Even Cacti Can Grow in The Desert - Meg Webb

 Go into politics, they said. That’s where you will make a change. They just forgot to mention that politics was built by old white men who were determined to keep things as they were. The many pictures of these men littered the walls of the building, although two, now three women, had managed to sneak in.

Anne Clement youngest female prime minister of Britain. Only 34 and swept to victory at the polls. It always made Anne wheeze when she heard that team, swept in. She still wasn’t sure whether someone could be swept in when her parties other option for leader had a stroke and forced retirement, and then the opposition parties both had scandals that disgusted the voters. She was the only real option, and people love an underdog, a rebellion vote. Still doing your bit for the country but fighting the system. I was the underdog, the rebellion vote. Don’t vote for another rich white cis straight man. Vote for a middle-class white cis woman, who was bi.

Although that last bit was currently a secret. Well, an open secret that everyone knew but no one commented on. The British way of keeping the status quo. Ignore.

While Anne had prided herself on building a diverse cabinet that reflected the British public, some of the men in the room would have had a heart attack if she openly acknowledged my bisexuality. She wondered how many would drop down dead if she told them that she planned on marrying her girlfriend. It would get rid of the ministers shed been forced to accept she reckoned. Plan M, she decided rather morbidly.

“Even cacti can grow in the desert.”

All heads turned to look at the Deputy Prime Minister. Many of whom had been, like Anne, zoned out.

“I’m sorry.” Said the Health Secretary, she had been paying attention. “What on earth does that have to do with the current situation?”

“More than you would think.” The deputy prime minister went back to staring out the window. The whole table sighed, and Anne decided that they were getting nowhere, and it was getting late.

“Right. I think that’s enough for today. Rivers, Davis, and Martins, I want your reports by next Monday. Lewis, I need a public survey on opinions about the new education policy.” Anne rose and waited for the responses.

“Are you going to pay it any attention?” Asked Lewis, Secretary of Education, yawning.

“If you survey properly I will. If you just survey your rich friends then no.” Anne looked around the table. “Any other questions?” Nodding Anne watched as the table slowly cleared out, as many members stretched the stiffness out of their limbs. “Oh. Daniels and Khan. Make sure you book in meetings with me for next Tuesday, and Khan, make sure to Davis doesn’t get to drunk tonight.”

“How rude!” Shouted a tipsy Davis, Minister of Work and Pensions, nearly falling into Lewis who steadied him.

“You do ask for the impossible don’t you” laughed Khan, Chancellor of the Exchequer, steering Davis away from the wall and towards the door. They made sure to catch the mints Anne threw at them.

“Even cacti can grow in the desert.” The Deputy Prime Minister hadn’t moved from his seat. He liked to watch everyone else leave first.

“Not in the artic.” Called out Fisher, Secretary of Disability and Accessibility, having waited for everyone to leave before wheeling herself out.

“I like her.” Said Henry Gilbert-North, Deputy Prime Minister.

“Of course, you do. You picked her.” Anne took a deep breath and for half a second debated waiting another day. “I have a question.”

“Exciting.” Gilbert-North turned his full attention on Anne, and she knew that until they were finished nothing would distract him. She’d seen it many times, both when they sat next to one another on the bench and now as they ran the country together. Henry may come across as naïve and constantly distracted but no one survives thirty-eight years in politics like that. He had been shadow secretary of transport in his first decade and environment in his second. He’d been a whip for a few years in his second decade before settling in as a backbencher. Known for being able to wine and dine both press and opposition parties, he was a good choice as Deputy Prime Minister. The first in quite a while. Anne was well aware that she still had a lot to learn, and having a trusted guide was never a bad idea.

“I plan on proposing to Lucy this weekend.”

“Congratulations.” Henry clapped his hands together.

 

“She hasn’t said yes yet.”

“She will.”

“Hopefully. It’s more how to tell everyone.” Anne sank back into her chair. She’d been planning on proposing for a while now, but she was prime minister now. A queer couple in No.10 unmarried was one thing. Married was another.

“Using words, I should imagine.” Henry interrupted her thoughts. “It’s a love story. A slightly forbidden love story at that. A tale as old as time itself. The public will stand by you. You have popular support right now.”

“Would I still hold popular support if members of my cabinet quit? We both know that many would.”

“They are replaceable, and the public would support you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Never let anyone else dictate your life. You love her. She loves you. Get married. Just know that I better be invited.” Henry rose and pulled Alex with him as they wandered over to her living quarters. No.10 was a surprisingly big building, meaning that there was plenty of room for old white men to stare down at her. Her picture would be staring down at future Prime Ministers she remembered. Coming back to the present, Anne looked at her Deputy.

“Of course, you will.” Anne helped the old man up the last few steps. “Once she says yes. We will make an announcement on the steps, after the other announcements.” Waving her hand, she made them a problem for tomorrow, or whenever Lewis got back to her on the survey. She let Henry go. “Maybe the press will be decent.”

“Even cacti can grow in the desert.”

“What does that mean Henry?” She called after his retreating back. 

This piece was written by Meg Webb (She/her) Read more of her work here.