Page 175 of The Unlikely Pair
“The Honourable Member for Havenbridge East,” the Speaker says.
I climb to my feet again, smirking in Harry’s direction.
“I would like to thank the Right Honourable Member for Brambleshire for his comments and extreme…ah…passion for this topic. However, I can’t help but wonder if part of his motivation for his stance comes from his own personal frustration with the practical difficulties of the recent time change. I daren’t say we should create such a dramatic upheavalbased on one member’s inability to work out how to change the time on the oven clock.”
I sit as Harry rises seamlessly to his feet.
“Thank you, Mr. Speaker. And thank you to the Honourable Member for highlighting one of the very practical annoyances that comes with this unnecessary and disruptive practice. A practice that research shows leads to a disruption of sleep patterns and daily routines that can cause decreased productivity, increased absenteeism, and even a loss of revenue for businesses across the country. I believe the Honourable Member’s ‘just leave it, it’ll be right again in six months’ time’ response to the oven clock’s inaccuracy only underscores the absolute ridiculousness of messing around with time in the first place.
“And for the record, I believe you would need to have at least a master’s qualification in engineering to decipher the cryptic symbols and arcane instructions required to adjust the clock on the Honourable Member’s oven. Clearly, his taste in appliances is as questionable as his stance on Daylight Savings Time.”
I’m on my feet instantly, barely waiting until the Speaker acknowledges me before I respond. “I’m not sure if it’s in the Right Honourable Member’s best interest to question my taste, although I can confirm that many other people have also expressed surprise at some of my decisions in the last year.
“But I guess, much like the Right Honourable Member’s stance on Daylight Savings Time, some things defy logic and reason. Or, as I always explain it, there weren’t many other options in the Scandinavian wilderness.”
Snickers and guffaws erupt from around the House.
“Order, order!” the Speaker says. “Just a reminder to both Honourable Members not to resort to personal attacks but to stick to the matter at hand.” I can almost hear the reluctance in the Speaker’s voice over shutting us down.
Harry and my relationship has increased the general public’s interest in the House of Commons proceedings, with the Parliament live TV channel seeing a massive growth in viewership as more and more people tune in to witness the debates between us. It seems our unique form of political sparring has captured the attention of the British public.
I never thought Harry Matheson and I would become the poster children for showing how you can love someone even when you disagree with their politics, but that is what we’ve turned into. It turns out lots of people are hungry for examples of how to navigate differences of opinion with grace and respect.
Or with mocking and sarcasm, which is more Harry and my particular brand of love.
I’m late arriving home after the Climate Change Task Force meeting ran overtime. As soon as I unlock the door to my flat, the waft of roast beef greets me from down the hallway.
I open the door to the kitchen quietly so Harry doesn’t notice me.
For a second, I lean against the doorframe, watching him. He obviously changed since he got home, but for Harry, casual still means he’s dressed in an immaculate cashmere sweater and perfectly pressed chinos.
I love watching Harry completing domestic tasks when he doesn’t know I’m watching, seeing the small crease on his forehead as he brings his full intelligence and focus to whatever he’s doing. In this case, it appears to be grating parmesan cheese.
He looks up and sees me, and my heart flutters at the automatic smile that comes over his face, a small flash of happiness before it settles back into a more neutral expression.
“Hello,” he says.
“Nice debate today in the House,” I say as I approach him with a smirk.
“You’re just lucky your mouth is good for other things,” he growls. Then he closes the gap between us to kiss me. And my heart skips another beat, not at the brief press of his lips to mine, but at how familiar this is now. The fact I get to come home to this man, to share my life with him in all its mundane and extraordinary moments, is a gift I never take for granted.
No matter what storms rage outside these walls, here, we are simply two people choosing to build a life together.
“Dinner should be ready in about a quarter of an hour,” he says as he pulls back.
“So you managed to work the oven then?” I say. I’m rewarded with a Harry glare for my efforts.
I smile as I go to the dining room and pull a bottle of Merlot from our wine cabinet.
I pour Harry and myself a glass of wine each, handing his to him.
“Thank you.” He kisses me on the temple this time, then returns to grating.
I lean against the counter, sipping my wine and admiring the view. Not just the tantalizing glimpse of Harry’s forearms as he grates the cheese, but how much care he takes whenever he’s doing the smallest tasks for me.
He glances up at me. “Prunella’s talking about wanting to have a divorce party when our final decree comes through.”
Prunella has proved to be an exceptional soon-to-be ex-political wife, coming out swinging at anyone who tried to cast her into the role of the victim in the breakdown of Harry’s andher marriage. As a result, the British public has become far more educated on what asexuality is and the challenges faced by those whose experiences don’t fit neatly into the traditional boxes of sexuality.
