Back in the old days, it would have been unheard of for a new Member of Parliament to be in a position to ask a question in this form, but thanks to the electronic ballot system, known as the ‘shuffle’, he had as good a chance as any. Or as bad a chance, he thought ruefully. One thing was for sure, if he did get picked for Prime Minister’s Questions, it would be a nerve-wracking, adrenaline-fuelled experience.
Should he text Holly and tell her? No, better not until he knew for sure if he was going to be called. He didn’t want to get her hopes up.
Finally, happy with the wording he’d scribbled out and crossed through a million times, he typed it up and pinged it over to Tom. As soon as Tom gave him the go-ahead, he’d send it off via the Commons intranet. And then cross everything he’d get picked.
It didn’t take long for Tom to come back to him, and, taking a deep breath, Charlie filled out the online form and submitted his question. It would now be a nail-biting wait before the results of the shuffle was announced.
Feeling in need of some human interaction, he decided to head off to lunch.
‘All right?’ The chirpy tones of Stephen Brabham, Opposition MP for a constituency a couple along from Charlie’s own, broke into his thoughts. Stephen had entered Parliament at the last general election as a new MP and, a few months more familiar with the place and the processes than Charlie, could often be found tucking into the all-day breakfast in the House of Commons Members’ Tea Room. A man who’d been described by many as far too amenable to be a serious politician, in the short time he’d been working in the Commons, he’d proved surprisingly effective at networking and seemed to be in all places most of the time.
‘Hi, Steve,’ Charlie replied. ‘Early lunch?’
Stephen glanced at his watch. ‘Not exactly. Late breakfast, more like. Was up until all hours sorting out the wording for my speech to the local branch of the National Union of Students.’
‘I’m sure they’ll love it,’ Charlie replied. ‘Government-bashing, I suppose?’ he added wryly.
‘Oh, you know,’ Stephen said airily. ‘Chances are they’ll be more interested in their smartphones than anything I have to say, but you’ve got to take the opportunities where you can, haven’t you? Especially since not all of us have the comfort of a huge, safe majority in our seats.’
‘Touché,’ Charlie grinned. He knew Stephen was only teasing but in some cliques in Westminster, the same accusation could be a lot more vitriolic. ‘Although it’s not something I take for granted, I can assure you.’
‘Not at the moment, perhaps,’ Stephen took another bite of his sausage. ‘But give it a few years and you’ll get complacent like the rest of them on your side.’
‘Nah,’ Charlie knew, from a lot of conversations with the other man (perhaps a few too many in the opinion of some of his fellow party members, who weren’t such believers in collaboration), when Stephen was pulling his leg. ‘I’m well aware of the precariousness of this business.’
‘Perhaps calling it a business is your first mistake,’ Stephen said between bites of toast. ‘I thought your lot were thinking about expanding your compassionate side after the last few years?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Sorry, Steve, I’m not on the right form for an ideological discussion today. Got things to sort out in the real world.’
Stephen smiled. ‘Don’t tell me your leafy constituency’s working you too hard already? Isn’t it all stockbrokers one end, hippies the other?’
‘Not exactly,’ Charlie said. ‘But they keep me busy.’
‘Well, don’t let me keep you,’ Stephen said. ‘Drink later next week?’
‘I’d like that,’ Charlie replied. ‘Might need one to commiserate or celebrate after next Wednesday if I get picked for PMQs.’
‘Bold move,’ Stephen raised a speculative eyebrow. ‘Especially this early. Perhaps I’ll give the lottery a spin myself.’
‘No harm in trying,’ Charlie replied, heading to the counter to get some food of his own. ‘You’ve got as good a chance as any.’
‘Best of luck in the ballot,’ Stephen said. ‘I know I’m supposed to hope you fuck it up, but I hope, if you do get through, it goes well.’
‘Thanks,’ Charlie smiled wryly. ‘Fingers crossed.’
As he grabbed a drink and a bacon roll from the counter, he felt a sudden, unaccustomed flutter of nerves and the thought came into his head that, well-meaning colleagues or no, the only thing worse than not getting picked to speak was, most definitely, getting picked. Something told him that if he did end up winning in the shuffle, he wasn’t going to get a whole lot of sleep between now and then.
25
At around 2.31 on Thursday afternoon, the results of the PMQs shuffle were posted online and all respondents received an email letting them know whether or not they’d been successful. Charlie, who’d been compulsively checking his phone like a teenager expecting a saucy SnapChat message, felt his heart leap into his mouth as his phone pinged. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.
Swiping the screen, he scrolled down the message and felt his stomach disappear and his hands, suddenly sweaty, struggled to keep hold of the phone. As he digested the information on his screen, he let out a long breath. Reading it again, just to be sure he wasn’t making any mistakes, he closed his mail client and swiftly found Tom Fielding’s mobile number.
‘Tom? Charlie… Yes, fine, thanks. Anything I need to know about back home?… OK. Well, guess what?… Yup, that’s right.’ He took a deep breath, aware he was babbling, a deeply unattractive trait in a politician, even an excited one. ‘Sorry, yes, we’re on. Question six of fifteen… Honestly? Crapping myself… No, don’t worry, I’ll be calm enough by next Wednesday… No, I’m going to call her next.’ Charlie’s face flushed slightly at the mention of Holly’s name. ‘And I’ll give Rachel a ring, too – after all, Harry’s her son and she should know before Holly does, really.’
Heartbeat starting to return to normal, Charlie bade his agent goodbye and then rang Rachel, who was, predictably, very pleased. Then, feeling suddenly teenagerish and nervous again, he dialled Holly’s number.
‘Hey,’ he said, voice softening a little as he heard her voice on the other end of the line. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be pleased when I tell you what I’ve just heard.’ He smiled. ‘No, I’ve not made it to Prime Minister just yet!’ As he told Holly, his heart sped up and he had to take a deep breath to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline that surged through his veins. ‘Thanks,’ he breathed as she congratulated him. ‘I’ll fill you in on the details when I see you on Saturday morning. OK. Bye.’
Sitting back in his office chair, Charlie finally allowed himself a moment to digest the news. Next Wednesday he’d be speaking for the first time in the House of Commons, at Prime Minister’s Questions no less, and he’d no longer be anonymous. As far as putting his name and face out there went, he couldn’t be doing it any more publicly. He hoped he was up to the job.