Jonah raises his voice to address the group. “Ben here is going to talk about his recent experiences in America and the pros and cons of the American political system.” Jonah places a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “He is happy to take questions at the end.”
Jasmine sits back to listen. Ben speaks well, his mellow voice lending gravitas, his observations perceptive and pertinent. At the end of his talk, he handles the questions well, making eye contact with each questioner, using names where he knows them. He connects with each person, although admittedly none of those present are hostile. When it is obvious interest is tailing off, Jasmine raises her hand. She picks something more challenging. “Do you think the rise in populism spells the end of democracy?”
His reply takes in social psychology, history, and hope. For millennia, humans were governed by kings and emperors. Democracy is relatively young and susceptible to the chimp-brain liking for strong leaders and simple messages, such as blaming all the ills in a country on someone else. Another country, a different race, the rich. Anyone other than the majority. But the key to preventing chimp-brain rule is education. All in all, Jasmine finds his performance impressive.
Jasmine rarely stays til the end of these meetings, but Ben’s talk has delayed their normal business and with only a half hour to go, it seems rude to leave before the landlord closes the bar. As the group files out of the pub at the end of the night, Jasmine hears a soft voice in her ear. “Did I pass?”
As goosebumps pebble her skin, she looks up to find a smiling Ben by her side. She tamps down the flutter in her stomach and ruthlessly suppresses her elation at the thought he is smiling at her. She searches her mind for some witty response, but as usual, she draws a blank. Fortunately, it is not required.
A throat clears and a dark-haired beauty touches Ben’s shoulder. “Would you walk me home, please, Ben?”
He turns. “Actually, I think Jonah is going your way.” He calls to his friend, “Jonah! Wait up for Lizzie.” He waves his hand vaguely at Jasmine. “I’m walking Jasmine.”
Lizzie’s face falls, but she sets off with Jonah and Ben indicates the street ahead. “Shall we?”
“Actually, I’m that way too.” Jasmine points at the fading silhouettes of Lizzie and Jonah.
“Maybe we should give them a bit of a head start. Jonah’s been keen on her for a while now. I keep telling him to ask her out. This may be the opening he needs.”
Jasmine sincerely doubts it will work, judging by the reluctance on Lizzie’s face. She guesses Lizzie is aware of Jonah’s interest and does not return it. In Lizzie’s head, Ben Khan is more on her level and Jasmine is off the map.
“Why do men do that?” she asks Ben, irritable at the thought she may be regarded as lesser person just because she is a few pounds heavier than average. “Think women can be traded between them? Like we don’t have a say? Just because you’re not interested doesn’t mean she is going to suddenly like Jonah.”
“Wow! Don’t pull any punches, there. Tell me outright I’m a patronising, sexist pig.”
“Given who your mother is, I doubt you are either of those. But your behaviour may occasionally fall short.”
“You’ve looked me up.” Ben’s voice is wry. Not an accusation, but not a question either.
“Hmph.” Jasmine gives a non-committal noise. She had looked him up. After the lecture, she might have spent the tiniest amount of time checking out his social media, although most of it was set to private. The identity of his mother surprised her. Hannah Green is a vocal advocate for women’s rights and tireless champion of the abused and has long been one of Jasmine’s icons. “You don’t have to do this,” she says, changing the subject. “I’ve been safely getting myself home from these meetings for a year already.” She does not admit she would normally have left far earlier.
“Perhaps,” he shrugs. “But seeing as you know who I am, I would like to find out more about you. And we may as well talk and walk at the same time. Shall we?”
He walks beside her, matching his pace to her shorter steps, his hands in the pockets of his waterproof jacket.
“So, you know all about my mother. What does yours do?”
“She’s a housewife.” Jasmine is not prepared to admit the whole “Lady Larkford” thing, especially not to such a superficial acquaintance. “My parents are quite traditional.”
“And are you traditional?”
“No!” Jasmine spits out the word, a little insulted he even asked.
“Okay. Not traditional. So, what three words describe you?”
“Strident, socialist, vegan,” she replies. She does not even have to think about it.
“Are you a strident vegan or a strident socialist?”
“Both.” She turns her head to look at him. “Your turn.”
“Future Prime Minister.” He laughs, but Jasmine doesn’t think it really is a joke. On the contrary, she thinks he may well succeed. It is obviously an ambition, or he would not have mentioned it, and using humour to lessen the impact of the naked truth demonstrates his people skills. His attractiveness would help – the general public seeming to conflate handsomeness with trustworthiness. It makes Jasmine want to scream sometimes. In her experience, beautiful people are often less competent because they’ve never had to work hard to get hired, get promoted. She clicks her tongue. No wonder the world is a mess.
“You don’t approve?” Ben asks, turning to face her at the noise.
“I think you are the best candidate I’ve met yet.”
“I’m flattered.”
