What's a Girl Gotta Do? (26 page)

It was all harmful. And you can't measure harm. It's unquantifiable, like love. Like fear.

I'd done this because
all
of it was wrong, and yet it was always being dealt with separately. Cut up into segments, everyone arguing about whose segment was the most worthy.

Fighting any harm is worthy.

And as Megan and I finished drinking our tea, I realized it takes a great deal more courage to fight for yourself than to fight for others. To confront your own pain, rather than everyone else's. My body felt covered in scars. These last couple of weeks had been cut after cut after cut and I was battered, bruised, damaged, and on my way to broken. If I didn't find the strength to fight now, I'd never find it.

The doorbell rang, jolting Megan and me out of our chat.

She looked sheepish again.

“That will be the others. I was given an hour's head start.”

“You mean Lottie and Evie?”

“Yes, them. And…well…”

She got up and answered the door, even though this wasn't her house. I followed, puzzled, embarrassed, not really wanting even Lottie and Evie to see me without eyeliner on.

The door flung out into the wind…into the two dozen people standing on my doorstep.

I gasped.

Evie and Lottie were at the front, of course. Looking worried, but also excited. Like they'd just cooked up some excellent plan. Behind them stood all of FemSoc, beaming at me like they'd never been so proud of anyone in their whole lives. And it wasn't just FemSoc there. Jane, Joel, Mike from my philosophy class, Oli, Ethan, so many of them.

And there, at the back, was Will. Straining forward to see me…

“What the hell? What are you all doing here?” I covered my tear-stained make-up-free face as much as I could with my hands.

Amber and Evie stepped forward.

“Letting you know that you don't have to get through this alone.”

I flung myself at them, hugging them so hard. Crying again. Always with the crying these days. Everyone clapped.

“Thank you,” I said, as we released hugs. Then, to the others, “Come in. I don't know how you're going to fit in my living room, but we can try.”

I watched as two dozen people attempted to get through Mum's beaded curtain. They sat everywhere – on all the seats, on the floor, on the coffee table, some were even halfway up the stairs.

“Umm…I don't know what to feed you all.”

Evie and Amber held up bulging carrier bags. “Sorted!” they yelled. Evie began unpacking. They laid out at least ten types of cheese first, then a trillion packages of crackers.

“You brought cheese?” I still wasn't sure if this was all real.

“Oh yeah,” Evie said, like it was totally normal to be unpacking three slabs of brie from a shopping bag at 3 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. “A Spinster Club always needs its cheesy snacks.”

“Spinster Club…?”

I looked around at everyone. They were still smiling at me, some chatting amongst themselves, others clapping me on the back and saying, “Teddy is an arsehole.”

Spinster Club was just for me, Amber and Evie. It was always just the three of us.

Then I looked at Megan, who was handing out more slut T-shirts that she must've made that morning. And at Jane, and even Joel, handing round paper plates with cheese on them. And Will, who hadn't spoken to me yet, but who was setting up his tripod in the corner. When we caught eyes, he gave me such a small but loaded smile that I felt my insides glow…

These people were all spinsters too. I saw that now. And they were here because I needed them.

“Yep,” Amber said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We've officially opened the club out to new members.”

“We've started a rota for who buys the cheesy snacks,” Evie explained.

“I…I…” I was filling up again. I'd been through so many emotions in one day. Happiness wasn't one I was expecting. No part of my body was prepared for it. So I found myself slinking into business mode.

“So, what's on the agenda?” I asked, reaching out for the brie. “Seeing as you've obviously shoved through a new membership rule without me, I'm assuming you've made an agenda without me too.”

“Too right,” Amber said.

“We've got them here.” Evie handed out sheets to everyone, and people took them through mouthfuls of cheese and crackers, spilling crumbs all over the carpet. I reached for one, but Evie snatched it back.

“You don't get one.”

I scrunched my nose up. “Why not?”

“Because it's a surprise. It was Will's idea.” Will nodded at me again from his tripod area. “All you need to do is sit down, eat some cheese, and please, for the love of God, put some eyeliner on because you're scaring me.”

And for the first time that day, I laughed. Something I'd never have thought possible when I got the phone call that morning.

I did what she said.

forty-six

It took a few more minutes of paper rustling, and someone asking where the toilet was, and arguing over who'd eaten the last Dairylea Dunker, before we were settled enough to begin.

Evie stood up first, crunching a cracker under her foot by accident.

She was so poised in front of the crowd – so different from the Evie who'd wobbled with nerves at the FemSoc meeting she'd led only weeks ago. She was being strong for me – because I needed other people's strength right now.

“Thank you for coming, all you new Spinsters, you,” she started. “Amber will be giving you your membership cards as soon as she gets round to drawing them.” Amber saluted. “We're here today because recently one of our founding members has come under attack…” Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt myself go hot. “As you know, Lottie's been running a very important project, for a very important reason, and it's gone further than we could've ever hoped. But as a result of all this craziness, well…it's dragged the arsewipes out from their hidey-holes and now they're hurting our friend.”

I was so red I was quite sure I was beyond a red colour. What's next after red? Puce?

Amber stood. “We're scared all this is going to stop Lottie from continuing, and none of us could blame her for that. But in order to help her decide what's right, we've been rounding up all the good things that have happened from the success of this project. So Lottie can focus on the good, just for a little bit, instead of the bad.”

Huh? Good things? What good things?

Will stepped out from behind the camera now – his eyes never leaving mine.

“When you hung up the phone this morning,” he said, putting himself in front of his lens for the first time, “I started going through all the comments. Not just on your personal pages, but at the bottom of the news stories too. I'm not going to lie, Lottie.” He stared at me with real pain in his eyes. “It wasn't all nice. But there was a lot of good stuff in there too. A lot. A hell of a lot. There are loads of people fighting your corner out there right now. Not just in this room, but all over.”

“What?” I asked, but Amber stood again before I could continue.

“Right, guys…” She pointed to Jane. “You first, Jane.”

“Go first with what?” I asked, just as Jane got up to stand, rustling her agenda.

“Shh, Lottie. Just listen,” hissed Amber.

Jane self-consciously pulled down her jumper and began to read. “This girl makes me feel less crazy,” she read, her eyes on the paper. “Thank you so much, Charlotte. I've always felt like I'm alone by being upset about all this, but now I know the world is what's mad, not me.” Jane sat down again.

“What was that?” I asked.

Amber ignored me again, and pointed at Joel. “You. Next.”

Joel, who'd always been too cool for anything, rolled his eyes, but he did stand up, playing with his ponytail with his spare hand.

“This girl ROCKS,” he said, reading from the page. “If everyone did what Charlotte is doing, we'd have gender equality within a year.” He made the metal sign at me with his fingers and sat back down. Still stunned, I made it back.

“Next,” Amber commanded.

Sylvia jumped to her feet. “Charlotte, you're an inspiration. I'm going to try and start a Feminist Society in my school now because of you. First stop – WHY CAN'T WE WEAR TROUSERS?”

I'd begun to cry. Again. Evie and Amber stood by my side, rubbing my back.

One by one my friends stood up and read something out. Some were funny, some were painful, one mentioned abuse from a boyfriend and Megan quietly got up and went to the bathroom. I was a mess by the end, a weeping incoherent mess.

I couldn't believe I'd reached that many people. All the good I'd somehow managed – whilst throwing custard pies at rugby players and being publicly outed as a slut.

Fighting for something you believe in isn't easy. If you hit a sore spot, people are going to swipe at you, gripe at you, try to undermine you, infuriate you, try to shut you up and put you back in your box. I was starting to learn that was a sign you were asking the right questions, picking the right scabs. And though it's easy to lose yourself along the way, and start focusing on all the people who don't want things to change – for whatever broken, messed-up reasons of their own – you can easily find your way back. By listening to the people giving you a hand up. To the people who have your back. To the people who don't think you're a raving lunatic. Let them be your mirror – not the haters. Let them give you the strength to get the job done.

When the circle had finished, when I was an utter mess, when all the cheese had been devoured…Will came over, stepping over everyone's legs and kissed me gently on the forehead. The combination of the intimacy of it and publicness of it crumbled me further.

“So,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, yet it still felt like an intimate whisper. “Are you going to see this thing through to the end?”

I looked at all their cheese-smeared faces. Faces of people who didn't need to be here. People who would've found it much easier to laugh at today's newspaper, discuss it behind my back, tell everyone I was an attention-seeking whore. But instead they chose to pile into my parent's hippified living room and use their energy on building me back up again – giving me the courage to carry on.

I smiled through my tears and nodded.

“This slut says yes.”

WEEK FOUR

forty-seven

Dad:
“What do you mean, Lottie?
You're never going to stop this project?
What, ever? What about your Cambridge interview? You promised it was just for a month, Lottie…Lottie?”

Mum:
“Lottie, this is your future. Your entire future. Do not throw it away.”

Dad:
“I didn't raise you to be like this. It's not just you who's worked hard for this, we all have. As a family. Don't be selfish, Charlotte. This is a huge opportunity. It will change your life.”

Mr Packson:
“Lottie, Cambridge will not take kindly to you pointing out every incidence of sexism you see in your interview…no…no…yes…yes, they are looking for independent thought…but not that kind of independent thought, Lottie…Lottie?”

Evie:
“Maybe there won't be any sexism at Cambridge… What do you mean there's an annual jelly-wrestling competition? I mean, WHAT?”

Amber:
“Fuck uni. Let's go travelling.”

Mum:
“Lottie, why didn't you tell me about this story in the paper? Lottie? Are you okay? This is terrible. Why didn't you tell us?”

Dad:
…

Me:
“The interview's tomorrow, Will. What do I do?”

Will:
“Whatever you feel is right.”

THE FUTURE

forty-eight

Here are the things I knew about Cambridge:

1.
Their male students are statistically more likely to get first class degrees than their female students.

2.
Around seventy-eight per cent of Cambridge professors are male.

3.
Once every year, after exams, Magdalene College holds a jelly-wrestling event where female students in their bikinis grope each other and writhe around in jelly while hundreds of male students watch.

4.
But they do have women-only colleges… Is that sexist? Or good?

5.
They have a Women's Officer, who runs “Consent workshops” teaching freshers about the importance of sexual consent.

Mum and Dad insisted they came with me, though they wouldn't be allowed in. We drove in silence, tension crackling and fizzing between us in the car. There'd been arguments and more arguments. When Dad first found out about the newspaper story, his skin lost all its colour and he sat right down on the floor, looking sick. He didn't speak to me for the rest of the day. I couldn't tell if it was embarrassment, or sympathy. My auntie had gone absolutely nuts for one, ringing the house to say I'd shamed the whole family. Whatever it was, he came down to breakfast the next morning and started telling me off about the project, about Cambridge, about how I couldn't let one ruin the other.

“I don't want that either,” I said. “But I want them to want me for me, not a toned-down Diet-Coke version of me.”

It was a bright winter's day, the sun glowing in a way that made everything look a really stark yellow. We passed a
Welcome to Cambridge
sign and it was like driving into Hogsmeade. I'd seen photos on the internet, but it didn't prepare me for how pretty it was in real life. Fairy-tale-like buildings stretched up into the sky; there were actual cobbled streets, made from actual cobbles. And there were students everywhere, biking along in their winter coats, groups of them walking together, clutching coffees, carrying books, laughing.

I slunk down in my seat, feeling embarrassed that I was with my parents.

It was so beautiful. I closed my eyes and tried to picture myself there and it came easily. I had visions of myself running around, clutching one of those black flat-caps to my head, even though I think you only wear them when you graduate. I pictured the things I'd learn, the people I'd meet – the way I could grow and become the sort of person who'd go on to do great things. In my head, I looked happy, relaxed fulfilled…then I pictured some jelly-wrestling and the daydream was shattered.

I mean – jelly-wrestling!

My parents and I fought about where to park.

My parents and I fought about where to get lunch.

My parents and I fought when the waitress at lunch gave the bill to my dad and I called her out on it.

“Lottie, honestly. Please tell me you're not going to be like this in the interview.”

“It's one day. Can't you hold it in for just one day?”

“When she gets back, I want you to apologize to that waitress.”

“Lottie? Where are you going, Lottie?”

I screeched my chair back, grabbed my bag and dashed out of the cafe. I couldn't stand it. I was too nervous and scared and terrified and confused and nervous and…and…

I dodged down a few alleyways, until I was sure I'd lost them. Then, to stop them worrying – well, to minimally decrease their worrying – I sent them a message, saying:

I just need some time to myself. I'll meet you outside the entrance to King's fifteen minutes before.

As I took off through the city, my head was spinning with all the thoughts. I felt giddy and not-with-it and all the other exact-opposite things of how you're supposed to feel before a Cambridge interview.

I navigated my way to King's College, using a mixture of my phone and the map that had been sent to me in the post. I had about half an hour.

I'd seen photos on the brochure, but when I arrived at King's, the scene still made me not inhale adequately for a good few seconds.

The college was beautiful. A manicured stretch of grass was surrounded by the most stunning grey-brick ye-olde buildings that seemed to just murmur secrets and knowledge and distinction. The famous spire of the chapel seared into the bright blue sky, like it was an arrowhead guiding me there.

It was just about warm enough to take my coat off and use it as a protective cushion from the stone wall outside. I sat myself down, the interview pack perched on my lap to signal to people that I sort of belonged here, for today at least.

I would only belong here if I got in…

A group of students walked by, clutching folders and laughing as they made their way to a lecture. They looked so happy, so proud of themselves, so…I dunno…part of a community.

Recently, I'd started to think more about what it would be like when Amber, Evie and I all went our separate ways at the end of the school year. It made me feel so ill I tried not to dwell on it. It was inevitable though. Time would rip us apart, float us on different gusts of wind, grow us up, make us have separate experiences, and we'd have to cling on and hope we didn't grow apart as well as into grown-ups.

I would have to make new friends, wherever I was, wherever I ended up. And, looking at the passing group, I really felt they were the sort of people I could be friends with.

A girl had her arm slung around the others, and just as they passed, she said, “I know this vastly undermines everything he said and stood for but, man, Karl Marx did good beard.”

Everyone laughed. I wanted to laugh – to be part of it – but I just smiled eagerly at them from my spot on the wall. The girl noticed, smiled, and slowed – letting the others go ahead. She pointed to my pack. “You here for an interview?” I nodded, delighted she was talking to me.

“You scared?” she asked. I could hardly see her features against the low sun.

“I made my parents stop on the motorway three times on the drive here,” I answered. “It's only a two-hour drive.”

She laughed again. “I was bricking it too,” she said. “But it's not so bad. Don't believe the horror stories you hear.”

Her mates dawdled, waiting for her, and she stepped away, towards them, into the shade. She was pretty, but not in a way that asked to be commented on. Bleached blonde hair, cut very short. Just a smudge of red lipstick, nothing else. I felt dorky in my suit.

“Do you like it here?” I asked, not wanting her to leave.

Her face broke into another natural smile, her lipstick spreading across her face.

“It's brilliant,” she said. “It's so hard…but it's the best thing I've ever done. Though I think everyone says that about whatever uni they go to.”

I could tell her attention was divided, but I chanced another question.

“I'm scared about behaving in the interview,” I said. “I have a lot of…er…opinions.”

She came and stood closer to me, looking over my shoulder at my brochure. “What you applying for?”

“Human, Social, and Political Science.”

Her smile widened. “Just like me! Let me guess, you want to change the world?”

My blush answered her question and she laughed, just as her friends called, “Portia.”

“Coming,” she called behind her, and she took another step closer, so we were almost at eye level. “Well, if you're panicking, I guess it's worth telling you that you don't have to get in here to change the world…”

“But?” I prompted.

“But,” she said, weighing up her words. “I'd be lying if I said it wasn't amazing here. It's just…” She looked back at her friends. “Something else, you know?”

I took in my ornate surroundings once more. “I know… Any last tips?” She was turning to go.

“Oh sure,” she replied over her shoulder, as she walked away to her waiting friends. “The same as for everything in life, just be yourself.”

I watched her walk away.

Just be yourself.

Everything in my life was supposed to have been leading up to this moment. So I could get in and that would take me to a different moment. Moment upon moment until eventually, in time, I could be in a position to change things.

Getting into a place like this changes things.

But, as I flipped through the brochure again, students grinning inanely at me from the pages as they studied on the lawn, or swaggered down stone corridors, I had a thought.

I had already started to change things.

My project had started something. It had sown seeds, it had reached people. It had lit fires, it had opened minds, changed opinions, raised eyebrows, started dialogues, poked bears, turned Will, helped Megan…

And I'd done all that without a fancy degree from a fancy place. I'd done all that without knowing the right people, saying the right things, moving in the right circles. I was Lottie, I was no one really. All I had was my voice, my anger, and the determination to voice my anger in the best way I knew how. And look what I'd done. With just that. Well, that, and the two best friends I could wish for by my side.

I didn't
need
to get in here…

I'd thought I might, but I didn't.

I could get wherever I wanted to go by myself. I could change things by myself. I'd proven that already.

I stood up, wiping my cold arse from where the damp of the stones had seeped through my coat.

And I decided.

I only wanted to go here if they wanted me for me. I only wanted to go here if they
got
me. I wouldn't try and tone myself down so I could get them.

I was ready.