Kept (19 page)

Two days have now passed and, needless to say, Piers is
not answering my calls. It’s time for me to head back to my parents. I can’t
hang around in limbo any longer, hoping Piers will forgive me. I need to get on
with things, on my own, as much as it hurts.

‘You’re very brave,’ Lydia tells me, interrupting my painful
recollection of Piers’ look of sheer disappointment. That image has replayed in
my head a thousand times since Saturday morning. ‘You really do love him, don’t
you? I mean, you could have just lied.’

We’re sat on her sofa with a cup of tea and the tears are
rolling, leaving angry-looking splodges on her cushions. I hope they weren’t
expensive.

‘I just wish I’d said no to Noah,’ I wail. I can’t believe
I’ve jeopardised everything by thinking that Noah Penrose was worth something,
and I can’t believe that I couldn’t explain to Piers how much he meant to me
and that sleeping with Noah was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

‘No, no, Arielle.’ She leans across to hug me, tea sloshing
everywhere. ‘Don’t cry.’

‘I can’t help it,’ I sniff. ‘I’ve been so silly.’

‘But the silliness is going to stop now?’ she asks, taking
her chipped “Over-worked and underpaid” Jamie Oliver mug from my hand. I know
what to get her for her birthday – some nice new cups.

‘Yes,’ I say, determinedly wiping away my tears even though
I kind of want to sit here and blub like a baby. It
hurts
. It really hurts, but I know I have to be strong. I have to
begin this future of mine. I have plans to make. Plans for success. I can’t let
my loss of Piers be for nothing. ‘I’m going to start living life,’ I declare
confidently.

‘That’s the spirit!’

As she chatters on excitedly, telling me what I should make
in my collections just like those old times when we used to pour over
Vogue
, I can’t help but feel glad I’m
heading back to the New Forest. Despite all that’s happened it’s the best place
for me now I’ve laid demons to rest. It’s time to start living, and it’s time
to catch a train. Onwards and upwards...

Once again I’m sat on a train heading towards the New
Forest and I’m deep in thought. There are no vampish white and black Mary Jane
heels on my feet this time, but now I’m a bigger loser, failure and reject than
I was two months ago. I can’t bear what’s happened with Piers, that we’re no
longer friends. I can’t even defend myself – he has every right to be furious –
because I can’t deny not sleeping with Noah that night. I wish I could.

A voice interrupts these painful recollections. ‘Excuse me
ma’am. Can I see your ticket, please?’

I look up. Well, I’ll be.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ the ticket conductor says nervously,
recognising me.

I guess so much has changed life-wise – not necessarily for
the best – that I expected I would also have changed in some way. Look older;
wiser, perhaps. It’s the same young man in front of me who I managed to con
when Piers first kicked me out – Ian Jones, if I recall correctly.

‘Have a nice journey,’ he quickly says, scuttling down the
carriage away from me as fast as he politely can. Wow – I really was a bitch
last time.
 

‘No, no,’ I yell, leaping up. ‘Look, look,’ I insist more
forcefully as he reluctantly turns around much to the amusement of the rest of
the carriage. ‘Here’s my ticket. Am I in the right seat?’

He
looks at me strangely, not surprising given I kicked up such a fuss last time.
I don’t blame him for eyeing me strangely, like I’m a bona fide Jekyll and
Hyde. I behaved awfully I recall, but I feel completely different now – I
am
completely different now.
I’ve grown up so much in the past few months, even if my life has disintegrated
further since. My old behaviour has to stop permanently. Childish strops, although
efficient for train ticket evasion, are not becoming behaviour for a grown-up.

He takes the ticket out of my hand carefully as I hand it to
him. He’s eyeing me up wearily but he eventually turns his attention to the
ticket as I smile encouragingly.

‘You are,’ he says slowly, sounding afraid like I’m about to
flip and do him an injury, but he treats me to a weak smile before marking my
ticket and handing it back to me. ‘Thank you.’

A slightly warmer smile this time, but I can tell he wants
to make a quick escape before my Jekyll personality re-emerges.

‘No. Thank
you
,’ I
sincerely reply, and I try to hide my smile as I notice his eyes darting around
like he’s looking for the hidden camera. ‘Have a nice day.’

With that I head back to my seat feeling good. ‘Ooh, I love
your scarf,’ I say to a woman a few seats in front of me. ‘Is that Lulu
Guinness?’

She smiles tightly, clearly thinking I’m a bit of a train
nutter after seeing my exchange with the conductor. ‘It is.’

‘Gorgeous,’ I reply. ‘It looks lovely with your skin tone,
though you were lucky to get one. Weren’t they limited edition?’

She shrugs. ‘They had them in Bournemouth.’

‘Oh,’ I delight. ‘That’s near me! From the boutiques near
Central Gardens?’

She turns away and looks out of the window like she hasn’t
heard me. OK, so she doesn’t want to talk to me but I still feel pleased as I
sit back down. This is the nice, new Arielle and ten minutes later it’s like
the god of karma has been keeping an eye on me because my phone starts buzzing.

‘Hello?’ I say apprehensively.

‘Oh, Pony. You’ve been so silly.’

I’m glad to detect warmth in his voice, the use of our
nickname. He can’t hate me that much then. There’s a chance we can sort this
out and remain as friends, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to say
something stupid and have him hang up on me before I can figure out how to
explain things.

‘Thank you for calling me back,’ I mutter, staring out of
the train window like I can see all the way back to London and Piers.
 

‘I couldn’t not phone. You have quite a friend.’

‘I do?’

‘You do. I’d forgotten how Lydia gets when she has a point
to make.’ He chuckles.

‘You spoke to Lydia?’ Silently I send up a thank you to
Lydia. I owe her big time.
 

‘I did, and she made me feel sorry for what I did to you,
for throwing you out, but I was just so... well, I was so jealous at the
thought of another man with you.’

I do not need to be reminded of that night. ‘No, Piers, I’m
the sorry one.’

‘Oh, Pony, no,’ he insists. ‘I should have listened to you,
let you have the time to explain. I understand how a first boyfriend can mess
you up. You know how I was when I heard about Jenna.’

Jenna was Piers’ first girlfriend and even though they had
only been together as teenagers for a few months, he reacted like his life was
over when he heard she had been killed in a car crash the other year. Later he
explained it had nothing to do with him loving her more than me, it was just
that there’s something about a first love. I had hastily changed the subject so
as not to talk about mine but I remember how isolated I felt when Piers was
grieving, until he opened up to me about her.

‘It’s OK,’ I whisper.

‘Well, I won’t lose you, Arielle.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I can’t blame you for... him.’ He struggles to say Noah’s
name. ‘I threw you out. I am to blame though if I lose you now, and I love you
too much to let that happen.’

My heart is breaking. ‘I love you, Piers, but I have to do
this on my own,’ I carefully say.

He laughs solemnly. ‘Love is helping those you cherish and
that’s why I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Lydia filled me in on your
dreams, told me how you used to concept clothes with her when you were
recovering from your broken ankle, explained that’s all you ever wanted to be,
so let’s make it happen.’

I giggle at the
Piers
ness
of this. ‘Which will it be then?’ he continues. ‘St
Martins
?
The Fashion Institute in New York? Let’s get you on a course, get you started
on that dream of yours.’

‘Piers!’ I gasp. I know he means it and I also know, even
more than before, which I didn’t think was possible, that Piers
Bramley
truly is the best man in the world.

‘Whatever it costs, whatever it takes, we’ll make you bigger
than... than Stella!’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Say you’ll come home. I need you.’

‘But–’

‘No. No excuses, Arielle. You can’t study fashion in the New
Forest.’

I’m just about to agree with him when it hits me that I’m
about to accept the easy way out. Again. Taking it all without working for it.
That’s not going to help me become a top designer. I’d be a lazy and spoilt one
– one without edge. I need to earn this through
my
sweat, blood and tears, not Piers’. I can’t expect him to wave
his magic debit card,
I
have to do
this. Even if that means I fail, at least
I
will have tried.

‘Piers, thank you,’ I say slowly. I don’t want to offend
him. ‘It’s very kind of you but I can’t accept.’

‘Why not?’

‘
I
have to do
this,’ I stress. ‘Earn it myself. I’m never going to really want it if it’s
just handed to me, so thank you for your absolutely generous offer, but no
thank you. You understand, don’t you?’

‘Oh, Arielle,’ he says. He sounds relieved. ‘I’m glad you
said that. You’ve proved you want this properly, that you are the Arielle I
fell in love with, and I’m going to be behind you all the way.’

‘You need to go on without me,’ I say, not meaning it but
knowing I can’t have him wait for me to figure out my sorry messes.
 

‘No,’ he answers back defiantly. ‘You’re the one for me. I’m
waiting for you.’

‘It could take years to fulfil my dream,’ I protest.

‘It’s my choice,’ he insists. ‘And I choose to wait for
you.’

‘
Piers
.’
      

‘
Arielle
. Don’t I
deserve my dream?’

‘Well, yes, but–’

‘Well
you’re
my
dream and I’m waiting for you.’

I can’t help myself, the tears are falling. I do not deserve
this man and his devotions. ‘Why are you crying?’ he asks.

 
‘Because I need to
say goodbye, Piers,’ I say, choking up. ‘I need to know I gave this everything.
I can’t do this.’

‘I’m not giving up on my dream, Arielle,’ he objects. ‘I’ll
be there waiting for you in the front row when you debut at London Fashion
Week.’ His voice sounds husky now.

‘OK,’ I mutter.

‘I love you, Pony.’

‘I love you, too,’ I choke out. ‘Goodbye, Piers,’ I say, and
I hang up the phone before he can hear me burst into tears.

‘Well?’ Mum pounces on me the minute I walk through the
door, Dad following me in.

‘I told Piers to let me go,’ I reply wearily as I head into
the kitchen. I do not want to talk about Piers right now. It took me the rest
of the train journey to calm down from our conversation. I want a cup of tea
and then to go to bed.

‘You did
what
?’
She looks like her world has just shattered. ‘Why?’ she exclaims like I’ve just
announced I’ve sold Piers to the circus or something equally as ludicrous.
‘Arielle!’

‘It’s for the best,’ I say defensively – I
really
don’t want to get into this.
Where’s her mother’s intuition that I would quite like to be left alone right
now?

‘But, but…’ she stammers, but then she finds herself. ‘Piers
was the best thing in your life!’

‘Gilly,’ Dad cuts in warningly.

‘Thanks,’ I mutter feeling quite crushed by that. The tears
are about to resurface.

‘Oh you know I don’t mean it like that,’ she clucks, but I’m
not so sure. It’s not as if I’ve done anything else to make her proud now she
knows I’m not Benfords’ hot-shot PR girl.

‘You do,’ I retaliate. ‘And you’re right, of course.’ By the
look on her face she thinks I’m being sarcastic. ‘Which is why
I
need to become the best thing that has
ever happened to me.’

‘Right, how’s that then?’ she asks. ‘And give that here.’

‘Well, I don’t know exactly just yet,’ I admit, handing over
the teapot I’m mashing, ‘but I’m close to figuring it out.’

I’m adamant I will as well, it’s just… where to start? I’m
twenty-five, have no experience or money, and have a useless degree in
economics. Useless for a career in the fashion industry. It won’t land me a job
with Dolce and
Gabbana
.

Then there’s the issue of location. I’m stuck in the New
Forest, Bournemouth being the closest large town to me and it is hardly the
fashion capital of the world. London. New York. Milan. Paris.
Bournemouth
. Yep, I can really see
Fashion Week taking place here. But, it does have shops, I guess, and not just
the usual run-of-the-mill high street ones. There are some designer boutiques
dotted around – where that woman on the train said she got her scarf from,
actually! There’s an avenue of boutiques tucked away near the Central Gardens
which get written up in the glossies every so often. It could be a start, get
me some real hands-on experience.

‘I can get a job in a shop,’ I suggest as a plan formulates.

‘Oh, Arielle, please,’ she scoffs. ‘Don’t be silly. Do you
really think that’s going to help you?’

‘Well, yes,’ I counter, but without explaining why. I’m
really going to have to work on my lines of argument a lot more if I’m ever
going to be taken seriously, if I want to impress at an interview to get a job.
Recalling Penelope Whitter, interviews can be tough.

At this though she actually rolls her eyes at me!

‘Give the girl a chance to explain,’ Dad interjects. ‘Come
on, Arielle,’ he says encouragingly. ‘What’s your plan?’ He’s not a consultant
strategist or Mum’s husband for nothing.

‘Well,’ I say slowly as my brain ticks over. ‘I’m not sure
exactly how this would work out in the long-term, but at least I could learn
about the final stage in fashion. You know,’ I continue dumbly, like Mum and
Dad have never heard of a shop before, ‘the people who buy the clothes. It
could give me…’

‘Insight?’ Dad prompts.

‘Yes! Insight!’ I smile gratefully, whilst noting it’s most
unusual that Dad is helping me defeat Mum. Usually she’s the supportive one.
The tables have turned – a sign that things, and people, can change? Perhaps I
can do this. After all, I’ve already begun to change by declining Piers’ offer
– the old Arielle would have snapped up that offer without another thought,
stayed a kept woman. I rush on, inspired with a new-found hope. ‘I mean, what
better way to learn what my future customers want? It’s a great research
opportunity and it’s a good place to start until I can get on my feet.’

‘And then what?’ Mum demands as she pours the tea.
 

‘Well, I have seen a course– ’

‘How much?’ she snaps, rolling her eyes.

‘Sorry?’

‘Don’t play stupid, Arielle,’ she snarls alarmingly, nearly
knocking everything over as she throws her hands up in the air. ‘We know you’re
trying to butter us up with false tales of shops and, what was it, oh yes,
insight
. Cut to the chase. How much do
you want?’

‘Gilly!’

‘Well, Quentin,’ she snaps at him now – yikes, I thought her
menopause had been and gone. ‘It’s obvious Piers is through with her. I’d
rather she stopped this bullshit and just ask for the money.’

This is bad – she
never
swears. It just doesn’t fit with the twee Jaeger blouse, pearls and
mumsy
slacks she’s wearing.

‘It’s not like that,’ I quietly say. And it’s not. I would
have already accepted Piers’ offer if that was true.

She’s having none of it: ‘What was it when you were
eighteen? You just
had
to go to study
economics at Warwick because it would land you your dream job?’

I flinch at the Warwick mention as she slams down the milk
jug on the table. I really don’t fancy tea now.

‘And now all of a sudden you’re not only announcing that
your degree was a waste of
our
money,
but that we shouldn’t have bothered with your expensive education. We should
have just sent you out to work in a shop of all places at sixteen,’ she hisses
as she pours the tea. ‘What will people say to that?’

‘I don’t care what they say!’ I shriek. Dad shoots me a
warning look across the table. ‘I’m doing this because I want to,’ I say more
calmly. The bottom line is that she cares what her friends think and she’s
ashamed. I’m supposed to be a hot-shot PR director, not some shop-girl, but
I
’
d rather be that if it
means I
’
m happy and trying to achieve my dream.

A sip of tea and a deep breath. ‘Look, I realise my failings
but that doesn’t mean–’

‘It means–’

‘
Gilly
,’ Dad
interrupts. ‘Let Arielle have her say.’

She mutters something but she doesn’t continue so I take my
chance. ‘I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and I should never have gone to
Warwick. I went there for all the wrong reasons but nevertheless I
did
go. I can’t change that, but I can
try now.’ I take a steadying breath. ‘As for money, I don’t want a handout. I
mean, Piers offered to pay for me but–’

‘You’ve not broken up then?’ Mum interrupts.

Guess I shouldn’t have mentioned the P-word. I sigh. This
isn’t about Piers, it’s about me. Why can’t she fathom that distinction out?

‘I have to do this on my own,’ I answer her.

‘Do what?’ she screeches. ‘You keep hinting at doing
something
but what, Arielle? What’s this
marvellous life solution, this
epiphany
,’
she spits out, ‘that you seem to have had?’

‘I, it’s–’

‘What?’

‘Gilly! Go on,’ Dad says more gently to me.

I feel crushed and have an alarming headache. I just want to
go to bed and cry. ‘You’ll laugh,’ I mutter.

‘When have we ever laughed at you, Arielle?’ Mum demands.
‘We’ve been nothing but supportive to you. It’s not our fault that you choose
to lie to us.’

‘I know, but you seemed so happy when I told you I wanted to
go to Warwick.’

‘We thought you
were
happy, Arielle, that’s
why
we were.
You’d spent the years before Warwick moping in a dark funk. It was the first
time we saw you smile when you got your place.’

‘Ah, well, that’s over now,’ I mutter, staring into my
teacup. And I am over it. Noah Penrose isn’t going to ruin any more of my life.

‘Well, tell us what you want now, Arielle.’

‘I want to be in fashion,’ I rush out. It’s a bold
statement, one I’m afraid they will laugh at because how many parents get told
by their offspring that they want to be the next big rock star, TV star, or
celebrity chef? Exactly, most I imagine. I feel stupid and naïve.

‘So, that’s why you want to work in a shop?’ Mum still
sounds confused, but I think she’s trying. Dad leans over and squeezes her
hand.

‘Well, like Dad said it will give me insight and experience.
I can try and get on a conversion course then. There’s one at the London
College of Fashion and if I do that then maybe, and it’s a small maybe, maybe I
might make it onto a fashion postgraduate. After that, who knows?’

All this I had looked up a few years ago back at Piers’, but
I dismissed the idea, convinced that I would never succeed, but also because I
was unwilling to rock the comfortable life we had. I was more concerned with
silly social standings than pursuing my dream. I realise now if they truly were
my friends they would have supported my dream.

‘Oh, Arielle,’ Mum says reaching over and squeezing my hand
as Dad smiles at us. ‘Why didn’t you say this before? I think you can do this,
you know, I really do.’

 
That means a lot to
me, but I sense a “but”.

‘But?’

‘You don’t really have to work in a shop, do you? We’ll just
pay for your course.’

‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘
You
will
not
. I need to do this
on my
own
,’ I emphasise, and she nods in what I hope is agreement.

For the first time in my life, I think I can make my parents
proud. I certainly feel proud of myself because I have a plan! All I have to do
now is execute it but I fear that will be easier said than done – this
new-found realisation of reality has taught me that things aren’t usually so
straightforward in the real world.