---
While waiting in the car, Michael reflected on his past few years. He had taken Hornsey for Labour in 1983, providing one of the bright spots of that dreadful night. Entering parliament, he was on the left, though he never made the full crossover to Benn's camp. In 1987, he had been able to turn his majority from 600 to 6000.
'Come on now, Mike, they're going to be declaring in a little while' - John, his rather young aide, scratched his neck as he beckoned the Home Secretary out of his car. John was a good friend of his, helping him with campaign work in '87 and '91, and so they were on a first name basis. The home secretary had felt that people, especially close friends, referring to each other by their titles was dreary. That had caused a bit of bother when he met the royals.
Yet again, John snapped him out of his thought process. 'So, Mike, how did Pax go?' he said as they walked through the door. Michael bit his lip and muttered, 'It was alright'. In truth, Michael had loathed going on TV and defending Brown, but thought it dangerous to say that while a microphone could be around the corner. He couldn't stand that man, and was so sick of his constant demands. 'More big initiatives, more!' was a constant one that rung in his mind. His temper wasn't a thing Michael could bear either, and on more than one occasion considered quitting. He stuck it out for the good of the party. Their testy relationship had become something of note in the media, and letting 'why couldn't Neil stay on?' slip with his mic still on almost ended his career (and gave Heseltine enough ammo to escape a mediocre week). At least that Tony bloke was willing to stand up for him, even if he made a show about wanting Michael's job.
Just before he entered the declaration room, John pulled him back. 'Don't go in yet Mike, they're still getting the votes counted and the Beeb won't be going over for another few minutes'. Not wanting to go out and confront the local reporters, Michael relented and stayed back. He thought for a little while more, about the dreary prospects. The exit poll wasn't the worst case scenario, thank god, but it was still a disappointment. It was going to be a crap night, he could feel it, even before Big Ben struck 10. The canvassing reports weren't good, and he was still tarred by the prison reports. However, reports that his seat would be close were laughed off. He was still very popular in Hornsey, and he increased his already big majority in the last election.
After what felt like a half hour, John nudged Michael into the room and said 'Time to go'. John took his seat, narrowly dodging a rather large man in the process, as Michael walked on stage. He glanced to his left and right. He didn't recognize anyone aside from Lord Sutch with his famous hat. Christ, he's still standing?, Michael thought as he rolled his eyes. For the first time in a while, he truly felt optimistic. Even if Labour didn't make up for its losses in the rest of the night, he could still quietly take over from Brown and lead Labour back into government against a tired Tory party in -
His thoughts had been cut off again, this time by the rather thick accent of the announcer, who was just beginning the vote count.
'Sutch, David, Monster Raving Loony Party: 562
Jago, Hilary, Green Party: 550'
Without much thought, Michael let out a very wry smile at that.
'Carter, Clive, Liberal Democrat, 8404'
A big improvement from last time, if memory served him correct. Perhaps his aides were right, and turnout had risen.
'Boff, Andrew, Conservative Party, 25560'
Michael's heart sank. He tried calming his mind down within a few seconds by attributing that to turnout, but it didn't dissuade his fear.
'Silorski, Pat, Socialist Labour Party, 272'
Serves them right to come last, the bloody trots.
'Portillo, Michael Denzil Xavier, Labour Party, 24865'
Cheers erupted from the audience, and Boff shoved his hand into the air. Michael gulped, and looked down at his shoes after looking at John, who had his hands to his face now. He wasn't going to cry or anything silly like that, but he wasn't going to let out a smile. He listened to Boff's speech, which he thought was some self congratulatory nonsense that he came up with on the spot, with a thanks to 'our now retired MP'. Michael faked a smile at that, seething on the inside. He took to the podium, gripped it and took a deep breath. On the exhale, he wondered. Maybe Tony can get someone pushed up to the Lords. Just maybe, I can still save the party.
While waiting in the car, Michael reflected on his past few years. He had taken Hornsey for Labour in 1983, providing one of the bright spots of that dreadful night. Entering parliament, he was on the left, though he never made the full crossover to Benn's camp. In 1987, he had been able to turn his majority from 600 to 6000.
'Come on now, Mike, they're going to be declaring in a little while' - John, his rather young aide, scratched his neck as he beckoned the Home Secretary out of his car. John was a good friend of his, helping him with campaign work in '87 and '91, and so they were on a first name basis. The home secretary had felt that people, especially close friends, referring to each other by their titles was dreary. That had caused a bit of bother when he met the royals.
Yet again, John snapped him out of his thought process. 'So, Mike, how did Pax go?' he said as they walked through the door. Michael bit his lip and muttered, 'It was alright'. In truth, Michael had loathed going on TV and defending Brown, but thought it dangerous to say that while a microphone could be around the corner. He couldn't stand that man, and was so sick of his constant demands. 'More big initiatives, more!' was a constant one that rung in his mind. His temper wasn't a thing Michael could bear either, and on more than one occasion considered quitting. He stuck it out for the good of the party. Their testy relationship had become something of note in the media, and letting 'why couldn't Neil stay on?' slip with his mic still on almost ended his career (and gave Heseltine enough ammo to escape a mediocre week). At least that Tony bloke was willing to stand up for him, even if he made a show about wanting Michael's job.
Just before he entered the declaration room, John pulled him back. 'Don't go in yet Mike, they're still getting the votes counted and the Beeb won't be going over for another few minutes'. Not wanting to go out and confront the local reporters, Michael relented and stayed back. He thought for a little while more, about the dreary prospects. The exit poll wasn't the worst case scenario, thank god, but it was still a disappointment. It was going to be a crap night, he could feel it, even before Big Ben struck 10. The canvassing reports weren't good, and he was still tarred by the prison reports. However, reports that his seat would be close were laughed off. He was still very popular in Hornsey, and he increased his already big majority in the last election.
After what felt like a half hour, John nudged Michael into the room and said 'Time to go'. John took his seat, narrowly dodging a rather large man in the process, as Michael walked on stage. He glanced to his left and right. He didn't recognize anyone aside from Lord Sutch with his famous hat. Christ, he's still standing?, Michael thought as he rolled his eyes. For the first time in a while, he truly felt optimistic. Even if Labour didn't make up for its losses in the rest of the night, he could still quietly take over from Brown and lead Labour back into government against a tired Tory party in -
His thoughts had been cut off again, this time by the rather thick accent of the announcer, who was just beginning the vote count.
'Sutch, David, Monster Raving Loony Party: 562
Jago, Hilary, Green Party: 550'
Without much thought, Michael let out a very wry smile at that.
'Carter, Clive, Liberal Democrat, 8404'
A big improvement from last time, if memory served him correct. Perhaps his aides were right, and turnout had risen.
'Boff, Andrew, Conservative Party, 25560'
Michael's heart sank. He tried calming his mind down within a few seconds by attributing that to turnout, but it didn't dissuade his fear.
'Silorski, Pat, Socialist Labour Party, 272'
Serves them right to come last, the bloody trots.
'Portillo, Michael Denzil Xavier, Labour Party, 24865'
Cheers erupted from the audience, and Boff shoved his hand into the air. Michael gulped, and looked down at his shoes after looking at John, who had his hands to his face now. He wasn't going to cry or anything silly like that, but he wasn't going to let out a smile. He listened to Boff's speech, which he thought was some self congratulatory nonsense that he came up with on the spot, with a thanks to 'our now retired MP'. Michael faked a smile at that, seething on the inside. He took to the podium, gripped it and took a deep breath. On the exhale, he wondered. Maybe Tony can get someone pushed up to the Lords. Just maybe, I can still save the party.