Bastian makes his way back to the station and searches for a train that will take him to where he needs to go. He buys a cup of tea at the AMT stand. There’s a lot of waiting around. A lot of time to think. He sits on a bench and wraps his hands around the hot paper cup until it begins to scald.
He is making his way to Laura’s house.
He doesn’t want to just turn up, so he sits at the station and composes a message to her. He will let her know that he’s in the area, and ask if he can come and see her. If she’s free. If she wants to.
He’ll go over to Wakefield and sit and read his book, he’ll have a coffee. He might go to the Hepworth Gallery. An exhibition currently on there was advertised to him on his phone that morning. It is a combination of sculpture and sound installations, which ties in with Bastian’s interests in jazz and hi-fi equipment. And if Laura gets back to him, he’ll go over and have a proper chat.
The brief time Bastian and Laura spent together ended abruptly. The abrupt ending was prompted by a conversation about how Laura funded her studies. Although Laura’s mother was unable to work, Laura received no college bursary for complex reasons involving a wage-earning but absent father, and the length of time for which her mum had been off work. Her fees were covered by her loan and her loan also made some provision for maintenance costs, but it did not cover all her expenses. Having a regular job during term time was forbidden, as the university felt that having a job would detract from study. Laura found work in the holidays, but in these months her half-brothers were also off school and it made more sense for the family financially if Laura helped out with the childcare.
Laura mentioned to Bastian in passing that she had a profile on a website called Oxbridge Escorts, and that she had been paid to go on dates with rich men. Bastian was horrified.
They were sitting in Bastian’s college room with the windows wide open. Bastian’s room overlooked the river and the splashes from punts and shouts from punters rose with the midday heat. It was a lazy morning of coffee and sex. Bastian then went out for a couple of croissants and more coffee. There was a kettle and cafetière on the desk in his rooms, but Laura said she wanted froth, so Bastian walked out of the college, through its neo-Gothic gatehouse and across a wide street to a coffee shop where baristas created the appropriate froth with jugs of hot milk and a nozzle that spouted steam.
Bastian carried two cappuccinos in one hand and a brown bag containing two croissants in the other. The butter leaked from the pastry and made little greasy windows in the paper. As he walked back through the college he felt happy, possibly happier that he had felt in years. Happier than he has felt ever.
Laura was sitting naked on the bed. She was always easy with her body. She did not worry about her naked body being seen, either by Bastian or being accidentally glimpsed through the window if the light cut the right way and the curtain slipped, or if she leaned against the windowsill to pick up her phone or a glass of water. She didn’t mind taking up space. She would happily sprawl across a sofa or a double bed with her arms stretched wide and her legs apart. Bastian was intrigued by how comfortable she seemed in her body and how comfortable she made herself in the available space.
Laura’s laptop was open in front of her. The Oxbridge Escort profile page was up on the screen. Bastian asked her what it was and she explained.
“Like, as in an escort escort?”
“As in an escort escort.”
“So you go on dates with men for money?”
Laura shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Bastian.
“Then don’t say anything,” said Laura. “Look, I’m only on the website now because I’m deleting my profile.”
“But you’ve been doing it before? If you’re deleting it now, then. What? How long have you been doing it?”
“A couple of years on and off.”
“I—what? I don’t know what to say.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Well, how did you think I’d respond?”
“I didn’t think you’d find out. You came back sooner than I was expecting. When you got back I didn’t want to—I don’t know—slam my laptop shut or anything weird like that. It’s just, something I do. Did. Have done. It’s no big deal.”
Bastian was still holding the coffees and the brown paper bag. Laura reached out for her drink, and Bastian handed it over automatically. She was now sitting up on the bed with her legs crossed. She had pulled the duvet up around her and she held the coffee cup between both hands. She pulled off the plastic lid and brought it up to her mouth to lick off the milky foam.
“Look, it is what it is. It’s something I did for a couple of years, and may do again in the future, but I don’t want to do it at the moment because, well, call me old-fashioned but I don’t want to go on dates with other men right now.”
“There is nothing old-fashioned about this.”
“Actually, it’s the most old-fashioned profession in the world.”
“Wait a second. You mean, you did actually sleep with them? It wasn’t just dates. You are actually a prostitute? Great. That’s great.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
Laura got up. She started moving round the room, pulling her things together. She found a pair of knickers on the floor and put them on. She pulled her bra over her head, then the slip-on dress she’d been
