Eleanor:Always knew you would change the world. Next stop No. 10.
Jake:Hey there, superstar. And to think I knew you when you were in nappies!
Anna:XOXO
Sean:Dad would’ve been so proud of you.
Agnes:See what you can do with good hair?
Gillian:It’s like watching one of my own. Well done!
Lily:Think I just saw you on TV. We’re all watching. So excited.?
Phoebe:Lil and I think it was the people we drove that made the difference.
DoC:My office in Westminster, Monday 10am.
A job, a future. She is staring at the last message, exhaling in relief, when Dave thumps her on the back, hard enough she has to take a step forward.
“And because she wasn’t paying attention, I’ll have to say it again. My especial thanks to the two people who ran my campaign, Jasmine Mortimer and Pamela Taylor.” Ben winks at her and then turns back to the microphone to continue with his list of thanks. Councillors, party grandees and donors, the local party chairman all need their egos assuaging. Ben remembers them all. And then he says, “Also thank you to Sean Exmore, who, despite this harrowing time for his family, was there for this campaign time and time again.”
Jasmine blinks. It is an olive branch to Sean, entirely unexpected. The two men have cordially disliked each other throughout the campaign, but Ben is publicly burying the hatchet on their private vendetta. It makes her a little misty-eyed. She blinks again furiously. It would not do her professional image any good to be seen weeping, if any camera should be on her.
Her phone buzzes. Sean.Big ofhim. He’s evolving. Glad I voted for him now.
She smiles. Sean has accepted the peace offer. One day, they might even become friends, here, in Hayburn. She doesn’t send a reply because Ben is still speaking.
“I promise to serve the people of Hayburn with honesty, with integrity and with compassion. They have granted me this incredible honour and I will fight on their behalf to make their lives better in every way I can. We live in challenging times, a time of economic uncertainty, of climate uncertainty, of social change. That scares some people. But if we stand fast, if we act with sense and compassion, we will prevail. I offered to stand with the people of Hayburn and tonight the people of Hayburn have held they will stand with me.”
A roar erupts. Dave has his fists above his head, leading the cheer. Jasmine notes even some of the joke candidates are applauding Ben’s speech. Her palms burn with the strength of her applause. She adds her voice to Dave’s and Lou’s.
Ben’s eyes are shining as he steps back from the microphone and Jasmine feels a tug on her sleeve. One of the journos is standing beside her. He leans in.
“Can we get a few minutes with your lad?” he asks.
“You mean the newly elected MP for Hayburn?” Jasmine replies with enough frost to freeze a mammoth.
“Yeah, Him. Ben Khan,” he replies, offhandedly, a veteran reporter unfazed by bristling toffs.
Jasmine squints at the badge dangling from his lanyard.The Times? Maybe she can overlook his derogatory “your lad”. “Of course,” she says. “Give me a minute.”
As soon as Ben descends from the podium, he is besieged. Jasmine fights her way to his side. She needs to prioritise his attention. The television channels, especially the BBC, are highest on her list. Even a ten-second segment will reach more of Ben’s constituents than months of campaigning. Next in usefulness will be the local press. As wonderful as this night’s victory is, there is a General Election looming and Ben will have to fight his seat once again. He has a few months to make a difference, to make everyone forget the scandalous circumstances of Richard Exmore’s death, to persuade the traditional Labour vote to trust him. And the local press will be far more crucial to that process than all the national reporters.
Ben seems energised by the win. Jasmine is less so. She is tired to her very bones. Fantasies of sleep keep surfacing in her mind. Even the hard, plastic chairs are looking inviting. By sheer force of will, she pulls coherent sentences from her tattered brain.
Strictly speaking, her work is done. She has a meeting with the Director of Communications about her new job after the weekend. She could leave Ben to it, call a cab and go back to her rental to sleep. She so very much wants to do it. But the awful, oppressive sense of what is right won’t let her leave. But is it duty or is it hope?
Whichever, she will stay to the bitter end, ensuring he talks to the most useful people, getting the maximum from his few minutes of fame. Then she will let him give her a lift home and say her final goodbye.
She looks back on how far they have come, the level of trust between them unimaginable just a few weeks ago. She knows whatever happens now, whether Ben wants her or not, she will love him for the rest of her life. It infuriates her, that she should love someone who doesn’t love her back. How can she be so weak? But weakness must be in her character because no matter how many times she catalogues his faults, no matter how many times she reminds herself of his cruel words, still she loves him. And because she loves him, she wants him to be happy. Even if his happiness does not involve her.
Standing beside Ben, she handles the media requests, thanks the volunteers and count staff and fends off unwanted attention. Lou and Dave pop up to let her know they are leaving and to wish Ben well. She reminds them to stay in touch ready for the upcoming General Election campaign. The two of them have been invaluable. When they leave, arm-in-arm, she watches Ben carefully but he doesn’t appear to notice. He is already engaged in conversation with another person.
Finally, the crowd thins. Local papers have the promise of in-depth articles for later editions. The televisions stations have long since packed up and the national press have each had a short statement. Ben extricates himself from the last few stragglers. The count staff have removed the ballots and sports centre staff are collapsing the temporary tables and stacking chairs.
“Ready?” Ben is glowing.
Jasmine merely nods. She is way past drooping.
