The Friends We Keep Page 2

  The taxi driver left, and Evvie was alone on the pavement, aware that people were eyeing her up and down, and worse, eyeing her trunk up and down. Oh God. She shouldn’t have brought it. Who brings a giant Louis Vuitton trunk to college? But it was the only one she had that was big enough for all her stuff, and she honestly didn’t give it a second thought. Until now.

  She had been feeling so good this morning when she left her house. She’d been planning her outfit for weeks—the perfect baggy jeans, lace-up boots, and men’s shirt. She’d gone to her mom’s friend, a woman who had a hair salon in the front room of her house, who gave her a fantastic weave. A mass of tight curls cascaded down her back, leaving Evvie feeling beautiful for the first time in months.

  The weight loss helped. Her mom had put her on her first diet when she was seven, leading up to the auditions for the new TV show The Perfect Family. Evvie had been cute and chubby, and her mother, who knew someone in the entertainment business, knew they were looking for someone slight. She put Evvie on a diet of grapes, yogurt, and a tiny bit of steak. Despite being permanently starving, Evvie lost the weight, got the part, and spent the last eleven years on the show, alienated from her regular school friends by her stardom, and isolated, too, by her weight, which yo-yoed up and down. The problem was particularly pronounced during her teenage years. She would gain weight and feel awful about herself, isolating herself at home, watching television and eating; then, as if a switch was flicked, she would wake up one day determined to lose it, knowing that the latest diet would be the key. Sure enough, the weight would drop off, and she would start going out to parties again with friends, making out with boys and feeling like she ruled the world.

  Last month, having isolated herself in her grandmother’s house, she read about the Cambridge diet in one of her mother’s weekly magazines. Within the hour she had ordered it, and she had spent the past four weeks drinking shakes, smoothies, and soups, with a few meal replacement bars.

  She had been feeling hungry, but skinny, loving seeing her hip bones emerge, loving that her 501s, once skintight with a muffin roll of fat above the waistline, now hung on her, baggy, slipping down to her hips so often she had to run to Brixton Market to buy a belt.

  She had been so excited, had been feeling so great as skinny Evvie emerged, anticipating arriving at West Country University, whereupon she would meet George Michael, who just happened to be filming his new video in Somerset, and he would stop her and tell her she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, and not only would he give her the starring role in his new video, but they would fall in love and live happily ever after.

  She had spent so many hours lying in bed working out the precise details of this fantasy, all of which involved meeting George as soon as she arrived, that she found herself scanning the street, surprised not to see him around the corner.

  Instead, two small blond girls walked past, their mouths falling open at the trunk, both of them staring at Evvie, sizing her up as she stood there, nervous for the first time, clutching a piece of paper in her hand, trying to figure out if this was the hall of residence, and where the entrance was.

  She was aware of the girls staring at her, and it wasn’t staring in a good way. She felt awkward, wishing that she, too, had a friend, or family, or someone with her to help her brave her first day. She felt overwhelmed suddenly at leaving the relative safety of her grandmother’s home, by starting again, yet again, somewhere so unfamiliar and new. She was about to turn her back on the girls when she decided to try something else.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the blondes, holding out the piece of paper with a bright smile. “Am I in the right place and do you know how to get in?”

  One girl looked at the paper, while the other continued staring at Evvie as recognition slowly dawned on her.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “You’re American? Hang on, I know you, don’t I? Aren’t you an actress?”

  Evvie blushed ever so slightly. “I did a little bit of acting when I was a kid.”

  The other girl looked up, an intrigued smile on her face. “No! Are you one of those cute kids in The Cosby Show?”

  Evvie shook her head. “I always get that. I was in the other show. The Perfect Family? I don’t know if it even made it to the UK.” She was lying when she said that, attempting to play it down, because she knew perfectly well it aired in the UK. Her grandmother used to phone her after every episode to make sure she wouldn’t be as naughty in real life as she was on the show.

  “I loved that show!” said the first blond girl, peering at her closely. “You were Yolanda, right? Oh my God! What are you doing here?”

  “My mom’s from London,” explained Evvie. “Actually, she’s from Jamaica, but they came to London when she was a little girl. She moved to the United States when she met my dad, but they got divorced last year and she moved back here. With me. And now I’m a freshman here.” Evvie shrugged, wishing she had shut up. She always said too much when she was nervous.

  “We have someone famous at our university!” said one. “Do you need help with that trunk?”

  “I would love that,” Evvie said as the girls looked over at the crowds of people on the street, many still unloading cars. Other students strolled by on the other side of the road, curious about this year’s new students, the boys scanning them for fresh meat.

  “Dan!” shouted one of the girls. “Rupert! Get over here and help get this trunk inside. This is Yolanda! From The Perfect Family!”

  “I’m not Yolanda,” Evvie corrected them, embarrassed. “I’m Evvie. And thank you so much.”

  two

  - 1986 -

  Her room was on the second floor. Dan and Rupert lugged the case up the stairs, down the hallway, and into a big room at the end. There, a large, dark-haired girl was refolding all her clothes and putting them away in the one closet, which she had already marked in half with masking tape.

  “You must be Evelyn,” she said, friendly, even though she eyed the boys suspiciously. “I’m Victoria Charles. Are these your brothers?”

  Evvie almost laughed out loud. How a half-Jamaican, dark-skinned girl from America would have two fair-haired chinless wonders as brothers was beyond her, but she just shook her head.

  “This is Dan and Rupert. They just helped me. Guys, thank you so, so much. Can I give you this?” She reached into her pocket and brought out the two-pound bills she had secreted there while the boys were hauling the trunk ahead of her. She had been brought up to always thank by tipping. It was the American way. The boys looked at her proffered money and laughed in disbelief.

  “You’re joking,” said Rupert. “Are you tipping us?”

  “I’m just . . . thanking you. You can have a beer on me.”

  “Done,” said Dan, darting forward and taking the money. “Thanks very much! Have a good day!”

  That last bit was said in what sounded suspiciously like a bad American accent, and Evvie knew she had done the wrong thing. Fuck. Oh well. How was she supposed to know? The boys left the room, and she heard them laughing all the way down the hall.

  “Tipping isn’t really the done thing over here,” said Victoria, pushing her glasses back on her nose. “I think you may have just offended them.”

  “Oh no,” said Evvie. “That’s embarrassing. Fuck. Should I apologize?” She noticed that Victoria winced when she swore, and silently berated herself, taking in, for the first time, her new roommate’s neat kilt and tucked-in sweater, her flute resting on the shelf, the sensible shoes lined up in the wardrobe.

  This was clearly not going to be a match made in heaven. Evvie had no idea what they could possibly find in common.

  “My parents just left, which is such a shame.” Victoria rushed in to fill the silence. “They were hoping to meet you, so I’ll have to take a photograph of us and send it to them. I have a kettle”—she gestured to a kettle on the desk—“and I b
rought two mugs. One for you and one for me. Which one would you like?”

  Evvie went over and picked up the mugs. One had a cartoon of a fluffy cat surrounded by hearts and read, Catpuccino. The other had a different cat and said, List of People I Love: Cats.

  “I guess you like cats then?” said Evvie, who was much more a dog person herself.

  “These are my babies.” Victoria picked up a photo of two cats on a bed. “Fluffy and Buttercup. They’re the loves of my life.”

  “Adorable,” said Evvie, who had never quite understood what people could possibly find adorable about cats.

  “So, which one do you want?” Victoria gestured at the mugs. This was clearly very, very important to her.

  “I’ll take Catpuccino,” said Evvie, wondering who she might have to talk to in order to get her roommate switched.

  “That’s just what I was hoping.” Victoria broke into a big smile. “I hope you don’t mind but I have to practice my flute every day for an hour. Luckily for you, I’m rather good.”

  “There aren’t music rooms you can practice in?”

  Victoria’s face fell. “There are, but not in halls. Is the flute a problem?”

  “I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” Evvie said, praying Victoria was as good as she claimed. “Have you explored the dorms yet? Met any of the other girls?”

  “I haven’t. I wanted to get my room set up first. Have you?”

  “Not yet but I think I might go now. Do you want to come?”

  Victoria shook her head. “I’ll stay and put up the posters. Look! Aren’t they brilliant?” She unrolled pastel-colored illustrations of cats, complete with hearts all around.

  “Brilliant!” said Evvie, backing out of the room and escaping down the narrow stairs to the common room.

  The common room was very brown, very bare, and empty apart from a girl who was slouched in a chair, her feet up on another chair, watching television and quietly crying as she picked out the large round candy from a big bag and ate them, through her sobs. The first things Evvie noticed were endless bare legs, enviably long and slim, and then, as she stepped forward, a shock of thick, red hair tumbling onto her shoulders, a petite aquiline nose, and red-rimmed eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Evvie said, sitting next to the girl, who was clutching sodden tissues in one hand. “Is this a sad TV show?”

  “No. It’s Pebble Mill. The only thing that’s sad about it is that I’m actually watching it. My parents just left and I’m feeling homesick. Want one? I only like the round ones.”

  “What are they?” asked Evvie, reaching in and taking out what looked like a mini cake.

  “Liquorice Allsorts, my favorite sweets. Help yourself. I’m sorry.” She sniffed, regaining her composure and wiping away the tears. “I didn’t mean to weep pathetically in the common room.” She looked around to check that no one was listening. “It doesn’t help that I’ve got a roommate I seem to have nothing in common with whatsoever. She’s doing a degree in physics, and she’s brought her pet iguana with her in a giant bloody cage that stinks to high heaven. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Will she be playing the flute for an hour every night, and decorating the room with pictures of cats? Because that’s what I’m contending with.”

  “Oh God,” said the girl, the tears replaced with a smile of disbelief as she sat up. “How in hell do they figure out these pairings? Didn’t they ask us to fill out forms with our interests? I don’t remember putting scaly creatures anywhere on mine.”

  “I definitely didn’t put cats. I’m pretty sure I put George Michael somewhere on mine. And theater.”

  The girl’s eyes lit up. “Theater? Are you studying drama too?”

  “Drama and English.”

  “Me too!” She paused, a thought taking hold. “Don’t you think it would be more sensible if you and I roomed together?”

  Evvie broke into a large smile. “I think that would be totally awesome. Who do we have to speak to?”

  “Probably the warden. My parents brought a huge box of chocolates for her to introduce themselves, so we’re already good friends. Let’s go and find her. Have you unpacked yet?”

  Evvie shook her head.

  “Perfect. We’ll get Lizard Lady out of my room and get you in. I’ve got a huge bay window on the ground floor with a view of the street, so we can look out for handsome boys and invite them in for tea.”

  “I like the way you think,” said Evvie.

  “This is clearly meant to be,” said the girl, now standing up and extending her hand. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

  “Evvie.”

  “We’re going to be best friends, aren’t we?” said Maggie. “I can feel it.”

  “I feel it too,” said Evvie, all insecurity and intimidation having disappeared. Now that she had found a friend, there was nothing she couldn’t handle, least of all disappointing the dreadful Victoria.

  * * *

  • • •

  Two hours later, Evvie had moved downstairs, and the lizard lady had moved upstairs with Victoria, who, it turned out, had spent her entire life dreaming of having a bearded dragon. Even though Iggy was clearly not a bearded dragon, she couldn’t have been more delighted. When Evvie left her room, Victoria and her new roommate were deep in conversation about lizards the roommate had loved, and how she had looked after them.

  Maggie’s room was huge, and bright, and she had dragged two brown chairs in from the common room— “Shh. Don’t tell anyone”—and placed them in the bay window, looking out at the street so they could indeed see all the handsome boys walking past and, in fact, everyone else.

  Her bed was covered in a pretty cornflower-blue bedspread, with matching pillows, and her desk had a set of cornflower-blue stationery, pen holders, and notebooks, everything matching.

  “Please tell me you’re not always this perfect,” Evvie said, worried that in leaving Victoria she may have left the frying pan only to jump into the fire.

  “I am definitely not perfect. I just like things to look pretty. But open my wardrobe and you’ll see the inner me.”

  Evvie had marched over to the wardrobe, flung the doors open, and laughed out loud at Maggie’s clothes, stuffed into the shelves haphazardly, shoes piled up on shoes, as if Maggie had just thrown them all in there from the other side of the room.

  “Did you just toss everything in here?” Evvie asked, standing aside as Maggie pulled off one of her espadrilles and launched it through the air, whereupon it landed in the wardrobe with a clatter.

  “Goal!” shouted Maggie. “I wasn’t Goal Shooter on the school netball team for nothing. And yes. I did throw everything in there. I couldn’t be bothered to move the box from the window.”

  “I’m liking you more and more,” said Evvie as she opened her trunk and started to unpack.

  three

  - 1986 -

  Evvie’s duvet was not cornflower blue, nor was it Laura Ashley. She had no idea what it was, only that her grandmother had bought it for her, therefore it had sentimental value, even though, next to Maggie’s opulent quilted bed, piled high with cushions, her side of the room looked not just drab, but bare. The duvet was tan and orange, which looked terrible with the blue, and she had nothing to decorate the walls.

  “This does not look good,” said Maggie, surveying the room when Evvie had unpacked. “At least we have the Louis Vuitton trunk, which will make an excellent table.” She had nudged it over the thin carpet to sit between the chairs in the bay window, where it did, in fact, make an excellent coffee table. “You know what this room needs? Cushions. And throws. And something for the walls. I think we should have matching beds. My mum bought two of these bedspreads, one for me and one for the guest room, so I’ll just get her to send the other bedspread. And the pillowcases. You know there’s a Habitat somewhere around here. Let’s get the phone book and
find out. I think we need to do some shopping.”

  Evvie paused, embarrassed. Not just that Maggie seemed so mature—she’d never met anyone who knew how to accessorize at their age—but that it was quite clear that Maggie’s family had money. It wasn’t just the quality of her clothes, although they looked expensive; it was her whole air. She acted as if she expected everything to go her way, with a confidence that seemed well beyond her years. Such was her self-possession, Evvie soon learned, that everything did, in fact, seem to go her way.

  When Maggie confided in the warden, conspiratorially, that she was allergic to lizards, the warden said she would take care of it immediately. And did. And now Maggie was almost ushering Evvie out the door to spend what was likely to be serious money at Habitat, except Evvie didn’t have serious money.

  What she had made during her time as a child star was locked up in a trust, and without child support and alimony, her mother was working as hard as she could to put Evvie through college. There was no extra cash for frivolities like cushions and framed pictures for the wall. She thought of her father, who, now that he had divorced her mother, had been welcomed back into the bosom of his family. She thought of how much she had loved him when she was a little girl, how she thought he would always be her protector, her savior, and how he had abandoned her in every way possible. She fought the mix of tears and resentment that threatened to wash over her.

  Maggie paused, noting Evvie’s expression, presuming it was just about the money. “Look!” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a credit card. “From my father. To be used for emergencies, and this room is definitely an emergency.”