“But you see it on television all the time. I’ve even seen my mother do it and she’s more of a straight-talker than most.”
“Politicians being interviewed by journalists can try that, maybe run down the clock until the journo has to move on. But not those talking directly to voters. Not here.”
“So what should I have said?” he grumps. “Yeah, mate. Look at my soft hands? These aren’t built for rough work?”
She shrugs off the sarcasm. Ben is cross with himself, not her. “You answer honestly. No, I haven’t. But then, I’ve never worked as a surgeon, either. And yet I can still appreciate the problems with the NHS. I’ve never milked a cow but I know the challenges our farmers are facing.”
“That simple, eh?” He drops his head forward. “And I didn’t think of it.”
He is genuinely upset and Jasmine so very much wants to console him. She puts her hand on his arm, intending to comfort him, and realises almost immediately it is a bad idea. The feel of his muscle tight under her fingers as he clenches the steering wheel kicks memories of his body flexing under hers into the forefront of her mind.
She swallows hard and drops her hand. “Look,” she says. “It’s one group. These are diehard unionists. They may not vote for you but they would die before they vote Tory. If they didn’t defect last time, they won’t now.”
Ben is silent for a moment. Then he nods. “Okay. You don’t think it is irrecoverable?”
“Not if you learn from this.”
He nods again and starts the engine.
Halfway back Jasmine’s phone rings. She checks the screen, prepared to reject the call to continue focussing on Ben. But the name on the screen gives her pause. Jacob Winter. It seems like decades ago he had slipped her his numberjust in casein Gillian’s kitchen. When he was dating Kate and Petey was still alive and the world was a different place. She had never used it but that he should call was unusual enough for her to answer.
“Jake?” A greeting and a question all in one word.
“I know you’re busy,” he starts, “but have you got a moment?”
“Sure.”
“I need a favour.” Jacob had always been up front. It’s one of the things she likes about him.
“Shoot.”
“You may know Eleanor and I have been trying for a baby.” Jasmine didn’t know and is grateful not to have to keep the shock off her face. But when she thinks about it, it makes sense. Eleanor is her eldest sister, over four years older. Her biological clock would be ticking louder.
“She miscarried today.” His voice cracks and he pauses for a beat. “For the second time.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jasmine is genuinely sad. “For both of you.”
“The thing is, she’s absolutely beside herself. And I can’t seem to get through. She won’t speak to me about it.”
“What about Anna?”
“She’s in Los Angeles at a conference. Besides …”
“Besides?”
“You understand loss. Anna sees death but she doesn’t understand loss. Loss and death are different. Eleanor’s more likely to talk to you than anyone else.”
Jasmine nods, although Jacob can’t see her. She wouldn’t want Anna’s version of consolation either. For Jacob to call, he must be desperate. She considers who his options might be. Eleanor’s relationship with their mother is only marginally better than hers. His own mother is a non-starter; Eleanor would skin him alive. And it is not the type of thing that someone private like Eleanor would talk about with friends, especially if they are all happily procreating themselves. Neither would Eleanor’s best friend, their cousin Serena, suit. She has long sworn she has no intention of ever having children.
Jacob is right. There was no one else Eleanor might talk to but her.
“I’ll need to speak to the candidate,” she says, “and I’ll text you.”
She ends the call and turns her head.
“Speak,” Ben instructs.
“My sister Eleanor is having some …” she hesitates, then continues, “personal problems.” If Eleanor doesn’t want to talk about losing her baby with her friends, she surely doesn’t want it shared with strangers. “That was my brother-in-law. He would like me to visit her. To cheer her up.”
