Page 80 of You’re So Vein

“Welcome to what we’re hoping will be a lively debate about the issues that impact Argleton. I’ll begin by introducing the candidates, starting on my left, with—Excuse me, Mrs Ahuja, I’ll need you to sit down.”

Mamma sets her mouth in a firm line and marches up to the front, ignoring Maisie’s pleas for her to take her seat. “Did you know that when Komal was seven years old, she decided to run elections for the ‘favourite child’ in our family? She had all her cousins present their campaign speeches, ran a debate, counted votes from the parents, and declared herself the winner.”

Gideon leans forward in his seat. “I’d have been more enthusiastic about politics if it always included a mother–daughter act—Ow.”

Arabella flashes me a fanged smirk. “I shall punish him later. And your scarf is crooked.”

“Beta, fix your scarf.” Mamma yanks it from around my neck.

I grit my teeth, but this will be over quicker if I just let her fuss. Mamma reties my scarf and stands back to admire her work. Then she turns to the audience and thrusts her hands on her hips.

“My daughter is very bright, and she loves this town,” she says. “She’s a useless cook, which is why she hasn’t found a husband, but she’ll make a good mayor.”

I sink lower in my seat.

Beside me, Augustin Durant is trembling.

Is that bastard… laughing at me?

I sneak a look. Augustin Durant has never laughed in his life… except for last night, when I saw him dancing around a labyrinth with his daughter.

But he is laughing now, and there is a genuine glee in his eyes that doesn’t feel mean.

Mischief fizzes in my fingers. I remember the plan that Beth organised. And suddenly, I know exactly how to handle the debate and win it for Papa.

Two can play this game, Durant.

Mamma finally sits down, looking rather pleased with herself. Maisie clears her throat and gets started.

The first question is an easy one, about resources for the Argleton library.

“Libraries are a communist plot,” Colonel Whitby declares, clacking his heels together with vehemence. “If you elect me mayor, I’ll do away with that bookish claptrap and reallocate the library budget to the village defence fund. We shall have four cannons installed on the village green, and we’ll recruit every able-bodied young man into a militia—”

“No, no, no, we can’t have a militia and no library!” Reggie Brown leans back, appalled. “The library is an important hub for village life, but we need to make it accessible to everyone—”

“I agree,” I say, “which is why I’m proposing adding a second wheelchair ramp for the Clump Street entrance and introducing quiet hours.”

“—I mean that our animal citizens have just as much right to use the facilities as the humans. I propose a hedgehog story hour on Wednesday, and that all woodland creatures should be exempt from fines due to chewing accidents—”

“A hedgehog story hour?” The colonel scoffs. “Why, I never heard of such a ludicrous idea! The only stories we should be telling the little tykes are how our brave soldiers went over the top and gave Charlie a damn good thrashing!”

“As I was saying, alongside increasing funds to purchase more library books, I think we should increase resourcing in other areas,” I say loudly, to be heard over Reggie and the colonel’s bickering. “We can add other useful items to be borrowed, such as gardening tools, toys and educational resources, as well as upgrading the computer lab.”

“I’ve held the record for most books borrowed in a year at the Argleton library for the past two years,” Augustin says, his voice low and commanding. He doesn’t look at me, but out at the audience, meeting the eye of every voter. All those books are for Hannah. “Our library is wonderful, but it is right here in the centre of town, and only open during daylight hours. I propose that we keep the library open late one night a week, and that we also offer a delivery service to library users who can’t make it into the village – for example, members of the Sanctus Estate.”

Damn him. That’s a great idea.

I should have thought of it.

I’m about to interject with a biting comeback when something cool slides over my foot.

I glare at him. Is he actually playing footsie with me? During the debate?

I never would have guessed that prim, serious Augustin had a playful side, but as the edge of his wingtip brushes against mine, I am suddenly desperate to know how far I can push him.

This is war.

While Maisie turns the discussion to the problem of graffiti on the village skate park, I slowly slide my hand over Augustin’s thigh. He tenses. Beneath his trousers, he feels cool. Adrenaline fizzes down my spine.