The Return of the Dead Eyed

Our new Prime Minister sits behind her desk. She surveys her new surroundings. All is good. She picks up the phone, pressing a single button.

“I am ready, Norma, send him in.”

The door opens and in walks a familiar figure; tall, slightly soft belly, domed head and the eyes of a fish that has not been in the water for 72 hours. 

“Chris, Chris, come in, take a seat.”

“Thank you Prime Minister,” he responds, pulling out a chair, “and may I say, what a thrill it is to see you here.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You were my campaign manager, not that we needed a campaign, all it took was one interview….but I am a woman of my word and I said you could name your price….so, what can I do for you?”

He clears his throat.

“Well, I really liked being Lord Chancellor….”

The Prime Minister shifts in her seat.

“…..and I would like my old job back. At the MOJ.”

“It’s a new dawn, Chris, time for a fresh start. Why would you want to go back?” the Prime Minister responds as she attempts a smile that chills everyone in the room.

“Gove…” at the mention of his name both of them make the sign of the cross and mime the throwing of salt over their right shoulder, “Gove cancelled all my big ideas, he undid my legacy.”

“Come on Chris, I know I said anything, but this, this is difficult. How about Gibraltar?” the Prime Minister smiled again (and somewhere a fairy died).

“The Governor of Gibraltar! Why would I want that job?”

“Not a job, the place. I will give you the whole place. That has to be better than a job at the MOJ….”

Chris straightens himself up to signify a stiffened resolve.

“No. I want my job back….”

“And a million pounds….” a note of real panic enters the PM’s voice, “…..no, £350 million….a week…I believe it is going spare. I’ll give you Gibraltar and £350 million a week, just don’t make me give you back Justice…”

“No you said ‘anything’ and that’s what I want. Lord Chancellor and the MOJ. Again.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh very well,” the PM pause whilst she thinks, “if I am going to do that I will have to bury that news, make the headlines about something else……”

The PM reaches for the phone. She hits a single button again. 

“Norma? Get a message to Amber. Tell her it is Home, not Foreign after all. And then get me Boris…..yes that Boris…”

She replaces the receiver and looks at her new Lord Chancellor.

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