This Was A Man (9 page)

Although she and Mrs Thatcher only had one conversation during the twenty-eight-day campaign, Emma concluded that her party leader was either a very accomplished actress, or really did believe
the Conservatives were going to win.

‘There are two factors the polls are unable to take into account,’ she told Emma. ‘How many people are unwilling to admit they will vote for a woman prime minister, and how
many wives are not telling their husbands they will be voting Conservative for the first time.’

Both Giles and Emma were in Bristol Docklands on the last day of the campaign, and when ten p.m. struck and the last vote had been cast, neither felt confident enough to predict
the final outcome. They both hurried back to London by train, but didn’t share the same carriage.

John Lacy had told Emma that the hierarchy of both parties would descend on their headquarters – Conservative Central Office and Labour’s Transport House, political sentinels perched
at different corners of Smith Square – where they would await the results.

‘By two a.m.,’ Lacy briefed her, ‘the trend will have been set, and we’ll probably know who’s going to form the next government. By four a.m., the lights will be
blazing in one building and celebrations will continue until daybreak.’

‘And in the other building?’ said Emma.

‘The lights will begin to go out around three, when the vanquished will make their way home and decide who to blame as they prepare for opposition.’

‘What do you think the result will be?’ Emma had asked the chief agent on the eve of the poll.

‘Predictions are for mugs and bookies,’ Lacy had retorted. ‘But whatever the result,’ he added, ‘it’s been a privilege to work with the Boadicea of
Bristol.’

When the train pulled into Paddington, Emma leapt off and grabbed the first available taxi. Arriving back in Smith Square, she was relieved to find that Giles hadn’t yet appeared, but
Harry was waiting for her. She quickly showered and changed her clothes before the two of them made their way across to the other side of the square.

She was surprised how many people recognized her. Some even applauded as she passed by, while others stared at her in sullen silence. Then a cheer went up, and Emma turned to see her brother
getting out of a car and waving to his party’s supporters before disappearing into Transport House.

Emma re-entered a building she had become all too familiar with during the past month, and was greeted by several leading party apparatchiks she’d come across while out on the campaign
trail. People surrounded televisions in every room, as supporters, party workers and Central Office staff waited for the first result to come in. Not a politician in sight. They were all back in
their constituencies, waiting to find out if they were still Members of Parliament.

Croydon Central was declared at 1.23 a.m., with a swing of 1.8 per cent to the Conservatives. Only muted cheers were offered up because everyone knew that suggested a hung parliament, with Jim
Callaghan returning to the palace to be asked if he could form a government.

At 1.43 a.m. the cheers became louder when the Conservatives captured Basildon, which on Emma’s chart suggested a Conservative majority of around 30. After that, the results began to come
in thick and fast, including a recount in Bristol Docklands.

By the time Mrs Thatcher drove over from her Finchley constituency just after three a.m., the lights were already going out in Transport House. As she entered Central Office, the doubters were
suddenly long-term supporters, and the long-term supporters were looking forward to joining her first administration.

The leader of the opposition paused halfway up the stairs and made a short speech of thanks. Emma was touched that hers was among the names mentioned in dispatches. After shaking several
outstretched hands, Mrs Thatcher left the building a few minutes later, explaining that she had a busy day ahead of her. Emma wondered if she would even go to bed.

Just after four a.m., Emma dropped into John Lacy’s office for the last time to find him standing by the chart and filling in the latest results.

‘What’s your prediction?’ she asked as she stared at a sea of blue boxes.

‘It’s looking like a majority of over forty,’ Lacy replied. ‘More than enough to govern for the next five years.’

‘And our sixty-two marginal seats?’ Emma asked.

‘We’ve won all except three, but they’re on their third recount in Bristol Docklands, so it could be just two.’

‘I think we can allow Giles that one,’ Emma whispered.

‘I always knew you were a closet wet,’ said Lacy.

Emma thought about her brother, and how he must be feeling now.

‘Goodnight, John,’ she said. ‘And thank you for everything. See you in five years’ time,’ she added before making her way out of the building and back across to her
home on the other side of the square, where she planned to return to the real world.

Emma woke a few hours later to find Harry seated on her side of the bed, holding a cup of tea.

‘Will you be joining us for breakfast, my darling, now that you’ve done your job?’

She yawned and stretched her arms. ‘Not a bad idea, Harry Clifton, because it’s time I got back to work.’

‘So what’s the plot for today?’

‘I have to get back to Bristol, sharpish. I’ve got a meeting with the newly appointed chairman of the hospital at three this afternoon, to discuss priorities for the next
year.’

‘Are you happy with your successor?’

‘Couldn’t be more pleased. Simon Dawkins is a first-class administrator and he was a loyal deputy, so I’m expecting the handover to be seamless.’

‘Then I’ll leave you to get dressed,’ said Harry, before handing his wife her tea and heading back downstairs to join Giles for breakfast.

Giles was seated at the far end of the table surrounded by the morning papers, which didn’t make good reading. He smiled for the first time that day when his brother-in-law entered the
room.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Harry, placing a consoling hand on the shoulder of his oldest friend.

‘I’ve had better mornings,’ admitted Giles, pushing the papers to one side. ‘But I’m hardly in a position to complain. I’ve served as a minister for nine of
the past fourteen years, and I must still have a chance of holding office in five years’ time, because I can’t believe that woman will last.’

Both men stood when Emma entered the room.

‘Congratulations, sis,’ said Giles. ‘You were a worthy opponent, and it was a deserved victory.’

‘Thank you, Giles,’ she said, giving her brother a hug, something she hadn’t done for the past twenty-eight days. ‘So what are you up to today?’ she asked as she
sat in the chair beside him.

‘Some time this morning I’ll have to hand in my seals of office so that woman,’ he said, stabbing a finger at the photograph on the front page of the
Daily Express
,
‘can form her first, and I hope last, administration. Thatcher’s due at the palace at ten, when she’ll kiss hands before being driven to Downing Street in triumph. You’ll be
able to watch it on television, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t join you.’

After Emma had finished packing, Harry placed their suitcases by the front door before joining her in the drawing room, not surprised to find her glued to the television. She
didn’t even look up when he entered the room.

Three black Jaguars were emerging from Buckingham Palace. The crowds standing on the pavement outside the palace gates were waving and clapping as the convoy made its way up the Mall to
Whitehall. Robin Day kept up a running commentary.

‘The new Prime Minister will spend the morning appointing her first Cabinet. Lord Carrington is expected to be foreign secretary, Geoffrey Howe chancellor, and Leon Brittan home secretary.
As for the other appointments, we will have to wait and see who is preferred. I don’t suppose there will be many surprises, although you can be quite sure there will be several anxious
politicians sitting by their phones hoping for a call from Number Ten,’ he added as the three cars swept into Downing Street.

As the Prime Minister stepped out of her car, another cheer went up. She made a short speech quoting Saint Francis of Assisi before disappearing into No. 10.

‘Better get moving,’ said Harry, ‘or we’ll miss the train.’

Emma spent the afternoon with Simon Dawkins, her successor at Bristol Royal Infirmary, before clearing out her second office that day. She filled the back seat of her car as
well as the boot with all the personal possessions she had accumulated over the past decade. As she drove slowly out of the hospital grounds for the last time, she didn’t look back. She was
looking forward to a quiet supper at the Manor House with Harry, and later to placing her head on a pillow before midnight for the first time in weeks, while hoping for more than four hours’
sleep.

Emma was in her dressing gown enjoying a late breakfast when the call came.

Harry picked up the phone on the sideboard and listened for a moment, before covering the mouthpiece and whispering, ‘It’s Number Ten.’

Emma leapt up and took the phone, assuming it would be Mrs Thatcher on the other end of the line.