Six thirty, wake up. Tick. Eight, in the office. Tock. Ten, Committee meeting. Tick. Twelve, constituent meeting. Tock. On and on, all through the day, every day. Sometimes Susie resents it – life before Parliament was so much freer. Time is capricious. She sees Time like a snotty-nosed child, sniggering at his ability to drag or fly at will – or to march on relentlessly, pulling aging generation after aging generation in its remorseless wake. Today, all Susie wants to do is turn back the clock, to the moment before Elsie says, ‘This lady’s like you, Indira. She’s adopted.’ Then she’ll move aside instead, speak to Jemma, hand out their name badges, anything rather than hear those words, in that moment. If only she’d never agreed to the visit. If only she’d asked Karen to do the tour instead. If only— ‘Bad day at the office?’ Archie asks sympathetically. He has seen her car on the drive and already poured her a glass of wine.
