A Version of the Truth. B P Walter
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this yours?’ one of them asked.
I eyed her suspiciously and replied that, yes, it was and asked if there was a problem. One of the other girls laughed, while the one I was speaking to just looked back at the old car, partly splashed with mud, the boot slightly dented from a minor back-end collision a year ago. I saw her eyes flick to the trailer, the old, ripped covering my dad used to cover up whatever was being transported bundled in the back, and then they fell back on me. She didn’t say anything. Just looked me up and down one last time and walked away, the other two following her like sheep. I waited until they’d disappeared out of sight around the side of the building before opening the car. There were more bags left than I’d realised and I tutted to myself at the thought of having to come back again for the rest. I didn’t really want to admit how they’d made me feel in our half a minute of meeting, but the sense of unease I’d had ever since getting the letter of acceptance from Oxford had suddenly become a lot stronger.
Back in my room, my parents helped me unpack for a bit, but I could tell Dad was itching to head off to meet his antiques contact. Mum, on the other hand, had settled herself on the bed and was unballing my socks from the bag and folding them neatly. At one point a girl knocked on our door asking if we knew the way to somewhere called Gallery Heights as she’d been looking around for ages. I tried to answer quickly, but my dad got in first: ‘We’re not locals, love. Never been here in my life. Apart from when I was a teenager. Not at the university – God, no – but as a lad when I was working for the railways …’
‘Dad.’ I cut in to rescue the girl, who was looking at him as if he were a strange animal in a zoo. I turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve only just arrived and I don’t really know the way around myself.’
The girl nodded. ‘Oh, no problem,’ she said stiffly, then vanished from the doorway.
After another awkward twenty minutes of unpacking and questions from Mum on where I’d be keeping my knickers and ‘lady things’, we all traipsed back down to the car to get my last two bags.
‘Full of books, I bet,’ Dad said, shaking his head, lifting one of the bags out. ‘Well, I suppose you proved they had some worth, getting into this place. Never understand how you have the patience, love.’ I’d heard this speech more times than I wanted to remember and didn’t respond now. All through my childhood I’d been treated like some weird outcast, as if spending one’s weekends buried in a novel were a sign of derangement. Mum frequently made comments about how I’d never really made an effort with ‘more traditional things’, like make-up and nice clothes. When I’d told her there wasn’t much point, as we couldn’t afford expensive make-up and nice clothes, she’d told me I was ungrateful. Maybe I was. Or maybe I was just angry at not being allowed the thing I alone enjoyed without being made to feel bad about it whenever someone else came into the room.
‘You guys can get going. I’m fine from here, honestly.’
Mum looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure?’
I nodded and tried to give her an encouraging smile. ‘Yes, very sure.’
She hugged me and then so did Dad, a little more awkwardly, and then they got in their car and drove off, Mum giving a little wave out of the window as she went.
It only took just over an hour to get the unpacking finished and organised neatly into drawers and the rather generous cupboard standing up against one of the stone walls. Its dark, mahogany doors made me think back to a similar kind of thing my grandfather had when I was a little girl. I used to play hide and seek with him, well aware he wouldn’t ever find me. He knew where I was, of course, but he let me win.
I sat down on the bed and scuffed my shoes on the rug. What now? I thought I should go and meet some other people. I knew there would be a gathering of some sort down in the common room, and we’d be given older students as sort of parents so we had a first port of call if we ever needed to talk to someone who knew the university back to front. I was about to get up when there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ I called, then, realising it was on the latch, said, ‘Oh, hold on a moment.’ I ran to the door, hurriedly flattening down my hair as I did so in case I looked like a crazy blonde haystack. I unlocked the door and opened it to find a beaming girl’s face greeting me.
‘Hi,’ she said, very loudly – too loudly, I thought, considering I was standing right in front of her. ‘How’s it all going? Have you got unpacked yet? Absolute nightmare, isn’t it? I’ve only got through one and a half bags.’
She strode past me and stood, hands on her waist, looking about.
‘Oh my gosh, how tidy you are! We are going to be such friends, I know it. They say opposites attract and I am hands down the messiest person you’ve ever come across. Honestly, it’s scary.’
Her low, rather plummy voice was both reassuring in its confidence and intimidating in its speed. I smiled politely and thought I’d better take things back to simpler, more introductory areas of conversation. ‘Hi, I’m Holly.’
‘Oh, of course you are, of course you are. So sorry. What a lovely name, too. Holly. Holly.’ She said it out loud twice, as if trying it on for size, then nodded. ‘Good, good. I’m Aphrodite. My mum did classics. Obsessed with Greece. Bit of a freak. You can call me Ally, though. Everyone does. What kind of fucking sadist names their own child Aphrodite, eh?’
‘Umm, one obsessed with Greece, I suppose,’ I said feebly, hoping it sounded like a light-hearted response rather than an insult towards her mother.
‘You’ve got it in one. Totally bonkers, all of my family are. Though they think I’m stark raving mad for wanting to come here.’
I raised my eyebrows at this. Her accent was very upper class, but maybe that was just affected. Maybe she actually did come from a relatively normal family like mine. ‘Are you the first in your family to go to uni?’ I asked.
She looked at me as if I’d suddenly spoken to her in Japanese. ‘No, of course not. But they all went to sodding Cambridge. I’m the rebel who went to Oxford … well, Ernest and I. My brother, Ernest. We’re twins, but he is light years more intelligent than I am. Thinks I talk like a commoner.’
I laughed nervously, worrying what he’d think of my accent if he thought she sounded common.
‘He’s already here. In the year above. Started early. You’ll meet him. Everyone does at some point. Rampant shagger, my darling brother. He’d have his eye on you. Blonde hair, blue eyes, slim figure and a vagina. You’re ticking all the boxes so far, so watch out.’ She let out a low rumble of laughter. I was reminded of a gym teacher we had when I was seven. Miss Marks, I think her name was. Her laugh seemed to reverberate around the school hall, although this girl, Ally, seemed to carry off her low voice with sophistication rather than awkwardness. She was substantially taller than me, also blonde, though a darker tone, especially at the roots, and seemed to be able to command the room around her, even though I was the only audience she had.
‘So, have you met your mummy yet?’
For a second I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, then I understood. ‘Oh, the older student?’
‘Yes, the one to show you around, make sure you’re not crying yourself to sleep at night, that sort of thing.’
I shook my head. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Oh, that’s not good. They should have met you when you arrived. And your daddy. Or have they axed daddies? I’m not sure. Let’s go and find you one.’ She made it sound like we were going off to get an ice cream. I wasn’t even certain I wanted a ‘mummy’. I’d always been pretty good at finding my own way through things, but I didn’t want to look standoffish. Ally grabbed my hand and led me out of my room.
‘Don’t bother locking your door, nobody does around here. There’s a general rule: if you’ve locked your door, you’re having sex. Or a total essay-breakdown. My brother has those from time to time.’ She was leading me through the corridors, apparently confident