The Forgotten One

THE FORGOTTEN ONE

In June 2012 British Prime Minister, David Cameron, left his eight year old daughter at a pub by accident. He and his wife Samantha had left in different cars and each had assumed that the girl was with the other. At a writer’s course I attended we were asked to write a short play relating to the event. This is mine.

Scene. David Cameron’s personal study in Chequers. David Cameron is sitting at his desk. Emily Thompson, a young PR executive is sitting in an upright chair in front of him.

EMILY. How is everything sir?

DAVID. Everything! It’s all shit. I left my daughter down the pub for heaven’s sake. I’m going to be sliced and diced.

EMILY. I meant your daughter and your wife sir. How are they?

DAVID. Oh. Well Nancy seems fine. The people in the pub looked after her. Samantha – she’s still on the ceiling, but she’ll come down. She blames me. I don’t know why. I’m the Prime Minister for God’s sake. I’ve got more important things to think about. Who are you anyway?

EMILY. I’m Emily, the duty advisor, sir.

DAVID. The duty advisor! Where’s Craig?

EMILY. All your senior people are flying back from Washington sir. They don’t land until seven o’clock.

DAVID. Oh God. We’ve got a bloody crisis on our hands and all I’ve got is you.

EMILY. I think we’d get on a bit better if you’d calm down sir.

DAVID. Calm down! What do you mean – calm down? I’m perfectly calm. Why don’t you get on the phone to Rebekah and get them to release something.

EMILY. With the greatest respect sir, you’re due to appear before Levenson next week. Any contact with News International today would be inadvisable.

DAVID. Inadvisable… yes I suppose so.

EMILY. Look sir, we have a little time in hand. It’s lunchtime on Sunday. One half of the country is down the pub getting out of their brains, and the other half in in their driveway cleaning their cars, or slaving over a hot stove. We’ve got a couple of hours to work this thing through.

DAVID. Quite. We’ve got to get it under control before it runs away from us.

EMILY. At the moment only we, and the landlord of the Plough have the details. The first media event we should be thinking about is the six o’clock news on the BBC.

DAVID. Do you have any contacts in the Beeb?

EMILY. Of course sir, that’s what you’re paying me for.

DAVID. OK, let’s work though it. Maybe I didn’t leave Nancy at the pub at all. We got out to the car, I saw she was missing and went back and got her.

EMILY. You’re suggesting we lie, sir?

DAVID. Well yes…being economical with the truth, I’d call it.

EMILY. That would get us through today, but by tomorrow some-one would find out what the real story was. You can rest assured that there’ll be some freelance sniffing around as soon as we go public. They’ll be looking for something they can sell and the PM lying would be worth a few thou. I mean, how many staff were there at the Plough?

DAVID. I don’t know. I saw the landlord, and his wife I think.

EMILY. It’s a big place. There must have been waiting staff, kitchen workers. Another four or five people at least. Some or all of them must have seen your daughter standing there looking lost.

DAVID. Yes, but why do you ask? Are you suggesting we pay them off or something?

EMILY. No sir. I’m just putting to bed any thought we might have of not telling the truth. Obviously we wouldn’t dream of trying to pay anybody off, in any way. Any sort of reward for looking after Nancy could be construed as an attempt to buy loyalty in some way, so we should keep away from anything like that. No gifts, no rewards, no nothing.

DAVID. So what do we do? Just come out and say I drove away and left my eight year old daughter by the side of the road.

EMILY. Is that what you did sir?

DAVID. No of course not. We got up from our table and went to the car. She wasn’t with me, and so I thought she was with Samantha.

EMILY. And where was she sir?

DAVID. I don’t appreciate being interrogated in this way.

EMILY. I’m just trying to avoid any confusion sir. It was just an unfortunate accident. So if we have a clear view of what actually happened, it will be easier for us to talk to others about it, should that become necessary.

DAVID. Yes, I suppose so. She’d gone to the lavatory.

EMILY. So there we are. She went to the lavatory, and at that time you all chose to go to your cars, and you and your wife travelled in different vehicles. I’m presuming that this requirement is as a result of you needing to travel with your security detail. Since Nancy was not with you it was absolutely understandable that you should think she was with your wife.

DAVID. So what’s the story?

EMILY. Perhaps we could say that as soon as they realized that Nancy was alone, the landlord and his wife took her under their wing. She was being looked after by the responsible British landlord of the Plough. She could have been happily helping out with their work. Clearing tables or something. Confident that you would soon return for her.

DAVID. Yes, I see what you mean. Maybe the landlord could be an Indian. It would help with our promotion of ethnic diversity.

EMILY. Is he an Indian sir?

DAVID. No.

EMILY. We need to keep everything we put into the public domain capable of being confirmed by anyone who might ask questions. So let’s keep to the facts. How long after you got home did you realize that Nancy was not with you.?

DAVID. Oh, straight away. As soon as we got out of the cars.

EMILY. And what did you do next?

DAVID. We phoned the pub to make sure she was alright.

EMILY. Did you personally phone the pub sir?

DAVID. Actually it was one of my security detail.

EMILY. Ok, that’s not ideal. But who went back to get her?

DAVID. I did, of course.

EMILY. That’s excellent. So let’s stick to the facts. You go and look after your wife, and I’ll put something together. Maybe we could meet here again in forty-five minutes.

DAVID. Yes, Okay and … er… thanks.

CURTAIN.