Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Harry
As if my tumultuous mind doesn’t have enough to occupy it, I find myself amid a maelstrom of messages when I turn on my phone the next morning.
Apparently, David Grantham has given another speech that has ignited a media firestorm, dominating the headlines and sparking a tempest of controversy across social media.
In the car on my way back to London, I listen to his words and feel queasiness settle in my stomach.
There is free speech, and there is hate speech. How to draw the line between the two remains one of the biggest challenges any democracy faces. But in my estimation, David Grantham has unequivocally overstepped the bounds of what should be tolerated from those who aspire to positions of power.
I’m due in the Chamber in less than an hour. But I divert my driver to the Conservative Party headquarters, where I take the stairs two at a time and rap sharply on the door to Amanda’s office.
Her mouth twists when she sees me. “Let me guess, this is about David Grantham.”
“He’s crossed the line, Amanda. He was warned, but he hasn’t listened. We can’t continue to tolerate this type of rhetoric.”
“Polling has him easily winning the seat, Harry. In an election this close, we can’t switch out a candidate now. Especially not one with such extensive grassroots support.”
I fix her with a pointed look, my jaw set. “But it’s bigotry, plain and simple. There is no place for it in today’s society.”
“I’ve canvassed other board members, and there is no support for the removal of David Grantham based on his comments, considering the proximity of the election and the current polling data.”
I shake my head. Have we truly been reduced to this, a party that prioritizes victory above all else, even if it means embracing hatred and intolerance?
A wave of impotent rage washes over me. I want to shout, to rage against the cynicism and calculation that seems to have infected the party I love, but I know it will do no good. Not here, not now.
“I’ve got to get to Parliament,” I say.
I barely have time to make it to my office before I have to head to the Commons Chamber.
I stride down the corridors accompanied by two aides providing me with eleventh-hour briefings on the topics slated for today’s debates. Around me, the halls of Westminster buzz with activity, MPs and staffers hurrying to and fro, their chatter a distant hum against the pounding of my heart.
“We’ve received notification from the Speaker about an urgent question pertaining to David Grantham’s remarks,” Charlie tells me.
“I had anticipated as much,” I say.
“We’ve prepared some draft statements in response,” Charlie says.
We pass beneath the vaulted ceilings and ornate archways, the very stones seeming to whisper of the history that has unfolded within these walls.
I’ve never engaged in the ritual of touching the feet of the statues of Margaret Thatcher and Winston Churchill for luck, but I’m tempted to do it today. Because I don’t believe I have ever needed luck more than at this moment.
Two great prime ministers of the United Kingdom who once trod these same corridors. And now, I stand on the precipice of joining their ranks, the keys to 10 Downing Street nearly within my grasp.
But at what cost?
That thought keeps circling in my head. I can’t escape it.
I enter the Chamber that’s already buzzing with activity—MPs milling about, voices rising and falling in a cacophony that echoes under the intricately decorated wooden ceiling. The green leather benches are filling up quickly, a sea of dark suits and somber faces.
I make my way over to the leader of the opposition’s seat, nodding and shaking hands with colleagues as I go. But even as I exchange pleasantries and forced smiles, my mind is elsewhere.
As I settle into my seat, my gaze is drawn to the government’s benches, scanning the faces of my political rivals. And then, I see him, and it’s as though the very contents of my chest have been scooped out.
Toby.
My mind is inundated with memories. Toby lying beside me in bed, tracing languid patterns across my chest. Toby’s eyes sparkling when we engaged in spirited discussions. The gentle touch of Toby’s lips against mine.
How can I, with Toby watching from across the Chamber, condone the remarks made by David Grantham? How can I stand and defend remarks that claim the intimate moments we shared are somehow evil and wrong?
Nausea overtakes my stomach, and my mouth is as dry as parchment.
Sure enough, as soon as the Speaker’s Procession and prayers are over, and the first business has been conducted, a hush falls over the Chamber, the silence broken only by the rustling of papers and the occasional cough as the Speaker clears his throat.
“I have granted an urgent question to Yasha Ingles.”
Of course he has. I can see the government ministers and backbench MPs leaning forward in anticipation, eager to witness how I shall navigate my way out of this.
Yasha rises and reads their question. “To ask the leader of the opposition what steps he intends to take in response to the recent remarks made by David Grantham, the Conservative candidate for Kingswell and Norbridge, which have been widely criticized as homophobic and contrary to the values of equality and dignity. And whether he will reaffirm his party’s commitment to LGBTQ+ rights in light of these comments. ”
The leather of my seat clings to me as I rise, as if reluctant to let me go. I smooth the front of my suit jacket. I take a step, then another, my footfalls unnaturally loud in the expectant silence of the Chamber until I reach the despatch box.
“Thank you, Mr. Speaker. I appreciate the opportunity to address this House and the nation on a matter of such gravity. In regard to the comments made by David Grantham, it is crucial to recognize that our party encompasses a wide spectrum of views. Democracy thrives on diverse opinions and vigorous debate. It is through this process that we refine our policies and strengthen our commitment to justice and equality.”
The words feel like poison on my tongue.
I can feel the eyes of the Chamber upon me, the weight of their expectations, their judgment.
I don’t glance at Toby, yet I fancy I can feel the searing intensity of his gaze, his condemnation of my cowardice and hypocrisy with my carefully crafted words that say nothing at all.
“The Honourable Member for Havenbridge East,” the Speaker says.
My heart sinks.
Toby is on his feet.
“Mr. Speaker, I would like to thank the leader of the opposition for his response. Yet, he has left the heart of the issue unaddressed. The principles of dignity and respect are not mere policies we debate—they are the cornerstones of our shared humanity.” Our eyes meet as he stares at me from across the Chamber. My heart thuds in my ears.
“Words do matter. When comments from a candidate trying to become elected to this House undermine these principles, it is our duty to confront them.” Toby’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine.
“Does the leader of the opposition agree that by failing to unequivocally denounce such comments, we risk eroding the very foundations of our inclusive society? And will he, today, make a clear choice to defend these foundations by rejecting the words of David Grantham? I feel it appropriate to remind the leader of the opposition about Martin Luther King’s famous quote, ‘Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.’”
I rise again to my feet, my legs shaky.
This is Toby.
He will challenge me. Always.
He makes me into a better version of myself.
Which is part of what love should be.
I walk the few steps to the despatch box. I take a deep breath, my hands gripping the despatch box as though it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
I look down at the notes prepared by my aides, notes designed to placate, to minimize the cost of David Grantham’s comments to people who disagree with them, but to not alienate those voters who subscribe to his particular brand of hate.
It’s politics. It’s what my ancestors engaged in within the House of Lords. It’s what my grandfather, father, and I have all engaged in since we joined the House of Commons.
But I can’t help remembering the discussions Toby and I had in the wilderness. About how leadership came about and the very basics of what it means to be a leader. To make the decisions to find food and shelter. To protect your people from being attacked by wolves.
David Grantham is a wolf.
Everyone is looking at me expectantly. I need to start speaking. I try to draw my thoughts together into something coherent, but I feel like I’m back in the blizzard, lost with no sense of direction.
“Thank you for your question,” I say slowly while my mind continues to swirl.
I could battle with the board and the party to get them to see sense regarding the David Grantham issue, but where would that leave me?
Still the leader of a party where there are factions that agree with David Grantham, with party members who wish to appease the voters who cling to prejudice and fear rather than embrace the values of equality and respect.
Still in a party where I can’t ever be the leader and in a relationship with a man.
Is my desire to fulfill my family legacy more important than being true to myself?
“I agree with the Honourable Member. Words do matter,” I say.
I look up at Toby now, sitting on the government bench, and I remember that this is how I survived the snowstorm. By following Toby. By letting him guide me when I needed him to.
“I just talked about how democracy thrives on diverse opinions and vigorous debate.
We can disagree on how much tax people should pay and how big a role the state should play in managing our economy.
We can disagree on the best way to fund our healthcare system or the most effective strategies for combating climate change.
We can disagree on the most equitable way to distribute the wealth and resources of our nation.
“But the Honourable Member is right. We should never disagree on the fundamental fact that every member of our society, regardless of the color of their skin, their gender, the god they worship, or the person they choose to love, deserves dignity and respect.
“I have expressed to the Party Chair my complete and utter disdain for David Grantham’s comments because they do matter.
His comments matter politically because if we leave them unchallenged, it sends a message to LGBTQ+ people that we’re prepared to see someone who despises them elected to Parliament.
And that matters not only to people here but to people around the world because the United Kingdom should be a shining light to other countries, demonstrating that our diversity is our strength and pride. ”
I feel my voice wavering with emotion, and I let it. I let the raw emotion pour out of me in every tremor of my voice. Because if I’m not going to get emotional about this, then what is the point of having emotions?
“David Grantham’s comments also matter to me morally because while I understand politics involve compromise, there are some things I am never prepared to compromise on.
And one of those things is the right of every member of our society to live a life where they are respected, able to live authentically and openly, without having to hide or deny who they are. ”
I take a deep breath.
“But most of all, his comments matter to me on the deepest, personal level—” I stare across the parliamentary Chamber to the government benches.
Toby’s beautiful eyes stare back at me, and I have never said any words with the same clear enunciation as I say my next ones.
“Because I am in love with a man. And my love for him will never be wrong.”
Silence.
The silence seems to echo around the Commons Chamber before a wave of audible reactions, gasps, and exclamations crest and break against the walls of the room.
I stand firm at the despatch box, my shoulders squared and my head held high.
“Order. Order in the House,” the Speaker calls. “The Right Honourable Gentleman must be heard.”
I clear my throat, willing my voice not to waver as I say my next words.
“And I cannot remain in a party where members don’t believe in this basic human right, where we tolerate those who preach intolerance and hatred, where we condone those who are trying to force their own religious beliefs onto others.
“So, it is with deep regret and sorrow that I announce my resignation as leader of the Conservative Party and from the party itself. I will continue to do my best for the people of Brambleshire as an independent MP, and I will always, always be a voice for the people who need me to speak up for them.”
The Chamber descends into utter chaos. MPs on both sides of the aisle are on their feet, shouting and gesticulating, a mad scramble of motion and noise.
But I ignore it all as I stare across the Chamber, focused on the only thing that actually matters.
Toby’s smile.