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I can feel my teeth chattering, my shoulders trembling, my heart racing. I’m falling out of control. I know I am spiralling, and I hate this feeling. I pride myself on being in control. When everything falls apart, when everyone else falls apart, I stay together. Julia Elizabeth Montague does not break.
But that is not the case now.
I don’t know how long I sat crunched over, hunched over in the bottom of the car. I could have looked at my watch. But I couldn’t make my hands move. I couldn’t make anything move. I wish that was the case now, I cannot stop shaking.
But then, earlier, I sat. Frozen in time. His words echoing in my ears, taking turns with the thumping sounds of bullets striking metal.
“Take care of the P.”
The P, yes. That’s me.
Principal.
Lavender.
Daren’t say my actual name. Because then people would know what I was doing, where I was going, who I was seeing. And I would be in danger. I want to laugh. The system hasn’t worked though. I was in danger. Serious danger. I should be dead. And that kind of idea fucks you over for a bit, turns everything upside down.
Because of him, I’m not.
I hadn’t even known if he was alive, they’d told me that the threat to my life was neutralised. Taken care of. And for the time being I’m safe. But here’s the thing, I don’t know that I’ll ever feel safe again. It was then that I saw him. He was above me, all the way up on the roof. I hadn’t been instantly certain, the form of him looked right, the stance, the leanness of his muscle, my protector.
When he left me in that car, the car now full of bullet holes and blood, I could have never seen him again. He saved my life, undoubtedly. I know he is alive though, I saw him on the roof, like some haunted saviour watching over me. Without him, I’d be as dead as Terry, I’d be dead too. But I wasn’t, I had him, a silent and deadly protector
I feel like I should call someone. Terry has a family, a wife, a daughter, maybe even a grandson too, by now. He told me about them, more than once. Especially after he had been gone for a week to see his daughter graduate. I’d had to have another driver, one from the driver pool, I hadn’t cared for that.
But why would his family want to hear from me, their husband, their father, dead. Because of a bullet meant for me. It should be my mother in mourning, not them. And I don’t know how I feel about that. I feel myself shake, guilty. I know I feel that.
I need some calm, some clarity, someone who makes me feel safe. There is only one person who does that right now. And I don’t even know if he will come when I call. I’d like to think he would. But I’m not certain.
I wrap my arms around my knees, drawing myself up onto the couch. My hair is damp on my shoulders. The only light in the room is from one small lamp. I’m not allowed to go home, Kim had retrieved some of my possessions. I am in a hotel, driven here directly. I've had three showers and I still feel the sticky residue of blood on my hands and face, all over my body.
I shake again, my legs, my arms, my teeth chattering. By the second, it is growing darker outside. I don’t think that I want to be alone. I almost laugh, there are two officers outside my door, one more down the hall. I am not ever really alone.
But I need to speak to someone, to have someone in this room with me, someone who might partially understand. I’ve still been allowed, for the time being, to keep my own phone. I reach for it and dial, the phone rings and rings in my ear, but he doesn’t answer. Neither does his voicemail. The ringing sounds empty in my ear, shallow trilling and it makes me shake more.
I drop the phone to the floor, my fingers trembling too much to pick it up again. I don’t have anyone else to call. Night comes fully into the hotel room, I cannot keep it out.
I cannot stop the shaking, it becomes more violent, I can no longer hold back a sob. My body gives one more violent tremble and a scream chokes my throat, then followed by a sob, the sound rattles in my ears and throat.
–
“Julia….,” there is a voice that cuts through my shaking. “Julia, you’re dreaming,” the voice adds.
I feel a strong hand on my shoulder, clenching gently, another hand strokes the side of my cheek.
“Hey, wake up, you’re alrite, open your eyes.”
I can feel my eyes clenched tight, my throat so hoarse from screaming. I am scared to open my eyes, just in case I am still there, still in that hotel suite, body trembling, all alone.
“Trust me,” he says, moving closer, embracing me.
I plead my eyes to open, I take a breath. I am not back there. I am not in a hotel room at all, nor am I on a couch. I am in a bed, my bed and I am not alone. He is there, warm arm muscles wrapped around me.
“David,” I say on an exhale.
He nods, moving closer. I see behind him the familiarity of my surroundings, my bedroom, my things. It is not completely dark, the light of the moon sneaks in and under my curtains.
I can still feel myself shaking, as David tightens a hand around my waist. The other hand moves to pull the sheet up and over us, cocooning us in our own space, our space where we can and have done, share secrets, have from the very beginning of us.
I shuffle closer to him, burying my head in the warmth and safety of his neck. He drops a kiss onto the crown of my head.
“Jules,” he whispers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head slowly, breathing in the scent of him, allowing it to help my breathing back to normal. It was just another dream. They have stalled in the frequency as the months have passed, but don’t seem to have stalled in the intensity. At least this one was about the first time they’d tried to end my life, not the second, the almost successful one, those dreams are far far worse.
The scar on my side aches, a dull throbbing from the laboured breathing. I reach down to press against it, but I find his hand already there, his long fingers gently tracing along the deepest scar, still covered by the silk of my pyjama top.
“I want to sleep for a bit longer,” I whisper into his neck. I feel his corresponding nod against my cheek, his arms tighten against me and he does not press me for more. He knows, he knows all too well what this feeling is like. I am not the only one in this bed who wakes from dreams that they do not know how to shake.
Safe now in his arms, I allow albeit worryingly, sleep to pull me back under again, I don’t sleep for much longer, as the alarm from the bedside table blares the 6am morning breakfast news.
“A vote in the House of Commons will be held today….” The radio announcer begins, before David’s hand presses down to silence it.
“Aye, we know all about the damn vote in the House of Commons, thank you very much,” he grumbles as he turns back to me and smiles mischievously.
I smile back at him as he leans down to press his lips to mine, Kissing me deeply, as he has done so every morning for months now. I kiss him back, his arms around me, relishing the feeling of safety he still brings me.
When we are breathless, we both pull away. He regards me with concerned eyes, I can see the fatigue in his handsome features.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
He nods his head and again he doesn’t press for more. He just kisses my forehead as I take one deep breath, steading myself for the day. I move slowly from his arms, as I move, his fingers trace delicately down my back. I turn back to smile at him again and head for the bathroom.
Once I am showered and dressed, I find him in his usual place, propped up on the kitchen counter, eating cereal by the spoonful and reading something on his phone.
“Charlie says we can’t forget to bring a blanket to the match tomorrow,” he says looking up as I reach for the bowl he has left for me.
I nod my head.
“It is already by the door,” I answer as he jumps down from the counter and kisses my cheek, fingers sliding over my left hand and squeezing tightly.
“I’ll be ready in ten,” he says as he leaves the kitchen and I shake my head, he had better be, the car will be here in fifteen.
I hear the shower begin to run and I pour my cereal into the bowl and begin to eat. I don’t feel terribly hungry, but I can’t be the one whose stomach rumbles today during the vote.
I reach for my phone and answer some of the many messages this morning, the ones that are most important. The rest can wait until I am in the office.
When most of my breakfast has been eaten, I collect the bowls and spoons and drop them into the sink. David has brewed the coffee, I close the lids on two travel mugs, one yellow and one purple as the doorbell signals the arrival of my PPO.
David of course is there first, I stay in the kitchen, until I hear his friendly greeting.
“Morning, mate,” he says with a friendly tone. “Did you see the goal last night?”
“You bet, best of the year so far.”
David laughs as I leave the kitchen, the two mugs in my hands, he comes over to me and takes his, the purple one, then reaches for my yellow one, as I then lean down for my bag and briefcase.
“It’s only March though,” I say with a smile, adding my opinion to their conversation.
Mark, my PPO laughs.
“Good morning, Ma’am,” he says with a returned smile. “You are right about that indeed.”
I nod as he holds the door open for me, looking left and right outside into the hall and I follow him out into the street. David follows, as always closely behind.
The drive is slow, it can be at this time of the morning, I usually do not mind, it gives me time to read, to make sure I know what I need for the day ahead. It is slow no matter the weather, but the fact that it is raining, that makes it slower.
As we begin to cross over Westminster Bridge, the car slows to a complete halt. The downpour has gotten stronger. Not uncommon for London in March. I turn my head from the paper in front of me, to look out the window. There are two women arguing with their umbrellas, one has almost lost hers completely, it has turned inside out, as the other continues to forge ahead. They must be tourists, I think.
“Can we talk about this morning?” David asks softly, as he reaches out to squeeze my left hand in his.
I feel my stomach clench, as I remember the panic from our early morning wake up. I look to the front of the vehicle. Mark is on the phone, I can hear him double checking about some roadworks and my driver, Morris is intensely humming to the radio, which is playing quietly in the background.
“We can,” I answer David quietly, nodding, but not turning around to look at him. I want to ask him a question, we have spoken about many things, most things, but I have never asked him this before. Maybe I was too scared, too worried about the answer.
I take a small breath, building up courage. I never used to need to build up courage, but many things have changed for me, and this is all but one more.
“Why did you come to see me that night?” I ask quietly, still not turning around. The dream this morning reminding me that he didn’t have to come and see me after Thornton Circus, he didn’t even have to answer the phone, but unlike my dream, he had and in doing so, had changed a lot of things, our whole lives, in fact.
David takes a deep breath. I don’t need to qualify which night, he already knows.
“You asked,” he says simply, answering my question in the most basic way possible. “Aye, some of it felt a little bit like duty.”
My stomach sinks, that crucial moment, all because he was paid to do so, paid to care.
“But I wanted to see you too,” he adds quickly, reassuringly. “To make sure that you were alright,” he squeezes my hand tighter. “And what happened after, and what has happened since, that isn’t duty, Jules.”
I find it easier to breathe again.
“You called…. I came,” he says as I turn my head to face him. “You did too, from what I recall,” he adds as he raises a mischievous eyebrow, lifting the serious mood.
I shake my head as I feel my cheeks flush.
“But we choose this, Julia,” he says, growing serious again, raising one large hand to cup my cheek.
He looks down.
“I didn’t…,” he continues, head tilting down to my left hand, my eyes following his down. “I certainly didn’t give you that because of duty.”
I wiggle my finger, the stone catches the light, despite the gloomy day. He leans in to kiss me, soft and tender, he tastes of our mouthwash, as his tongue tangles with mine, his kiss perhaps a little too passionate for the back of a ministerial vehicle. But it wouldn’t be the first time or the last time that we would get a little carried away in one of these.
“Who will be the first to notice?” David asks interestedly as he pulls away.
I shrug, not completely sure.
“I am sure Roger will have a comment to make, especially since today is the day of the vote we’ve all been working towards,” David rolls his eyes as I continue. “I’m sure he will accuse me of hogging the limelight once again.”
“Bastard,” David answers gruffly. “He should be grateful he still has a job. And you are allowed to get married again, even if your first marriage wasn’t a success.”
I smile.
“Is that so?” I ask with a tilt of my head.
“And I haven’t been your PPO for over six months now,” he answers, reading my mind.
I laugh and squeeze his hand in mine, turning my head to look out the window again. The two women from earlier have made it to the other side of the bridge, both of them now smiling and laughing.
“Home Secretary,” Mark interrupts. “We should be pulling up in two minutes, if you’d like to get prepared.”
“Thank you,” I answer with a nod, turning back to look at David. He and I will both depart the ministerial vehicle inside the confines of Westminster, I will head towards my Parliament office and he will cross the road and take the tube to his work in South Kensington.
He is of course correct, he has not been my PPO for over six months, he now works with former soldiers like him, and for the most part, the public has accepted our relationship. When it was first revealed, there were some pretty scathing articles written about us, but it turns out that having your life nearly taken away from you, not just once but twice, can garner a certain level of sympathy from the great British public and beyond.
I’m not sure if that sympathy will stretch to a new engagement, but nonetheless, it is happening.
David smiles at me, and instead of the clenching feeling from earlier in my belly, it is mostly replaced by a feeling of warmth, of love.
I’m not completely out of the woods, I’m not totally back to normal, back to the old Julia Elizabeth Montague. Maybe I never will be, maybe I will change my name to Budd instead, Julia Elizabeth Montague-Budd.
But, at least with David right beside me, I feel as if I have my best chance.