You Had Me at Hello by Mhairi McFarlane Read Free Book Online Page A

a Malibu and lemonade and a welcome for me and mine to join the corner of the pub they’d colonised. I couldn’t believe it, but Rhys seemed genuinely interested in me. The dynamic from then on was very much his man of the world to my wide-eyed ingénue. Later I’d ask him why he’d pursued me that night.
    â€˜You were the prettiest girl in the place,’ he said. ‘And I had a lot of pocket shrapnel.’
    There was a knock at my bedroom door and Caroline was up and over to answer it in a flash.
    â€˜Sorry. Wrong room,’ I heard a male voice say.
    â€˜No, right room,’ Caroline trilled, throwing the door open wider so Ben could see me, and vice versa.
    â€˜Ah,’ Ben said, smiling. ‘I know there were a lot of freshers and cards yesterday but I was sure you weren’t blonde.’
    Caroline simpered at him, trying to work out if this meant he preferred blondes or not. He looked at me, obviously wondering why I was the colour of a prawn and whether I was going to do introductions.
    â€˜Caroline, Ben, Ben, Caroline,’ I said. ‘Shall we get going?’
    Ben said ‘Hi’ and Caroline twittered ‘Hello!’ and I wondered if I wanted The First Person I’d Met In Halls to get it on with The First Person I’d Met On My Course. I had a suspicion I didn’t, on the basis it’d be tricky for me if it went badly and lonely for me if it went well.
    â€˜Enjoy your day,’ Caroline said, with a hint of sexy languor that seemed at odds with it being breakfast time, trailing out of my door and back to her room.
    I grabbed my bag and locked my door. We’d almost cleared the corridor without incident when Caroline called after me.
    â€˜Oh, and Rachel, that thing we were discussing before? Acceptable wasn’t the right adjective. If you’re studying English, you should know that!’
    â€˜Bye Caroline!’ I bellowed, feeling my stomach shoot down to my shoes.
    â€˜What’s that about?’ Ben asked.
    â€˜Nothing,’ I muttered, thinking I didn’t need the bloody blusher.
    Surveying the Live-Aid-sized crowds milling around for the buses, Ben suggested we walk the mile to the university buildings. We kicked through yellow-brown leaf mulch as traffic rumbled past on Oxford Road, filling in the biographical gaps – where we were from, what A-levels we did, family, hobbies, miscellaneous.
    Ben, a south Londoner, grew up with his mum and younger sister, his dad having done a bunk when he was ten years old. By the time we’d passed the building that looks like a giant concrete toast rack, I knew that he broke his leg falling off a wall, aged twelve. He spent so long laid up he’d had enough of daytime telly and read everything in the house, all the Folio Society classics and even his mum’s Catherine Cooksons, in desperation, before bribing his sister to go to the library for him. A splintered fibia became the bedrock of his enthusiasm for literature. I didn’t tell him that mine came from not being invited out to horse around on walls all that much.
    â€˜You don’t sound very northern,’ he said, after I’d briefly described my roots.
    â€˜This is a Sheffield accent, what do you expect? I bet you think the north starts at Leicester.’
    He laughed. A pause.
    â€˜My boyfriend says I better not come home with a Manc accent,’ I added.
    â€˜He’s from Sheffield?’
    â€˜Yes.’ I couldn’t help myself: ‘He’s in a band.’
    â€˜Nice one.’
    I noticed Ben’s respectful sincerity and that he didn’t make any cracks about relationships from home lasting as long as fresher flu, and I appreciated it.
    â€˜You’re doing the long-distance thing?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜Good luck to you. No way could I do that at our age.’
    â€˜No?’ I asked.
    â€˜This is the time to play the field and mess about. Don’t get me