Chapter Fifteen
Eight years ago
‘I can’t,’ I tell Ben for the third time. ‘I’m away in Thailand for a catalogue job and then, after that, I’m casting for a bridal-wear show.’
He sighs. ‘When are you back here?’
‘End of next week. It’s all very fast.’
‘It’s not that fast,’ he grumbles. ‘The weekend after, then? My parents really want us to come.’
‘Us? Or you? You could go without me,’ I suggest. ‘Just in case I get another last-minute job and can’t make it again?’
‘I don’t want to go without you,’ he replies.
‘I don’t know what to say. I can’t turn jobs down, if I want to earn good money. If I keep saying no because I’ve got tutorials, they’ll drop me.’
‘You hardly ever say no. You’re always away. You’re missing loads of your course.’
‘I’m not always away. I’m always here. I’m really careful about which jobs I take, so they don’t affect my degree, but this one is in Thailand.
It’s exciting. It’s for a womenswear retailer – I’m lucky to have been picked and it’s great money.
It’s only four days, and two of them are weekend days, so don’t worry,’ I try to soothe him.
‘I’m not bothered about the two days I’m missing of my course.
I’m only sorry I’m not coming with you to your parents’. ’
That’s a total lie and I feel bad for saying it, but it’s nicer than the truth, which is that David and Chrissie have become two of my least favourite people.
They clearly dislike me. Chrissie’s face does that sucking-a-lemon thing whenever I say something she doesn’t agree with.
And then she tries to convince me otherwise, making me feel stupid, as if my point isn’t valid and I’ve got no brain cells.
She’s ramped this up since she found out that I model in my spare time.
It annoys me that Ben doesn’t tell her to pipe down, but he has no sway, no power over his own parents, and I have no idea how he’s put up with it for so long.
‘I need a drink,’ he says, as if on cue. ‘Want one?’
‘No. I can’t,’ I say. ‘It’s a swimwear shoot, so I’ve got to watch the calories. And I thought you were cutting back on the drinking.’
‘I have cut back,’ Ben insists. ‘Just one big glass of wine, rather than two, while I cook you dinner. I’m feeling very grown-up about it. Don’t moan – or no dinner.’
‘Hmm, fair enough.’
He has made more of an effort with his drinking.
Since we had the impromptu chat at Ben’s local pub the Christmas before last, he’s been keeping a close eye on his alcohol intake.
Or, rather, we’ve been keeping a close eye.
He still drinks every day – a fact I still can’t comprehend – but he’s cut it back to one glass of wine now.
I check my emails while Ben cooks dinner.
Liv and Ollie are out with people from their courses.
I wish I’d made better friends with people from my course.
They all seemed to know what they were doing from the get-go and formed cliques that I didn’t seem to be able to penetrate.
Looking back now, I’m so relieved the four of us got placed together in halls.
I’d have been so lonely, if not. I speak to a few people about coursework here and there and we have coffee in between lectures, but it was a particularly low moment to find out that six of them from my group, who – like me – intend to focus on Jane Austen for their dissertations, went on a cheap weekend away to a cottage in Hampshire and then to the Jane Austen museum together.
I saw their photos on social media and it looked so much fun.
I thought the social side of uni would be easy.
I didn’t expect all of this to be quite so hard.
I close my eyes, play that scene over that Liv conjured for me months ago: me, successful, acing my modelling career, not being at university.
‘You OK?’ Ben asks as he grabs some dried noodles and soy sauce from the cupboards.
‘Yeah,’ I say slowly. ‘I think so. Ben, if I tell you something, will you promise not to try and talk me out of it?’
He narrows his eyes. ‘I’m not sure. Try me.’
‘I think I’m going to drop out of uni.’
He puts the noodles and sauce down and lets out a long ‘Ooooof’ noise. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Yeah. No. I’m not sure. Tell me it’s a terrible decision and I should stick it out.’
‘Is that what you want me to say?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I want you to tell me to go for it. I want you to tell me I should focus on modelling and earn us tons of money.’
‘Us?’ he looks confused.
‘Why not?’ I reply. ‘I love you. You love me. What are we doing this for, if it’s not long-term?’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Sorry, there’s a lot to digest here.’
‘Is there?’ I don’t usually like to play it cool, but across the nearly two years of being with Ben, if you’d asked which of us shows the most affection in our relationship, the answer would have been Ben. But now I’m the one wearing my heart on my sleeve.
‘Ben, what are we doing this for?’ I ask again. ‘This is for a while, right: you and me?’
‘Yes,’ he replies without hesitation. ‘I love you. I really do. But I’m uncertain if you dropping out and being a model is the right thing to do. It doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.’
‘Why not?’ I ask, taking him seriously.
‘It just doesn’t. I can’t put my finger on exactly why. It feels like—’
The front door opens and we both fall silent.
I can tell by the tread in the hall it’s Ollie.
He enters the kitchen and takes off his headphones, followed by his rucksack.
‘You all right?’ he asks by way of a greeting.
He lifts the kettle, fills it with water, puts it back down and flicks the switch.
His smile drops when he sees our faces. I thought I had a good poker-face, but apparently not.
‘What’s going on,’ he enquires. ‘What’s happening? ’
‘Nothing’s happening,’ I say and give Ben a silent look to play along. I don’t want Ollie to know. I’m more nervous of Ollie finding out what I’m planning than I am of my own mum finding out.
‘Aurora’s dropping out.’ Ben betrays me immediately.
‘What?’ Ollie asks loudly.
‘Thanks, Ben,’ I say sarcastically and then turn to Ollie. ‘It can hardly be a surprise, can it?’ I point out. ‘It was you who said I should switch courses.’
‘Oh, phew!’ His relief is obvious. ‘I thought you were, like, proper dropping out. What course are you switching to?’
‘No, I am proper dropping out.’
‘No,’ he exclaims, looking lost on my behalf. ‘No, you can’t.’
‘Why not?’ I ask, in the same genuine tone I asked Ben a few seconds ago.
‘Because it’s the wrong thing to do.’
‘But why?’ I ask, looking into Ollie’s eyes as if I might actually find an answer there.
‘Because …’ he blinks.
‘Come on,’ I instruct with a laugh. ‘You’ve got to do better than that.’
He runs his hand through his dark hair, which I notice now is floppier than it used to be. I think he’s growing it out. ‘I don’t know. Give me a second. You’re … almost there,’ he says. ‘You’re almost at the end.’
‘I’ve got a year left.’
‘Exactly. So close.’
‘It’s the hard year,’ I mourn.
‘They’re all bloody hard,’ he tells me.
‘It’s the one that really counts, for me,’ I tack on, because Ollie’s still got about a hundred years to go before he can finish studying. ‘I’m on track for a third.’
‘Are you? Shit. I didn’t know that. Is it too late to swap now?’ he asks, knowing full well that it is.
I give him a look.
He shakes his head and then looks at Ben. I almost forgot Ben was here. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s not up to both of you,’ I remind them.
‘So why are you asking us then?’ Ollie quick-fires back.
‘Because I love and respect your opinions. They help inform my own, but they won’t be my own.’
‘Don’t be a wanker,’ Ollie snaps and Ben laughs in surprise.
I don’t laugh, though.
‘What do you think?’ Ollie asks Ben.
‘I think it’s a bad idea, but I don’t know why.’
‘Well, that’s unhelpful,’ Ollie says as if he’s the only adult in the room. ‘This is a terrible decision, and why are you making it now?’
‘Because I’m being sent on more modelling gigs, I’m earning good money and I’m actually quite good at it.’
‘Wearing clothes in catalogues and having your photo taken? Please.’
‘Fuck off,’ I tell him.
‘It’s a swimwear shoot in Thailand next,’ Ben says, looking at me proudly and trying to be helpful. But it only angers Ollie more.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, wearing hardly any clothes in catalogues and having your photo taken,’ he says.
‘Piss off, Ollie,’ I exclaim.
‘Fine,’ he replies, gathering his rucksack. He leaves the kitchen and I hear him stomp up the stairs.
Ben and I remain silent. He clearly doesn’t know what to say and turns back to the noodles and sauce. ‘Shall we bin this lot and get pizza?’
‘No, I can’t,’ I say regretfully. ‘I’ve got to eat fairly clean this week for the swimwear shoot.’
I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth these days. I’ve become that person we all love to hate. I’d dwell more on this, only I’m now feeling really uncertain about my decision. And I think I might hate Ollie.