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Politically Correct by Veronica Ryder
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Starters Their relationship is as fresh and unsullied as the white damask tablecloth between them, their conversation sparkles across the cut glass and silver. The waiter stands poised to take their orders. ‘Let me choose for you,’ Daniel suggests. Helen smiles, feeling the quiet desperation of an unattached thirty-something. She needs this to work. Daniel recalls strict instructions from the party hierarchy: find yourself a wife. The electorate prefer a family man. With her shining eyes, glossy hair and easy acquiescence, Helen could be the one. He suggests champagne. Main course Their fifth wedding anniversary, and a rare meal out - just the two of them - occupying a private booth to avoid unwelcome attention from constituents, or - worse - the scavenging press. Conversation is stilted though there should be plenty to say. Helen is heavily pregnant - at last. She was beginning to fear she’d left it too late. In public, Daniel plays the part of an eager expectant father; in reality, he feels trapped. He despises Helen’s large, cumbersome body, wishes he could spend the evening instead at Westminster with Andrea, his shapely and more-than-willing assistant. Helen sips her mineral water, watches Daniel tossing back the last of the red wine, his face flushed. His mobile phone chatters a message to which he immediately responds. ‘I have to go to London tonight,’ he informs Helen. ‘Can you drop me at the station?’ Dessert This evening they are celebrating the election results. Helen is there to support Daniel, as dutiful wife, mother of his two unwanted children now at home eating popcorn with the nanny. He did well, better than predicted, safely returned for another term and assured of a cabinet post. The party faithful have turned out to greet him in spite of the rain, and football on TV. Hands have been shaken, backs slapped, cheeks kissed. Helen watches him working the crowd, doing what comes so naturally to him, his bread and butter, his raison d'être. She knows there is nothing behind the smile except ambition: his route to Downing Street governs his every move, every thought. But she also knows she has the means to bring him down. He can’t afford a scandal. She helps herself to a profiterole: sweetly tempting on the outside, nothing of substance at the heart of it. Coffee and Mints ‘You can’t leave me,’ he says. ‘I won’t allow it. Imagine what this would do to my career.’ She has travelled to Westminster to break the news; she seldom sees him at home now. His secretary, with shining eyes and glossy hair, brings in coffee - too dark and bitter to be enjoyable. They sit in silence. She waits for him to mention the children. He doesn’t. ‘I suggest you prepare a statement for the Press,’ she says as she leaves. That evening, headlines ambush rush-hour commuters: ‘Minister’s wife killed in tube station accident’. The sympathy vote will do him no harm at all.
Second Place: The Imposters Third Place: Third Time Unlucky |
