In early March 2003, on the eve of the Iraq war, I overheard a crackly transatlantic phone call as George Bush spoke to Tony Blair. The US president told the prime minister he was ready to “kick ass”. Blair laughed nervously, and talked of his “epitaph”. Bush urged the junior partner to have cojones – balls.

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I wrote some of this conversation into a play called Loyalty. At that time my partner – now husband – Jonathan Powell had been the prime minister’s chief of staff. The play, which was staged in London in 2011, was partly about how the main players had behaved towards each other and what I’d heard them say. Some suggested it was itself disloyal to have revealed such things.

But John Chilcot, chairman of the Iraq inquiry, whose report is published this week, didn’t think so. Chilcot came to the play with his officials and took notes. Perhaps, like me, he thought that character, dialogue, gestures, and all the elements of human behaviour that interest a dramatist are also vital for the chairman of an inquiry to take into account when reporting on how leaders take disastrous decisions.

Living with the man who lived with the prime minister, I got to know the character of Blair, by osmosis mostly. The phones never stopped, so I was always earwigging on the answers to the questions the PM asked, learning what worried him; what mattered, at all hours of day and night; whom he trusted; which courtier was “in”, which “out”, and why.

As war got closer, new characters walked on to the set, including Richard Dearlove, head of MI6, portrayed exquisitely in my play by Michael Simkins, as a bully of a man, who relished his private face-time with Blair, a chance to tell the prime minister what the prime minister wanted to hear – the weapons of mass destruction secrets, “the crown jewels”.

The drama would not have been complete, however, without the character of George Bush and his special relationship with Blair, and that kick-ass phonecall I overheard.

It was about 10pm London time. Young children were in the bath. We had builders downstairs, so Jonathan had to set up his antiquated secure phone – the “Brent” – kneeling on the bedroom floor. It was impossible not to overhear. In any case, I wanted to give Blair support. He was about to try to persuade Bush to do the decent thing, and wait for a second UN resolution.

There was by now no doubt that Bush was going to war. All opponents – including me – were in despair. But if Blair could persuade Bush to delay the invasion until a second UN resolution had been agreed, something might yet be salvaged: the war would at least start on a solid basis of world support, with more time for planning. For Blair, a second resolution was also crucially important if he was to win the support of the British parliament in a vote the following week.

The following is what I noted down, and which became one of the play scripts, The Brent Jumps.

An American military voice: Mr Prime Minister. We have the president of the United States for you.

Long pause. Time lag. Bush seems very far away. Blair very close. Almost in the bedroom.

George Bush: Hello, hello.

Blair: Hi, how are you?

Bush: I’m fine. Fine. But, hey, most important, how are yooou … You’re being so courageous. Really, really brave. Your body language. Truly. I watched you on TV. Terrific. Real leadership will be remembered. Believe me.

Blair: Yeah, well. It’s hard sometimes. Believe me. But you’re doing pretty well yourself.

Bush: What me? I’m just ready to kick ass.

Blair laughs nervously.

After more mutual admiration – particularly of each other’s “body language” – Blair tries to make his move, raising the question of the French. Jacques Chirac, the French president, is causing trouble, opposing the second resolution, he says.

Bush: Yeah, but what did the French ever do for anyone? What wars did they win since the French revolution?

Blair: Yeah, right. Right.

More bad jokes about the French. Then the prime minister tries again.

Blair: So, er … where do we go from here?

Bush: I’d like to do the second resolution Friday. We need to move to closure … call in the chips with Chile, the Mexicans … close it down.

Pause. Sound of breathing.

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Blair: Yeah. Well, er, let me explain how we see it … I want to take the Europeans with me so Friday might be a little early …

Long silence. Talking in the background of the Oval office. A moment later I overhear Bush take up the phone again and suddenly switch subject, talking of Vladimir Putin. Both men then sneer at Hans Blix, the UN weapons inspector who had not found any evidence of weapons of mass destruction. Bush calls Blix “that no-count”, and then speaks of new intelligence about WMD that Saddam is about to “offload”.

Bush: And you know what. We could put a bug in on this and make sure Chirac gets to hear it. That you show him … And when that son of a bitch hits Europe, they’ll be saying, “Where were George and Tony?”

Laughter. Back in the bedroom we are both silently willing Blair to try again. He takes a new tack.

Blair: We’ve got to make people understand we are not going to war because we want to but because there is no alternative.

Bush: Yeah. I’ve got a big speech coming up tomorrow so I will put some words in on that … But I have to do something about my body language. But your body language is great. How do you do it?

Blair: Yeah.

It is evident by now that Blair’s attempt to get through to Bush on the timing of the new resolution, and hence the war, has failed. He knows it.

But before he hangs up, Bush feels a need – once again – to bolster Blair.

Bush: But you know, Tony, the American people will never forget what you are doing. And people say to me, you know, is Prime Minister Blair really with you all the way? Do you have faith in him? And I say yes, because I recognise leadership when I see it. And true courage. He won’t let us down.

At this Blair laughs again, seeming unsure how to respond.

Blair: Well, it might be my epitaph.

Bush [laughing]: Like … RIP here lies a man of courage, you mean?

Blair [nervously]: Yeah, right.

Blair then makes a final plea to Bush, this time for “words” on Israeli-Palestinian peace, which he always hoped would be a pay-off of the war, but Bush is impatient to go now. With that image of Blair’s epitaph hanging in the air, the call comes to an end.

Bush: I have got to hop off to Texas. But hang on in there. And – cojones.

In the silence after the line went dead I pictured Blair, sitting in No 10, possibly alone, contemplating his own epitaph. Whether it was simply that he expected now to lose the Commons vote as he had won no commitment on a second UN resolution, or whether at this 11th hour, in conversation with a man who wanted only to talk of “body language,” he foresaw the disaster of the war he was entering into, we don’t know.

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But I have no doubt that elements of this dialogue – along with so many other exchanges not overheard – provide essential insights into character and how it was that Blair joined this country to Bush’s Iraq war.

I was opposed from the start for the same reasons as so many others in Britain were, but I had my own reasons too – having experienced things so close up. For one thing, I sensed very strongly Blair’s astonishing self-belief as the ground was being laid. This self-belief was evident in the way he and his aides ruthlessly dismissed all opposing voices, even the voice of the “no-count” Blix. Overconfidence led Blair to believe he could influence Bush to wait for UN backing and win the ensuing “peace”.

The “kick-ass” dialogue provides, I think, some evidence of this self-belief, but also that at the last minute Blair was perhaps beginning to realise where it was leading – to his political demise.

It seems to me important for Chilcot to address the question of character in his report. Perhaps he will. After the play, he approached me in the bar of the Hampstead Theatre and even asked me if I took shorthand. More likely, however, Chilcot will stick to the sanitised bureaucracy of minutes and files from which the question of character is always entirely excised.

If Chilcot does refer to the kick-ass call he would have some evidence at least to conclude that Blair went along with Bush because, despite premonitions of disaster, he lacked the “cojones” to say no.