Scandalous (2 page)

8 September 2006

A
FTER WORKING A FULL DAY
at the restaurant I walk
back into the apartment where I live with my
boyfriend, Manu. We've being going out for a year and
moved in together two months ago.

At the time I was desperately trying to solve the
problem of where I could live for the start of the
academic year. I had no money at all and my parents
couldn't help me financially. On top of that, they don't
live in V but, ever since I got my Baccalaureate results,
I've known I would have to study here. Manu's been
living here since he started his physics course and I was
really happy to be joining him. So I started looking for
an apartment, skimming through the small ads at the
student welfare office to find a cheap little room. I soon
realised that an actual apartment was far too expensive,
not to say completely out of the question. I just wanted
a roof over my head, but even that seemed out of reach.
I wasn't looking for anything swanky; my budget
wouldn't allow for that, anyway.

I'd come to a dead end. Because I wasn't entitled to a
grant, I didn't get any help from the State, and that
meant no help for accommodation either. The welfare
office favoured people with grants for places in student
lodgings, and my parents really couldn't put up 200
euros a month for rent. Apart from finding a job or
giving up on uni, I couldn't see how to make it work.
Plenty of students manage jobs at the same time as
studying, but they are often the ones who fail exams or
give up during the course of the year. I couldn't abandon
my studies, I knew my future was at stake. Giving in now
and finding work would mean drawing a line under my
ambitions.

I carried on looking frantically for a miracle in the
pages of free papers. At the same time I even went to
hostels for the homeless to get information about them.
I tried to convince myself it would be my only chance of
going to uni and that, once I got there, I could try to find
something else. But the thought of spending a night in
one of those places made me shudder, it just seemed so
degrading.

I was beginning to despair of finding an acceptable
solution and one day when I was crying with frustration
Manu jumped at the opportunity.

'We could live together! It would be great! Between us
we could pay a reasonable rent and we'd be together the
whole time!'

His eyes were shining. I liked the idea, but my financial
problems stood in the way.

'Manu, look, I really can't. I haven't got any money.
I've hardly got enough for a room, so a whole apartment
. . .'

'You could get a part-time job, uni won't take up all
that much time.'

I explained my reservations. Manu's family is comparatively
well off and he doesn't always realise all the
expenses I have to cover myself. To convince me I could
combine my studies with paid work, Manu showed me
the university site with timetables on it. I had a lot of
lectures but it was workable. I was seduced by this little
glimpse of the dream he was offering me.

'You see, you can do it. I'm sure you can. Go on, say
yes! It would be so good to be together the whole time.
And, basically, you haven't got any choice.'

It was true: I didn't really have a choice. I was so
happy I jumped into his arms, and I moved into his
apartment the very next day. It was complete luxury for
me: not just a bedsit but a one-bedroom apartment in
the centre of V. I felt like a princess in that palace! I
dumped my two heavy suitcases by the door and started
twirling round the apartment, making him dance with
me.

My parents were relieved when they heard our solution,
even though they're not very keen on Manu. They
preferred this to knowing their daughter was doing some
moronic job or, worse, sleeping on the streets.

All through the summer I worked in a restaurant just
downstairs from our apartment so that I could at least
pay for food. The little money I had left over constituted
pocket money.

That's our deal: he pays the rent and the bills, and I
take care of the rest, given my financial situation. In fact,
although he hasn't told me, I know perfectly well that
he's not actually paying the rent. His mother gives him
enough to pay for everything, plus a handsome chunk of
spending money, every month. I never bring the subject
up; I love him too much and, as I'm living in his
apartment, I think it's quite right that I should contribute
to expenses as much as I can. Anyway, I make do.
Sometimes when I go home I load up with whatever's in
the fridge or with things my mother gives me. Through
the summer it all worked perfectly: we were happy like
that, cobbling together little meals for the two of us and
occasionally going out for a drink with friends. Most of
the time we stayed in watching TV, me nestling in his
arms, him always with a joint in his mouth. I was taking
my first real bite at life, with my boyfriend by my side,
and everything seemed so much easier.

This evening I've come home from work exhausted
having done two extra hours which I know I won't be
paid for. I'm being completely exploited in this job but
so far it's the only solution I've managed to find to
guarantee my financial contribution. I also know that, if
I do this job all through the year, I'll be tired the whole
time but, for now, I don't really have an option. I'll find
something else when I've got my actual timetable, and I
know exactly when my lectures are.

Manu's here, in front of the TV. I say a happy, bouncy
'hello' as I sit down next to him and give him a big kiss
on the mouth. Something strange happens: he doesn't
return my enthusiasm.

'What's going on? Is everything OK?'

'Yes, I'm fine,' he says evasively.

'Are you sure? You don't seem . . .'

Manu turns off the TV and looks at me at last. He
hesitates for a moment, then suddenly makes up his mind
to speak. 'Laura, we're going to live together this year,
and I want you to contribute to the rent.'

I pause for a moment, still looking him in the eye.
'Yes, I understand. But I don't make much money at the
restaurant. How much do you want from me?'

'Half the rent, 300 euros. You see, I'm not going to be
able to do it on my own . . .'

On his own! Liar! He knows perfectly well that I get
only just that much from my waitressing and, if I gave it
to him, I wouldn't have anything left. Trying to keep my
courage up, I tell myself it's high time to give up
waitressing and find another job.

'OK,' I say, 'but I think I'll have to find a different job.'

'Yes, I think you're right. And, for the shopping, we'll
take it in turns every other week, is that all right?'

Now he's asking me to do the shopping too? I can't
believe it.

A lack of money always puts people in such an
awkward situation that they don't dare reply. I have to
agree, though: 'OK,' I say, 'whatever you say.'

I sit back down on the sofa and turn on the TV so I
don't have to talk. It's the only thing I can think of to
end the embarrassed silence between us. At the end of the
evening I go to sleep in his arms to persuade myself this
whole question of money is fine and needn't come
between us.

Two days later I sign up with a telesales company for
a part-time job.

17 September 2006

T
IMETABLE IN HAND
, I have to run so I don't miss my
first lecture. I've only just left the secretaries' offices
where I've signed up for my course. There I was, thinking
all the admin was over and done with after that endless
waiting the other day – how wrong I was!

After the administrative enrolment I had to go to the
modern languages building and sign up for my course. I
have only twenty hours of lectures and tutorials spread
out over the week. I've been waiting impatiently for this
timetable so that I can organise my life and structure it.
I'll be able to carry on working as well as doing my
studies. I can call the telesales company first thing
tomorrow morning to go over my hours of work.

The whole process was quite speedy and they were
quick to give me my timetable but I'm now late for my
first commitment. A glance at the piece of paper tells me
I need to get to the third floor for a lecture on Spanish
civilisation. I run up the stairs, eager to learn.

I slip into the room quietly – the other students are
already sitting at desks – and mumble an inaudible 'Sorry
I'm late.' The lecturer flicks his eyes over me and picks
his register back up.

'And you are?'

'Laura, Laura D.'

He scribbles something on the page and nods at me to
sit down. I choose a chair next to another girl; there are
many more girls than boys in the room, and probably in
the whole year group.

The lecturer asks us to fill out a form so that he can
get to know us. Another wretched form! So far it's not
so different from school; they're bound to ask for one in
every lesson. By the end of the week I'll be doing them
in two seconds flat.

The form includes a space for 'career plans'. I ponder
this question for a long time. Do I know what I really
want to do? I want to go into business, yes, but in what
field exactly? I've got very clear ideas about the sort of
responsibilities that would suit me best but is there a
recognised name, a particular job description for that? I
write down all my dreams, reveal my every expectation
for this stranger. Something's missing.

I chew my pencil and gaze up at the ceiling. A few
minutes later I add the last few words to my inventory
of dreams for the future:

Live life to the full
.

Of course, this isn't the sort of reply the lecturer is
expecting, if he actually is expecting anything in particular,
but it's the most appropriate one for me.

The lecture begins and, with every passing minute, I
thank my lucky stars for the gift of being here in this
room. My mother had to shell out more than 400 euros
for me to be here but she did it without a moment's
hesitation, knowing full well my future depended on it –
she's always wanted the best for her daughters. I'm going
to learn and I'm going to do well.

The whole lecture is given in Spanish. My father is
Spanish and, even though he's never spoken to me in his
mother tongue, I've learned it when we've spent holidays
with his family.

The lecturer hands out a sheet with a list of books
we'll need for the year.

'I need you to be very conscientious. If you want to do
well, you'll have to read all of them, and read them
carefully, making lots of notes.'

I drink in his words. Yes, of course I'll read them all,
I've always loved reading, that's no problem!

'There are some you won't find in the library. I keep
asking for them but they never seem to come so you'll
have to pay for them yourselves, come to some agreement
to share them . . .'

Erm, that bit isn't quite so appealing. Foreign language
books are always very expensive, at least fifteen euros
each, and if I've got to buy several I'll never be able to
cover the cost.

I look at the sheet, worried about how exhaustive it is,
and grind my teeth when I see there are about ten books
that need buying. I shove it into my bag quickly, not
wanting it to ruin the day. There's plenty of time to think
about it later.

'On another note, I won't tolerate repeated unjustified
absence. After three absences I will not allow you to sit
the exam in my subject.'

That's clear, to the point and precise. It's my choice if
I really want to succeed or not. The ball's in my court.

The hour is soon over; I wasn't bored for a single
second, not like school when I checked my watch every
five minutes. I go to the next lecture and this time I see
a proper amphitheatre for the first time. I'm so impressed
it takes my breath away, and I'm not the only one: lots
of us stop for a moment to admire the huge lecture
theatre. Only the people taking the year again are quick
to find a seat. For them, this is like the enrolment, they
know the ropes and can afford to be laid-back.

I look around me – I already know I'm going to love
learning in here. I'll be just one needle well hidden inside
a haystack, no one will notice me or know me. Lecturers
won't stop mid-sentence to comment on my last homework.
University is a service: we are offered lectures and
we are free to choose whether we attend them, free to
take them as we see fit. University gives you a sense of
responsibility: I know I'm just a number in amongst so
many others, but right now I have to choose whether I'm
going to take it on. I like feeling that I'm seen as an adult
already.

I've finally got it, a true break with school. Even after
just one day here I can feel everything's going to be
different. My last year at school left indelible marks and
made me suffer in ways I won't have to here, I'm sure of
that.

I can remember one time during that last year when a
history teacher publicly humiliated me in front of the
whole class by having a go at me personally. He sprang
a test on us and when I got a very mediocre mark he told
me I was 'useless' – to which I replied by blinking slowly
with utter indifference. I could handle his remarks about
me perfectly well, that didn't bother me at all because I
had absolutely no interest in the man and he always
treated me like a little girl. The real problem was what
happened next.

'No response, Laura? Well, I'm not going to congratulate
you. I think you'll have to have a serious rethink
about your future which is looking extremely shaky as
things stand at the moment.'

Such cruelty for my first and only below-average
mark! But he didn't stop at that.

'Face it, you're totally undisciplined and you don't
take your schoolwork seriously. We only reap what we
sow, Laura. Your parents must be very irresponsible . . .'

When I heard the word 'parents' my heart missed a
beat. What right did this man have to judge my family,
going on just one simple mark? I went wild instantly.
The girl at the next desk tried to hold me back but it was
too late, the fury was already running through my veins
and before the inquisitor-teacher had time to respond I
hurled the desk and everything on it to the floor. I suffer
from anxiety attacks but I've never had one as bad as
that day. I grabbed my bag on the hoof and ran from the
room.

The next day I signed up for my Baccalaureate as an
independent candidate. I couldn't stand the childish
atmosphere there a minute longer so I walked out of the
place once and for all. I now realise I overreacted and
should have swallowed my pride, but at the time I just
couldn't. My parents didn't understand at all and, at
first, they thought it would be a short-lived drama but,
when I stopped getting up early in the mornings and
when I got the confirmation for my application as an
independent candidate, they realised how serious my
decision was. They still carried on waking me every
morning, shaking me to get me up for school, but I didn't
go. My mother begged me to start lessons again, she even
cried.

'You're completely mad! You'll ruin everything!
Laura, please, your work's too important to drop it just
like this, on a whim. You won't get anywhere without
your Bac. You can't just give up like this, not three
months before your Bac.'

I've never admitted to my parents why I made the
decision: it would have upset them too much. I just
shook my head and kept saying that I would never set
foot in the place again. From that moment on my father
stopped talking to me. We didn't talk much anyway, but
I'd just gone one step too far, I'd really disappointed him.
Even now I can tell straight away when he wants to take
me in his arms and tell me he loves me, but he holds back
and slinks off without a word.

So for three months I worked at home, making sure I
knew what happened in lessons and what books were on
the syllabus. My mother gave me a hand on the quiet
because my father didn't approve of my decision – and
never would. In July I got a B in my Baccalaureate. I was
so bloody proud that day! My mother cried, she was so
happy when I rang and told her. That evening my father
didn't speak any more than usual and we ate in silence
because there was no question of celebrating anything
whatsoever.

I can see now that I was very lucky. Was it really luck
or motivation, an overriding desire to succeed? I know
that sort of thing won't happen to me now, here in this
amphitheatre. As a general rule, lecturers have too many
students to remember all their names, to assess them
individually and, therefore, to insult them. Here, you
work for yourself alone.

I have several tutorials during the course of the day:
translation work, language laboratory . . . After five
hours of lessons I head back towards my snug little nest
where my boyfriend's waiting for me. It really has been
a wonderful day, how could I be happier? I've got a
boyfriend who loves me and I live with him in the centre
of V, I'm at uni and, although I may not have much
money, I'm young and healthy. What more could I ask
for?

I get into the packed carriage on the Métro. I'm going
to do well this year, I know it, I can feel it, I want it.