No Longer Safe(10)

I fiddled with my hair, tousled from my scramble under the sink. ‘Oh – I just do office admin at the moment. At a college near St Pancras.’ I glanced down.

There was a short gap before she spoke. ‘Good for you. Sounds great. Do you enjoy it?’

I decided not to gloss over the truth. ‘Not really. I’m looking for something new. I’ve been on self-development courses and had life-coaching. I’ve got goals now.’ It came out sounding rather pompous.

She didn’t seem to notice my self-righteousness. ‘To do what?’ She sat forward, looking impressed.

‘I’m going to train to be a primary school teacher. I’ve got a place at college.’

‘Hey – I can see you doing that. What a good idea.’

In spite of the bad head, I found myself sitting a little taller.

‘So you’re in Wandsworth?’ she went on.

‘Yeah.’ I toyed with a loose thread on the arm of the sofa. ‘With my parents,’ I added, wishing straight away that I hadn’t.

‘O-k-a-y.’

‘But, I’m moving out soon – they’re driving me bonkers. They’re so old-fashioned – more like grandparents. I’m going to share a flat or get a bedsit. How about you?’

‘After these months up here, I’m going back to Brixton.’ She didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

‘My parents expect me to be married by now,’ I said, hoping to draw more from her. ‘At Sunday lunch, Dad says things like: Time’s ticking on, Alice, you don’t want to leave it too late before you settle down and start a family, then he’ll suddenly pitch to one side as Mum kicks him under the table.’

She laughed, but didn’t offer me anything personal in return.

‘Your parents were never the most broad-minded people,’ she said.

I rolled my eyes. I’d had to fight to go to University; my parents saw it as a hot-bed of temptation that could only result in debauchery. Instead of a degree, they thought I’d emerge with twisted values; depraved and morally corrupt. Mum gave me ‘the talk’ several times before I went, but it turned out to be another in a long series of mixed messages. Apparently, boys between the ages of thirteen and thirty were ‘dangerous and to be avoided’ – so how I was expected to get married without meeting one was beyond me. Perhaps they thought I ought to marry an overseas pen-pal.

‘Listen. Are you hungry?’ Karen said.

‘Well…’ The nausea I’d felt when I came round was still bubbling at the back of my throat. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage something.’ I tried standing up and shuffled behind her into the kitchen, trying not to move my head.

‘I’ll make supper – I don’t want you to do a thing,’ she said, realising I was having difficulty walking in a straight line. ‘You sit here and talk to me.’

As she took two pieces of cod out of the fridge, I spotted the clock on the kitchen wall; it said the same time as the one in the sitting room. Later than I thought.

Karen set about frying the fish and I insisted on preparing the vegetables, but as I chopped the carrots, I kept having to stop and shut my eyes. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t want her to see how bad it was.

She asked me about boyfriends and I admitted there hadn’t been a great deal of action in that regard. ‘I met someone on a meditation course,’ I told her, ‘and we dated for a few weeks, but I think he was really looking for someone to take care of his children. There was a guy at work, but I found out he was married. And also a sweet guy at Dad’s church, but he’s moving to Spain to teach English.’

‘Have you joined any dating agencies, gone online?’

‘Yeah – I have. I’m sick of being single.’

‘Go for it, Ally.’ No one but Karen called me that. ‘There’s someone out there for you. I know there is.’

‘I’ve still got the book,’ I said, sensing she’d know exactly what I meant. In our first year at Uni, Karen and I had what was, for me, a risky and challenging chat about sex. I thought I was the only virgin in the entire place and trusted her with my mortifying secret. She bought me a tasteful ‘manual’ and shared her own experiences with me; explaining about condoms and foreplay and all the basics. She was never once condescending or patronising. It was one of the most wonderful things she ever did for me.

Another three months went by and I was able to tell her my good news: ‘You’ll be pleased to know I’m no longer as pure as the driven snow!’

She’d squealed and asked me for all the details. ‘I’m so proud of you – I knew everything would work out. You needed time, that’s all.’