I hear Ollie volunteer to help Ben go up and down the stairs with his boxes so that no one steals all his stuff, seeing as it’s littering the path outside our building for anyone to take. The two of them seem to be bonding over the excessive weight of whatever Ben has brought with him.
‘They’re nice, aren’t they?’ Mum says with a little wink. I know this is code forthey’re very good-looking.
I agree with a silent nod.
‘Wonder who your fourth flatmate will be?’ she ponders.
I wonder this too. I hope it’s another female. On the accommodation application it asked if I wanted a single-sex flat and I let my mind remain on that section for about five minutes before I said no. I didn’t want the possibilityof a bitchy-all-girl-vibe to potentially litter any chance of happiness here. Although seeing as there’s only four rooms to this flat, it might have been OK? Or maybe worse? I’ll never know now. Ben and Ollie will be fun flatmates. Or rather Ben will. We just need to open Ollie up. Like a Ferrari that hasn’t yet been shown a motorway. I’m sure he’ll warm up soon.
People scattered in flats across the building knock at our open door to introduce themselves. The all-male flat nine from across the corridor arrive en masse to bring six-packs of beer to hand out. They already look half-cut, getting on together fabulously, like a US college fraternity. We’re decidedly awkward compared to them.
My mum’s loving this. She never went to university; she takes great pains to remind me I’m the first one in our family ever to apply for a place, let alone get one. I think she regrets that she was born in the time she was, that she left school without any qualifications. Although getting jobs back then without qualifications was a total breeze. I’ve got all that job-hunting worry to come in three years when I finish here.
I’ve been here five minutes, I really must stop thinking about the end. I must stop wishing my life away so that I can earn money. For now, I’m on a student loan I’ll probably never be able to pay back, and scant savings from all those waitressing gigs I did through the summer. I’ve got to make it last and I also need to get a job evenings and weekends, if I can, to keep it topped up. I do hope I’ll have time to socialise too, though. Just one night a week in the union bar would suit me fine.
Ben hands me a can of beer that flat nine have eagerlydistributed in a bid to make friends. They’ve moved off to try it on with flat eight. Promises are dispensed liberally about a block party this evening when everyone’s settled in. Mum’s opening up the vodka and Diet Coke and getting our party started. I feel bad, but a little part of me thinks she should shuffle off home now. She’s the only parent still here. Ben’s parents, after parking their honking great Defender, climbed the stairs dressed as if they were going to a wedding and then left Ben to it a while ago. His dad was wearing red trousers. I’ve never seen red trousers on a man. Quite eye-catching. They didn’t seem in a hurry togetto a wedding, so I wonder if that’s how they usually dress. They’re very elegant and well spoken. I noticed Ben changed his accent a little when they appeared, pronouncing all his Ts. I think he’d been dimming it down for us, a bit more Millwall than Marlborough.
‘So what made you choose London?’ Ben asks, that wide, genuine smile never leaving his face.
‘I love London,’ I say as we clink our beer cans together.
‘But don’t you live in London already?’ He casts his eyes around my room, taking in my clunky second-hand laptop, my rows and rows of books lining the two small shelves, stacked in every direction because I’ve brought them all with me from home.
‘It’s nice to be close to home. Close to Mum. Close to everything going on in the world.’
‘The world’s a lot bigger than London,’ Ben suggests with a smile.
‘Why are you here then?’ I counter.
‘Because I’ve lived in the countryside my entire life and now I want somefun.’
‘Exactly,’ I concur.
‘Hmm,’ Ben says, his eyes meeting mine. He’s the same height as me, I notice. This rarely happens. Men are often shorter, which makes dating a bit of a chore. Sooner rather than later someone comments on it. ‘You’re really bloody tall,’ he points out.
Ah, there it is.
I laugh. ‘Yes. I am.’
‘How tall are you?’ he enquires.
‘Five eleven.’
He offers no opinion. I notice he’s finished his beer already and I’m only a few sips into mine. Ben scrunches up the can, puts it in my waste-paper bin. ‘Want another?’
‘In a bit,’ I laugh, watching him as he goes. I expect him to move off after that, talk to Ollie or stake out the other flats for an atmosphere more vibrant than ours. But he comes back to me with a fresh can, cracks it open and it hisses noisily, spitting beer over his hand. Ben doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Full confession,’ he says. ‘I got in through Clearing.’
My eyebrows rise. ‘Did you?’
‘Yeah,’ he continues. ‘Didn’t get the grades for my father’s beloved Oxford, so …’ he shrugs, ‘here I am.’
‘At an ex-polytechnic college turned university. They must be so proud.’
He chuckles. ‘It wasn’t my first choice, I’ll admit. But now … I’m grateful for a place and had to work very hard to convince the olds that I should just take it and get on withmy life, rather than trying to do resits and wait for a place at Oxford that might never come.’
‘Wise.’
