The Fourth Lectern

  “Especially if they degenerate into infighting,” added Clegg”

  “Indeed. The Tories would probably do better, yes?” said Huhne.

  Harris and Law both nodded. “We might even end up in a kingmaker position even if we lose a few seats, which would give us much more negotiating power next time round – especially if Brown departs the scene,” added Harris.

  “Well, it seems as though there’s not much left to decide,” said Huhne. “We have to prop them up for those six months in the deal on the table, but by abstention rather than positive votes – and we highlight every time we help to defeat them on areas outside of confidence or supply. We come up with the next campaign as soon as we can and push a handful of simple lines every time a prominent Lib Dem gets interviewed. Focus on local politics again, and mainly on holding what we have.”

  Harris nodded ruefully. “It was way too close in my seat last time – we sent far too many people to attack Oxford East and were short on defence.”

  “Well, we can all learn from that, okay?” said Huhne. “We’ll have to square the Federal Executive, of course, as well as the MPs – it definitely counts as ‘a substantial proposal which could affect the party’s independence of political action’ - but with an agreement as minimal as this, I don’t foresee any issues there. Is there anything else useful we can do right now?”

  There was silence, with head shakes and shrugs.

  “In that case, gentlemen, let’s get this over with and let the Government form.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  16th May 2010

  BBC News

  “…Gordon Brown announced that due to an agreement with the Liberal Democrats, he would be continuing as Prime Minister ‘for the foreseeable future’. A minor reshuffle of Cabinet posts is expected, although without the much-expected influx of Liberal Democrat MPs. The BBC has learned that the Liberal Democrats have too many fundamental disagreements with Mr Brown’s Government to join his administration, but have decided to support him in the House of Commons due to the exceptional economic circumstances. A spokesman for the Conservative Party…”

 

  ***

 

  30 Millbank

  Andy Coulson was scrawling ideas on the white board when Steve Hilton padded in – barefoot as usual.

  “Hi, Steve,” he called over his shoulder, without looking around.

  “Hey, Andy. Have you heard – it’s now official. Brown has kissed hands again and accepted the remit to form another Government,” said Hilton.

  Coulson stepped back from the board, viewing the maze of lines he’d been sketching between the various words on the board, paused briefly, nodded to himself, and carefully replaced the cap on his marker. He turned around and sat down.

  “Why the long face, Steve? Brown’s doomed, and we all know it,” he asked cheerfully.

  “I just don’t like the uncertainty. A month or so ago we were all certain we knew what was coming, we made our plans, we were so expectant – and then we got hit by a train out of the blue. If that can happen after years of preparation in a political climate we all knew so well, I can’t help thinking that the cunning plan of ‘Let Gordon hang himself and the Labour Party, whilst dripping poison all over the Lib Dems’ could get easily get derailed,” said Hilton.

  “Valid point, mate, but what else can we do? Cameron was right to roll with the punches. This is the way it is, and there’s not much we can do other than what we are doing. Fox and the right are onside – and that was far less of a fuss than I’d ever imagined. We’re getting better relations now with elements of the Lib Dems than we’ve had since I can remember, ‘cause they’re very much aware of just how poisonous it could be for them propping up a Labour Government that scored fewer votes than Michael Foot. Labour are already starting to rip themselves apart – the grapevine has it Darling refused the offer of Leader of the house and is going straight to the backbenches, and the expected battle between Balls and Miliband for the leadership is already being talked about.” Coulson shrugged. “We just have to keep playing the game – there’s nothing else we can do.”

  Hilton sighed and closed his eyes. “Fine, fine. Let me see what I can come up with. Time to meditate a little, I guess.”

  He put his feet on the table, leaned back, and closed his eyes. A short while later, Coulson heard a faint snore. He grinned, shook his head, and turned back to his whiteboard.

 

  ***

 

  St Stephens Tavern

  Jonathon lowered his glass in surprise, and nudged Phil. “Why’s Jerry here?”

  “Hunh?” said Phil.

  “Jerry Callis has just come upstairs, looked around, saw us and is heading this way. Head’s up!”

  The plump, ruddy individual in question had arrived at their table. “Hah! A conspiracy of activists? Mind If I join you? May as well make it a fully cross-party conspiracy, eh?”

  He sat down without waiting for a reply. “Anyway, it’s my round next, I guess,” he boomed cheerfully.

  “Well, in that case…” said Phil with a grin.

  “By the way – congratulations to your lot,” said Jonathon. “Decent effort – making up a Government without needing anyone else on board.”

  “Yes, yes, bloody fantastic,” Jerry waved off the comment. “Should last all of fifty seconds once the rebels get going – as you know full well. Bloody obvious you were all hanging back to let us fall flat on our arses, really.”

  “Yeah, well – what other options were there? I suppose we theoretically could have chosen to prop up Jonathon’s lot with UKIP, the DUP and one of the Nationalist Parties on side? Meanwhile, back in the cold harsh world of reality…” drawled Phil.

  “Fair point, fair point,” said Jerry. “When’re the fireworks coming from your lot, then, Jonathon? I’d have thought old Liam would be belching out off-the-record comments left, right and centre. So far, it’s been no fun at all!”

  “Actually, that rather surprised me as well,” said Jonathon with a grin. “Frighteningly enough, we’re looking more united than I’ve known us in decades.”

  “Ah, bollocks to it,” said Jerry. “One thing we all know is it’s all going to end in tears. Personally, I’m planning on getting completely leathered and staying that way for the next twelve months. You can wake me up when the rubble has settled, and Prime Minister Congdon is facing Leader of the Opposition Lucas over the Dispatch Box. What are you guys having?”

 

  ***

 

  10 Downing Street. The Study.

  “Right, if he won’t have Leader of the House, we don’t have to move Harriet. We could slot Yvette into BIS and move Liam to Education. Has Ed said who he’d prefer as Chief Secretary? We might want to leave Liam there for continuity.” Gordon Brown was looking more relaxed than he had been for months.

  “Should we throw a bone to the left of the Party?” asked Ed Miliband. “Maybe we could tempt Cruddas in out of the cold.”

  “I doubt it, but it’s worth a try, I guess. Give him a call and see if he’d like Work & Pensions,” suggested Brown.

  Miliband paused. “Gordon…” he said.

  Brown looked up from the A3 sheet of paper on the desk that he was busily marking with his black felt marker. “Yes, Ed?”

  “What’s the long-term plan?” asked Miliband.

  Brown grimaced. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Events, dear boy?’ It might have been a Tory toff who said it, but he was spot on. We keep going until we can’t go any further. I’m not stupid, Ed – I know that it’s going to come to a battle between Ed and David for the Party, but with any luck, we can just keep going until whichever it is has a decent shot at the next election.”

  “Can we do it? Seriously, I mean. Can we get through and get enough popularity back?” asked Miliband, unconvinced.

  “Did you ever hear of the fable of the condemned man who promised to teach the King’
s horse to sing?” asked Brown.

  “What? I mean, no,” replied Miliband, confused.

  “Apparently there was once a man condemned to death in an ancient kingdom. Why he was condemned, and whether he deserved it is beside the point of the story, but just before sentence was due to be carried out, he cried out to the King: ‘If you spare my life, I will teach your horse to sing!’”

  “The King, surprised, halted the execution, and asked what the trickery was. ‘No trickery, my lord – all I need is one year and I can teach your horse to sing!’. So the King granted him a year’s suspension of sentence, and the condemned man was led back down to the cells. A fellow prisoner asked him: ‘Why did you promise him that? You’ll never be able to do it!’ ”

  “The condemned man simply looked at him and said: ‘True – but in a year, he may die and his successor could free all the prisoners as a gesture of clemency. Or more evidence may come to light exonerating me. Or the horse may die and I’ll be able to offer to train up another one. Or the Kingdom may be invaded and prisoners be offered an amnesty as long as they fight’ The man shrugged and finished with the words ‘and who knows. Maybe the horse will learn to sing’.”

  Brown gave a faint smile. “Who knows, Ed. Maybe the horse will learn to sing.”

  Afterword

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you’ve enjoyed The Fourth Lectern. If you’d like to leave a review, I’d really appreciate it – with the availability of online publishing, the need to be able to give pointers to other readers has become really important. Instead of publishers, these days it is you, the reader, who can act as the ‘gatekeeper’ and directly encourage (or discourage!) authors.

  And, as thanks for your time, please find below an excerpt from The Fifth Lectern, the sequel to The Fourth Lectern

  The Fifth Lectern is a full-sized novel, taking the story from shortly after the end of The Fourth Lectern, through the difficulties of the Labour minority Government, through to the next Election, with the campaign, Election Night and aftermath and into a changed political world...

  Excerpt from ‘The Fifth Lectern’

  CHAPTER ONE

  It had been a few short weeks since the 2010 General Election and the Labour unity and common purpose had lasted for – oh – several days, at least. Ed Miliband ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He caught his brother’s gaze. David was rolling his eyes. Most of the rest of the Cabinet were looking bored, embarrassed or simply zoned out. The argument between Ed Balls and Gordon Brown had stretched into a second hour with no sign of any relenting.

  Gus O’Donnell finally broke into the back-and-forth during an uncharacteristic hesitation by Gordon.

  “Gentlemen – do we not think that the subject matter deserves fuller and more detailed consideration?”

  What the HELL was he doing? Surely the Cabinet Secretary was supposed to defuse the argument and get them back on track! David looked as nonplussed as Ed felt.

  There was a brief pause, before both Balls and Brown tried to speak at once. A glare from Brown quelled Balls, who subsided reluctantly.

  “Gus – what the fuck did you THINK we were doing? Talking about the weather?”

  O’Donnell raised an eyebrow urbanely. Almost uniquely, he had the ability to quell one of Brown’s snarls before it got real traction. Brown paused.

  “Sorry, Gus. Didn’t mean to snap at you. Your point was …?”

  “It was, Prime Minister, that you and the Chancellor obviously have a lot of information to weigh up and analyse as you find the best balance to your views. Do you not think that the situation would benefit from the two of you, with your respective staffs, of course, adjourning after Cabinet to a location where you could call up the references you both desire and repeatedly keep citing, in a position from which you could endeavour to chart a satisfactory route between the perils which both of you respectively see as greatest, and come to safe harbour in a mutually satisfactory haven where both priorities are satisfied to the best possible common level?”

  There was another brief pause, this time broken by Balls. “You mean: shut up and discuss this afterwards?”

  “Chancellor, I simply mean that it would be far easier and more convenient for yourselves, and the rest of Cabinet could get on with their respective contributions to our agenda,” said O’Donnell.

  Balls looked rebellious, but Brown stepped in. “Yeah, you’re right, Gus. We’ve bored the crap out of everyone else here.”

  “But the rest of Cabinet are intimately involved with the outcome! If we do shift money into capital spending, we’ve got to cut current spending to have any credibility. If we don’t, then the recovery will be slow…”

  Brown cut him off “…and the entire point of us being in power right now is to prevent the sodding Tories from slashing current spending! So we have to follow through on the Budget proposals – proposals which Alistair quite properly discussed with me in depth – to defer capital spending!”

  Ed sighed. They were off again. So near, but yet so far.

  A sudden movement caught his eye – his brother had pulled out his mobile phone and was looking at it in surprise. Gradually, a smile crossed David’s face and he piped up: “Um, guys? You’ve got to hear this!”

  “…but the fiscal multiplier is most pronounced…” Balls was cut off. Brown had raised his hand for silence, looking irked. “What now, David?” asked Brown.

  “It’s about David Laws,” replied David.

  “What about bloody Laws?”

  “He’s been seriously screwed. Looks like he was being outright illegal with his expenses. He’s about to make a public statement,” said David.

  “What? Why?” asked Brown.

  “The Daily Telegraph has some kind of splash on him. Hang on…” David scrolled to the next message. “Right. He was paying his lover rent to buy houses from his Parliamentary expenses”

  “But Laws is gay!” protested Burnham. “Isn’t he? I thought there was a really strong rumour, and I was told…”

  “Yup,” said David with a smile. “Mandy’s got all the juicy gossip on this. So he was trying to keep things quiet from the press and now he’s totally screwed. Might even have to take the Hundreds.”

  “Oh, what a shame!” said Balls, smirking.

  “Terrible,” agreed Brown, fighting a smile. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer man.”

  Ed Miliband later noted in his diary:

  After that, of course, not much of note got covered. Schadenfreude was the theme of the day. David Laws epitomised the wing of the Liberal Democrats that seemed closest to the Tories, and nearly everyone was grateful for the excuse it provided for us to dodge our own worries. One thing that stood out to me, though: why did Mandelson text David and not Gordon or Ed Balls?

 

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Treasury

 

  “Ed,” said Liam Byrne. “Don’t you think it might be wise to throw the Lib Dems some kind of bone or another?”

  Balls looked up from the wide table. Papers were strewn around it, two laptops open and in use to one side, and three stacks of folders were just out of reach to his right. He was looking down a sheet with black marker scrawled over it, frowning.

  “What?”

  “I mean – is there something relatively economically minor but politically useful we can give them? You know – to get some good feeling going,” pressed Byrne.

  “Why the hell would we want to do that?” Ian Austin broke into the debate. He’d seemed uncomfortable in his new role as Financial Secretary to the Treasury, but this seemed something he could weigh in on with no chance of looking foolish. Ed Balls had ripped him to pieces earlier in the day on a discussion about corporation tax – Austin’s inability to explain “tax incidence” seemed to be a serious personal failing in Balls’ eyes.

  Byrne pressed on. “Well, there’s going to be another election soon enough – we may need the Lib Dems. Or if w
e have some back benchers getting bolshie…

  “Like sodding Clarke…” grumbled Balls.

  “… we’ll need Huhne’s lot more than we do now”

  Balls tilted his head, considering. He glanced down at the sheet of paper as he opened his mouth to reply, but closed his mouth again and read it more carefully.

  “What?” he murmured.

  Byrne felt compelled to ask about it – he’d been slightly annoyed to be left in place during the reshuffle, but at least he was still in Cabinet. And having had some experience in the Treasury, at least he wasn’t side-lined by Balls when the economic debates broke out.

  “What’s up, Ed?”

  Balls pulled a sheet of rough paper towards himself and wrote a series on numbers on it, only half looking down. “Can’t do it,” he muttered to himself.

  Byrne spoke up louder. “What’s the problem, Ed?”

  “Gordon wants us to increase tax credits but taper them off faster.”

  Byrne tilted his head. “That’ll worsen the poverty trap, won’t it?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point. The point is we really need to push some cash into capital spending and we don’t have any,” said Balls with a frown. “Seriously, Liam. What the hell were you and Alistair thinking? The current plans are totally wrong for growth.”

  Byrne looked nonplussed. “There’s no money left! I’m sorry, Ed, but that’s the problem. Cutting current spending hurts people quicker, requires us to either reduce wages or sack people – and that means redundancy payments and unemployment – and capital spending is basically buying new things.”

  Balls was looking unimpressed.

  “When you’re skint, you slow down on buying new stuff and focus what you have on the day-to-day essentials,” Byrne pushed on. “We were borrowing shit-loads as it was.”

  Austin broke in, uncertainly. “Can’t we raise taxes somewhere? Not Income tax or VAT, of course. Employers National Insurance, or Corporation Tax.”

  “Shut up, Ian,” said Balls absently. “Read that primer from the IFS website like I told you.”