Christopher Luxon lay on his side beneath his desk. He was curled into a foetal position, as you might find a hunter gatherer preserved in an ancient bog.
Close behind him, spooning the leader, was the lanky frame of Sam Uffindell who was humming a simple melody in low repetitive notes.
Across the room, leaning against the window sill, was Nicola Willis. She was wearing a smart, bright orange, pants suit. The sort of orange that Americans think cheese is supposed to be. She was scrolling through social media on her phone.
Soon it would be Question Time, and she liked to find comments on the Newstalk ZB page in preparation. Once on the floor these comments could then be ascribed to concerned constituents who’d contacted her. Their names kept confidential, of course.
There was a firm knock at the door. Before anyone answered it Tim van de Molen burst through, looking over his shoulder as if he was being pursued.
“The report is out, they say I’m guilty of contempt of parliament. What the bloody hell are we going to do?”, said Tim.
“Well”, said Nicola, “I was just writing Chris’ speech on Law and Order and how we’re going to be the party that cracks down on aggressive behaviour in the community.”
Tim lurched backwards visibly. “Oh my god, you’re going to throw me under the bus. Am I going to be the new poster boy for National Party violence so Sam doesn’t look so bad? Can’t we just cover things up like we did with the Uffindell report?”
“Well no”, said Nicola, “this is a judgement from your parliamentary peers, not a confidential report on your misdemeanours. Christ knows why the media believed an elite, fee-paying school would kick out a student after only one incident, but they’re an unimaginative lot. That document will never see the light of day.”
“So I’m to be made an example of then? I suppose you have to. I get it, it’d be a bit hypocritical letting me off a guilty verdict when you demanded Labour MPs be sacked before there was a trial. Damn, before there was even an investigation.”
“Calm down Tim, you’re in the National Party”, said Nicola. Then she smiled and stared, as if into an imaginary camera, before saying, “membership has it’s privileges”.
“We’ll strip you of your roles as spokesperson, but parliament has practically finished anyway, and we won’t start you as a Minister after the election. Truth is our internal polling says a lot of our supporters think you should’ve hit the guy. Sound fair?”
Tim glared at Nicola, “I don’t have to take that from you, you’re not boss yet. I’ll take this up with Chris, he’ll look after the boys, he always does.”
The voice of Christopher Luxon came from under the desk. “Well it’s not that much of a punishment Tim, it’s not like you were front bench material anyway. Actually Nikki told me this morning that you were only selected because we were thinking of doing a version of that game Guess Who.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, there was no one in caucus with a beard, or a full head of hair, and when we made a trial game people complained it was too hard because all the people looked the same. A lack of demographic diversity was the problem. Oh god that reminds me, Nikki - did you have a word with Michael Woodhouse?”
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