Theresa May in denial after her Salzburg ordeal

If it hadn’t all been so numbingly inevitable, it might have been possible to feel sorry for Theresa May. Back in the UK, both remainers and leavers had pronounced her Chequers’ proposals to be dead in the water, but the prime minister had still travelled to the informal EU summit in Salzburg hoping for a stay of execution. A few luke-warm words and some insincere air kisses at the very least, until after she had survived the Conservative party conference. Her current range of vision really is that limited.

Instead she got a lesson in plain-speaking brutality. No attempts to sugar the pill, as EU leader after leader took it in turns to dismiss Chequers and to mock the UK over its lack of progress in its Brexit preparations. Even the Dutch thought they were better prepared for a no-deal Brexit than us. It was left to Donald Tusk, president of the EU council, to deliver the coup de grace. The Chequers’ deal was unworkable because it undermined the integrity of the single market. And, by the way, its solution to the Northern Ireland border was just fantasy.

Moments after being given the bad news in person, May had to face the UK media. The room in which the press conference was held was small and airless, but the prime minister was already sweaty when she walked in. More than that, she looked angry and terrified. Alone and out of her depth, her eyes darting across the room, searching for one friendly face. There wasn’t one. There hadn’t been one in the two days she had been in Austria.

May did what she always does when she’s up against it. She went into denial. Stick her fingers in her ears and pretend absolutely nothing had happened. Nothing had changed. She began by highlighting the important work on people trafficking and national security that had been discussed before – almost as an afterthought – getting round to Brexit. Ah yes, Brexit. “Our white paper remains the only serious, credible proposal,” she said nervily. “And I am confident we shall reach a deal.” Nothing really had changed. Madness.

There were a few seconds of silence as everyone took this in. It almost felt intrusive to observe the prime minister visibly falling apart. A public humiliation on the epic scale of both her refusal to accept the reversal of the dementia tax during the general election campaign and her car-crash leader’s speech at last year’s Tory party conference. Then May composed herself as best she could and invited the kicking she knew was coming her way. Bring it on. Everyone else had had a go so she might as well let the media have theirs. The martyrdom of St Theresa.

Her head swivelled back and forth frantically several times as she tried to pick out Laura Kuenssberg. She just couldn’t get her eyes to focus. Eventually, May spotted the BBC’s political editor, sitting where she had been all along, in the front row just a couple of feet from where she was standing. As the inevitable questions came, challenging her version of reality, the prime minister couldn’t help but disconnect and go full Maybot. She wasn’t there, no one was there. All she had to do was to hang on for the next 10 minutes and the ordeal would be over.

“I’m negotiating hard to give the British people what they voted for,” she said mindlessly, playing for time. Except she wasn’t. Almost no one had voted for the level of helplessness that was all she apparently had to offer. If the EU did have concerns, she continued, reluctantly admitting that – just possibly – there were objections to her Chequers plan, then she wanted to sit down and hear them. The last 24 hours were now a total blank. She had completely forgotten she had spent them sitting down listening to the EU’s concerns.

The digging became ever more fevered as her facial expressions became more contorted. Too much more of this and she would have become a dead ringer for Munch’s The Scream. She did have a counter proposal but everyone would have to wait until she had thought of what it was. In any case, the EU were really just kidding – they did like to have their little European jokes – and would come round and see sense in the end. Just wait and see.

As quickly as decently possible, May made her excuses and left, keeping her head down, fearful that she might burst into tears if she made eye contact with anyone. If the shame didn’t get her, then the pity would. She had been laid bare. The naked prime minister. Sans eyes, sans teeth, sans everything.