The entire morning I’ve been staring at Julianne’s back, wondering what she’s thinking. Wondering what I’m thinking too. Or what I was thinking last night. Every so often she turns around and sneaks a peek into my glass fishbowl, and I pretend to bury my head in paperwork so as not to make eye contact. Because I’m a coward.

I couldn’t sleep last night. Every possible consequence of what happened at the party played out in my brain. I lay alone in my king-sized bed contemplating the end of my marriage. Or, worse, an endless, loveless marriage in which I’m trapped forever because I don’t have the guts to leave Christine.

I don’t want to leave her though. I still love her. So I don’t understand what happened. Why did I have sex with Julianne?

Last night I was a different man, someone carefree, bold and unattached. Someone without inhibitions. Maybe a bit drunk. My whole personality changed and I felt comfortable in my own skin for once. I liked who I was during my speech: I had purpose; I was making a difference in the world. And I liked the attention too (although I hate to admit it) and how everyone responded to the news that I’m going to stand in the election.

Then there was Julianne, standing at the back of the hall. She was detached from the rest of the crowd, not realising that she stood out from everyone else. She didn’t look overly interested in what I said throughout my speech, but she doesn’t hide her feelings like I do; like almost everyone I know does.

In that moment, watching her on the podium as everyone applauded, I froze, wondering what she was thinking. I was hopelessly distracted by her. We’d nearly kissed; did she have feelings for me? I was desperate to know.

There’s a strange kind of chemistry between us, and not just in my imagination. When I’m with her, I don’t feel like a sexless, stupid, ordinary man. I don’t feel alone. I like when we sit together in silence, watching the dark world before us with jaded eyes. I don’t know what she sees in me though.

The sex was good – more than good. It was instinctual and I didn’t have to try hard to please her. I didn’t have to think about what I was doing, overanalysing every single sigh, moan and movement. It’s rare to share such a moment with someone, when you become lost in one another and forget the world and everything in life that haunts you.

I’ve struggled for years to keep my darker side in check. Why shouldn’t I get the chance to be selfish for one night? Don’t I deserve some happiness? So what if it’s reckless? Screw the consequences; no one will ever find out.

Suddenly it was over and the weight of the world came crashing down on my shoulders once more. I’d enjoyed pretending to be someone else, shirking my responsibilities and wishing that I led another life, but now I had to face reality. My mind flooded with doubts about my marriage and being a good husband, father, son, employee and public figure. Who am I? What do I want?

Everyone wants to think that they’re a good person, but we all hurt others, whether intentionally or not. How many people would I hurt if the truth about Julianne came out?

An email pings into my inbox from Catalina. She says that she’s ‘ecstatic’ to announce that we’ve raised £20,000 for the hospice so far. That makes me feel better. I am doing good in the world. I organised the whole event. I’ve helped so many kids and their parents and carers.

I want to tell someone. Maybe Julianne? No, I can’t speak to her yet. My confidence fizzles out. Perhaps Jamal? He’s not in today though. Earlier I tried calling him but only got through to voicemail. I look up to see who else is in the office.

My brain screams at me that I should tell Christine. She had the idea of auctioning off the kids’ artwork in the first place. I haven’t spoken to her since yesterday; I’m not sure I want to now. When I got home last night I texted her to say that everything went well. I curled up in bed waiting for her to reply. This morning, as I nursed my hangover, she still hadn’t texted back.

I dial Christine’s mobile and she picks up straight away. I hope this isn’t going to be awkward.

‘Hi, honey,’ she says chirpily. ‘I’m so glad last night went well. Jamal sent me a video of your speech, and it was just... You were perfect.’

I thought she’d still be sick but she sounds absolutely fine. Did she fake being ill just to get out of last night?

‘How are you feeling?’ I ask, trying not to sound suspicious.

‘So much better! We’ve just made little boats together and the kids are going to try them out in the pond after lunch.’

I’m sick with jealousy, stuck at work (with no work to do) while the rest of my family are out vacationing and having fun without me. My father-in-law would have fashioned the boats out of thin pieces of wood while boasting about making them, whereas I have no carpentry skills to speak of.

‘That’s nice… I just found out that we raised £20,000 last night.’ While Christine’s dossing, playing with children and crying off sick, I’m raising thousands for charity and actually doing something worthwhile with my life.

‘That’s amazing!’ says Christine. ‘I wish I could have been there…’ Well, you weren’t.

‘I just wanted to let you know. I’ve got to get back to work now – I’ve got a meeting,’ I lie.

‘Okay. Love you.’ She doesn’t bother waiting for me to say it back, hanging up and leaving me to my own devices once more.

I sigh and look around the office. Several bland administrators tap away on their keyboards. Watching over them like hawks are the self-important managers, who flit around and flap their arms about boring policies, metrics and content management systems, obsessing over results so they can get their annual salary bump. I don’t want to be here. There’s nothing for me.

I’m going to bunk off again. I’ll pretend that I’ve got an off-site meeting all afternoon, wander somewhere by myself and grab some lunch in one of the thousands of gastro pubs that keep popping up across London. I fancy fish and chips and a pint.

Switching off my laptop, I put on my coat then bung my laptop in its case, which I swing over my shoulder. I try not to smile at the fact that it shouldn’t be so easy for me to leave work this early, but no one will question me.

‘I’ve got an off-site meeting this afternoon,’ I tell Julianne hurriedly.

I try to make a swift exit, but she calls out behind me, ‘Have you seen Jamal?’

Damn, she said it loudly enough for me to turn around. I put on a blank, emotionless expression when I face her.

‘Sorry, no.’ I’m forced to look her in the eye, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. ‘I just tried calling him: voicemail. He’s probably in a meeting.’ Like he always is, or claims to be.

‘Okay, thanks.’ She sounds disappointed.

An awkward silence stretches between us, before I say, ‘Right, I’d better get off.’ I make everything worse with my double entendre.

‘Yeah… See you tomorrow.’

I pull a half-arsed smile then run towards stairs, rushing towards the exit in search of freedom. Finally, I’ve escaped from the awkwardness of the morning after.

* * *

I thought that I’d be able to escape the office, but people started calling me up. HR rang, wondering where Jamal is, which is a bit worrying. I haven’t seen him all day. Then Trish phoned to say that she’d missed me earlier, and she gabbled on that last night was ‘fantastic’ and now she has a meeting with one of the firms my father’s friend manages, which is great for business, yada, yada… After hanging up, I felt flustered. She’d just wasted my valuable time: thirty fucking minutes.

I didn’t make it to a gastro pub in the end. Mainly because I didn’t want to walk into one and eat alone while everyone else around me was sharing their food with family and friends. Instead, I ordered a disappointing sandwich in a small deli and fed one half to the flock of pigeons who descended on me after I walked outside.

There’s a fine drizzle in the air, but I can’t be bothered to put up my umbrella. My coat absorbs the rain. Ambling along, I realise that I’m heading towards the park bench that I sat on with Julianne the other day. I’m retracing my steps, perhaps wishing to go back in time.

Reaching the bench, I stand in front of it and wonder whether to sit down. The wooden seat is wet and there’s pigeon poo on the side where I sat previously. The shit represents how I’m feeling, guilt swirling around in my stomach.

I plonk my bum down on the other side of the bench and look up at the tall, leafless trees. They don’t seem as majestic as the other day. Nothing does. The sky is colourless and the grass muddy. Maybe I saw everything through a different lens last week: I was wearing beer goggles, or rather wine glasses. Or Julianne affected me more than I thought.

A phone rings and I look around, wondering whose mobile it is. I can’t see anyone else though. Then I realise that it’s the phone Angus gave me the other day, which I’ve hidden in my laptop bag. It’s an unknown number.

‘Hello?’

‘Thomas! Hi. I had a great time last night.’ It’s Angus on the other end, sounding patronising as ever. Fortunately, I didn’t see him after my speech last night – I didn’t have to endure another cringe-worthy one-to-one. ‘I popped by your office, but you weren’t in. Is it possible to meet this afternoon?’

I want to say that I’m busy and in a meeting, but I’m not sure whether he can hear the pigeons in the background. And who knows, maybe he’s tracking my movements via GPS on this phone. ‘I’ve just come out of a meeting, so I’m free now.’

‘Great!’ Angus says. ‘Shall we meet at the club in say half an hour?’

‘Yes, sure.’ God, I’ve bunked off work only to meet up with Angus: from one boring place to another.

‘Super. See you soon,’ he says, hanging up.

Maybe this is it: I’ll learn about my ‘next steps’ now, whatever they are. I doubt whether Angus will allow me to walk my first steps alone though. He’ll be watching closely over my shoulder like an over-bearing parent.

* * *

‘Hi, Thomas,’ Angus greets me in the small meeting room we sat in the other day. ‘Please, take a seat.’

My pulse is racing, whether from the walk to the club or the need to escape this room, or rather to escape Angus. ‘Thanks.’

A set of tea and coffee sits in front of me today and I gratefully pour out a hot coffee and stir in some milk. It’s lovely and warm in here, and I hope it’s not too apparent that I’ve been wallowing in the rain outside.

‘I want to talk to you today about something quite serious,’ Angus says.

I put my cup down and mentally brace myself for what will come next.

‘You need to stop seeing Julianne,’ he tells me.

Shit. How did he find out? Has he been spying on me?

‘There are people who want you to fail, who want to end your career. You can’t give them any ammunition.’

I can’t fully take in what he’s saying to me. No one saw us last night, so how the hell did he find out? Did Julianne tell him? Why would she though?

‘I’ve just found out that Jamal’s been working against you, and I think Julianne’s working for him,’ he continues.

‘Jamal?’

‘Yes.’

He betrayed me? Of course it wasn’t a fucking coincidence: I told him about Julianne and then she turned up at my office. How much is he paying her? Was her fucking me last night all part of their plan too? No wonder he’s gone missing now and HR can’t contact him. I feel sick, coffee clogging my throat.

‘Thomas, you need to end things with her.’

I nod wearily. ‘It was only a one-time thing.’

I spiral back into the depths of knowing that I’m unlovable. Not that Julianne ever loved me, and I didn’t love her, but I loved the idea that someone else found me attractive, and I shared part of myself with her because I thought that she understood me and what I wanted. Now I know that every single second spent with her was a lie.

I don’t want to believe what Angus has told me. What if he’s making it up? But why would he lie if he’s going to invest so much in my campaign?

Then again, it could be that Jamal and Julianne have been working for Angus all along, and he wanted to get dirt on me to blackmail me years from now when I decide not to do what he wants. Maybe this is all part of Angus’ nefarious scheme so he can keep me on his side forever. Does he have a video or photos of last night? What if Christine finds out?

‘Promise me that you’ll stay away from Julianne and Jamal,’ Angus requests. ‘I know that you work together, but you won’t have to for much longer.’

‘Yes, of course...’

‘Don’t worry. This won’t come out. I’ll make sure of it.’

‘How?’ I ask, worried that he won’t be able to. And, as much as I want to hurt them right now, I don’t want Julianne and Jamal to come to any harm… Is this really all about politics?

‘I just will,’ comes his cryptic reply, as if no one ever questions what he says.

‘I don’t want them getting hurt.’

‘No, of course not. Don’t worry.’

How can he tell me not to worry when I don’t know what the fuck is going on?

I try to calm down, picking up my coffee again and downing the rest. I want to get out of here. I want to clear my head.

‘At least we found out now,’ Angus tries to reassure me. ‘And this won’t affect anything – we’re still backing you.’

‘Who else knows?’

‘Only those who need to know. We want to protect you. That’s why I’m telling you this.’

That’s not why he’s telling me this. ‘Only those who need to know’ – how many people is that?

The whole of London is run by cronies like Angus who trade secrets for more power and money. A shady uber-elite sit in dark rooms barking out orders to poor fools like me. The slimy snakes love to capitalise on other people’s mistakes, stupidity and fear. They run the country anonymously while ordinary people like me are none the wiser.

I’m their puppet now and I’ll have to do their bidding or else the truth about my affair will come out. My family would be devastated by the news, my marriage and career ruined. The threat of the truth will loom over me for the rest of my life.

* * *

I’m sitting in the car staring up at my in-laws’ house: a typical Georgian countryside home set in stone with sash windows and a well-kempt lawn surrounded by borders of crocuses and daffodils. The sky keeps turning a shade darker, the sun having sunk beneath the horizon half an hour ago, which blinded me as I travelled up the motorway.

I wanted to escape London and its dirt and grimy people, to run away from my political predicament, from my awful moment of weakness and the fact that I was played by people I trusted.

I thought about texting or calling Julianne to ask, ‘How could you do this to me?’ I longed to do something to dissipate my anger, to confront her and find out why she’d fucked me (was it really because she was being paid?). I told Angus I’d stay away from her though, and I don’t want to embarrass myself any further. My thoughts spiralled and twisted together on my drive over.

Now I can see why Christine wanted to come here for half-term. Sometimes you only realise you need a break when you leave your normal, everyday life behind; when you can look back over your shoulder at the last few months and recognise your monotonous life turned every single colour to grey.

I’ve been treading water for months, if not years, hoping for change and to feel ‘different’ from how I feel now. That’s why I chose to enter politics, I guess, but maybe nothing will ever change. Maybe I’ll always feel this way, depressed and lonely, wondering whether there’s more to life than this. I don’t want the truth to come out about me: that I’m living a lie, unsure of myself, what I want and what the future will bring.

Stepping out of the car, I feel a horrid sense of dread in my stomach mixed with guilt and shame, which I don’t think will ever leave me. Christine appears in the doorway (maybe she saw my car) and she runs towards me, smiling and saying that this is such a surprise. She throws her arms around me and she’s happier now than she was before, back at home; she’s had a break from me and the City.

I kiss her warm lips and realise that I never want to let her go, I never want to leave her, and I love her so much that it hurts. It hurts more because I know that I did something to jeopardise our marriage and our future happiness. I’ll never do it again.

Dani and Beth run out of the house, screaming, ‘Daddy!’ This is my family and they mean everything to me. Hugging Christine, I nestle my head against hers and murmur, ‘I missed you.’

Sometimes it only takes a single event, one single mistake, to throw your life into perspective and make you realise that actually you’re quite lucky and you should be grateful for everything that you do have: health, wealth, family and love.