Chapter Two
Day Two
Elizabeth
Sunlight streamed in through the net curtains. Elizabeth snatched a white blouse from the closet and wrestled it on, followed by a plain black pinafore dress. She grabbed a pair of heels, slung their backs over her fingers and then hurried out into the hallway. She stopped. "Watch," she said and dashed back into the bedroom, dumping the shoes at the foot of the bed.
The replica of her father's watch waited atop the dresser. She slipped it on and fumbled with the catch. One glance at the tick-tick-ticking hands and her heart lurched. Thirty-five years. It felt as though the breath had been knocked from her lungs. People had always said that as time passed, she would think about them less often and the pain would fade. And sure enough, the thoughts had subsided, but in a way that hurt more, as each thought that did arise reminded her that—for a moment—she had forgotten. And what kind of person could forget?
Ten minutes. Elizabeth picked up her shoes and raced down the stairs. The aroma of fresh coffee and the sizzle of bacon hitting the pan greeted her as she strode down the last step into the kitchen. At the table, Jason was tucking into a bacon sandwich—a dollop of red sauce escaped the bread and splashed against the plate—whilst the girls each shovelled spoonfuls of cheerios into their mouths.
"Good morning." She waved at them, but they only mustered a vague murmur of 'Morning' in reply as they stared at their phone and tablet screens. Her smile slackened. She turned to Henry, stood at the hob; he wore an apron over his shirt and dress pants to protect him from the spray of bacon fat as he turned the rashers over in the pan. "You know, this kind of invisibility would have been really useful in the CIA."
Henry chuckled. Then he pointed the tongs at a bacon sandwich and mug of coffee that sat at the end of the kitchen island. "Eat something before you have to run."
Elizabeth squeezed into the gap behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. She lingered there a moment and breathed in the faint scent of cologne. "Sorry about last night."
Henry reached round and his hand found her hip. "Don't be."
She kissed him again, this time a peppering between the shoulder blades, and then she let go and padded over to the table, picking up the plate and mug on her way. She set them down in the place next to Stevie's and pulled out the—
"Oh God." Stevie dropped her spoon into the bowl with a clatter, and the milk splashed over the side and spattered the tabletop. She scrolled rapidly down the screen of her phone.
Elizabeth clutched the back of her daughter's chair and peered over her shoulder at the blur of the Twitter feed. "What is it?"
Stevie twisted round and glanced up at Elizabeth, her eyes wide. "There's something trending about you on Twitter."
Elizabeth's stomach tripped. "Well, that sounds ominous."
Henry joined them. He placed his own bacon sandwich down on the table and then stood with his hand against the small of Elizabeth's back. Jason and Alison scrolled down the screens of their tablets too, breakfast forgotten. The further they scrolled, the more their expressions hardened; Alison's brow pinched whilst Jason's lips drew into a tight pout.
The tips of Elizabeth's fingers prickled. What, exactly, had happened now?
"Apparently, Russ Freyton," Stevie said, and Elizabeth frowned. Who? "—the comedian—mentioned you on his show last night."
"Isn't that the guy who's always taking a stab at your policies?" Henry said as he rubbed Elizabeth's back.
"Well, he's moved on from policies now," Stevie said, and her cheeks pinkened. She hit the play button on a video and passed Elizabeth the phone.
Elizabeth stared down at the screen as it played a clip from the comedian's show. His voice blared through the speaker. "Some women over thirty-five are still attractive." At the jeers from the audience, he held up his hands. "Now, I know what you're thinking, but hear me out. For instance, let's look at a favourite of the show, Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord." An image of Elizabeth flashed up on screen—one taken from a profile piece that had garnered mixed interest due to the cut of her blouse. "Apparently she's turning fifty soon—fifty! But those legs…mmmh!" The camera zoomed in on her snug black skirt and then panned down to her patent stilettos. "I'd do her, wouldn't you?"
Elizabeth's jaw clenched. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, and the strap of her watch slipped down her wrist. She'll never be given the same respect that a man in her position would. Thirty-five years later: Was he right?
"The video's gone viral," Stevie said, her voice softer now, "and the hashtag 'I would, wouldn't you?' is trending."
Four gazes scalded Elizabeth. Henry's hand skimmed up her back to rest on her shoulder, and he kneaded the tension from her muscles. "Babe?"
Elizabeth flinched. Her eyes snapped open. She turned to him and held up the phone. "Is this what people think when they look at me?" Her voice cracked. "She's old, but I'd still do her."
Henry's grip tightened, and the sorry smile glimmered in his eyes. "Of course not."
Elizabeth snorted. "Well you can hardly talk." She chucked the phone down onto the table.
Henry's hand fell away from her shoulder. He frowned at her, bemused. "What?"
"Well you are—" She gestured at the screen, and her face flooded with heat. "—doing me, so…"
Silence fell over the room. Henry's mouth opened and closed, his eyes wide as he floundered for a response. Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest and bit down on the inside of her cheek. No longer able to meet his eye, her gaze found refuge in the buttons of his shirt.
"Oh, gross." Jason groaned, and his chair scraped over the floor as he pushed himself away from the table. "Why can't you guys be like normal parents, you know, asexual?"
"Hey." Alison swivelled to face her brother whilst her frown deepened. "It's not Mom's fault if some ass decides to objectify her."
"That's not what I meant," Jason said, a squeak to his voice. He gestured between his parents. "I meant…them…you know…" He let out a sharp sigh and held his hands up. "Nevermind." He backed away from the table and snatched up his rucksack from behind the couch, and then slinging the strap over his shoulder, he strode off through the kitchen, the tread of his trainers screeching over the wood.
"Mom, the guy's a total jerk," Stevie said.
"And the millions of people retweeting it?" Elizabeth said, an edge to her voice.
"They don't have a braincell between them." Stevie tugged her lips to one side. She stood up and smoothed out the creases in her dress, and then she grabbed her jacket from the back of the couch and stuffed her phone into her pocket. She squeezed Elizabeth's arm as she bumped her lips against her cheek. "Don't let him get to you."
Elizabeth let out a low snort. Right, just suck it up, like you always do.
Stevie kissed her father's cheek too, and then she dumped her bowl in the sink and scurried off towards the front door.
"Babe?" Henry began.
But Elizabeth shook her head. What words could possibly make this any better? "I need to get going too." She retreated to the bottom of the stairs, one hand holding onto the banister for balance as she tugged her shoes on. "We've got that trade deal announcement this morning…I can't be late."
"It'll blow over," Henry said. His gaze clung to her every move.
Elizabeth nodded. "I know." And she forced a smile. But why did these things have to happen in the first place? She skirted round the edge of the table and planted a kiss to the top of Alison's head. "See you later, Noodle." Then she strode through the kitchen and headed for the front door.
Henry followed, his footsteps just a pace behind the tap of her heels. He leant back against the wall in the entrance hall and folded his arms across his chest, watching her whilst she shrugged on her coat. "I know you don't need this now, what with your birthday and your parents—"
Elizabeth sent him a sharp look. "Henry, I'm fine. Really." She closed the distance between them and rested her hands against his hips as she leant in. A peck to the cheek, just missing the corner of his mouth. "As you said: it'll blow over."
She stepped out onto the porch, and the door clunked shut behind her. The exhaust fumes from the motorcade dulled the crisp air, and dark grey clouds skittered across the sky and stole the sunlight.
"Thank you." She offered a taut smile to the DS agent who opened the car door for her. But it came with a silent question: Had he watched that clip too? I'd do her, wouldn't you?
With her coat huddled around her, Elizabeth stared out of the window as the car pulled away from the house, but her gaze lingered in the past. A shadowed hallway, the scent of rosemary and garlic, the kitchen door ajar. I think we should tell her to aim for a path in life where she actually stands a chance. Well, she had made it further than her father had ever imagined, but was he right?—She's a girl…And was it her own fault for not setting her expectations accordingly?
"Good morning." Elizabeth strode into the conference room. The staff who had already gathered stood up from their chairs as she entered, but she waved them back down.
Blake took her bag and helped her out of her coat, and then he whisked both items away into her office whilst she made her way to her seat. A tray of doughnuts—encrusted with sugar, strawberry jam oozing out—stared up at her from the middle of the table. She leant over and grabbed one, along with a paper napkin. Not quite a bacon sandwich, but food at least.
"Good morning, ma'am," Matt said as he walked into the room, a folder tucked beneath one arm. He reached over and helped himself to a doughnut too before he took the seat at her side. He swivelled the chair round to face her as he lifted the doughnut to his lips and concealed his easy smile. "Hey, I didn't know you were turning fifty."
Elizabeth turned to him. "Sorry, what?"
A hush fell over the room, and the staff's gazes darted to Matt before ping-ponging back and forth between him and Elizabeth.
She took a bite of doughnut, sugar clinging to her lips. With her gaze fixed on him, she chewed it over slowly, swallowed and then asked, "Did you think I was older?" She placed the doughnut down on the desk and dusted the sugar from her fingertips.
Matt's smile wavered. "No…I…uh…"
"How old, Matt?" She narrowed her eyes on him. There was something enjoyable about watching him squirm.
Blake leant between them and set a cup of coffee down in front of Elizabeth. As he retreated, he murmured to Matt, "Remember that rule about never discussing a woman's age? This—" He motioned between Matt and Elizabeth. "—is why."
"So?" Elizabeth said. "What are we talking? Fifty-three, fifty-five—" She arched her eyebrows, and her voice sharpened. "—do I need to go any higher?"
Matt pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and she could have sworn there was an actual bead of sweat on his brow. When he spoke, the words were slow, considered. "You don't look a day older than forty-five, ma'am."
"Such a liar." Elizabeth shook her head, but a smile crept to her lips.
On the opposite side of the desk, Jay leant forward and rested his palms against the binder in front of him. "So, shall we get started?" He shot Matt a look. "Before anyone digs a hole all the way to China beneath the State Department." He motioned to Daisy, sat near the head of the table. "Daisy, did you want to…"
Daisy tapped at the screen of her tablet and began to flick down, but Elizabeth held up one hand. Daisy stopped, mouth open.
"If this is about that comment and the hashtag on Twitter," Elizabeth said, "I don't want to hear it." She shook her head to herself and then took a sip of coffee. "It's already wasted enough of my time today." She turned to Kat, who had taken the seat between Daisy and Jay, and sat with her hands folded beneath her chin. "Have we heard back from the White House about the proposals for the trade deal?"
"They signed off this morning," Kat said. But her tone sagged, and a slight furrow nicked her brow.
"That's great news," Elizabeth said. Her gaze swept over each member of staff in turn. "So why does everyone look like the class pet just died?"
"Because," Jay strung out the word, "Russell Jackson is insisting that we hold off on any announcement until after this whole Twitter…" He flapped his hand at Daisy's tablet. "…thing has blown over."
"What?" Elizabeth frowned. "Is one stupid comment really that big a deal?"
"Actually, ma'am—" Daisy's fingers fluttered against the back of the tablet. "—it's morphed."
Elizabeth's stomach gripped. "What do you mean 'morphed'?"
Daisy found sudden interest in the tabletop, as did the others as Elizabeth turned to them too.
"Okay, someone needs to tell me what's going on. Now."
Matt twisted round to face her, his expression just as solemn as the rest of the staff's. "Someone thought it would be fun to start a poll about positions."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Positions?" What the hell did that mean? But now not even Matt would look at her. "Daisy?"
Daisy's eyes widened. And oh God, was that her horrified face? "Um…sexual positions ma'am." The fluttering of her fingers against the tablet grew more agitated. "As in which sexual positions you would prefer if they were to…you know…do you."
Elizabeth choked on her coffee. "Oh my God, seriously?" She extended her arm across the table, fingers snatching at the air as she beckoned for the tablet. With it clutched in one hand, she leant back in her chair and scrolled down the screen.
The staff watched her in silence.
"Huh…" she said. Top marks for creativity. "Well someone had better tell Henry." She flashed them a smile—That should ease the tension—but then Blake opened his mouth, and her expression fell. She raised her eyebrows at him and held up one finger. "That was a joke, Blake, but thanks. Now we can all share in this delightfully awkward mortification."
Blake pursed his lips, his cheeks flushed crimson, and he retreated to the corner of the room.
"Do you want to put out a statement?" Daisy asked.
"What?" Matt snorted, and his lips twisted into a smirk. "Like cast her vote?"
Elizabeth turned to him with a hard stare. And Matt's smile floundered.
"No, you creep," Daisy said, her voice lowered to a hiss. "Like pointing out how crass and inappropriate this is."
"Because prodding the troll always turns out so well?" Matt drawled. He pivoted back and forth in his chair.
"So you think we should just stay silent?" Daisy said. "Let people think this is acceptable?"
"The alternative is that we engage and risk making things worse," Jay said.
"I say we just leave it," Elizabeth said. "People will get distracted by…I don't know…" She fumbled the air for an example. "—a Kardashian painting her nails, and before you know it, this whole thing will blow over."
Kat shook her head. "But you shouldn't have to deal with this, ma'am."
"None of us should, Kat," Elizabeth said through a taut smile. Then she gave a shrug. "But hey, c'est la vie."
Jason
The tide of students swelled against Jason as he walked down the hallway towards his class. The surge of voices hushed when it reached him and people averted their gazes. And then came the snickering. "Hey, McCord! I would, wouldn't you?"
Jason clenched his fists as he clung to the straps of his backpack.
"Mmmh…those legs." Another roar of laughter.
He drew his lips tight and bit down on the inside of his cheek.
A gang of boys from the year above barged into his path. They formed a broad arc, arms folded over their chests, sneers plastered across their faces. Jason ducked his head down and tried to step through, but one of them caught hold of his shoulder and shoved him back.
"McCord, your mom—" one of them—a heavy-built boy called Markus—began.
"Madam Sexytary." Trent cut in, and his lips twisted into a sickening smirk.
"That's right, Madam Sexytary." Markus rolled the name around in his mouth as if it were a delicacy to savour.
"Look, guys," Jason said, "I just want to get to class." Before I break your nose and get excluded from this school too. He tried to squeeze his way through, but they pushed him back again.
"What's wrong, McCord?" Markus said. "We're just talking."
"You're objectifying my mom."
Markus frowned. "What? I'm not objecting against your mom."
Jason shook his head. Idiot. "No, objectifying."
The bell rang out; its shrill peal echoed through the halls.
"Whatever," Jason said. "I'm late for class." He darted to the side and jumped into the stream of students that flooded past in the last surge to reach their classrooms. He kept his gaze ahead and let himself be swept along, but behind him came another series of shouts, the chant of "I would, wouldn't you?"
Henry
Four o'clock. So much for no caffeine after three. Henry set the coffee down on his desk in the study, only for the steaming liquid to slosh over the edge of the cup. "Damn it." He grabbed a wad of tissues from the box on Elizabeth's desk and mopped up the spill before it could seep into the pile of essays waiting to be read.
The front door slammed, and the windows juddered in their frames. Henry spun round. Stood in the entrance hall, Jason dropped his rucksack from his shoulders and let it slide down his arms to the ground. He leant against the door, and his head fell back against the glass. Henry stooped down and tossed the tissues into the bin under his desk.
"Hey, buddy." He stepped into the doorway. "You're home early."
Jason turned his head and looked at him. Eyes vacant, jaw clenched. "Yeah, well…" He shrugged and then pushed himself away from the door. His whole body slouched, as if succumbing to some great weight.
"Don't you have debate practice?"
"Not in the mood."
Henry motioned for him to step into the study and then gestured to the armchair in the corner. Whilst Jason slumped down into the seat, Henry grabbed his own chair from behind his desk and wheeled it over. He sat in front of Jason, and leaning forward, he touched Jason's knee. "Talk to me."
Jason's lips pulled to one side—a facial shrug. "Just stupid guys saying stupid guy stuff."
"About this thing with your mom?" I would, wouldn't you?
Jason nodded, his lips now pursed into a bud.
Henry let out a stream of breath. He tapped Jason's knee. "I know it's difficult with Mom being a public figure—"
"I don't mind her being a public figure," Jason said, "I just wish she wasn't subjected to public ridicule."
Henry's heart twinged. His lips pulled into a taut line. "I know. Believe me, I hate it as much as you do, if not more." Because whilst everyone else saw the composed facade, he had the privilege—and the pain—of seeing her at her most vulnerable.
Jason met his eye. "I know you guys shield us from a lot, and we probably don't have a clue about half the things you do, but I know that Mom works really hard to make things better in the world, and for the way she looks to eclipse all that, just because she's a woman…it sucks."
Henry gave a wry laugh. "Yeah, it does."
"I just wish I knew what to say to make people see that." Jason shook his head to himself and then leant back against the cushion and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes turned to the net curtains that glowed with an apricot haze as they caught the sunlight.
"It's frustrating, I know." Henry wheeled back across the floor and grabbed the cup from his desk before he returned to Jason. He took a long sip, the curves of the coffee undulating against his tongue. "It's tempting to speak out, to engage with these people and try to make them see reason, but the reality is that they won't listen, and if anything, we just make the situation worse."
Jason glanced back to him, brow pinched. "So we're just meant to stay silent?"
Henry took another sip and nodded.
Jason's frown deepened. "Back when there was that thing with Thad Newton, Alison said that by saying nothing we're just as bad as the people doing these things. She said that we're the reason they get away with it."
Henry's jaw clenched. The thought of anyone doing that to his daughter. "That's different." He huffed. "Trying to coerce a girl into a room isn't the same as making a crass comment on a television show and it getting swept up by Neanderthals on Twitter."
"But isn't it all related?" Jason shook his head, and he leant forward again, gesturing. "I mean, Russ Freyton is promoting an attitude towards women that fosters that kind of behaviour."
Henry paused; he let the point circle through his mind. "In a way, yes. But—"
"Then surely we should say something." Jason's voice rose, and a glimmer of something—frustration, passion—lit his eyes. "We should say that it's not okay to treat women—Mom—like this, to act as if her only value is in her looks."
Henry kept his gaze steady on Jason. "But as you already pointed out, what can you say? What words would possibly make them see that?"
"Then maybe we don't need to say something," Jason said. "What was Mom going on about before…?" He snapped his fingers, as if trying to summon the memory. His eyes sharpened. "Symbols being louder than words?"
Henry chuckled. "See, you do listen to her really." His smile waned, and he looked Jason firm in the eye. "Look, I know that today's been difficult, but by tomorrow this will all have blown over. I don't want you to go doing something symbolic—no matter how well-meaning it is—and end up making things worse for your mother, okay?"
Jason frowned. He opened his mouth, though no words came.
"You want people to respect Mom, right?" Henry said, and Jason nodded. "Then we need to respect her too, and she's said not to comment on it, you understand?"
Jason nodded again, more reluctant this time.
Henry inched forward in the seat and laid his hand against Jason's shoulder. "There'll always be people who say things against her, but at the end of the day, it's what the people who love her say that counts." He shook Jason's shoulder. "Don't save up all this appreciation for when something like this happens; this is the stuff you need to make sure she knows."
Jason's lips pinched. "But she does know, right?"
"She's ex-CIA, not a mind-reader, Jase." That earnt him a small smile. "It wouldn't hurt to open up sometimes, to say the things that matter whilst you can." Henry's own smile dwindled. God knew Elizabeth understood that better than most. The last thing I said to them was 'Close the door', not 'Goodbye', not 'I love you'; just 'Close the'—freaking—'door'.
