Page 21 of Strap In
They climb into bed together, Ava under the cover, Jean with an arm and leg atop the duvet. Ava rolls over to face Jean in the shadow. And Jean tries to rally – sex is not an unrealistic expectation after that foot rub, and it is the foundation of their arrangement. But Ava simply drapes an arm over her, stroking Jean’s back until the last of the day’s tension melts away.
Jean’s all but asleep when Ava speaks. And though her voice is soft, barely more than a breath against Jean’s hair, it pulls her right back into the land of wakefulness.
‘Hiding never occurred to me,’ she says. ‘It would have killed my mum if I’d rejected her heritage, the culture she gave us. And it would have killed something in me too.’
Jean says nothing; just nestles into the hollow of Ava’s neck and listens.
‘My sister’s name is Aaliyah, but everyone else knows her as Leah. That started when we went to uni – she didn’t want anybody writing her off as ghetto. She’s Leah at work too, anywhere professional.’
Though it’s dark, Jean can picture the particular frown that creases Ava’s brow when she’s weighing up words with care.
‘And I’m not judging Al for any of it – her being darker than me has made her life so much more difficult. As a doctor she needs to hold authority with her colleagues and be taken seriously by her patients. The other year a woman refused to be treated by Al because she didn’t want a Black doctor’s hands inside her.’
‘Jesus,’ Jean says. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone would be willing to die for their racism.
‘Yeah… When I came out, Al joked it was because I wanted to beat her in the Oppression Olympics.’ Ava’s breath is warm against Jean’s hair. ‘I used to wish it was the other way round. That I had her name, her hair, her colouring. Right up until Aaliyah confessed the same thing. That she just wanted an easier life. We’ve always been close but, when we were younger, there was a kind of tension between us. Aaliyah resented it when people treated me better than her, and I hated that people would recognise her Blackness while they questioned mine.’
‘It can be so complicated with sisters.’
‘You never really talk about yours.’
‘No, it’s…’ Jean trails off, uncertain how to voice it delicately. And Ava stays silent, continuing to stroke her back while Jean deliberates. ‘I’m very conscious of what she’d think about me doing this. With you. Or any woman.’
‘You don’t think she’d be alright with it?’
‘Understatement of the century. Bridget was horrified when I got divorced.’ Jean toys with the strap of Ava’s camisole. ‘The church was a big comfort to her, after our parents died and she got saddled with me. And Bridget buys into Catholic teachings completely.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ava says, heartfelt. ‘Really.’
‘Don’t be. It’s not as if Bridget’s ever going to find out, or anybody else for that matter.’
After that Ava falls silent, though something about her stillness tells Jean she isn’t sleeping. But she carries on caressing Jean’s back, slow and soft, until dreams claim her.
Chapter Ten
Helen meets her outside the hotel, Jean’s redeye and her own latte in a cardboard cupholder; surviving conferences requires an ungodly quantity of caffeine. She hands Jean her pass on a ruby lanyard – Helen’s own, in the sunny yellow of the assistant rank, is already looped around her neck. Such efficiency, unprompted, is the reason she’s lasted close to five years as Jean’s assistant. While Jean will certainly write a glowing reference when the time comes, she dreads having to train a replacement.
They pass the queue together in the lobby, a sea of navy, black, and grey. The forest green of Jean’s suit sets her apart – at the start of her career she’d decided on a statement colour, bold yet tasteful, the perfect contrast to her hair. And she has never looked back.
Elizabeth Granger from Pearson Taylor catches her elbow, and they air kiss.
‘Jean Howard – fancy seeing you here! I’m surprised Peter’s missing this; ordinarily he’s the life and soul of the party.’ She flashes Jean a knowing smile. ‘Unless he’s thinking of succession?’
Jean shakes her head, demure. ‘Peter was unavoidably detained on urgent business. He sends his apologies. In the meantime, you’re stuck with me.’
‘Then perhaps we’ll see him next year?’ Elizabeth’s grey eyes sparkle with mischief as she toys with her own crimson lanyard. ‘Either way, let’s do lunch soon. My assistant’s floating around somewhere.’
‘On it.’ Helen turns on her heel, making a beeline for the cluster of young women in yellow lanyards.
Jean bids Elizabeth goodbye, a spring in her step as she approaches the cloakroom. There’s only one woman ahead of her, in a slate grey suit. And as Jean draws closer, she catches the unmistakable scent of cedar mingled with jasmine. Her stomach flips, upending the quiet satisfaction brought on by Elizabeth’s speculation. And the caffeine chooses this exact moment to hit Jean’s bloodstream, sending her heart off at a gallop.
Surely not.But the woman is tall enough to be Ava, towering above Jean even in ballet flats. Her hair’s combed into a rigid bun, not a curl in sight, but it’s the same shade of glossy chestnut. The woman has not only Ava’s voice but her politeness as she thanks the teenager attending the cloakroom.
Jean stands frozen in place as she turns. Ava’s eyes pop wide as they lock with Jean’s. But she’s quick to recover, that familiar grin never far away. ‘Morning,’ Ava says, and saunters away.
For a moment Jean can only watch her. When Ava had mentioned an important work event, the last place Jean’s mind went was this, a waste of time better devoted to the Leonides expansion. But here she is in corporate cosplay.
Then the spotty girl behind the desk prompts her: ‘Can I take your coat, ma’am?’
