Glasgow Kiss

Chapter 5:

Day 9: 22.00pm (The shoebox that doubled as Malcolm's office)

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He was a complete bastard.

Leaning back in the back pain inducing plastic chair in his pathetic cupboard of an office Malcolm ripped through the skin of his tangerine, shoving the juice rich flesh into his mouth and sucking it savagely. Scowling down at the pay as you go phone he used to contact Jamie on Malcolm waited impatiently for an acknowledgement of his message.

"Come the fuck on..." He growled under his breath as he glared down at the cheap little phone. Not knowing what answer he would prefer right now.

It was a dick move leaking the story of Janice's past affair with Martin Logan, but Malcolm had been pushed beyond the limit that even he was prepared to accept. He needed her out of the way now not next week, he needed to move into a more central position in the campaign's PR structure if he was ever going to be privy to the information he needed to properly sabotage the Yes camp and secure that six figure Head of PR job he had been promised.

Janice McCann's career and marriage were merely collateral damage in a much larger war and in a way it was either her or him and Malcolm wasn't a hypocrite, he would always choose to put himself first. Still that didn't mean he didn't have a lingering shred of humanity left, enough to feel a little guilty for the shit storm that was about to hit the unsuspecting Janice.

He hadn't intended to use it, not at first.

It wasn't even particularly interesting as scandals went and whilst at Westminster this sort of thing was as common as Oxbridge accents. It also wouldn't make too big of a splash in political terms, who the fuck knew who Janice McCann was? Now if it had been either of the big fish it would be another matter.

Of course in Scotland cheating on a national footballing hero with an Englishman...

Wincing as he imaged the headlines and the vitriol that would be coming Janice's way in the next few days Malcolm allowed himself to feel a little guilty before one glance at the packed suitcase he had hidden underneath his desk reminded him quite pointedly why he had been pushed to this point. It was the last straw when Malcolm Tucker was forced to sleep in his cupboard of an office.

God it was pathetic; unthinkable how far he had fallen.

Back at Westminster it wouldn't be unheard of to catch political officials napping on their office sofa, with very long hours and even longer commutes it was accepted if not particularly approved off for people to literally live in their offices. Yet Malcolm was being forced into staying in this hole not by business necessity but because the cash funds had finally run dry.

He had managed to scrape together the money needed to pay his outstanding hotel bill and meet his other commitments; Malcolm had been certain he could have survived until his next pay day if it hadn't been for that unexpected tax bill. His damn accountant would be getting an earful of the trademark Tucker abuse if the little sneak hadn't slipped off to Bermuda and if Malcolm could actually have afforded the calls to track the lying sack of shit down.

Instead he was homeless, broke and unable to fucking complain about it to anyone.

Taking his muted frustration out on the soft fruit was the only outlet Malcolm had right now, that and glaring at the damn phone waiting for some sort of acknowledgement.

Huffing Malcolm shrugged off his jacket and unfastened his tie, hanging both on the back of his chair before kicking off his shoes and rummaging in his bag for the towel he had swiped from the hotel and his wash kit. Just as he was about to leave the room and sneak downstairs to use the shower the phone buzzed, reaching over he flipped the screen open and typed in his password, a smiley face.

A fucking smiley face...

Curling his lip in disgust Malcolm shoved the offending phone back into his pocket, the need for a shower suddenly more pressing than ever. Yet Malcolm doubted this crappy would even be able to rid him of the grime of the day let alone the sudden dirty feeling that he was trying desperately to shrug off.

It was just a fucking job, she was just a pretty dumb idiot, he didn't even remotely like her. Janice McCann was a vapid, irritating, neurotic screw up of the first order. She made some of the Westminster Ministers look like competent politicians and that was saying something. She actually fucking cared about what she did, it was only a matter of time before somebody taught her about the real world of politics.

So really he was doing her favour...she could get out now before all the compromise destroyed her...go back to her baking and her spa days and leave politics to people who realised that it was only those prepared to get down and roll in the mud that belonged there.

Now perhaps if he repeated that often enough Malcolm might actually convince himself of it.

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