Kept (8 page)

Piers kicking me out was a sign, a sign I
needed
to come home to stop my parents
from falling further off the beaten track they are currently on with their
disgusting sexploits. The trouble is though, I know the real reason I’m home is
because I’ve fallen off the beaten track… Oh, who am I kidding? I was never on
the high road to begin with.

Back to parental horror, I’m too famished to skip dinner,
even if it has been served up with an unwanted side dish of embarrassment.

‘They did not! You lie!’ Obélix shrieks sounding
positively gleeful. He wouldn’t be so gleeful if these were
his
parents we were talking about.

‘Oh, they did,’ I confirm, glad I managed to escape the
dinner table without foaming at the mouth in horror. ‘I thought the
rimming
...’ I shudder, ‘… had been bad
but to come back to the table to hear them laughing about being cautioned for
having sex in a public place.’ I shudder again. ‘I’m now scarred for life.
Serious trauma, Ob.’

‘Just out of curiosity though, even if it
is
the image of your parents in my head,
where did they get caught?’ He seems a little too eager in my opinion.
 

‘Perve,’ I tease. ‘These are my
parents
we’re talking about.’

And boy, don’t I recall and retch at the thought. If I
didn’t know my mum is such a lousy actor, I would have suspected foul play
designed to humiliate me further… Disturbingly they weren’t fabrications. It’s
changed my perspective of my parents and cast them in a whole new light,
believe me. A light I could have done without seeing.

‘But still, where?’ He is oblivious to my discomfort.

‘If you must know,’ I huffily answer, ‘it was in St Andrews,
although it was years ago when they were much
younger
.’

‘
Where
in St
Andrews?’

I cough and rush out in a very fast voice, even though I
don’t want to. I know he won’t shut up until I share however. ‘The eighteenth
hole of the Old Course.’

He whistles, impressed. ‘The most famous golf course in the
world, eh? You have to admire that.’

Ah yes. I forgot about that. Obélix is golf mad. And sex
mad. I can understand his awe, even if it
is
in the context of my parents, but the boy needs a girlfriend. Or at the very
least a good shag.

‘Yes, well,’ I tut. ‘They shouldn’t have been engaging in
that sort of behaviour, should they?’ I haughtily answer like I’ve never
engaged in any al fresco activities before but I can’t stop cracking my face
into a smirk at the thought of how they were caught out.

Obélix pounces on it. He knows I haven’t been fully
forthcoming with the details and he has an in-built filthometer. ‘How were they
caught?’ he demands.

‘Some students spotted them out of their hall of residence
and phoned the police!’

I laugh, but Ob isn’t. He has a quizzical expression on his
face.

‘What? WHAT? What is it?’

‘I’m just thinking, if I’d have watched, it’s like golf
porn!’ He grins, too manic for my liking.

‘Eww, Obélix! Firstly these are my parents you’re talking
about watching, and secondly, what on Earth is golf porn? Wait, don’t answer
that.’ I shudder. ‘I’d rather not know. Honestly though, Frank and Alice have
corrupted my poor parents.’ I frown at the thought of Frank and Alice. ‘But,’ I
begrudgingly continue, ‘they went one better.’

Ob is practically salivating, and this is why we would never
hook up in a million years. He is such a pervert. If only Mum knew this side of
him
then
she wouldn’t tell me Obélix
is such a catch.

‘Frank and Alice actually managed to get themselves arrested
for it, except the policewoman stupidly put them in the same cell…’ I raise my
eyebrows.
    

Obélix whistles again. ‘I’d like to meet Alice and Frank.
They sound fun!’

‘They’re like SIXTY, Ob!’ I shriek.

Disgusting. It is one thing to admire the tale in an
abstract way, but quite another to want to meet the evil villains. I know he
means it as well. I suspect Ob is a bit lonely and married to his job. Then
combine that with his naturally
inquisitive
mind… his words make perfect sense.

‘But still Arielle,’ he answers me quickly, springing to his
necessary defence, ‘I am impressed by their antics at their age. Although I admit,’
he adds clocking my disgusted look, ‘I am also slightly freaked out at the
thought of olds getting carnal.’

He shudders himself at that. Finally. It’s about time he
realises the disgustingness of all this, amusing at it is. It would have made a
much better tale if it was someone else’s parents I was sharing about, not
mine.

‘Anyway.’ He smacks his lips together in what I suspect he
believes is a saucy way; he looks like a cow. ‘Let’s get onto a more savoury
topic. You and Piers. How’s
that
going? I can certainly cope with images of you two in dodgy positions.’

‘No, no,’ I protest, trying to stall. ‘You tell me yours and
then I’ll tell you mine.’

There’s no point chastising him for his pervy imagination in
my instance. He always shared every last gruesome detail with me. I’d be more
shocked if he
didn’t
try to shock me.

‘You show me
yours
and I’ll show you
mine
,’ he retorts
cheekily.

 
I’ve heard it all
before, but I still punch him on the arm. I’m allowed to thump him for direct
perviness. It’s my right for having to endure it.

‘Ouch. Joke, Arielle. JOKE.’ I punch him again. ‘But
seriously,’ he adds as I shoot him another look, ‘I have nothing to tell. I’m
married to my job.’

I knew it! No wonder he was so interested in the ’rents
sexploits
. Still, that’s no excuse.

‘Bestiality, eh? Kinky!’ I joke.

‘Not like that you nonce,’ he says. ‘Now, come on.
Spill
. I’ve had to endure your mother
raving about him for the past four years since you’ve not been here to share
and, let’s face it, your mother only knows the nice, boring bits. I mean, does
he keep you chained to the bed and you’ve only just managed to escape?’ he
teases.

‘I’ve not escaped, Obélix,’ I reply darkly, feeling sick at
the thought of where this conversation is going now. ‘He kicked me out. I had
nowhere else to go so I had to come back here without a penny or possession to
my name.’

Let the depressive truth commence.

He laughs, thinking I’m joking. ‘What do you mean he kicked
you out? Lover’s tiff?’

‘Like I said, he kicked me out. He gave me ten minutes to
grab a few things and then he kicked his no good girlfriend out of his life.
His words, not mine.’

Ob looks confused, and I can’t blame him. I can only cringe
at what I suspect Mum has said.
 

‘I don’t understand, Arielle,’ he slowly says. ‘Your mum
told me only last week that she was expecting wedding bells soon. She was
gushing about her big-shot daughter with her equally-as-big-shot boyfriend. She
described you as quite the power couple actually. He can’t have just kicked you
out, though if he has, he can’t deny you your belongings,’ Obélix logically
concludes, Mr Science.

‘Obélix,’ I hiss. ‘Listen to
me
. Not my mother, ME. I am telling you we were not a power couple.
He used to joke how I was his trophy girlfriend, then on the day he kicked me
out he finally told me what I really am.’ I pause, trying to control my
sadness. I can picture it perfectly, hear his vehement tone swirl around my
head mocking me. ‘I have to agree with him,’ I manage to choke out.

 
Ob looks
shell-shocked. He looks like he’s just found out that Prince Charming dumped
Cinderella for one of the ugly sisters.

‘What did he call you?’ he asks.

‘He called me a whore.’ Obélix gasps like a girl. ‘And
that’s what I am.’

‘What do you mean, Arielle?’ he sharply says. He’s looking
at me like I’m from Mars.

‘I mean, I’ve never worked a day in my life. At least not in
the conventional sense,’ I clarify.

There, the truth is out.

‘Arielle,’ Obélix gasps, clearly shocked.

‘I don’t mean a whore in the obvious sense,’ I snap. Trust
Ob not to realise it’s a turn of phrase.

‘Oh! Thank goodness for that,’ he stammers. Actually, he did
look really worried there for a second.

‘Who do you think I am, Obélix?’ I haughtily say. ‘Belle de
bloody Jour?’

Although, let’s face it, at least she earned her own money
and paid her own way, which is far more respectable than what I’ve spent the
past four years doing.

Four years – it seems like yesterday...

After I was back on both feet I did job search but my
heart hadn’t been in any of the interviews I got. Each time I went home to
Piers – there was no question about me moving out – crestfallen, knowing the
job would be someone else’s and I would have to keep looking. Each time he
would kiss and cuddle me, making me feel even more like a phoney because surely
with a little charm on my part, I’m almost certain I should have landed at
least one of the jobs. The graduate market couldn’t have been that tough to
crack, right? Sadly, I’ve never really found out the answer to that question.

Fortunately though, during my meagre attempts, at least I
met no more demon MDs. It was a small comfort when faced with rejection, which
continued that way until one evening when I came home dejected for the
umpteenth time. Not even my new interview outfit, a fabulous 50s style,
monochrome crepe dress with a twee, boxed cream cardigan courtesy of Piers
could keep a smile on my face.

‘Look, Arielle,’ Piers had said kindly and very sincerely –
he was looking delectable in a Prince of Wales design single-breasted grey suit
from Viktor & Rolf, minus any colour vomit clashing that had once been a
daily part of his life.
‘It
doesn’t matter if you don’t work. I’m more than happy to look after us both.’

I was fuming at that suggestion even though deep down I knew
it wasn’t a malicious offer. I had my independence. I could do this; I would do
this… I would
probably
do this. I
just needed to find something that piqued my interest, but I knew my degree
limited me from doing what I had always dreamt of doing. I mean, there was no
point even trying for
that
. I would
just have to push it back out of my mind, find something else. It was silly
even to entertain that fleeting fancy.

‘I can’t let you do that, Piers,’ I sternly said so he’d
take me seriously. ‘You’ve done too much for me already. I’ll go and sign up at
a recruitment agency tomorrow or something. I need to pay you back.’

‘You don’t have to, you know.’ To him it wasn’t a big deal
that he paid not only his way but mine, too. ‘I’m more than happy to support
you until you land your dream job.’

He really was a dream, but I still had some pride left in me
at that point. I believed I would succeed and stop being an unemployed
graduate. Besides, my dream job aspirations were well and truly over – safely
tucked away in never-never land because I had to grow up and join the boring
adult world with bills and responsibilities. I had to accept I too was part of
that world, even if I
was
living with
Prince Charming.

‘I can’t keep living off your charity, Piers.’ I sighed, a sigh
more about his tempting offer than in the mock annoyance I was displaying to
him for his generosity.

It would have been nice to accept but I wasn’t going to
allow myself to fall at the first hurdle. I could do this; I
would
do this… I could
probably
do this. I would become a
grown-up, I’d put it off long enough. I would just have to temp until I could
figure something out. That’s what most graduates had to do, so why should I
have been different? I couldn’t have my pipe dream, but I could have a profession
at least and with time that would come to mean something to me... I hoped.

He dropped
the
bombshell in his reply though. ‘I don’t offer to be charitable,’ he told me
nervously, swirling the contents of his Swarovski Crystal wine glass, which at
£250 a glass really shouldn’t be treated so recklessly, at least not in my
world. ‘I offer because I love you.’

I stared at him.
Love
?
He
loved
me? We hadn’t even had sex.
Sure, we had kissed and cuddled but nothing further. We’d become close in that
good old-fashioned way – he had
courted
me you could say – so I cared for him, certainly, but love? No, I wasn’t so
sure about love. No one had ever explicitly told me they loved me, not even
him
.

I supposed it would be nice to be in love with a man like
Piers, Piers who I recall was sat on that sofa, his hair wet from the downpour
outside and a shadow forming around his very kissable lips. Kissable lips that
drew me in from his love declaration, and somehow, on that sofa where we first
kissed, one thing finally led to another without me ever having to acknowledge
what he had said to me.
  

Maybe it happened in thanks to his very charitable offer, or
maybe because it was the only way I could express my feelings to him, but it
seemed right. That night, I officially moved into Piers’ room, but I didn’t
succumb to his offer. Instead, the following day, I signed up with a
recruitment agency. As generous as his offer was, and as wonderful as the sex
was, I was going to be a grown-up.

The temping bubble burst two weeks later.

The phone was ringing. Blearily, I glanced at the clock.
It was Saturday morning. Who would call at
half
past eight
on a Saturday morning? It had to be an emergency, but I felt too
hung-over and exhausted to deal with it because we’d started the night in
Mayfair, ended up at
Larry’s
of all
places, and had only gone to bed about three hours ago after a very exhausting
but fulfilling evening.

Piers answered the phone with a grunt. He’s a man who needs
his sleep at weekends with working such long hours in the week. He grunted into
the phone again before passing the receiver to me.

‘Hello?’ I asked cautiously, fearing the worst from one of
my parents. Who else would be on the phone at this time?

‘Arielle. It’s Sabrina from the agency.’ Her superior agency
voice rang out at me, much to my impending hangover’s horror.

I had discovered it was a requirement of a recruitment agent
to have, or certainly quickly develop, this strange condescending enthusiastic
tone. Or maybe that was just Sabrina from Smithson’s. Piers had found it
hilarious when I recounted the day I signed up to the agency – how they had
questioned everything I said like a child suspected of having a serious case of
the fibs.

‘So, you say you can use Office?’

‘Yes, I’m proficient in all Office programs,’ was my
(truthful) answer.

‘Well, dear. If you could just take a little test – don’t
worry, it’s easy peasy – we’ll see,’ had been Sabrina’s doubtful response.

What did she want now? It was
Saturday
.

‘Oh, hi,’ I muttered feeling confused. Had I not faxed
across my timesheet or something?

‘We’ve just had a phone call from the gallery saying you’ve
not arrived. I hope you’re just leaving the house now because,’ she falsely
tinkled before an ominous pause, ‘you’re late enough as it is.’

‘On
Saturday
?’

‘Yes,’ she said slowly like she knew I had just proved even
though I had passed their computer test, I really was deficient in everything
else. Like days of the week. ‘It
is
Saturday.’

‘Well, I don’t work on Saturday.’

I had agreed to work Monday to Friday between half nine and
eight which seemed too much, let alone agreeing to weekend work.

‘Yes,’ she answered, slower than before, like she was
talking to an idiot or a very small child, ‘you do.’

‘I never agreed to weekend work,’ I hotly replied. ‘And no
one told me I was expected at the gallery when I left last night.’

Piers had sat up in bed and was looking at me strangely and
mouthing “what is it?” by this point. He looked grumpy. We’d been quite wild
last night and I’d been quite demanding so the poor man needed his sleep. So
did I, actually. This working Monday to Friday business was exhausting and
gallery hours were longer than a regular office gig.

Sabrina continued with another false laugh. ‘We did tell
you, Arielle. You need to get to the gallery quick smart, young lady. And,’ she
added in a downright cruel tone, ‘I’m docking your wages to make up for your
lateness. It’s really not acceptable. I don’t expect this to happen again.’

‘What!’ Was this some sort of agency scam? I was appalled.
Who did this smarmy bitch think she was? The queen of the world?

‘What is it?’ Piers demanded.

I didn’t even bother covering up the handset to explain to
him. I squealed in rage what Sabrina had just informed me. I probably sounded
like an angry, drunk chipmunk.

‘Fuck that.’ He grabbed the receiver out of my hand.
‘Listen,’ he said in his most authoritative tone. ‘You can go jump. Arielle is
not going into the gallery now, nor will she be ever again. Find yourself
another skivvy. It’s fucking Saturday, for God’s sake!’ He clicked off the
phone and threw it on the floor.

‘Piers!’ I was half-annoyed, half-thrilled. Fair enough, I
didn’t want to go into work on a Saturday, but I had enjoyed the Monday to
Friday bit, most days… sort of. Working was a lot different to school and
university, that’s for sure.
 

‘You don’t need a job, Arielle,’ he muttered sleepily,
pulling me back so I was resting on his torso, his arms encircled around me.
‘You have me.’ He said this like that was the winning point.

‘I’m going to have to go and sign up to another agency now.’
I pouted, even though he couldn’t see my face. I knew Smithson’s wouldn’t want
me now.

‘No you don’t,’ he mumbled. ‘You don’t have to work, I keep
telling you that.’

‘Piers!’

But before I could list my reasons for wanting to work, he
cut across me. ‘No, Arielle. I’m not having this happen again. The weekend is
ours. Just volunteer for some charity or something if you
really
want to
work
, but
as far as I’m concerned your job is to look after me.’

I went to protest, but he pressed his finger over my lips.
Despite him being quite chauvinistic with his attitude I found it hot that he
was taking charge of me like this.

‘I need you to look after me, Arielle,’ he implored. ‘I’m
useless without you. I know I’ve only known you for a few short months but
you’ve already transformed my wardrobe. Now it’s time for you to transform my
life.’

‘And you don’t mind me not contributing financially?’ I
asked in a tiny voice, finally coming round to his way of thinking.

‘Arielle,’ he said softly, ‘you contribute more meaning to
my life and my happiness than money could ever buy. I’m so glad I found you. I
love you.’

For the first time since I’d met him, despite Piers having
told me he loved me countless times, I finally echoed back his words. I was
still unsure of whether I meant them because love was a serious business, one I
shouldn’t have been messing around with, but it didn’t stop me from saying it
back to him. That was the moment I sold out and signed my whoring contract, the
moment I lost all real control of Arielle Demi Lockley, all for a quiet and
easy life that I was stupid to think would last forever.