“Ah! Sean.” Roger shakes his hand warmly, then releases him.
“Ben.” Sean’s greeting is perfunctory.
“Sean.” Ben’s head tilts. “Why are you here?”
Jasmine is about to reply, but Sean gets there before her.
“What’s that, Ben? It’s been a long time. Yes, it has, five years. How’s life treating you? Good, huh? Your father still alive?”
Ben has the grace to look abashed, and while Jasmine agrees Ben roundly deserves Sean’s verbal slapping, she needs the meeting to proceed without setting off any more explosive devices.
“Sean’s father was the Hayburn MP for a long time,” Jasmine interrupts. “There are many in his constituency who were very fond of him despite recent events, many people he has helped.” Jasmine looks pointedly at Ben. “They will not be disposed to welcome you or help you. The endorsement of the family will go a long way to bringing them on board. Sean has graciously agreed to help where he can. We are extremely grateful as we recognise what a difficult time it is for his family at the moment.”
“I apologise, Sean.” Ben drops his head. “My condolences. It must be difficult for you and your family. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Jasmine watches Sean. She wonders if he realises why Ben reacted so poorly. Ben’s immediate association was to place Sean as Jasmine’s friend and not as the son of his father. His hostility to Sean is not a good presentiment to his agreement to put their past behind them.
Sean lets out a breath. He is one of the most good-natured people Jasmine has ever known, but he doesn’t have a lot of time for Ben. He was, after all, the one who picked up the pieces of her life each time it imploded.
“In answer to your first question, I’m here becauseJasmineasked me to come. My father was very fond of her. As long as she wants me to support your campaign, I will.” Sean makes his allegiance crystal clear.
He walks away to take a seat and Jasmine moves quickly to get the meeting started. They are half an hour in before the next trip wire. Under discussion is the likelihood of support from Party heavyweights.
“My mum has said she’ll come this weekend,” Ben says, and the room goes quiet. Jasmine looks at Roger, but he is carefully avoiding her eyes. As well he should. This is her job – speaking truth to power. She clears her throat. “Much as we all respect your mother, she’s the one person who cannot come.”
“Why not?” Ben’s question is confrontational and Jasmine realises how thin is the veil of cooperation between them.
“You’re a nepo baby.” Sean’s tone is off-hand but Jasmine knows he means the insult.
“Thank you, Sean.” She feels like a teacher trying to keep hold of an unruly class. “I might have put it rather less bluntly, but yes. There is some resentment locally that you have been imposed on Hayburn as a candidate. There is some concern you haven’t earned this candidacy but been given it because of your mother.” She looks to Roger, who finally finds the courage to confirm her words.
“I’m afraid there have been some mutterings,” Roger mumbles.
“One or two of the councillors thought they were in with a chance. Then you come along with your empty résumé and you don’t even live here.” Sean is clearly enjoying playing devil’s advocate.
“We know the reasons why Labour HQ has imposed a candidate; there isn’t time to run a selection campaign and if we don’t get the by-election done quickly, we’ll be waiting until the General Election which will be months. Months in which the Tories will be dragging out Richard’s manner of passing every chance they get.” Jasmine summarises the situation before Ben can start protesting. “But it is a bitter pill for some to swallow when they’ve spent years working for this chance to have it taken away. And because you are so young, they might never get another chance. If you get elected now and can hold this seat at the next General Election, you will be in Parliament for decades. You can understand how they might feel.”
Ben nods slowly.
“So can I take it you will have a word with your mum? Any of her front bench colleagues are welcome, but it’s best if she stays away.”
When she sees Ben is reluctant, with fingers crossed he refuses, she offers, “I’ll talk to her if you like?”
But he shakes his head and Jasmine is relieved. She remembers what a force of nature Hannah Greene is and doesn’t envy Ben having to explain to her she is not welcome. Not least because the stronger the parent, the more fraught the challenge from the child as the child grows to adult. This will be a rite of passage for Ben, but it may be good for him. People look at Jasmine and hear her speak and know she is from privilege. But Ben thinks of himself as working class, although he is a product of successive generations of social mobility; leaving aside his mixed ethnicity, he has suffered no more disadvantage than Jasmine.
Jasmine moves the meeting on. Three hours later, with much negotiating, a little cajoling, and a couple of veiled threats, they have a campaign strategy. It will not survive much beyond the first set of responses on the doorstep, but it is a start.
Sean is the first to leave and Jasmine lets him go without trying to talk to him. He needs to get back to work and she will call him later. Eventually, everyone filters out except her. She is the last having photographed the whiteboard sheets for later transcription and cleaned them off for possible re-use. As she exits the room, she sees Lou bringing Ben a cup of coffee and watches him smile at her. Her outfit today is a tight-fitting T-shirt with a plunging v-neckline which showcases her cleavage paired with jeggings. It is a good choice. Ben always was a boob-man. For some guys it is a shapely rear, for others long legs, but in this Ben has always conformed to the stereotypical, tabloid-reading, working-class male. Lou makes a comment. He laughs, and suddenly Jasmine cannot stand to be in the office observing them any longer. She grabs her bag and heads out. She will eat her Marmite sandwich in the park nearby.
It is a cold and lonely lunch, with only a couple of expectant pigeons for company. And unfortunately, absence doesn’t make her brain forget. Left to itself, unoccupied by the myriad of usual interruptions, her mind finds ample time to imagine the interaction between Lou and Ben and their growing closeness. Eventually, she shakes out her crumbs, carefully folds the greaseproof paper wrapping, and puts it back into her bag for disposal at the campaign headquarters. She casts one quick look around – the broken swings the council cannot afford to repair, the metal shutters on shops firmly closed even in the middle of the day, the graffiti it is never worth cleaning off – and she remembers why she is here. She strongly believes these people deserve a better life and Labour is the only party which will give it to them. Despite everything that has happened between them and all the ways Ben may not be the man she wants him to be, she is absolutely certain he will serve these people to the best of his impressive abilities. He will fight for them and their futures will be better as a result. That is what is important – not her bruised heart nor her unrequited love. She straightens up, standing tall with shoulders back and she breathes deep. It is time to return.
That afternoon, she and Ben are scheduled to run through the speech he is giving in the evening. After a quiet word with the dean of the biggest sixth form college in the constituency, they are hosting a hustings for all the candidates. Nearly a thousand youngsters who have no issues with Ben’s lack of experience and who probably don’t care about Richard Exmore’s marital infidelities. A thousand youngsters who would be likely to vote Labour, if only she and Ben can inspire them to vote at all.
The interns are already there, drumming up interest for Ben’s visit, overseen by the ever-efficient Pamela. Jasmine could not conceive of anyone better able to control a horde of teenagers and had been prepared to plead on bended knee, if necessary. But Pamela had agreed without the need for theatrics. Pragmatism had trumped jealousy and Jasmine had added Lou to the group, knowing a pretty young woman could help lure others. Her open friendliness, in this case, is as useful as her attractiveness.
It leaves her and Ben alone to practise his speech and rehearse answers to likely questions. Jasmine has been dreading this moment since their last meeting. They need to work together, but the whole of their history together lies between them and she cannot see a way through.
They are in the meeting room at campaign headquarters, surrounded by boxes of leaflets and envelopes and crates of the tablets used for recording information when canvassing. There are a couple of volunteers manning the phones in the room next door, nothing but a couple of sheets of plasterboard separating the others. Still, it feels strangely intimate sequestered in the room with all the clutter, reminiscent of the old, old easiness of the two of them together.
