Universality

Hannah had grown up a few towns over from Queensbury; near enough, and Lenny had been insistent on this point, to tell the story with authenticity. She’d demanded a specific kind of idealised Englishness: that of the unspoilt village, not Bradford’s muddy melting pot. And, like a complete idiot, Hannah had obliged. Making up rubbish about knowing the Aldertons – even milking cows, for f—k’s sake. She’d lied about her own life, becoming a stupid caricature, a convenient identity for Lenny’s article. Because it was Lenny’s article, wasn’t it? Despite Hannah’s name above the words. The story had catapulted Lenny to stardom. Hannah had been left behind.

‘Listen,’ Marie said, once Hannah had closed the door. ‘I’ve heard some of the recordings. You don’t come off well. I don’t think “releasing the tapes” here, or whatever your retribution fantasy is, will go in your favour. You’re hardly a sympathetic character.’ With a slight nod, Marie pointed through the door’s window to Hannah, who was at that moment struggling with a coffee machine. ‘Besides this adaptation deal, she’s got nothing. But, despite all the self-pity, you’ve still got lots to lose. Alazon magazine’s parent company is a major news organisation. If you bring a libel case against them, they’ll completely exhaust your financial resources and destroy whatever’s left of your reputation. They will drag you through the mud. In the end, you and Hannah will both wind up with nothing, though she can always write a contrite personal essay and get back to her old life. She’ll be fine. What will you do then, exactly?’

‘The Fifth Horseman,’ they’d headlined the profile presenting neo-New Atheism’s newest ‘new face’. Watson, a podcaster, commentator and now author, was given a double-page spread in the newspaper’s culture insert. Presenting his gospel as secularist Buddhism and downplaying the recurrent Islamophobic threads throughout his work, most space was afforded to Watson’s current passion: genetics research. ‘If liberals want to follow the science on vaccines, we must also follow the science on race. Watson is leading the way,’ concluded the piece, a resounding endorsement … In the accompanying photographs (the Tribune had splashed out for a styled shoot), the podcaster appeared sophisticated and mildly academic, peering at the camera through square-rimmed glasses, dressed in a Loro Piana polo and slacks.

‘Look.’ John paused, modulating his voice. ‘I understand that measuring genetic group differences has a … complicated history. And I know that it can be an uncomfortable topic – even among friends. But suppressing the research isn’t the answer. If we did that, we’d still believe that the sun rotates around the earth. For the sake of our future society, we need to face the facts.’

‘Oh, stop pretending it’s all so deep,’ Guin sighed. ‘You read a Harry Potter fan fiction when you were a student and it derailed your entire life. It’s possible to appreciate statistics without making it your whole identity.’ She turned to Martin and Hannah. ‘Did you know, I had to talk him out of getting a Bayes’ theorem tattoo.’

Martin had been tapped to interview Lenny in a few months’ time, at a publicity event for her new book. After a quick google, he was left unimpressed: another ageing lady-populist braying for relevance. Hardly a rarity on Britain’s tiresome news media scene. Ordinarily, he would have declined the invitation, claiming a scheduling conflict, but he was keen to get in with this particular festival. He could pinch his nose and interview one silly woman, surely?

‘What’s your take on the “diversity question”?’ said Catherine, holding a glass out to me.

I accepted the drink without an answer. She gave me a coquettish smile, peering up through the dark strands of her fringe.

‘I thought it might do as a sort of unofficial theme for this year’s festival. A rallying cry of sorts. It’s one of those patterns that appeals to the human brain, isn’t it? The such-and-such question …’ She sank into an armchair, gesturing for me to do the same. ‘Like Beethoven’s fate motif or those ridiculous frogs. It’s a meme. And a useful shorthand for, well, the question at hand. What is, I truly believe, the most important question of our time in many ways … But do be frank, Miriam, please. What do you make of the idea?’