign could exploit that making him out as wet and unreliable; and all down to the dreadful Herr Meckel and her pet poodle the President of the EU Madame Junker, nicknamed by his good friend the Chancellor as that wanker. He could imagine all too easily that the dreadfully vulgar leader of UKIP would label him a plonker.
Plonker and Wanker : what a pair! Not what he wanted to read in the history books.
But now he had a cunning plan, or at least the makings of one. Yet his plan had holes, some huge, and the biggest of all was sitting across from him. Someone he had never bested before. Prickly as a thistle she was, and not susceptible in the least to flattery. Self-interest though that was another thing.
Banishing thoughts of failure he managed a smile that bordered on the sincere, an expression increasingly rare as they clashed on almost every imaginable issue. “Under those circumstances we would be sharing the same platform. The Conservatives and the Scottish Nationalists : something we could agree on after all.”
Clare stiffened. The idea of being on the same side as the Prime Minister on anything was uncomfortable. Yet she had boxed herself in on this issue : so unlike her. Normally she dealt herself a get out card just in case she needed to change her mind later.
“Assuming of course you will still be campaigning for Britain to stay in ……..”. Clare just managed to check a frown that was forming instinctively in reaction to seeing William Motion smile. Did she detect a hint of mockery behind the Prime Minister’s expression?
“That has always been our position.” she could acknowledge that at least without giving anything away.
“It has.” He seemed keen to secure her confirmation. Too keen. Why Clare wondered. “And the Scottish Nationalists are nothing if not consistent.”
Now she was sure she was being patronised.
“Of course if Britain were to vote to leave that could leave us in an interesting constitutional quagmire.”
Ah thought Clare. Now we come to the point. She waited to see what more he would say. When he slumped back in his seat she concluded a prompt of some sort was called for.
“Such as …………..”
Call me Bill leaned forward rubbing his hands as if he had just been passed a very large towel. “If England wanted to leave yet Scotland wanted to stay it would make it very difficult to refuse another referendum.”
Yes. She had already reached that conclusion some time ago, but never had anyone senior in the Conservative Party admitted the blindingly obvious, let alone the leader of the Party.
“Not sure how Andrew would feel about that.” Bill moved on before she could decide what to say. Few things in life surprised Clare. This was one of those rare occasions. She did not like being surprised even when the surprise was one she rather liked.
“We would feel obliged to allow Scotland to consider its position ….. if you were to ask.” Bill dropped temptation into the conversation with all the sweetness of a chocolate truffle.
And ask she would. Commitments made after losing the last referendum were a source of lasting regret to Clare. The promise not to raise the independence question again for a generation was one that had to be broken; but how and when to break it without seeming too much like yet another dishonest politician was the difficulty. A vote to leave the EU would provide the perfect excuse. She knew that; but that of course was another problem. It left her in a position of having promised she and her party would campaign for an outcome that would deprive her of the perfect excuse she so badly wanted.
“Andrew may not see it the same way of course.”
As leader of the Labour Party, Andrew Dicks would not and the Prime Minister knew it. Having lost almost all its seats in Scotland, Labour’s best chance of returning to government was in coalition with the Scottish Nationalists. And Andrew Dicks would be politically and ideologically more at home in the SNP than he was in the party where he was now the leader. So cohabitation would come easily. Yet if Scotland went its own way, the chance of Labour regaining power, especially under his leadership, would be next to nothing. Departure of the Scottish voters would renew calls for his early retirement.
“Yes I cannot see Andrew supporting this position.” Bill reiterated. Clare also knew this, but it did not hurt to rub it in. And he did enjoy the sight of her wrestling with the contradiction that came with this dilemma. What would she do? Ditch her friends or her principles? Really it had to be one or the other. The inconsistency and incompatibility was too big a chasm to bridge with fine words; and it was all the more difficult to recast history as every word you said and any article you wrote lingered overhead up in the cloud just waiting for the Twittersphere and internet trolls to pull proof of inconsistency back to page one prominence.
Amazing really how incredibly stupid most Scot voters were. They wanted freedom from Britain only to surrender it all the next day to the more demanding and intrusive rule of the EU. The bureaucrats in Brussels would have a field day with another small, unimportant country they could boss around and ignore. The only winners would be Clare and her closest confidantes, elevated to the top table of the Euro elite, with no need to make a reservation for the best tables at Michelin three-star restaurants : not that Bill thought Clare would fit in there. Still the Kinnocks had shown just how fast a conversion could happen and how far it could go. The price of principle was not so high counted in Euros.
Join the club Clare was what he wanted to say, except she did not join clubs, and they would not let her in his.
Finally Clare felt obliged to break the silence. Bill had outlasted her.
“We could not appear at the same events.”
Bill nodded his agreement.
“Or give the same reasons.”
Bill shrugged his shoulders. There were always plenty of reasons, some better than others for taking my position, and more than enough to go round.
“And I do not want you to campaign in Scotland.”
Bill tried hard not to appear pleased and more or less succeeded. He grimaced his acceptance of that condition.
“Won’t be long now” he said stretching and standing to show they had arrived at the end of meeting.
Clare did not shake his hand. There are some things she could not bring herself to do even in private; especially in private.
The characters in this vignette are thinly disguised so you can easily recognise them.