The Gatekeeper

Under pressure, Michael moves the date for the leadership election back to December. This gives an outsider a chance.

I HAVE BEEN WORKING as part of Michael Howard’s team, juggling a role in his office covering foreign affairs and business liaison with a job working as the director of Atlantic Partnership, a bipartisan think-tank that Michael himself set up. I run the think-tank from my attic, which has the advantage of allowing me to see my young children. On his return from nursery, my son makes his way upstairs and hovers at the bottom of the loft ladder. ‘Are you there, Mummy?’ He waits patiently for me to climb down and keep him company while he eats his lunch. I often return to my attic after tucking him and his sister up in bed. I feel a bit stretched, between the two roles and, most importantly, being a mum. But at least I am busy doing what I love.

All this is about to change.

One day in June, I am getting my lunch at the canteen in Portcullis House. I am not overly fond of the place, which serves large quantities of ‘school food’ and has yet to encounter the lettuce leaf, but I like the atmosphere. Everyone eats here – MPs, researchers (many barely out of university), parliamentary assistants. It is a place of chance meetings and political gossip.

In the canteen, I spot David Cameron. He is in his first term as MP for Witney and a friend since we both read PPE at Oxford, a year apart. And I had helped him win the seat in 2001.

‘What are you up to?’ David asks.

I tell him we are winding down Michael’s office in preparation for his departure, which is sad. The leadership election has just been announced and I have heard that David is considering stepping forward to offer a more centrist, modern agenda. This seems as good a time as any to offer my twopence worth, so I do. ‘Oh, and by the way, I think you should run for leader,’ I say. I then add – with possibly not enough consideration – ‘I’ll help you if you do.’

I am not the only person urging him to run. David has a natural gravitas and authority about him that seems to be lacking elsewhere in the party. In this respect, he looks like a potential winner. But he is unsure. It does seem like a tall order that someone who has only been an MP for one term, who has not yet reached their fortieth birthday, should seek to be party leader. Audacious even. But who else is there? If the party really do want a game changer, then it’s not going to be DD.

David takes his time. While he ponders whether or not to run, he accepts a job as Shadow Education Secretary in Michael’s post-election Shadow Cabinet. George Osborne, who also became an MP in 2001, in the same intake as David, becomes Shadow Chancellor, and asks me to come and work for him. With over four years in age between them, David and George did not overlap at university in Oxford, or even in their previous jobs at the Conservative Research Department, but they have become close as new MPs. They live near each other in west London, bicycling in together most mornings.

I’ve known George a long time – since my first job in the Conservative Research Department, in fact. The dream of every desk officer was to be a special advisor to a Cabinet minister. I asked around about how this could be done. You need to nurture a friendship with an MP ‘going up’, I was told. Otherwise, just send in your CV when there’s a reshuffle and hope for the best.

When William Waldegrave was replaced by Douglas Hogg at the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food in 1995, I wondered if it might be my opportunity. Admittedly, having grown up in cities, I didn’t know much about farming. But, as the desk officer covering the brief for Europe, my remit included agriculture and animals, so I was certainly learning, and I reckoned I should be in with a chance.

I had decided to try the idea out on the boy in the office next to mine. George was highly regarded in CRD as the prestigious head of ‘political section’, a job which had until recently been inhabited by another talented young man called David Cameron. ‘I am thinking about applying to be a special advisor to Douglas Hogg,’ I said. ‘Do you think it is a crazy idea, given that, you know, farming is not exactly my thing?’

‘No – it’s a very good idea,’ he said. ‘There’s just one hitch.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘I’ve already got the job.’

A WEEK AFTER I accept the job with George, David rings. ‘I’ve decided to stand – will you come and help me run the campaign?’

‘What sort of timing?’ I ask.

‘Tomorrow,’ he says.

I speak to George, who agrees I should help David, and then come and work for him afterwards.

It has been an honour to work for Michael Howard, and I feel disloyal as I pack up my things. And there is awkwardness too, as I know that I would not have been David’s first choice. Rachel Whetstone had been Michael’s political secretary, and she and David were firm political friends from their time together in the CRD. Had they not fallen out, it would most certainly be her, not me, running his campaign.

I move into David’s office and the leadership campaign begins. On my first day, there is only me and David, with George next door and Steve Hilton texting random thoughts. I feel pleased to still be working in Westminster but I have no idea what running a leadership election entails. Perhaps that’s why I have no premonition that it is about to take over my life – and not just for a summer, but for the next decade. I sit in blissful naivety, innocent of the looming storm.

— 2 —

‘COME WITH ME’

Most leadership campaigns are set up around an individual. An idea or two. And a few loyal friends. David’s was set up around building a new brand of Conservatism. He and a group of key allies have been busy crafting it for a while. So, I am initiated into this Sunday night group, to eat pizza and chart a new course for the party.

The Camerons’ home in west London is modern and chic, with black and white pictures of their glamorous wedding guests lining the walls. Sitting round the kitchen table are David, George, and a few other faces, some familiar. There’s the Diet Coke-swilling Daniel Finkelstein, who has finally given up on trying to be an MP after a few attempts in favour of a career in journalism. Danny hones his humour into a highly targeted weapon, waiting for lulls in the conversation to launch his witty one-liners. Oliver Letwin looks permanently confused by finding himself in politics at all – as if he has fallen unexpectedly out of a Tolstoy novel and is trying to find his way back as a matter of urgency. Then there is Steve Hilton, one of David’s closest friends – a radical blue-sky thinker cum March hare whose mood swings can confuse everyone, including himself. And sometimes we have Michael Gove, a courteous and brilliant Scottish journalist who is shyly considering a political career for himself. He always speaks like he is presenting a bouquet of the sweetest smelling flowers.

David is the natural head boy to George’s more bumptious, ‘rock the boat’ style. Both are clever and talented but in different ways. This partnership, which seems almost brotherly, is to remain at the heart of our operation: George, the creative intellectual, and David, the intuitive decision taker. Although their politics are not entirely aligned – David comes from more traditional conservative stock, whereas George embraces all that is modern, sophisticated, and liberal – they mostly see eye-to-eye. They are fiscal conservatives and passionate social liberals. And perhaps because I know them both well, I play my part in keeping them close, especially when we later come into government, when convention conspires to divide them.

These two men are the ‘creative intellectuals’ of Team Cameron. They are progressive Conservatives, whose beliefs are anchored in sound finance. The aim is to move the party back towards the centre ground that has for too long been occupied by Labour under Tony Blair. They call themselves ‘Modern Compassionate Conservatives’.

Alongside these ‘ideas’ people is a small but faithful band of MPs, many of them ex-Army: Hugo Swire, Hugh Robertson, Andrew Robathan, and Greg Barker, who are busy drumming up support for David amongst the parliamentary party. David’s old friend, and mine, Andrew Feldman, joins our operation as fundraiser-in-chief. His role is important not only for the campaign itself, but for showing that David has support from the wider Conservative family and the business community. Andrew takes to the task with the enthusiasm of a pit pony released into pasture.

Our select group meet in David’s Commons office most days. There are lots of ideas and lots of action points, but only me to do the action. (I find that most MPs prefer to ‘advise’ rather than ‘do’.)

I am swamped with work, at the centre of a tiny tornado. I am trying to manage David, manage the campaign, and organise a growing team. As the campaign builds momentum, we are inundated with offers of help. My phone doesn’t stop ringing. I set up a makeshift office in David’s rooms in Portcullis House, where I sit with my laptop balanced on my knees. Steve, now sitting beside me, sketches out a plan of articles and speeches for the weeks ahead. He calls this ‘the Grid’. We persuade George Eustice, a talented young press officer from Conservative Campaign Headquarters to join us. And now we are three. Between us, we are drafting articles, writing speeches, arranging media interviews, meeting with MPs, hunting for endorsements, and thinking about our strategy.

A LEADERSHIP CAMPAIGN IS like a mini general election. You need to stand for something. Be someone. Plot your interventions carefully, think about what you are saying, and how it will resonate in the media and beyond. To build up momentum you need endorsements from MPs, councillors, and other party grandees, as well as businessmen saying they would trust you with the country’s finances. Having a bit of money behind you helps as well. At the same time, you must not lose sight of who your electorate is. In a leadership election, this is first and foremost ‘the colleagues’, meaning the MPs. Beyond them are the party membership more generally.

There is a norm in politics that in order to win Tory leadership elections you need to tack right to pick up support in the party and then move towards the centre afterwards to appeal to the country. Early on, we reject this in favour of saying something about what we want to achieve. David boldly sets out his Conservative ‘modernising’ stall knowing that he will put off some of his colleagues but hoping the wider public will like what they see. If we can show that David Cameron is a ‘winner’, then the MPs might begin to take notice – especially those in marginal seats. It is a high-risk strategy.

Perhaps it was at this moment that David’s rather contractual relationship with his parliamentary party was forged. He never wooed them and in turn they never fell in love with him. But they recognised and respected him as someone who could lead them back into power. The consequence of this would be that when they thought he was not delivering, there was no love lost. Support melted away like ice cream on a summer’s day.

We march on. David gives a series of speeches, interviews, and articles, talking about the ills in society and the importance of social responsibility – issues which have been, until now, largely marginalised. He asks the party to think more about these problems and less about Europe. His focus does seem to resonate, bringing a breath of fresh air to a stale political environment. The papers like what they hear. People are listening.

Then we hit choppy waters. A two-week ‘trial by tabloid’ ensues over whether or not David took drugs in his youth. The story runs and runs, until we think we will never put it behind us. But then they finally peter out, and we’re at last able talk about something else.

Back on track, summer approaches and with it comes the ‘big beasts’, with Ken Clarke, Malcolm Rifkind, Liam Fox, and others joining the race, and suddenly David looks young and a bit out of his depth. There is a low moment when he is convinced he is going to fail. As we walk across the lobby of Portcullis House, David says to me, ‘At some point we need to discuss how I pull out, in a dignified way.’

‘Pull out of what?’ I ask, confused.

‘You know, admit defeat.’

‘But we’re going to win,’ I reply.

Over the next weeks, even I have to admit we are not winning – in fact, we are not gaining any ground at all. It is all DD versus Clarke and Fox, with DD remaining the firm favourite. And it is time to head off for our various family summer holidays. Struggling to find internet coverage in a friend’s villa in Spain, I take to standing on a chair to send emails in the hours when my children are resting. Steve and I prearrange times to speak, so he in turn can walk to the end of a field to get a signal. It is a relief when we all are back in London.

In early September, the tide shifts suddenly again, as it does so often in politics, and just for a moment we are given another chance. DD gives his formal leadership launch, surrounded by mostly white, mostly middle-aged men in what looks like a club room in the Commons. His speech is more select committee hearing than rousing oration. The whole things feels a bit out of date.

Although DD has a strong political foundation – son of a single mother, brought up on a council estate – he has no vision. He’s all backstory, no forward movement. We seem to have the opposite problem: David has so much he wants to do for his country, but his happy, privileged childhood is hard to build a political narrative around.

Steve and I meet to discuss our next move. We have run out of money. We decide to go ahead with a formal launch of David’s leadership bid anyway. Andrew Feldman rises to the occasion and finds the cash. Our launch is fresh and modern, and the audience is a far cry from a men’s club, as Samantha fills the room with young mothers, some of whom are breastfeeding. David’s speech captures the imagination. Suddenly he is the coming man again.

THE LAST WEEK OF September leading into party conference is pandemonium. I wake up on Friday relieved to think I have a day to play with, and then I remember David wants to meet at a tapas restaurant on Golborne Road he is fond of. He bills it as a ‘take stock’ lunch before we all head up to Blackpool. I am uncomfortably aware that time is ticking, plus I have promised to pick my daughter up from school and take her out for tea. We are only a third of the way down our checklist (speech, press, visits, ties …) when Danny Finkelstein drops by. I know what’s missing, he says. American-style mementos to hand out – bells and whistles. Great idea, everyone says, nodding away, only it’s clearly me who is going to have to magically conjure up these items at the eleventh hour. Right now, I wish Danny would just stop having great ideas, or any ideas at all.

We head up to Blackpool with ‘the mo’, as the Americans are fond of saying. But although we have the momentum, we have a long, long way to go. We have the backing of just fourteen MPs – the ‘early Cameroons’, as David later dubs them.

At conference, there is a growing sense of excitement around David. We are hounded by camera crews and enthusiastic supporters. Our team roams the halls wearing ‘I love DC’ T-shirts and handing out badges. DD has a group of women decked out in T-shirts saying ‘DD for me’; most of them are large-breasted, which hits a sexist note. Steve is too edgy to sleep. Rachel Whetstone (his future wife) has booked him in to the main conference hotel to help with Michael Howard’s valedictory speech. From his room, he pens a conference newsletter, ‘DC News’, which he prints from a mobile printer overnight. Our supporters put copies under people’s doors in the early hours of the morning. Broadcasters are clutching their sheets as they begin their morning rounds. There is a sense that we are fighting for it, and people – on the whole – like to be fought for, in a robust democracy.

However, by this point, the conference has morphed into a beauty parade. Expectation around the candidates’ speeches is growing. David and I sneak onto the balcony to watch DD. His speech feels flat and workmanlike to us. ‘Don’t smile,’ says David. ‘People are watching us.’

David is up shortly. We sit in the green room at the back, still feeling very much the outsiders. David has been practising his speech for days. A few minutes before he goes on, Steve, Samantha, and I are taken to our seats. I feel a bit sick. Steve is wriggling in his chair. I am amazed: Samantha is all pregnant calm.

‘Come with me,’ says this audacious one-term MP as he lays out his vision for the Conservative Party’s future of aspiration and social responsibility.

He electrifies the audience, not least the party grassroots, who are tired of being in opposition and served up a diet of thin political gruel. At this moment, they have no idea where this young man is heading exactly, but it’s clear they want to be going somewhere new. We just have to hope that – when it comes time to cast their vote for leader – they are in the mood to take a bit of a risk.

Tom Bradby declares on the ITV Evening News that David won the hall.

We leave Blackpool with the support of forty-two MPs and the resounding enthusiasm of party activists. It is interesting that this group, who are often parodied for their affection of the status quo, have so fully supported the candidate of change.

It remains a crowded field, however, and Ken Clarke, Liam Fox, and DD himself are still very much in the running. Yet, it feels as if we are now on our way. At the very least, we will have shifted the conversation in the party.

The official leadership election begins with a series of ballots amongst the MPs, who whittle the candidates down to two. The final choice from these two is put in the hands of the wider party membership. Michael Spicer, as head of the 1922 Committee of Conservative backbenchers, adjudicates the rules of engagement as if supervising a duel.

Whilst it may be the case that no man is an island, it is soon evident to me that every MP is a planet, many in a rather unfamiliar orbit. Each potential leader is vying for their support, so this is the moment of maximum power for the backbench MP, and they exercise it to the full. In practice, this means hours of one-to-one meetings. They each arrive with a mysterious cocktail of asks, personal and political, some driven by ambition, others by friendships or dislikes, even revenge. They seem to want their leader to be of them but also above them. Most of all, they want to back a winner and then, down the line, to be promoted by them.

David does not find this bit easy. Many MPs are not sure about him. For some this is because they fear he is too centrist for their taste, but for others, it’s more personal. They think he has had a golden life – private money, a good-looking wife (who works!). His family is in London, while theirs live miles away. Some feel he has arrived in Parliament already the coming man, while they have struggled for recognition. And then there is the irritation that he does not always catch their eye when he passes them in the corridor. He does not mean to do this, but he does. This has given him a reputation amongst his colleagues of being a little aloof. I spend a lot of time with David talking about eye contact.

We also have to talk to him about his suits. We wean him off his double-breasted baggy jackets, which make him look a bit like a jolly farmer. A new, smart ‘David the candidate’ emerges, with single-breasted jackets and a firmer ‘look’. He is also beginning to acquire a certain homegrown charisma.

We are nervous going into the first ballot of MPs. David Davis remains the mainstream candidate, but Liam Fox seems to be gaining momentum on the right. It’s quite possible we may crash and burn in the middle. But David comes second in the first ballot of MPs, with fifty-six votes to DD’s sixty-two. And then he comes first in the second ballot, with a strong ninety MPs (and DD down to fifty-seven).

Wind in our sails, we move on to the next battle: convincing the party membership. The final ballot is fixed for 6 December. It is weeks of regional tours and hustings against DD. And it is not all plain sailing. DD knows how to press the buttons of the Tory heartland. But David Cameron seems to appeal to Middle England, possibly because he shares their values. (This is a man who would cook a full Sunday lunch to eat on his own.) And David is giving them hope.

In the middle of the leadership campaign, we hit a glitch. David, now the favourite to win, gets incredibly nervous ahead of a special Question Time debate. It is a surprise because until now he has been so natural on television. Relaxed and accessible, he usually impresses by actually trying to answer the audience’s questions. Yet this time he seizes up, his hand reaching up constantly to wipe away the sweat forming on his top lip. I find it hard to watch. This is the first time this happens to David but not the last. There is something in the intense pressure of these moments that can be too much to bear, especially once you have become the frontrunner.

The final hustings is in Exeter, and we return to Hugo Swire’s Devon home for a feast to celebrate his birthday. The meal comes courtesy of Hugo’s wife, Sasha Swire, who is an extraordinary cook and a sharp critic of all things political. Sasha has a camera, and – Snap – a picture is taken of Team Cameron, comprised at this moment of David, Hugo, Liz Sugg, Sophie Pym, James Cecil, and me, sitting on the sofa. We’ve had a couple of glasses of wine, and we’re relaxed, nearing the end of the campaign, with nothing much left to do but wait and see if we have convinced the party membership that this one-term MP should be their leader.

WE ARRIVE AT THE Royal Academy for the announcement of who will be the next leader of the Conservative Party. David is getting miked up when Michael Spicer comes in and whispers in his ear. He has won. When we have finished with the speeches and fanfare, we find Terry, Michael Howard’s former driver, waiting for us in the courtyard. David is the Leader of the Opposition now, and as such, he gets a car and driver.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Terry asks.

I look at David, the victory beginning to sink in, and wonder what we have got ourselves into. We had better go to Norman Shaw South – to Michael Howard’s old offices, tucked away at the far side of the parliamentary estate.

I wander through the abandoned rooms, looking out over the beautiful view of the Thames and the London Eye beyond. It has been a tough journey back to my old desk. Now I am to be deputy chief of staff to the Leader of the Opposition. We have persuaded Ed Llewellyn, another old colleague from the Conservative Research Department and former political advisor to Chris Patten and Paddy Ashdown, to return from Bosnia to be David’s chief of staff. Despite being only a few years older than me, Ed already has the air of an experienced public servant and brings a stamp of credibility and professionalism to the team. He is not one to throw his weight around (in any sense; he is a not a large man), having instead a quiet but firm authority and soft charm. Ed will sit in the desk opposite to me for the next eleven years. We are a team from day one.

I join David in his office. We have PMQs the next morning, and he needs to prepare.

— 3 —

THE CLUNKING FIST

We are, we realise, in a mess.

Gordon Brown is basking in a prolonged honeymoon, having replaced Tony Blair as prime minister a few months previously, whereas we have just gone through a series of disasters. There is talk of a snap election. Labour are ahead in the polls, so if this happens they are most likely to win. Things do not look promising. I feel we may be in danger of morphing into a one-party state, with Labour entrenched in power while we remain side-lined and in exile.