Arsenic Placebo

By Arthur Carlyle

Amber and Clare are two friends experiencing different paths after finishing their studies. Amber has embarked on an internship with a front-line MP, while Clare continues to suffer the frustration of job rejection after job rejection.

Their lives take on a sinister dynamic when Clare is assaulted on the parliamentary estate after taking part in an unauthorised demonstration for disability rights. They launch a crusade to get justice for Clare, but get blocked at every corner. Enlisting the help of Clare's local MP should have assisted but instead leads to a nexus of establishment figures, private security and medical professionals seemingly working overtime to protect much more than the perpetrator of an assault...but what is it? And how have so many figures been able to move in plain sight despite their malevolent intentions for the future of the British state?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: May 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463092835

Arthur Carlyle

Arthur Carlyle is the pen name of an author from London, England. Having grown up in the East End of London, he studied at the University of London, before beginning a career in Government.

Book preview

Arthur Carlyle is the pen name of an author from London, England. Having grown up in the East End of London, he studied at the University of London, before beginning a career in Government.

Dedication

Dedicated to my mother

Arthur Carlyle

Arsenic Placebo

Copyright © Arthur Carlyle (2018)

The right of Arthur Carlyle to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him/ in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthoriszed act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781788485364 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788485371 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781788485388 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2018)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd™

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London

E14 5LQ

Chapter One

This is so annoying! Amber thought to herself, scanning the magazine stand with conveyor-belt accuracy. The one time I'’m actually looking for something and I can'’t see the stupid . . . … Oh . . . … At last! Some unhelpful soul had stuffed it behind the motoring magazines. Despite working as an MP'’s intern and studying Ppolitics at Uuniversity, Amber wasn'’t actually much of a politicals bookworm. But this month'’s special edition of Political Engagement was not to be missed. It was published to mark the fifth anniversary of the passing of Lady Victoria Hanley, the much-loved disability-rights campaigner. Political Engagement'’s editor, Sir Henry Jacob, was regarded as an intellectual heir to Lady Hanley, and thus had for some time had wished to dedicate an issue of the magazine to her legacy and set out what needed to be done so that her vision for disabled people was not buried under nostalgic razzmatazz. In all honesty, none of that particularly mattered to Amber. What marked this issue out for special attention was that she was interning for the Shadow Employment and Welfare Secretary, Guy Freedman, the current darling of the Opposition, and, by most educated accounts, future Prime Minister mMaterial. Freedman, as the opposition'’s chief spokesman on all things’ disability, had been asked to throw his two pennies into the maelstrom of epiphanies and apologias that was the world of disability politics. The request from Political Engagement also came with the assurance that he would be the highest profile contributor, with no question of a mMinister or a pretentious upstart stealing his thunder.

Amber almost body-checked the gift card stand into the path of another customer as she rushed down the narrow walkway to pay for the magazine, and then made a lumbering exit out the door. Flippin’ ’eck' Amber! They reform tax laws quicker than this! Or did you forget the name of the magazine again??"ˮ

Shut your face Tom!"ˮ retorted Amber, with a sense of laughter and acknowledgement. If politics didn'’t work out, pPost wWoman or lLibrarian would definitely not be next on the career list.

Well, come on then! Let'’s have a look!"ˮ As a fellow intern, Tom Harrison also had a vested interest in the success of the article.

Amber flicked through the pages like a person who had used a winning lottery ticket as a bookmark but had then inexplicably lost sight of it. She finally found the article, and began reading in a proud yet considered manner. A new agenda for disabled people: Guy Freedman tells Political Engagement the rules of the game must change in order for disabled people to fully participate in the world of work!"ˮ

Oh for . . .… ! Get to it woman! Is it all there??ˮ Tom enquired, somewhat exasperated. I don'’t give a toss if it was in the preview copies we were sent. Just bloody make sure it'’s all there now!ˮ

It'’s all here,ˮ reassured Amber. "Listen,; here is the bit we helped with. By providing smaller businesses with financial incentives to hire more disabled staff, a future Union government aims to put the accelerator on the lethargic pace of change currently being overseen by those populating the government benches. Our research indicates that striking a balance between financial sustainability and genuine social emancipation can reap enormous benefits for both disabled people and inclusively-minded employers."ˮ

All that hard work and it boils down to one poxy paragraph,.ˮ reflected Tom. But still, we'’re on our way now, eh?ˮ

Yep,."ˮ aAgreed Amber.

Tom glanced at his phone. Shit. We better shift our backsides sharpish or else that numpty will turn around and say '‘thanks for your help, now cheerio’!'"ˮ

Now now,ˮ replied Amber whimsically. The Rt Hon Guy Freedman is a man who stands for impeccable moral qualities. He just needs to be reminded sometimes that'’s all.ˮ They both let out a giggle signalling their agreement to Guy Freedman'’s questionable personality traits. It was time to make a rapid dash across the road and make their way to the Parliamentary Private Offices.

Despite Guy Freedman'’s freakish obsession with time keeping, on this particular morning, Amber and Tom were actually quite keen on arriving on time, or possibly early if they could help it. It seemed illogical to ruin what had for them been a momentous morning by then walking into the office at two minutes past nine. That being the case, there was a pronounced intensity in their steps as they made their way through the Old House Street Market, still quiet at this relatively early hour. Unfortunately, walking briskly was not one of Amber'’s strong points. As they navigated their way through Old House and onto Greater Parliament Road, Amber was totally oblivious to a man in possession of a three- foot cane moving in her direction, on a speedy intercept course. Tom was already thinking ahead when he first noticed the man and instinctively moved to the side of the pavement with plenty of time to spare, avoiding any unintended awkwardness. Sadly on this occasion, such intuition was lost on Amber. In an attempt to divert herself at the last second, she left a trailing leg behind her. The man tripped forward, but, thankfully, remained upright.

Dumbfounded and irritated, the accosted gentleman suddenly bent down and swung his cane a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, clobbering Amber'’s lower shin. For a second time in a matter of moments, Amber'’s internal radar could not re-adjust itself, but the shock of the situation was an adequate explanation on this occasion. Not too good at hurdles yourself then, eh? Stupid girl!"ˮ jeered the man in obvious frustration.

Oh! I am so . . .…"

Don'’t touch me! Freak!"ˮ he hissed, justifiably shoving Amber to the side as she tried to put her hand on his shoulder. With that, he hastily departed, leaving Amber and Tom looking forlorn in the middle of the street, with bemused pedestrians shaking their heads in disbelief as they scurried by.

You need to sort that out Amber. Paraplegic goldfish have faster reaction times than you,"ˮ said Tom, somehow trying to sound comforting and admonishing, yet falling short on both counts. Thanks to Amber'’s unfortunate mishap, any ideas about arriving early in the office had fallen by the wayside. Priority number one was to simply get there on time and avoid any pompous lecture from Guy Freedman.

The building housing the Private Offices, Portcullis House, was unquestionably an architectural gem. Most people agreed it possessed a bizarre propensity to generate a monotonous, sombre atmosphere around its immediate vicinity. The architects had surrendered to the cult of personality that insisted galactic-sized glass mortuaries must cover large swathes of the city. Yet the cocktail of ancient markets, cobbled streets and endless lines of tourists seemed to give the offices a peculiar romantic quality that many architects and town planners craved. Arriving at the offices with milliseconds to spare, Tom and Amber walked through the door to slightly more cheerful sounds than they were used to. Isabelle, the default Diary Manager, and Marcus, intern number four, were sharing their observations on the Political Engagement article.

I actually think it’s cracking stuff,"ˮ enthused Isabelle as she turned the page. Marcus was about to speak when the meeting room door swung open, and Guy Freedman steadily strode out whilst finishing off a conversation on his mobile phone.

OK no worries James, The Sunflower it is . . .… Yes, absolutely, as I said they have some private rooms there where we can actually have a proper chat . . .… . OK, cheers then."ˮ Upon termination of the call, Freedman immediately noticed the presence of Amber and Tom.

Good morning gentleman and gentlewoman. Glad to see your new claim to fame hasn'’t eroded your time management skills. I assume you'’ve read the published piece.ˮ commented Freedman, before asking, Any thoughts?ˮ

A job well- done Guy,."ˮ said Amber, trying to sound authoritative yet clearly intimidated by being put on the spot in front of her colleagues.

Quite right,ˮ replied Freedman, sounding more relaxed than when he first spoke. I'’m having lunch tomorrow with Sir Henry, get a sense of the reception and so on, and maybe have a chat about a few other things. Would have wanted to meet today but Giles wants us all in the House to vote on the Public Advertising Bill. Not entirely sure why. I think he'’s fallen for the media hype about it being a close one. It'’ll sail through I'’m sure. And so it should. The Government isn'’t always wrong, you know! Anyway, can I have one of you there with me tomorrow to do the usual? I'’ll leave it to yourselves to decide who.ˮ

The car is waiting downstairs for us Guy,ˮ said Isabelle, waiting long enough after he had finished speaking to guarantee she wouldn'’t interrupt him, but not waiting too long and creating an awkward silence. I'’ve booked another car for later so that you and Giles will arrive at the House for half two.ˮ Isabelle was looking for some sort of signal that Freedman was in agreement with the arrangements.

Very good, very good,."ˮ he said contentedly, and with that, they were both out the door, the echo of their footsteps gradually dissipating. Getting a posting with a frontline MP, sShadow or otherwise, intern or paid, was easier said than done. Amber wasn'’t entirely sure how she managed it but was pleased nonetheless. Guy Freedman'’s office was unique in that for a frontbench politician, he wasn'’t swamped with special advisers and an army of PR people. There were certainly enough of them, but the nature of his operations was that there were always three to four internship positions available, and as long as interns kept their superiors updated with their work, they were largely left to their own devices. The set up presented those fortunate enough to be successful in their applications and opportunity to do elements of valuable work among the truck loads of useless admin.

Mornings seemed to flash by whenever Guy Freedman wasn'’t there constantly interrupting conversations and asking for meetings to be arranged post-haste and then asking for them to be cancelled again. Add to that what can only be described as a tea-fetish addiction that needed constant feeding, and his leniency for some amoral political stances, and you had what some might say was an archetypal, frustratingly demanding Member of Parliament. It was only the self-evident reality that success or failure was inextricably linked to his personal patronage that stopped the level of his support staff'’s tolerance of him diminishing even further.

The swift elapsing of the morning meant the time had come for Amber and Tom to assemble themselves and make their way to Northborough Plaza for a much-anticipated lunchtime get together with two ex-interns who had been based in Guy Freedman'’s office but had since moved on to bigger and brighter things. Even a king of a village full of idiots would be well- aware that at this stage in their fledgling careers, networking was everything. They were young and enthusiastic, and hadn'’t quite had the utopianism ground out of them yet. One of the ex-colleagues, Katrina, had managed to snap up a corporate communications role with Mortimer Brothers, one of the world'’s leading advertising houses, based only a few hundred yards away in Old City Central. Anthony, ex-intern number two and also ex-school friend acquaintance of Tom, had wriggled his way into Malone and Harper (M&H), one of the Magic Triangle law firms based a short train ride away at Queen Anne'’s Point. M&H and Mortimer Brothers is what it was all about as far as Amber and Tom were concerned, and their zest for getting on in life was, for now, compensating for any naïivety-bordering-delusion that the likes of Marcus would accuse them of suffering from.

Meeting at the entrance of Northborough Plaza, the four efficiently debated where they ought to go and eat before deciding on Grill of Malaysia, one of a number of new, energetic and cosmopolitan eateries that had sprung up in quick succession in the local area over the past few months. Although admittedly on this occasion, the decision was conveniently assisted by Anthony possessing a ten per cent group discount card that he had obtained from one of the plethora of daily deal websites he was subscribed to. Even if he and Katrina were now signed-up tax-payers, this was the city, and it remained prudent for anyone with any sense of balance and self-restraint to keep one eye on personal expenditure.

There was minimal attention paid to eating, however, as the bulk of the lunch hour was consumed by frantic chatter and an exchange of stories and advice. Amber and Tom smartly summarised their Political Engagement escapade, and had no inhibitions in engaging in what, for Katrina and Anthony, must have felt like at times a celebrity-style media interrogation. They were totally relaxed, however. They hadn'’t as yet acquired a snooty, downward-gazing mind-set now that they had entered what for them must have seemed like the corporate big-time. Moreover, being social science graduates, they were hardly immune to the inevitable muckraking and gossip that came with working in Parliamentary Affairs. If there was a chance of hearing about a future political hot potato, then they were all ears.

Katrina was particularly interested in the background to the Political Engagement article.

Tell me, Guy Freedman isn'’t the sort of dude to write THAT kind of article about disability really, is he? Despite any number of omissions there may have been or whether he'’s the shadow Secretary of State. I mean, the actual SoS didn'’t even contribute and nobody is batting an eye-lid. And why would they for such a safe subject? Everyone agrees what needs to be done, don'’t they? So why did he do it?"ˮ she enquired.

Amber and Tom didn'’t want to look foolish twice in one day, regardless of whether Katrina not being the type to judge. It'’s just politics."ˮ ventured Tom casually.

And a bit of ego,ˮ added Amber, taking up the baton. If he really is future Prime Minister mMaterial, then that'’s the sort of bish-bosh that he'’ll have to come out with of his own accord rather than acting like one of Giles'’ sycophants. I suspect as time goes on he'’ll be throwing his weight into every innocuous debate there is, and let Giles & Co take any flack for any sensitive nonsense.ˮ After reflecting on her analysis, Amber was actually quite surprised by her own mental astuteness, regardless of whether how blindingly an obvious observation it was.

Hmmm,ˮ murmured Katrina, but still, I'’m grateful for the article regardless. Even a small step is a step in the right direction.ˮ

You’re dyslexic aren'’t you, Katrina?"ˮ Tom suddenly interrupted, abruptly but innocently.

I am indeedy,"ˮ confirmed Katrina.

So I guess you'’re quite pleased with the Political Engagement stuff then? On a personal level I mean . . .… "ˮ

Of course, why not? There will always be politics and business and whatever. That'’s life. But regardless, everybody needs a spokesman, and I happen to think Sir Henry is quite a good one,ˮ exclaimed Katrina, before revealing, he was down here last week actually . . .…ˮ

What? Sir Henry?"ˮ asked Amber with a subtle bemusement. She heard the first time perfectly well, as most people do when asking for a surprise revelation to be repeated. But the idea of Sir Henry Jacob meeting Howard Blackwood, a total sociopath, momentarily stirred her curiosity.

Yep,ˮ confirmed Katrina. I thought it was a bit random at first, but then, I figured even Howard Blackwood can see the brownie points to be gained, particularly for the company'’s rep, even though he'’s a bit of a crap bag.ˮ

Everyone leaned back for a few seconds, briefly contemplating this mismatch of a rendezvous.

Any idea what they talked about?"ˮ questioned Anthony.

Well I had a brief chat with Howard'’s PA, Rachel, poor thing, and she basically said they and the HR Director initially went over how recruitment was going on the grand scheme . . .… vis-a-vis disabled graduates obviously. Then they asked to be left in private to talk about some nonsense or other. She didn'’t really say much else to be honest. I got my role through the grand scheme actually, so I'’m not fussed really."ˮ

The lunch hour was zipping away, and all four knew they needed to be frugal with their use of time as well as their use of money. Anthony graciously offered to change the 10% discount into picking up the tab completely, a lovely gesture that any recent graduate would appreciate. The gesture did leave Tom feeling slightly guilty, as he had left half a steak to his imaginary friend . . .… or the homeless person bound to search the bins afterward, whichever of the two got to it first. Farewells were hastily followed by a mad dash to their respective offices, with the depressing thought of burning the afternoon oil, an all too familiar occurrence. Perhaps they could lobby Guy Freedman to put down an early day motion expressing his fondness for siestas?

The bulk of the afternoon did in fact revolve around Guy Freedman. Any sense of exertion was abandoned, being replaced by farcical but incisive argument and counter-argument as to who ought to accompany Freedman on his afternoon shindig with Sir Henry the next day.

I nominate you Amber,"ˮ said an insistent Tom.

Why?"ˮ

You can speak English."ˮ

Pardon?"ˮ replied Amber, with a quizzical look on her face, whilst actually knowing precisely what Tom was referring to.

You know full well he reckons people with accents are some sort of illegal immigrant group! Remember he was describing meeting a group of constituents? What was it again? He said he was intrigued because one was a Liverpudlian, one was a Yorkshireman . . .… and one guy was an Englishman!"ˮ

Sod that!ˮ maintained Amber, It'’s Sir Henry who he'’s meeting, and if that man asks me where my grandparents are from, one more time, I'’ll let the tyres down on his wheelchair! Plus he can be SO impatient!ˮ

Next time he asks you about your heritage, tell him you'’re amphibious, and that your parents and grandparents were exiled from Amphibia, then see how long it takes him to catch on to what the heck you'’re talking about!"ˮ

During their attempts to downplay their suitability for accompanying Guy Freedman, it dawned on them that they had overlooked the obvious in that Isabelle was also a candidate for the task and, more conveniently, the two of them were in a position to partake in a little office gerrymandering and nominate Isabelle to accompany Guy. Upon her return to the office that afternoon, Amber and Tom wasted no time in presenting their majority-decision to her as a faitte accompli. Isabelle, as well as any right-minded observer who happened to take notice, couldn'’t help but be staggered that of the three of them, she was the de-facto Diary Manager, and they the de-facto Policy Assistants. When it came to substance, for all their good intentions, Amber and Tom were muffins without the chocolate chip, whereas she was as refined as an ancient piece of calligraphy. She didn'’t possess the naïivety sometimes displayed by Tom and Amber. Yet, she also refused to display the more callous traits that the likes of Guy Freedman were receptive to. More commendable though, was her sense of self-worth, in contrast to the '‘Yes Men'’ mentality that inhabited the office. This explained her relegation to administrative duties, and her sometimes understandable annoyance at having to be dictated to by, in comparison to her, two blithering idiots. Nevertheless, Isabelle didn'’t bother protesting. She knew how to pick her battles. Note-taking was one she would happily concede, fully aware that Amber and Tom attached an illogical weighting to it that she could use to her advantage whenever they discussed the office workload.

***

Upon arriving home that evening, Amber was pleasantly surprised to find her close friend and neighbour, Clare, Clare'’s mother Kerry, and her mother enjoying some gingersnaps and a brew of Kenyan tea.

Greetings people! Hey Clare, how you doin'’?"ˮ

Squire-ess!"ˮ

Hey hey! Can'’t have that sort of language in front of our mothers!"ˮ

Kerry turned to Amber'’s mother with a smile on her face and said, Come on Jan, shall we go to your living room and leave these two alone? If Clare doesn'’t detox now, I'’ll get the brunt of it later!"ˮ And with that both mothers retired to the living room, leaving the kitchen to Amber and Clare.

Some might find it strange that Amber and Clare didn'’t venture straight to Amber'’s room, as per the supposed household etiquette, leaving parents to freely wander around the rest of the home. However, in this case Clare'’s restriction to a wheelchair meant manoeuvrability was at a premium. The situation was further aggravated by the incongruous layout of the home, barring any attempts at installing anything that resembled a stair lift.

Amber took a seat at the table next to Clare and poured a cup of tea for herself, taking care not to spill any on to the table. So, how go things in the world of Clare Gwendoline Thomas? Shall I pop a film on or something? Actually let'’s see what'’s on the radio . . .… ah! Classic rock . . .… ooh I like this bit, I like when he says crazy . . .… you can have a change of heart, if you would only change your mind, cause'’ I'’m crazy about you baby, crazy . . .… CRAZY!"ˮ

Nah, not up for watching anything, really. Turn that off please. Things are as crap as ever, I'’m afraid. Remember that internship I told you about? The one at KL Energy?"ˮ

Yes, I remember . . .… I take it from your demeanour they'’ve got back to you?"ˮ

Yep. Thanks but no thanks. It'’s absolutely ridiculous. I told the interview panel I have a slight stutter. They said it wasn'’t a problem but you could so tell it was bothering them. The main guy was a proper idiot. It was as if he was just going through the motions."ˮ

Did you call them to get feedback?"ˮ

I called them this afternoon. Same old nonsense. Although to be fair, this time at least they were a bit more honest. The lady I spoke to basically told me in a coded way that they thought I might find it all a bit too much! How gracious of them to tell me!"ˮ

This is probably of no use but the best thing you can do is keep on trying. They can'’t all be wankers.ˮ Amber was trying her utmost to sound comforting, whilst avoiding the trap of patronising idealism. I met an old work colleague for lunch today. She is dyslexic but still got into Mortimer Brothers. So it'’s irritating but you just need to keep plugging away.ˮ

You'’re irritating,ˮ said a frustrated Clare. Tell me, what extra stuff they need to do for her to help her do her job properly?ˮ she asked sharply.

Not too much from memory. She sometimes needs things printed on different coloured paper, and she sometimes needs reminding about bits of work and stuff, but nothing too drastic. If memory serves me correctly, she keeps a Dictaphone on her as well."ˮ Amber had an element of hesitancy in her voice.

So basically nothing too intrusive then?"ˮ

Amber reflected upon the question and said, I suppose not. Actually just speaking to her and being around her you'’d never guess she was dyslexic."ˮ

Well there you go then,"ˮ said Clare with finality.

I'’m sorry . . .… What do you mean mate?"ˮ retorted a puzzled Amber.

What you just said. That explains why your buddy got into Mortimer Bros and I'’m still faffing around with internship interviews five years after graduating."ˮ

What?"ˮ Amber was looking for a pointer.

They don'’t see her as a burden. The first thing they ask themselves is '‘oh for goodness . . .… Am I going to be this dude'’s carer?'’ Then on top of that she doesn'’t represent some sort of visual anomaly, does she?"ˮ

How do you mean?"ˮ replied Amber,