“This, too, shall pass”

It was 4.32 am on Friday 24 June 2016 when Southampton had just declared for Leave. Although there were a few more counties to go, the result was now apparent. The Prime Minister looked out through the bright glass window of his office, only to find the street behind 10 Downing Street busier than usual. Unlike an average day, when only a few joggers were in sight, the street was occupied with people and vehicles rushing toward the City of London for a work day that many would remember vividly.

Edward Llewellyn, the Downing Street Chief of Staff, presented himself at the door as Cameron made himself some tea.

“Did you call for me, Prime Minister?” Edward spoke soothingly while he carefully observed the well-concealed grief on Cameron’s face.

“Ed, can you get Boris on the line for me, please?” said Cameron. He threw the tea bag into the bin while trying to organise his thoughts before speaking to Boris.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do it right away.” As Edward was about to turn away, he briefly paused and looked at Cameron. “Prime Minister, does it mean you will...?”

Cameron looked Edward in the eyes and answered before he could finish. “Yes, Ed. The people have voted for the unthinkable. The least I can do now is depart imminently so our party can unite and sort out this turbulence.”

The silence in the room was briefly dressed in a veil of dejection before Edward rushed along the hallway toward the secretary’s office.

It was now 4.41 am when the BBC unofficially called it as a victory for Leave.

“Prime Minister, unfortunately Boris could not be reached.” Edward stood anxiously at the door. “And we have Mr Osborne on the line for you, Sir.”

Cameron picked up his phone hesitantly. “George. I am sorry.”

“Likewise, David. I think we, as a party, will have a lot of work ahead of us,” said Osborne.

“I tried Boris but couldn’t reach him. As much anger as I now hold against him, I am worried about what will happen next.” Cameron hesitated. “And I’m going to resign.”

“I know. Ed has filled me in. I am sorry it has come to this. Your resignation is the right call for unity, the party knows that, and I know that.” Osborne muttered. “In fact, you must resign, without triggering Article 50 of course. Just as much as Boris wanted your seat, that move is the last thing he would desire.”

“How so?” Cameron squinted momentarily as he saw Theresa May on his other phone line. Edward had put her on hold.

“If Boris campaigns for the leadership and then fails to trigger Article 50, his political career is finished. If he does not run and abandons the race, his political career is also finished. If he runs, wins and pulls the UK out of the EU, then it will all be game over. There will be no United Kingdom. There will be calls for a second independence referendum in Scotland, which they will win after this result. There will be upheaval and riots in Northern Ireland. There will also be a subsequent recession. Then his political career will indeed be finished.”

Cameron opened the window slightly for some fresh air, only to hear the chattering and rising noise of the press gathering outside. “I know, George. The man never believed in Brexit in the first place, nor did he think it would happen. That is why I am worried about how he will handle the country’s future from here on.” He took a breath of the fresh morning air and asked, “And George, are you sure you’re not running for Prime Minister?”

“I won’t. The last thing the country needs now is further turmoil. The markets will need reassurance, and I would be the face to ease the volatility. Speaking of markets, excuse me, David. I have Carney on my other line. I’ll have to call you back.” Osborne spoke in a hurry.

“What a day. No worries, George. Good luck.” Cameron hung up on Osborne and picked up May, who had been on hold.

“Theresa, good morning. What can I do for you?” asked Cameron.

“David, I am sorry we are in this situation. I am going to stand for the PM role if you resign. I am calling to seek your support so I can unite the party. I am a Remainer like yourself, but this is no longer about personal belief. The future of the UK is on the line now, and it needs a leader who is better than Boris,” said May.

“Theresa, I know you are capable. I would trust the future of the country in your hands more than Boris’s. That is true. But we have had differences and fall-outs in the past, so I would not be able to support you publicly. It would be too forced and look like retaliation against Boris.”

“I am honoured that you trust in my ability. I also understand what you are saying,” May replied firmly. “I can only ask that you stress immigration as an issue in Brussels on Monday, because immigration has always been my strength to win votes within the party. My allies have been whipping support among the Remainers and your supporters. As long as you remain neutral and do not act against me, I will be able to gather them.”

“Theresa, I need to write my resignation speech before thinking about Brussels. But I will take that into consideration. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to write the speech for the press appearance in five hours.”

“Absolutely, Prime Minister.” Theresa spoke with a rare display of emotion. “You have done a great job. We pay our respect to you with or without Brexit.”

“Don’t let me down, Theresa, please. Take care and goodbye.” Cameron hung up on May as Edward appeared at his door with the schedule for cabinet meetings and media appearances in the morning.

Meanwhile, at Boris Johnson’s residence, the man was caught in confusion over what had unexpectedly happened.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Boris to Michael Gove on the phone.

“Me neither, Boris. We did not think this would happen. Our mistake is that the voters are apparently less sophisticated than we thought. Now it is going to be a pain to sort this mess out.” Gove sighed.

Boris muttered, “My phone has been ringing non-stop with calls from party members, the press and even Cameron himself. We need a strategy, quickly.”

“Calm down, mate. What we must do now is ensure that neither of us becomes Prime Minister. That would be political suicide from every angle. It is better to wait for the dust to settle and criticise whoever ends up cleaning up this mess.” Gove sat at the breakfast table while his wife Sarah made some food and edited a Brexit story for her newspaper column.

“How can we do that, Michael? We are the face of the Leave campaign. I am not sure how we can shy away from responsibility now.” Boris spoke in anxiety.

“Don’t worry, Boris. I have this. We need a careful set-up, and it will require a bit of your acting. In simple terms, you cannot run if I withdraw my support for you. So we will stage it. If I denounce you, you will have an excuse when you tell the press you are not running. And I will run myself, because there is no way I will win with May in full force. It is important that you come out supporting other candidates, but not me, and maybe not May either because then you cannot later criticise her policies. After all this, we will both be safe.”

Boris sighed. “That plan is really risky, Michael. It is easy to read through this narrative. I will look like a coward.”

“If you think it does not sound persuasive enough, I can get Sarah to create some fake evidence before I denounce you. She can leak some emails saying that I am not confident in your ability or something like that.” Gove suggested.

“My head is not clear enough to think. But I trust your judgement, Michael. We shouldn’t speak again until you announce your run, in case people get suspicious of this set-up.” Boris muttered.

“Alright, my friend. It will be alright. Take care then.” Gove hung up and turned to his wife. “Could you pass me the bread, please? And did you hear what we discussed?”

“Yes,” said Sarah.

It had been a long night for Andrea Leadsom. She had been making calls to key people in her constituency, South Northamptonshire, congratulating them on their Brexit vote wins and trying to gather their support should she run for Prime Minister. As her last call finished, she saw that Farage had been patiently waiting on hold.

“Yes Nigel, how can I help?” Leadsom picked up the phone while emailing her secretary to arrange a call with Boris.

“I hope you are as pleased with the news as I am, Andrea. Anyway, I am calling to make a deal to improve your chances for the Prime Minister post.”

“What could you offer?” Leadsom stopped what she was doing and asked curiously.

“I can ensure all the UKIP-inclined Tory MPs will vote for you. Plus, I will resign and vouch for your policy of triggering Article 50 immediately,” Farage spoke in an unusually enthusiastic voice for a man who would soon resign from his party.

Rather confused, Leadsom asked, “Why would you do that? What is the catch?”

“I want to lead your Brexit negotiation team if you win. There is no use in me leading a party that cannot negotiate Brexit on behalf of the UK. Labour is in a mess now, so only the Tories can put me forward. I must resign for that to happen.” Farage explained.

“I’ll think about it.” Leadsom paused. “None of what we discussed can reach the press.”

“Absolutely, Andrea. Although I would remind you that you need me more than I need you right now. May has the majority by far. You will need every vote you can get.” Farage laughed.

“Have you been up all night, Theresa?” asked Philip, May’s husband, as he appeared at the door of her study with some coffee he had made for her.

“Yes. I have been making calls. It is not good that I am a Remainer. Now I need to work much harder to gather votes from the Leavers without being called a hypocrite.” May sighed.

“I can tell you a story from King Solomon’s parable.” Philip settled into the armchair next to her desk. “The powerful and wealthy King Solomon chose to test one of his most loyal ministers by asking him an impossible task. The king asked the minister to find a ring that had a magic power. If a happy man looked at it, he would become sad, and if a sad man looked at it, he would become happy. Solomon told the minister to find such a ring within six months.”

“What are you trying to say?” May asked impatiently, well aware of several emails from the press arriving in her inbox as Gove had just announced his run.

“Bear with me, dear. At the end of the six months, the minister returned just in time to give the king the ring. When the king looked at the engraving, he read four words: This too shall pass. At that moment, Solomon realised that his feelings, wisdom, wealth and power were fleeting things, because one day he would be nothing but dust.” said Philip.

He smiled. “So Theresa. This too shall pass.”