‘I’m junior, so no seat for me?’

  ‘Like hell,’ Blair responded. ‘You get a prime spot, to deliver good news and to attack the Tories.’

  ‘And my maiden speech?’

  ‘They get slotted in after things settle,’ he responded. ‘Would it be … controversial?’

  ‘Of course.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Then we’ll make sure we attend. Most are done in the evenings and are very boring.’

  ‘Listen, if screaming teenage girls hang out in the viewing gallery…’

  They laughed.

  ‘I’d ban you from Parliament!’ Blair joked. ‘Anyway, chat to the White House team about Northern Ireland, make them feel important and involved, not ignored as usual.’

  ‘I’m going to organise an EU meeting, in Corsica, to discuss the spread of nursing homes, in a few weeks.’

  Campbell noted, ‘We’d be forced to attend.’

  They laughed.

  ‘I’ll first have to find some space for you, the hotels are almost fully booked. Might have to switch it to Blackpool instead. On a more sour note, are you aware that the French authorities bus African migrants from the south of France up to Calais?’

  Campbell spat out, ‘The little French bastards!’

  Blair noted, ‘It could be an issue, like driving the house burglar to his target house.’

  ‘It’s damned cheeky!’ Mandelson noted.

  ‘We can look at Dover soon,’ Blair noted.

  I added, ‘Another sour point … is German politician Merkel, who’s tipped to win her party nomination next time around. She wants an expansion of the EU, yes, possibly to also include the Balkan states and Turkey, delusions of a grand United States of Europe at the fore.

  ‘If she got her way … we’d have ten million migrants coming here quite legally. So keep an eye on the Germans.’

  Campbell noted, ‘We need to check that expansion plan carefully, and fuck the Balkan states, and no way in hell we’d let Turkey in, we’d see twenty million arrive here not ten!’

  Worried looks were exchanged.

  ‘Timescale?’ Brown asked me.

  ‘Six years to the planned EU expansion, your second term to be overrun with foreigners.’

  Meeting concluded, we set off in different directions, and back at the apartment we sat for a cup of tea as we waited the twins’ return.

  When my phone trilled it was the Israeli Prime Minister. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ came a polite enquiry, odd for an Israeli.

  ‘Not at all. What you after?’

  ‘We have a security leak, a serious one and … we can’t find the man, nuclear secrets sent to the Iranians.’

  ‘You suspect someone?’ I asked.

  ‘It would have to be a senior scientist in the facility in the Negev.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’ I cut the call. Bracelets on, and Julie appeared. ‘Think of the resting place of The Ark, and go southwest into the Negev Desert, a place where the Israelis design and build nuclear bombs, underground, a secret place.’

  ‘I know where it is, I touched it with my mind when they started to dig the tunnels, and after.’

  ‘Go there, and look for a man that betrays them and sends secrets to the Persians.’

  She vanished, back with me three minutes later. ‘It is done, his betrayal is ended.’

  ‘You killed him?’ I asked, none too concerned.

  ‘Yes.’

  I called back the Israeli Prime Minister. ‘The man has been dealt with, go look for a body.’

  ‘We wanted him alive!’ he hissed.

  ‘You never said that. Anyway, the leak is plugged.’

  He called back half an hour later. ‘They found bits of him up the walls!’

  ‘I sent a … you know what, old school they are, fire and brimstone and Old Testament … no half measures. Just cover it up?’

  ‘Hard to do, there are bits of him all over a large office!’

  ‘You’ll think of something. And visit Corsica in the summer, I’ll show you around.’ I cut the call.

  When the twins arrived at the new apartment we discussed what to do, and they wanted to see London, so we would stay here longer, Bonza sent back to work the constituency surgery, and with cash in hand for the ladies working there. He’d go by train since he was not a target of assassination.

  The twins named a restaurant, I called it, and the surprised manager would move things around for us, table for three plus two, Bill and Ted to hang around in the apartment, a takeaway to order.

  At the posh restaurant they were surprised to see me, despite the reservation, and at first they offered us a table in the window, which would have been a security risk, so they moved bookings around and we got a table on the first floor. I made sure that I had my back to the wall.

  Pat and Dingle had their own small table, and would eat but not drink. Drinking, and then shooting people, was frowned upon.

  The food turned out to be OK, but not great, not at these prices, and after an hour and twenty minutes we stood at the bar, many customers wanting to say hello, a few wanting to be snapped – despite the fact that this was an upmarket place.

  A Swedish businessman said hello to the twins, in Swedish, and they got chatting about Swedish things – the man attended our club when he could.

  I had been surrounded by three London investors who had lots of questions, and some ideas. I stunned them when I said, ‘I plan to buy up the bad debt or Barclays and RBS as a job lot.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money,’ one noted.

  ‘I have a lot of money,’ I responded.

  ‘Any useful tips?’ one asked. ‘Where to build and buy?’

  ‘Where you see me building nursing homes in Britain and around the world … they need staff apartments, for doctors and nurses. If you build apartments near the nursing homes you would find them rented, and they’d go up in value.

  ‘To start, the value of the land would be low, no nursing home just a muddy hole in the ground.’

  They nodded, deep in thought.

  I added, ‘Go to Manchester, find the main road outside the new nursing home, buy some crap old places and make then nicer places, to rent out to staff in six months’ time.

  ‘It’s a shit area, but by time I’ve finished it will have jumped up in value a great deal. We’re buying houses there ourselves, as an investment, and I expect property prices to double as soon as we open the nursing home.’

  They were now keen.

  Before we left, the manager asked if it was OK to take a photo, and add it to the company advertising literature.

  ‘What kind of discount will we get next time?’

  ‘Thirty percent?’ he risked.

  ‘A huge amount of money saved,’ I quipped. ‘Take the photo.’

  We stood with other guests, plus the manager and some of his staff, several snaps taken with a good Olympus OM10 camera.

  About to leave, I felt the tingle, a fat old man rubbing his chest. I asked a waitress for a glass of ice water double-fast, and when she brought it the man was red in the face.

  I told him, as I stood over him, ‘Sip this, it will help. You’re not having a heart attack, it’s just pressure on the mediastinum from the food.’

  A hand on his chest, and I fixed his heart attack, the man soon feeling better. ‘Nothing more to eat, but the ice water will help, some coffee as well. Sit there for a while, don’t go yet.’

  His wife thanked me and I left the man to start a new life, since he had been a few seconds away from death.

  Back at the apartment we sat with cups of tea, telling Bill and Ted about the posh restaurant, Bill and Ted then heading off to their hotel; they would be back at noon the next day.

  Lying in bed later, it still felt odd to be here, but less odd, and having a night out seemed to have helped me settle in.

  The tingle then hit me.

  I eased out of bed, the twins asleep, and I peered down through the net curtains at a man stood across the street. He meant me harm, somehow, and I was not sure if he even knew how to go about that.

  Looking up, I saw the line of pigeons, so I closed my eyes and imagined them attacking the man.

  Eyes open, and the birds swooped down, the surprised man soon fighting off a dozen pigeons, and as I observed him he ran into the road and tripped, a police car halted. As the two officers eased out they saw a man being attacked … by angry pigeons.

  I imagined the pigeons flying away, but shitting on the man from above.

  As the police eased the man up, they became aware that they were being shat on from height, curses aimed upwards, and from their car the police grabbed tissues.

  The man was OK, and he walked off, at least he tried to, but the police wanted his ID. He ran, they ran after him and tackled him to the floor. Tomorrow, I would have a clue as to who he was.

  I smiled when I considered the custody sergeant getting the details of the bird shit.

  “…and we came across this gentleman in the road, being attacked by a gang of pigeons.”

  “A gang of blacks?”

  “No, Sarge, a gang of pigeons.”

  “Is that slang for something?”

  “No, Sarge, a gang of pigeons.”

  “You mean a flock of pigeons?”

  “No, Sarge, a flock would be minding their own business and not attacking this gentleman. A gang.”

  Back in bed, my nose cold from the window glass, and I smiled as I hugged Rita from behind.

  Bird shit

  In the morning I had Pat make a call, and he reported the man as being a journalist that had lost his job years back, nothing to do with me, and that the man had hit the bottle. No known associations, no weapons, but he did have my address marked on a map.

  They had to let him go after the interview, but he faced charges of resisting arrest. Biggs would have the man interviewed, and frightened.

  The twins would head back today, because I had work to do in Leicester, a politician’s surgery to run. And when the twins mentioned a holiday for Bill and Ted I granted my trusty bodyguards ten days, I handed them extra cash, and I told them that if they wanted to go to Corsica to let me know so that I could help with accommodation.

  After a final cup of tea and biscuits the twins set off with Bill and Ted in a six-seater taxi, an expensive ride to Heathrow in crap traffic. The tube would have been better, but I was worried for the twins’ safety.

  Waved off, it was just me with Pat and Dingle, and we were soon packed, the apartment checked then locked, and we set off back up to Leicester in fine weather.

  At the new offices I dumped my bag, and the three of us ate lunch before I called Bonza. He would meet us at the surgery, and we arrived at that surgery at 2pm, the constituency offices, the same three ladies present.

  Bonza had handed them cash from me, and with a cup of tea in hand they described what was where in the office and how it all worked.

  An old man walked in, and he would be my first customer, so I led him into a side office used for private chats.

  He began, ‘The council dug up the road and repaired the drains, then my garden wall fell down and the grass all flooded.’

  ‘That’s a council matter, but they can move slowly sometimes. Best bet is the local newspaper.’

  I called my Deputy Editor, and she would meet the man at his home in half an hour, to get the story and photograph the damage, the man sent on his way, one happy customer. The wheels of power were turning, democracy in action.

  Having helped six people in two hours, we closed up shop and headed off, and this felt like proper work, but I was helping just a few people at a time.

  I had called Bill and David, and they arrived at the new offices for 5pm, a meal handed to them, their wives and girlfriends not needing to cook tonight.

  Sat eating, I told them, ‘Blair wants our plans moved along sharpish, money available. He wants an extra twenty nursing homes in the UK started this year.

  ‘But he also wants health gyms proliferated, money available again, so recruit for me a National Director of Health Gyms, a good salary, and that man then recruits regional managers and a secretary for himself, or herself. Our existing guy?’

  Bill responded, ‘He covers the Midlands, so we’d get one for Wales and Scotland and then the north, the south, Devon, London.’

  ‘Recruit straight away, and have Lucas plan the supply lines.’

  David noted, ‘They make money because of those supplies.’

  I nodded. ‘Not much money in them otherwise. And I want a thousand opened quickly, money from Blair to subsidise those people that are registered as obese by their doctor.

  ‘Oh, mention to everyone that we’ll use Middlesbrough as a test bed. But before we move in … we’ll note house prices and unemployment levels and pensioner numbers.

  ‘We’ll then try and revamp the town, which is not huge, and we’ll measure the effect. In particular house price rises.’

  ‘Bound to rise with fresh jobs,’ Bill noted.

  ‘Yes, but by how much, and would it be sustained?’

  David noted, ‘Once prices go up they don’t go back down, no one wants to lower the price of their house.’

  ‘So make a plan for Middlesbrough, a Three-Phase there, a soft prison, women’s refuge, the works.’

  Bill began, ‘Your Barclays man, Chessington, he says that the posh Barclays fund has three hundred and sixty million in it already.’

  ‘Start spending it, not least on a second posh nursing home here, and other posh nursing homes, the land next to Battersea; the investors will love that idea.’

  ‘We’d run the place next to Battersea?’

  ‘The consortium would run it, yes. We’d build a big posh Three-Phase on our slice of land, but also apartments, a kind of Phase Zero with a river view, balconies. And a joint venture with BUPA.

  ‘You can use that money straight away to commission another Barclays style nursing home in Corsica, two on the Costa del Sol, two in Crete. Oh, and we’ll build a few nice villas in the Lake Valley in Corsica.

  ‘And … I’ll ask Barclays if they want a nursing home next to BUPA in Battersea.

  ‘At the same time … we’ll use that new money to buy RBS repossessions - where we think they’ll go up in value, but we’ll avoid using too much Barclays fund money to assist Barclays.’

  ‘We got the RBS list,’ Bill noted. ‘Let’s just say that they’re keen.’

  ‘Look for the bargains first,’ I suggested. ‘Any big London buildings?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  ‘Then use the posh Barclays fund for them, straight away. If we can get a few nice apartment blocks … that will look good on the fund portfolio.’

  David asked, ‘What return will a villa in this lake valley make?’

  ‘In a year they’d treble in value over build cost, in ten years they would more than double again.’

  ‘So let’s build a shit load of villas then...’

  ‘I’d have to limit the numbers, everyone wants to build there. But there’s plenty of land for nursing homes around Corsica, and the posh nursing homes are popular.’

  ‘What would we make on a nursing home?’ he puzzled.

  ‘We’d build it for twenty-five million or so and add on say five million for ourselves, then we’d supply the food and drink and drugs and offer a management service, so we make money each month ongoing.’

  ‘Can’t lose,’ David noted. ‘And five million over twenty-five is a very good return.’

  ‘I get the cement cheap,’ I told him. ‘And they’re all just concrete buildings made to look nice afterwards.’

  Growing pains

  In the morning, I attended the constituency surgery for two hours before heading over to the new property building for a meeting, Bill and David to be in on it, plus our senior Swedish men and our estate agent lady.

  Settled, everyone with tea and coffee and notepads, the old boardroom table was just big enough.

  I began, ‘As you may have heard by now, the two new Barclays funds are attracting a lot of interest in them and money is pouring in, and on top of that the government will put in a great deal of money, a new Urban Regeneration Fund.

  ‘That government fund … can be used for run-down London apartment blocks, but is primarily for low-end domestic houses outside of London. The new Labour Government want to fix old houses and help low-income people, but as I said to them – bollocks, do it my way and get your money back.

  ‘So the fund will operate the same as the others, and we’ll need a clever person in charge of it.’ I pointed at our Civil Servant. ‘When we buy a house, I want the house deeds checked and then sent to London to be stored safely. Is there such a place?’

  ‘Yes, I used to work there.’

  ‘So chat to your old colleagues, because I don’t want fifty thousand house deeds stored here.’

  ‘No fucking room for them!’ Bill cut in.

  David noted, ‘Safer off-site as well.’

  ‘While I think of it, recruit someone junior, and they’ll scan all the newspapers each day, cut out and photocopy any stories about houses, interest rates, about us perhaps, regional development projects.

  ‘I want a summary made available to all the senior people here and to me. So if Sunderland Council is building new housing estates and a large new factory … we need to know, because we may be looking at property in that area.’

  ‘I know a college leaver,’ Bill put in. ‘She studied economics.’

  ‘Great, ask her to start today - but advertise the job anyhow and stay legal.’

  I faced my estate agent lady. ‘I want you to take some time off and visit Middlesbrough.’

  ‘It’s a town on fucking life support,’ she quipped.

  ‘Which is why we’ll use it as a test bed. I want stats, but also opinions, so go see the estate agents there, have a look around, read the local paper. Start a relationship with the biggest estate agents and explain that we’ll hand them a shit load of work.

  ‘What we want to know, a year or two from now, is what effect a new nursing home has, plus our plans to buy up repo houses. We want to know if we cause a short-lived optimism or if we have a genuine effect.’