Bad Education – Chapter VII
Pairs of bulging eyes stared at him like brain dead meerkats as he stepped out of the small pantry of the DoSAC office, but with one quick look up from Malcolm, they scattered away as quick as they could. He gave a heavy sigh as he trudged forward to his next place of slaughter. He knew he shouldn't take his frustration out on the underlings and assistants – they were only just trying to mop up the mess made by their incompetent bosses.
And it wasn't like he was any different.
Clara's words cut through him again as he continued through the office with a snarl. Some over confident bag of Blackpool candyfloss he'd only met a few days ago – what the hell did she know about him?
Nothing.
Everything.
But now she was gone.
Good riddance.
And yet he couldn't help but think he felt just a little bit…emptier. Like she had managed to find the only real piece of him left in his stretched out carcass of a human suit; and she had grabbed it with her small little hands and wrenched it away before he even knew there was anything left to steal.
But that was that and she was gone.
Her kiss, her eyes, her insufferable knowing smile: they were gone.
It was better that way.
He had spent too much time dancing round her like an idiotic fucking stroke victim on stilts – it was time to move on and do has actual job.
Malcolm drew in a breath and pushed in through the glass door, to Nicola Murray's private office.
"I had nothing to do with it!" Ollie Reeder's panicked voice squawked before Malcolm even had a chance to properly step into the room.
"What?" Nicola shot out as she cowered close to the desk, waiting nervously for the attack, while the shit squeezer Ollie moved up to Malcolm to plead for his head, and Glenn, the stale sandwich, was standing in the corner of the office, arms resolutely crossed.
He was fucking sick of them.
Sick of their comedy of errors. Sick of fixing everything they broke.
"I'm here against my will!" Ollie cut in with a whine.
"Oh shut it, Oliver Tit!" Glenn grumbled from the corner. "You helped her escape! If anyone shouldn't be here it's me."
"Thanks guys, I really appreciate your loyalty!" Nicola glared at them.
"Oh yeah and you're one to talk, joining the Cabal quicker than Russel Crowe to a pub fight!" Ollie struck back.
"I'm not in the Cabal!" She denied weakly.
"Oh come off it Nicola, you're a worse liar than bloody Donald Trump's toupee." Glenn huffed.
"It was merely a fact finding meeting - " Nicola attempted to defend.
"Just a quick innocent skip over enemy lines?" Glenn mocked.
" – and one I needn't have done if someone hadn't given the Manic Poxie Dream Girl clearance to stand behind me during the bloody press conference." She turned around to give Glenn a biting glare.
"How was I to know she was going to turn into a miniature Mao Tse-Tung?" His voice cracked.
"Questions seem to be all the rage with people with actual mental capacity."
"Well you'd know, bloody question enthusiast, as it was you going all AWOL Piers Morgan that got us into this mess to begin with!" Glenn huffed.
"All right, Bert and Hernia – it was both your faults!" Ollie jumped in. "So now that's agreed, may I please bugger off?"
"You're staying right here, Tesco Brutus – you're still part of my team." Nicola rebutted.
Malcolm's brow dropped lower and lower as he watched the three of incessantly argue back and forth like a trio of headless chickens fighting over who gets the chop. All sound and fury, signifying nothing. And normally he'd be in there, the god of noise himself.
Why wasn't he in there?
Why did he feel so tired?
Glenn and Ollie were now toe-to-toe when Malcolm had finally had got to the end of his rope.
"Shut the fuck up." His droll voice cut through the room instantly, causing the others to freeze in fear for what would come next. "I don't give two a single fuck about you shits. But you…." He turned his icy glare to Nicola, who was already wilting back into her desk. "You work for the PM. So fucking act like it. Otherwise you're fucked."
Then without wanting to stay a second longer with them, he turned and marched out of the office, leaving the three of them gawping like idiots in his wake.
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The hallways of Number 10 bustled with the nervous activity of the campaign, but the crowds parted for Malcolm as he waddled through with a stony face to Jamie's department.
He needed to focus his mind, get it back to normal, back to the sharp knifepoint it usually was, and away from this murky apathy that was beginning to seep through him like a confusing virus. Hopefully a little bare-knuckle bitching with his Glaswegian pit-bull would help set him straight, and drown out the maddening doubt inside him.
Punching open the door to the office, he glanced around the desk of Jamie's headquarters, but couldn't find him anywhere.
"You." He barked at the closest assistant, who froze in his seat. "Where's Jamie?"
"I ah…" For some reason the staffer looked nervous, even more than he would be with the Demon Bullocker of Downing St glaring down at him. "I don't know…"
Malcolm narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right. "Ok, you'd be a better liar if your face didn't suddenly decide to audition for the fucking Blue Man Group. I'll give you another chance – are you curious as to how far I could pull your eyeballs out from your sockets, or do you want to tell me where the fuck Jamie is?"
"The cabinet room." He squeaked out, and Malcolm gave him a quick twisted smile then turned back around to the corridor and towards the cabinet room.
"No!" Malcolm was nearing the meeting room door when he heard the staffer's voice again, calling weakly behind him. "You can't go in!"
He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to the approaching staffer with a look of incredulity. "I'm sorry?" He bared his teeth, ready to strike.
"It's just a ah… private meeting." The young man looked like death. "No-one is allowed in."
"Lucky for you, I'm not no-one." Malcolm growled then continued on to the cabinet room, going so far as to put his hand on the door when the staffer tried to stop him again.
"Please! I was given strict orders!"
"Right, that's it Porky Fucking Pig – you stop me one more time and I'll flay your pasty skin with safety scissors, season it with your fucking tears, and serve it up with a fucking side salad of fucking mandolin sliced wisps of your pin prick of a penis."
The staffer looked as though he was about to faint when the door suddenly opened, revealing Jamie, who peeked out of the small crack.
"What…" Jamie started when he carefully slid out of the door then closed it quickly, not allowing Malcolm a glimpse into the cabinet room behind him.
"I'm sorry, I tried to stop him!" The assistant quickly cut in, trying to plead with Jamie.
"Oh fuck off back to work you useless fuck!" Jamie ordered, and the staffer swiftly obliged, when Jamie quickly grabbed Malcolm's arm and pulled him to a doorway on the opposite side of the hall.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jamie berated him under his breath.
"The fuck you mean?" Malcolm shook off his grip.
"They're all in there saying you joined the fucking Backbench Boys."
"What?" Malcolm could feel the heat of anger begin to rise up inside him.
"Don't act like you're fucking surprised!" Jamie spat. "The spineless fucking staffers at DoSAC were all a fucking-flutter about your little private talks with Hanoi Jane and the Fuckers Three. What where you even thinking?"
"That I was putting out fires without having to worry about being accused of fucking starting them myself!" Malcolm shot back angrily. "Who's in the room?"
"Tom and Julius."
"And?"
"Don't make this fucking harder on yourself than it already is mate, you know you've been off your game this week."
"Oh my…? Fuck you. I'm not of my game - I play in a whole fucking higher league. I'm fucking Ronaldo having to deal with fucking sugar fuelled toddlers who've fucking torn off their nappies and shitting all over the field! Who else is in there?"
"Malc…" Jamie warned through gritted teeth. "Let me fucking deal with this."
"I don't need anyone to fight my own battles, fuck you very much. Especially none so fucking ridiculous as this! I'm going to talk to Tom." Malcolm tried to forge past Jamie, but he stuck an arm out in his path, stopping him. "Don't even fucking attempt…" He glared at Jamie's arm in indignation, when Julius Nicholson appeared from the cabinet room door.
"Excuse me, Malcolm." Julius interrupted with an infuriatingly patronising voice. "Do you mind taking this somewhere else?"
"Oh! My deepest apologies!" Malcolm feigned remorse. "I'll just take this in there, shall I?" He pointed to the cabinet room door, causing Jamie to roll his eyes.
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Malcolm." Julius replied in controlled coldness.
"You can't tell me what to do, fucking bargain-basement Hal 9000!" He growled.
"It seems I can, now that your loyalty is being put into question." Julius said gravely as Malcolm just short-circuited.
His loyalty?
His...
Anger and disbelief clogged up inside him with a fiery pressure as he strained to get any words out.
"My loyalty?" His face began to redden as he processed the accusation. "The fucking pound-an-hour, fucking fair-weather slut of Whitehall is fucking questioning my loyalty?" His brow shot up, not noticing that a crowd was beginning to cautiously gather in the hallway, watching the scene unfold.
"You failed to tarnish Miss Oswald's character, then you are seen colluding with her, and the minister that is rumoured to have joined the Cabal." Julius' voice began to rise. "How could we not begin to question where your allegiance stands, hmm?"
"How bout it's fucking me you're talking to?" Malcolm barked. "The fucker who's sacrificed his fucking primary organs for this party for 20 years? The fucker who sold his soul to keep this party alive, and who's trying to fucking keep it together by the tips of his fucking shredded and bloody fingers, even though colossal fucking clumps of cancer seem determined to knock it down! You're fucking questioning my loyalty like you weren't the last PM's fucking primary ball licker!"
"And you weren't his primary bulldog?" Julius said condescendingly.
"Fuck off!" Malcolm recoiled. "I'm going to talk to Tom." He tried again to move to the door, but Julius blocked his away.
"He's already talking to someone."
"Get out of my way before I fucking dunk you in a cup of tea and bite your fucking fat head off." Malcolm growled.
"Malc, just fucking stop – " Jamie cut in from behind.
"I'm going in." Malcolm continued to try and push past Julius, but he remained standing his ground.
"I'd rather prefer you didn't."
"Who's Tom talking to?"
"Just fucking-"
"Please step away."
"Don't - "
"Who the fuck is he talking to?"
"Steve Fleming."
Malcolm felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.
"Fucking… fucking bum rapist Barney?" He blew up. "Fucking Steve I-Cut-My-Smile-With-A-Fucking-Switch-Blade Fleming? What the fuck is Tom doing talking to fucking him for?" He asked, dreading the answer.
"He thinks, in order to cover his wicket until the election, it would be a good idea to bring Steve in to assist you." Julius explained calmly.
"You're fucking joking…"
"Now look, we're trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here Malcolm – it's your own fault you've found yourself in this awkward position." He tried to calm him down.
"This isn't my fault. This is fucking far away from being my fault! This is the fucking distance between your scalp and a fucking thick mane of hair from being my fault! And if you think I need fucking Dobby to assist me in destroying the Cabal, then you must have forgotten who the fuck you're talking to!" He stepped right up to Julius' face, glaring down at him and revelling in the small hint of fear behind his pudgy eyes. "I'm Malcolm Fucking Tucker. I am the prince of darkness. I brought this party to power under my black fucking wings of hell – so don't you fucking dare question me, or thinking I need a fucking limp dick of an assistant. I told you I was going to obliterate the Cabal, so that's what I'm going to do. So why don't you go fucking prance back to Tom and his little diarrhetic chihuahua and tell they'll be showering in the ashes of their fucking foes quicker than you can turn on me again, you fucking opportunistic piece of taint fluff!" Malcolm burrowed his eyes into Julius, then without another word, swiftly turned around and stared down Jamie, who was still standing behind him, and who gave a tired sigh then stepped out of his way. He glared at the audience of staffers, now frozen in the hallway before pushing past them and marching back to his office, nostrils flaring.
Fucking loyalty.
Fuck them.
He was going to destroy that little cult of hacks. He was going to fucking string them up from the London Eye with their own fucking intestines and steer the party to an easy fucking victory – that would show the fucking Oxbridge dough ball who was fucking loyal.
"Sam!" He called out as he balled into his office. "Get me Geoffrey! Then Angela Heaney. Or -fuck- whoever answers first!"
He grabbed his bag from the floor and dropped it on the top of his desk, as his ears began to throb with the sound of pumping blood. He would show them. Two long, worn hands delved into his bag and scoured the corners of the pockets. It was Operation fucking Scorched-Earth time. His hand finally brushed against something small and cold. He snapped his fingers around the key pulled it out when the phone began to beep. One hand on the phone, he nestled the receiver in the crook of his neck while he bent down to the side of his desk and brought the key to his personal draw.
"Geoff, you old Guardian angel!" He forced out a cheery voice while he turned the key in the lock and opened his draw. "What? Can't anyone be nice to you? Were your daddy's expectations a little too high?" Malcolm searched through the stack of papers till he found the file he was looking for. "Ok, so maybe I do have an ulterior motive, but that's how it works, isn't it? I scratch your back, you scratch mine, and we both supress dark doubts over our sexuality." He dropped the file in front of him and opened it up. "Spare your whining, I got a good catch for you today…"
Malcolm's voice faded off when his heart froze.
Clara's eyes stared up at him from the small picture stapled on to the single page of background information. It was obviously taken off Facebook, outside in some nondescript park, and the person she had her arm around was unceremoniously cut out of the photo, but her gaze had lost none of its potency.
Or maybe the government just doesn't listen to you.
A shiver ran down Malcolm's back as he promptly closed the file and pushed himself away from the desk, eying the manila folder cautiously. Geoffrey's voice called over the phone line, but it seemed like only background noise as Malcolm's thoughts began to rage with memories and doubts once more.
She was right.
She was right and he couldn't face it.
He had recoiled when she practically called him a powerless puppet, but here he was, calling up the editor of a major newspaper, chomping at the bit just waiting to show off how quickly he could perform the Prime Minister's wishes.
And for what?
Geoffrey spoke out again to Malcolm's silence, but he slipped the phone receiver from ear, slowly stretched to the desk, and hung up.
Or maybe the government just doesn't listen to you.
Malcolm leaned back in his chair and took in his office with fresh eyes, the empty cans of energy drink scattered everywhere, the piles of documents on his desk, a spare suit hanging from the back of door for all-nighters. His eyes flicked to the paintings his nephew had made for him, that he had hung up on the wall. But even that was a lie, a professional tactic used to confuse and unsettle.
It was empty.
It was all empty.
And it could have all disappeared in an instant because some idiot DoSAC staffer started a rumour.
The ground felt like it was shifting below him as his hands rubbed past his eyes then cradled his face. He needed to get out. He needed to sort his thoughts out. He needed…
He needed something real.
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NB:
Oh hiya guys! Righto: apologies for two things first – one, the lateness. But, you know, life and things (*shakes fist at general existence*) and two, lack of Clara. Which I actually wasn't intending in this chapter, but it just seemed to get away with itself, and have no fear because next chapter will be Clara-tastic! In fact it will be Fuckwald-tastic!
Once again, thank you thank you thank you to everyone reading and reviewing, it really means the sun and the stars and the world and the multi-universe to me, so I hope to make it up to you in the next chapter! Which reminds me, how much are you guys sticklers for ratings? I mean I know I probably already use a few too many Fucks for the 'T' rating, but will I be pressing it a bit too far if I add a bit of ye-olde-hanky-panky? * monkey shrug *
Anywhos, thanks again so much for reading, hope you enjoy, and hope to get the new chapter out soon so please tell me what you think!