Epilogue
Toby
Eleven Months Later
Harry Matheson is the most infuriating man on the planet.
Very fortunately, my life now allows me to remind him of this fact on a daily basis.
He’s standing up in the Chamber now, attacking the government’s decision not to dispense with daylight savings after the publication of research compiled by experts across the country.
Harry no longer stands at the despatch box as the leader of the opposition, but rather, he’s located on the first seat on the front row below the gangway, surrounded by the other minor parties and independent MPs.
It’s the same seat Winston Churchill, in his years of political exile, once occupied, a fact the press love to point out.
It means his well-modulated voice has to carry slightly further to me, but it still reaches me with enough clarity that I don’t miss a single, clearly articulated word.
“The government’s refusal to engage with the mounting evidence against the continuation of this archaic practice reeks of their usual arrogance. In an era of unprecedented challenges, we cannot afford to cling to outdated practices simply because they are familiar.”
Members of the Liberal Democrats cheer as Harry sits down. The Liberal Democrats keep trying to recruit Harry to join their party, arguing they are the natural home for him with their blend of progressive social policies and fiscally responsible economic policies.
However, Harry seems to be currently relishing his unlikely role as a rogue rebel independent MP, willing to challenge both Labour and the Conservatives when he disagrees with them.
The press has dubbed him the “Maverick of Westminster,” which I think he secretly quite likes. Although, when I once tried to call him that in bed, he wasn’t particularly impressed.
Harry’s shock resignation from the Conservative Party completely upturned the run-up to the election.
It brought scrutiny to the Conservatives’ social policies and seemed to arrest their slide into intolerance as they were forced to back down from their support of David Grantham and choose another candidate. But it still cost them.
Ultimately, Harry leaving the party is what many political pundits believe is the reason the Labour government narrowly won re-election.
I know Harry has mixed feelings about the Conservatives’ loss, but he has never regretted taking the stand he did.
Especially as he personally romped into re-election as the MP of Brambleshire with a significantly increased majority.
It turns out most voters appreciate their MP being willing to take a moral stance on the rights of every citizen, no matter who they love.
The press, as expected, have had a field day with our relationship.
Cupid’s Crossbench: How Love Conquered Party Lines
Political Passion: When Debate Turns to Date
Election Fever: MPs Heat Up More Than Just the Polls
Bipartisan Love: MPs Find Common Ground in Each Other
It’s taken some adjustment to the extra scrutiny, but I was right with what I said to Harry. We’ve handled far worse together.
My colleague Alfred nudges me now. “Are you going to respond to him?”
“Of course I’m going to respond,” I reply. I stand and catch the Speaker’s eye, then sit back down.
An anticipatory smirk spreads over the Speaker’s face.
To many people’s surprise, being in a relationship has not changed the frequency or the fervor in which Harry and I argue. After all, what better way is there to keep the spark alive in a relationship than a lively debate in front of the entire House of Commons?
“The Honourable Member for Havenbridge East,” the Speaker says.
I climb to my feet again, smirking in Harry’s direction.
“I would like to thank the Right Honourable Member for Brambleshire for his comments and extreme…ah…passion for this topic. However, I can’t help but wonder if part of his motivation for his stance comes from his own personal frustration with the practical difficulties of the recent time change.
I daren’t say we should create such a dramatic upheaval based on one member’s inability to work out how to change the time on the oven clock. ”
I sit as Harry rises seamlessly to his feet.
“Thank you, Mr. Speaker. And thank you to the Honourable Member for highlighting one of the very practical annoyances that comes with this unnecessary and disruptive practice. A practice that research shows leads to a disruption of sleep patterns and daily routines that can cause decreased productivity, increased absenteeism, and even a loss of revenue for businesses across the country. I believe the Honourable Member’s ‘just leave it, it’ll be right again in six months’ time’ response to the oven clock’s inaccuracy only underscores the absolute ridiculousness of messing around with time in the first place.
“And for the record, I believe you would need to have at least a master’s qualification in engineering to decipher the cryptic symbols and arcane instructions required to adjust the clock on the Honourable Member’s oven.
Clearly, his taste in appliances is as questionable as his stance on Daylight Savings Time. ”
I’m on my feet instantly, barely waiting until the Speaker acknowledges me before I respond.
“I’m not sure if it’s in the Right Honourable Member’s best interest to question my taste, although I can confirm that many other people have also expressed surprise at some of my decisions in the last year.
“But I guess, much like the Right Honourable Member’s stance on Daylight Savings Time, some things defy logic and reason. Or, as I always explain it, there weren’t many other options in the Finnish wilderness.”
Snickers and guffaws erupt from around the House.
“Order, order!” the Speaker says. “Just a reminder to both Honourable Members not to resort to personal attacks but to stick to the matter at hand.” I can almost hear the reluctance in the Speaker’s voice over shutting us down.
Harry and my relationship has increased the general public’s interest in the House of Commons proceedings, with the Parliament live TV channel seeing a massive growth in viewership as more and more people tune in to witness the debates between us.
It seems our unique form of political sparring has captured the attention of the British public.
I never thought Harry Matheson and I would become the poster children for showing how you can love someone even when you disagree with their politics, but that is what we’ve turned into.
It turns out lots of people are hungry for examples of how to navigate differences of opinion with grace and respect.
Or with mocking and sarcasm, which is more Harry and my particular brand of love.
I’m late arriving home after the Climate Change Task Force meeting ran overtime. As soon as I unlock the door to my flat, the waft of roast beef greets me from down the hallway.
I open the door to the kitchen quietly so Harry doesn’t notice me.
For a second, I lean against the doorframe, watching him. He obviously changed since he got home, but for Harry, casual still means he’s dressed in an immaculate cashmere sweater and perfectly pressed chinos.
I love watching Harry completing domestic tasks when he doesn’t know I’m watching, seeing the small crease on his forehead as he brings his full intelligence and focus to whatever he’s doing. In this case, it appears to be grating parmesan cheese.
He looks up and sees me, and my heart flutters at the automatic smile that comes over his face, a small flash of happiness before it settles back into a more neutral expression.
“Hello,” he says.
“Nice debate today in the House,” I say as I approach him with a smirk.
“You’re just lucky your mouth is good for other things,” he growls.
Then he closes the gap between us to kiss me.
And my heart skips another beat, not at the brief press of his lips to mine, but at how familiar this is now.
The fact I get to come home to this man, to share my life with him in all its mundane and extraordinary moments, is a gift I never take for granted.
No matter what storms rage outside these walls, here, we are simply two people choosing to build a life together.
“Dinner should be ready in about a quarter of an hour,” he says as he pulls back.
“So you managed to work the oven then?” I say. I’m rewarded with a Harry glare for my efforts.
I smile as I go to the dining room and pull a bottle of Merlot from our wine cabinet.
I pour Harry and myself a glass of wine each, handing his to him.
“Thank you.” He kisses me on the temple this time, then returns to grating.
I lean against the counter, sipping my wine and admiring the view. Not just the tantalizing glimpse of Harry’s forearms as he grates the cheese, but how much care he takes whenever he’s doing the smallest tasks for me.
He glances up at me. “Prunella’s talking about wanting to have a divorce party when our final decree comes through.”
Prunella has proved to be an exceptional soon-to-be ex-political wife, coming out swinging at anyone who tried to cast her into the role of the victim in the breakdown of Harry’s and her marriage.
As a result, the British public has become far more educated on what asexuality is and the challenges faced by those whose experiences don’t fit neatly into the traditional boxes of sexuality.
“She wants to hold it at the estate, if that is all right with you?”
I love how Harry runs everything past me, even for things relating to his estate and his ex-wife. It makes me feel like we’re true partners in everything.
“Sure, that’s fine with me. I’m assuming your parents will attend?”
I’ve settled into an uneasy truce with Harry’s father.
It helps that his response to Harry’s decision to step down as leader of the Conservative Party was far more positive than Harry anticipated.
And I also think it helps that I really like his mother.
She’s been so welcoming and enthusiastic about how happy I make Harry that I’ve immediately felt comfortable in her presence.