Trophy Life (8 page)

'Freddie,' she half-gasped in surprise as she opened the door, instinctively reaching up to her hair which she was fairly certain resembled a birds’ nest at this point.

'Supplies,' he said, proffering a grease-bearing paper bag and a Styrofoam cup, which smelled deliciously of coffee.

Overcome with delight both at the sight of him and at the food, Amy smiled as broadly as her exhausted face would allow and grabbed the offerings before dragging him in by the arm.

'Thank you, thank you, I’m starving,' she gushed, putting the bag on her desk and starting to pull out one paper wrapped item after another.

'Just wanted to check on you,' he smiled, going to sit on the edge of her embarrassingly unkempt bed. 'You never replied to my text. Felt a bit bad about leaving you here. I waited a bit to make sure you weren’t planning on being sick. You seemed alright after an hour or so and I propped you up on your side with a few pillows before I went, but I had to know you got up ok.'

Taking a large slug of coffee, Amy tried not to show that her heart had leapt at the thought that he had sat there for an hour, watching her sleep. It was such a caring gesture, she couldn’t help but feel touched. A loaded silence filled the room as if he sensed what she was thinking.

'Of course,' Freddie said, his face breaking into a smile that could only be described as heart stopping, 'I’m sure you don’t mind that I filmed the whole thing for posterity for screening on movie night. After all, your snoring could break sound barriers.'

'Haha, I do not snore,' she sat beside him cross legged and hit him playfully in the ribs. 'Do I?' she lifted her hand to her mouth, suddenly doubting herself.

'Yes, I can assure you, you do,' he laughed. 'Like a freight train.'

'Oh crap,' she cringed, her head falling into her hands. It was mortifying, but she felt so comfortable with Freddie that deep down she knew it didn’t matter. And yet then she remembered something that did.

'I hope Francesca didn’t mind you leaving early,' she ventured tentatively.

'Nah, she was fine,' he waved the thought away like he was swatting at a fly. 'She asked after you actually. You really did look a bit green by the end of the night.' He took one of the chips in the packet on the desk, which in Amy’s tiny room was within arm’s reach of her bed.

Amy wasn’t sure why, but his words stung. There was an intimacy there that could only mean one thing.

'So are you two an item then?' She felt stupid for phrasing it like that, but she had to know and didn’t have the mental agility just then for anything approaching subtlety.

'Well,' Freddie grinned slyly, 'It’s early days, we’re no Amy and Will, but there’s something there.'

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that there was no more Amy and Will.

'That’s great,' she croaked. How would she tell him?

'So,' he continued as he munched more chips, 'Why were you drinking like a rugby player on a pub crawl? Did they finally make you editor of the paper? Lose a bet perhaps?'

She looked at him and fought back the urge to cry. She could hardly tell him that he was the reason she had been drowning her sorrows. So instead, she went with a half-truth.

'Um,' she began, 'Actually, I wasn’t so much celebrating as commemorating. Will and I broke up.' She uttered this with finality. She had to look down as she said it, at first unable to meet his eye. When she did eventually raise her head, she caught a look on his face. Was it regret? Definitely shock. Another seemingly impenetrable silence filled the space between them; a no man’s land of things unsaid.

By the time Freddie next spoke, Amy felt like his eyes had excavated her own, unearthing the truth without needing a single word. Shaking his head slightly as if to shake himself out of a stupor, he said, 'Oh Aims, I’m sorry. What happened?'

'Just grew apart I guess,' she shrugged. 'Long distance relationships and all that.' She could hear her voice breaking and thought he did too. Did he know that it wasn't Will who was making her tear up? That it was the frustration of knowing that she had missed her chance? That they had missed their chance. And did he care?

Freddie put his arm around her, an awkward pose as the two sat on the soft mattress, but they remained there for a minute or so. She breathed in his smell and enjoyed the sensation of closeness before he pulled away.

'Right you,' she said, standing up, suddenly needing him to be far away so she wouldn’t burst into proper floods of tears. 'You’ve done your job as an excellent mate. I have my food. Off with you. I have to get ready for my next class.' She actually had hours until she next had to go, wasn’t even sure if she would go, but it was the best she could do at that point.

Freddie looked a bit surprised, maybe even hurt, but he gave her one last hug and left, telling her to text or call if she needed anything. As soon as he was gone she let the tears come. Leaning her back against the door and sliding down to the floor, she succumbed. Slowly at first, but then heavy drops ran down her cheeks. Only about half an hour later did she manage to convene Georgie and Lucy in her room for a debrief.

'Honestly it won’t last,' assured Lucy as they flicked through magazines. 'They’re too different.'

'You’ve only just broken up with Will anyway,' added Georgie. 'You need time to play the field.' Her smile was coy.

'You are pure smut, George,' mock-chided Lucy. 'But seriously you can concentrate more on the paper and your course,' she added earnestly.

'Great,' Amy said glumly, her mouth full of the ice cream Lucy had brought with her, its richness mixing questionably in her stomach with the greasiness of her earlier burger.

The thing was, Freddie and ‘Fran’ as they were all forced to get to know her, did last. Every week of every month that went by, Amy was forced to endure nights out with Freddie and his girlfriend, who now joined their group regularly. She had to watch as they kissed and held hands and left together at the end of nights out.

The worst part was, in trying to seem ok with his having a girlfriend that wasn’t her, Amy had taken on the role of Freddie’s confidant. He told her everything about their relationship and sought her advice. As time went on, it became increasingly apparent that together, Freddie and Francesca were like dynamite; explosive in the extreme.

Francesca seemed to criticise everything that Freddie did, while he never took anything seriously, thus infuriating her further. Amy found herself in the ridiculous position of defending Freddie’s girlfriend and even patching up their arguments.

'So, oh wise one. What am I buying Fran for Crimbo?' Freddie said to her in the common room over hot chocolates one afternoon. It was approaching the festive season and over a year into their relationship.

'No way,' she said, lifting her arms up in protest. 'There is no way I am getting the blame for you not knowing what your girlfriend wants for Christmas.' She was laughing as she said this.

'Pleaase,' he wheedled, 'I need to get her something great. Otherwise you’re leaving me to close my eyes and choose randomly from the Argos catalogue. I swear, I’ll just buy whatever I land on.'

'Ooooh, Christmas present roulette. I think I would pay good money to see you handing Fran some batteries or A4 folders just because your finger told you to. Are you sure she hasn’t dropped any heavy hints about what she wants? Fran doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl that would leave this to chance.'

'She mentioned something about an iron? Seems a bit odd to me, but there was a brand she wanted. OPD?' It was obvious that he was seriously struggling to recall any further details.

'Hair straighteners,' Amy said dryly. 'She wants GHD hair straighteners. You really need to listen to her once in a while,' she laughed.

'Ah.' A look of understanding filled his face. 'I thought she wasn’t the housework fanatic type.'

Meanwhile, Amy found it impossible to actually talk to Francesca herself. Not only did they have zero in common, but she seemed to be completely incapable of sustaining a flowing conversation with her. Amy secretly suspected Fran thought she wasn’t worth the energy of chatting with. The only times Fran ever showed the merest signs of animation were when she was talking to one of
her
group of intimidatingly well put together friends or with Freddie. Or when she was giving some point of ‘constructive criticism’ to Amy. The next night was a good illustration of just this.

They had all gone to the cinema for a showing of
Ocean’s Twelve
, she, Scott, Steven, Georgie and Lucy sitting together all munching their popcorn and sweets while Fran and Freddie sat behind them, feeding each other M&Ms in a sickening display of affection.

'For Christ’s sake you two get a room,' Scott had grumbled, chucking back some popcorn at them after another giggle from Francesca. 

After the show, they had found themselves at an American diner with burgers and chips, a late night treat. The boys had found a
Who Wants to be a Millionaire
machine and were arguing over some piece of trivia or another, leaving the girls at the table. Sitting by Francesca, Amy attempted, as she always did, to engage her in conversation, clutching at the few straws she could think of. She had already tried to ask about her uni work – 'fine, yeah' – and what she had thought of the film – 'yeah, good'. She was starting to run out of options.

'Have you seen
Masterchef
lately? I love that show.' This was a pretty good shot in the dark as far as Amy was concerned. Almost everyone she knew watched the reality cooking competition religiously, even those whose idea of gourmet was baked beans on ciabatta instead of plain white. She and Freddie had been arguing feverishly about whom should win this year so it was a good bet Fran watched it too.

'Is that that cooking show?' Fran drawled. 'You know, I don’t really watch that much TV. You shouldn’t either you know, I think maybe that’s why your posture isn’t as good as it should be.'

Without meaning to, Amy straightened up. Seriously, where did this girl get off advising her about her posture? And how was she supposed to reply to that? This was typical of her conversations with Fran. Incredibly observant and seemingly in the know about everything worth knowing, Fran was always delivering little pieces of advice such as this. Advice which, quite frankly, Amy could happily do without. There was always a sting in the tail, such as this time. What was wrong with her posture? And yet, rather than delivering an erudite or witty response, Amy would find herself mute. It would be several nights from now, when she was fretting about the comment in bed that she would think of an appropriate response. It really was annoying in the extreme. 

Luckily, Lucy saved her from the silence which followed.

'It’s got to be Dan who wins. It’s obvious!'

'No way Luce, what about Jane? She did that brilliant dessert. Dan is a one trick pony. If he does one more British classic I’m going to fall asleep,' Georgie countered. The debate which followed was loud, fun and funny. Forks were waved around in the course of impassioned speeches, drinks sputtered in amazement, hands banged down on table in hilarity. Francesca spent it filing her nails until she sidled up to Freddie and whispered something in his ear.

He smiled at her and looked as though he was saying something like, 'Not long, let me just finish this,' to which Francesca responded by storming off out of the restaurant, Freddie soon following. All the friends craned their necks simultaneously to watch as Francesca yelled something at Freddie which sounded like, 'stuck with your friends' while gesturing towards the restaurant. Freddie, looking imploring but exasperated, also gestured that way. 

This was a fairly typical night with Freddie and Fran. They were either madly in love or just plain mad.

It was two days before the Christmas break that their relationship reached something resembling a breaking point. That afternoon Amy, Georgie and Lucy were frantically getting ready for the Bobby Brown end of term party. They were now all living together in one of the terraced Victorian houses that lined the long streets by the university, each of them having their own room. The boys shared a similar house a few roads down. The shabby – and only - downstairs bathroom, crowded with all of its tenants at once, was a mist of hairspray, styling heat and shower steam, along with the smells of various creams, gels and other magic cosmetics.

Decks for the Halls
was widely considered to be one of the biggest nights of the year and they had struggled to buy tickets. Amy was steadfastly ignoring the fact that she knew Freddie was going to be there with Fran. Maybe she would meet someone.

She definitely felt at her most confident, having had a spray tan and her hair carefully done up for the night as well as buying a gorgeous sparkly black top from Miss Selfridge to go with her usual evening jeans.

'You look so gorgeous!' Georgie had beamed at her through the mirror. 'I would kill for those lips. Just look at that pout. I bet you make guys think of all sorts of things,' she grinned naughtily.

'Should I leave you two alone?' Lucy asked, stopping to look up from shaving her legs. They all laughed.

At the club, they went straight in, their tickets offering them a pass not afforded to the long line of students shivering outside, hoping to snag one of the few last minute tickets. Things were already heating up, with the maze-like venue transformed into a super cool grotto. Tinsel and lights were being used to maximum sultry effect, creating a mix of cosy corners and a dazzling dance floor.