Former Prime Minister Stephen Thompson was hardly recognisable as he stood on the chewing gum covered pavement outside a large block of flats stretching up into the skyline of London. Rain was absolutely pouring from the gray cloudy skies and he had long since given up on trying to keep himself dry. On his long walk across London the blustery winds had turned his Pasotti umbrella inside out, forcing him to discard it in a nearby rubbish bin. Stephen couldn't help but think that the extremely expensive umbrella was just like his public image over the past several months, broken and battered. He chuckled to himself at his own joke as he threw the broken brolly away, at least his sense of humor wasn't among the things he had lost since his marital indiscretion had become public knowledge. He hadn't shaved in days, a scraggly, unkempt beard growing in on his face that gave him a wild, crazed appearance. His eyes looked sunken and hollow, lips dry, a byproduct of the insomnia that had been plaguing him over the past few weeks. His normally immaculate suit was tattered and stained with food, dirt and other unidentified substances and he took a deep breath before ringing the buzzer at the building's entryway.
The digital display beeped to indicate the occupant was home and a crackly female voice came through over the speaker. "Hello, who's there?"
Stephen smiled widely as soon as heard Rosie's thick Yorkshire accent, the first time he'd smiled in days. He hadn't seen her or spoken to her since the news broke and he couldn't deny that he had missed her. "H..hi Rosie, erm, it's Stephen, Stephen Thompson," he stammered out as he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. It had taken a lot for him to come here. If he hadn't been at his lowest point, he wouldn't have even considered it, but needs must, especially for a man in his position.
"What do you want?" came Rosie's reply in a cold and suspicious tone. Her hostility could hardly come as a surprise, her life had been torn apart just as much as his had, raked over the coals by the UK tabloids, accused of being a homewrecker, a slut, a cheap whore and much, much worse.
"Please can you let me in so we can talk?" he replied pitifully, "it's hammering it down out here, I'm absolutely soaking and I have nowhere else to go." There was no response for a few seconds, presumably while she decided whether to turn him away or not and he waited on tenterhooks for her answer.
"Okay, come up," she sighed, "I'm on the twenty second floor, straight ahead when you get out of the lift" she explained with a little bit more warmth in her voice as an electronic buzz signaled the door being opened. Stephen pulled it open and stepped inside, finally out of the wind and rain as he shivered from the sudden change in temperature. He shook himself, much like a dog would to try and remove some of the water that was still covering him. While brushing more rainwater off his clothes, he scanned the entryway which had walls lined with small post boxes for all of the flats, half of which had been smashed in. There was graffiti scrawled over the walls and empty cans and takeaway boxes strewn on the ground, hardly the luxurious surroundings that he had known when he was the leader of the country. As he approached them, the lift doors at the end of the hall opened and three young lads made their way out of it, hoods up, bandanas on their faces, talking and laughing loudly as the pungent smell of marijuana hung in the air in their wake.
As the youths got closer to Stephen they all stared intensely at him, doing their best to seem intimidating and dangerous as they swaggered past. His eyes immediately dropped to the floor and he cowered away from them, now wanting any trouble. This was how far he had fallen, from one of the most powerful men in the country to someone scared by literal children. He really was pathetic. Once the three wannabe hoodlums had made their way out of the front of the building he walked over to the now vacant lift, stepping inside and selecting the button for the right floor. On his journey up the huge building the lift made various clunking and whirring noises that put Stephen on edge, it was clearly very old and he pictured the cables snapping and sending him plummeting towards the ground at any moment. He wondered if maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing before considering how he was going to handle talking to Rosie once he reached her flat. This wasn't going to be easy.
Before he knew it, he was standing outside her door and he felt completely unprepared. He gave himself a quick once over, straightening out his jacket and trying to smooth out his hair, but his efforts made little difference to his raggedy appearance. Taking a deep breath, he put on the biggest smile he could before knocking on the door with as much authority as he could muster. 'Here we go,' he thought to himself as he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. The entrance to the flat swung open and there she was, standing in the doorway. The woman that he had thrown everything away for. His career, public perception, his marriage and worst of all, his self-respect.
She greeted him with a half-hearted smile. "Hi Stephen, how have you been?" she asked coldly. It occurred to him that he had only ever seen her with make-up on and dressed to the nines despite having known her for several years. It made sense of course, you had to dress the part when you were in the job that she had, but it still came as a surprise. She was still a very pretty woman of course, long blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail, wearing a tatty old t-shirt and a pair of tights fitting black leggings that showed off her curves. She'd clearly been doing her best to enjoy a quiet night in and as if he hadn't already caused her enough hardship, now here he was interrupting it, dripping wet and standing in her hallway.
"Been better to be honest," Stephen replied wryly, "you?"
"Same," she replied as they both stood looking at each other awkwardly. "Do you want to come in?" she asked, a little begrudgingly, stepping aside so he could step inside.
"Yeah, that would be great, thanks Rosie," he replied, stepping inside the warmth of her flat, rubbing his hands together to try and get some warmth flowing to his fingers. "It's horrible out there," he commented as Rosie led him into the living room, "nice to be out of the cold."
"I'm sure it is, can I get you a towel?" she asked, looking up and down his sopping wet hair and clothes.
"That would be amazing, thank you so much," Stephen said, giving her a warm smile, hoping she would have enough kindness left in her heart to hear him out.
