Friend of the Family

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Anyway, the point is,’ said Pog impatiently, ‘I presume you now have a spare ticket for the ball tonight?’

  ‘Possibly . . .’ said Max uncertainly. ‘Why?’

  ‘A man of your high social standing can’t be seen to arrive at the biggest ball of the decade alone, can he?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Max’s eyes had retreated into suspicious slits.

  ‘Well, good news. Karen here has been gracious enough to agree to accompany you.’

  A lecherous smile came over Max’s face. ‘Have you now?’

  Karen suddenly felt very exposed as she became aware of his eyes running over her, her old nightie barely hiding her curves.

  ‘Oi!’ said Pog, throwing a tea bag at him. ‘She has agreed to accompany you, nothing more. And I’d say she’s being more than generous, given that she’ll have to be seen with you in public.’

  ‘Steady on, old man,’ said Max, a kicked-puppy look on his face. ‘As it happens, I was going to ask her myself.’

  He went down on one knee and clasped his hands together. ‘Karen . . .’ He paused and looked across to Amy.

  ‘Price,’ she said.

  ‘Karen Price, could you find it in your heart to join me tonight?’

  Karen had only met Max twice before, on the night she’d arrived two days earlier, and the previous evening in the pub, and she hadn’t liked him on either occasion. But this morning he was funny, and although she didn’t want to boost his ego any more by laughing, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  ‘You twat,’ she grinned. ‘Okay, you may take me to the ball.’

  He jumped to his feet, scooping up the suit bag from the door. ‘Righto,’ he said. ‘Be ready at seven.’

  Karen locked eyes with Amy. For a split second, she saw something – annoyance, envy? – pass over her friend’s face. But then she shrieked with laughter.

  ‘It’s like the world’s worst Disney movie. You have my sympathy, darling.’

  Yeah, maybe, thought Karen, but I’m going to the ball with an actual ticket, and you’ll be bringing me my champagne, won’t you?

  ‘Why don’t you come too, Amy?’ said Pog. ‘I know a few people at New College. I bet I can get you a ticket.’

  Amy shook her head. ‘I need the money, Pog. Moving to London won’t be cheap. The bank’s already on my back about my overdraft, and anyway, I can’t let the caterers down on the day of the ball.’

  ‘You can always stay with me over the summer if you want to save a bit of cash. It’s a bit draughty, and if I’m honest, a bit dull. But we’ve got plenty of room. Like, about forty.’

  ‘It’s sweet of you, but I’d still be in the same position in the autumn.’ She looked over at Karen. ‘No, I’ll just come and find you lot when I’ve finished. It goes on until dawn, doesn’t it? I’ll be the one in the waitress outfit.’

  Karen’s eyes opened wide, feeling her triumph draining away. ‘Oh shit,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  She looked down at the Snoopy nightdress.

  ‘What the hell am I going to wear?’

  Chapter 7

  Juliet’s wardrobe was a sea of taffeta.

  ‘Where do you wear all this stuff?’ said Karen, tracing one hand across acres of vibrant-coloured fabric.

  ‘Darling, this is my sixth ball already this term. I had to beg Mummy to take me shopping to Peter Jones last week because I’m sick to death of looking at some of these rags, I’ve worn them so often.’

  Amy smiled from her position on the edge of Juliet’s bed.

  ‘Asking an Oxford Uni student why they’ve got a wardrobe full of gowns is like asking why they have a library card. Balls are part of the learning experience. It’s like they haven’t quite realised that it’s not 1906 any more.’

  Juliet sighed and looked Karen up and down. ‘Look, I’m just not sure anything’s going to fit you. I’m flat as a pancake and you’ve got . . . bosoms.’

  ‘Come on, Jules,’ said Amy, glancing at her watch. ‘You’re got to have something in your dressing-up box.’

  Juliet plunged her hands into the back of the closet and pulled out a bottle-green dress from its dusty depths. Made from stretchy nylon, it was long and simply cut; at first glance, it was the most unremarkable piece of clothing she owned, and maybe that was the point, thought Karen, detecting the other girl’s reticence to lend her anything.

  ‘That might fit,’ said Juliet, holding it up.

  ‘Let me try it on,’ Karen grinned, pulling off her nightie and slipping the dress over her head. She smoothed her hands over her hips, adjusted the neckline, then turned and looked in the mirror.

  ‘Wow, I don’t recognise myself,’ she said in surprise.

  ‘Kaz, you look amazing,’ said Amy, jumping to her feet. ‘I’ve got some earrings you could borrow, and if you twist your hair up like this,’ she scooped up a handful and fixed it into a loose bun, ‘you’ll look like a fifties movie star.’

  Karen didn’t have a big ego. It was hard to feel confident about herself when she always had Lee telling her that she was fat and frumpy, that she needed to go on a diet and dye her hair and wear more make-up, but she had to admit that Amy had a point. The dress clung to her curves in all the right places, her creamy boobs spilled seductively over the low neckline, and with a slash of red lipstick, a splash of diamante, and her blond hair piled high in the way Amy was suggesting, she knew there was more than a passing resemblance to a young Marilyn Monroe.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, flashing a look at Juliet.

  ‘I think you might want to take a restraining order out on Max, because that old dog won’t be able to keep his hands off you,’ said Juliet, closing her wardrobe door.

  ‘I wish you were coming tonight,’ said Karen, sticking a fork into her baked potato and taking a long swig of her Diet Coke.

  They’d come out for lunch in a café on the high street popular with students. Amy had filled her in on the history of the Commemoration Ball, explaining that colleges took it in turns to host the formal white-tie bashes. It was apparently the last big night out of the academic year; lectures had finished for most people weeks ago, and many students had left already, or, like Pog, returned simply to attend the biggest ball of the year. Even though Karen was excited about attending, she still couldn’t help but think it was a swansong, with Amy about to graduate and head to London and not back home to Westmead.

  ‘I will be there, remember,’ smiled her old friend.

  ‘Give me a wave whenever you can for moral support.’

  ‘Max is fine.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant people looking down their noses at me.’

  Amy’s face softened.

  ‘Most people are okay, Kaz. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt people sneering at me when they found out I was at Oxford Brookes. But you have to ignore them. Just stick with David, Pog and Juliet. They’re lovely.’

  Amy seemed so confident in her new surroundings, Karen thought. She had noticed all the ‘darling’s and ‘super’s that had crept into her friend’s vocabulary, and she supposed that Amy had worked hard to fit in seamlessly. Karen didn’t blame her; in fact she almost felt proud of the way Amy had shed her roots in the last three years. Why wouldn’t you want to get as far away from the estate as possible? What was so great back there? And what was the point in coming to Oxford if you weren’t going to make the most of it, educate yourself, better yourself, make contacts, learn about the world outside?

  But even Amy’s polish would sometimes get caught out. Karen didn’t understand the subtleties of class, but she knew they were there; imagined what it would be like for Pog or David or Max to come down to the estate for the evening, and how people would respond to their plummy accents: with disdain and just a little bit of fear.

  ‘I notice you didn’t put Max in the lo
vely category,’ she said.

  ‘I can think of many words to describe Max, but “lovely” isn’t one of them.’ She said it with some affection and it put Karen at ease. But then her expression darkened. ‘Look, it’s none of my business, but . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You going to the ball with Max . . . Have you told Lee? I mean, if he knew you were going out with another guy, he might be jealous.’

  ‘We’re not joined at the bloody hip, you know.’ It came out more harshly than she’d meant. ‘Besides, it’s not a date. Max is just giving me the ticket.’

  Amy didn’t say anything; just looked thoughtful.

  ‘You’re right about David though. He is lovely.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Amy said. ‘David and Pog are both great. Like brothers.’

  Karen watched her blush. Amy had never admitted she fancied her handsome housemate, but it was obvious. Her long, breezy letters that arrived regularly on Karen’s doormat in Bristol were full of references to her friend: David this and David that.

  ‘Who’s David going to the ball with?’ Karen asked.

  ‘His girlfriend.’

  ‘I didn’t know he had one.’

  ‘Well, he does.’

  ‘More’s the pity, hey?’

  Amy sipped her tea. ‘What’s all this about David all of a sudden?’

  ‘He’s gorgeous, and you seem to get on well . . .’

  ‘He’s my mate, Kaz. Yes, he’s good-looking, but after three years in Oxford, I’m not sure I really want a posh boy. And I think after a night out with Max Quinn, you might agree with me.’

  Amy glanced at her watch. It was almost two o’clock. The high street was clotted with tourists and the breeze through the open window smelled of blossom and promise.

  ‘I’d better be off,’ she said, summoning the waitress for the bill.

  Karen wanted the lunch to drag out longer and felt a sudden surge of panic that this was it. The moment when Amy grew up and they went their separate ways.

  ‘I’m really going to miss you,’ she said, feeling a thickness in her throat. ‘You know, when you move to London.’

  ‘Kaz, I left Westmead a long time ago and we’re still friends.’

  ‘University isn’t real life, though, is it? It’s life on hold.’

  ‘London’s not far from Bristol. We’ve just got to make sure we make the effort.’

  ‘Speak for yourself. You haven’t been home in ages.’

  ‘I was home at Easter. But it’s hard. I work at the pub every weekend.’

  ‘We should make a pact,’ Karen said. ‘You come back home every month, and I’ll come to London every month. That way, we can see each other every couple of weeks.’

  She waited for Amy to say something, but she didn’t.

  ‘Even better,’ she said, another thought forming in her head, ‘I could move to London.’

  ‘Move to London?’ Amy didn’t say it unkindly, but there was a note of surprise.

  ‘Why not?’ said Karen, feeling more excited as the idea took hold.

  ‘Your job, for a start. And what about Lee?’

  ‘I could get a new job,’ she said, reaching out over the table. ‘Something fun, like the things you’re thinking about. You know I’ve always liked hair and make-up. I could be a make-up artist. Maybe work in film or television.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s that easy,’ said Amy cautiously.

  ‘Don’t you want me to come?’ said Karen, her eyes narrowing instinctively.

  ‘Don’t be like that. I’d love you to come to London. I just think you’ve got to think it through.’

  She knew what Amy was really saying. That she belonged in Westmead. That pitching for the bright lights of London was too ambitious for the likes of little Karen Price. Well, Amy herself wasn’t settling for anything normal, like being a barmaid or a receptionist, and she was no better than Karen; if anything, at school, Karen was always seen as the prettiest, the most popular, so why shouldn’t she dream big too?

  The waitress brought the bill over and Karen reached for her purse.

  ‘My treat,’ she said. ‘For putting up with me.’

  Amy didn’t move her gaze away. ‘Kaz, you know if it’s not right with Lee, you can just finish with him. You don’t need to move to London to get out of a relationship you don’t want to be in any more.’

  ‘I want to move to London for me. Not for him,’ Karen said quietly.

  ‘Or maybe you’ll want to move to London for Max.’ Amy’s face broke into a playful grin, lightening the mood.

  ‘Stop it,’ said Karen, swatting the air with her hand. ‘I know he’s a lech. But this Cinderella wants to go to the ball.’

  ‘Well, if he gets too lechy, you have our permission to kick him in the nuts.’

  ‘I thought he was your friend.’

  ‘He is. I just know what he’s like. What they’re all like.’

  ‘Posh people?’

  Amy nodded.

  ‘But I thought you liked them,’ said Karen slowly. ‘Joining an Oxford Uni house share, I thought you might even want to be one.’ She said it lightly, but her words had a barb that she meant to hit home.

  Amy didn’t flinch. ‘I don’t want to be one. But I want their contacts, I want their opportunities and I want their money. I’d only been in the house a month and Juliet was talking about her godfather getting me a job at his magazine firm. I’ll never get those sort of openings without knowing the right people.’

  ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Right?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Amy smiled.

  Chapter 8

  ‘How bloody long are they going to make us wait?’ Max looked down the line, scowling. They had been standing in the queue snaking towards New College for fifteen minutes.

  ‘Don’t get so het up, Max,’ said Karen. ‘It’s only early.’

  Truth was, Karen was enjoying it out here in the last of the evening sunshine, shoulder to shoulder with elegant floppy-haired men and primped girls, their eyes bright and shiny. The fact that the queue passed under the picturesque Bridge of Sighs only added to the excitement. Twice in the past few minutes Japanese tourists with huge cameras had taken their picture. Karen felt special standing out here. To passers-by, she was one of the students, the elite of Oxford. For one night, she fitted in.

  It was all an illusion, of course. Max had insisted on stopping at a friend’s flat for pre-ball cocktails, and there, Karen had been Karen, the common girl with the funny accent. And what was worse, no one questioned why she was there; she could tell from the glares of the girls and the pinched smiles of the men that they all assumed she was Max’s entertainment, a bit of rough to underline his roguish manliness. So to cover her embarrassment, she had drunk too many cocktails – no doubt confirming everyone’s prejudices and making her feel a little woozy right now.

  ‘Bollocks to this,’ said Max, grabbing her hand. ‘I’m not standing around here with everyone staring.’

  He pushed out of the queue and strode down the street, pulling Karen, tottering on unfamiliar heels, in his wake. The line ended at a gate, where two girls in cocktail dresses were checking tickets off on clipboards before allowing revellers through the velvet rope.

  ‘Max, we can’t just barge up . . .’

  But Max wasn’t listening. ‘Sorry, ladies, would you mind awfully if we slipped in? Just got a call from Jonno on the lights crew; he’s got a prob with the par cans tripping out.’

  Karen glanced at him. His face was the perfect balance of charm, apology and annoyance: just a partygoer who wanted to enjoy the ball but had reluctantly agreed to help out the incompetent Jonno. Whatever else Max was, he was a brilliant actor. If Karen hadn’t known he was completely full of shit, she would totally have swallowed his story.

  The clipboard g
irls didn’t even blink. ‘Sure,’ said the first, lifting the rope. ‘Backstage entrance is to the left. Good luck!’

  Karen pressed her lips together to stop herself from giggling as they quickly walked past the gate and into the courtyard of New College, heading towards the festival-style stage that had been assembled at the back of the quad.

  ‘Par cans?’ she whispered.

  ‘No idea,’ said Max. ‘Some sort of big light, I think. My stepbrother’s into the theatre; must have picked it up from him. Now, let’s get you a drink.’ There was a table to their left, champagne flutes lined up like soldiers. ‘Two each, I think,’ said Max, scooping them up.

  Karen sipped her drink and took a moment to look around. She had heard that the Commem Ball was the grandest one of the year, but the size, scale and beauty of everything around her made her catch her breath. Behind her, a huge magnolia shimmered pink and ivory in the soft lighting. The honey stone walls glowed, and the castellations and leaded windows made her feel like a princess in a medieval fairy tale.

  There were already at least two hundred guests milling about on the grassy quad, which rose to a mound.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘Legend has it it’s a plague pit, and no one dares touch it,’ said Max, swallowing his first drink and dropping the glass onto the ground with a thunk. ‘Personally, I think it’s just the dirt left from digging the master’s wine cellar that no one could be bothered to cart away. Easier to make up some story than to pay the peasants to get rid of it.’

  Karen was about to point out that she was one of those peasants, but Max had turned away to greet a group of rowdy posh boys already looking red in the cheeks.

  ‘Canapé, madam?’

  She turned to see a waitress holding a silver tray. ‘No, I’m fine . . .’ she began before recognising the laugh. ‘Ames! God, sorry, I didn’t expect . . .’

  ‘It’s fine,’ smiled Amy, dropping into a small curtsey. ‘I’m just here to serve my betters. We’re not supposed to fraternise. Sure I can’t tempt you?’