Clarity - Chapter 4

Clara had a surprise waiting for her when she arrived at work on Monday morning. The rest of her weekend had been quiet and she hadn't heard from any of her colleagues. This wasn't a rare occurrence, but it should have set off alarm bells in her mind. The first thing she noticed was that people were a lot quieter than usual. She shared an office with three other junior advisors at the Sanctuary Buildings and even though she never relished M & Ems gossipy conversations, they were part of the scenery. And they were noticeably absent, today. Even nerdy Julian who was usually grumbling in the background or shouting at his slow computer was surprisingly quiet.

She'd thought something terrible had happened. Something she hadn't heard on the radio that morning. Maybe it'd happened while she was on the tube. Maybe it was an inter-department thing. She didn't think for a second that it had anything to do with Friday night. After all, Julian hadn't even been there. He probably had an alien invasion to prevent at a LAN party or something. Worlds to conquer. Zombies to kill. She wasn't exactly sure what he did during his free time. She didn't really want to know.

Clara sat down, wondering if she should say anything or just wait for one of them to speak up. She put her thermos of coffee on the table and just as she was pressing the ON button on her computer, Emily finally broke the heavy silence.

"Any news from Mr. Graham?"

"Mr. Graham?"

"You know, that guy from the Health Department you were cosy with on Friday."

"I wasn't cosy with..."

Clara was cut off by the sound of her chirping mobile. She saw it was Martha so she let it go to voice mail: she'd catch up with her friend later. But just as she was typing her password on her computer, she rang again. Martha never did that. She always texted. And when she didn't, she left messages. So Clara picked up.

"Hey, Martha..."

"What the fuck did you do?"

She'd never heard Martha speak like that. She rarely ever swore, unlike her. This was bad. Clara put the phone against her shoulder, smiled, and excused herself from the room. Right before she crossed the threshold, she had the distinct impression that all three of her colleagues knew exactly what the call was about. She decided not to linger on that realisation and walked quickly to the emergency staircase, where she knew she could get some privacy.

"What is it, Martha?" she whispered, hating the echoey quality of her voice in this place.

"What happened on Friday? What did you do to Mr. Graham?"

"What did I do?"

"It must have been pretty huge. Why would they send him to North Wales otherwise?"

"Wales?" Clara was vainly trying to not let herself be submerged by Martha's panicky tone. But she couldn't make heads or tails of her words.

"Martha, slow down. I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"I asked you yo keep an eye on him, that's all!"

Clara leaned against the wall, finding it harder and harder to keep her voice down. She'd done nothing wrong, she didn't deserve to be shouted at first thing in the morning, especially by her friend.

"Yes, well, I did. Thanks, by the way. Your boss is a dirty old man. He kept trying to feel me up. So whatever thing he's got to do in Wales, he deserves it."

"He can be a bit heavy-handed in public but he's harmless. And now I've got to explain to the minister why his top advisor has been sent on a rural hospitals survey in the back of beyond! It could take him weeks! And it's not even as though he'd spoken to the press, so there must be something else."

"Wait. He didn't? He didn't speak to the press?"

"Of course he didn't! What aren't you telling me?"

Clara was at a loss. She thought Keith Graham had spoken to the horsey-faced journalist before the party on Friday. So her article hadn't been written. Which meant...

Oh.

"Clara? You're still there? Are you telling me he spoke to the press?"

"Nope. He didn't. I made sure of that. I don't let people grab my arse for no reason. Believe me. So whatever he did to deserve this... thing, it wasn't on me."

Technically, she wasn't lying. Mr. Graham had left the party shortly before her, she'd made sure of that. And the journalist had also vanished by the time she got a taxi. She told this to Martha, minus the journalist part. They hung up soon after that, and although Clara wished her friend had been a bit more apologetic (after all, she had been doing her a favour on Friday) she also knew that Martha was under a lot of pressure. Her minister was undoubtedly pressing her for an explanation regarding his advisor's departure at such a crucial time for them and their end of life care bill.

She slowly walked back to her office, trying not to think of the role she had played in this debacle. Surely, as she'd told Martha, it couldn't be all down to her. She was a mere junior advisor. She was new. She wasn't very popular amongst her colleagues although her superiors seemed to like her ideas. As she sat down at her desk and finally managed to fill in her password, her phone beeped, announcing the arrival of a text. It was from Martha: "I'm so sorry I shouted. I'll call you tonight!". Clara smiled, feeling better. But it was short lived, given the looks still adorning her colleagues' faces. What now?

"Right. This is getting ridiculous. What have I done?"

She looked pointedly at Emily, knowing from experience that she would be the first to speak up.

"The Standard?"

"What standard?" Clara asked, puzzled.

"The newspaper, Clara. Remember we were supposed to have this big piece written about my... our project?"

"The yoga thing?"

"Yes!"

Clara had always thought it was a stupid idea. Primary school children didn't need yoga. Frankly, Clara thought they needed karate lessons, it would help them externalize their anger a lot better than through bloody yoga. But she knew it was one of M & Ems pet project. Well, Emily's project, really. Michael had simply followed her directives, as usual.

"What about it?"

"They're no longer doing it. No one's coming. Apparently, one of their journalists was given a formal reprimand and has been prevented from dealing with government matters for a while. So, no article."

Clara didn't see how this concerned her. Unless...

"This journalist, was she called Hadley?"

"Precisely, she's the journalist who was there on Friday. With you and Mr. Graham, actually."

"That's got nothing to do with me, I heard she was about to write something on the end of life care reform. Something she wasn't supposed to."

"Well, I'm not the one who ratted her out!"

Clara rolled her eyes, tired of having accusations thrown at her. It wasn't even 8.30 yet and her coffee thermos still stood untouched next to her keyboard. She was contemplating what to retort, when Michael spoke up.

"Oh, Jamie's in the building."

"Good! Maybe he's here to tell me what the hell happened." Emily stood up, followed by Michael, and left the room. Julian hadn't moved, but he wouldn't look at her either. Clara sighed, and decided she wouldn't waste any more energy on the matter. She had real work to do. Work that didn't involve yoga. Or Wales. Or...

"Miss Oswald! Just the girl I was looking for!"

Good grief, what now? Jamie MacDonald had just burst in the office, with M & Ems standing behind him and looking murderous. Clara was actually eager to hear what Jamie had to say. He seemed a lot less threatening then than her colleagues at the moment, which was saying a lot. She decided to stay seated, not wanting to give the others the satisfaction of seeing how apprehensive she actually was.

"Sir?" everybody called him "Jamie", but it was the first time he was directly talking to her and she thought it best to show some deference.

"Don't 'Sir' me lass, I've got good news. You're to meet with Alex Young this afternoon, from the Guardian. They're doing something on the new curriculum, and I thought you should do it."

"Right."

"I wrote you some stuff, but I'm sure you'll manage. Gerry can coach you if you've never done that before."

Gerry was the Education chief press advisor. He was hopeless most of the time but nice. Though he smelt of burnt cheese. Spurned on by the look of absolute rage on Emily's face, Clara smiled, and answered calmly.

"I'm good, I've already done things like that. In fact, I have some key points already prepared that I could give. Everything's been vetted, of course."

"Astounding. They'll see you at Kings Place at two. Make us fucking proud, it's time you munchkins got some good press. Oh, and don't mention that bloody yoga thing, it's bonkers."

"Jamie, about that, I was actually supposed to meet with Catherine Hadley this morning. What happened?" Emily interrupted. Bad move, Clara thought. She could see Jamie's ears getting red as he turned his back on her to face Emily. Imminent sign of implosion, she surmised.

"That back-stabbing hack? She's due an in-depth special report on horse shit. I'm sure she'll feel right at home in the stables. You know, perhaps you should go and join her. You could teach yoga to the fucking horses, I'm sure they'd be more receptive than nine year old kids."

Emily swallowed audibly, not having anticipated that she would be the recipient of one of Jamie's infamous bollocking sessions.

"What next? You want to give them herbal tea? Have a fucking Tibetan monk teach them maths? You know what, next time you have one of those ideas, why don't you shove it up your uptight arse doing the downward bloody dog?"

If Emily hadn't been so horrible to her that morning, Clara would have probably felt bad for her at that point. Maybe she would have even interrupted Jamie to ask him something about the interview this afternoon. But she didn't. And in any case, he seemed to be almost done. After a loud "fucking yoga!", he turned back to her.

"You, come with me, we'll go and see Gerry. Make sure the prick knows how to spell your name right for the Guardian."

She followed Jamie out, keeping her eyes fixed to the floor, and wondering if she'd ever be able to face her colleagues at some point after that.

"So, got home okay on Friday?"

She hadn't expected him to mention the party. After all, she'd basically run away from him. Well, not really. She'd just decided to let him talk to Malcolm Tucker in private. And she'd had to find Mary to apologise. And make sure Mr. Graham didn't get anywhere near her arse. So she had handed Malcolm his half-empty glass of gin and tonic, smiled to him, and wished him a good evening. Simple, really. Nothing reprehensible at all. So why was Jamie staring at her with a knowing look in his eyes?

"Yeah, no problem. I didn't stay very long after..."

"After you'd finished flirting with Malc."

"What?! No! I... We just talked, that's all."

Clara was floored. First Sophie at the party, then this. It was one thing to be made fun of by her colleagues and seen as an enabler of philanderers or something, but it was another thing entirely when it came directly from the actual press office at Number 10. Jamie was still smiling. But he didn't look like he wanted to mock her or laugh at her expense or make her feel ridiculous. Quite the contrary. Nevertheless, she wanted to make something quite clear.

"I'm not like that, I'm not looking for trouble. I don't 'chat up' married men for the fun of it. I mean, he was nice, but..."

"Married? Malcolm? Who told you that?"

"No one. I just..." Clara blushed, and she knew Jamie could see how flustered she felt. He seemed to be enjoying it, the bastard.

"Well, rest assured love. The only married man you 'chatted up' was grandpa Keith. I'm sure he's enjoying his trip to the countryside, by the way. Hope he didn't forget his fucking wellies."

If Clara hadn't been so nervous about the flirting with Malcolm thing, she'd have probably asked him to elaborate on that. Had she played any role in the decision to send the advisor to Wales? What about the Standard's journalist? God, she hoped not. Even though she felt they both deserved what they got.

"I'll just tell Malcolm you didn't mind speaking to him, then? Especially now that you know he's not married or anything."

Jamie looked very happy with himself. Clara felt more scared than she'd ever been in his presence. Why did Gerry's office have to be so far away? Suddenly, Clara stopped in her tracks, having come up with another troubling realisation.

"About the not-married thing. I wasn't, you know, fishing for information about your boss, just now. I was not fishing in any way. No fish, no water, nothing."

"Of course not, lass," Jamie answered, patting her shoulder in a reassuring way that didn't reassure her at all.

"Let's find Gerry, yeah? Does he still smell of melted cheddar?"

Clara laughed, despite herself.