All the Rage by A. L Kennedy Page A

just screwing and manoeuvres.
    I do like to please people, though. And I’m good at screwing and manoeuvres and that pleases lots of people. Readers don’t like insight, engagement, cleverness or any other brands of superiority. They want to feel better and wiser than what they’re reading, but they’re thick and have low self-esteem, so the bottom of the barrel is where I have to scrape to meet their needs. I worked that out early.
    I got a job and made the readers happy.
    Making readers happy is not a bad thing.
    Readers like screwing and manoeuvres.
    Pauline’s friends in the ghastly Welsh pub, they were readers. They wanted Westminster gossip – no politics, only the hissy fits and sex. And they were delighted to hear that a minor TV star got guilty with a hooker, racked by the thought of his wife and kids, and please could he limit his one-night stand to a cuddle
and then a kip? Innocent. Except the hooker wakes up in the small hours and the star is ejaculating across her back.
    I can’t tell you his name.
    Well, okay then. But don’t pass it on.
    They adored that. It brought the house down. Pauline something close to proud of me.
    She has zero interest in politics. Another reason to marry her. No use washing it out of your work when you get it in your face at home.
    I have opinions, of course. I’m not a vacuum. And to find what the readers want, I do have to keep informed. I’m not unable to see that citizens have been recast as customers in every sense and must be content with the act of spending and the blessed receipt of nothing.
    Pretty nothing.
    Passing trains.
    The wider life in which it was at one time sexy to take an interest is not going well.
    But I can’t be expected to care. And I shouldn’t attempt to make other people care, it just screws them up. It’s too late for whining and discontent.
    And noticing the ruin of others is the quickest way to ruin yourself.
    â€˜Please could you?’
    It surprised him that Emily didn’t also embrace neutrality.
    It was weird that the matter could even arise.
    â€˜Please. You could go with me.’
    Because he didn’t talk politics with Emily, either.
    I didn’t want to fake things with her, impersonate a guy who’s concerned about refugees, famines. She was smart, had a mind, and I never thought otherwise, but we didn’t bother with everyday conversations. We were special. We were busy and beautiful and it would have been an ugly waste of time to disturb each other with crap from the front pages.
    We gave each other peace.
    So that evening with her was a shock. ‘You want me to go on a demo?’ A small, nice shock.
    â€˜You could. Mark. With me. You could.’
    Demonstrations were fashionable amongst her contemporaries – they had been when he was her age, because they looked good and passed the time – but she had a passion here, too. She’d given matters thought.
    Passions and thought in my absence.
    Unreasonable to be jealous.
    But I was.
    But I was in glory as well, bathed in the joys of her having revealed herself in this regard, of her having asked for something, stated opinions.
    â€˜It’s wrong – things are all wrong. Once somebody’s got more than they need, they don’t need more.’ Sincerity thrumming on her skin so noticeably that he wanted to lick her.
    In fact, he did lick her. ‘That’s a slogan, though, Sweets. And things are complicated.’
    â€˜People say things are complicated when they don’t want them to change. No one says heart surgery is complicated, so they won’t try it – people want to be alive, so they do it.’
    â€˜I think they do say heart surgery’s complicated.’ Her expression hardened against him when he mentioned this – even though he was smiling. ‘Or maybe not now. Maybe it’s easy now. No, I know what you mean and that’s good. It’s a good metaphor.