'Is this Minister not aware that there are young girls in council estates unable to work due to having small children, and that there are no creche or childminding facilities?' thundered Michaela Whitmore, the MP for Wooburn.
The minister smiled at Michaela and gave a patronising non-response to Michaela saying how much they were investing in these services, while he was thinking even if the god-forsaken hole where Michaela came from wouldn't see a bean. Anyway, he thought, with the news of a government reshuffle, no one was going to take any notice of a poxy debate like this.
Michaela scowled at him like she did most ministers. The minister smiled back thinking: You are a silly bitch. You are clever, passionate and well-intentioned. All this trying to make people's lives better is a waste of time. Every woke campaign you do, from anti-racism, anti-porn, pro-immigrants, and rights for prisoners in jail does nothing. It might be something if you were decent to look at.
Michaela did not do fashion. Dressed in a trouser suit every day. Make-up for her was an alien concept, and she always had her dark brown hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Most of the Male MP's would call her a 'dowdy dyke' behind her back.
Michaela wasn't married to a man or woman. She was married to the job. She lived, slept and breathed politics since she was 14. She had made it onto the candidate's list at only 25, and after two failed attempts had been elected as an MP for Wooburn, a former industrial town in the north, that still bore the scars of the closure of the steel mill that had employed half the town, and the other half of the town had depended on. She spent 24 hours a day fighting to make her constituents' life better. Many of her staff and fellow MP's wondered what she did for fun, although Michaela didn't do fun. She woke up to an empty flat and would return there every night, reading her emails and seeing who else she could help.
Respected, rather than loved or admired by her constituents and her local party, many found her to be a cold fish. No small talk about anything other than politics. Her staff found her to be a sympathetic if distant boss, helpful but never seemed interested in their lives beyond the office door.
After the debate had finished, Michaela was passed a note by another MP. Reading the note, it requested that she attend a meeting with the Leader of Opposition. Pocketing the note, Michaela made her way out of the chamber and walked her way to the suite of officers reserved for the Leader of the Opposition.
Entering the Leaders office, she found herself confronted by the Leader, Helen Smith behind the desk, and her chief advisor, Louise Lyttleton, sitting in one of two chairs opposite. Helen rose and shook hands with Michaela, and Michaela did the same with Louise.
'Michaela, I will come straight to the point' said Helen. I want you to join my cabinet as shadow secretary for families'. Michaela was unnerved. She had never thought that she was front bench material.
'Helen, well, thank you. I'm shocked. I've only been in parliament for 2 years, so this is a major surprise' replied Michaela.
'You've made such an impact in only a short time, and we want you at the centre of our push for the next election' said Louise, joining in. 'There is just a couple of things we would like to chat about though'.
Michaela was puzzled. I've been offered the job, so what else? She thought.
Helen piped up. 'Look we know how intelligent you are, but you need to do something about your image, clothes, hairstyle, mannerisms, that sort of thing'. Louise said 'You need to smarten up a bit if you want to get on. I can get you a really great fashion advisor who can help you'.
Michaela was furious, she wanted to get to the frontbench, but she wanted people to listen to her words, and see her achievements, not talk about what fashion label, or her latest hairstyle. She had been vocal about a number of female shadow ministers doing fashion shoots for a magazine. Although no flesh had been bared, she still thought that the whole experience had cheapened women in politics. She wanted no part of it.
'Thanks, but I think I want to stay on the back benches for a little while longer' replied Michaela tight-lipped. She was disappointed in Helen, and felt her opinion of Louise as a vacuous hanger-on was still right. Helen and Louise looked disappointed, but Michaela was adamant, this was who she was, and this is how she would stay.
Leaving the Leaders office and making her to a long corridor, Michaela wanted to find a place to light up a cigarette, taking out a packet from her bag. Remembering that the Palace was now a no-smoking building, she sighed slightly dramatically. Behind her, a male voice said 'That was a big sigh!'. Michaela whirred round to see the avuncular figure of Toby Vincent. She liked Toby and knew that he had lost his wife the previous year, and her party leader had told his MPs to go easy on him.
Toby was in fact behind the nice 'chap' image that he portrayed, an extremely unpleasant person. He took bribes from lobbyists, leaked documents to journalists, and even had people beaten up who crossed him.
Despite his friendly exterior toward her, Toby despised Michaela. Michaela had recently been pictured at an anti-government demonstration wearing a t-shirt that said that Toby's party was lower than vermin. After seeing that, Toby decided that this dull bitch needed to be taught a lesson and he decided that he wanted to play a very nasty game. He believed he could change a woman to do what he want and he thought that under that 'plain jane' exterior, Michaela probably had a very fuckable body.
'I need a fag, Toby!'
'Tut-tut, those things will kill you!' he replied smiling.
'I really want to give up, but days like this, just make me want to light up a whole packet!' said Michaela, holding her head with her hands and grinning.
'My late wife used to smoke, and gave up via hypnosis, it does work.'
'Really, who did she go to, if you don't mind me asking?' queried Michaela.
'Actually, I did it. I took a course in Hypnosis as a joke Christmas present once, and I found I had a bit of talent'. Toby replied, looking slightly bashful. Toby left out that he had ensured his late wife's death thanks to his hypnotism. He had hypnotised her into walking into the cellar after he had removed two of the wooden steps. Losing her footing, she had fallen several feet onto a concrete floor, breaking her neck. He put the steps back before the emergency services arrived. Everything had been written off as a tragic accident. After his wife's death, at the general election, he had increased his majority, with a large sympathy vote.
He had quite liked his late wife, but she had begun to look old, couldn't have children, and he was bored with her conversation. He couldn't afford to divorce her, so it was much easier to arrange an accident.
Michaela looked at him. 'Erm, would you have a go with me? Cigarettes are costing me a fortune'.
Bingo thought Toby.
'Sure' smiled Toby. I'd better not sound too eager, or she might smell a rat he thought. 'I'm a bit busy today and tomorrow, but we can have a session on Friday if you want?' Friday was perfect, as most MP's and their staff would be in their constituencies, so the palace of Westminster would be virtually deserted. 'If you change your mind, I will understand' Toby went on, secretly hoping she wouldn't.
