Mr. Prime Minister

Chapter 3

It was exhausting. Especially while surviving a hangover. I had to answer the Metro questions, the Specialist Protection, the Anti-Terrorist branch, and I'm pretty sure two tall and very stern men were MI5, but I can't account for that.

The hospital took care of everyone – not that anyone was really hurt, luckily. We never again saw our celebrity, which was expected. Some very nice lady from the Cabinet Office came to talk to each and single one of us – brainwashing us, in fact. She tried to avoid us blabbing to anyone that the Prime Minister was caught in a very... well, ungraceful moment, if you will.

And, obviously, Mrs Martin called her neighbour, Mrs Willoughby; Mrs Willoughby called her granddaughter Stella; and Stella, being a very smart woman and desperately in need of everyone's approval, called every TV station in a hundred miles radius. About an hour after we walked into the ER, there were cameras and flashes everywhere. Obviously, the damage control of the Cabinet Office was defeated.

I sighed with a smile as I eyed the love of my life. We were inseparable, ever since I first saw her, shining in the morning light, her aqua dress and black feet took me by surprise, and when I sat on her, I sighed. We had been made and tossed in this world to find each other. We were lucky, we both knew it.

"Hello again, love." I smiled at her, caressing her shiny ears "Are you ready?"

I strapped my white helmet with panda ears over my hair, my shoes ready on the sides, my yellow dress smoothed and my hands on her handlers.

"Here we go, Marianne." I grinned down at my lover "Don't forget: traffic jams are not our thing, we're rebels."

I drove my aqua Vespa through the streets of London during the late afternoon. Mum and Da had pretty much forced me to go have dinner with them – they wanted the details, as everybody else, about our traumatic experience with the Prime Minister.

I rode Marianne easily, as the late afternoon traffic made me grind my teeth. I left the centre and rode to the outskirts. Mum and Da lived in one of those middle class neighbourhoods, close to the school they still taught in. Callum and Frankie Summers were one of those hardworking couples that just refused to retire. It was actually something commendable. They loved teaching kids, loved to mould our fine country's future leaders' minds. And, of course, they couldn't wait for both the Slag and me to start popping out babies so they could get their hands on them as well.

"Our very own hero!" Mum grinned as she opened the brown front door.

The neighbourhood was very much like the one Harry Potter's uncles lived in – yes, I'm a fanatic, so sue me. The small houses were all jammed with the one immediately adjacent, in white stone and brown roof. They were all simple homes and old friends and neighbours that by now, obviously, they knew about my interlude with the Prime Minister.

"Callum, your daughter the hero is here!" Mom's voice shrieked as she grinned widely "We're so proud of you, dear! I called Julia – it's terrible your TAM is broken..."

I smiled. That was a lie, my answering machine worked perfectly, I just turned it off when the reporters started calling to all the "Pharmacy attack survivors".

"Hey, Mum." I kissed her cheek as she closed the door behind me "Is aunt Doris still here?"

"She's in the living room with your Da." Frankie said, pointing to the quiet room next to the entrance, where there was a flicker of light coming from the telly "Come in. We're just about to have some tea and biscuits. You want some?"

"Some tea would be lovely" I smiled, taking my fitted leather jacket off and hanging it by the door.

Da was sitting on his poltroon; his feet dressed in some warm sockets were resting on a small feet support. His reading glasses down to the tip of his potato style nose, and his brown eyes were focused on some book he had in hands.