on, turning dramatically to Gilbert, still grinning. ‘Because for those of us on this side of the’
43
House, no sacrifice is too dramatic, no humiliation is too great, to win this bloody motion!’ and she laughed.
The chamber erupted again, but there was a different quality to this applause. As the bravery of what she had just done sank in, people started to rise from their seats, and all of a sudden she had a standing ovation. Rowena wasn’t finished yet, though. Still covered by her wrap, she pulled up her bodice with her free hand and held it against her. Then she let the wrap fall.
‘Mr President,’ she said loudly, ‘if-given the appalling s[eech the honourable Secretary just made-it isn’t against his principles to assist a woman, I wonder if Mr Docker would give me some help with my zip? I seem to be having a little trouble with it.’
And she immediately turned round, presenting her back
to a helpless Gilbert, who got up and fastened his rival’s dress, boot-faced with anger.
Chris, Topaz and Nick led a fresh round of cheering.
By the time the debate was over it was the middle of the night and rain was thundering down in the Union gardens. Students spilled out into the street, rushing back to their colleges or sordid digs, or attempting to shove themselves into the sardine-like Union bar for last orders. Baby hacks from the Secretary’s committee stood outside in the downpour, arguing furiously over whether Rowena had done it on purpose. She had gone on to deliver a moving, passionate speech, and had won the motion by a huge margin.
‘We’ll still win the fucking election,’ Gilbert Docker snapped at Chris Johnson on the way out.
Chris just laughed in his face. He’d already had the pleasure of turning down Gilbert’s Treasurer candidate, who’d rather pathetically tried to switch sides.
Topaz cannoned out of the chamber, whooping, kissed Rowena, and ran in the other direction.
‘Hey, where are you going?’ she yelled.
‘Cherwell,’ Topaz shouted back at her. Tve been dying to
44
get on that computer since the second you sat down! What a story, girl! I’ll have you on the front page!’
‘OK, if you say so,’ Rowena shouted at her friend’s departing back.
It was true, it was a great story, and Topaz had been so wrapped up in it she didn’t notice the way Peter had stiffened beside her when she hugged him in elation.
Rowena, utterly euphoric, accepted congratulations and pumped hands like a dutiful hack for an hour and a half before slipping back to her tiny digs in Merton Sreet, hardly noticing the soaking rain.
In the Cherwell offices, Topaz flicked on the lights and turned on her Apple, trying out a few headlines. Everything
came up Sun-speak: ‘MAY THE BREAST WOMAN WIN,’
‘gORDOq qqETT!’ ‘TRE^SUr CHEST!’ Topaz laughed out loud. Maybe it was time for a break from the quality tradition, “after all! She tapped in a huge headline: BREAST FOOT FORWARD, and lit a cigarette.
‘You thought you’d seen it all before,’ Topaz typed away, ‘until last Thursday’s sensational speech by Rowena Gordon, 34-22-32 (obviously).’
Around her, the empty Cherwell offices were quiet and deserted, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the computer and her own breathing. She enjoyed a brief fantasy about how different it would be in a year’s time, working on a real paper in London.
Topaz felt contentment seep through her. Rowena would be President of the Union. She would get to be a journalist-The Times, no less, and maybe, just maybe, Mrs Peter Kennedy, too.
Peter bawled Gilbert out.
‘It’s not my fault,’ he whimpered for the hundredth time.
‘Look,’ Kennedy snapped, losing his temper, ‘just go home, OK, Docker. I’m going to sort it out’now.’
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Gilbert whined, and then, seeing Peter’s face, thought better of it.
45
Peter started to walk towards Merton Street. Christ
43
House, no sacrifice is too dramatic, no humiliation is too great, to win this bloody motion!’ and she laughed.
The chamber erupted again, but there was a different quality to this applause. As the bravery of what she had just done sank in, people started to rise from their seats, and all of a sudden she had a standing ovation. Rowena wasn’t finished yet, though. Still covered by her wrap, she pulled up her bodice with her free hand and held it against her. Then she let the wrap fall.
‘Mr President,’ she said loudly, ‘if-given the appalling s[eech the honourable Secretary just made-it isn’t against his principles to assist a woman, I wonder if Mr Docker would give me some help with my zip? I seem to be having a little trouble with it.’
And she immediately turned round, presenting her back
to a helpless Gilbert, who got up and fastened his rival’s dress, boot-faced with anger.
Chris, Topaz and Nick led a fresh round of cheering.
By the time the debate was over it was the middle of the night and rain was thundering down in the Union gardens. Students spilled out into the street, rushing back to their colleges or sordid digs, or attempting to shove themselves into the sardine-like Union bar for last orders. Baby hacks from the Secretary’s committee stood outside in the downpour, arguing furiously over whether Rowena had done it on purpose. She had gone on to deliver a moving, passionate speech, and had won the motion by a huge margin.
‘We’ll still win the fucking election,’ Gilbert Docker snapped at Chris Johnson on the way out.
Chris just laughed in his face. He’d already had the pleasure of turning down Gilbert’s Treasurer candidate, who’d rather pathetically tried to switch sides.
Topaz cannoned out of the chamber, whooping, kissed Rowena, and ran in the other direction.
‘Hey, where are you going?’ she yelled.
‘Cherwell,’ Topaz shouted back at her. Tve been dying to
44
get on that computer since the second you sat down! What a story, girl! I’ll have you on the front page!’
‘OK, if you say so,’ Rowena shouted at her friend’s departing back.
It was true, it was a great story, and Topaz had been so wrapped up in it she didn’t notice the way Peter had stiffened beside her when she hugged him in elation.
Rowena, utterly euphoric, accepted congratulations and pumped hands like a dutiful hack for an hour and a half before slipping back to her tiny digs in Merton Sreet, hardly noticing the soaking rain.
In the Cherwell offices, Topaz flicked on the lights and turned on her Apple, trying out a few headlines. Everything
came up Sun-speak: ‘MAY THE BREAST WOMAN WIN,’
‘gORDOq qqETT!’ ‘TRE^SUr CHEST!’ Topaz laughed out loud. Maybe it was time for a break from the quality tradition, “after all! She tapped in a huge headline: BREAST FOOT FORWARD, and lit a cigarette.
‘You thought you’d seen it all before,’ Topaz typed away, ‘until last Thursday’s sensational speech by Rowena Gordon, 34-22-32 (obviously).’
Around her, the empty Cherwell offices were quiet and deserted, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the computer and her own breathing. She enjoyed a brief fantasy about how different it would be in a year’s time, working on a real paper in London.
Topaz felt contentment seep through her. Rowena would be President of the Union. She would get to be a journalist-The Times, no less, and maybe, just maybe, Mrs Peter Kennedy, too.
Peter bawled Gilbert out.
‘It’s not my fault,’ he whimpered for the hundredth time.
‘Look,’ Kennedy snapped, losing his temper, ‘just go home, OK, Docker. I’m going to sort it out’now.’
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Gilbert whined, and then, seeing Peter’s face, thought better of it.
45
Peter started to walk towards Merton Street. Christ
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