The secret diary of ... Darren Hughes

OPINION: In this week's  May Contain Facts,  Stephen Braunias presents the diary of Darren Hughes.

Monday:
"I've done nothing wrong," I said.

"Sounds fair to me," said Phil. "OK, people, let's talk policy. Has anyone got one?"

Jacinda put her hand up to speak, but just then the door to the caucus room was kicked down by two policemen. They said they wanted to come over to my house and take away some things.

"Sounds reasonable to me," said Phil.

"You go with them, Darren, and catch up with us later."

But after the police left, I went back into my bedroom, closed the curtains, and sat in the corner with my head in my hands until I heard Annette come home.

I washed my face in the bathroom, and heard her saying: "I'm really going to turn the heat up on you!"

I found her bustling about in the kitchen with some pork chops.

She was talking to herself.

"It keeps me company," she once told me. I know the feeling. One of the facts of political life is loneliness.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," she said.

"You OK?"

I took off the top of a bottle of whiskey and poured it down my throat until it burned.

"Yep," I gasped.

Tuesday:
He said, "Has word got out?"

"No," I said.

"Then the thing to do is act as though nothing happened."

"My thoughts exactly."

"So what did happen?"

"Another round?"

"One for the road."

The beers arrived. I sculled my pint, and said, "I've got integrity."

"Of course you do."

"Remember last year, during the expenses scandal? All they found out about me is I'd once run up a $7 minibar charge for pistachios – but cos I didn't eat them, I questioned the bill, and was reimbursed!"

"I remember the expenses scandal."

"Oh, right," I said. "But you survived the fall-out from that."

"Kind of. I'm still here."

"And I'm not going anywhere."

"You might just be right about that," he said. "Anyway. I'd better run."

"Bye, Shane."

Wednesday:
Word got out. Issued a statement. Closed the curtains.

Ran the whole thing through my head for the millionth time. It was one of those nights when Wellington glows like a jewel.

Drinks and laughter at the Matterhorn, more drinks and laughter at the Establishment; catching a taxi home at 2am, keeping our voices low in my room.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"I'm 18," he said. "You?"

I guess he doesn't remember it's my birthday next Sunday.

Thursday:
Googled myself. Expected the worst. It was worse than I expected. "Gay sex scandalin ruinsfinished", etc. But then I read an amazing headline: DARREN HUGHES WILL MAKE "RAPID RECOVERY".

I thought: Helen. I felt as though my heart was going to burst through my chest. And then I clicked on it, and read, "Monaghan boss Eamon McEneaney last night allayed fears over the seriousness of the injury sustained by captain Darren Hughes in yesterday's league defeat by Dublin."

Friday:
Crept into my office after dark with a cardboard box. Was creeping out again when I noticed a sheet of paper taped to Annette's door. She'd written something on it. All the lights were out in the corridor – it's Labour's energy policy – so I had to step closer to see what it was.

She'd written: FLATMATE WANTED.

» Stephen Braunias is an award-winning writer, author of four books.

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