‘I made it clear that I was venturing a personal opinion, not policy,’ she responded when the Chief Whip was done.
‘Needle exchanges in prisons, no matter how sensible, sound bad to the public,’ Donald told her. ‘We can’t be soft on drugs.’
‘In that case, the party has to support handing out condoms on demand,’ Sarah argued.
‘The Prison Officers Association wouldn’t even consider that,’ Donald said. ‘There are all sorts of uses for condoms. But there’s no point in getting into these operational issues until we’re in government. And government is what I want to talk to you about.’
Their tea arrived. Sarah lifted the lid off the pot, gave the tea bags a stir, then let it rest a minute before pouring.
‘You did well with that miscarriage of justice, must have done you a power of good in your constituency. Hasn’t hurt you nationally, either, though the guy doesn’t sound like a saint.’
‘He isn’t,’ Sarah said, trying to keep the weekend’s party at the back of her mind. ‘But I think he’ll keep his nose clean, not embarrass us.’
‘That’s good. You’re doing some media with him, I’m told.’
‘Nothing controversial, I promise.’
In fact, after what happened last Saturday, she had pulled out of her joint TV appearance with Ed. It was only local TV, anyway. Sarah splashed a dash of milk into her bone china cup, then poured the tea.
‘I’m sure that will be useful exposure in the run up to an election but – let’s be frank – not useful enough. That’s why I wanted to see you.’ Donald tested the temperature of his tea. ‘We’d like you in the government, Sarah. You’re exactly the kind of person Tony wants to represent New Labour. But he can only appoint you if you’re still an MP. Even our most optimistic polls show you falling short of re-election.’
‘I know.’ It had taken a big by-election swing for Sarah to get elected, two years ago. Nottingham West was normally a safe Conservative seat. Sarah stood at a time when the Tories were at only twenty-five per cent in the opinion polls and got in with a majority of five thousand. But by-election victories always reverted to the original holders. It was one of the ineluctable rules of British elections. Support for the government party would need to drop to below thirty per cent for Sarah to stand a chance this time.
‘Am I missing something here? Do you not want to continue?’
‘I want to continue. But Nottingham’s my home, as well as my constituency. I can’t let people down. After the general election, I’ll look for another seat. A by-election, maybe . . .’
‘And lose your chance? What will you do in the meantime? Work as a lobbyist while Johnnies-come-lately get the start you should have had? Wise up, Sarah. There won’t be any by-elections, not in Labour seats. Everybody who’s ill or needs pensioning off will make a sudden exit in the next few days. It’s already started. Soon it’ll be a flood. If you want a move, I’ll hold you a place. But I need to know now.’
Sarah sipped her tea. She was being offered the chance to behave like a Tory. Lots of their top players were being extricated from marginal constituencies and given safe seats to contest in the forthcoming election. For example, Barrett Jones, a member of the Tory cabinet, was standing against her. His old seat had become marginal after boundary changes, so he was deserting it. But Sarah wasn’t a deserter.
‘I appreciate the offer, Donald, I really do. However, if you’re going to press me for an instant decision, it’d have to be a no. Can I have the weekend to think it over?’
Donald nodded. ‘I can’t promise, but we’d try and get you a Yorkshire or Derbyshire seat. Local roots help calm the locals when there isn’t time for a full selection contest. Talk to me on Monday.’
He left Sarah alone with her strong tea. If the party had her parachuted into a new constituency at the last minute, could she live with that? A Yorkshire seat. It was very tempting, if it could be handled adroitly. But she already had a fallback plan. Her family came from Chesterfield, where Tony Benn had hinted that he meant to stand down at the next election but one. As a local girl, she’d stand a good chance there.
That said, selection processes were never a sure thing. In Nottingham West she’d had to defeat a former council leader, an ex-MP and two favourites of the hard left when she was selected to fight a by-election that was meant to be unwinnable.
Any minute now, the division bell would sound. Sarah finished her tea and tried to remember where the nearest Ladies was. This place wasn’t designed for women – you always had to plan a pee. The Junior Trade Minister walked in. Sarah gave Jasper March the smallest nod.
‘Have you got a moment, Sarah?’ She sat on a select committee with Jasper, one of the less obnoxious Tories.
‘Thirty seconds.’
‘Could you spare me a couple of hours if I stood you dinner? Something I need to talk over. You choose the restaurant.’
Good food was a weakness of Sarah’s that she rarely had time to indulge. An MP’s salary meant she could afford to eat well, but few Labour colleagues shared her tastes and Dan wasn’t much of a gourmet. Sarah didn’t like to dine alone. She checked her diary.
‘I can do Quaglino’s after the vote on Tuesday.’
‘Brilliant.’
This use of brilliant as a synonym for ‘really good’ was unexpected in a Tory minister, even a youngish one. Sarah wondered what he wanted.
While she waited for her question to come up, Sarah tried not to think about how different her life would be if she had a safe seat. Her turn came at 3.27 p.m. This was going out live on the BBC. She had brushed back her long, brown hair and hoped that her blue tailored suit made her look slim. She gave the number of her question. The PM referred her back to his earlier answer. Then Sarah rose again.
‘Will the Prime Minister show his concern about the spread of HIV and Hepatitis B in Her Majesty’s Prisons by allowing prison governors to sanction the free distribution of condoms to all inmates who require them?’
There were boos and animal-like jeers from the government benches. The PM blathered about understanding her concerns, but not wishing to do anything that might encourage drug taking.
‘The honourable gentleman seems to have misunderstood. I am not advocating needle exchanges in prisons, although there are strong arguments in favour of such action. I am suggesting urgent measures to reduce the tragic and costly spread of HIV through anal sex between prisoners.’
At the mention of anal sex, the PM’s eyes glazed over.
‘I have no such plans at this time.’
The Chief Whip joined Sarah as she left the chamber.
‘I can see tomorrow’s tabloid headlines: New Labour Backs Gay Sex Orgies in Prisons. Very helpful.’
He was playing at being angry. Or so she hoped.
‘Remember,’ Donald said. ‘I need a decision by Monday.’
Sarah took the 16.29 from St Pancras.
‘How does Ed Clark feel now he’s out?’ asked Brian Hicks. Brian, formerly the crime correspondent for the Nottingham Evening Post, was now their political editor. He was a small, fifty something, roly-poly man with a dry wit and a constant thirst.
‘Haven’t you asked him?’ Sarah was surprised Clark hadn’t given Brian an interview. The paper had covered her campaign sympathetically.
‘I would, but he’s gone to Tunisia for a break. Paid for by the Mirror, who he’s sold his story to. When his compensation comes through, he should be a wealthy man. Half a million, he’s told his mates.’
‘Money can’t replace five lost years of freedom.’
‘Don’t get sentimental on me,’ Brian said. ‘Ed Clark was always a scrote. Half a million pounds is untold riches for someone like him.’