The Shop Girl and the Priest

During holidays and half-terms, I worked all the hours I could to build up funds and was able to buy my own laptop. This was followed by some new college standard clothes, which became a very gradual but complete update to my wardrobe.

I was very surprised at what other girls wore to college. In my few daytime classes, I saw pretty young things straight out of school and two years my junior wearing very tight trousers, and even in the midst of a cold and chilly November, wearing skinny and skimpy tops that amounted to little more than a bikini with their warm winter coats undone to show it all off.

Their make-up was amazing, and I felt just the tiniest bit jealous, I mentioned it to Cheryl just once, and she sat me down at her dressing table and showed me how to do it.

I was shopping in the clothes section, and Cheryl appeared with another friend and looked at what I'd picked up.

"And just what precisely is this?" said Cheryl looking at the straight-cut, very boring jeans I'd bought to go with the ones I was wearing.

"Just new jeans for college," I said. "My others are a bit knocked about."

Cheryl picked up my choice, looked to her friend and shook her head.

"Those ones, Debs," she pointed at another pair on the rack across from me. "The high-rise tight ones. You're a 36 aren't you, Babes?" I nodded as Debs picked out a dark blue pair, similar, but washed-out, "Go try them on," she said simply, while I headed for the curtained-off changing rooms.

I stripped out of my black nylon work trousers which I thought were quite tight, to pull on the tightest denim I'd ever worn. I dragged them over my feet but didn't worry, having seen Cheryl do the same at home. I zipped and buttoned and tucked in the T-shirt I wore under my uniform. I looked at myself in the mirror and was quite impressed by the curvy denim clad arse that looked like all the other girls seemed to have.

For months now, I'd thought about doing what many of my colleagues had done, putting the work trousers to one side and going with the tight-fitting black leggings. My work trousers were quite tight already, and of course I didn't have to buy them.

"How's that, Babe?" I heard a voice from the long corridor. I stepped out.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Oh, that's perfect," Cheryl said. She stepped closer with some more hangers. "Right, try these on top." I stepped back inside, followed by my surrogate-big-sister-landlady-best-friend, and she watched as I removed my T-shirt. "Oh no," she said with real disappointment. "That bra will have to go... DEBS!" she yelled.

"Yeah?" came the disembodied voice from the shop floor.

"Wonderbra, 36C."

"Colour?"

"Nude!" she shouted back.

"M'kay," came the response.

In moments, the said Wonderbra was pushed through the curtain and Cheryl was unclipping my normal, boring, workaday, 'lifts and separates' type brassiere I'd been wearing since Mum had bought me my first when I'd grown boobs, the WB went on and Cheryl pulled me into shape.

"That's more like it!" she said, seeing my new cleavage for the first time since the Ann Summers party, "Now this vest top."

She handed me a white vest that I pulled down over my top half and saw my cleavage just displayed and looking really nice, far nicer than I'd ever had before, because my parents wouldn't have approved.

Mum would have sought spiritual guidance (a convent not being available to a Baptist), while Dad would just have rolled his eyes, stormed off or called me a name, because I expect that only Barbara Windsor and 'slut shopgirls' exposed their cleavages.

"That's perfect, Babes," Cheryl said, pushing the curtain open and calling Debs to confirm.

"Gorgeous, Hun," Debs said with a smile, handing me more clothes.

What was just supposed to be a quick single outfit purchase for me, ended with me buying about £150 worth of new clothes (with the 15% staff discount), including tiny underwear to replace the boring dark Midi's I'd worn for most of my life.

Back home, we had a bit of a fashion parade with Cheryl's daughters applauding each outfit that Cheryl and Debs and thrown at me, and I had a fair selection. At college the next evening, I noticed the new looks I was getting in my tight jeans and tighter, lower tops and the décolletage. I got braver and went with the cleavage just like all the other college girls exposed until the weather turned really cold and the tight form-fitting sweaters went on.

I worked, I studied, I worked, I studied; I had a few evenings out with my new friends, but kept reasonably te-total. One younger lad did ask me if we might 'go out' one evening. I smiled and blushed and stuttered a 'yeah... yes, why not...'

I told Cheryl and she had lots of big smiles, but it never happened.

Even though I saw him twice a week, he just looked at me and I waited for the 'how about tonight' or 'this Friday' or 'this Saturday.' That was a few weeks before Christmas, but he never confirmed or asked me again and my confidence took a bit of a hit on that one. Cheryl was conciliatory,

"Fuck 'im," she said. "Probably terrified of the hot brunette with the cute bum and the great tits!"

Life went on and the following spring came with the first exams and I took them, confident as I'd been all those years back and before the hormones had kicked in. I stormed through them, scoring great results to the delight of my tutors, happy that my second year would be as good.

I wrote more cards to my parents and sister for birthdays, and saw my lovely Aunt Polly and Uncle Frank in the town centre one day during my lunch break. They dragged me to a nearby pub restaurant and bought me a big lunch.

I told them my news that I was back studying and had done very well in my first year, confirming that I hadn't told my parents because I was worried that my dad might try and do something to 'muck it up'. Both Aunt and Uncle looked at me, but not in shock. They both raised their eyebrows and nodded.

"You're probably right, Babygirl," said Uncle Frank in the way that he always had, "Tell him once you've qualified for Oxbridge."

We all giggled and Aunt Polly continued. They confirmed that my sister was doing well at our old school and about take her A-levels, Mum would quietly confide that she still missed me so much and was really worried that 'they' had driven me off for good through how mean they had been.

Dad made it seem that he didn't care and hardly ever spoke about me, but would leap on any mention to add maximum disappointment, milking it for every ounce of drama and misery, while Mum simply smiled and confirmed that she'd heard from me and that I was okay.

If I was mentioned, Dad would always follow with the news that Karen was doing EXTREMELY WELL at her school.

Well of course she was—that was what Karen did, and I could see Dad's face as he told his brother and sister how TERRIBLY CLEVER Karen was and, after all, there probably hadn't been clever people before her, and he would talk down the local college with 'what he'd heard about drugs and teenage pregnancies there.'

Uncle Frank added that that all three of his grown-up children had gone to that college, and gone on to great Uni's, and two had graduated with firsts, Joanna having started to a master's degree, sponsored by the highly respected civil engineering company she worked for.

I did an impression of how my Dad had probably acted and what he'd said.

Polly laughed and said I had been totally spot on.

Frank checked phone numbers, and again I was pretty much given an open invitation to their place any time I liked, despite the drama of betrayal Dad would perform if he found out.

I went for garden parties there and the occasional dinner, and my three cousins all delighted in the change in me, promising to mention to Karen how amazing Jaime looked these days.

The second year of my diploma was much like the first, and I continued to do well. After my second Christmas at Cheryl's, I started to prepare for the coursework submission and the exams I would take in May.

In the blink of an eye, the year had gone, I'd been really confident about the exams, and was very much the star player in the class.

As soon as the college year finished, I threw myself back into work full time and overtime, and on the third week in August, Cheryl took me to college and I collected my results.

My envelope was handed to me by the smiling college principal, a lady I knew of and had met a couple of times, but she was beside herself when I stepped up to the table and gave my name.

"Miss Connor!" she said stepping forward with a hand to my shoulder. "How delightful, please, step this way!"

Okay, I was being taken to one side, and my momentary fear that Dad might have done something shitty soon passed with the buzz the most senior lecturer had about her, waving for Cheryl to follow us.

"Here," said the principal, handing me my letter, "You have, of course, passed your diploma—with distinction." She stepped slightly closer. "Jaime," she said just a bit nervously. "You've won the gold medal from the awarding authority for the best results in the region. They rarely award them, and this college has never had one. And..." she coughed, "you scored so highly on the exams and on your course work, when your various figures were added up you actually scored 103%." My mouth dropped open, "Yes, strange that an awarding authority that's good at maths can award you that score, but it's actually the highest result for the entire southern region for some years. No one else even got close..."

I stared at her, then at Cheryl, who just hugged me in a way Mum and Dad never had.

"Well done, Jaime," the principal said again, "There will be an awards ceremony in Oxford," she said, "and we will arrange your transport there and some publicity—if that's okay?"

Cheryl nodded to me, wide-eyed.

"Yes... Yes, no problem," I managed to splutter.

"We'll be in touch." The principal smiled and it became obvious she'd read up on me, "I see from your application form that you want to go on to University—I think there's a pretty good chance that you'll get accepted by all of them." She stepped close and I could see that even she looked emotional. "You've done something I've never even heard of, Jaime," she said. "Apply for any university you want, Darling, don't hold back." She took my other hand and squeezed it. "Reach for the stars," she whispered.

She showed us out into the foyer again where the kids picking up their envelopes.

"So fucking hell, Jai!" Cheryl screeched as we walked out towards her small car. "Reach for the stars!" She hugged me again.

That made me cry again.

"You really should go home and tell your parents—your Mum at least?"

Cheryl had been in touch with my Mum—after all, she explained, as a mother herself, she knew what Mum would be going through not knowing what was happening to me.

"No," I said. "Once I've gotten into University I'll go back, and not before."

We were hugging again. Cheryl leaned back,

"Jai," she said, "I am soooooo proud of you!" I cried all over again; it was the first time anyone had ever said it to me.

After all, my dad's studied disappointment always meant that if I'd scored a B, it should have been an A, if I scored an A, it should have been an A*.

I'd scored the highest marks south of Oxford, but he'd probably sit back and say that I only got the gold medal because he'd 'heard that the government had made the exams easier because the students were all thicker this year and they needed more pass marks.

I still lived in Cheryl's spare bedroom, but was no longer stacking shelves. The lady from HR had watched my education with interest, and I now worked in the customer services department. Sally had seen my attention to detail and the care with which I treated my colleagues, realised that this was a transferable skill and I was looking after customers and their complaints.

With glowing reports from my college tutors, just after the previous Christmas I'd completed application forms to study history with an option to do an extra year for Qualified Teacher Status. I attended five interviews, one at my local university, then University College London, Manchester, York and the last at Oriel College Oxford—all of them in the elite Russell Group.

Okay, I'll admit, I only applied for Oriel because Cheryl insisted, then dared me to.

Cheryl came into my room to find me crying and reading an email.

"Darling, What's up?"

"I've... I've been accepted for all of them," I said. "Even Oriel," I sniffed, "I actually got into Oriel," I gasped, "One of the nine places they had this year. It must have been that gold medal—I've only gone and got into Oxford-fucking-University!" I stood up and shouted.

"Oh, baby!" Cheryl laughed, hugging me, not as a best friend, more as the surrogate Mum she'd been to me for the last couple of years, rocking me backwards and forwards and squeezing, unable to hide the delight in her voice, crying along with me and feeling some of the pride.

That night and with a bottle of prosecco to keep us company, I applied for rooms at Oriel and my student loan. Fortunately for me, my friend in HR arranged for me to take a similar evening and weekend role in the Oxford branch of the store I worked in at home. On my last day, I thanked the HR lady and said I had already packed my uniform.

"You don't need to," said Sally the HR lady, "you're going into a management job, just wear smart casual, Jai, there'll be of a bit of a clothing grant to start with."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yep, you've got more shop floor experience than most, and because I gave you such a glowing report, you're a part time customer services shift manager—evenings and weekends sweetie."

"Thank you so much, Sal," I said, "I couldn't have done all this without you."

"Yeah, you could, Jai," Sal said, putting hands either side of my face in a gentle caress. "You promise me one thing; you go to Oxford, get your degree, become a schoolteacher, or an archaeologist, or a librarian or whatever you want to do, and you never come back to this shop again other than do your fucking shopping. You got me‽"

"Promise, Sal." I stood and hugged Sally, and holding back tears left the shop, shaking hands and hugging all of the friends that had looked after me in the last few years and had encouraged me, despite how my parents had described them.

*****

Oriel was amazing; Cheryl and Boyfriend Pete drove me and all my assorted crap, and carried it up to my 'rooms'. I hardly had to buy anything, having worked at the store various people had bought or acquired most of what I would need, thanks to Cheryl and the list she'd downloaded and shared.

I had brand new pots and pans, plates, bowls and cutlery, a kettle, toaster; all white label and handed to me at various points during my last few weeks. Then it was brand new bed linen, pillows and a duvet, towels, even laundry tablets and fabric conditioner. My farewell to Cheryl and Pete was short (the parking space was limited), but I promised I'd be in regular contact with her. She was still my greatest supporter. We hugged and had a few tears but they were soon on her way while I unpacked.

Within moments, my door was being knocked and several other residents on my landing were there. I was handed my 'Freshers Week' T-shirt and given a few minutes to put it on. We were out and partying.

This was a relatively new thing for me; my parents didn't drink, and while we occasionally attended family parties, Mum's church socials and some events organised by Dad's work, that was pretty much it.

When I lived at home and worked, I couldn't afford it, and by the time I was living with Cheryl I was saving up for university.

There I was; I had money in my pocket and a clutch of new friends I was going to get to know, it was going to be involving alcohol, and according to Gemma, the girl that lived across the hall from me, the occasional pizza, burger, kebab or curry!

Gemma and I clicked straight away. I was two years older than her, but we had tonnes in common; she was an only child, and to be honest, over the last few years I always thought I was one as well.

Fresher's week was tremendous, and not only did I meet all the people that lived in my halls, I met the other students on my course, and after our first morning and the issue of our timetables, we all headed out and had lunch.

My parents had been huge fans of both 'Inspector Morse' and 'Lewis,' and Oxford looked just like it did on TV. I wandered around the city and found the Bodleian Library, The Ashmolean, The Pitt-Rivers, and as I'd devoured Tolkien's books, I even had lunch in the Eagle and Child where he used to drink with C.S. Lewis and the other Inklings. I was studying ancient history and there really was no better place to do it.

I loved my study, and my first term, known in Oxford as 'Michaelmas,' was amazing. I worked part time now, of course, and the income kept my bank balance very healthy. Yes, it meant that I had some life-balancing to do, but I was no stranger to that and it kept my student loans down.

I worked either a Friday, Saturday or Sunday evening each week alternately, but Gemma knew my routine, she would plan our socialising with others from our floor and we had a great time. We'd go out to eat, to dance, to listen to bands, to performances of every kind that could be found across the Oxford area.

That summer, Gemma had been dumped by her boyfriend from her Dorsetshire hometown after his first year at Uni' and his discovery of the bright lights of the University of Cardiff. Gem decided to get straight back on the horse and very soon was going out with 'Will,' a post-graduate archaeologist that I knew from nearby Balliol, and whom I had introduced her to at a comedy night. As the comics good and bad came, and went she dragged me to the ladies.

"Jai! JAI!!" she snapped. "You and Will, are you... like..."

I smiled at her,

"We aren't anything, Gem," I said with a supportive grin. "And he hasn't taken his eyes off you all night!"

That was that. I didn't see Gem until she eventually appeared at my door the following Tuesday evening wrapped in a duvet with 'sex hair.'

"Oh, Will is so amazing!" she said as I gave her a mug of tea, seeing as she'd run out of milk the day before.

"Looks like it!" I said with a smile.

"Thanks, Jai," she said, "I know he was 'your' friend..."

"No, Gem, he was my 'acquaintance.' I'd seen him at some lectures and forums, I can't claim any kind of ownership—besides, he'd never looked at me the way he looked at you, Jesus! NO ONE has ever looked at me the way he looked at you, and I doubt ever will!"

We giggled, but my prediction was soon to be proved wrong!

*****

As my first Christmas at Oxford approached, I thought about heading home, back to Cheryl's place and finally a Boxing Day visit to see my parents, now that I was an undergraduate at Oxford and had nothing left to prove to them, and thanks to my gold medal and 103% pass mark, there was nothing my Dad could do to try and fuck it up; I could even put my hand on my heart and tell them that despite having been on 'on the pill' for over three years and had gone to the drug and pregnancy riddled college, I was still a virgin.

At Cheryl's insistence, I'd kept sending birthday and Christmas cards, still declaring my love, but hadn't crossed the threshold as it were. I'd bought Christmas presents for them all, and with my obligatory student rucksack, took the short train journey home.

Cheryl was her usual self, my welcome was wonderfully warm and her daughters were all over me. Christmas day was good fun and I was really pleased to see a gift from my parents: a very pretty top that I knew Mum would have chosen, as it was ladylike and a bit formal, the card and label in her careful copperplate handwriting.