Page 2 of Unapologetic Love Story

Raina liked it that way. She liked upending whatever they thought. She liked shoving aside the fictional version in their head and taking her place.

As she sat in a plastic orange chair, looking out at two hundred girls who were all wearing a grim, maroon school uniform, Raina felt invigorated. She adored talking to young people. She definitely loved it more than the charity worker who was speaking first. Frances Horn was glaring out at the students with a thinly veiled expression of deep distaste as she gave her sermon.

‘It’s important to remember when dealing with people who suffer with autism,’ the woman said, droningly, ‘that they have difficulty empathizing with you and with emotional situations.’

Raina laughed at that, crossing one leg over the other. The move must have perfectly showcased her fluffy pink boots, as some of the girls in the front row looked over and smiled curiously at the sight of them.

I feel very empathetic, Raina thought. I empathize with all of the teenagers in this room who are being forced to listen to you speak. You, a person with all the charisma of a toilet plunger.

‘People with autism also have enormous trouble holding down jobs and making friends. Desiring friendship is rare for them; they usually tend to be solitary sorts with little care for the feelings of others.’

Raina closed her eyes for a moment and wondered if any speech in the history of womankind had ever been this wrong or this long. Peace treaties had been negotiated since this speech began. Holes in the ocean had been plugged. An entire spiral of outrage had unfolded on social media. A billionaire had done something dystopian. Someone had been made to resign.

‘They can’t normally have romantic relationships, nor do they want them. They don’t experience love the way other people do.’

Fuck you, lady.

That little slice of so-called wisdom from this speaker, so bubonic in its delivery, made the comfortable smile slip from Raina’s face. She couldn’t find humour in it. Her eyes scanned the room full of girls and she felt a flicker of unease. There were bound to be girls like her listening. Girls who worked hard at processing a world that was sometimes not processable for them in the slightest. Girls whose interests were unique and all-encompassing. Girls who felt things more deeply but perhaps had trouble communicating how. Girls who felt that they were just the wrong kind of girl. Who came close to scratching off their arms to see if the ‘right’ person was buried underneath their skin.

Frances Fucking Horn, you have no business telling these kids that people like me don’t feel love.

‘Relationships of any kind are difficult for people on the spectrum,’ Frances went on.

Raina decided to mentally ascend into a higher plane of existence. At least until the speech was over.

‘Females with autism will shun femininity.’

‘Never a good reason to use the word “females”,’ murmured Raina, shivering and tossing her hair. Her topaz rings caught the stage lights and glittered. Her rose-water scent filled the space she occupied. Her lipstick matched the red of her nail polish. She didn’t want to sit still any more. She felt the urge to fidget as Frances droned on.

‘But what I’d like you young ladies to remember is, people with autism are humans, too. Sometimes deeply capable humans. They deserve respect. A society that learns to be more tolerant of their differences is certainly something my charity and I strive for.’

She sat down with a satisfied smirk, which made Raina stare in astonishment. She was almost in admiration of Mrs Horn, for being pleased with herself after such a performance. While Raina was almost always civil at work events, she felt the spiky twists of mischief brewing.

‘All right, ladies,’ Miss Lamb said, while a reluctant smattering of applause echoed throughout the large hall. ‘That was . . . illuminating. I would now like to introduce you to our next speaker, Raina Lewis. She has very kindly agreed to give up her time for us today and I . . . uh . . .’

Whatever introduction Miss Lamb had been planning to give evaporated from the woman’s mind, so Raina smiled genially and stepped up towards the podium. There were whispers as the room full of students took in her boots, her slightly laddered tights and her long hair.

‘Thank you, Miss Lamb,’ Raina said, in a musical tone. ‘And thank you, Mrs Horn.’

She placed a little bit of emphasis on the surname of the previous speaker, which earned her a couple of titters from the audience.

‘So, you’ve heard from the zookeeper,’ Raina went on. ‘Now you’re going to hear from the tiger.’

Someone at the back of the room laughed, while the teachers standing on the perimeter of the hall exchanged wary glances.

‘Hi.’ Raina beamed out at the sea of young faces. Some bored, some defensive and some curious. ‘My name is Raina Lewis. I’m self-employed, I live here in London and I’m autistic.’

A tentative hand was raised into the air.

‘Go ahead,’ Raina said brightly, nodding at the pupil.

‘Um, hi,’ the girl said, lowering her arm quickly and pulling her hair forward so it covered almost all of her face. She then tugged at the sleeves of her jumper, making sure they were concealing her hands. ‘I don’t have a question, I just wanted to say I listen to your podcast.’

‘Oh, nice.’ Raina felt a twinge of kinship with the girl and her shyness. Not unlike how Raina had been at fourteen. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘We’ll have questions and comments for both speakers at the end, Stephanie,’ Miss Lamb said curtly, eyeing the girl in the front row.

‘Okay, fine,’ Raina said, sharing a conspiratorial look of solidarity with Stephanie, who smiled. ‘So! A little more about me. I’m autistic. I had an absolutely appalling time at school. I failed everything but art and drama. Didn’t go to university. I’ve been a cleaner, a nanny, a secretary and now a podcaster. On The Disability Track, we talk about disability (obviously), love, loss, fashion, sex and basically anything that we want. It’s inclusive. It’s fun.’