Daniel sneaked little glances at her while she was watching the orchestra. He loved how there was something refreshing about her newness to things. Old girlfriends, sisters of his friends from school, had been hard to surprise, and some even harder to please, and he’d often felt jaded just by being in their company. Cherry, although far from gauche, hadn’t been hothoused since a toddler and he found he could enjoy a classical concert that he’d experienced many times before simply by being there with her. He suddenly felt an urge to share even more with her – galleries, concerts, trips to the coast, maybe even a holiday abroad – and the summer took on a new promise there and then.
As Mozart’s symphony lifted her and dropped her back down again, Cherry sensed she was being watched and she let him. She enjoyed the attention, and it was nice to have it from someone of quality, something that had only happened once before in her life. It had been six months since she’d last seen Nicolas Brandon, but his face was as clear as if he were sat in front of her right now. She’d persuaded an old school acquaintance to go out for a drink (on the pretext of wanting to catch up), only the place she chose was a small, discreet, upmarket cocktail bar some way from both of their homes. She walked in, her friend exclaiming in loud admiration behind her at the surroundings, and there he was, as she knew he would be. She opened her purse and took out some money.
‘Do you mind getting these? I’m going to the loo.’
Her friend went to the bar and Cherry walked towards Nicolas. When she was only a couple of metres away, he looked up and the startled, embarrassed look on his face both gratified and pained her. He was the eldest son of a telecommunications mogul and was in his last year of a masters in economics at Oxford as a precursor to the training he’d get at his father’s side; eventually he was destined to take over the family business. He’d grown up on the Webb Estate, a gated residential conservation area housing multimillion-pound mansions in the very southern part of Croydon, where the hundred-year-old ‘rules’ included a ban on the wearing of shorts and hanging out washing in the garden.
She saw him glance around as if he was pretending he hadn’t noticed her, but there was no way on earth she was going to let him escape. She advanced right up to his table until he had no option but to acknowledge her.
‘Hi,’ he said, feigning surprise.
‘Hi yourself. Didn’t think I’d see you here.’
‘Michaelmas break. We finished last week.’
She knew this, as she’d looked up the dates for the Christmas holidays on the university’s website.
‘So, er . . . you still come here?’ he said.
It had been their place, somewhere he’d brought her on their first date, and she remembered the times they’d held hands across the table and made plans for when he left to go back to university. She was going to change her shifts so that she no longer worked weekends at the restaurant where they’d met and instead visit him at Oxford. It hadn’t struck her at the time that all the plans had been to his benefit more than hers.
‘Last time probably. I’m moving.’
‘Oh yes. Where to?’
‘Kensington.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but there was enough truth in it.
‘Oh?’ A tiny, disbelieving smile crossed his face, as if she’d got confused about where and what Kensington actually was.
‘What? You don’t think I’m good enough?’
He frowned and looked away. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘No? Only I remember you saying your parents made certain demands on you – things you said weren’t your idea but which you had no choice about if you ever wanted a chance to take over your father’s business.’
She looked up as a girl, a beautiful, silken blonde, approached the table from the direction of the toilets, a look of consternation on her face. Cherry stood stock-still, her heart hammering. He hadn’t wasted any time. This was the kind of girl his parents would approve of, a girl with money, a good background, good connections.
‘Is everything OK?’ the girl said suspiciously, looking from one to the other.
‘Fine,’ said Nicolas quickly.
‘Here you go, one apple martini,’ said Cherry’s friend, thrusting a glass at her. She saw Nicolas look up. It was a drink he’d introduced her to and she immediately wished she hadn’t ordered it. She turned sharply and walked away, hearing the blonde girl ask hushed questions about who she was. When she got to the bar, she looked back and saw them huddled; he was trying to persuade her to drink up so they could leave and all of a sudden she didn’t want to be the one left behind. She threw back her drink, grabbed her friend’s hand and announced they were going.
It wasn’t how she’d planned it. She’d wanted him to be impressed, wonder if he’d made a huge mistake dumping her at the end of the summer, maybe even realize he wanted her back. For Cherry had always believed Nicolas would rescue her. Pluck her from the celebrity chef’s restaurant chain where she worked. A dead-end mistake of a job that she should never have had.
She’d been destined for better things. Incredibly bright at school, she was too much for the overstretched teachers at her average comprehensive, who’d just given her more work and let her get on with it. When she’d left with five top-grade A levels, she was completely broke. University was out of the question. She just couldn’t afford it. It wasn’t simply the cost and the debt; Cherry had an urge to escape from her poverty-ridden lifestyle. She wanted to do the simplest of things, like learn to drive, move out of home, start to create a life for herself, but her generation was entering a future that had very little to offer. Unemployment for the under-twenty-fives was at an all-time high, and they certainly had no hope of buying a home; instead, their long-term financial burden would be paying off the nation’s debt.