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The conversation with the local constituency party chairman had been the most difficult phone call Martin Cummings had ever had to make. She’d been completely unable to come to terms with what he was saying. All she could repeat was that they’d already had the leaflets and marketing materials printed and there wouldn’t be enough time to field a replacement candidate.
He’d apologised profusely, telling her his decision was final. He hadn’t wanted to have to lie, but she’d pressed him on his reasons, and he’d eventually told her it was due to ill health but that he didn’t want to tell her anything more, nor did he want that reason being made public. Anything else would have seemed ridiculous at this late stage, and it was the only way he was going to be able to save face with the local
