I’m ashamed to say that I slept with pretty much anyone who wanted me at university – my self-esteem so low, that show some interest, the faintest bit of interest in me, and I was yours.
I still vividly remember the craving for affection. It wasn’t the sex I wanted, it was the cuddling afterwards. It was the lying in bed, arms around one another, softly murmuring as they stroked your hair. I would sleep with them, then wake up, eyes pleading for one more taste of the affection I had had the night before. But invariably the orgasm of the previous night had taken the intimacy with it, and I would either be ignored, or have to indulge in polite conversation before getting out of there as quickly as possible.
I was sitting in Portia’s room when I saw her walk up the road, still in her little black dress, high strappy heels swinging back and forth from her left hand. As she got closer I could see she had washed her face free of all make-up – something few of us did at home, never mind when away – and she grinned as she saw me, and waved.
I switched on the kettle in her room and was scooping Gold Blend into a mug as she came in.
‘Well, I’ve done it,’ she announced, ‘and I don’t know what the big deal is. I walked home and on the way I decided that I could do one of two things. I could either feel dirty and ashamed, because, let’s face it, Cath, I’ve been well and truly used. Or,’ and she paused. ‘I can write it down to experience, learn from it, and move on.’
‘Need I ask which one you’ve chosen?’ I asked, impressed by her confidence, because, frightened though I was to admit it, after each one-night stand, each rejection, I felt more and more unworthy.
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ she said, sinking into the chair and lighting up a cigarette, ‘the sex was terrible. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to sleep with a stranger. And he’s supposed to be one of the best lays in this whole bloody town.’
There wasn’t anyone good enough for Portia, I decided. Not here at the university. But then, towards the end of the second year, when we were sharing a little house just off the high street with Josh, Si and Eddie, Sarah not yet having made her mark in the way she was evidently hoping to, Portia came home smiling. She said she’d met someone lovely at the library, and would we mind if he came over that night for supper?
I did mind a bit, actually. It was the first time Portia had ever seemed interested in anyone, and I suppose I must have been jealous, but as soon as Matt walked in, we all fell in love with him.
Matt really was the perfect man. He was funny, charming, kind, bright, and he adored Portia. Adored her. You know how some couples just look perfect together? That was Matt and Portia. And I didn’t lose her. Rather like fathers of the bride who say they’re not losing a daughter, they’re gaining a son, I gained another best friend.
But it didn’t last. It never did, in those days, with Portia. For a year they were inseparable, and then, out of the blue, she split up with him. No reason, no explanation, nothing. She just decided it was time to move on, but what was an easy decision for her, left the rest of our tiny group devastated. And that was when it all started to go horribly wrong.
Chapter two
There was a girl called Elizabeth. A friend of Eddie. Someone with whom he had been to school, his best friend, who had opted for a job rather than university, and who had secured for herself the rather grand-sounding title of Marketing Assistant.
Eddie adored her. Throughout the first term we kept hearing about Elizabeth: Elizabeth this, Elizabeth that. How Elizabeth taught Eddie to smoke, and borrowed her parents’ car while they were away, and how at sixteen Elizabeth and Eddie were driving, drunk, all over town, piles of their schoolfriends hanging out of the sunroof.
Eddie admitted that when he first met her he had a huge crush on her, but then everybody did, he said. She was gorgeous. Far and away the most beautiful girl in school, and even at fourteen she was the talk of the sixth form.
Elizabeth began to take on mythical qualities. She was the elusive beauty that we had heard so much about, but none of us was entirely sure that she really existed, at least not in the way that Eddie had described.
We assumed that Eddie’s crush had blinded him to her actual attributes. We assumed she’d be pretty. Striking, even. But unassuming.
And then Eddie announced she was coming to stay for the weekend. He was giving up his bed, he said, and would be staying the night at Sarah’s so that Elizabeth would be comfortable.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Josh ribbed him. ‘Bet you’ll be sneaking back into your bed in the middle of the night, Sarah won’t be too happy about that.’ Sarah was not, at that stage, a permanent fixture, but we could see that Eddie had, up until this visit from the infamous Elizabeth, fallen for her.
Eddie looked shocked. ‘Absolutely not. I’d never dream of doing anything. You know how I feel about Sarah, and anyway Elizabeth is my friend. That’s all.’
We all caught Eddie’s excitement in the days before Elizabeth was due to arrive. All of us except Portia.
‘Don’t you want to meet this paragon of female loveliness?’ I asked her, and Jesus, how clear this memory is. I remember asking that question. I remember exactly where we were, and the memory is so strong I can suddenly smell it.
I can smell the old seaside café, perched on the side of one of the narrow cobbled streets running up from the beach. During term time it was filled with students, noisily chattering, shouting at one another, sitting for hours over one cup of coffee, but then during the holidays it was full of old ladies, scarves wrapped around their hair, gnarled fingers clutching iced buns.
I loved it best during the holidays. I loved staying there, seeing the town in a completely new light, feeling like a local rather than an unwanted student. I loved sitting in the café by myself, often with a book, but usually the book was only for show, enabling me to listen in on their conversations.
I remember that day with Portia. I was supposed to be at a lecture, but I skipped it, vowing to make up for it later. I remember queuing for two steaming mugs of sweet, milky tea, and debating whether to treat myself to a bun, but deciding against it because those were the days when I actually cared what I looked like.
Portia and I were sitting at a tiny table with our lighters precariously balanced on our packets of Marlboros, the air smelling of smoke, and freshly baked cakes, and salt from the sea. I remember being full of the joys of a flirtation with a boy called Sam, and telling Portia everything about the night before, in minute detail.
And, being Portia, she listened and laughed in all the right places, and encouraged me every step of the way, and when I had finished I said I couldn’t wait to meet Elizabeth. And Portia didn’t say anything.
‘You’re coming with, aren’t you?’ I asked, having told her that all of us were going with Eddie to the train station to pick her up. Portia shrugged.
‘Why wouldn’t you come?’
She shrugged again, then smiled suddenly. ‘I’m sure I will,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve just got to go to the library, so I might have to miss the grand arrival.’
And it didn’t occur to me at the time that there might have been more to it.
‘What do you think she’s like?’ I giggled. ‘Do you think she’s as perfect as Eddie makes out?’
‘She’s probably a total bitch,’ Portia said, which seemed out of character and took me by surprise, but then I entered into the spirit of things.