towards me with two boys in her wake. “I’d like you to meet Richard and Warren.”
I tried to smooth down my dress and smile pleasantly, though my face suddenly felt like it was made of stiff plastic and I hated myself a bit for caring whether or not they thought I looked like a sausage.
Richard was the taller and better-looking of the two. I observed his square jaw and artfully curly blond hair with the dispassionate gaze of someone who knew that fancying him would make her mother happy and had no intention whatsoever of making her mother happy no matter how fit he was. He was wearing a tweed jacket, suspenders and glasses without lenses in them. Textbook hipster – such a classic look I had to wonder if he dressed like this all the time or if it was some kind of elaborate fancy dress. I decided to call him Hipster Dick, at least in the privacy of my own head.
I realised I was staring and turned my glance to Warren. In contrast to Hipster Dick, Warren was short and stocky. He was wearing jeans and a yellow Paul Smith shirt. I noticed Mum didn’t seem to be utterly humiliated by the denim as long as it was on one of her guests.
“Call me Rich,” said Hipster Dick, with a sweet half smile.
“Meg,” I said, in a nice loud clear voice so Mum could hear me.
Warren replied by smiling at my boobs. I only hoped they were enough to keep him entertained for the rest of the evening, because God knew I had no idea what to say to him.
Mum was looking at me. I was supposed to be doing something. Oh, right.
“Can I, um, can I get you something to drink?” Mum rolled her eyes at me before she walked away. Obviously I was already a total disaster. I turned to wave over one of the waiters with a little tray. Warren and Hipster Dick both took glasses of red wine. So that was that part done.
The three of us hovered by the window sipping our drinks in silence, smiling awkwardly.
This was excruciating.
“So, er, Mum said you go to Cambridge?” I asked.
“We’re in first year at Trinity,” said Hipster Dick. “Are you applying?”
“Well, Mum wants me to.”
“I’d be happy to introduce you to a couple of the right people,” he said. “You should come up for a couple of days.”
“That’s what Mum said,” I agreed, without much enthusiasm.
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“Oh, I mean, thank you, really, it’s just...” It’s just that I don’t want to go anywhere that’ll take me just because my mother introduced me to all the important people. It even sounded rude in my head, so I just trailed off.
Hipster Dick’s pretty amber-brown eyes narrowed. “It sucks that who I introduce you to might be what gets you in.”
I blinked at him. “Yeah, it really does.”
I felt my face warming under his gaze. I guess I’d misjudged him. I guess not everyone Mum knows has to be completely morally bankrupt.
Warren made a deeply unattractive spitting sound in the back of his throat. “Ugh, Richard, don’t be such a fag. Hey, you were at Conference this year, tell me Jenkins didn’t do his usual two hours on NHS reforms.”
I blinked at him. I instinctively tried to formulate a reply, despite the fact I’d rather die than attend a Party Conference.
But Hipster Dick laughed, and just like that, I realised my five seconds of being relevant to the conversation were over. Warren had very deliberately changed the subject. He kept smiling at my boobs as if they were making a contribution, but after the third time he’d made Hipster Dick laugh and I had no idea how, I drew my own conclusions.
“I was helping out at the EDYC last week, surgery was full of crackpots as per, then Glenn and Alex took Barrows and Robinson out to lunch to grease them up for the IDK and sprung prescription allowances on them over the milk-fed veal, they nearly crapped themselves but the GNE is solid,” said Warren, without apparently stopping to breathe.
I tried to smile when it seemed appropriate and laugh whenever Hipster
I tried to smooth down my dress and smile pleasantly, though my face suddenly felt like it was made of stiff plastic and I hated myself a bit for caring whether or not they thought I looked like a sausage.
Richard was the taller and better-looking of the two. I observed his square jaw and artfully curly blond hair with the dispassionate gaze of someone who knew that fancying him would make her mother happy and had no intention whatsoever of making her mother happy no matter how fit he was. He was wearing a tweed jacket, suspenders and glasses without lenses in them. Textbook hipster – such a classic look I had to wonder if he dressed like this all the time or if it was some kind of elaborate fancy dress. I decided to call him Hipster Dick, at least in the privacy of my own head.
I realised I was staring and turned my glance to Warren. In contrast to Hipster Dick, Warren was short and stocky. He was wearing jeans and a yellow Paul Smith shirt. I noticed Mum didn’t seem to be utterly humiliated by the denim as long as it was on one of her guests.
“Call me Rich,” said Hipster Dick, with a sweet half smile.
“Meg,” I said, in a nice loud clear voice so Mum could hear me.
Warren replied by smiling at my boobs. I only hoped they were enough to keep him entertained for the rest of the evening, because God knew I had no idea what to say to him.
Mum was looking at me. I was supposed to be doing something. Oh, right.
“Can I, um, can I get you something to drink?” Mum rolled her eyes at me before she walked away. Obviously I was already a total disaster. I turned to wave over one of the waiters with a little tray. Warren and Hipster Dick both took glasses of red wine. So that was that part done.
The three of us hovered by the window sipping our drinks in silence, smiling awkwardly.
This was excruciating.
“So, er, Mum said you go to Cambridge?” I asked.
“We’re in first year at Trinity,” said Hipster Dick. “Are you applying?”
“Well, Mum wants me to.”
“I’d be happy to introduce you to a couple of the right people,” he said. “You should come up for a couple of days.”
“That’s what Mum said,” I agreed, without much enthusiasm.
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“Oh, I mean, thank you, really, it’s just...” It’s just that I don’t want to go anywhere that’ll take me just because my mother introduced me to all the important people. It even sounded rude in my head, so I just trailed off.
Hipster Dick’s pretty amber-brown eyes narrowed. “It sucks that who I introduce you to might be what gets you in.”
I blinked at him. “Yeah, it really does.”
I felt my face warming under his gaze. I guess I’d misjudged him. I guess not everyone Mum knows has to be completely morally bankrupt.
Warren made a deeply unattractive spitting sound in the back of his throat. “Ugh, Richard, don’t be such a fag. Hey, you were at Conference this year, tell me Jenkins didn’t do his usual two hours on NHS reforms.”
I blinked at him. I instinctively tried to formulate a reply, despite the fact I’d rather die than attend a Party Conference.
But Hipster Dick laughed, and just like that, I realised my five seconds of being relevant to the conversation were over. Warren had very deliberately changed the subject. He kept smiling at my boobs as if they were making a contribution, but after the third time he’d made Hipster Dick laugh and I had no idea how, I drew my own conclusions.
“I was helping out at the EDYC last week, surgery was full of crackpots as per, then Glenn and Alex took Barrows and Robinson out to lunch to grease them up for the IDK and sprung prescription allowances on them over the milk-fed veal, they nearly crapped themselves but the GNE is solid,” said Warren, without apparently stopping to breathe.
I tried to smile when it seemed appropriate and laugh whenever Hipster
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