*Peter stares at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. The expenses story has been satisfactorially steered away from John, and now he has nothing to do. He tugs at the restrainst again, no luck.*
That's about as believable as your fucking boyfriend's "We're all in it together" line. And all this evasion is giving me the distinct impression I will not like this whatever-it-is at all.
I didn't do anything out of line! I didn't. I did a favour for a damsel in distress and it didn't hurt anyone and it only involved a little light chatting to old journalist pals about a trivial little nothing.
*Oddly, he doesn't think she looks terribly satisfied by this.*
Involving how not-corrupt John is. Come on, you don't want everyone thinking John's corrupt, do you?
Yes, Peter, I really think you should be chipping in here! It was your idea, after all...
*He firmly pushes the book down away from Peter's face and glares at him, half annoyed, half pleading.*
Fiona, improbable as it sounds, this is one of the few things to happen over the past two decades that has absolutely nothing to do with Tony. The worst distress he gets in these days involves working out how much to tip his fucking pedicurist.
*Peter sends Alastair a glare as the book is pushed aside, then adjusts his expression for Fiona.*
Tony wasn't involved in the slightest. John simply decided that his PR team should consist of one summer intern and was terribly distressed when that didn't work so well in a crisis.
Scout's honour. He dragged me off the wagon and I am now firmly back on it - 'clearing up self-inflicted fiascos for idiots' hasn't been in my job description for years, and I'm very happy with that state of affairs, thanks very much.
*He side-eyes Peter sternly.*
You're more trouble than you're worth. I should have made it a double Kitkat.
I have seen the Guardian and, more importantly, I have been online. As far as I could tell, nobody has so far had anything to say about you, but I imagine you're about to tell me otherwise.
He and Molly bickered over who got the most comfortable spot on the sofa at first, but he seems to be settling in. I think he misses you, though. He spends a lot of time lying in a little mopey puddle by the door. If we take him for a walk or feed him he'll brighten up, but as soon as we stop paying attention to him he's waiting by the door again.
No, no. I mean, there's that business with the flats, but I'm not in Round II. But- look, Andy and Jim and I talked it over when Round I broke and we were specifically instructed not to call you guys, but I've seen our line on this and it's not good enough. The Government can't run the story because they're in it too, but the papers aren't going to let it go. We can't just palm them off on IPSA. What should we do?
And do you have any idea what's going on with Peter Mandelson? His voicemail says it's full, and when I rung around everyone said they haven't seen him since Conference. You may be the last person to have seen him alive.
If you are really that desperate for guidance, then I'll tell you what you should do. Number one. You should stop digging yourselves holes for the press to bury you alive in. If you're going to be a thieving bastard, be subtle about it, yes? Number two. You should stop fucking turning to me. I've already done more than my share of shit-shovelling this weekend. It's a Sunday and I'm retired and if you ask me about this a second time, even within this phone call, that constitutes harassment. Do I make myself understood?
As for Peter, nobody's ever had any idea what's going on with him. ... Why do you want to know?
*It might be easier, Alastair figures, to put Chris through to Peter and have him deal with this than to be obstructive for the sake of it.*
It's not our fault! They changed the rules on us with no warning; now everyone's mortgage is underwater. The train fares were pure stupidity, I'll grant you. You'd have to ask Ed Balls why he thought that was good value for money.
And you should ask him! You're not that retired; you blogged about politics just this morning. We both know you'll come back for the next election. You're not going to just sit back and watch Tom cock everything up. You could save yourself a lot of trouble two years from now if you apply a tourniquet now. ...That doesn't count as me asking you for advice, by the way- that's me giving it.
I wanted to know about Peter because I expected you to tell me to "stop fucking turning to you"! Whereas Peter will do anything if you suck up to him enough. And this is kind of an emergency.
You're giving me advice to give you advice, Bryant. What did I just say about subtlety?
Anyway, who gave you permission to give me fucking advice in the first place? I will call on you for advice when I need someone to help me present the persona of a sexually frustrated tosspot, and not before! This won't make a difference the election, they think you're all corrupt as sin anyway. It'll come down to the state of the economy and you bloody know it, you just want your own skin saving.
True. Well... give me a moment.
*He places a hand over the receiver and glances at Peter.*
My skin's fine. They've got half the Shadow Cabinet in their sights now. No one is going to bother with little old me.
But that doesn't mean I want to spend the next six months ignoring tweets about my rental arrangements! And there's that Corby by-election in a few weeks, too. This is a bad time for this story to break.
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*Belatedly Fiona registers Alastair's last comment. She looks up at him suspiciously.*
What thing?
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*It's difficult to lie to that look, but equally telling the truth doesn't look very inviting at the moment, either.*
Well - it's Peter's thing, really. His business, not mine. I think he's in a much better position to answer your question than I am.
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*'You naughty bastard!'
Peter rearranges his face into one of polite curiosity.*
I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea of what you're talking about, Alastair.
*He thumbs through the book.*
It is very readable.
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Alastair. What. Did. You. Do.
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*Oddly, he doesn't think she looks terribly satisfied by this.*
Involving how not-corrupt John is. Come on, you don't want everyone thinking John's corrupt, do you?
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Your damsel in distress had better not be fucking Tony!
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*He firmly pushes the book down away from Peter's face and glares at him, half annoyed, half pleading.*
Fiona, improbable as it sounds, this is one of the few things to happen over the past two decades that has absolutely nothing to do with Tony. The worst distress he gets in these days involves working out how much to tip his fucking pedicurist.
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Tony wasn't involved in the slightest. John simply decided that his PR team should consist of one summer intern and was terribly distressed when that didn't work so well in a crisis.
It needed a little... mopping up.
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Hmm. All right, fine. I'll let you off for dragging him back into the spin game this once.
*She turns to Alastair.*
Promise me this was a one-off, and you're not taking it up again.
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*He side-eyes Peter sternly.*
You're more trouble than you're worth. I should have made it a double Kitkat.
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Do let me know once you've finished, I want to check if the butter's melted in that mouth of yours.
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I'll hold you to that, darling.
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*He takes out his phone and reflexively answers it without more than a cursory glance at the caller ID.*
Yeah, who or what is it?
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Have you seen the papers today?
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I have seen the Guardian and, more importantly, I have been online. As far as I could tell, nobody has so far had anything to say about you, but I imagine you're about to tell me otherwise.
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So, has Jack behaved himself?
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Poor boy.
Well.
Hopefully he'll be able to go home soon. I'm sure he's just missing his favourite chew toy.
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No, no. I mean, there's that business with the flats, but I'm not in Round II. But- look, Andy and Jim and I talked it over when Round I broke and we were specifically instructed not to call you guys, but I've seen our line on this and it's not good enough. The Government can't run the story because they're in it too, but the papers aren't going to let it go. We can't just palm them off on IPSA. What should we do?
And do you have any idea what's going on with Peter Mandelson? His voicemail says it's full, and when I rung around everyone said they haven't seen him since Conference. You may be the last person to have seen him alive.
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Oh, for fuck's sake. I don't...
*He turns away from Fiona, lowering his voice.*
If you are really that desperate for guidance, then I'll tell you what you should do. Number one. You should stop digging yourselves holes for the press to bury you alive in. If you're going to be a thieving bastard, be subtle about it, yes? Number two. You should stop fucking turning to me. I've already done more than my share of shit-shovelling this weekend. It's a Sunday and I'm retired and if you ask me about this a second time, even within this phone call, that constitutes harassment. Do I make myself understood?
As for Peter, nobody's ever had any idea what's going on with him. ... Why do you want to know?
*It might be easier, Alastair figures, to put Chris through to Peter and have him deal with this than to be obstructive for the sake of it.*
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And you should ask him! You're not that retired; you blogged about politics just this morning. We both know you'll come back for the next election. You're not going to just sit back and watch Tom cock everything up. You could save yourself a lot of trouble two years from now if you apply a tourniquet now. ...That doesn't count as me asking you for advice, by the way- that's me giving it.
I wanted to know about Peter because I expected you to tell me to "stop fucking turning to you"! Whereas Peter will do anything if you suck up to him enough. And this is kind of an emergency.
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Anyway, who gave you permission to give me fucking advice in the first place? I will call on you for advice when I need someone to help me present the persona of a sexually frustrated tosspot, and not before! This won't make a difference the election, they think you're all corrupt as sin anyway. It'll come down to the state of the economy and you bloody know it, you just want your own skin saving.
True. Well... give me a moment.
*He places a hand over the receiver and glances at Peter.*
Oi. It's for you.
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But that doesn't mean I want to spend the next six months ignoring tweets about my rental arrangements! And there's that Corby by-election in a few weeks, too. This is a bad time for this story to break.
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