Chapter 23
As I stride with great purpose through the quad a couple of days later, a figure in a zingy Kelly-green scarf and cobalt coat waves at me from the main gate.
Jessica, my personal tutor. I turn away so quickly that it’s obvious I’m avoiding her, and I promise myself I will do something about all the classes and work I’ve missed recently.
But one thing at a time! Rome wasn’t built in a day and nor was me sorting my life out.
I’ve realised the whole thing about life getting on top of you is that it’s like Pringles: once you pop you just can’t stop. Or rather, once you stop going to lectures you can’t . . . stop . . . stopping going to lectures. But at some point I have to go back. Today, though, it’s magazine business.
Onwards and upwards to the Quad Media office.
‘There you are!’ Felix says so warmly when I walk through the door that I almost second-guess my decision.
It’s like he’s genuinely happy to see me.
Or maybe – and more likely – he just feels guilty about how our talk went.
He wraps his arms around me in a way I’m pretty sure he’s never done in front of the magazine lot before.
But I must remain resolute. No backtracking.
I don’t respond, let my body go stiff until he lets go and looks away, clearly aware that something is up.
We get started, each section editor going around in turn and telling the group their plans for the next issue.
When it gets to the music section, Felix is very enthusiastic that Tyler sends someone to review a Swedish feminist punk band at the union who are famous for taking their tops off.
He says he’ll even send a photographer if they don’t already have one.
‘Lucie?’ Felix says, turning his attention to Lucie Hardy, the features editor.
To be honest, Lucie is quite clearly much too good for us.
She’s got the potential to be a proper journalist, and probably will be one day soon.
Last year she was on the newspaper, but then she broke up with her boyfriend who was the sports editor of the paper so told Felix the magazine needed a proper features section, and here she is. The paper’s loss is our gain.
Lucie looks down at a battered spiral-bound notebook.
‘I think we need to do something about the outsourcing of staff at Queen Anne’s.
I have a few people I can talk to on staff and at the union.
I think it would make an interesting story that people don’t necessarily know about,’ Lucie says assertively.
‘Yeah,’ Felix says, nodding. ‘I think students are becoming increasingly interested in what’s going on with their lecturers behind the scenes, and I know some people at the University and College Union if your contacts don’t come through.’
‘Not lecturers,’ Lucie says quickly. ‘Cleaning staff.’
‘Cleaners?’ Felix says, with a little laugh.
‘Yes.’ Lucie’s tone is brisk and confident.
‘QAC outsources the cleaning work to a third-party company that only offers zero-hours positions, which means no holiday pay, no sick leave, unpredictable hours, which makes it basically impossible for them to do their jobs and have a normal life and know they’re going to make enough money to support their household.
We shouldn’t accept outsourcing as a default way to provide this kind of labour and I think it’s useful to get the students to see this side of the university that most of them miss. ’
‘I think it’s a good idea,’ I say lightly, because I do, and because I have absolutely nothing to lose by supporting Lucie. And as soon as one person speaks up, there’s a murmur of agreement around the room.
‘I’m just not sure it’s very magazine? Doesn’t it sound like more of a newspaper sort of story?’
‘Well, I don’t write for the newspaper any more, I write for the magazine, and there’s nothing to say that the magazine can’t deal with more serious stuff along with the lighter sections.’
‘True . . .’ Felix says grudgingly.
‘Most of them are women,’ Lucie says simply.
‘And?’ Felix asks.
‘Well, you seemed so keen to get the magazine reporting on feminist causes, and I can’t help but notice the Audre Lorde pin on your jacket . . . I just thought a story about a cause that disproportionately affects women on campus would appeal to you.’
Felix motions with his hands as if he’s weighing something up. ‘I mean, are they really on campus though? Like, are they part of the Queen Anne’s College community? I’m not saying they’re not; I’m just asking the question.’
‘Er, what?’ Olu asks, squinting at him. ‘If lecturers are then so are cleaners.’ She says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which it sort of is.
‘Uh, OK, OK, yes, no, totally.’ Felix is a little wrong-footed now.
I don’t want to put words in their mouths, but I have the distinct feeling that now more than ever the magazine staff is experiencing regrets at voting for him as the new editor.
He literally ran unopposed, so make of that what you will.
Tyler glances at me across the room, their eyes bright with enthusiasm for Felix being unmasked as, let’s face it, a bit of an idiot.
‘Lucie, yes, definitely write the . . . the . . . cleaners’ story,’ Felix says, clearing his throat in a deeply awkward way.
And then it’s my turn.
‘Mary-Elizabeth?’ Felix’s eyebrows are raised expectantly.
‘I’m out,’ I say, fixing him with a stare, unblinking.
‘Out . . .?’ He cocks his head.
‘I’m out. No more column. No more Quad. I’m done with it. I just wanted to come here to tell you that in person. I’m withdrawing my labour.’
One of his sly smiles creeps across his face. ‘Come on, Mary-Elizabeth, be serious.’
‘I am being serious,’ I say, the irritation erupting in me like a volcano, and it’s clear from the silence and the tension in the room that everyone around us knows I’m being serious. Finally, I think Felix does too.
‘Well . . . if that’s how you want to play it . . .’ Felix says, breaking my gaze. This meeting is not going well for Felix. Such a shame.
‘It is,’ I say, keeping my tone light. ‘I just thought it was something I should say in person.’
‘I don’t know if that was strictly necessary.’ Felix’s eyes flare with irritation. ‘But I’m hardly surprised you would want to resign in such a dramatic fashion.’
Instead of feeling embarrassed or ashamed, I just put my hands under my chin in an angelic Shirley Temple pose.
‘That’s me, I guess!’ A giggle goes up around the room.
From everyone except Felix obviously. And now I’ve said what I came to say, there’s no point in me staying.
‘Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. Good luck with the next issue,’ I say over my shoulder as I make my way to the door.
Murmurs of conversation are already starting in my wake as I make my way down the corridor, adrenaline pumping around my system.
And then, footsteps behind me. It better not be Felix trying to change my mind, because I’m very much resolved to stick with this decision, plus, can you imagine how cringe it would be to backtrack after resigning, in Felix’s words, in ‘such a dramatic fashion’.
But it’s not Felix. It’s Tyler.
‘Wait!’ they call to me, and keep walking towards me with their quick step until they’re right in front of me. They hold out a hand, rest it on my arm. ‘Don’t go.’
‘Tyler, I’m not going to change my mind.’
‘No, it’s not that – I don’t want you to change your mind. I mean, feel free to leave Quad, but don’t go right now. Meet me for a drink in the Queen Anne Tavern after the meeting, yeah? I want to talk to you,’ they say, looking me right in the eye.
‘OK, I can do that,’ I say, nodding, my curiosity most decidedly piqued. To be honest, I just wanted to make a dramatic exit from Quad and hadn’t really thought about what I’d do when I stalked out of the office, so it’s quite nice of Tyler to give me an idea for my next location.
‘I’ll see you there.’ Tyler squeezes my arm and turns around to head back to the meeting.
* * *
When the dust settles, as I’m sipping on my large and refreshing, greeny-yellow pint of lime and soda, waiting for Tyler, I realise I already feel better for being out of there.
Away from Felix. Untethered from Quad. No further business with him or with the magazine.
A sense of calm settles over me at last. This is good, because it means that I really wanted to quit, I wasn’t just doing it for dramatic effect – you never really know with me, so it’s welcome to have that reassurance.
Sitting drinking on my own in a public place is a weird sensation.
I feel so conspicuously alone, but at the same time .
. . it’s kind of nice, just watching everyone doing their thing – big groups of guys, couples canoodling in the corner, people propping up the bar after work.
No one cares that I’m alone. It’s nice to have a minute to myself, not embroiled in some rigmarole or difficult conversation.
Finally, Tyler shows up, slinking their way through the busy pub, a few people turning to look at what a sharp figure they cut in their black leather jacket over a brilliant-white T-shirt. ‘Can I get you another one?’ they ask. ‘I need something stronger after that meeting!’
‘Oh, go on then – two lime and sodas never hurt anyone,’ I say, shrugging.
‘I’ll be back . . .’
And when they return, setting our drinks back on the table, they have a naughty smile on their face. ‘Well, wasn’t that something?’
‘I did what I needed to do!’ I say a little defensively.
‘I’ve never seen anyone put Felix in his place . . . or even say no to him for that matter.’
‘I’m sure it’s good for him.’
‘Oh, absolutely. I just . . .’ Tyler trails off.
‘What?’
‘Never thought it would be you, I guess.’
‘Me either,’ I say, blushing. ‘I guess he was my kryptonite. I mean, when have you ever seen me chase after someone like that? Put up with nonsense, tolerate feeling anxious and insecure . . .’