‘Don’t you want me to come?’ said Karen, her eyes narrowing instinctively.
‘Don’t be like that. I’d love you to come to London. I just think you’ve got to think it through.’
She knew what Amy was really saying. That she belonged in Westmead. That pitching for the bright lights of London was too ambitious for the likes of little Karen Price. Well, Amy herself wasn’t settling for anything normal, like being a barmaid or a receptionist, and she was no better than Karen; if anything, at school, Karen was always seen as the prettiest, the most popular, so why shouldn’t she dream big too?
The waitress brought the bill over and Karen reached for her purse.
‘My treat,’ she said. ‘For putting up with me.’
Amy didn’t move her gaze away. ‘Kaz, you know if it’s not right with Lee, you can just finish with him. You don’t need to move to London to get out of a relationship you don’t want to be in any more.’
‘I want to move to London for me. Not for him,’ Karen said quietly.
‘Or maybe you’ll want to move to London for Max.’ Amy’s face broke into a playful grin, lightening the mood.
‘Stop it,’ said Karen, swatting the air with her hand. ‘I know he’s a lech. But this Cinderella wants to go to the ball.’
‘Well, if he gets too lechy, you have our permission to kick him in the nuts.’
‘I thought he was your friend.’
‘He is. I just know what he’s like. What they’re all like.’
‘Posh people?’
Amy nodded.
‘But I thought you liked them,’ said Karen slowly. ‘Joining an Oxford Uni house share, I thought you might even want to be one.’ She said it lightly, but her words had a barb that she meant to hit home.
Amy didn’t flinch. ‘I don’t want to be one. But I want their contacts, I want their opportunities and I want their money. I’d only been in the house a month and Juliet was talking about her godfather getting me a job at his magazine firm. I’ll never get those sort of openings without knowing the right people.’
‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Right?’
‘Something like that,’ Amy smiled.
Chapter 8
‘How bloody long are they going to make us wait?’ Max looked down the line, scowling. They had been standing in the queue snaking towards New College for fifteen minutes.
‘Don’t get so het up, Max,’ said Karen. ‘It’s only early.’
Truth was, Karen was enjoying it out here in the last of the evening sunshine, shoulder to shoulder with elegant floppy-haired men and primped girls, their eyes bright and shiny. The fact that the queue passed under the picturesque Bridge of Sighs only added to the excitement. Twice in the past few minutes Japanese tourists with huge cameras had taken their picture. Karen felt special standing out here. To passers-by, she was one of the students, the elite of Oxford. For one night, she fitted in.
It was all an illusion, of course. Max had insisted on stopping at a friend’s flat for pre-ball cocktails, and there, Karen had been Karen, the common girl with the funny accent. And what was worse, no one questioned why she was there; she could tell from the glares of the girls and the pinched smiles of the men that they all assumed she was Max’s entertainment, a bit of rough to underline his roguish manliness. So to cover her embarrassment, she had drunk too many cocktails – no doubt confirming everyone’s prejudices and making her feel a little woozy right now.
‘Bollocks to this,’ said Max, grabbing her hand. ‘I’m not standing around here with everyone staring.’
He pushed out of the queue and strode down the street, pulling Karen, tottering on unfamiliar heels, in his wake. The line ended at a gate, where two girls in cocktail dresses were checking tickets off on clipboards before allowing revellers through the velvet rope.
‘Max, we can’t just barge up . . .’
But Max wasn’t listening. ‘Sorry, ladies, would you mind awfully if we slipped in? Just got a call from Jonno on the lights crew; he’s got a prob with the par cans tripping out.’
Karen glanced at him. His face was the perfect balance of charm, apology and annoyance: just a partygoer who wanted to enjoy the ball but had reluctantly agreed to help out the incompetent Jonno. Whatever else Max was, he was a brilliant actor. If Karen hadn’t known he was completely full of shit, she would totally have swallowed his story.
The clipboard g
irls didn’t even blink. ‘Sure,’ said the first, lifting the rope. ‘Backstage entrance is to the left. Good luck!’