Bercow called me a stupid woman and screamed in my face

... and that was ta me compared to many of the Speaker’s spittle-flecked tirades, as ANDREA LEADSOM recalls in her score-settling new memoir

suing my own campaign. So after the no confidence vote, I told her that if she decided to stand down, I’d be entering the contest to replace her. At the time, it felt wrong to tell any other MPs about my plans, but other would-be candidates were less circumspect. They were already courting potential supporters, which meant I lost the chance to secure a number of votes.

The beginning of the end for Theresa came in July 2018, when she called Cabinet at Chequers to approve her EU withdrawal agreement. A group of Cabinet members, including Boris Johnson and David Davis, met the night before. All agreed that while it wasn’t the Brexit we wanted, it was still Brexit, so we would support the PM.

Just a few days later, Davis resigned from the Cabinet. Then Johnson. With hindsight, these departures can be seen as the moment when the desire of some Brexiteers to see Brexit done became an ambition to destabilise the Government to get rid of Theresa and do it themselves.

Despite enormous pressure from other Brexiteers to resign, I remained loyal to Theresa. It was a period of great tension and hostility, when previous friends and good colleagues threw around some pretty spiteful and personal remarks. Loyalties and friendships are so difficult where political priorities are involved.

In the end, the withdrawal agreement came to nothing when the Commons voted in March 2019 to extend our membership of the EU. It was a terrible day for democracy.

Two months later, members of the Cabinet were each given two hours in Downing Street to read through the latest version of the agreement. And that ended up being the final straw for me.

Buried away in the voluminous document was a clause effectively stating that if the House voted for a second referendum, then the Government would bring forward the necessary legislation to facilitate it. This was totally unacceptable.

As our largely Remain Parliament would almost certainly vote for a second referendum, this clause meant that, in my opinion, it was certain to happen. And that could mean the end of Brexit.

What had been the point of the past two years if we were going to give up now? I knew I’d have to resign. When I phoned Theresa to explain why, she said: ‘Let me go away and talk to others about this.’ This seemed astonishing. Surely she must be aware of the impact of the clause!

In a sense, my departure was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Two days later, the PM announced she was stepping down.

I think history will be kinder to Theresa than her colleagues and the media were at the time. By the end, she was exhausted – as we all were. Exhausted by the rage from MPs, from our constituents, from everyone, Leave and Remain, who thought they were being betrayed.

I admired her determination to do the job properly in the face of a truly impossible situation in Parliament. At all times she was willing to talk: to her Cabinet, to the (hard Brexit) European Research Group, to the DUP, to the Leader of the Opposition, Brussels – anyone, if it would help her find a way through.

Her failure was never about a lack of commitment. Indeed, it was her careful, methodical work and patient willingness to negotiate that achieved 75 per cent of the Brexit deal which meant that when Boris Johnson became PM, he was able to walk in, restructure certain key elements and get Brexit done.

As for me, I’d started reaching out openly to colleagues just a few weeks before my resignation, but it was too late. I was entering what was already a crowded race, with most potential supporters already aligned to other candidates.

Even people who’d been urging me for months to stand were no longer interested. There was lots of ‘Sorry, I’ve already pledged to support Jeremy’, or ‘Saj is an old friend’, or ‘I’ve already committed to Gove’, or, most often, ‘Boris is the only one who can deliver Brexit’.

This was, of course, painful on a personal level. These were MPs I considered to be allies, friends even. A number never returned my calls and texts, including several Cabinet colleagues with whom I thought I had a good relationship.

Again, the lesson of politics at the highest level is that it overrides normal friendships and loyalties. Another is that there are few second chances, particularly when it comes to a tilt at the top job.

Politics at the highest level overrides friendship and loyalties

ON JULY 24, 2019, Boris Johnson became Prime Minister. Soon afterwards, he made me Business Secretary – a role that brought me into contact with his chief adviser, Dominic Cummings.

I didn’t take to him. There were

certain policy issues on which he had strong views, and a number of these fell under my remit, including executive pay, science funding and space technology. Yet he’d go directly to the Civil Service teams, instructing them to do what he wanted.

In my experience, Dom’s approach was to bully, not to lead. And I can’t stand bullying.

So I’d ask my officials not to respond to his aggressive demands, assuring them: ‘I’ll speak to him.’ And that set us up for a number of confrontations.

In private, I thought of Dom as a bit like the Eye of Sauron from Lord of the Rings: if his gaze fell on your particular policy area, it was in trouble. One conflict, for example, was over his desire to create a research agency providing billions of pounds for scientific projects. There was just one problem: Dom wanted to set up this new fund without any checks and balances.

I could see, of course, that ‘no strings’ would be a superb way to free brilliant scientists and inventors to create new ideas. But value for taxpayers’ money is at the heart of all government expenditure, so I insisted on a proper audit trail. This became a sore point with Dom, who was becoming a feared figure in Whitehall, open in his apparent contempt for elected MPs.

At the same time, I was falling out of favour with the Head of No10 Communications, Lee Cain, who’d once been my own special adviser. It soon became apparent that being in No10, his dream job, gave Lee a powerful stick – and he wasted no time in wielding it.

One day, I was due to deliver a market-sensitive statement to the Commons at 5pm about the foreign takeover of a defence company. I’d informed Downing Street and got the go-ahead. Then, at 4.50pm Lee called to say: ‘You have to pull the announcement.’

I told him this was impossible: a couple of defence journalists had already been briefed to expect an announcement, and any delay could have an impact on the share price. Lee’s response was furious – he ordered me to stop the announcement, then hung up on me. Pretty much from then on, my relations with Lee and Dom were poor. As someone in the know confided to me afterwards, they both told Boris: ‘You have to get rid of Leadsom.’

Having upset this powerful duo, I probably should have realised that my days in Government were numbered.

The end came on reshuffle day in February 2020, when I was called to the Prime Minister’s Commons office (never a good sign). Boris came straight to the point: ‘You’ve been in Government for a long time, and you’ve had a really good innings, and now I would like you to take a step back for a while.’

For me, there was no choice but to take this crushing blow on the chin. Yet to this day, it still feels extraordinary that I was sent to the back benches at a time I was making fast and positive progress in many areas.

Politics, of course, is a giant game of snakes and ladders, and it was my turn to tumble back down to the bottom of the board. It was a horribly public and painful experience.

Ironically, only a few months later, it was Dom’s and then Lee’s turn to slide down that snake, and both left No 10 under a cloud.

Before I left Boris’s office, there was one thing I wanted as my price for stepping down with good grace. I asked Boris to make me his special adviser on early years – to let me pursue my passion for ensuring every baby gets the best start. ‘Yes, you can definitely do that,’ he said.

Nearly a month later, nothing had happened. That’s when I decided I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

As a departing Cabinet Minister, I was due to give a personal statement shortly to the Commons. Yes, that would do nicely.

I approached the Chief Whip. ‘Look, just to warn you,’ I told him, ‘I’ve written two versions of my personal statement. One is light-hearted. The other points out: “I was promised I could take forward my early-years agenda. Several weeks on, why has nothing happened?” ’

I later discovered that the Chief Whip had informed Boris I’d be making my personal statement that day. ‘You may not like what she has to say. She’s saying she isn’t getting anywhere with the promise she could be your earlyyears adviser.’

At which Boris apparently leapt to his feet, saying he’d made me a promise and it had to be fulfilled.

Sure enough, later that morning I received a phone call from Matt Hancock, the Health Secretary, saying: ‘It’s fantastic you’re going to be doing this early-years development review. How can I help?’

With that sorted, I was delighted to give a light-hearted personal statement, instead of the rebuke I’d been fully prepared to give.

Since July 2020, I’ve been the Government’s early-years healthy development adviser This work has been the greatest privilege of my career. It’s only after tumbling down a snake that you find your way to the next ladder. Who knows where the next roll of the dice will take me?

Dominic Cummings’s approach was to bully, not lead

Adapted from Snakes And Ladders, by Andrea Leadsom, published by Biteback on Tuesday at £20. To order a copy for £18, go to mailshop.co.uk/ books or call 020 3176 2937 before July 23. Free UK p&p on orders over £20.