Read Online The Testament of Jessie Lamb by Jane Rogers - Free Book Online
Authors: Jane Rogers
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Mum and Dad.
The difficulty is also other people like Baz. In the beginning I went along to the meetings because of him. He and I did some really good things together there. The YOFI website, for example; I wrote the content and Baz created the site. Weâd sit side by side together at that big desk in the office, trying different versions, making it more user friendly, putting in the links, selecting graphics. Weâd work on it till everyone else had gone home, and it was quiet and peaceful in the building. We turned off the light to cut the glare, and sat muttering to each other and making suggestions, both sets of our eyes fixed on the bright screen. I could feel the warmth of him next to me. Once he looked up and said, âWhyâre you smiling?â and I pointed to his jiggling leg. He jumped as if it didnât belong to him, then after a couple of minutes the jiggling started up again. We didnât do anything, we didnât say anything, but it was a lovely feeling, that it was all in reserve. I thought we were both waiting till the urgent business of getting YOFI to a point where it could really make a difference, was achieved, and thenâthen there would be the time for the two of us.
But instead of growing and blossoming into what I had hoped, everything went wrong. YOFI was already going wrong, with people bickering endlessly about priorities, and about what we should do next. The airport protest became a nightmare. People had to buy their own ticketsâobviously. It would have been a bit of a giveaway if the airport noticed one purchaser buying tickets for 60 consecutive flights. We agreed to reimburse them from the donations that came in after the Manchester rally. Some people didnât have enough cash so Mary gave them the money up front, but then they didnât buy tickets right away. Some who had agreed to participate dropped out after their flights and times had been agreed, so there were time gaps: they realised you have to give your details when you book, which meant they could be traced by the police. Since the point of the whole thing was anti-flight publicity, and YOFI was going to claim it at the end of the day, I couldnât see the problem. It got into more and more of a messâa scattering of tickets bought, too much money handed out, recriminations. Iain said heâd help me sort it out.
He began to notice me more and more. At meetings I didnât have to keep trying to interrupt the boys, heâd glance at me and raise his eyebrows to see if I had anything to say, and if I nodded heâd tell them to shut up. He used to put his rucksack on the next chair in the circle and when I came in heâd lift it off and indicate the seat was for me. I liked it at first; it made me feel important. But it all went pear-shaped.
Weâd been painting banners and everyone else had left. Iain was in the office emailing publicity to other groups. I was finishing off the tidying up. The banners were on sheets spread on the floor and I didnât want to move them till the paint was dry. I was in the little kitchen washing the brushes when Iain came in. I knew it was him so I didnât turn round. I just said, âAll done?â and he said, âYes,â surprisingly close behind me. Then he took another step and I could feel his breath on my neck. I turned the tap off. I kept my eyes on the brushes I was washing, slowly rubbing my fingers through the bristles to get them clean, staring at the little clouds of faint red that came puffing out of them into the water. He was right against me, I could feel the heat of his body. I twisted my neck to try and see his face and he took a tiny step back so I could turn round. Then he was pressing me against the sink and kissing me and my heart was galloping with the surprise of it. I noticed his hands. He was holding his hands out to the sidesâholding his hands away from me as if I might burn him. The weight of him
The difficulty is also other people like Baz. In the beginning I went along to the meetings because of him. He and I did some really good things together there. The YOFI website, for example; I wrote the content and Baz created the site. Weâd sit side by side together at that big desk in the office, trying different versions, making it more user friendly, putting in the links, selecting graphics. Weâd work on it till everyone else had gone home, and it was quiet and peaceful in the building. We turned off the light to cut the glare, and sat muttering to each other and making suggestions, both sets of our eyes fixed on the bright screen. I could feel the warmth of him next to me. Once he looked up and said, âWhyâre you smiling?â and I pointed to his jiggling leg. He jumped as if it didnât belong to him, then after a couple of minutes the jiggling started up again. We didnât do anything, we didnât say anything, but it was a lovely feeling, that it was all in reserve. I thought we were both waiting till the urgent business of getting YOFI to a point where it could really make a difference, was achieved, and thenâthen there would be the time for the two of us.
But instead of growing and blossoming into what I had hoped, everything went wrong. YOFI was already going wrong, with people bickering endlessly about priorities, and about what we should do next. The airport protest became a nightmare. People had to buy their own ticketsâobviously. It would have been a bit of a giveaway if the airport noticed one purchaser buying tickets for 60 consecutive flights. We agreed to reimburse them from the donations that came in after the Manchester rally. Some people didnât have enough cash so Mary gave them the money up front, but then they didnât buy tickets right away. Some who had agreed to participate dropped out after their flights and times had been agreed, so there were time gaps: they realised you have to give your details when you book, which meant they could be traced by the police. Since the point of the whole thing was anti-flight publicity, and YOFI was going to claim it at the end of the day, I couldnât see the problem. It got into more and more of a messâa scattering of tickets bought, too much money handed out, recriminations. Iain said heâd help me sort it out.
He began to notice me more and more. At meetings I didnât have to keep trying to interrupt the boys, heâd glance at me and raise his eyebrows to see if I had anything to say, and if I nodded heâd tell them to shut up. He used to put his rucksack on the next chair in the circle and when I came in heâd lift it off and indicate the seat was for me. I liked it at first; it made me feel important. But it all went pear-shaped.
Weâd been painting banners and everyone else had left. Iain was in the office emailing publicity to other groups. I was finishing off the tidying up. The banners were on sheets spread on the floor and I didnât want to move them till the paint was dry. I was in the little kitchen washing the brushes when Iain came in. I knew it was him so I didnât turn round. I just said, âAll done?â and he said, âYes,â surprisingly close behind me. Then he took another step and I could feel his breath on my neck. I turned the tap off. I kept my eyes on the brushes I was washing, slowly rubbing my fingers through the bristles to get them clean, staring at the little clouds of faint red that came puffing out of them into the water. He was right against me, I could feel the heat of his body. I twisted my neck to try and see his face and he took a tiny step back so I could turn round. Then he was pressing me against the sink and kissing me and my heart was galloping with the surprise of it. I noticed his hands. He was holding his hands out to the sidesâholding his hands away from me as if I might burn him. The weight of him
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