Page 1 of Unapologetic Love Story

CHAPTER ONE

The receptionist had been expecting a neurotypical.

Agnes Merchant was an all-girls establishment, with a strict uniform code and fees that could get up to six figures, once you factored in donations to the new alumni hall. This day was World Autism Day, and in a show of real inclusivity, the faculty had invited two speakers for a special assembly. The first, a representative from a charity, had already arrived. She was sitting in the green room – a slightly severe woman in her fifties who’d only met a handful of autistic people in her life, despite making them the sole focus of her career. She cast suspicious looks at the students as they passed by.

The second guest stood before the receptionist.

‘Can I help you?’

The guest smiled. The date of birth she’d given when signing in set her age at twenty-eight but she looked younger. Her hair was long and blonde with streaks of pink, a soft cerise that happened to match the fluffy cowgirl boots she was wearing.

‘I’m Raina Lewis. The podcaster. You’re expecting me.’

The receptionist was stunned. That couldn’t possibly be true. She aggressively flipped through her logbook and pulled up a document on her geriatric computer.

‘I’m a speaker,’ the young woman added softly. ‘For today’s assembly?’

‘Let me call Miss Lamb,’ the receptionist squeaked, grabbing the phone. She punched in the extension number and slammed the earpiece to the side of her head, quivering as she waited for the other member of staff to pick up.

The young woman’s eyes were not visible through her dark sunglasses, but she smiled, amused by the scene before her.

‘Hi, Carol, yes,’ the receptionist gabbled into the phone. ‘I have a . . . a Miss Lewis here with me—’

Miss Lamb interrupted to say that she’d be right along and then hung up the phone. The receptionist listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before dazedly putting the receiver down.

‘She’ll be right along,’ she echoed faintly.

‘Good,’ said the young woman serenely. ‘Thank you. You did really well.’

The receptionist gaped, not sure whether to be grateful or offended by the teasing compliment.

Miss Lamb made her way down the long corridor from her office to reception. This was her fifth year teaching at the Agnes Merchant School for Girls and she was determined to see this assembly go ahead without a cough, sneeze, ‘please, Miss?’ or a strategic escape to the nurse.

The Year Nine girls were filing into the assembly hall, where teachers were poised with make-up wipes.

‘Katie has too much eyeliner on,’ Miss Lamb called to Mrs Perkins before she finally reached reception. ‘All right, Miss Lewis, it’s a pleasure to meet—’

Her words fell away as she laid eyes on the visitor, her outstretched hand frozen in the air like it belonged on a mannequin.

The whole assembly had been Miss Lamb’s idea. She’d found the speakers. Granted, she’d not spent more than ten minutes doing so, but her choices had seemed sound and reasonable at the time. Frances Horn, charity spokesperson, had arrived very early and was exactly what Miss Lamb had expected. Serious and dull. Destined for an MBE in charity work.

Raina Lewis was entirely unexpected.

‘You’re Miss Lewis?’ Carol Lamb asked gingerly. ‘The speaker? The speaker on neurodiversity? That’s you? The autistic speaker?’

Raina popped her bubblegum and beamed sunnily. ‘Ding ding.’

Miss Lamb was flabbergasted. She’d hired this speaker from a website that advertised ‘actually autistic’ people. She’d skim-read the biography, admittedly, because it didn’t really matter. They just needed fifteen minutes of inspirational talk.

‘If you’ll please walk with me,’ she finally managed to say, gesturing towards the green room. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Raina answered calmly. ‘Absolutely everything.’

‘Good, good, good, good, good,’ Miss Lamb said, her voice firing the same word out like bullets from an overly concerned machine gun as they reached the green room. ‘If you’ll follow me then.’ She suddenly remembered Frances Horn was the reason for stopping by the green room. ‘Both of you.’

Raina Lewis followed the flustered teacher with an angelic smile. She was entirely used to this kind of display. When people decided that they wanted to book a speaker to talk about autism, they were always fooled by Raina’s rather competent biography. No photograph, of course. Just a list of her credentials and her successful podcast – something they never researched or listened to. They would always build up an imaginary version of her in their minds. A grave, serious speaker with no sense of humour. Someone who would come with a slideshow of misery, leaving people half-asleep but hopefully a little more informed. The perfect ticked box, a job well done!

The reality of Raina would always leave them agitated. Autistic women, in the narrow corners of these people’s minds, weren’t supposed to be successful. They weren’t supposed to be attractive. They weren’t supposed to be colourful, or stylish, or someone who could draw attention and take up space.