He was scanning Kieran’s face, intent and urgent and afraid, waiting for the tension to come in between his eyebrows or tug at the corner of his mouth – but if there was a change to his expression, Jude could only think it was surprise.
“I thought I came first,” Jude replied dryly, deadpan and kneejerk, thinking of last night – and not quite conscious of what he was saying in the moment, let alone what he had heard yet. Because the words filtered in shakily, as if amidst white noise: he digested them in separate syllables, starting with Dempsey. There was Dempsey, his name in bold.
He understood Kieran’s relief now, and gave a hefty exhale at it, a dazed look of overwhelming relief of his own. “Merlin. Dempsey. This is good,” Jude breathed: this was shockingly good, better than expected. Dempsey was progressive; he was different. People had voted in the right direction, then. Jude had hoped people would, but knowing was a different matter altogether; months’ worth of pent-up worry unravelling, a heady kind of satisfaction. Even if Dempsey accomplished nothing, or went back on all he had said – it was proof that people had supported suffrage, campaigned for change, wanted better.
Calm enough to concentrate now, Jude started on the small print of the front page, and startled at how soon his name appeared. He blinked. Kieran had been serious? Second? Jude read the whole thing through twice more: Dempsey, Minister; the full order of the candidates; the Wizengamot baffled by the closeness; Jude even more baffled by it, himself.
“And I came second?” He looked at Kieran, a disbelieving smile dawning on his face. He was struck by a wild urge to laugh. The country had lost its mind, then.
(Jude could believe – one thing or the other, he thought. That last night had happened with Kieran. That this morning’s front page was real. It was almost too much to think that both could be true.)
“I thought I came first,” Jude replied dryly, deadpan and kneejerk, thinking of last night – and not quite conscious of what he was saying in the moment, let alone what he had heard yet. Because the words filtered in shakily, as if amidst white noise: he digested them in separate syllables, starting with Dempsey. There was Dempsey, his name in bold.
He understood Kieran’s relief now, and gave a hefty exhale at it, a dazed look of overwhelming relief of his own. “Merlin. Dempsey. This is good,” Jude breathed: this was shockingly good, better than expected. Dempsey was progressive; he was different. People had voted in the right direction, then. Jude had hoped people would, but knowing was a different matter altogether; months’ worth of pent-up worry unravelling, a heady kind of satisfaction. Even if Dempsey accomplished nothing, or went back on all he had said – it was proof that people had supported suffrage, campaigned for change, wanted better.
Calm enough to concentrate now, Jude started on the small print of the front page, and startled at how soon his name appeared. He blinked. Kieran had been serious? Second? Jude read the whole thing through twice more: Dempsey, Minister; the full order of the candidates; the Wizengamot baffled by the closeness; Jude even more baffled by it, himself.
“And I came second?” He looked at Kieran, a disbelieving smile dawning on his face. He was struck by a wild urge to laugh. The country had lost its mind, then.
(Jude could believe – one thing or the other, he thought. That last night had happened with Kieran. That this morning’s front page was real. It was almost too much to think that both could be true.)
