Disgrace (50 page)

“What?” I ask with genuine surprise as I look down at my ensemble.

“I’m supposed to be a ‘mature student’ remember?”

Sofia has been my best friend since college. She sat next to me at the induction meeting and within five minutes of break time I knew everything. She told me she had recently moved to the area, had four brothers, many, many more cousins, and worked in one of her family’s restaurants. She loved dancing, loved drinking more, though, and she had a small angel tattooed on her butt that would have her shipped to the mountains of Italy if her father was ever to find out. We were both aged sixteen starting college, and since John had decided not to go the college route, I was grateful she decided we would be friends. I had only known her four years, but the events of that time irrevocably changed my life, and Sofia, her brother, and her family were my lifeline, and I couldn’t repay their kindness if I had a thousand lifetimes. I immediately liked her openness and quickly fell in love with her energy for life, her confidence, but above all her honesty. This is why I had asked for her assistance in creating the ‘appropriate’ first impression for my first day at University.

“Well, yes, but mature doesn’t mean dead. I’m pretty sure my Aunt was wearing the same outfit when she was buried, and that was eight years ago! You haven’t been digging, have you?” Sofia giggles, but abruptly stops when she sees my expression has quickly changed from confused to worried, and that really wasn’t what she had intended with her little joke.

“Besides,” she gently adds, “‘technically’ a mature student is defined as aged twenty five and over, remember, and what age are you supposed to be?”

“Twenty five, or so it says on my recently doctored and scanned birth certificate.” I smile as I wave the documents I have to take for registration today. I can’t think of a time when I thought I would be thankful to my sister. In fact, I can’t think of her at all without grinding my teeth to the point of inducing a mind-numbing headache, which is why I don’t think of her at all. I have not thought about her for years, not since the day she died. She didn’t die, but she was dead to me. She’d wanted a clean slate; hers was dirty, I was sure of it, not just her reputation, her juvenile record for theft and drug dealing, but I always just got the sense she was hiding more. I gave up caring what that was when she stole all the money from the sale of our home and left me to pick up the tab for our mother’s on-going health care. Our mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s when I was fourteen, but she’d deteriorated rapidly,and when I was sixteen, Kit and I made the decision to sell the house. I had found a nice care facility, the sale would mostly pay for, and between us we could make up the rest. Kit had Power of Attorney and ultimately had access to the money. She’d talked about starting afresh, rewriting her life, and I didn’t understand why that was important at the time. I never believed she meant a fresh start away from me. I was staying with Sofia for a couple of months while Kit stayed at her boyfriend Dick’s flat. She said it would take a while to sort out her new life and find somewhere we could both live. She just disappeared one day, and shortly after that I got notification from the care-home that the next quarterly payment was due, which was when I knew, really knew, what she had done. Sofia’s family helped me with a full time job and sorting a payment plan with the nursing home. I couldn’t move my mum into state care after seeing that she was settled and happy. I could still do my A-levels at night school, it would just take a little longer. I wasn’t giving up on my education. The promise I made may haunt me because of what I’d lost, but it keeps me focused. “Ok, I may have overdone the age thing.”

“Ya think?” mumbles Sofia.

“Let me change, just wait a moment.” I try to spin quickly, only managing to jerk and squeak on my flat, square, crepe-heeled shoes. Really, what was I thinking? I return moments later.

“Oooo, yes, that’s much better.” Sarcasm dripping from every slowly uttered word. “An amorphous blob is exactly the right way to go.” She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows and I sigh. Damn those judgmental eyebrows! I slump on the edge and fall into the one and only armchair. I am actually feeling a little lost, and Sofia seems to know this, as she quickly has me in her tight embrace, squeezing the very uncertainty out of me.

“Bets, you have always been ‘mature’, regardless of the clothes you wear, I’m afraid, ‘an Old Soul’. Remember that’s what Mama has always called you? So how about you forget this,” she says, waving her arms erratically around the array of clothes I’m wearing and have dropped in a heap. “Just wear something you are going to be happy in, comfortable, more confident, and more you?”

The uncertainty I am feeling right now and the knots I have in my stomach aren’t me. I know I don’t reach the dizzying heights of super confident Sofia, but I have had to assert myself from time to time, and I’m not shy. I don’t have hang-ups and insecurities, because frankly, I don’t have the time to care. I don’t want a relationship other than my friends, and everything I have gained in my life is down to my own abilities and hard work. I’d like to say I wouldn’t want it any other way, but I’m not a masochist, and I’m not an idiot. But I am definitely floundering here. I am uncomfortable with the fact that I’m pretending to be an age I’m not in order to study for a degree I want. It has to be part-time because I can’t afford to not work full time. I’m uncomfortable with living illegally above the restaurant, a commercial property with no permission for residential use. Sofia’s family is so sweet to let me live here, but this is a risk for them. The benefit of additional security, which I afford, could easily be performed by a decent alarm system.

“Bethany Edith Thorne!” Sofia scolds, interrupting me from my inner flagellation. I hate it when she uses my middle name, it means she’s losing her not-so-famous patience. I exhale despondently, and I bury my head in my hands.

“This just isn’t you, Bets. I’m your best friend and I don’t understand why you’re trying to hide who you are. You’re bright and confident, and you’ve got a cracking bod under all that shit! I mean killer curves. You know it’s not just your sparkling personality that has the boys lining up, right?” She’s sitting directly in front of me now, daring me to break eye contact. She knows I’m not happy with the direction this conversation is heading, but before I can challenge her, she interrupts. “Brothers, I know, they are all like brothers. This is me, sweetie. I know how you feel and I know why you feel like that. I understand, I do, and I can see you’re shutting down, so I won’t push, but you know I want to, right?” She nudges my leg, and I give a weak grin. “Just don’t hide.” She whispers.

I smile with a bit more life and give a sharp nod of determination. “All right. All right, then!” I leap from the chair, lifting the gloom that had descended, forcing Sofia to fall on her butt.

“Give me five minutes.” I call over my shoulder as I leave the room once more.

“Your last chance, Miss, or I’ll dress you myself. I’ve got hot pants, boob tube, and high heels with your name on them!” she half threatens.

Well, okay, so I shouldn’t want to hide, just stay under the radar, maybe, blend in, and I’m thinking six inch heals clip-clopping across the cobbles of the Quad would not aid this objective. So third time lucky, I emerge.

I’ve settled on my soft and worn pale blue Levis rolled up with my favourite red lace-up pumps, a fitted plain white T and my dark green, short, leather jacket, and striped cotton scarf wrapped loosely several times around my neck. My wavy dark chestnut hair is scooped into a loosely manageable knot, and my make-up is barely there, with some mascara and a splash of nude lip gloss.

“Beautiful butterfly, beautiful butterfly.” Sofia beams and I lightly punch her on the arm for taking the piss, but I know I’m good to go.

“I’ll want all the deets later…so call me?” Sofia’s hug is getting a little emotional and tight.

“Stop! You’re making me nervous and I don’t need to call. I’ll see you later. I’m working the late shift.”

“I thought you would take tonight off at least, you know, just in case you hook up?” She teases.

“Bye Sofs.” I leave. She has a key, and she can lock up.

I tend to walk everywhere, but today I’m running late and don’t want to spend the rest of the day sweaty from rushing. All the same, it’s a shame to get the tube when London is in midst of Autumn, and there has been no wind severe enough to strip the trees bare. It’s my favourite season, and the only time of year when you really notice the sheer number of trees around the city, which are now golden bronze and fiery copper.

The campus itself is spread over a few locations across the city, but the oldest and main part is the Quad, a cobbled courtyard surrounded on three sides by early nineteenth century buildings. They may no longer dominate the skyline as they once had but they are imposing nonetheless. I pass the Gate House and make my way through the crowds of students to the Student Information Center. My main objective today, aside from the actual registration, is to work out how I can fit my part-time degree into a full-time timetable without raising suspicion. I need to double up on the part-time units in whatever way my work timetable will accommodate. I really don’t want this degree to take the typical eight years, when I know I can do it in three. As I see it, I just have to approach each subject tutor individually and get them to accept me taking their extra lessons in addition to the lessons I’m actually assigned and just hope they don’t compare notes. Simple.

I move slowly down the corridors, which have notice boards brimming with information on either side. Course and lecture information, clubs and interests, jobs and welfare; every food group is represented. I quickly scan the boards. Not that I will be ‘joining-in’ anytime soon, since free time is a luxury I haven’t had in a while. I’m naturally drawn to the jobs and opportunities board, and am surprised and intrigued by a simple small flyer pinned and fighting for space. Call center, flexible late night hours, excellent pay. Not a huge amount of information, but I tear off one of the strips with the contact number and slip it in my jacket pocket.

I head toward the library with all my course information and stacks of flyers, which have been pressed into my hands as I’ve wandered, trying to get a feel for where I am and where I need to be. I would always gravitate toward the library, regardless. I can’t live without my Kindle, but really there is no comparison to finding yourself lost in a room with shelves stacked high, soft chairs scattered, and quiet secluded corners surrounded by tombs of literature. Especially seductive if the building is as old as this; it’s like a warm blanket of knowledge waiting to unfurl around me. I find one of the silent areas and a comfy seat, sinking down I take my notebook and pencil from my bag and start to doodle as my mind drifts. The shapes my pencil makes are repeating patterns of tightly bunched ears of corn, and the image makes me smile.

It was late August, and I had agreed to open my exam results with John in the hayfield. I had waited for the postman, and when he arrived, I took the letter addressed to me, a blanket, some provisions, and a notepad, then made my way to the hayfield. I walked through the churchyard and into the field, which was full of dozing Friesians, and guide to the field recently harvested for wheat. The farmer had baled and stacked the straw into several large blocks, and I couldn’t see from the ground which one John would be on. He wasn’t going to make it easy by leaving any clues or answering me when I called. I know he was there; he was always there before me.

I walked around three of the stacks and couldn’t even see any tell-tale flattened footprints or bent stubble, the only thing I could do was climb and look from the top. I called again.

“You know a gentleman wouldn’t let me climb all the way up there, especially when I’ve brought food!” It was a semi-whine, but I knew questioning his manners would get a response.

“Low blow, Boo, you’re no fun, you know?” He peeks his head over the edge of the stack I’m directly next to, and I smile at his pout. His dark hair is flopping into his warm chocolate eyes.

“Yeah, I know, but you’d feel bad making me haul my arse up the wrong stack, and you know it.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, tie the blanket around my waist and start to climb the straw bales. Poking my fingers and toes in hard to get purchase, I manage to grip and climb while John has his hand dangling for me to take as soon as I can reach it.

We sit cross-legged, knee to knee on my blanket with our letters in our hands. We both rip the envelopes at the same time, and I stare at mine in shock.

“Well, I’ve got what I need, how did you do, Boo?” He takes the letter from me.

“Bloody hell, Boo!” He leaps forward and knocks me onto my back. “You’re a freaking genius!” He laughs, but I’m still in shock, I got nine As and one C in PE. I hated PE. He rolls to his side and grabs my notebook. “Right, we need a plan, you know you can do anything with these, Bets, I mean it; you could be anything you want to be.”

I smiled at him and he looked so happy for me. He didn’t care about his results at all; they were enough, and that was that. But for me, he was, well, he just looked so proud. “Well, it gets me into college, but let’s not go crazy. It’s not like I won the lottery!” I nudge him but he pitches up on one elbow and looks stern.

“No. No, it’s not. That’s just money. Money you can lose, money can be taken away. This, this is yours; this gives you choices and no one can take that away from you.” He holds my gaze, “I mean it, Bets. It’s really important to give yourself choices in what you do with your life, you can be anything you want to be.” He leant in and kissed my cheek. “You are already everything to me, but this,” he takes the letter, “this is for you.” He looks deep into my eyes. “You have to promise me, Bethany, you’ll do this. Whatever it takes, you have to give yourself choices. Promise?” He looks so serious, and he’s used my real name.

“I promise.”

Confirming with a nod he looks relieved and flops back down beside me. “What did you bring me to eat, wench?”