I don’t have plans,I type.
You do. With me. Right now. Come on.
I can’t. Hopefully not too long.
Don’t forget we’re at my parents’ this weekend,Ben replies.
How could I forget? The delightful Chrissie and David, who can’t make up their mind if they should loathe me even more because I’ve dropped out of university in order to modelorif they should be delighted because I’ve got a job that pays well and my face is in a middle-class country-clothing catalogue that Chrissie shops from, making me sort-of-but-not-really recognisable among her inner circle and being something to brag about to all their friends. They’re stuck somewhere in the middle, unable to land on a particular side of theIs Aurora’s job embarrassing?fence.
Yes, I’ve not forgotten,I reply.I’m looking forward to it.
I’m not sure why I lied, as I’m certain Ben senses how I feel about his family – the same way he must sense how they feel about me. I don’t know why we’re even doing this weekend, but it’s Chrissie and David’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, so there’s a party and I’m expected to be there. I’ve even brought them a bottle of expensive champagne and had a special label made, with their names and date of anniversary on it, because Ben wasn’t aware he had to purchase a gift for his own parents, so I thought I’d better do it. Sometimes, with Ben, he’s so happy-go-lucky it’s as if he’s not got much room in his head for anyone else – other than me, which is lovely. But imagine not buying your own parents a twenty-fifth-anniversary gift. It’s not like he’s not got the money, either, given the fact they’re still happily bankrolling him.
I do wonder what he’ll do when he graduates, and if he’ll manage to get a job without their support, or even with it. If not, would they still fund his lifestyle? I am curious about that. I don’t dare ask, though. After everything my mum’sdone for me over the years, I’m only too happy to be able to give her a couple of hundred quid here and there. I’d really like her to go part-time and enjoy a few hours for herself, but she insists she loves working. But then so do I, so it obviously runs in the family.
‘OK, we’re ready,’ the photographer calls over and I’m summoned towards the sandbox.
I groan internally. And think of the money.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I take a second glass of champagne as I stand next to Ben at his parents’ party. He’s talking animatedly about us, our life, his hopes, my work. He’s so good in a room, working a crowd. Life and soul. Chrissie and David have caterers, and a young woman in a black-and-white waitressing uniform patrols the room with a tray, offering up fresh glasses of fizz and discreetly removing dead glasses. Canapés do the rounds too and, as this is a drinks party, there won’t be much food after this.
The cosy lounge – I mean drawing room (I’ll never get used to calling it that) – with its low beams and twinkling candles feels even cosier tonight, now it’s full of their friends. Ollie and Liv are here too, ensconced in the corner, talking and avoiding the other guests. Ollie hates small talk, and I think Liv’s merely pleased she and Ollie are spending a weekend away, although she says she doesn’t trust herself near the swimming pool, once she’s had a drink. And neither do Chrissie and David, who I overheard when Ben was on the phone to them that he and his friends were categorically not allowed anywhere near the pool, because they couldn’t deal with ‘that girl’s drama on a weekend like this’. I assume they meant Liv. Despite her cut-glass accent, they don’t like Liv, either. So perhaps they’re not snobs. Perhaps they’re just not nice people.
Ben and I look good together and, despite the fact he’s still at university, friends of his parents – people I’ve met maybe only a handful of times – keep asking if we might get married. I try to hide my aghast expression, as we are both so young. Ben laughs it off, asking if people are ‘high’ or ‘drunk’ in order to deflect it.
‘We’re only just twenty,’ I say – a bit more articulately than calling people inebriated.
I glance at Ben. Actually I thinkhe’sinebriated.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask, when I get him on his own at the bottom of the stairs in the large entrance hall. The flickering candle-vibe continues out here and fresh flowers are littered liberally in little vases. I think Chrissie’s had a florist come in and do all this.
‘Of course I’m OK,’ Ben says loudly. ‘You?’ He sounds pissy. Annoyed. He doesn’t normally get drunk. Sort of absorbs it discreetly into his system.
‘How much have you had?’ The words slip out and sound accusing.
‘It’s a party,’ he replies through gritted teeth.
‘You look drunk, though,’ I say and those words have even more of an accusing tone than the previous sentence. ‘I don’t mean that. I mean …’No, I do mean that. ‘I wonder if you should have a glass of water or a coffee or—’
‘What are you doing?’ he hisses. ‘It’s my parents’ party.’
‘Exactly,’ I annunciate slowly. ‘You’re being really loud.’
Chrissie walks past, gives us a happy look. ‘Having a good time?’ she asks and thankfully doesn’t wait for a response.
I smile and nod anyway, but I doubt she sees, or cares ifI’m having a good time, which I’m not, despite the fact that I am trying.
‘I want you to cut back and stop being so loud,’ I say as if we’re in our mid-fifties and I’m a long-suffering wife.
Ben inhales and exhales and looks at me hard the whole time.God, will this be our life? Are we going to turn into Chrissie and David? Will we snipe at each other passive-aggressively until we die?
I swallow. I’m not taking any shit on this. ‘Stop drinking.’
‘Fuck off,’ Ben says and my mouth drops open.
‘What?’ I whisper. I’m so shocked I can’t even speak properly.
