It was one of those dreadful predicaments, Charlie thought as he grabbed it and started to skim the contents. There was only so much money, to go only so far. When it came to people’s health, though, like so much of his new career, it was almost impossible to separate the emotional costs from the financial ones. How could you explain to the family of a seriously ill child that the drug that might save or prolong their life was too expensive to be funded? How could you look someone in the eye and basically admit that their child’s life wasn’t worth saving? But the sad truth was that decisions had to be made: close the maternity wing of the hospital or fund a lifesaving drug for ten cancer patients; advance research into dementia or take the same money and fund a campaign to mitigate obesity? These decisions were heartbreaking, but ultimately the government was at the behest of the drug companies, who had their own research and interests to fund. These questions had dogged and fascinated Charlie for a long time, as the child of two practising GPs, and now he was actually part of the legislature, he desperately wanted to find the answers. The problem was, as with all things political, answers were often more difficult to give than the questions were to ask.

Lost in his musings, his heart thumped when his phone bleeped. With a slightly shaky hand, he swiped the screen.

Not sure I owe you THAT much! Can you promise a roll of gaffer tape if I need it to keep my subversive opinions to myself? X

Charlie grinned, and swiftly texted back.

Is that a yes? X

The response came back quicker than he’d thought it would.

Only because it’s you. I wouldn’t have said yes to Hugo. X

Letting out a sigh of relief, Charlie texted back a quick thank you, and then dropped in that the event was, naturally, black tie. Having imparted that information, he was relieved that Holly didn’t reply back with a snarky response. Judging by her current look, she may well have an ideological disagreement with the dress code as well as the event. Then he chided himself for thinking that way. What did it matter what she wore? This was the twenty-first century, and these dinners were a complete anachronism anyway. She could rock up wearing a hemp overcoat, Doc Martens and a tutu and he wouldn’t care. And, living in Willowbury as she did, he had to be prepared for the possibility that she might. The important thing was, she’d said yes.

Oh God. She’d said yes!