LONDON — It would be the most shocking election result since, well, since Donald Trump captured the White House. Or Britain voted to leave the European Union. Or the Conservatives won their first outright majority in 23 years.

Could Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn really defy near-unanimous predictions of electoral doom and become prime minister?

As the polls tighten, and one survey suggests Labour could just squeak into power as the largest party in a minority administration, here's what might happen if Comrade Corbyn were, actually, to move into Downing Street.

Friday, June 9 — 3 a.m.

Sobell Leisure Centre, Islington

It’s official: Theresa May lost her big gamble. The early election she believed would result in a landslide for the Tories and the annihilation of Corbyn’s Labour Party ended in a hung parliament instead. At this point, most politicians would be barking instructions and making complex plans for the coalition talks to come. But Corbyn is not most politicians.

Mr. Zen knows he has a big week ahead of him. He is old enough and wise enough to eschew the manic excitement and panic now gripping the entire political class. Ignoring the camera crews camped outside his local leisure center in Islington, where he has just been reelected MP for the eighth time, he heads home to bed.

Meanwhile, back at Labour HQ, John McDonnell, his closest friend, shadow chancellor and principal adviser, is barking instructions and making complex plans for the coalition talks to come.

Friday, June 9 — 3 p.m.

East Finchley Allotment

With a sigh, Corbyn switches his phone into silent mode. It has been ringing all morning: Labour advisers seeking instructions, members of the media demanding answers, civil servants delivering dire lamentations — “The pound is down! Chancellor Merkel wants a word …” Every few minutes, McDonnell is on the line, keeping him up-to-date with the negotiations.

“I can’t believe you’re not watching the TV, Jeremy,” he says at one point. “May was actually in tears when she resigned.” He sounds happier than Corbyn has ever heard him.

Corbyn has retreated to his allotment to get away from the photographers outside his house. He finds peace among his potatoes and neat lines of corn. Besides, according to union rules, if you’re forced to work at the weekend, you’re owed a day off in lieu — and he hasn’t had a break since the campaign began.

Donald Trump took the whole of his first weekend off, and the right-wing press didn’t make a fuss over that. And unlike Trump, Corbyn is putting his time away from the fray to good use: He is brooding, planning, plotting.

Friday, June 9, — 11:30 p.m.

Jeremy Corbyn’s house, Islington

McDonnell bangs on the door, waking up Corbyn and his wife, Laura. Corbyn still hasn't switched his phone back on and so it is McDonnell, accompanied by chief adviser Seamus Milne, who breaks the news.

As the head of a minority government propped up by an unholy alliance of the Nationalists, Liberal Democrats and a Green MP, Prime Minister Corbyn will have “confidence and supply” — the ability to form a government and pass a budget — but not much more. The media camped out on the doorstep goes into a frenzy; the image of Corbyn opening the door, sleepy-eyed and dressing gown-clad, will grace every U.K. newspaper the following morning. He goes back into the house, as McDonnell happily begins to read a statement on his behalf.

Saturday, June 10 — 3 p.m.

Buckingham Palace

Queen Elizabeth is waiting. She has been for some time now, since returning overnight from Balmoral. For perhaps the only time since her first audience as Queen with Winston Churchill 65 years ago, she feels a little nervous.

Corbyn is just so … socialist. Could he really abolish her? An aide enters the room to report that the new prime minister is still “tied up in meetings.” She thinks about passing back a sharp message to the effect that until he kisses her hand, Corbyn won’t actually be prime minister at all, but decides against it.

Chancellor Merkel continues to wait. As does the queen.

To pass the time, she turns on the television. Diane Abbott is telling an interviewer that the queen can now understand what it was like for pensioners in doctors’ surgeries across the country, who grew used to long waits under the Tories.

Saturday, June 10 — 4 p.m.

Arsenal Football Club, Emirates Stadium, Highbury

The crowd is larger and louder than at Corbyn’s general election rallies and his two leadership campaigns. “Jez We Did! Jez We Did!” they cry. When the great man speaks from the temporary stage set up in front of Arsene Wenger’s dugout, he promises a fat legislative program for his first 100 days in office.

Cash will be poured into schools and hospitals, railways will be renationalized, energy companies taxed, banks curtailed and the rich squeezed until their pips squeak. A thousand flowers will bloom in the arts, and ethics will define Britain’s foreign policy.

As Corbyn bathes in the ardor of applause, a civil servant discreetly informs him it is time for his calls with foreign leaders; Nicolás Maduro of Venezuela and Cuba’s Raúl Castro are first on the list. Chancellor Merkel continues to wait. As does the queen.

Sunday, June 11 — 9 a.m.

BBC, Broadcasting House

Ken Livingstone, the new Brexit secretary, fidgets with his microphone as he prepares to face an inquisition from interviewer Andrew Marr. With Corbyn yet to speak to the media (other than a Q&A with the Islington Gazette largely focused on the closure of a local playgroup), it's now up to Livingstone to explain the extraordinary changes at the top of government.

For the first time in decades, trade union leaders and other non-parliamentarians are seated around the cabinet table, replacing moderate MPs who have been swiftly purged. Len McCluskey is business secretary; Tariq Ali goes in at education. Keir Starmer, the shadow Brexit secretary Livingstone has now replaced, is threatening to quit the party.

No matter. The ministries can be filled with all those unexpected new Labour MPs who owe their seats to Corbyn. Livingstone grins but refuses to concede that inexperience will make them more pliant. Asked to explain his attitude to Europe, he begins: “Well, Andrew, when Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia in 1939 …"

Monday, June 12 — 9 a.m.

Downing Street

Theresa and Philip May finally begin packing their bags. Until word came that Corbyn had actually gone through with the dirty deed of kissing the queen's hand, a part of her had believed she might yet find a way stay on as prime minister.

Corbyn has kindly phoned to tell her to take all the time she needs — he’ll be staying on at his home in Islington for the foreseeable future. May is touched by his consideration — for about 10 minutes — until switchboard puts through a second call, from Seamus Milne.

On reflection, Jeremy would be grateful if she could be gone by the end of the week. No. 10 is to become a People’s Palace, open to the public, shared by all. May gasps — won’t that be a security risk? She thinks back to the late-night briefings she received after Manchester and London Bridge, the pain in the eyes of the children and parents she met, and she shudders.

Tuesday, June 13 — 4 p.m.

Labour HQ, Victoria Street

As he has been for much of his time since taking office, Jeremy Corbyn is in a meeting.

It seems there are lots of meetings involved in being prime minister, even more than when he was leader of the opposition. He sips a Cup-A-Soup as Emily Thornberry and Diane Abbott argue in a desultory fashion. What are they even discussing? Every now and then an official dashes in: “The pound has dropped, prime minister;” “Your security briefing, prime minister;” “Chancellor Merkel would still like a word, prime minister …”

Every time this happens, Shami Chakrabarti flinches; Seamus Milne frowns. Corbyn has attended only one meeting, reluctantly, at No. 10, where he very politely told an anonymous-looking man with an inscrutable face that he wouldn’t be needing the nuclear codes.

Wednesday, June 14 — 12 p.m.

House of Commons

It is Corbyn’s first Prime Minister’s Questions since coming to office. As ever, the Chamber is packed. The Opposition benches appear particularly cramped, given the dynamics of the minority government. Facing Corbyn is interim Conservative leader Amber Rudd.

Despite their numbers, the Tories seem muted. The new Labour MPs are breathless with excitement, although many of the old timers have stayed away, sharpening the imbalance between the two sides.

“People of Britain: Things are going to be a little different from now on …”

Like the pawns’ move in a game of chess, the opening gambits are familiar. The new prime minister discloses his day, listing meetings with ministerial colleagues and others. But as Rudd lobs him a nasty little question about the deficit, he responds by chucking her queen out of the window: “You know what Amber, I’ve always thought of these sessions as utterly futile. I’m abolishing them.”

And with that, he goes off for a cup of tea in Portcullis House.

Thursday, June 15 — 6 p.m.

College Green, Westminster

Laura Kuenssberg shifts on her feet. It is a week since polling day, and Corbyn has finally agreed to give his first broadcast interview, to the BBC. But he is late, very late, and now Seamus Milne is telling the BBC’s political editor they must take the interview live or not at all.

Behind Milne, the crowds of well-wishers that have followed Corbyn around all week cast evil eyes at Kuenssberg, even though she is readily agreeing to the request. Corbyn arrives, and as the interview begins, he ignores her greeting, cutting her off as she prepares to ask her first question.

Staring down the barrel of the camera lens, he begins: “People of Britain: Things are going to be a little different from now on …”

Rosa Prince is the author of "Comrade Corbyn, A Very Unlikely Coup" (Biteback Publishing, February 2016).