Page 85 of Anything but Easy
Epilogue
Start as we mean to go on
Kira
“I have just been to Buckingham Palace, where Her Majesty the Queen has asked me to form a new government, and I accepted.”
I could feel the huge grin stretching across my face as I listened to my husband, the new Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. We’d done some prep work for this last night – watched other new prime ministers’ first speeches. Not so that Barclay could be prepared (his speeches were always perfect – that was a given, despite his dislike of the spotlight), but so thatIcould see how wives/husbands conducted themselves during the speech. Most of them wore cool little smiles, they stood a respectable few paces to the side and back from their leader-of-the-fucking-country other halves, and generally acted like it was all the same to them.
I told Barclay I would try. He’d smiled and kissed me. He knew I wouldn’t be able to behave like I was just in a queue at Waitrose whilst he made his speech to the nation, and he didn’t care. After everything that had happened, Ihadbecome more cautious, more reserved, and just a little bit more conservative, but Iwasstill Kira Murphy. Ah, actually, it was Kira Lucas now, but you get the idea. Anyway, the public knew me by now and, by all accounts, they only bloody loved me. Part of that was the great PR job courtesy of Martin – ‘weird’ became ‘quirky’, ‘hippy nonsense clothing’ became ‘high fashion’ (it helped that I toned down the amount of side boob and upper thighs I was prepared to show – only SB got full access to my side boob now), and ‘boundary pushing, dodgy festivals and strip club parties’ became ‘important money and awareness-raising events’.
One massive advantage was that I’d served half of all the political journalists tea at one time or another. There was a tea stand set up outside Number 10 now – and they all knew that was down to me. People – British people – remember who’s made them a decent brew in the past, and it always lifts their opinion of you. So now the British public thought I was a wacky national treasure. Apparently, I’d ‘humanised’ Barclay in their eyes; made him look like less of a perfect, emotionless robot – he’d certainly won a convincing majority in this election.
“This will be a government of quality, social justice, and clean energy reducing living costs.” He looked up then, directly at the camera, and I could feel the tension as those piercing blue eyes bored into the eyes of the nation. “The government I lead will be driven, not by the interests of the privileged few, but by yours. We will do everything we can to give you more control over your lives. When we take the big calls, we’ll think not of the powerful, but of you.” His voice rang with so much confidence, so much authority, that everyone held completely still to hear what he had to say. You could have heard a pin drop as he paused.
“When we pass new laws, we’ll listen not to the mighty, but to you. When it comes to taxes, we’ll prioritize not the wealthy, but you. When it comes to opportunity, we won’t entrench the advantages of the fortunate few, we will do everything we can to help everybody, whatever your background, to go as far as your talents will take you.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard his speech, but I still got a tingle down my spine at his words and the conviction I knew was behind them.
“We don’t have to choose between our environment and our standard of living any more – the new energy bill has seen to that. We can concentrate on building this country up to be a standard of hard working decency that the rest of the world can aspire to. For you, for your children and for your children’s children.”
He nodded and the cameras around us went crazy.
“Thank you.” He lifted his hand and started to turn on his heel. Applause had broken out in the crowd. His eyes flashed to me and he flinched as people started crying out his name like he was their new Messiah. He wasn’t, he was just a man –myman: one who worried about living up to the high expectations on his broad shoulders, and in that moment, I forgot all about decorum. All I saw was him and the uncertainty in his eyes. I rocked forward and launched myself at him like a human missile. He grunted on impact as I jumped, threw my arms around his neck, and wrapped my legs around his waist.
“Christ,” he huffed as he hugged me back, supporting me against him. Luckily, I’d worn a full-skirted polka dot dress or the nation would be getting mid-morning crotch and thigh shots. “You and mini-badger weigh a tonne.”
“Shut your face,” I told him, moving out from his neck to kiss him right on the lips. Mini-badger was the name Barclay had given the tiny bean growing inside me. I’d found out that week, and my security had doubled overnight – overkill in my opinion, but I’d learnt over the last four years to pick my battles. Barclay went along with most of my crazy, but he wouldn’t compromise on safety – even if I had more bodyguards than the average mafia boss. Anyway, I’d found ways to make use of them. Steve handed out the condoms at the sexual health clinic, like a huge contraception meter-and-greeter. Granted the man could have tried to crack the occasional smile, but his stern appearance did mean that most people actually took the rubbers rather than just brushing him off.
Barclay grinned at me then started walking forward. The new deputy prime minister opened the door for us and that was how we walked into Number 10 – with me wrapped around Barclay like a spider monkey.
Well, may as well start as we mean to go on.
Snow Ball Fighting Prime Minister
Barclay Lucas, arguably the most universally liked Prime Minister of this century, just upped his approval ratings today in the most unusual way. During a visit to a school in Scotland, which has been pioneering new techniques to engage its underprivileged pupils, eleven-year-old Marty McWilliam threw a snow ball at the Prime Minister’s wife, Kira Lucas, hitting her on the back of her head. As her close protection officers mobilised to neutralize the perceived threat, Dr Lucas bent down to scoop up enough snow for her own snowball and pelted it back at Marty McWilliam in an impressive overhand throw. It hit Marty right in the face.
‘Come one then, losers!’ Kira had shouted at the kids through a wide smile. ‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ She then proceeded to make more snowballs and elbowed her husband to do the same, whilst shouting at their security team to ‘Get off your arses and make yourselves useful. This is war!’
The ensuing snowball fight lasted for a good half hour and pitted the Lucases, their entire entourage and the teachers against all the children. Outnumbered and soaking wet, the Prime Minister’s side eventually surrendered, but not before Kira Lucas had turned on her own husband to stuff snow down the back of his shirt collar.
The photograph below shows the moment a laughing Barclay Lucas picked up his wife and carried her to the waiting government car. She can be seen waving to the kids over his shoulder and making an ‘L’ sign at them with her other hand.
Marty McWilliam, when asked to comment, said it had been, ‘Bloody brilliant’, and that Kira Lucas was, ‘A bit mad, but still a legend’.
Kira Lucas Dancing Away Political Tension in India
There was some light relief during the tense negotiations between the Prime Minister Barclay Lucas and the Indian government regarding energy reforms. India has long relied on its coal industry to provide most of its energy and is finding the shift to nuclear fusion and renewable energy more challenging than most. The Prime Minister and his Indian counterpart have been grim-faced throughout most of the week long talks, but that tension was broken tonight during a state dinner where a Punjabi folk dancing group took to the stage.
After the first couple of performances, the dancers encouraged some of their audience to join them. Kira Lucas was the first to volunteer and gave a vigorous, if somewhat rhythm-free, attempt. The performers and the audience alike were in fits of laughter over the enthusiastic redhead’s Bhangra moves. It was the first time that many of the politicians involved had cracked a smile all week. And, if the Indian press today is any indication, she has captured hearts across the country, as has her Prime Minister husband – pictured below laughing into her neck before kissing her when she finally made it back off the stage at the end of the dance.
Prime Minister Bowled Over After Second Term Victory
Barclay Lucas was brought to his knees last night after the announcement that he would be Prime Minister for a second term. He was in his constituency when he heard the result of the election and, as he walked up to the podium to make his victory speech, his wife Kira Lucas and their two children, Henry, aged four and Lily, aged two, ran at him full pelt. The impact of his excited family took him off guard and they all went crashing to the floor. Then, his three-year-old niece, Lottie, broke away from Henry and Kim Lucas to join the pile up, and it was several moments until the Prime Minister could be disentangled from them. He made his acceptance speech with a two-year-old sitting on his shoulders, two other children wrapped around each leg, and his wife holding his hand.
