Who Is Jack Winter ( Part 13)

Jack walked down the steps of Admiralty House and saw the car waiting for him with the driver inside. Two men were standing by the front passenger door. Two men that Jack had never seen before. They were tall and stocky, both clean shaven and both wearing grey suits with white shirt and tie. As Jack approached, one of the men opened the rear passenger door.

“Good morning sir, number ten?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Jack got into the back seat. One of the men got into the front seat next to the driver and the other walked round to the other side of the car and got in and sat beside Jack. He spoke in a soft Scottish accent.

“Hope we didn’t alarm you sir, we’re from Special Branch. Twenty four hour security for you from now on. We’ll be as discreet as we can but we’ll only ever be a few yards away.”

Jack was relieved. For a brief moment he thought he was about to be kidnapped. He’d already started to take off his Omega watch and hand it over.

“Oh yes, of course. That’s fine.”

He hadn’t given security a thought. Getting away to The Club for some entertainment might prove a little difficult from now on.

The journey was no more than a few hundred yards and would have been quicker to walk but Jack had a feeling that “Security” might have taken a dim view of that suggestion.

Maurice met him at the door.

“Morning Jack. Sorry to drag you in here so early but I want to run a few things passed you before the cabinet meeting. Let’s go through to my office where we can have a chat.”

Jack didn’t have a chance to reply. Maurice was already several steps in front of him. Once in the office Maurice closed the door.

“Look Jack, the PM wants to have a chat with you before the cabinet meeting this morning. It’s just to bring you up to speed on a few things, so we’ve got about half an hour to have OUR chat.”

Jack wasn’t sure where this was going.

“How is he?”

Maurice sat down and gestured to Jack to do the same.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about Jack. This is all off the record. Understand?”

“Sure Maurice.”

Jack loved these situations. Whenever someone used the words “Off the record”, it was obvious that they were about to tell you some kind of secret, and secrets were ammunition for Jack. He had a knack for keeping them safe until the time was right to use them for his advantage. Maurice took a deep breath and then blurted out the words…

“The PM’s a fucking junkie!”

Whatever Jack thought he was about to be told. That wasn’t it.

“Jesus Maurice, are you sure? I mean, how do you know?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for some time now Jack, but last night confirmed it.”

He took out a brown file from the top drawer of his desk.

“These are his blood test results. His doctor took a sample after he passed out and we got them back early this morning.”

Maurice took a pair of glasses from his top pocket, put them on and began to read.

“Traces of MDMA, cocaine, methadone and ketamine were found.”

Jack wanted to laugh. No wonder the little fuckers cost him so much money. There was every flavour of drug imaginable in those beauties. It was as if Maurice was reading out Jack’s favourite table menu. He tried to act as if those names meant nothing to him.

“Sorry Maurice, I don’t understand all this technical jargon.”

“Fucking hell Jack are you THAT naïve. MDMA is found in ecstasy, methadone is similar to heroin, cocaine is well, fucking cocaine and ketamine is a fucking horse tranquilizer. They’re all hard core drugs and our glorious leader has them all in his system doing the fucking hokey cokey!”

“So what does the PM say about all this?”

Maurice put the file back in the drawer.

“Nothing. We haven’t told him. It’s not the right time. Not yet. He doesn’t even know that we took a blood sample. He doesn’t remember a thing from yesterday. We’ve convinced him that he’s had some kind of black out due to over working. That’s where you come in Jack. We want you to keep an eye on him for us. Accompany him to all the various functions in the next few weeks. Do what we did yesterday, if you think he’s acting strange then step in and take over. The US President is here in two days and we can’t have the PM talking to the leader of the free world when he’s off his nut!”

Jack wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“But… wouldn’t the Foreign Secretary be better, you know, with the US President coming over and everything.”

“No way Jack. The President hates his guts. MI5 have got him on tape saying that he thinks Charles Winthorpe is a complete twat. No, it has to be you. You’re the new DPM and it will look perfectly natural for you to be at the PM’s side over the next few weeks.”

Jack was still weighing up in his mind whether this was a good thing or bad thing. Then something  entered his head. Something that Maurice kept saying. He had to ask the question.

“You keep saying WE Maurice. You said WE got the results back, WE haven’t told him, WE want you to keep an eye on him. Who else is involved? Who else knows all this?”

Maurice smiled.

“All in good time Jack. All in good time.”

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Who Is Jack Winter ( Part 12)

He’d managed three hours sleep. That was enough for Jack. It was just after five o’clock in the morning and he was watching the Jeremy Kyle show. A woman was screaming and shouting at her husband. She accused him of having affairs with two other woman. Jack thought that was quite normal until it became clear that the two woman were his mum and his sister. The husband wasn’t denying it but said it was a long time ago and that he’d never bedded them at the same time, as though that somehow made everything okay. They both looked as though they should be playing the banjo somewhere in Alabama. But actually they were from Basildon in Essex.

Jack shook his head. Wow, he thought his life was fucked up but watching this programme made him feel quite normal. He popped a couple of blues and greens and washed them down with a large glass of claret.

The flat at Admiralty House was plush and modern, not at all how Jack had imagined it. Lots of steel, glass, marble, laminate floors and white leather sofas. There was only one problem. No fucking Scotch. Loads of wine, white, red, pink, gallons of the stuff, but no Scotch. That was something he would have to rectify. He’d get Roger on the case straightaway. Can’t have a luxury pad in Whitehall without the finest Malt.

He thought back to the previous evening. He’d returned to the reception and taken over as the dutiful host. He spoke to everyone individually. The story was simple, the PM had been called away for an urgent conversation with the US President. It was a matter of national security so he couldn’t give any details. Naturally they all nodded as if they knew what was going on, especially Charles Winthorpe, but obviously none of them had a clue. As the evening wore on, Jack could hear the whispers. They’d convinced themselves that it was to do with some secret military operation in the gulf. The PM’s curious behaviour had been forgotten. Job done!

At five thirty exactly there was a knock on the door. Jack smiled, he’d been told that the service at Admiralty House would be precise and it wasn’t wrong. He opened the door and saw a man in a blue and red uniform standing in front of him.

“Good morning sir, here are the papers you asked for.”

Jack took them and said thank you. He closed the door and walked into the kitchen.

They were all there, from the broadsheets to the tabloids, there was even a copy of The Racing Post. He poured himself another glass of claret and found the paper he was looking for. The headline on the front page of The Times read “Who Is Jack Winter?”

He began to read, the smile on his face getting bigger and bigger as he read through the article. Sean had done a brilliant job. He didn’t recognise himself. Apparently he was a man of the people, a man of principle, character, honesty and integrity. From a working class background he’d fought his way to University. He’d sacrificed everything, including two marriages, for a life in Politics where he was determined to change things for the good. Both ex-wives said what a wonderful man he was and how much he deserved to be playing a major part in this country’s future. Behind the scenes he’d campaigned tirelessly for victims of asbestosis because his father had died from the condition some years ago. His hard work had resulted in the Government setting aside £400 million for compensation claims. His hero was Bobby Moore and he was a lifelong supporter of West Ham United. Sean’s article had made him look like a cross between Ray Winstone and Mother Theresa!

The other papers had followed suit. None of them really knew much about him and had stolen bits of Sean’s article for their own columns.

Jack opened another bottle of claret and poured himself a large glass. He walked into the lounge and sat down in front of the TV. The Kyle show had descended into farce, women were pulling each other’s hair and a big bald headed man was trying to separate them. He switched the channel over to BBC. He was taken back to see an old photograph of him on the screen. The presenter was talking about him, most of which had come from Sean’s article. He was talking about Jack’s time at Essex University where he gained a degree in American Politics, his time on Havering Council and then his meteoric rise to Deputy Prime Minister.

All of this was making Jack ask the same question over and over again in his head “Who the fuck was he REALLY?”

He’d only ever had one aim in life and that was simple. Earn as much money as he could, shag as many women as he could and enjoy as much of the finer things in life as possible. Politics seemed like an easy way to do it. But nothing was ever planned. He’d just sort of fell into things. He was streetwise and cunning, but ambitious? Not really. Every promotion meant more money and the higher up the scale you went the bigger the earning potential. If at some stage he got caught with his trousers down or with his hands in the till, it didn’t matter as long as he’d set aside enough money to be financially secure for the rest of his days. Besides, most large multi nationals didn’t give a flying fuck about how you’d left government as long as you were there in the first place. There would always be a Directorship or an advisory role on offer along with a fabulous salary.

The biggest example of this philosophy was Tony Blair. He left Government being extremely unpopular yet went straight onto the boards of JP Morgan and Zurich Financial as their “Special advisor”. The bloody United Nations also wanted him as their International Envoy. These three jobs alone would bring him in millions every year and that’s without the personal appearance money he’d earn from his speaking engagements. The man now has a bigger yearly turnover than most small countries!

That’s what he wanted. How he got it didn’t matter. But now, as Deputy Prime Minister. The odds were looking good.

His phone rung.

“Jack Winter.”

“Jack, it’s Maurice. Can you come to the meeting early? About seven?” I need to talk with you in private.”

Jack was slightly worried. Maybe the PM had told Maurice about the blue and greens and his tenure as DPM was about to be cut short. He composed himself.

“Of course Maurice. How’s the PM?”

“That’s what we need to talk about Jack. He can’t remember a fucking thing about yesterday. The whole day is a blank to him from start to finish, and there’s another thing. We’ve had his blood tests back. There’s some things in his blood stream that just shouldn’t be there Jack. I think it confirms what I’ve been worried about for some time.”

“I’ll be right there Maurice.”

“Thanks Jack.”

He put the phone down and breathed a sigh of relief. Once again it was time to get into character. Jack Winter to the rescue!

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Who Is Jack Winter ( Part 11)

The new Energy and Climate Secretary was talking and Jack was pretending to listen. He smiled and nodded at the appropriate times but his thoughts were elsewhere. Out of the corner of his eye he was watching the Prime Minister. He was talking very fast and throwing his arms about like a windmill. Jack could imagine him bursting into song at any moment.

Jack was also trying to calculate how long it would be before he crashed. Six tablets was far too many for a novice like Harold Simpson. He’d feel magnificent for a short time, then he’d have a sudden rush of euphoria where he’d probably think he could fly but after that he’d come crashing down…hard.

The blues and greens would also make him thirsty. They had some kind of effect on the liver and kidneys which made you crave liquid. In Jack’s case it was always whisky, he’d noticed the PM sinking glass after glass of champagne. The bubbles would accelerate everything. Jack guessed it would all be over in an hour.

Another thing that troubled him was Roger. Why would Roger give him six tablets? Jack could understand Roger wanting to be helpful and rushing away to get tablets, but why six? Two would have been enough, four maximum, but six? It didn’t make any sense. He’d have to have a word with Roger in the morning.

But the most important thing on Jack’s mind was Harriet and how much hair did she have between her legs? He didn’t think for one moment that she would be fully shaved, and a Brazilian just didn’t seem her kind of thing either. He guessed that she would be tidy, yes, very tidy down below. He imagined a very short and tidy dark triangle. There was a tap on his shoulder, he turned round and saw Harriet smiling at him.

“A penny for them Jack, or do I have to call you Deputy Prime Minister from now on?”

She had a sparkle in her dark brown eyes that gave Jack an immediate tingle in his Y – Fronts.

“Ahh, the lovely Ms Knowles. Always Jack to you. And, a penny for what?”

“Your thoughts of course Jack, you looked like you were deep in thought.”

Jack laughed.

“If I told you Harriet, you might just want to slap my face.”

“Really? Try me. I’m a big girl now Jack not much shocks me anymore.”

“Okay, if you insist. I was wondering if you were bald, had a Brazilian or was just short and tidy.”

“Jack Winter you are encourageable!”

“Well you did ask!”

Harriet giggled and went slightly red around the cheeks.

“And I suppose you’re an expert on those kind of things are you Jack?”

Jack leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“I’ve licked so much pussy that I’m in danger of coughing up fur balls!”

Harriet had just taken a mouthful of champagne as Jack said the words. It made its way back through her nose at an alarming rate. She tried to compose herself but was laughing and coughing at the same time. Jack gave her the handkerchief from his jacket pocket so she could wipe her face.

“Jack Winter you are one VERY naughty man. Now I’ve got to go to the ladies room and compose myself.”

She gave Jack a sly wink as she walked away. The old Winter charm was working its magic.

Maurice Wells was calling him over, he looked worried. Jack made his way over to the back of the room.

“Have you seen the fucking state of the PM? He’s all over the place.”

Jack put on his worried look.

“I know Maurice. Too much champagne is my guess. I’ve noticed that he’s been knocking them back a bit quick.”

Maurice shook his head.

“I’m worried about him Jack. Why the fuck would he turn up to an occasion like this in Jeans and polo shirt? And where’s his fucking socks?”

“Maybe he thought it would make everyone feel at ease, you know, lighten up a bit.”

“Bollocks, he’s off his face. Oh shit, what the fucks he doing now!”

Jack turned round and saw the Prime Minister standing on a chair with his arms in the air.

“Can I have everyone’s attention please?”

Maurice looked at Jack.

“Let’s get him out of here before he does something stupid.”

They made their way through the crowd and reached the PM just before he was about to sing Delilah.

“Prime Minister you have to come with us, there’s an emergency that you need to attend to.”

Quickly but firmly they grabbed the PM by the arms and walked him out of the room, led him to his office and sat him in a chair.

Jack could see the crash was beginning. The PM’s eyes were glazed and he was shaking his arms and legs.

“Bloody pins and needles now. I felt great a few minutes ago and now I’ve got bloody pins and needles everywhere and another thing…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. He passed out.

Maurice let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank fuck for that. I’ll get his doctor to come over and make sure he’s okay. Hopefully it was just too much champagne and nothing more. But I’m not convinced. All this keep fit shit, forgetting to put his bloody clothes on, striding around the place all the time never sitting still and now getting as high as a kite on a few glasses of bubbly. I’ve seen the signs before, he could be heading for some kind of breakdown. I’ll get the doctor to do some tests. Can you go back to the room Jack and try to convince everyone that he’s been called away on some kind of emergency. Make up whatever shit you like, and if they say anything about his behaviour, just laugh it off and say he’s always like that. Most of them in that room don’t have a fucking clue anyway.

“Of course Maurice.”

Jack left Maurice with the PM and headed back to the reception. His first day as Deputy Prime Minister was a day that he would never forget.

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Who Is Jack Winter ( Part 10)

Roger finished brushing imaginary dust from Jack’s shoulders then took a step back and gave his master a nod of approval.

“Very smart sir. Very smart indeed. Very much a Deputy prime Minister.”

“Thank you Roger. We best be off then. I’ll let you lead the way.”

The two of them strolled through the maze of corridors that led to the back entrance of ten Downing Street, Jack felt good, confident, alive. During the day he’d consumed enough drugs to tranquilise a full grown elephant and drunk enough Scotch to make even Oliver Reed fall over. A normal day for Jack Winter.

Roger left him at the entrance to the main reception and headed off to his own little function with the other PA’s. Jack was met by Maurice Wells, the Press Secretary.

“Welcome Jack. You’re a bit early, which is a good thing. The PM is still getting ready. Probably doing some kind of fucking yoga or Pilates shit. So I guess you’ll have to step up to the plate and be the host till he gets here. Most of the newbies are here as well as some of the old codgers. Have fun.”

“Thank you Maurice. I’ll do my best.”

Jack walked into the room and immediately felt every eye turn to look at him. He was a newbie but he had the upper hand. He was a very important and the highest ranking newbie. It was time to get into character, time to become Jack Winter the Deputy Prime Minister.

The first to approach him was Charles Winthorpe, still the Foreign Secretary and up until a week ago his old boss.

“Jack, Jack, so good to see you and many congratulations on your new appointment. I think my little chat with the PM may have gone some way in helping you get the promotion.”

He gave a wink as he said the words. Jack hated his guts and wanted to make sure he knew who was boss from now on. He leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Well Charlie, old son, we both know the real reason why you recommended me don’t we. Now make yourself useful, fuck off and get me a large glass of scotch.”

Jack turned and walked away leaving a stunned Charles Winthorpe desperately looking for a waiter.

Someone shook his hand. It was a short stocky man in his late thirties with ginger hair and glasses. Jack thought he looked like one of The Proclaimers.

“Hello Jack. It’s been a while. We met at last year’s party conference. It’s John, John Shaw. I’m the new Environmental Secretary.”

Jack put on his best authorative voice.

“Of course I remember you John. Congratulations. Welcome to the team.”

“And Jack, it turns out we have something in common.”

“Oh yes John. What’s that?”

“West Ham United! I’ve been a season ticket holder for over twenty years. Where do you sit?”

“Fuck” was all Jack could think. He quickly remembered what Maurice had told him to say.

“Bobby Moore. Now what a player he was. If we could only get more players like him we’d be top of the league.”

“You’re in the Bobby Moore stand? I take my hat off to you Jack. That’s where all the real hard core supporters are.”

“Yep, stood there since I was a kid along with my old dad.”

“Yes, of course, they STAND in that part of the stadium don’t they? Refuse to take their seats. As I say, really hard core.”

Jack was relieved, yet at the same time thought he might be getting out of his depth. He decided it was time to move on.

“Sorry John, have to mingle.”

They shook hands and Jack felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Charles Winthorpe holding a very large glass of whisky. He looked like a Labrador that had just fetched for his master. Jack took it without saying a word, then walked off to greet two familiar faces.

Michael Smith was the Chancellor and thought to be close to the PM. They were at Eton together. Jack had met him a few times but they’d never said more than a few words to each other. Standing next to him was George Carson the Home Secretary another Etonian and a real snob. Jack knew these two would be the enemy. They both thought they would be the PM’s successor and wouldn’t take too kindly to the new kid on the block. Especially someone like Jack Winter. He’d have to be wary of these two.

They both smiled as Jack approached them. He could see it was very much a forced smile. Michael Smith put out his hand for Jack to shake. It was exactly what Jack expected. Limp and clammy.

“Hello Jack. Great to see you and many congratulations. I’ve been hearing really good things about you. Do you know George?”

George Carson just continued to smile. But didn’t say a word. You could smell the contempt in the air.

Jack smiled back. He decided to throw them a line to make them feel uncomfortable.

“Hi Michael. No I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of George’s company. Hope the two of you are well. I was only saying to the PM this morning that I thought he made the right decision not to replace you two in the cabinet re-shuffle. He wasn’t so sure, but I think I’ve convinced him otherwise. And, I’ve promised him that I’ll help you boys in any way that I can because I know you’re both struggling on certain policies. So don’t forget my door is always open if you need anything from me. But, enough shop talk, we’re supposed to be here for drinks, so I’m off to get a refill. Bye.”

Jack walked off leaving the two old Etonians open mouthed. Fuck them, now they had a real reason to dislike him.

He spotted Harriet at the end of the room holding a glass of champagne. She was wearing a black skirt and black jacket. She looked stunning. He was trying to work out whether she was wearing tights or stocking but his thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice. He turned round to see the PM standing at the door. He was wearing jeans a polo shirt and trainers. No socks.

“Could I have everyone’s attention pwease. I’d like to welcome each and every one of you to the new look cabinet. I am sure that together we will make a formibable team. Tonight is all about getting to know each other over a few drinks. Tomorrow the hard work sshtarts. Our first cabinet meeting is here at 08.00am. I will come and meet each of you indiwidually during the evening. Now, enjoy yourselves.”

Jack noticed the slurred words and thought the PM sounded a bit pissed. Yet no one else seemed to pick up on it. The PM was now looking straight at him and making his way over. He had a strange look on his face. A look that Jack recognised.

“Jack Winter you are a life saver!”

“Thank you Prime Minister but can I ask why?”

“Well it’s a funny thing Jack but I was doing some stretching exercises in my office and I think I must have overdone it. My back made a funny cwacking noise and suddenly I was in all sorts of agony. Lucky my door was open and your PA walked by. He could see I was in distress and I told him why. He said he had just the thing. He went away and came back in a few minutes with some of your pills. They worked straightaway Jack. I feel absolutely marvellous!”

Jack was trying not to panic. But sweat was beginning to trickle down his forehead. He composed himself and spoke very slowly.

“That’s great news Prime Minister. How many did you take?”

“Schix.”

Jack swallowed hard. Fuck… In a few minutes time the poor bastard would probably start break dancing!

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Who Is Jack Winter? ( Part 9)

His new office in Whitehall was exactly how he’d pictured it in his mind, all dark wood panelling, antique furniture and large sash windows that overlooked the busy street below. The PM had left a bottle of Yellow Spot, a 12 year old Malt, on the desk with a note attached. It read “Welcome to the team.” Jack thought it was a nice touch. He’d knocked back a third of it before 9.00am.

He realised the bottle wouldn’t last long and started walked around the office frantically opening cupboards door until he found what he was looking for, and found it. A well- stocked drinks cabinet. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

At 10.00am he found the nearest men’s toilets, locked himself in one of the cubicles, did two lines of coke, swallowed 2 blue and greens then had his traditional mid- morning wank.

He thought it was important to mark his new territory!

And all the time his phone rang. He didn’t answer any of the calls, just listened to the voicemails. People that he hated and that most certainly hated him were now calling to see if the rumours were true and wish him all the best if they were. Wankers…

At 11.00am Patrick rang and Jack answered the call. The good news was that they had won a substantial amount of money from their bet. Patrick had been shrewd and placed lots of £200 bets at odds of between 66/1 and 100/1 with several different bookmakers over the course of twenty four hours. Jack said they’d celebrate soon, but wasn’t sure when, he had a feeling he might be a little busy over the next few days.

At midday Sean rang and informed him that Maurice had called and given him some extra information to add to the story on Jack. Sean laughed when he said he was surprised to learn that Jack was a life- long West ham supporter to which Jack laughingly replied “Not as surprised as I was.”

It was now 1.00pm and Jack was sitting comfortably in his new office watching Sky News. He poured himself some lunch just as the re-shuffle was announced. A tall thin man in a raincoat was outside number ten looking excited as he spoke.

“Well what a morning this has been. Some are calling it the day of the long knives. Half of the old cabinet have gone and in have come a much younger bunch of politicians. The biggest shock of the day is undoubtedly that of Jack Winter. A relatively unknown junior Minister who has come into the cabinet as Deputy Prime Minister. So what do we know about Jack Winter? Well, he’s forty six, twice married and divorced, no children by either marriage and according to Maurice Wells, the Press Secretary, a genuine man full of principle and integrity and on a lighter note, a life- long supporter of West ham United. We’ll have more on this breaking story later on but for now, back to the studio.”

Jack finished the remainder of the Whisky just as there was a knock on the door. He placed the empty bottle on the floor under the desk.

“Come In!”

In walked Roger Dumfries, his PA. Jack wanted to laugh out loud at the look of excitement on Rogers face. He looked like a ten year old boy who’d just discovered all his Christmas presents on top of the wardrobe.

“Congratulations Sir. And well deserved if I may say so.”

“Thank you Roger. I think we’re going to be a bit busy from now on, you and I.”

Roger excitedly told Jack the news.

“Right sir, I’ve had a long chat with the PM’s secretary and we’re going to work very closely together sorting out schedules and so on. Apparently you don’t do Question Time or Newsnight that’s for the more junior Ministers but you can appear on BBC Breakfast and the Andrew Marr show on a Sunday Morning.”

Jack didn’t respond but in his head thought “Deep fucking Joy!”

Roger looked around his boss’s new office, eyes wide open in a state of excitement.

“This is the same office that Clement Attlee had sir.”

Jack wasn’t quite as exuberant.

“Really Roger? That’s very…interesting.”

“Yes Sir, and he went on to become Prime Minister in 1945. So these could all be good omens sir.”

Jack stood up and walked over to one of the windows and looked out on to the street.

“But let’s not forget that it was also the office of Rab Butler.”

Roger looked puzzled.

“Who, sir?”

“That’s exactly my point Roger. Rab Butler had one of the most successful careers in Politics. He served under four Prime Ministers in various senior positions. He was The Chancellor Of the Exchequer, The Leader Of The House, The Foreign Secretary, The Home Secretary and then finally The Deputy Prime Minister. And that’s when he sank without trace. Now no one remembers him.”

“That won’t happen to you sir. I’m sure of it.”

“Let’s hope so Roger, let’s hope so. Now I’m going to need a clean shirt and suit for tonight’s get together but I don’t want to go back to the flat. I have a feeling the place will be swarming with press. Can you go for me Roger?”

Jack asked the question but already knew the answer. Roger liked being helpful.

“Of course sir.”

Jack handed Roger his keys.

“Oh and in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet you’ll find a bag with my back pain pills, can you bring them along as well?”

“Certainly sir, they’re the blue and green tablets aren’t they?”

“Yes Roger, they’re the only thing that seems to stop this damn pain at the base of my spine.”

“You really should get that seen to sir.”

“No time Roger. Especially now. I’ll just have to take a few extra of my pills every day.”

“I suppose so sir. I’ll get over to the flat and get everything straightaway.”

“Thank you Roger.”

Seconds later and Roger was out of the door and on his way to the flat. Jack just couldn’t believe how naïve a grown man could be.

The television was still on and Jack was listening as the presenter read out the list of names of the new cabinet. One name in particular brought a huge smile to his face. Harriet Knowles was the new Education Secretary.

He’d always had a “thing” for Harriet. She had massive tits and an arse that held a special place in his wank bank. They were once at a seminar together and were having a few drinks afterwards. Jack whispered to her that he thought she had an arse like an onion. She grinned and asked him why an onion, to which Jack replied “Because it makes me want to cry.”

Nothing had ever happened between them and he hadn’t seen her for a while but just the mention of her name was giving him a stirring down below. He sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and conjured up a picture in his mind. The Education secretary, naked, on all fours and him snorting coke off her beautiful arse cheeks!

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