Mostly that got nods and yeses, and a few people called back, “Right!”
“Then I will be led by you. Cheers.”
* * * * *
Chapter Eighteen
I tuned back in about halfway through Krystle’s speech—I recalled she’d squeezed my arm as I’d sat down after I’d finished, but otherwise I was still in a daze. This public speaking malarkey was tough, and I definitely wasn’t a natural, but I could do it. I’d just proved that. It might mean buying deodorant wholesale if I was elected—I swear I could’ve wrung my shirt out—but I could do it. Now my pulse had stopped playing death metal drums in my ears, I settled down to listen to the rest of what Krystle had to say.
She was really good, with loads of ideas for activities, many of which weren’t my thing—sports events and Pride-specific training classes in the uni gym, for instance—but the members were enthusiastic, with quite a few calling out ‘hear, hear’. She also talked about inclusion and safety of members when off campus; much of what she was talking about we already did, like getting involved in pride parades and protest rallies, but her suggestions for providing personal alarms and self-defence training were something we hadn’t considered before.
The other two candidates for social secretary came up with much the same spiel. The social side was what Pride had always done best, so really, all any of them could do was add snazzy reflector discs to an already invented wheel, but I’d be voting for Krystle. She’d made the effort to talk to me, and she cheered on her competition. Her friendly, welcoming attitude was there for all to see, and that, really, was what being social secretary was about.
Last came the publicity officer candidates, who were all art and design students—there were four of them—which was only part of the job. The first guy was the postgraduate graphic designer who had designed our logo and banners, and he had lots of ideas for hoodies, t-shirts and so on. Added bonus—from my perspective—he was a big guy, although it didn’t necessarily follow that he’d make sure any Pride clothing range was big enough for him and me.
I also recognised one of the other three candidates, but I couldn’t think where I knew him from. It was outside of uni, I knew that much. All the while he was talking, I kept getting little sparks of recognition—I guessed he could just strongly remind me of someone else, or maybe I was recalling him from social events and meetings, and it was simply that we’d never directly spoken to each other. I was sure it would come to me eventually. Either that or I’d forget all about him. I didn’t wish to be unkind, but the bloke was dull as anything, and people were getting restless. In his defence, we’d been at it for over an hour and the bar was open.
The last two to speak were clearly thinking on that wavelength, because they both talked so fast I had to really concentrate to understand what they were saying. Admittedly, one of them was Glaswegian, which was a difficult enough accent for sheltered southerners like me to decipher, but there was definitely a pint of beer waiting with their name on it.
At the end, Carlos banged on the table to draw attention, which, OK, was reasonable, given he had to conclude the proceedings, but didn’t he have a big enough mouth already? He could’ve just said something offensive—that would’ve got him attention quickly enough.
Agh, I really needed to not think about it. Him. At least, not until I’d spoken to Matty about whether restorative justice was an option. I pushed aside my feelings for the time being and listened to what he had to say.
“This evening, you’ve heard from our candidates. You’ll see a lot of them over the coming weeks as they campaign for your vote.”
Damn. I’d overlooked that bit.
“The elections take place on the first Thursday after reading week. It’s a secret ballot, and you get one vote for each of the six committee roles. To recap, those are: president, secretary, treasurer, inclusion officer, social secretary and publicity officer. The full list of candidates will go up on our noticeboard in the Student Union office tomorrow. If you have any questions, please contact either Sarah Willis or myself, via Facebook or university email. Thank you to all our candidates and members for a very civil hustings. Good night.”
Carlos gathered together all the papers and left the stage. The people around me either got up and moved away or talked to each other, now the pressure was off. I turned to talk to Neema—my ‘opponent’, though I didn’t see it that way—but Jazz caught my eye. She beckoned me over; I held up a finger and mouthed ‘one minute’.
Neema was talking to the person sitting in front of her but had seen me waiting to speak. She finished her current conversation and turned to me with a smile. “Hi. You did great.”
“Thanks. So did you. I think the position’s probably yours.”
“Hmm…I don’t know about that. Asian Muslim woman or white man—we know how that works.”
Sadly, she was right, but maybe I put too much faith in our Pride members, because I was sure they’d vote for the best person for the job, and that was Neema. “What I wanted to say was, when you’re elected—”
“If I’m elected,” Neema argued.
“OK. If you’re elected, I’d like to meet up and have a chat, if that would be all right?”
“Yep, sure. The same goes for me.”
“Totally.”
“Great. I’ll see you around, Jesse.”
I waited for her to clear the row of seats before I went over to talk to Jazz. Carlos had already done a bunk. I can’t say I was sorry.
Jazz folded her arms and eyed me in suspicion. “I thought it must be April the first when I saw your form on top of the pile. This isn’t some sort of whacky plan to reap your revenge, is it?”
I hammed up a shrug. “You got me.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say. I mean…you completely blew me away.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Are you kidding? You and Neema were both really strong. I think it’s gonna be a close call.”
“Well, thank you for your vote of confidence, but from where I’m standing, it should be Neema. If there’s any justice in this world.”
“Not much.”
“No, but…” This was going to sound like I was trying to fix the election, because, to my mind, Danny’s spectacularly poor speech had left this a two-horse race. “Couldn’t we bring in a bit of positive action?”
“You’re not having second thoughts already?
“Not at all, but I’ve got an unfair advantage. I know she’ll make a better inclusion officer than I would. I just think we need to level the playing field.”
Jazz stared at me intently for a few seconds and shook her head, already getting to her feet. “I know what you’re doing, Jesse.”
“Oh? What’s that, then?”
She pulled her coat from the back of her chair. “We’re going to the bar.”
“Are we?”
“Yep.”
“Hold on. I need to check with Leigh first.”
“No problem. They’ll be on my side, anyway.”
“About?”
“Your election campaign.”
Oh, God.
“Obviously, I can’t run it,” Jazz said.
“Obviously,” I muttered.
“But Leigh, Matty and Noah can.”
“Jazz. Do not take over.”
“Sorry, chicken—” she patted my cheek “—but if you’re going to undermine your success in advance, someone’s got to.”
* * * * *
Chapter Nineteen
“Twitter.”
I picked up the glass Leigh put in front of me, sipped and pretended I hadn’t heard Matty. I put the glass down again. “That’s vodka and Coke.”
Leigh grimaced.
“So?” Jazz asked and shuffled a stool across from another table so she could squeeze in next to me. With Leigh on my other side and Matty and Noah opposite, I was surrounded with no means of escape.
“So…” I glared at her, and she gave me a smug grin. Sh
e knew exactly why I’d been avoiding alcohol. But she also knew I was a secret dieter and wouldn’t kick up a stink in front of Leigh, Noah and Matty. Well, I could probably have told Leigh, and they’d have accepted what I was doing, even if that acceptance came with a lecture.
I moved on, or back, in fact. “What about Twitter?” I asked Matty.
“You don’t use it.”
“I’ve got an account.”
“But you don’t use it.”
“Because I’ve got nothing interesting to say.”
“Correction. You had nothing interesting to say.”
“Cheers, Matt.”
“I think you’re interesting,” Noah butted in.
“I second that,” Jazz said.
“I didn’t mean he wasn’t interesting,” Matty argued, and then to me, “I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
“But now you can tweet about your campaign.”
“OK.” That sounded easy enough, except Jazz was side-eyeing me. “What?”
“More than once,” she said.
“How many times?”
Jazz and Matty looked at each other and hummed thoughtfully. “What d’you reckon, Matt? Five?”
“Yeah.”
“OK. Still doable,” I said.
“That’s five times a day,” Jazz explained.
“Five times a day?”
They both nodded.
“Every day?”
More nods.
“I haven’t got time to do that.”
“It’s only 140 characters, Jess,” Matty reasoned.
Noah snorted in disbelief. “Have you seen how long it takes him to get his essays under the word limit?”
“OK,” Jazz said. “What about Instagram? You’re on Instagram, yes?”
I shook my head.
“Have you been living under a rock?”
“No. I’ve been doing GCSEs, then A’ Levels, then my degree.”
“And what? We’re all in the same boat. All right, plan of action…”
I covered my face with my hands. I appreciated they were doing this for me, but it all felt a bit out of my control. Was it too late—or early—to sabotage my own election campaign?
“Hey,” Leigh whispered in my ear.
“Hey,” I said.
“You OK in there?”
I let my hands drop into my lap. “Yeah.”
Leigh smiled and looped their arm through mine, leaning their head against my shoulder. “Sorry about the vodka.”
“Meh. One drink isn’t going to do me any harm, and I know it wasn’t you.”
The tug on the lip stud confirmed I was right, but Leigh wasn’t about to tell tales on Jazz. They tilted their head towards the other three, who were still discussing my plan of action. “Do you need me to step in?”
“W…” I paused, a bit choked up by Leigh’s offer. I could usually hold my own with my friends, but I was feeling ganged up on, and I loved Leigh for noticing. Just loved them, full stop. I changed what I’d intended to say—would you do that for me?—to “No, it’s OK. Thank you, though.”
Leigh sat up straight again; I got it all clear in my mind before I took charge.
“Matty.”
“Yep?”
“I’ll send you my login details for Twitter.”
“OK.”
“You’ll need to coordinate with Jazz, who’s going to start an Instagram account on my behalf.” I turned so I could see her.
She nodded. “Sure thing.”
“Noah…” I studied his face for a moment. “I’m not giving you a job.”
“Why not?”
“We’ve got too much work.”
“Fair enough.”
He didn’t look happy about it, but I wasn’t going to say ‘you’re already well on your way to a breakdown’ in company. I said, “If you can manage to crack a smile when people come over to talk to me…”
Noah gave me the fakest, toothiest grin ever. I shook my head in dismay, as did Leigh, which made us both giggle.
“Seriously, though,” I said, because Noah was still put out, “there’ll be loads of little things that’ll come up. It’d be really good to have your help with those.” Having his support was enough for me.
“Whatever you need, mate.”
“Cheers.” I stopped to have a drink, aware of Noah watching me carefully, whilst Matty and Jazz were already in deep cahoots over their social media strategy. Noah’s thoughts drifted and his eyes lost focus. I looked sideways at Leigh. “Can you think of anything else?”
“Um…leaflets…posters…logo—I can do those if you like?”
“Oh, wow, really? That’d be brilliant.”
“Course!” Leigh beamed. “And—you’re gonna hate this, but…”
“A photo?” I guessed.
“Uh-huh.”
Anxiety burbled in my stomach. I ignored it and focused on my breathing and Leigh’s presence. “I’ll figure it,” I said.
“I believe in you, Jesse.”
I exhaled slowly…
“And I want a copy of that pic.” I turned so I could properly see Leigh’s face. Their smile faded, their eyes…heavy lids, dilated pupils…and their lips… No one had ever looked at me like that before. My God, it was intense.
Wow.
Wow.
Leigh sighed shakily and closed their eyes as they leaned against me again. “This logo…” The words came out as a husky whisper.
“Hmm?” I really wasn’t thinking about logos, and I needed to make some spatial adjustments.
“It might be a silly question, but have you got any thoughts on the colours you want?”
“Ha. Not really.” This was a good distraction. I wriggled in my seat under the guise of getting into a more relaxed position. “Blue’s a bit Tory, isn’t it?”
“Depends on the shade. If we went with a lighter blue with yellow…”
“Yeah, I like that.”
“Cool. I’ll get some rough ideas together before Saturday and send them to you. We can talk about it after the movie.”
“Awesome.” I squeezed Leigh’s arm against my side. “Thank you for being here tonight.”
Leigh kissed my cheek. “It’s where I want to be.”
***
I was dating a creative genius, no exaggeration, and it wasn’t just that Leigh’s designs were professional and stylish. They were…me. It was hard to explain, but it was like Leigh had captured my personality and converted it into colours and shapes. I couldn’t stop looking at them.
The email was waiting in my inbox, nine o’clock Saturday morning; by midday, I reckoned I’d spent about ten minutes working and the remaining two hours and fifty minutes flicking through the nine images Leigh had put together: three logo ideas, a banner, two leaflets, two posters and a sketch of a couple cuddling under a tree. It was kind of abstract and intentionally smudgy, drawn with pastels or coloured pencils. It was the most beautiful picture I’d ever seen. Probably not blue and yellow.
“How’s that introduction coming along?” Mum asked when, at one-thirty, my empty belly drove me to the kitchen. “Oh, Good Lord. Are you still looking at those pictures?”
“Nope,” I lied with a grin and put my phone away.
Mum tutted and started gathering stuff for lunch: chicken risotto. I was so sick of chicken and brown rice. But at least I could have popcorn and Diet Coke at the cinema later and not worry about it. That was the only ‘cheating’ I’d be doing before we went to Cornwall. One week to go… Yes, I was finally excited, and not for the surfing.
“So, do I get to meet Leigh at some point?” Mum asked me over lunch.
“Yeah, totally. Have we got to do an official introduction?”
“Well, I was thinking, if it suits you both, you could invite Leigh to join us at your grandma’s tomorrow.”
I’d been joking about the official introduction, but apparently, that was how we were going to play it. There again, it might be better th
an meeting my mum on her own. I still recalled the inquisition she’d subjected Noah to the first time he came over, and he was only a mate—I think it was a side effect of her job rather than any malice on Mum’s part. My grandma was much more easy-going. She’d give anyone a fair chance if they ‘had a kind heart’.
Once lunch was eaten and the dishes were done, I went back to my room and got down to some serious work. I was using my mum’s laptop; she’d only had it for a few months and it was for work mostly, although when I started the web browser, I discovered it was logged in to Facebook. Rather than log her out, I used it to deter me from wasting time online, which ultimately meant I was on Facebook on my phone instead. Out of curiosity, I went on Twitter and nearly dropped my phone in surprise. All those tweets! All those followers!
I’d spent most of the previous day drafting a full manifesto, which I’d sent to Leigh, but I’d forgotten to send it to Jazz and Matty. However, he’d obviously got hold of a copy of my nomination form and had typed out each bullet point, word for word. He was responding to people, too, which was above and beyond what I’d expected. He’d have made a brilliant official inclusion officer. He knew his stuff and had a great way with people. I sent him a direct message to say thanks for his hard work. If I’d had to deal with all that twittering, I wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else. Ha, like I’d got much work done with Leigh’s artwork there to distract me. I was kind of marking time until our cinema trip, anyway.
We’d booked VIP tickets for a six o’clock showing—I couldn’t remember what we were going to see. Our criteria had been family or comedy movie that finished before the last bus back to the farmhouse. When it was Noah and me, he’d usually stayed at mine after a night out. After Matty moved into the farmhouse, it would’ve meant getting a taxi, which was too expensive, so we worked around bus times instead.
If it had just been the two of us this evening—Leigh and me—I might’ve asked my mum if Leigh could stay—they could have had my bed and I’d have slept on the sofa. I wouldn’t have been sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, either, despite how often I was getting caught up in fantasising about what it would be like to do more than kiss—pity I couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm for my dissertation. But we needed to talk about it first, figure out how we both felt, if it was what we wanted…and if Leigh would mind doing it in the dark. Maybe I could get drunk first. No, that wasn’t a good idea.
The Making of Us Page 15