Chapter 21
Sunny
The day was off to a weird start. Ludo was off with me.
He sat about as far away from me on the press bus as possible, chatting to Annabelle from the BBC.
As the morning progressed, I got the sense he was actively avoiding me, but I needed to focus on the job in hand.
The press pack was touring a factory where Shetland locals were employed building wave turbines.
The machines, which looked a bit like propeller aeroplanes, were designed to sit in the choppy waters off Shetland, generating renewable energy using the tidal powers of the sea.
“It’s a world-first technology, designed and made right here in Britain,” Torsten Beaumont-Flattery said.
This was interesting, but none of us were science and technology writers; we were political journalists.
As we walked around the factory, following the company’s founder from point of interest to point of interest, I pulled Torsten aside for a quick word.
“I see Carstairs is back in London,” I said. “What’s the political announcement out of today going to be? I need to brief the newsroom ahead of morning conference.”
Torsten put an enormous arm around my shoulder and walked with me, leading me along behind the rest of the obediently shuffling press pack.
With each step his bicep beat against the back of my head like a basketball.
I felt vaguely faint. Not from the concussion risk, which was very real, but from the hotness overload.
I caught sight of Ludo, who had turned and was glaring at us. Was he actually angry with me?
“The minister is on her way back up right now,” Torsten said. “She’ll meet us at our next stop.”
“Another trip for the taxpayer-funded jet? This better be good. Talk to me, Torsten.”
“The jet had to go back anyway to pick up the secretary of state for education and training.”
OK, so that gave me a pretty good steer on the content of today’s announcements, but I wanted more information. I punched out a headline in the air with my hand.
“Climate change minister’s planet-killing jet-propelled press junket,” I offered. I tried another one. “Jemima racks up the Carst-air miles.”
Torsten spun me around and gave me the kind of puppy-dog eyes that got actual puppy dogs adopted.
“Now, play fair, Sunny,” he said. I went in for the kill.
“Why is Carstairs making announcements about energy policy?”
“The minister answered this yesterday.” He flicked his teeth with his tongue.
“You know she didn’t. Is the PM about to sack Bob Wynn-Jones? Will he do it this week, or will he wait until Parliament is back next week?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” Torsten said, tongue flicking off his front teeth again. “I’m only a special adviser. You’d be better off speaking to the chief whip.”
Torsten smiled, then held my gaze for a moment too long.
The intensity of the stare would be enough to make a lesser man swoon.
Fortunately, I am a consummate professional.
I shifted my notepad to cover the front of my trousers.
The longer the stare went on, the more I sensed he was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what it was.
He squeezed my shoulder and spun me back around, and we followed along behind the rest of the press pack.
Ludo was still looking over at us, his face unreadable.
Torsten’s bicep bounced against the back of my head as we walked, again.
My notepad was still in front of my crotch.
As we stopped at the next point of interest, I saw Ludo turn away, slowly shaking his head.
Wait, was this about Torsten? Was Ludo jealous?