Party Games (49 page)

“Most of that is just in your mind, Fergus!”  Rodney shook his head, controlling his panic.  “I wasn’t Dickenson’s favourite, and if you had gone ahead with that story and it all came out...just think of the fall-out should your
practices
be discovered.  We can talk about this without the gun, just put it down, get Clare some help. You’re not a killer, and you don’t want to see anybody get hurt.”

McDermott subconsciously began to lower the gun slightly, but his grip on the handle, his finger firmly resting on the trigger, remained steady.  Rodney glanced back at Clare.  She lay perfectly still, blood streaked down her pale cheek in a thick, red line.

*****

8.50am

“Yes,
yes,
I’ll marry you.  It’s what I wanted all along.”

Colin could see the shell-shock on her face, a rabbit caught in headlights, her youth obvious next to his own middle age, but her face broke into a smile and he was captivated.  More heads turned towards the mystery woman as Colin placed a hand delicately on her waist.

“Excellent, that’s really...excellent.”  Colin beamed.  “I’ll do this again properly, with a ring, I’ll get you the best, the best of everything...”

            “I don’t understand, what changed your mind?”

            “Let’s just say I’ve had a eureka moment.  I’ve realised that if you don’t live for the here and now, go after what you want in life, it might all be too late.”  He whispered.   It was just as he had hoped; to be seen as not just Colin Scott the politician, but Colin Scott the family man.  He wished the whole of the Village could watch this moment.  He pulled her close, kissing her parted lips and placed a protective hand on her stomach, the noise around them falling to a rumble of rumour. 
Colin Scott has a girlfriend?

“With an emphasis on the ‘girl’.  She looks like the bloody intern.”  Colin heard a passing colleague mutter to a companion.  He put it down to jealousy.  He didn’t care.  Today was a momentous day, when everything was coming together.  Kathryn could be a huge asset to his campaign, to his life, and Linda Cheeser could take her threats and go to hell.

“Look, we’ve got to get over to College Green, it’s all happening now, the press will all be there.”  He said excitedly, indicating to her to walk with him.  He took her hand again, holding it firmly, enjoying the feel of her fingers against palm.

“One minute you’re hiding me away, the next you wanting to stage a media appearance?”  Kathryn laughed disbelievingly. 

“Yes.  Matthew Gaines will tell you where to stand, but I want you to be next to me for the photo op afterwards.  Don’t look so terrified, it will be fine.” Colin smiled, stopping her briefly as they reached Carriage Gates.  He stroked her cheek, his grey eyes gazing into hers.  “You have to trust me.  You trusted me when it was our first time –
your
first time – and that was fine...wasn’t it?”

“Christ, Colin, you
know
my answer to that.”  Kathryn whispered, closing her fingers around his. 

Colin felt giddy, the same giddiness he experienced with Alice, all those years ago, on their wedding day.  He hoped she would understand.

“But what will people say, about me?”  Kathryn shook her head. “You’re used to the press saying things about you – not nice things.  And what about my own ambition, about the baby?”

 “They will say ‘how the hell did Colin Scott land a beautiful, intelligent woman like that?’ And if they want to criticise, that’s their problem.  Whatever they say about you, they’ll have said worse about me lately.  I want you, and I want the baby.  You’re my family, and I’ve been too thick to realise it.  I want you to finish your degree, get yourself the career you’ve wanted, and I’ll always back you.  All I ask is for your loyalty, support and love.  It will be a long road ahead to the leadership, but now I know I can do it with you at my side.”  Unlike the one in his pocket, it was a speech he hadn’t prepared, yet it came from the heart. 

“I do love you.”  Kathryn said softly in a cracked voice.  They embraced before they hurried along Abingdon Street towards the throng of hungry journalists and supportive colleagues.  Although it was to be one of the longest days he had ever experienced, for the moment at least, Colin felt at peace.

*****

8.55am

Vomit began to rise from Rodney’s gut but he suppressed the urge to throw up.

“Ok, ok.  Please, Fergus, just put down the gun and we can talk rationally about this.  There’s no love lost between Dickenson and me anymore, you know that, and I always abhorred his methods.  You’re political editor now, why ruin it all?”  Rodney tried to move from the floor, to kneel up, but McDermott shook his head and waved the gun in a motion which suggested he stay put.

“Dickenson hates me, always has!”  The journalist spat, but his voice remained low.  His wide, red eyes were filled with malice, laced with madness.  “And now – now he was about to crucify me for his own sake, shop me in just to save his precious paper, and I can’t have that.  He knows about
everything
, about what I did – what
you
did!  Your smart-arse lassie Anthea thought she could threaten me, but y’know, those days are gone now, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to just act like it was all bloody me, and you knew nothing!”  McDermott moved closer to him, once again raising the gun, pulling back the hammer with a satisfying click. 

For a moment Rodney wondered what on earth Anthea might have said to him, and why, but he felt his time beginning to run out.

“Please, Fergus, just stop this.  This isn’t the way to deal with things, we used to be friends, remember?  Shooting me isn’t going to make you feel any better.” 

“Don’t bloody tell me what will make me feel
better
!  I’ve got nothing left now, nothing!  But you don’t know what that’s like, do you?”  McDermott’s face was contorted in pure hate and his finger began to slowly pull back on the trigger.  A rush of panic gripped the Tory leader, but the powerful, natural urge to stay alive took him by surprise and cleared his head. He was getting nowhere with his former colleague’s twisted logic - the time for talking was over, and if Rodney was to act, he had to do it now.  In the corner of his eye he saw Clare twitch, a small groan whispering from her lungs as she tried to move her head.  If McDermott saw she was coming round, he might turn on her again, and Rodney just couldn’t allow that. 

He flashed a distressed look behind McDermott’s head, yelling “thank God you’re here!”  The journalist, startled, swung round to confront the intruder, but as he did so Rodney leapt to his feet, moving quicker than he had ever done in his life, leaping on his back and pulling back his arms tightly to restrain him.  In that moment Rodney wished he had learned some basic self defence, as McDermott swung round a leg and caught him in the groin, the pain so intense he doubled over and fell to the floor.  The door handle was turning.  McDermott’s alarm was clear.  Rodney tried to get to his feet, but the gun was there, the barrel once again aimed at his chest.  His PA was screaming in the doorway, but before he could see exactly who was there with her, whether Deborah was there, McDermott had begun to swing round towards her.  An intense desire to stop him was so powerful Rodney acted before thinking and surged forward to knock his entire weight into McDermott’s arm before he could open fire, but he missed the arm and instead crunched into his side.

Before he knew what was happening, a deafening sound rang out and an indescribable agony surged through his exhausted body.  There may have been two, maybe three shots, he didn’t know, wasn’t sure...he couldn’t see around him, who else was hurt, but he felt himself fall to the floor, hitting his head hard on the corner of his desk.  There were voices; faint, incoherent, male and female all competing in short, sharp sentences, their words a jumble of sounds amongst panic.  He tried to move, to react to the noise around him, but he had no idea how to even open his eyes.  As the voices grew ever more distant, the agony in every inch of his body, spreading down from a fierce ache in his head, made him want to scream out to force them to understand.  To understand…but understand what?  He couldn’t think coherently.  His limbs – could he feel them?

            He felt sudden remorse for the imperfections in his life, how he had treated those close to him, how they had treated him.  Would he be missed?  Would he be mourned?  Would she have regrets?

A deep blackness began to descend over his jumble of thoughts and it occurred to him he must be slipping into a coma.  Perhaps he was dying – this was what it felt like, no bright light guiding you towards eternal life but instead trapping you within a fading mind as death swamped your senses and finally took you from the world.  An unexpected surge of the most incomprehensible pain gripped him but he was unable to respond. 
Death could only be a relief.
  After a moment all the feeling he had within him began to drift away and he no longer felt scared. 

Then he felt nothing.

Twenty-Three

9am

“Matthew, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

            Matthew Gaines turned as Colin approached him on College Green, panting, Kathryn at his side.  She eyed the sheer number of camera crews and reporters with obvious amazement.  The large patch of grass opposite the Palace of Westminster, a favourite spot for many political dramas, was unimposing on its own, but occupied by well-known faces of news and politics, speculating to camera, the usual rolling news filler interviews dotted around as leadership fever grew, Colin saw she was a little overwhelmed.

            “Where the hell have you been?”  Matthew asked impatiently, the press pack behind him.  He drew Colin to one side as he eyed the nervous young woman. “Everyone’s going mad here, they thought you may have bottled it!  I’m sorry, you are..?”

            “This is Kathryn, my...fiancée.”  Colin smiled, wishing he didn’t feel he needed Matthew’s approval.  Zoe Simpson had spotted them and Colin sensed word had got out about her already. 
Good.
 

Matthew blinked, his eyes widening. “Oh, right, I didn’t even know... well nice to meet you, sorry, I missed your name again...”

            “Kathryn.”  She replied, shaking his hand. 

            Matthew caught Colin’s gaze, flashing him a look suggesting ‘why didn’t you tell me and isn’t she young enough to be your daughter?’ Colin knew what he was thinking.  He knew what everyone was thinking.  But the time had been right, and now it was also finally time to set the leadership rumours straight.  Matthew whispered some last-minute advice and wished him luck. 

The cameras continued rolling and the photographers snapped away as the journalists turned to face him expectantly.  Colin kissed Kathryn on the cheek, partly for the cameras, the picture of him with his ‘mystery woman’ which would be splashed across every daily in the morning, partly for reassurance.  He squeezed her hand, muttering to her to stand at the front of his Parliamentary party supporters who had gathered behind him.

He drew breath and took a step forward towards the throng of microphones, his heart pounding, his nerves shredded.  Without a lectern and in the cool autumn breeze, storm clouds gathering overhead, he had no idea how he could hold his statement straight, but he gripped the paper tightly as it flapped in the wind.

            “Thank you all for coming, and for the short notice on the venue change.  I know it’s cold so I'll be as brief as possible. It is with great regret that I have decided to....”

Colin paused, looking up. Something wasn’t right.  A number of sirens sounded nearby, urgent, becoming louder and louder.  The journalists appeared to have stopped listening, distracted by sudden bleeping and calls.  Astounded, Colin glanced at Matthew, who shrugged and shook his head before glancing down at his own vibrating BlackBerry. 
Richmond – the bastard!
  Colin knew it – he had beaten him to it, bloody resigned before Colin could get the words out, stolen his moment of glory to spite him. Frustrated, and knowing he would be live on television, he opened his mouth to plough on regardless, but a firm hand suddenly rested on his arm.

“Don’t!” Matthew ordered, pulling him back.  There was chaos around them as his media manager looked at him in horror and Fryer moved his bulk over to them faster than his heart could barely manage.

“Richmond's done it, hasn’t he?” Colin hissed.

Ashen, Matthew shook his head. “Colin, it’s being reported that Richmond's been shot.”

“Holy fuck.” Fryer exclaimed. “Shot? Where? By whom? Is he dead?”

“Err, no news yet, rumour on Twitter is he was shot in his office, don’t know who by.  The Norman Shaw buildings and Portcullis House are in lock-down, everyone’s been told to stay in their offices over at the House. Shit.  Colin?”

            Colin was staring over Matthew’s shoulder at the commotion on the Green, trying to clear his mind from the impact of such news. 
He had to think
.

            “We need to know what state Richmond’s in.”  He said quietly, his gaze still fixed.  Zoe Simpson was talking furiously into her mobile while her
BBC News 24
colleague spoke to camera. 
Unconfirmed reports that Richmond had been shot by a journalist...rumours that the gunman may be dead...no confirmation on Richmond’s health...

            “Congratulations, Acting Leader.”  Fryer said slyly.  “That was bloody close, Colin.”

For all his insensitivity, Fryer, for once, was right.  Colin had been seconds from resignation, but hadn’t carried it through. He was
still
Deputy Leader of the Conservative Party.  Now, he automatically found himself Acting Leader.  Richmond would be unconscious if the news was correct, possibly in a coma, perhaps needing major surgery.  He could be out for weeks, months even.  That’s if he didn’t... if he already hadn’t…Kathryn touched his elbow and he turned to her briefly.  Matthew was waiting for a decision, waiting for him to lead.