On TV, shouts interrupted someone speaking. Out of nowhere, the Speaker called a vote. “Division!” he howled. “Clear the lobby!”
The audio feed to the chamber was cut. MPs got to their feet and milled about.
“So old-fashioned, to have to use their bodies to vote,” Sally mused. “It takes forever. Use phones, screens, or buttons, or something.”
“The Russians, you know,” Anne said. “Hacking.”
Slowly they drifted back in. Men in suits. A Sikh in a red turban. “Those old biddies with their handbags,” Anne muttered as women MPs slid to the back of the green benches and hunched over their phones. Clerks lined up to share the results. “The ayes to the right—328,” one called. There was a sharp intake of breath. “The nos to the left—301.”
Was that good or bad? Once more Coralie found herself at sea. “Oh-ooh!” everyone in Parliament chorused. Scattered laughter and a few slow claps. Someone called out chidingly, “Not a good start, Boris!”
Good, he must have lost.
The prime minister rose. “Thank you, Mr. Speaker.”
“His hair is quite golden,” Sally said. “He’s genuinely towheaded.”
Boris had on a humorous face, as though he’d made a joke. Jeers filled the chamber as he spoke. “I do not want an election, but if MPs vote tomorrow to stop negotiations and to compel another pointless delay to Brexit, potentially for years, that would be the only way to resolve this! And I can confirm that we are tonight tabling a motion under the Fixed-Term Parliaments Act 2011.”
A motion for what? Another election?
Another campaign. Another of Adam’sbooks.
Suddenly realizing what this meant for her “fourth trimester,” her mat leave, her mental health, and her life, Coralie started to cry, and her contractions slowed down, and then stopped.
•••
Adam didn’t gethome until almost midnight. She listened as he showered and used his electric toothbrush for what seemed like forever. He scrabbled for his charger cord, plugged in his phone, slid into bed, and molded himself around her. “Clomping and clattering,” she said. “Lucky I wasn’t asleep!”
“Oh no! Cor! Sally said you were asleep. I thought you were getting a good rest!”
“Is Sally still here?”
“She was, when I came home, in case you needed her. I told her she should stay the night upstairs, but she said Anne ‘liked her to be there’ when she woke up.”
“Weird.”
“I know, Anne doesn’tlikeanything, as far as I know. I walked her round to the flat. It’s nice.”
“Barbie owns the whole house,” Coralie yawned.
He cradled her belly. “Any more…developments? Sally said it was quite exciting?”
“Actually, no!” She propped herself on her elbow to turn and whisper-shout at him. “It may surprise you! But guess what! Your absence, and finding out there’s another election coming, so you can abandon me—and ruin my life—is notconducive, is it! To relaxing! And contracting!”
“There won’t be an election for months. Everyone’s too worried there’ll be a No Deal. Labour will oppose it; everyone will.” He sat up and studied her. “Do you mean it’s slowed down? All the action? Or stopped?”
“I don’t know!” She was tearful in the dark.
He leaned down and spoke to the bump. “What are you up to in there, little boy?”
Inside her, the baby elbowed her and kicked out with his foot. “Did you see that? He heard you.”
“He’s telling us he’s okay. Do you think you can sleep? Maybe he’s giving you a break on purpose so you can rest.”
“That’s a nice way to think about it.” She turned back over onto her left side. “Rather than me failing at birth again.”
“What would Fiona say, your guru from Eleanor Road? How would she view this kind of negative self-talk?”