Kept (11 page)

There, that’s it, how I ended up leaving Piers and ended up
having to return here, back to my parents. My stupid behaviour over the past
four years has left me with no other choices. My rottenness caused this – only
I am to blame.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Obélix says sadly, shaking his head.
‘I thought it was me.’

I know he’s fibbing. Believe me, Ob feels as romantically
for me as I do for him.

‘I’m sorry it’s not you,’ I reply sarcastically. ‘What with
your weird sexual perversions and love of bestiality, you
are
a fine catch. But, the truth is, I just can’t compare to your
greatness
.’

‘Don’t be,’ he says in mock tones of horror. ‘Your tale’s
just reminded me of your ugly side, Arielle. Even though I was momentarily
dazzled by your beauty and sparkling childhood wit, I’m now reminded of your
true evil streak.’ He gasps, theatrically. ‘I’m cured!’ He even pretends to
wipe a tear from his cheek. See, if only my mother could see this sort of
behaviour, then she’d believe the gay lie! Though judging by the expressions of
some of the locals, that gay rumour might be reaching her ears soon enough.

‘Cheers,’ I mutter feeling a little depressed at his more
negative declarations of my character. ‘You’re a fibber anyway, Ob Thomas, you
know you love me.’

‘Only like a sister, and you know it. Actually,’ he
continues, ‘I do know who that secret
fella
of yours
was.’

‘That’s impossible,’ I dismiss. ‘No one knows.’

‘Someone knew, Arielle,’ he says darkly. ‘And trust me, he’s
very bitter about it. Even now.’

‘Who?’

‘It’s not important anymore, is it?’

‘Who?’ I demand again when Ob doesn’t spill.

‘Oh, Arielle,’ he sighs. ‘Get over him. You were over ten
years ago. It’s time you moved on, either by yourself or with Piers.’

‘I don’t think I love Piers,’ I declare, but I feel a pang
in my heart at my words.

OK, I love him. I love him a lot. I love him more than
him
as well but it’s easier to pretend I
still love that one because I am her and I don’t want to deal with my Piers
emotions just yet. He’s filed in a box to be dealt with later, preferably
never. Leaving him and leaving London has given me some clarity, produced from
those unexpected train-thoughts. I think it’s best to let those repressed
thoughts have the chance to flourish.

‘You do love Piers.’ Ob smiles sadly at me. ‘You’d have left
him long ago before he kicked you out if you didn’t. You have more integrity
than you think.’

‘I don’t,’ I huff. ‘And Piers is not important to me. Now,
who told you?’

 
I’m more than curious
to discover who knew about my dirty little secret or, rather, whose dirty
little secret I once was.

‘Tell me the rest of your story and I might tell you,’ he
infuriatingly replies.

‘Ob!’

‘Oh go on, Arielle.’ He looks miserable for a second. ‘Your
life is far more exciting than my sad existence. Humour me at least.’

How can I resist that?

I was lucky. Piers may have pulled out my cards, but he’d
left my phone. When I flipped it open however, I realised I hadn’t packed my
charger; typically my battery was running low. Scrolling through my numbers,
hoping to spot some forgotten friend of
mine
,
not Piers, I briefly hovered over the parental option. But no, I couldn’t run
back
there
. This was all a big
misunderstanding. Piers just needed to let off steam. Once he’d calmed down
after a few days alone, he’d soon see the error in his tantrum. He’d want me
back I confidently expected.

But, that still didn’t solve the issue of where I would go
until then. Scrolling back up my numbers, I paused over Lydia’s name.

Lydia and I had been really good friends – exceptional
friends, even – up until the point that Nigel, Piers’ best friend, cruelly
dumped her for a younger model. She’d desperately tried – quite pathetically I
had thought at the time, fitting to my awful attitude – to remain friends with
me. Snobbily I never bothered returning her calls – something I was regretting
now because there was no one else I could call. I had lost touch with all my
London-bound Warwick friends after graduation. When I met Piers his life took
over through no fault of his. He had encouraged me to invite friends over when
I was recuperating with my ankle but after hearing my negative remarks about
them one too many times, he stopped asking.

Unless I went home to the ’rents, Lydia was my only hope for
a bed for the night, the only person in my phone who didn’t talk to Piers
anymore. I was grateful I hadn’t deleted her number, especially when I noticed
I had less than £50 cash in my purse.

I pressed the green button, silently praying she hadn’t
changed her number… she hadn’t.

‘So,’ she icily answered before I’d even had a chance to say
hello. Bloody caller ID. ‘He’s finally chucked you, has he?’

‘Hi Lydia,’ I trilled nervously. ‘How are you?’

‘Cut the crap, Arielle,’ she told me, rather fairly I
thought. ‘What do you want?’

‘Umm, well Piers and I had a tiny, little row – nothing
serious – but I was wondering if you wanted to meet for a coffee or something
because it’s been
forever
.’

I cringed. It had been forever because I had let it be
forever. Piers had asked me not to see her as it would have been insensitive to
Nigel –
we’re
Nigel’s friends
Piers had stressed to me, but I should never have
listened to him.

I don’t like Nigel and it amazes me how Piers is friends
with such a snob but friends are what they are. Best friends. He’s probably
been blinded to Nigel’s many faults over the years from their dorm days at
Winchester – I dread to think what they experienced
there
together – to life in their thirties as Big City Fat Cats.
Naturally, Nigel is very fat – Fat Boy Rich as they term it – not that I’ve
ever been idiotic enough to say that to Piers or to point out Nigel’s other
flaws. Like his bullying of restaurant staff. His condescending tone to his
driver. Basically, his repugnant attitude to anyone who isn’t like Nigel.

‘Lydia?’ I interjected, cutting through her cackles.

‘He’s dumped you, hasn’t he?’ she finally manages to say.
‘Traded you in for a younger model, I imagine. What’s up, Arielle?’ she
sneered. ‘Have you realised you’ve got no friends other than his?’

Ouch.

‘Umm, well…’ I was desperately trying to hold back the
tears. It was finally hitting me that Piers had dumped me. That, not my
predicament, was upsetting me.

She sighed. ‘I’ll meet you at Tabi’s in fifteen, OK?’

‘I’ve not got much money,’ I admitted. ‘Can we make it
somewhere cheaper?’
  

‘I’ll pay.’

She hung up on me at that, leaving me to make the ten-minute
walk to the King’s Road seeing as I had no reason to stay loitering outside
Piers’ house. In his mood he’d probably have phoned the Met on me and had me
carted away. Picking up my bag, I glanced back only once to say goodbye to the
house I had called home for the past four years.

Somehow I knew I wouldn’t ever be living there again.

Lydia was luckily very nice to me, a sympathetic shoulder
to cry on.
Eventually
. It was more
than I deserved from her.

‘Crikey, Arielle,’ she said when she first saw me. ‘I’ve
never seen you look so–’

‘Mismatched?’

I hadn’t made an effort to match my Burberry mac to my Prada
tracksuit and since Piers threw me out barefoot, I had to team up my outfit
with one of the few pairs of shoes I had randomly packed. I had four choices –
a pair of black Converse high-tops, some vampish no-name white and black Mary
Janes
, some six-inch Jimmy Choo Perspex wedges lined in hot
pink leather or my snakeskin Gucci boots.

I had packed bizarrely, not even packing any deodorants or
body lotions. Luckily, I always keep my big Anya Hindmarch vanity bag in
whatever handbag I use and the Chanel handbag Piers handed me fortunately had
all my kit in.

I had opted for the Converse, but I knew I looked
ridiculous, like an escaped convict from fashion prison. Top-security breakout
alert!

‘I was going to say like a senile fashionista lacking her
marbles but I guess “mismatched” is politer.’ She smirked at me. She was
enjoying this, and she had every right to.

‘I had little choice.’

‘Wow, sick bastard! Not only does he kick you out, he makes
you humiliate yourself in public by kicking you out in a stupid outfit.’ She
raised one eyebrow in mock shock.

I knew my attire alone, never mind my predicament, made it
worthwhile her answering the phone.

‘Cheers,’ I muttered.

I deserved her bitchiness for ignoring her in her time of
need. What would I have done if Lydia had ignored me? I really wasn’t sure…

‘Well, if I’d have known you’d be meeting me looking like
this, I would have listened to your suggestion of going somewhere cheaper.’

Meow.

‘I’ll change.’

‘Please do,’ she tartly replied.

Lydia, of course, looked stunning. Her hair was now cropped
pixie-like which made her eyes sparkle big and wide, or I suspected they would
if they weren’t narrowed in a mock glare at me. Her wardrobe didn’t look as
current as it once was, but she looked happy and confident in her dark
out-of-season J Brand jeans and no-name pussy-bow blouse.

I grabbed some jeans from the holdall – my favourite pair of
ripped Sass & Bide’s – and a plain black cashmere top by Calvin Klein.
Teamed with my Choo wedges, I’d look the part of a Chelsea girl on display
having a “down” day. Despite my wardrobe being more current than Lydia’s, I
knew she’d trump me – I looked distraught with none of my fashion confidence
radiating from me.

How I was dressed would have been accepted in a gym and I
hasten to clarify this should be a home gym. All the rage, you see. Naturally
Piers had one installed before they became the rage. I don’t just mean he
bought a treadmill. Builders put in spring floors, walled mirrors and a
state-of-the-art sound system, despite us having state-of-the-art gym
membership through his work benefits.

I feel tired just thinking of the many unspoken rules I have
been a slave to, etiquette that filled my days. Time spent choosing suitable clothes
and accessories, discussing these choices with the circle for each event. Hair
and make-up, of the day-to-day variety, without even mentioning the actual
beauty appointments… Time flies by for those with a lot of it, trust me, and I
can easily see how years could fly by achieving nothing, absolutely nothing.

I had nearly made it to the lavatories to change when a
voice stopped me. Obviously I couldn’t get away with no one else seeing me in
my
offensive
attire.

‘Excuse me, but–’ started the snotty voice, the voice only
stopping because the owner of the voice’s eyes had reached my face after taking
me in from toe to top. ‘Oh, it’s you, Arielle. How...
unexpected
.’

‘Hello Tabitha,’ I answered politely.

I could tell my attire had thrown her.

Tabitha is the owner of Tabi’s
,
and she is snotty to those who don’t adhere to her rules. She’s
lovely most of the time but gets away with such elitism as she’s related to the
Cuthbert-
Monrose’s
.
Exactly
. Referred to nastily in the press as “Tabitha Tits” because
of her prominent features and many sexual escapades, she’s somehow managed to
rise above the cruel tabloid speculation. And yes, they really are something.

Still, her entire family intimidates me, especially her
cousin Lottie who is engaged to an Oscar-winning actor and who was one of those
effortless graduates who walked straight into a glamorous job. Bitch. I can’t
help but feel bitter about Lottie’s perfect life;
 
if I was Lottie, the likes of Nigel would
grovel at my feet.

‘How are you, Tabitha?’ I asked, as she continued to stare
at me.

I’ve always got the impression Tabitha considers herself the
Queen of the King’s Road; she’s not one to concern herself with the little
people – read, unfashionable. She employs menacing but fashionable door staff
to keep out the badly dressed and I clearly flaunted her strictly-followed
dress code. But, with Piers and I being excellent customers, I’d been allowed
into Tabi’s in my condition.

‘This is unexpected,’ she answered, oblivious to my question
as she faced the great dilemma of what to do with me.

I saved her the conundrum by holding up the clothes and
shoes I was trying to change into.

‘Just about to change, don’t worry,’ I told her, throwing in
a winning smile to soothe the soon-to-be-savage beast if I didn’t get out of my
appalling apparel quick smart. I felt dreadful though inside remembering the
last time I had been in Tabi’s
.
Naturally, with Piers. That’s the last time we’ll
ever
be in Tabi’s together, I realise now.
 

Her face broke into a wide smile of relief at my change of
clothing. ‘I love the Choos,’ she had gushed. ‘But what’s with this get-up?’

I wasn’t off the hook just yet. ‘Charity thing,’ I lied.

Tabitha is big on charity, a patron for one of the major
children’s charities, but it’s not merely for press points. She loves children
and often Tabi’s is closed so she can throw deprived children big parties.
She’s an interesting character.
 

‘Aren’t you clever, darling?’ she smiled, her face showing
relief that I had saved her the hassle of throwing out a highly-paying customer
– rules are rules, after all. She was looking quite demure that day in a simple
Karen Millen dress and matching butter yellow kitten heels. When you’re that
tall you don’t need to wear 6-inch wedges like me – they are bred like
racehorses in that family.

‘Ooh, must dash,’ she said as her best friend, Ramone – yes,
the famous fashion designer – walked out of the gents. ‘Hope to see you and
Piers soon!’

Oh how I envied Ramone’s career, though not his dress sense.
Ramone was wearing electric blue leather trousers, his label, teamed with a
classically-cut Armani suit jacket and hot pink winkle-picker shoes. I looked
positively decent compared to him, but his
genius
is always allowed in Tabi’s no matter how stupid he really looks. She’ll be
waiting forever though to see Piers and I
together
again. It’s upsetting how his face keeps springing to mind.

I quickly changed and headed back to Lydia who had the
sensible idea of ordering in my absence. ‘Much better,’ she said, treating me
to a smile, before adding nastily, ‘because you looked awful.’

That was the moment it hit me, the superficial, fake,
judgemental world I had spent the past four years inhabiting. Until that moment
I had been oblivious to its ridiculous rules. I had been wearing
Prada
yet I wasn’t deemed acceptable for
public appearance?

That was the moment last week when it hit me I really didn’t
know who I’d become. Where had my dreams gone? Who had I become? A drone,
that’s what.

‘I’m sorry to hear that you feel that way, Lydia, but are
you the fashion police? No, you’re not,’ I hissed, my cashmere jumper feeling
itchy and suffocating. ‘It was bloody
Prada
,
not
Peacocks
I was wearing.’

She laughed gleefully, clapping her hands together. ‘Well
done you! It took me two bloody months to realise I was Nigel’s accessory. Glad
you’ve realised. Now,’ she beamed at me, ‘what’s up?’

The ice was broken.

Quickly, I filled Lydia in on everything, and she luckily
offered me a place to stay. For a week. That’s because she’s now dating a
pilot, Dominic, who’s on leave this week and has promised her some
“life-changing news” which she suspects – hopes – is an engagement ring. Having
a friend crash on the sofa of her tiny bedsit wouldn’t be ideal to celebrate an
engagement, though I did wonder about Dominic’s living arrangements as
something didn’t seem to add up about him but that could have merely been my
man-hating state.

I happily agreed to a week because I thought Piers would
phone after a few days apart and then I could head back to his to sort out what
exactly I want to do with my life, our argument seeming to be the good, sharp shock
that I needed. He never phoned though and I didn’t dare contact him. That’s how
I was left with no money, no job prospects, nowhere to live, and feeling like
nothing.

Lydia had done more than enough that afternoon by simply
answering my call. I had to swallow my pride today when she asked me nicely to
leave – I can’t impose on her happiness – which is why I
had
to head to my parents. That’s why this afternoon I got on the
train at Waterloo and hoped with my non-existent funds that I could fare-dodge
all the way home.
  

‘No way.’ Obélix stares at me. ‘You dodged the fare?’

‘Yep, all the way home,’ I admit a little proudly, though
trust Obélix not to comment on the more enlightening parts of my tale and focus
on the fare-dodging instead. I doubt we will ever progress beyond the childish
elements that first cemented our friendship. I can’t ever imagine us discussing
mortgages or DIY and I don’t want to. It’s the end of an era when we do.
 

‘That would be what? One hundred points by our point system,
I reckon! Get you, Fatty!’

He sounds so impressed. It’s like I’m fifteen all over
again. I almost expect him to suggest that we go play hide and seek in the Forest.
I still can’t get over how it was only this afternoon that I came back, as it
feels like I’ve returned from another world being back here. In a way, I guess
I have, but I know here is the best place for me. For now. That, and it’s the
only place for me.

Telling Lydia has helped me in some way and now having
caught Obélix up to speed, I think I’m truly beginning to feel the cathartic
effect. I’m still confused, don’t get me wrong, but if I unlock my past at
home, surely that will help to sort out the messes I’ve ignored here and the
messes I’ve ignored full-stop?

Even though I’m aware I still have to ’fess to the ’rents
who will have to be told an edited version of events, I feel like I’ve made
some progress in this one evening alone. The anger I had on the train has
diminished too.

‘I assume your ’rents don’t have a clue about any of this
then?’ Ob interrupts my thoughts of possibility when he returns from the bar,
another pint for him and a rum and coke for me now I’ve told my tale.

‘Nooooo,’ I swiftly answer. ‘I wouldn’t be sat here with you
if they did. I’ll probably be grounded and whisked off to another therapist
when they find out.’ I roll my eyes recalling how they did that once before.

‘When are you going to tell them?’

‘When Frank and Alice leave, I guess.’ I frown at the
thought.

‘Everything? Even about
him
?’

I nod. ‘Oh, yeah,’ I remember. ‘Fair’s fair.
Spill
. You still haven’t told me how you
know who it is.’

‘Peter told me,’ he says surprisingly.

‘Peter? What has Peter Penrose got to do with this?’

‘He saw you on the boat deck.’

Sounds cryptic, but the colour drains from my face. I know
what he means by “boat deck” and it makes me feel vulnerable. I thought Obélix
was winding me up but he clearly knows. Who else does? Immediately my mind springs
to Piers, which is silly, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling panicky.

‘You think you still love him, don’t you?’ Ob quietly asks
me. ‘All because he was your first.’

‘I do!’ I declare, a little too quickly, and definitely too
defensively.

‘You don’t,’ he says dismissively. ‘I doubt you knew what
love was back then.’

Ouch. That stings. Of course I knew, but it was a different
sort of love to what I have with Piers.

‘Why not? Are you saying I was too young?’

‘I bet he was nothing like Piers is to you now,’ Ob answers,
quite harshly. ‘Get a grip, Arielle. Move on. Thinking back is all well and
good but if you really have harboured a ten-year crush... Look, it’s not
healthy and in the light of your recent exploits, you really need to sort
yourself out. What happened to the girl with dreams?’ he fires at me. ‘Where
have your ambitions gone? You were going to make it and I really believed you
would.’ He shakes his head sadly. ‘Come on, Arielle, buck up your ideas.’

I turn away from him. I’m fuming. How dare he assess my
life? He’s not seen me in years.

‘From what you’ve just told me,’ he continues, ‘I know you
love Piers. Don’t lose him. Don’t learn what regret really is.’

I can’t look at him. I’m desperately fighting back the tears
and I know if I see his disappointed face, I’ll lose it. I don’t want to
acknowledge his words because they make alarming sense.

‘Last orders!’ The landlord rings his bell.

We silently finish our drinks, walking home in silence, too.
My brain is going a mile a minute. I know Ob is right. I can’t leave things
with Piers like I have done and I can’t go on like I have been doing job-wise.