Boris often called her “The Bitch”, and George wasn’t entirely unconvinced that the epithet was unfounded. David’s successor in the party, to everyone’s surprise, hadn’t been George… it turned out the party didn’t want the ideological ally of the man who oversaw the murder of the Queen as PM. Boris of course had seemed second in line for the throne, but a series of gaffes and radical statements about people’s freedoms had seen the party’s central office nip that idea in the bud. And, what with everyone else suitable having died in the subsequent attacks, only she was left.
Elizabeth II, Queen for almost sixty four years, assassinated by IS militants on bloody Remembrance Day. GCHQ, MI5, and the Special Branch had all stepped up their game and cracked down on jihadism but the infringement of civil liberties had, regrettably, not gone far enough to actually be worth it. The opposition from Labour, reduced at the election to a fraction of its former self, had been barely a whisper and plans had gone ahead to expand surveillance, all in the people’s best interests, of course.
Sat across from the Prime Minister in her office George wondered why it had been her. She was a nobody by comparison, sure she’d been a secretary of state, but he’d had the ear of the bloody Prime Minister for god’s sake. He’d been inches from power… so close. If only he’d taken a harder line on restricting civil liberties like she had… if only he’d been as hard assed and reactionary, he might have just made it.
“So George, you’re willing to make concessions in your budget to increase defence spending?” She crooned. He snapped out of his reverie starkly, eyes refocusing on the smirking woman in front of him.
“Of course Theresa, anything in the nation’s best interest.” George replied.
“Only in the countries best interests. Always for your benefit.” Theresa muttered to herself, echoing her government’s own ubiquitous propaganda videos, blared across the interest in government sponsored banners and projected onto the side of the commons 24/7.
George fidgeted with some papers that he had clasped in his hands and then locked eyes with the Prime Minister with a gulp. She met his gaze with confident, relaxed, derision and arched an eyebrow at him.
“Prime Minister I believe there will be a vote of no confidence against your government. The “reforms” have gone too far. The Right won’t have it, the left won't either.” He said at last.
“There won’t.” She said as she stood, “It simply shan’t happen to my ministry. They’re radicalised, there’ll be another attack before it can happen, and when that’s done I’ll call another snap election and they’ll rally around the flag, around strong leadership, and forget they ever had grievance with me.” She was looking out at London before her with a slight sneer on her otherwise serene face.
“Who are They Theresa? The Jihadis? The Unions? Labourites? Scottish Nationalists?”
“They are the people, George. All of them who mutter that we shouldn’t be watching them, or that we shouldn’t arrest you without first having a warrant, or that we should pull the cameras down and stop watching our own people. They’re the ones who don’t get it… don’t get that we have their best interest in mind.” She replied. George was unsure whether he was really hearing this. A Prime Minister accusing the electorate of wanting to launch terrorist attacks? Of some of her own party wanting to launch one…
“I could have you removed for those kinds of comments Theresa. I have every mind to, and every right as well.” He said indignantly. She pushed aside a curl of brown hair and sniggered.
“But you won’t, will you. Because you know that GCHQ and the Special Branch, as well as a few of my own “Special Researchers” have dredged up every sordid aspect of your heinous little life, George. If you bring me down, you’ll fall just as far, maybe even further. You did a lot of… interesting things immediately after the assassination.”
George didn’t say anything, but then he didn’t have to. She seemed to be able to read people too easily for speech to be necessary. Blair had that too in the end, so did Adams and his lot… maybe it was part of having worked in that bit of the country that did it. So many complicated issues and positions, and factions -all of whom hated one another- and not enough time for any of them to fully articulate their views.
“I liked you, you know. I knew you were a nasty little schemer, but I did like you.” She sternly remarked, “I didn’t have any intentions of removing you from the Treasury, but I see that I’ll have to. It’s a shame really, you’ve always been so good at promoting the party, at playing Westminster’s games.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” George said crisply and with a defiant formality that he knew would irk the Prime Minister to no end.
“You’ll have to go when I take Johnson away from the Home Office.” She chuckled, “That was my highest aspiration once, Home Secretary, now look where I am. I can’t say I ever thought I’d make it here… I didn’t make it there after all.”
No, George thought, but then he had never made it anywhere before he and David skyrocketed to the top of the party, and then the top of the country. A lot of experience didn’t matter these days, not one bit. It was all about playing the game that Blair had set up, pleasing the electorate, telling them what they wanted to hear in the slickest, most modern way possible. And making them feel safe, of course.
“And who will be replacing us?” George asked resignedly. He had been expecting his ambitions to be quashed at some time soon anyway; he’d basically lost control of his own department anyway as the Prime Minister’s “Emergency Powers” had allowed the distribution of more and more authority to Civil Servants and Advisors loyal to her.
She messed with another lock of her hair idly frowning a moment before speaking measuredly, “Two new people, women probably, enough to make me look vibrant and modern… as if I’m moving out two increasingly dated pale stale males and replacing them with young women with exciting ideas. The papers will eat that up I’m sure.”
“Yes, you’re probably right.” George said disparately. It always surprised him how good she was at the game.
“We don’t have another election for another year, we scraped by in twenty fifteen, but I’m sure the boundary review will secure us a win, especially with the SNP sucking away Labour votes in Scotland, and Plaid soaring in Wales. It should be fine. The ship of state’s course will stay straight.” She laughed at her own floridity.
“The Boundary Review was my idea, you know.” George murmured.
“I do. It was a good one. It might have served you well had you stepped up to the Premiership after May and Hammond died.” Theresa said.
“Quite possibly. I was Acting Prime Minister for a while you know.” No response. George drew in a breath and then stood, grasping the jacket on the back of his chair. He turned to the door.
“Have a good day Mister Osborne.” The Prime Minister called back to him as he opened it.
“And you Miss Villiers.” He closed the door and stepped away from the Prime Minister’s study for the last time.
Elizabeth II, Queen for almost sixty four years, assassinated by IS militants on bloody Remembrance Day. GCHQ, MI5, and the Special Branch had all stepped up their game and cracked down on jihadism but the infringement of civil liberties had, regrettably, not gone far enough to actually be worth it. The opposition from Labour, reduced at the election to a fraction of its former self, had been barely a whisper and plans had gone ahead to expand surveillance, all in the people’s best interests, of course.
Sat across from the Prime Minister in her office George wondered why it had been her. She was a nobody by comparison, sure she’d been a secretary of state, but he’d had the ear of the bloody Prime Minister for god’s sake. He’d been inches from power… so close. If only he’d taken a harder line on restricting civil liberties like she had… if only he’d been as hard assed and reactionary, he might have just made it.
“So George, you’re willing to make concessions in your budget to increase defence spending?” She crooned. He snapped out of his reverie starkly, eyes refocusing on the smirking woman in front of him.
“Of course Theresa, anything in the nation’s best interest.” George replied.
“Only in the countries best interests. Always for your benefit.” Theresa muttered to herself, echoing her government’s own ubiquitous propaganda videos, blared across the interest in government sponsored banners and projected onto the side of the commons 24/7.
George fidgeted with some papers that he had clasped in his hands and then locked eyes with the Prime Minister with a gulp. She met his gaze with confident, relaxed, derision and arched an eyebrow at him.
“Prime Minister I believe there will be a vote of no confidence against your government. The “reforms” have gone too far. The Right won’t have it, the left won't either.” He said at last.
“There won’t.” She said as she stood, “It simply shan’t happen to my ministry. They’re radicalised, there’ll be another attack before it can happen, and when that’s done I’ll call another snap election and they’ll rally around the flag, around strong leadership, and forget they ever had grievance with me.” She was looking out at London before her with a slight sneer on her otherwise serene face.
“Who are They Theresa? The Jihadis? The Unions? Labourites? Scottish Nationalists?”
“They are the people, George. All of them who mutter that we shouldn’t be watching them, or that we shouldn’t arrest you without first having a warrant, or that we should pull the cameras down and stop watching our own people. They’re the ones who don’t get it… don’t get that we have their best interest in mind.” She replied. George was unsure whether he was really hearing this. A Prime Minister accusing the electorate of wanting to launch terrorist attacks? Of some of her own party wanting to launch one…
“I could have you removed for those kinds of comments Theresa. I have every mind to, and every right as well.” He said indignantly. She pushed aside a curl of brown hair and sniggered.
“But you won’t, will you. Because you know that GCHQ and the Special Branch, as well as a few of my own “Special Researchers” have dredged up every sordid aspect of your heinous little life, George. If you bring me down, you’ll fall just as far, maybe even further. You did a lot of… interesting things immediately after the assassination.”
George didn’t say anything, but then he didn’t have to. She seemed to be able to read people too easily for speech to be necessary. Blair had that too in the end, so did Adams and his lot… maybe it was part of having worked in that bit of the country that did it. So many complicated issues and positions, and factions -all of whom hated one another- and not enough time for any of them to fully articulate their views.
“I liked you, you know. I knew you were a nasty little schemer, but I did like you.” She sternly remarked, “I didn’t have any intentions of removing you from the Treasury, but I see that I’ll have to. It’s a shame really, you’ve always been so good at promoting the party, at playing Westminster’s games.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” George said crisply and with a defiant formality that he knew would irk the Prime Minister to no end.
“You’ll have to go when I take Johnson away from the Home Office.” She chuckled, “That was my highest aspiration once, Home Secretary, now look where I am. I can’t say I ever thought I’d make it here… I didn’t make it there after all.”
No, George thought, but then he had never made it anywhere before he and David skyrocketed to the top of the party, and then the top of the country. A lot of experience didn’t matter these days, not one bit. It was all about playing the game that Blair had set up, pleasing the electorate, telling them what they wanted to hear in the slickest, most modern way possible. And making them feel safe, of course.
“And who will be replacing us?” George asked resignedly. He had been expecting his ambitions to be quashed at some time soon anyway; he’d basically lost control of his own department anyway as the Prime Minister’s “Emergency Powers” had allowed the distribution of more and more authority to Civil Servants and Advisors loyal to her.
She messed with another lock of her hair idly frowning a moment before speaking measuredly, “Two new people, women probably, enough to make me look vibrant and modern… as if I’m moving out two increasingly dated pale stale males and replacing them with young women with exciting ideas. The papers will eat that up I’m sure.”
“Yes, you’re probably right.” George said disparately. It always surprised him how good she was at the game.
“We don’t have another election for another year, we scraped by in twenty fifteen, but I’m sure the boundary review will secure us a win, especially with the SNP sucking away Labour votes in Scotland, and Plaid soaring in Wales. It should be fine. The ship of state’s course will stay straight.” She laughed at her own floridity.
“The Boundary Review was my idea, you know.” George murmured.
“I do. It was a good one. It might have served you well had you stepped up to the Premiership after May and Hammond died.” Theresa said.
“Quite possibly. I was Acting Prime Minister for a while you know.” No response. George drew in a breath and then stood, grasping the jacket on the back of his chair. He turned to the door.
“Have a good day Mister Osborne.” The Prime Minister called back to him as he opened it.
“And you Miss Villiers.” He closed the door and stepped away from the Prime Minister’s study for the last time.
