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flat, but Ben and his roommates were given permission to redecorate. Needless to say they haven’t done a thing, except for Ben. Ben has painted his bedroom walls a dark bottle-green. His window shade is navy, green and burgundy check, and his duvet cover and pillowcases match.
    Dotted around the wall are original cartoons, which Ben collects. A number of the cartoons on his wall have appeared in national newspapers, and all are of a satirical nature. Before you ask, Ben doesn’t have the money to afford this, not yet, but he is careful with the small amount he does earn, and half the cartoons were bought from his savings, the rest gifts from his parents.
    An old armchair, picked up by Ben for £20 in the junk shop down the road, sits in one corner of the room, facing an old French cherrywood table, also from the junk shop, a bargain at £50. Piled on top of the table are books. Autobiographies, biographies, cookbooks ‌ —for Ben loves to cook ‌ —fiction, nonfiction. The latest titles, together with some old favorites, are in this corner of the room.
    Next to the books is a silver photo frame containing a picture of Ben smiling happily with his parents on graduation day. He is proudly wearing his cap and gown, and a quick glance at his parents shows us where Ben got his looks.
    His mother is tall, slim and soignée. She is wearing a slim cream skirt, a navy jacket, and high-heeled cream shoes with a navy toe. On her head is a hat, a designer hat, a hat that most women dream of owning. Ben’s father is significantly older than his wife. Tall, handsome, with thick gray hair. All three are beaming into the camera with shining smiles and open faces. They look like a nice family. They are in fact a delightful family.
    Ben’s father is a wealthy businessman and his mother is a p. 34 housewife. Being an only child, Ben has been doted upon, but he has always insisted on making his own way in the world. After university Ben turned down his father’s offer to work in the family business, and joined the local paper as a junior reporter on a pittance.
    He rented a hovel of a flat, far far worse than this one, and lived with five other boys in similar situations. He allowed his parents to provide the odd treat, such as a beautiful watch on his birthday, or a pair of cuff links, or a suit, but on the whole he paid his own way.
    Ben Williams loves his parents and his parents love him. They are a normal, healthy family. The only thing that is slightly abnormal is perhaps how well they all get on. Because Ben’s parents have always treated him as an equal. Even when he was a child his parents would stop to listen to what Ben had to say. He was never patronized or ignored, but listened to and related to as an adult. His father now makes the odd offer to come and work in the family business, because his father does not understand the media world at all, but Ben has nearly got where he wanted, and he knows this is the right thing for him to be doing.
    Oh Geraldine, if only you knew about Ben’s background. You would discover he is, or at least his family is, wealthy enough even for your nouveau riche tastes. But you can’t help but judge the superficial, and you will only see as far as Ben’s beaten-up Fiat.
    So back to Ben’s bedroom. In the recesses next to his bed he has put up pine shelves, and stained them to remove that orangey patina that looks so cheap. He sanded down the shelves himself, then bashed them a bit with a hammer to make them look old before rubbing in the stain with wads of cotton wool.
    And on the shelves are more books, more photographs. Books piled high, almost overflowing, and photographs of Ben’s friends, former girlfriends, lovers.
    Look, there’s Ben at university with Suzie, the girl he went p. 35 out with for the best part of his three years there. She’s not classically beautiful, not model material, but see how pretty she is, how her skin glows, how white are her teeth, how glossy her long