‘You missed out. University was the happiest three years of my life.’ Simone’s gaze is fixed on Dominic as she says this, and I feel another flash of anger, not just because she’s so brazenabout their relationship but that I’m judged as somehow inferior to her because I don’t have a degree.
A childish part of me wants to stick my thumb on my nose and wiggle my fingers at her like a kid in the playground. Instead, I say, ‘Actually, I’ve just enrolled in the Open University. I’m starting a degree in social work in October.’
Once again, I feel the heat of everyone’s gaze.
‘You didn’t tell me,’ Dom says. It sounds like an accusation.
‘I was going to. I only just found out I got on the course.’
‘Social work?’ Victoria says. She’s looking down her nose at me, as if I’ve just announced I’m starting a Ponzi scheme. ‘God, why on earth would you want to do a job like that?’
‘Er, you’re the head of a charity for the homeless, aren’t you?’ Willow says. ‘I’d have thought you might understand. Though maybe not.’
‘Willow,’ Simone warns.
‘It’s fine.’ Victoria gives a tight smile and folds her hands in her lap.
‘Why d’you want to be a social worker?’ Barney asks. ‘There must be easier ways to make a living.’
I hesitate. I could trot out the pat answer, that I want to help empower people, make a difference, challenge injustice. Or I could tell them the truth. But how would Dominic react if I did tell them, warts and all? I think of all the ways I’ve tried to fit in with Dom and his privileged friends. Spending money I don’t have on clothes I thought would look the part, learning a few scraps of Greek to impress, biting my tongue at some of their outrageously entitled opinions.
Despite all that, the truth burns a hole in me. I’m over pretending to be someone I’m not. And if Dominic doesn’t like it, then maybe that’s his lookout.
‘My mother was an addict.’ The words are out before I can change my mind.
Someone gasps. I think it’s Victoria, but I can’t stop now, so I plough on.
‘Alcohol was Mum’s drug of choice, though she was happy to pop anything when she was wasted. I was three when she went to prison for the first time. She served six months for stealing two bottles of gin from our local Co-op. It wasn’t her first offence.’ I have everyone’s attention now. Dominic’s eyes are soft. Victoria and Barney could catch flies. Felix and Willow are also transfixed. The only expression I can’t read is Simone’s.
‘I was taken into foster care until she was released, but she was back inside a few months later. I spent the next four years being shunted between home and various foster families.’
Dominic frowns. ‘I thought you lived with your gran.’
‘I did, from the age of seven. Not long after Mum went into hospital with advanced liver disease.’
I close my eyes briefly, remembering the wail of the sirens as the ambulance pulled up outside our block of flats. It wasn’t an unusual noise – they attended all the time for drug overdoses, heart attacks or falls, but this time it was different because it was here for my mum. I held hands with my social worker, Lisa, as the paramedics carefully lifted Mum onto the stretcher. Her face was yellow, as if she’d just been on holiday to Turkey like my friend Chloe, and an oxygen mask was clamped to her face. Once she’d gone, Lisa helped me pack a Tesco carrier bag with clothes, my favourite teddy and a couple of books.
‘Who’s this, Amber?’ she said, pointing to a creased photo in my sock drawer.
‘That’s me and my granny when I was a baby.’
‘Your granny?’ Lisa’s forehead was all scrunched like she was thinking hard. ‘When did you last see her?’
‘Can’t remember. Can I bring Yasmin?’ I reached for the Bratz doll Steve, Mum’s boyfriend at the time, had given me forChristmas. Stolen, probably, because he’d never done a day’s work in his life.
‘Of course you can, sweetie. But I thought your granny was in heaven. That’s what your mummy told us.’
‘Don’t fink so.’ I put Yasmin in the carrier bag and, as an afterthought, slipped the photo in too. ‘Mum says they don’t speak anymore cos Granny’s an interfering old bitch.’
‘Right,’ Lisa said. ‘You finish packing. I need to make a quick call.’
The waiter arrives to clear our plates. I wait until he’s gone, then continue.
‘When Mum died, my social worker, Lisa, tracked my grandmother down. It sounds crazy but she still lived on the other side of our estate. Social services had never thought to check because Mum always told anyone who came to the house that Gran was dead and she was my only next of kin. If it hadn’t been for Lisa, I’d have ended up in care, and I will never forget that. So, yeah, that’s why I want to become a social worker.’ I smile brightly.
‘And why you never drink?’ Simone guesses.
I nod.
