Juliet’s wardrobe was a sea of taffeta.
‘Where do you wear all this stuff?’ said Karen, tracing one hand across acres of vibrant-coloured fabric.
‘Darling, this is my sixth ball already this term. I had to beg Mummy to take me shopping to Peter Jones last week because I’m sick to death of looking at some of these rags, I’ve worn them so often.’
Amy smiled from her position on the edge of Juliet’s bed.
‘Asking an Oxford Uni student why they’ve got a wardrobe full of gowns is like asking why they have a library card. Balls are part of the learning experience. It’s like they haven’t quite realised that it’s not 1906 any more.’
Juliet sighed and looked Karen up and down. ‘Look, I’m just not sure anything’s going to fit you. I’m flat as a pancake and you’ve got . . . bosoms.’
‘Come on, Jules,’ said Amy, glancing at her watch. ‘You’re got to have something in your dressing-up box.’
Juliet plunged her hands into the back of the closet and pulled out a bottle-green dress from its dusty depths. Made from stretchy nylon, it was long and simply cut; at first glance, it was the most unremarkable piece of clothing she owned, and maybe that was the point, thought Karen, detecting the other girl’s reticence to lend her anything.
‘That might fit,’ said Juliet, holding it up.
‘Let me try it on,’ Karen grinned, pulling off her nightie and slipping the dress over her head. She smoothed her hands over her hips, adjusted the neckline, then turned and looked in the mirror.
‘Wow, I don’t recognise myself,’ she said in surprise.
‘Kaz, you look amazing,’ said Amy, jumping to her feet. ‘I’ve got some earrings you could borrow, and if you twist your hair up like this,’ she scooped up a handful and fixed it into a loose bun, ‘you’ll look like a fifties movie star.’
Karen didn’t have a big ego. It was hard to feel confident about herself when she always had Lee telling her that she was fat and frumpy, that she needed to go on a diet and dye her hair and wear more make-up, but she had to admit that Amy had a point. The dress clung to her curves in all the right places, her creamy boobs spilled seductively over the low neckline, and with a slash of red lipstick, a splash of diamante, and her blond hair piled high in the way Amy was suggesting, she knew there was more than a passing resemblance to a young Marilyn Monroe.
‘What do you think?’ she said, flashing a look at Juliet.
‘I think you might want to take a restraining order out on Max, because that old dog won’t be able to keep his hands off you,’ said Juliet, closing her wardrobe door.
‘I wish you were coming tonight,’ said Karen, sticking a fork into her baked potato and taking a long swig of her Diet Coke.
They’d come out for lunch in a café on the high street popular with students. Amy had filled her in on the history of the Commemoration Ball, explaining that colleges took it in turns to host the formal white-tie bashes. It was apparently the last big night out of the academic year; lectures had finished for most people weeks ago, and many students had left already, or, like Pog, returned simply to attend the biggest ball of the year. Even though Karen was excited about attending, she still couldn’t help but think it was a swansong, with Amy about to graduate and head to London and not back home to Westmead.
‘I will be there, remember,’ smiled her old friend.
‘Give me a wave whenever you can for moral support.’
‘Max is fine.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant people looking down their noses at me.’
Amy’s face softened.
‘Most people are okay, Kaz. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt people sneering at me when they found out I was at Oxford Brookes. But you have to ignore them. Just stick with David, Pog and Juliet. They’re lovely.’
Amy seemed so confident in her new surroundings, Karen thought. She had noticed all the ‘darling’s and ‘super’s that had crept into her friend’s vocabulary, and she supposed that Amy had worked hard to fit in seamlessly. Karen didn’t blame her; in fact she almost felt proud of the way Amy had shed her roots in the last three years. Why wouldn’t you want to get as far away from the estate as possible? What was so great back there? And what was the point in coming to Oxford if you weren’t going to make the most of it, educate yourself, better yourself, make contacts, learn about the world outside?
But even Amy’s polish would sometimes get caught out. Karen didn’t understand the subtleties of class, but she knew they were there; imagined what it would be like for Pog or David or Max to come down to the estate for the evening, and how people would respond to their plummy accents: with disdain and just a little bit of fear.
‘I notice you didn’t put Max in the lo
vely category,’ she said.
‘I can think of many words to describe Max, but “lovely” isn’t one of them.’ She said it with some affection and it put Karen at ease. But then her expression darkened. ‘Look, it’s none of my business, but . . .’
‘What?’
‘You going to the ball with Max . . . Have you told Lee? I mean, if he knew you were going out with another guy, he might be jealous.’