Strephon was not the kind of man who you would conventionally expect to be anyone’s type; he was pale and gaunt, with luminous cat-like eyes and rather untidy black hair. Normally he wore clothes that were good but old, and was never seen without a book somewhere about his person. He seemed a little bit older than the rest of the group, but that might have been just a weary look that he had. He was not particularly conventional anything, but he did strike her as being just her type.
The other girls in the group were prettier and blonder and funnier than her, and after all she did already have a boyfriend, albeit one who was largely absent from her day to day life; so it was unlikely that it would ever occur to Strephon that he might be her type. It wasn’t so much his appearance that appealed to her, though, as his drama degree and his burning ambition to be a chef; this seemed like a nice combination. Also he was well-spoken, well-travelled, and clever. She had recently decided that clever was definitely her type.
Strephon sat with them at lunch every day, drinking tea and eating sandwiches, hoping to avoid the eagle eye of the lady clearing the tables, who regularly objected to him bringing his own food into the canteen. The girls usually spent their hour bitching about men, occasionally talking about clothes, or moaning about their tutors; and Strephon manfully tried to keep up. He had a nice smile. What about you, Joanna?
Someone poked her in the arm, yanking her back from an unfocussed gaze in his general direction. What?
Do you want to have a family?
A year ago, Hugh had declared that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and at the time she had not seen any reason not to become a farmer’s wife in deepest Wales, and raise a troupe of red-haired welsh-speaking children. Now, in a moment of clarity, she saw that it would be a very bad thing indeed, particularly as he hadn’t mentioned anything like that recently. These days their conversations were very often a catalogue of reasons why she shouldn’t get the train down to visit him at his college. Unsurprisingly he never mentioned the real reason, which was simply that he had better things to do than see her.
I don’t think so. I suppose I might become one of those old spinsters who has lots of cats.
Spinsters? What about Hugh?
She topped up her tea from the red plastic Typhoo pot, concentrating on not splashing it into the Bakelite saucer. I think we’re splitting up.
She had to brush away their sympathy; it seemed inappropriate. We argue all the time, and I never see him, she said with a light shrug.
Strephon met her eyes for a moment, but he didn’t say anything.
The following night as she was washing up, he rang the doorbell and one of her flatmates answered. I didn’t know you knew where I lived! She felt untidy, holding a dishcloth, with her hair scraped back from her face; and she could feel her flatmates’ radar ears focused on her from the living room.
He was on his way to watch his brother’s band play in the next town, and wondered if she would like to come with him. She walked calmly up the stairs to her room, while he waited, watching TV with the flatmates, who showed a discreet lack of curiosity, but made room for him on the hideous rented sofa.
She looked at herself in her wardrobe mirror and the shawl of calm dropped from her shoulders on to the floor. Why has he chosen me? And what will I wear? She muttered to herself as she surveyed her fairly meagre selection of outfits, and chose jeans and a shirt that only offered a tease of cleavage.
They leaned against a tall table at the back of a rather empty hall, watching the band play tunelessly to the sparse crowd. She was happy that they were just loud enough to prohibit conversation, because now they were no longer in a group of their friends, she felt overcome by shyness. They clapped politely at the end of each song, and escaped to the bar as soon as the music stopped. Strephon’s brother joined them and asked their opinion, and with a glass of cider in front of her, the evening became smoother.
He dropped her off at home and she slid clumsily out of his borrowed car, thanking him for the night out and letting herself into the flat as quietly as she could, still not sure that she had been on a date, but certain that she was right not to have expected to be kissed. A message by the telephone told her that Hugh had called, and her glow of pleasure faded and disappeared. She went to bed without calling him back, but also without wondering why they both went on with a habit that gave neither of them any pleasure. She thought she would be unhappy if he dumped her.
During the holidays, he worked at the restaurant in the theatre, and she worked in an office building nearby. She called in on her way home to see how he was getting on.
I’m looking forward to the beginning of term, he told her; I miss everyone. But I like working here. It’s nice to be surrounded by people who have a favourite herb but can also talk intelligently about football.
She laughed. Well you did pick a course where you’d be surrounded by girls all day.
It has its advantages. His slow smile warmed his face, but he checked his watch and said he should get back to the kitchen. I have front row tickets for Taming Of The Shrew on Friday; do you want to come?
She did want to, but it meant calling Hugh to let him know she would be catching the train on Saturday, not Friday. It ought to mean letting him know that she wasn’t coming at all, but she couldn’t face such a scene, even by telephone.
She didn’t have any reason not to mention Strephon to Hugh; there had been no suggestion of romance. She reflected that it was a long time since there had been any suggestion of romance from Hugh, for that matter, and that the time she spent talking and laughing with Strephon left her on a high even though he never attempted to touch her or kiss her. With Hugh she generally felt mentally battered after the shortest conversation, and the thought of spending a long weekend fighting for some space in his single bed no longer gave her a delicious thrill.
She was certain that it was important for her to have a boyfriend, even one whose usual tone of voice was sarcasm. Back in the early, exciting days, they had made all sorts of promises to each other, and she worked on the assumption that they were inextricably linked to each other now. Maybe it was just important to belong to someone.
Strephon walked her home after the play. He asked her about her trip to Wales in a cool, objective tone; the tone of a friend who was trying to encourage her to reach the right conclusion, not that of a man with a vested interest. They exchanged a last few words outside her front door, and then there was a quiet moment, just a breath in the dark after the city traffic had faded. His eyes smiled at her, but not his mouth; and she knew she would not see him like this again.