The Passengers(77)
His half-smile, half-sneer made Libby want to recoil. Instead, she looked to Jude’s screen and for the first time, he appeared angry. ‘No,’ he mouthed, waving his hands in front of his chest. ‘No.’
Libby shook her head before her glare returned to Jack. She cleared her throat. ‘I am begging you to choose Jude,’ she asked; her voice controlled and her tone measured.
Jack released a long, exaggerated breath. ‘There, it wasn’t that difficult now, was it? And because you asked so nicely, if you really think it’ll make a difference, then I’ll change my vote. I apologise, Mr Cole, but at the eleventh hour, I have been coerced into taking my support elsewhere.’
Sam closed his eyes and hung his head forwards.
‘And?’ asked Matthew. ‘Where is it going?’
‘Never let it be said that I don’t listen to the people and take their opinions into account. I shall be supporting the person with the majority of hashtag mentions.’
‘Thank you,’ said Libby, and a wave of respite washed over her. Jude had been spared.
‘Oh no, I think you misunderstand me, Miss Dixon,’ Jack continued. ‘It was Mrs Cole who received the greatest number of hashtagged saves, not Mr Harrison. Your charge only gained the public vote through modifications of his name and yours, which in my eyes, is unfair. So I am voting for the true winner, Mrs Cole, and not the mentally unstable Passenger you favour.’
As Jack’s eyes pierced hers, his smile emitting only conceit, Libby felt Jude slowly slipping through her fingers. She opened her mouth, desperate to defend him, but she knew it was pointless. Her humiliation quickly transformed into rage and it was all she could do to stop herself from slapping Jack hard across the face.
‘You don’t care about Heidi,’ said Libby. ‘Only moments ago you were telling us she drove her husband into another woman’s arms. You’re doing this because it’s the only bit of control you have left.’
‘You’re a sore loser, Miss Dixon,’ said Jack. ‘These votes are so precious, I’d really rather not waste mine on a stillborn relationship.’
‘Why are you so opposed to letting Jude live and giving him and me a chance?’
‘Don’t bite, Libby,’ warned Matthew. ‘He has nothing to lose. The world has seen his true colours. He has no chance of ever being re-elected.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ Libby continued. ‘Come on, Jack, get it off your chest.’
Jack turned his head towards Jude. ‘Have you really given much thought to what “#HappyEverAfter4J&L” actually means?’ he asked. ‘You’re a mental health worker, Miss Dixon, not Walt Disney. Surely you must realise there will be no happy-ever-afters in your storybook. There will be no bluebirds or bunny rabbits leading you and Prince Charming into the sunset for a fairy-tale ending. If I allow Mr Harrison to survive this process, what do you honestly think will happen when you leave this room? Yes, you might formulate a clumsy, co-dependent debacle of a relationship that survives weeks, perhaps even months, if you’re lucky. But when the world’s interest in you wanes and all that’s left is the two of you, Mr Harrison will continue to battle the same demons he fought long before you stumbled into one another’s arms. In fact, his obstacles and anxiety will likely be exacerbated because he’ll now have everyone’s expectations resting upon his fragile shoulders, including yours, and it’s unlikely he’ll cope with the challenge. Perhaps at first he’ll convince himself that you are his reason to live and he’ll want to believe that, he really will. But quietly and without putting it into words, he’ll be walking a tightrope between living to appease you and desperately craving the peace that made today the day he was going to die. Then, when you’ve taken your eye off the ball, he’ll fall from that tightrope and he won’t climb back on it again. And it won’t come as a complete surprise to you because in the back of your mind, you’ll have been expecting it. Each time he fails to answer a call within a few rings or when you return home from work and the house is a little too quiet, the first thing that’ll cross your mind is whether he is swinging from a light fitting like Nicky was. And, as it was with your brother, you know it’ll be your fault because you forced him into a life he couldn’t cope with. So instead of sitting there like an entitled little madam who can’t get her own way, you should be thanking me. Because I am sparing you from this heartache. By sending Mr Harrison to his death, I am giving you the opportunity to continue your humdrum, pedestrian existence without adding funeral costs to your list of expenses.’
This time, Libby could no longer contain her fury. ‘Go to hell!’ she yelled as she launched herself at Jack, her fists flailing. She was a hair’s breadth from making contact with his face when Matthew stepped between them, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back to the other side of the room, her legs still kicking.
‘Plenty of people who are much better, much bigger and much stronger than you have taken me on and lost,’ Jack hissed. ‘You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Just remember, people like you never win over people like me.’
‘The only good thing to have come out of this is that your constituents have seen you as the pious, sanctimonious, worthless piece of shit you really are,’ Libby seethed.
Jack dismissed her with a wave of his hand. ‘Sticks and stones, Miss Dixon, sticks and stones. Nothing will change because, like it or not, I am needed. I am valued. I am listened to. I am an influencer. You. Are. Nothing.’