Chapter Eight
Ben and I are on his bed a week later. I’ve had a few lectures and one tutorial and it all feels a bit dismal.
I was quiet in the tutorial, as I’m barely grasping what’s going on.
The gap between A-Levels and a degree is far too wide for my brain and I’m struggling to understand the concepts the lecturer is talking about.
I enjoyed Bleak House, rocking my way through the final chapters at speed.
Perhaps that’s where I went wrong. I’ve been set my first essay and I’m not sure I’ve truly grappled enough with the subject matter.
‘What’s the question again?’ Ben asks.
I read it out. ‘“If Bleak House is mainly a critique of the law and the men who facilitate it, why does Dickens give so much importance to the story of a woman – Lady Dedlock – whose problems arise mainly from issues other than those of the law?”’
Ben’s quiet, thoughtful, about to say something insightful. Or so I imagine until he says, ‘Fuck me! What does that mean?’
‘I haven’t got a clue. My brain hurts.’
‘Mine too,’ he says.
‘How’s your course going?’
‘It’s only been a week and so far, so good.
It’s boring, though. Business studies is a bit meh so far.
But I keep thinking of all the money I’ll earn when I’m out of this place.
Dad keeps talking about how he knows someone who can get me a job at Goldman Sachs, so I can probably just tread water through the epic levels of boredom for the next three years. ’
My mouth drops. ‘Ben, you are quite entitled sometimes.’
He grins, takes it on the chin. ‘Yes, I am. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’
‘I know no one who can get me a job, and I don’t know as much about Dickens as I should. I’m getting quite worried.’
‘Don’t be,’ Ben soothes. ‘It’s only been a week. Give it some time. Read that question out loud again, but this time do it slowly. I’m sure, between us, we can work out what the hell it means.’
I lean over, kiss him. ‘You’re very sweet,’ I tell him honestly.
He smiles, ‘I know.’
He’s kept good on his word that we are categorically not sleeping together, taking it slow.
This past week has been torture, especially as we spend a lot of time in each other’s rooms, getting to know each other.
There’s a lot of kissing, a lot of touching.
I knew he wouldn’t be able to go cold turkey, and neither could I.
But, rather excitingly, Ben’s suggested that when we break up for the Christmas holidays we should all go to his house for a weekend.
He’s already made it clear that if I say yes, we’re in separate bedrooms.
‘Come on, read it out again,’ he nudges. ‘The quicker we work out this Dickens issue, the quicker we can start drinking.’
‘I can’t drink every day,’ I murmur distractedly, my eyes still on the question. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
‘Easy,’ Ben says. ‘It’s like breathing.’
‘I thought I’d smash this,’ I tell Liv as we’re sitting in the union bar a week later. I’m working through these nineteenth-century books and as the module is only for one semester, we’ve got plenty of reading material to get through. ‘It’s war poetry next, and I hate poetry.’
‘How can you hate poetry?’ Liv asks. ‘I love it.’
‘You do it then,’ I reply, somewhat bitterly, and then move off to serve a customer. At least I’ve mastered pulling pints, so some good has come of me being at uni. ‘After poetry,’ I continue moaning, on my return to her at the bar, ‘it’s Shakespeare.’
Liv makes a face. ‘My commiserations. I hate Shakespeare.’
‘I don’t. But I think by the end of the module I’m going to hate him too.’ I put my head in my hands.
‘It’s only been a few weeks. Don’t do anything silly,’ Liv warns.
My head shoots up. ‘Such as?’
‘I’m not even going to put the suggestion in your head,’ she tells me, avoiding eye contact.
‘I’m not going to drop out,’ I tell her.
‘No, you’re not,’ she agrees. ‘Maybe switch courses first, but don’t drop out.’
‘Maybe,’ I muse. And then I ask Liv how her work is going, and she tells me all about her course and how she’s excited that she’s going to the Old Bailey on a field trip to watch a trial.
And then, when she finishes, we switch subjects.
‘How’s it going with Ollie?’ I love talking about boys and relationships, and gossiping with Liv is fun, like chatting with a sister.
Or what I imagine that might be like. Short of gossiping with my mum, this is the next best thing.
‘I thought it was going OK, but now I can sense him pulling back,’ Liv says despondently.
‘Oh no!’ I hope my conversation with Ollie didn’t have anything to do with this change of tack. ‘In what way?’ I ask warily.
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe he’s just busy with his course.’
‘Medicine is full-on,’ I say rather glibly.
‘I guess,’ she replies uncertainly.
I don’t know what else to say, what else to offer. ‘Ben’s invited us all to his over Christmas. Are you going?’ I hate myself for the sudden change of subject.
‘I’ll go if Ollie goes,’ she says. ‘But if I ask him, I’ll feel as if I’m putting him on the spot.’
I baulk at this. ‘Really? You can ask him surely? It’s a legit question.’
‘Maybe. Can you ask him?’ Liv enquires hopefully. ‘Then I can plan if I’m going.’
I lift my eyebrows. ‘Uh … OK.’
‘If Ollie doesn’t go, I’ll be third-wheeling.’
‘Oh, I get it,’ I say. Sort of. Although why does Liv think it’ll be any different if I ask Ollie? ‘I’m really looking forward to going to Ben’s,’ I confide.
Liv smiles, misunderstanding as she says, ‘You two are very sweet. Nice that he wants to invite you to his home after dating for such a short time. He’s a keeper.’
‘Yeah,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘He might be.’
Actually, I’m really looking forward to being nosy, seeing where Ben lives, what his house is like, which I imagine is enormous.
I’m looking forward to meeting his parents and working out exactly how loaded Ben is.
I want to see his life, see how well he lives.
He’s let on that he’s got a swimming pool, dropping it into the conversation so casually, as part of a story he was telling me, that he totally missed my excited gasp and the fact I stopped listening to the rest of the story.
I suspect he’s very loaded. But weirdly I can’t tell Liv any of this, because I don’t think she’d get my curiosity.
I think she lives very similarly. I could tell Ollie, though.
He’d get it. I might tell him when I’m forced to ask him if he’s coming along.
I’d love to go as a four. It would take the pressure off me going alone with Ben.
I’ve already said I’ll go, because it will be fun.
A change of scenery. A little festive holiday out in the Wiltshire countryside.
I’ve never been to Wiltshire. But it feels too soon to go to his house, doesn’t it?
We’ve only been dating – or whatever bonkers set-up it is that we’re doing, which doesn’t really have a name – for a few weeks.
My past relationships have felt very ‘kiddy’ up until now.
Perhaps it’s something to do with living away from home.
Perhaps it’s something to do with living with the man I’m seeing, although we’ve only just turned into voting, drinking adults.
It feels like growing up so fast – too fast. But in a good way that’s hard to explain.
Prior to Ben there was Will, in my final year of GCSEs when we held hands, kissed in darkened cinemas and did appropriately PG levels of touching.
After that I dated Liam, who I met through friends in my first year of A-Levels.
He was my first sexual experience. And then we broke up when it turned out he fancied my friend more.
I’d already moved on mentally, though, ready to complete my A-Levels with zero distractions once the honeymoon period had worn off.
Although it took a year and a half for that to happen, by which point we were well and truly sleeping together.
In the back of his car, mostly, in car parks.
I thought I was in love with Liam, and perhaps I was for a while.
But at the end I wasn’t. That’s just the way it goes, I guess. Everything comes to an end eventually.
Living with Ben, seeing him daily – I’m not used to that. The pace is unavoidable. Perhaps that’s why he’s very cleverly slowed us down.
We’re cosied up in his bed a week later when I ask him about previous relationships.
Quite frankly, I’m amazed we’ve made this last a month.
His fingers are entwined with mine, and the scent of his aftershave as I kiss his neck is making me friskier than both of us would like.
We’ve mainly been in the union bar, or making dinner as a three or a four, depending on where everyone is at meal times.
Today Liv and Ollie are out together. There was talk of a proper date for dinner and a film.
‘Stop it,’ Ben groans as my mouth travels from his clavicle to his neck, up to his ear.
We’ve been kissing on his bed and I’m into it, into him.
More so since he slowed us down, although I didn’t realise it until now.
We’ve not had much chance to be alone – truly alone – in this flat.
And when we have, it’s snatched minutes.
I know he’s into this too. The visual signs in his trousers tell me as much.
‘Why stop?’ I ask. ‘Did you do this celibacy routine with other girls?’ I whisper into his ear.
He groans again, stands up with surprising speed and moves to the other side of the room. ‘If I can’t trust you not to seduce me, then we’re going to have to have an all-out bedroom ban.’
‘I don’t know why – a month on – you’re still making us do this,’ I moan.
‘I told you. We went too fast. I just want to start again. Call me a romantic.’
‘You really are very sweet. But I didn’t have you down as being this monastic. You’ve certainly got some staying power.’
‘Monastic?’ he guffaws.
‘Celibate?’ I attempt.