‘I don’t think gay people see it quite like that, Mother. Most of them are perfectly content with their sexuality. If anything, many feel it enhances their lives.’
‘And good for them. I’m absolutely delighted for them! Put out the bunting! You know, I’m not going to continue with this conversation because I just know that whatever I say, you’ll take it the wrong way and accuse me of all sorts.’
‘Did you ever have sex with a woman?’ asked Elizabeth, the thought crossing her mind that her mother might want to reveal a long-held secret.
‘Good Lord, no,’ said Beverley, shivering a little. ‘Although a well-known lady novelist once invited me to her room when we were both attending the Hay Festival, but I declined. And when I was a girl, one of my closest friends told me that she dreamed of us swimming naked together in the Lake District and would I like to try that sometime, but I said no, that I couldn’t imagine anything worse than holidaying in one’s own country. Why, have you?’
‘Have I what?’
‘Ever … you know … with a woman?’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Not my bag,’ she said.
Beverley considered this. ‘I sometimes wonder whether lesbians are just making a point,’ she said.
‘A point about what?’
‘Oh, who knows? The patriarchy, I imagine. It’s usually the patriarchy, isn’t it? Oh, look! Ustym Karmaliuk is nibbling on an After Eight. He’s getting his appetite back.’
Elizabeth stood up and walked over to examine the tortoise, who stopped eating and turned its head to look at her, blinking multiple times.
‘I told you,’ continued Beverley in triumph. ‘No one can resist an After Eight. They’re sublime. Now, if he finishes that one, we’ll give him another. We need to build his strength back up. I am worried about him, though. I hope he’s not getting himself into any trouble.’
‘There’s not a lot of trouble he can get himself into,’ said Elizabeth. ‘It takes him about an hour to leave the room.’
‘Not Ustym Karmaliuk. Achilles. Seventeen-year-old boys are prone to rebellion and you never know what they’re going to do next. Nelson wasn’t like that, of course. He was more—’
‘Dad’s on TV,’ said Elizabeth, and Beverley turned to see her husband staring back at her from the wall-mounted television. ‘Shall I turn it up?’
‘But that’s the Six O’Clock News,’ said Beverley. ‘What’s he doing on there? Yes, let’s hear what he has to say. But rewind it to the start, will you?’
Elizabeth did as instructed, pressing ‘Play’ just as the programme returned to Sophie Raworth sitting behind her desk, explaining to the country how the beloved chat-show host George Cleverley had yesterday found himself in some online trouble regarding a tweet that had been considered transphobic. Happily, she said, George was with her now to discuss this. The camera pulled out to a two-shot and there he was, looking both pissed off and elated simultaneously.
‘Good evening, George,’ said Sophie.
‘And good evening to you, Sophie,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘I’m thrilled to be here.’
‘And we’re glad to have you. It’s been a strange twenty-four hours for you, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Oh terrible, terrible,’ he agreed, nodding his head. ‘Very upsetting.’
‘Would you like to tell us what happened?’
‘I’d be delighted to. Well, really, it was all a lot of nonsense, but most of it was of my own making. The truth is, I’ve been a very naughty boy!’ And here he slapped one hand with the other, much as he had done on that fateful afternoon at Arlo, Quill, Fitzgerald & Connolly. ‘A naughty, naughty boy, and I need to do my penance or there’ll be no jelly and ice-cream for George after dinner!’
Sophie appeared unimpressed. Five minutes earlier, she’d been interviewing the American Secretary of State live from Baghdad, and now there was this.
‘No, but seriously,’ continued George, adopting a serious tone now. ‘The thing is, I happen to be friendly with a young man, no, I’m sorry, a young woman, who works in my solicitor’s office, and I used the Twitter machine to offer my support on her transition to womanhood, only it seems that I committed the most terrible offence when I referred to her as “he” rather than “she”.’ He turned to the camera now and addressed the audience directly. ‘And let me say from the bottom of my heart how grateful I am that so many of you made me realize what a terrible human being I am. I thank you. I thank you all.’
Sophie paused, looking uncertain about where to take the interview next.
‘You’ve received some online criticism, then?’ she said finally.
‘Indeed I have,’ he continued. ‘And rightly so! When so many deeply caring and compassionate people call one to account for such an appalling moral transgression, it does make one sit up and think, wouldn’t you agree? As hundreds of strangers abused me and expressed their collective desire that I would soon pass from this world to the next, I realized that they alone knew how to live good, decent lives and that I could learn from them. From that moment on, Sophie, I determined to “be better”, as they exhorted me to be, and to let strangers know that I have no business breathing the same air as decent, kind-hearted folk. Only that way will scoundrels like me see the error of our ways!’
Sophie nodded and shuffled her papers. ‘Social media can be a murky place at times,’ she remarked.
‘Au contraire, Sophie,’ said George, his face breaking into a broad smile. ‘Au contraire! What I have come to recognize is the sheer courage of these tireless crusaders, so brave that they dare not use their real names, and who cry tears of frustration as they tap-tap-tap away on the Twitter and the Facebook and the what-have-you, blaming me for making them feel unsafe.’ He leaned forward in the chair and pointed a finger at his host. ‘These audacious souls, these titans of fortitude, these paragons of virtue, they have held up a mirror to me, Sophie, and I have not liked what I have seen.’ He lowered his voice now and shook his head sadly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his eyes. ‘I have not liked it one little bit.’
‘He’s being sarcastic, isn’t he?’ asked Beverley, turning to her daughter. ‘He doesn’t mean a word of this.’
‘You think?’ she replied.
‘I understand you have a message that you want to impart to the transgender community,’ continued Sophie, who appeared to be getting an instruction in her earpiece, because her attention wasn’t fully on her guest now.
‘I do,’ agreed George. ‘I certainly do.’ He turned towards the camera again with a smile, as if he was about to welcome Barbra Streisand on his chat show. ‘I want to say that I extended the hand of support to one of your number, I wished her well on her journey and encouraged others to be empathetic, considerate and kind. I tried to do something positive in a cruel, cruel world. But I see now that this was an outrageous act on my part and I fully accept that I was in the wrong. I think my producer, Ben Bimbaum, a homosexual of this parish, said it best when he said that I’m extremely sorry, that it was never my intention to offend and—’