Bone and Cane by David Belbin

remote.
    ‘Power corrupts,’ Nick replied, falling easily into what felt like an old conversation. ‘But it corrupts some more than it does others.’
    ‘Tell me about it. You’d be amazed at the number of backhanders I have to pay in London: permits, planning permission, this and that license, mostly going to Labour councillors or the twerps they employ. It’s all graft.’
    Nick wondered if Andrew intended a warning. He didn’t like hitting his friend up for money. But the only alternative was to ask for a job. That would be more uncomfortable for both of them. Family was different. Having your younger brother for a boss might be humiliating, but it was an acceptable temporary solution. Joe was helping him out, not ordering him around. Whereas Andrew was a natural boss, always had been, even back when they both despised bosses. It wouldn’t work.
    ‘How did you deal with prison?’ Andrew asked. ‘As bad as they say?’
    ‘At first. Then you go into a kind of limbo, pace yourself. It’s the only way to get through.’
    Few people asked about life inside. That was the point of prison. It was elsewhere, a place civilized people needn’t think about. But Andrew didn’t flinch from the tough questions.
    ‘No beatings, attempted buggery, the stuff you hear about?’
    ‘There’s a lot of bullying, but I’m big enough to make people think twice and I kept myself fit. A few lads came on to me. You learn to say “no”, firm but polite.’
    ‘You’re heavier, in a good way.’
    ‘Mostly muscle,’ Nick said, dismissively. ‘Plenty of time to work out inside. It stops you thinking too much.’
    Andrew’s voice became more serious.
    ‘It could have been me in there, some of the tricks I used to get up to. I don’t think any the worse of you for it. Sorry I didn’t stay in touch.’
    ‘You and all the rest,’ Nick told him. ‘I kept your name out of it anyhow.’
    ‘Appreciated,’ Andrew said, stroking his beard the way he did when he had something to think about. ‘Mind, I really was out of it by then.’
    ‘Pull the other one,’ Nick said. ‘You gave me the contacts.’
    ‘And left you to it,’ Andrew told him.
    ‘You took a cut,’ Nick reminded him, gently.
    Andrew gave a faint smile. ‘Nothing traceable.’
    ‘Sounds like you have a flexible definition of legit .’
    Both men allowed themselves a wide smile, the grin of old friends who understood each other.
    ‘What do you need, Nick? You know you only have to ask.’
    ‘Money,’ Nick replied.
    ‘How much?’
    ‘As much as you can afford to give me.’

10
    T he Commons had no system for boxing up and returning an MP’s possessions when they lost their seat. Sarah locked the door of her office for the last time as an opposition MP. She’d have to return before the next parliament to clear out her room.
    ‘Sarah?’ It was Gill Temperley. The minister’s light-haired, blue-eyed young researcher stood a respectful few yards behind. ‘I wanted to wish you luck. There are too few of us here and you’ve made such a strong start.’
    ‘Thanks. It’ll be a tough one, but you never know.’
    Gill smiled gamely at this show of bravado, then swept off. Her years as a minister were over, but she’d had a good run. There would be many more women in the Commons when Labour won the election. Labour had instituted women-only shortlists for candidate selection meetings to ensure that. A legal challenge had stopped the policy, but not before dozens of female candidates had been installed. There would be plenty of women to take Sarah’s place.
    ‘Ah, I caught you.’ Jasper March intercepted Sarah in the lobby and handed her a brown envelope. ‘I don’t know where you got this,’ he said. ‘I suspect it was dug up by some diligent reporter on your local paper. Make sure he gets all the credit.’
    ‘Or she,’ Sarah said. ‘Thanks for . . . whatever it is.’
    ‘We’re even,’ Jasper said. ‘Or maybe when you’ve used that, you’ll