Bad Education

Chapter IV

The morning sun began to crack through the window, as Claire lay flat on her back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, just as she had been doing for last three hours.

How could she sleep when there was a tempest raging in her head, a tempest she was terrified she would be swallowed up by?

She had never felt this out of control. What was she thinking, throwing her life out into the public arena? She had no idea if they would support her or turn her back on her; how they would portray her, if they would betray her – it was all out of her hands.

This was not her. She had to get a handle on this.

But on the other hand, she couldn’t just let it go; not with so many children’s futures at risk.

Her mind flashed with the faces of bright but troubled kids, whose eyes had been dulled by the school’s restrictions, and who she still felt a pang of guilt over when they gave up and dropped out. If she had even a chance of harnessing this media storm and channelling it into becoming a force for change, if had even a chance of saving one kid from thinking they weren’t smart enough for a real education – then she had to keep going. She just had to figure out a way to gain control.

Claire furrowed her brow and stared harder at the ceiling. If she agreed to meet with the opposition, as they had rung up and politely asked her to do the night before, she could have some sort of bargaining power with the government.

As long as she didn’t appear to support the opposition fully.

She shuddered under her covers. If they came into power than she would never forgive herself. Also the opposition would no doubt reverse any promise they made to her in an instant the moment they got into office.

No, it was a better of two evils situation, and the only way this was going to work was if she convinced the ruling party to change their policy.

She would just have to play the two parties off each other.

Simple.

Claire groaned in frustration and ran her fingers roughly through her hair, as the gruff Scottish voice that had tormented her all night ghosted through her thoughts yet again.

You’re naïve sweetheart. You’ve got no f*****g clue what you’re up against.

He was right. She knew he was right. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to smack the smirk off that angry bitter owl’s face and prove him wrong.

She shifted in the bed, abruptly moving to her side and curling the blankets up to her chin with a tightening grip. She needed to stop thinking about him. She had a political chess game to figure out.

And yet as hard as she tried her thoughts swept back to his deep rumbling voice, his sharp authoritative fingers, and his frankly ridiculously bristled eyebrows.

The edge of Claire’s mouth tweaked upwards involuntarily as she remembered when he shouted at her, the way his brow wriggled around his expressive face like a furious caterpillar.

He intrigued her; she wasn’t going to deny it. Especially after that strange phone call, ringing her up straight after he essentially cursed her to the eighth circle of hell. She had sat in a surreal daze for a moment after he hung up, trying to fathom what had just happened. The bubbling within her chest could almost be described as giddiness – but it couldn’t be. And she couldn’t have felt a thrill when she teased him over the phone. And he couldn’t have had a moment when he was actually trying to help her, giving her that advice.

No, she was imagining things. Especially since she knew this morning’s newspapers had no doubt already painted her as a complete nutter– a nice welcome present from the government’s own Darth Vader.

Her alarm buzzed next her, jolting her back from her thoughts. No use trying to hide from it, she resolved as she propped herself up in her bed - she got herself into this mess; she would get herself out again.

With a newfound sense of steely determination, she hopped out of bed and marched through her well-practiced morning routine, when just as she was pouring her second tea in a travel mug, her mobile began to ring. The first of many to come, she sighed. Creeping to kitchen table, she peered over her phone to see that she didn’t recognise the number, while she waited for it to ring out.

It didn’t take her long the day before to figure out a system on how to handle all the calls – let them ring out, then listen to the voice mails. That way she could weed out all the crap, and have the chance to plan before she talked to anyone.

The phone was finally silenced, with one final beep indicating that a message had been left. Claire picked up her bags and closed the lid to the travel mug then finally grabbed her phone and headed out the door. With a small pause of trepidation, she clicked on to the waiting voice mail and clipped down the stairs.

“Oh, good morning Ms Archer.” She almost fell down the steps as she recognised the voice on the message. “This is Linda Rogers, the ah Secretary of State for Society and Citizenship. We met at the Coal Street press conference – I mean, I um, I was the one who asked you that question… So I was wondering if you had a chance for us to meet up? It would be just great to sit down and listen to what you had to say and your experience… it would… it would be great. So I hope you can meet me, please give me a call on this number whenever you can. Thank you.”

The message cut out, leaving Claire frozen on the stairs in utter confusion.

What on earth was the minister she had publically embarrassed doing, trying to meet with her, wanting to hear her opinion? It must be some sort of trick, she thought, finally finding her legs and continuing down the stairs. Ferguson must have been pulling some strings to go along with the dirt flinging. She needed to figure out was he was up to; she needed to see the papers.

Skipping out of the door, Claire headed down the street to the newsstand down the road to gain some clarification. The shop owner didn’t look up as she finally reached the stand displaying all the morning’s newspapers. She scanned the front pages quickly: nothing there. She picked up the Daily Mail, bracing herself for the worst, yet when she flicked through the trash filled pages; she could find no mention of her. This couldn’t be right.

Claire picked up the Times instead, but there was only a piece on the growing popularity of the video and the silence of the PM. She tried the Guardian, but there was nothing besides a government advisor tweeting a hash tag she apparently inspired. The Mirror just had pictures of t-shirts festooned with the print: #educatedontregulate.

Claire smacked down the papers. This wasn’t right. Alec Ferguson had promised to destroy her.

“Hey.” The shop owner snapped her back from her thoughts as he called out from his chair. “You’re that woman from the YouTube, aren't ya?”

She flicked her eyes to him and gave a clipped smile. “Ah… yeah. I’ve also bought a paper here every day for the past three years”

The man seemed to ignore her as he leaned back in his folding chair with a satisfied air. “Yes…them bastards needed a good kick up the bum – good on ya.”

“Thanks.” Claire murmured in forced politeness then quickly turned away down the street, trying to get her thoughts together. Why hadn’t Alec Ferguson unleashed the smear campaign on her? She knew the lack of any dirty laundry wouldn’t heed his tenacious crusade against her, so why the silence?

There was only one way to find out. Pulling out her phone from her pocket, she scanned the call history from the day before when she finally settled upon the right call at the right time. Served him right for not blocking his number.

She tried to ignore the flutter of excitement that flushed through her chest as she held the phone up to her ear and listened to the ringing.

“If it isn’t Ms Krabappel: The Early Years.” Alec Ferguson grumbled through the line. “To what do I owe the displeasure? You about to bring out your trusty discipline ruler?”

“I just saw this morning’s papers.”

“Oh? You mean those papery blog things they used to wrap up f*****g Fish and Chips with?” He dodged smoothly. “That’s a f*****g rare find, sweetheart – best tweet a f*****g selfie with them.”

“I’m not in them. I mean I am, but there’s none of the smear campaign you promised. What’s going on?” She tried.

“What the f**k makes you think I’d tell you?” He rebuffed gruffly. “What, you expect me to go on some f*****g monologue explaining all my f*****g plans to you like some Bond villain with f*****g turrets?”

“I could hope.”

“Well I’m afraid today isn’t your lucky day.”

“I dunno, it kind of seems like it is.” She couldn’t help herself from goading him; it was just too easy, and too strangely enjoyable.

“Don’t get too cocky now.” He growled over the line, in a way that was almost seductive. “You forget I’ve got a knife sharper than f*****g Bendybut Cunterfuck’s cheekbones, just waiting to castrate you.”

“And yet you haven’t cut me down.” She felt a smile rise to her lips. “Are you becoming a little attached to me?”

“Yeah like a f*****g tumour.” He grumbled.

She couldn’t help but grin as she leaned on a garden fence and listened to the silence between them with an unexpected sense of ease.

“You’ve organised a meeting with the opposition.” He finally spoke out.

“I have.”

“Well if anything’s going to f*****g convince you you’ve made a huge c**k-up and release a reversal statement, it’s meeting up with those fraudulent fucks.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Yes. Please do do whatever I say – it would remove a f*****g pain in my arse usually reserved for low fat muffins and f*****g Piers Morgan.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” She teased. “I like this better: you make empty threats and I go happily on my way.”

“My threats as empty as a f*****g black hole – and you’ve just reached event f*****g horizon.” He growled.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to do as much as I can before I get sucked in.” She said proudly. “Nice sparring with you as always, Mr Ferguson.”

“Gone so soon?”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“It’s like watching f*****g Tiny Tim playing round in a f*****g incinerator.” He sighed gruffly. “Well, I’m going off to sharpen your own personal f*****g sword of Damocles.”

“I look forward to seeing it.”

“f**k off.”

“And good morning to you too.”

She hung up with a smile. This was good. This was very good. She had managed to gain the upper hand, and she knew exactly how to make her next play.

Rushing back to the newsstand, she grabbed a copy of the Guardian and flicked a quick coin at the attendant. She quickly flicked through the pages until she found the article she was looking for. A government advisor of a cabinet minister had tweeted in support of her video, even using the stupid trending hashtag. The division in the government had reared its ugly head once more, and she now knew how to take advantage of it.

She grinned as she took out her phone again, wondering what Alec would think if he saw her now, before quickly stopping herself.

Why was she thinking about him?

She shook her thoughts away and focused on the phone to the call she received that morning, when she brought it up to her ear and heard the line click through.

“Hello Secretary Rogers? Yes, it’s Claire Archer. I’m just calling to say I’d be happy to sit down with you.”