‘Maybe I could get one.’
‘Kaz, they sold out weeks ago, and it might be a bit weird seeing as you don’t really know anyone . . .’
Karen felt her heart sink, realising for the first time how much she wanted to stay. Or rather, how little she wanted to go back. To what? A job that started at five in the bloody morning? Her mum, always putting her down? Lee?
‘Hey, hey, hey!’
The door burst open and a tall, dark man struggled inside, his arms full of rustling plastic. David. Karen felt herself flushing and tugged her nightdress down.
‘Oh, hi, Karen,’ said David, and she was pleased to see his own cheeks redden a little at the sight of her.
‘Where’ve you been?’ said Amy, standing up to help him.
‘Picking up our suits for tonight.’
There was more rustling behind him as Juliet pushed inside. ‘Bloody men and their stupid white tie,’ she huffed, dropping two large bags next to the fridge. ‘All the way to Walters and back. Why do their clumping shoes have to weigh so much? My arms must be three feet longer.’
David gave her the benefit of his hundred-watt smile. ‘If your arms were three feet longer, you’d be an orang-utan,’ he said. ‘Max and I are very grateful.’ He bent and grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it like a lovelorn knight. Juliet slapped him away, giggling.
‘I don’t know what possessed me to agree to help you losers. A lot of thanks I get.’
‘I’ll get Max to buy you a drink tonight.’
‘Well, let’s have a look then,’ said Amy, nodding towards the bags.
‘Later,’ said David. ‘I shall appear like Aphrodite emerging from the shell.’
‘Wasn’t she naked?’ said Amy.
‘Hmm. Maybe I’ll just wear the bow tie then. If it’s good enough for the Chippendales . . .’
Karen’s heart fluttered a little as she imagined David in just cuffs and shiny briefs. He was gorgeous, after all – and he had gone to Harrow, which meant he was rich. A proper Prince Charming, not that she would ever get anywhere with him; he seemed too much of a gentleman, unlike the lads in Westmead.
‘I’ll leave Max’s here,’ said David, hooking a bag over the kitchen door. ‘If he ever comes home, tell him I want the money before he even touches it.’
‘You can also remind him he owes me a bottle of Bolly,’ added Juliet.
They left, heading off to their respective rooms. Karen had never really understood the co-habiting thing, never having done it herself, unless you counted the endless men her mother would allow to sleep over, padding about in the dark hours. It seemed weird, girls and boys just sharing a space as friends. Maybe it was because she had never had any male friends who hadn’t wanted to shag her.
She took another sip of her tea – did people really like this stuff? – and watched, amused, as Amy started reading her paper again. The Telegraph. The Amy from Westmead would never have read the Telegraph. Neither would she have drunk Earl Grey or eaten olives. But then that Amy was gone, wasn’t she? thought Karen with a sharp stab of bitterness. That was the truth. When Amy had first come to Oxford, stuck in halls on the outskirts of town, it had been easy to pretend that nothing had changed. They’d gone drinking in the Oxford Brookes Union still dressed like twins; the letters had kept coming every few days, even when Amy had made friends on her English course. But then she’d got her job at the pub in the town centre and fallen in with this posh crowd.
And now? Karen reflected on her friend’s bobbed hair, her white shirt, the jazz on the CD player. Amy might think of Karen as a grown-up with all the trappings of adulthood, but it was she who looked grown up. She wasn’t the same Amy who’d bunked off school and giggled over a milkshake.
She looked up at a series of thumps from the direction of the stairs, followed by a crash and a blur of arms and hair.
‘Pog!’ cried Amy, jumping up. ‘I didn’t know you were back.’
‘Sorry, been in my room. Got in about three this morning. Do I look awful?’
He was a giant of a man, and as he shook his red curly hair, something – dust, dirt, twigs? – cascaded to the floor. ‘Shower’s out again. Been hitting it with a spanner, but not sure I’m not making it worse.’
‘Pog, this is Karen, my oldest, dearest friend from back home. Karen, this is my housemate Pog. Where is it you’ve been?’ she asked, turning to him. ‘Egypt?’
‘Scotland, last-minute change. Was supposed to be diving in the Red Sea, but Charlie’s parents have split and his ma’s in the villa, so we went up to Skye, spot of cragging. Much rather be in a bothy than some marble-encrusted monument to Mammon anyway.’
Karen smiled weakly, having no idea what he was talking about.
‘Right, who wants a bacon sandwich?’ he said, opening the fridge and having a ferret around inside.