The Cost of Arrogance

The Price of Conceit

Emily, could you spare me a couple of things? Claire asked in a pleading tone, stepping across the threshold of her sisters cosy London flat.

She lingered at the doorway, taking in the wide hallway with its designer console table, the mirrors set in delicate frames, the plush ottoman by the entrance. Everything looked as if it belonged in a glossy interiors catalogue. A slow-burning envy crept into her chest: her sister always had everything just so.

Emily appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, her gaze sweeping over Claire. Even in lounge clothes of soft dove-grey cashmere, there was an easy elegance to her that Claire had never managed, despite years of effort.

Go on then, spill, whats the mystery? Emily asked calmly, leaning against the doorframe.

Claire automatically adjusted the cuff of her well-kept but tired coat. She tried not to look at the large painting opposite or the immaculate orderly space, nor breathe in too deeply the scent of freshly-brewed coffee filling the air.

Oh, its nothing really… she mumbled, scrambling for the right words.

But Emily didnt look away, and Claire realised there was no wriggling out of this. After a deep breath, she blurted:

Theres a school reunion on Saturday. I simply *have* to go! And I have to look absolutely perfect, do you see? I want everyone to think that my life is a fairy tale!

Why bother? Emily finally turned and walked off, voice cool. Who cares about impressing people you never speak to and probably wont cross paths with again? You dont even live in the same county any longer.

Claire nervously brushed back her hair. A wave of longing washed over herfor a kitchen like this, with chic lights, a gleaming breakfast bar, gleaming appliances. Imagine mornings beginning not in a flurry, but with a slow cup of coffee amidst such luxury.

You dont understand! slipped from her lips. It matters to me. I want them to see I made it, that I succeeded. I dont want anyone thinking… thinking Ive become a nobody.

She fell silent, catching herself staring at Emily with unconcealed longing. Her sister either didnt notice, or simply didnt care.

So you really mean to pretend to be someone youre not? Will that actually impress anyone? Emily asked, sitting down at the dining table with gentle firmness.

Thats not it, Claire shook her head. I just want all my old classmates to think every dream of mine came true.

Alright, Emily sighed at last. Lets see what Ive got, then. But promise me, this is the one and only time. Fooling people like this is hardly fair play.

You just dont get it!

And so Claire began to explain…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in school, she had been the class stareveryone agreed on it. In the corridors boys would trail behind her, each hoping for a brief flicker of attention. Teachers, whether they realised it or not, softened at sight of her brooding face and that particular, slightly forlorn gazeit had a hypnotic effect on adults. As for their parents, they seldom refused Claire anything; raise an eyebrow, give a quiet sigh, and what she wanted appeared in her hands.

Shed learned to get whatever she fancied. If she spotted a new pair of trainers, not yet in the shops, her mother would present them in a pristine box the very next day. If a handsome new boy arrived at school, by weeks end he was walking Claire home. It was a kind of game: how far could she push it, how many desires quickly met, how many boundaries crossed.

Because I *can*, shed repeat in her head, like a private spell. It became her mottoa ready excuse for anything. If a friend warmed to a boy Claire had eyed, shed dive into the fray without a qualmand nearly always, she prevailed. She didnt much feel true affection for these boys; it was more a challenge: could she draw their attention? The answer was nearly always yes.

With time, old friends drifted away. First one stopped inviting her round, then another found new companions. Claire didnt much care; there were always those eager for her approval, desperate to join her inner circle. She took it as her dueif someone couldnt play by her rules, they simply werent worthy of her company.

At the prom she felt like a proper queen. The assembly hall, decked in bunting and balloons, seemed her personal court. Classmates milled about, hanging on her every glance, angling for a word. She was the centre of attentionwhere she thought she belonged.

Drunk on the admiration, on the sheer thrill of control, Claire lost her head. During a conversation about school memories, she let fly a stream of cutting remarks about old classmates: past slights, silly blunders, even acidic comments about how others looked. The words spilled out easily; whats more, that old giddy excitement lit up her eyes: lets see how they react, how they defend themselves.

My life is going to be absolutely splendid! Claire declared with haughty confidence, raising her chin and surveying her peers as if she already stood at the gates of that perfect future.

She paused, revelling in their attention, then continued with even greater fervour:

I can see my future clear as day: a wealthy husband fulfilling my every wish, a grand Surrey mansion with staff… Maybe even a business of my ownbut why bother, really, I shant have to work a day! All of it will simply fall into place, do you see? Money, luxury, adorationmine for the taking.

A self-satisfied smile danced on her lips; it was as if she could see it all, sparkling chandeliers, gleaming cars, champagne evenings in exclusive bistros.

And as for you lot, your fate will be quite the opposite! she suddenly turned to one of the girlsa bookish sort who always sat in the front row, notes tidy to the last margin.

That girl shrank under her glare, but Claire pressed on:

Youll end up teaching in a grotty little school. Or stuck on a supermarket till. And why? Because youre a mouse, you cant even manage your own hair! she shot her a dismissive once-over. And your husband? Some factory foreman, stumbling home drunk and giving you a good hiding.

The words tumbled out as if shed rehearsed them. It wasnt mere mockery; it was jubilation, a celebration of her imagined superiority.

Without waiting for a retort, Claire turned to another:

And you? Youll be in some dreary office, counting pennies, wishing for a fancy dress. But youll never get anything Ill have!

She carried on like this, pronouncing ever-grimmer prophecies. Someone living in a poky bedsit, another lost in endless childcare, not a hope of a career. Each bleak future cemented by a snide comment on appearance, manners, or supposed talent.

The girls dropped their eyes, exchanged nervous glances; a few smiled weakly, pretending it was all a joke. But the tension in the air was palpableher words stung, no matter how airy the tone.

Claire laughed at their downcast faces, savouring the impact. Her laughter rang through the room, echoed by the boys at the doorone or two in solidarity, others just fearful to stand apart.

All this only bolstered her sense of rightness. At that instant, Claire felt omnipotenta queen of fates, dispensing whatever future she wished.

For university, Claire chose a college somewhere in the Midlandsnot for love of her subject, but because it seemed prestigious. Posh, more opportunity, better pickings for the right sort of husbandsons of landed gentry, ambitious young city men, rich kids from Home Counties. She had the advantage of her grans old flat, no need to share digs or live in hallsthat certainly put her one up.

The first few weeks went as shed imagined. She made her flat over to her taste, made new friends, partied often. She was still good at drawing attentionher smile, polished image, easy charm all working in her favour. She drank in the compliments, sure that soon her perfect prince would appear.

But reality soon bit. The course was harder than shed reckonedreading required focus, seminars took effort, exams demanded work. Claire had grown used to getting her way without a fight and found it hard to adjust. She skipped lectures, put off assignments, hoping she could rely on her charm and shallow knowledge.

It failed her. In the first round of exams, she failed most subjects. Where tutors had once indulged her, now they were adamant: Work harder, or leave. For the first time, Claires cherished confidence faltered.

Suddenly, childhood was over. The world was complicatedand full of smart, pretty, determined women who made Claire seem ordinary. Mates juggled studies, part-time jobs, big plans. She clung to the person she believed herself to be.

It made her panicky, not focused. Instead of bearing down on her studies, Claire switched tactics: it was now or never to land a husband, she reasonedbefore my looks go, as she put it, anxiously calculating how long shed still be the Claire everyone wanted.

She ramped up the dates, agreed to meet older men, tried to be as striking as she could. Her conversation became a gentle sales pitch about settling down with a solid sort. But the more desperately she searched, the more obvious it becameand it put off the very men who might otherwise have bitten.

One man caught her eye and seemed keen.

But fate had another lesson for her.

Her chosen candidate seemed perfector so it appeared. Tom was the only son of a medical family, his parents owning a chain of private clinics, living in a gated estate in Kent, rubbing shoulders with local dignitaries. Hed been to public school, then uni abroad, and worked in the family business; everything was mapped out for him.

Tom wasnt movie star handsome: a little short, round-faced, a stoop to his posture. Claire dismissed thisBetter to have stability than a pretty face with empty pockets, she reasoned. She pictured herself as mistress of a grand house, hosting garden parties, jetting off to the Med.

She planned methodically: appear wherever Tom relaxed after work; nudge into his line of sight at the gym, at the artisan cafe. Shed wear just the right outfit, say just the right things, act at once natural and impeccable.

She got closedrinks, dinners, Tom seemed into her. She inched the talk towards serious relationships, pressing home the idea of finding your person.

But she overlooked one thingfor Toms family, background meant everything. Theyd long chosen the sort of wife they wanted for their only son: someone with the right connections and lineage.

Mention of Claire prompted only a lifted eyebrow from Toms mother:

And who is she, exactly? What do her people do?

Shes at uni. Her parents are just ordinary, from up North.

Ordinary? Her mothers tone soured. You know what matters for us is reputation, tradition. Do you want gossip that our Tom married some nobody?

Tom tried to protest:

But shes clever, interesting…

Clever girls are two-a-penny, his mother said coldly. You need a wife in keeping with your name. Dont make things messy.

Meanwhile Claire continued her plans. She pictured introducing Tom to her parents, mortgage shopping together, the lot… until he rang one day asking to meet up for a serious talk.

At the cafe, Tom looked uncomfortable.

My parents… they dont approve. They say were from different worlds.

Claire felt her chest tighten, but forced a laugh.

Does that matter? Were adults, we choose our own lives.

To them, its everything he sighed. Theyve already found a suitable girl. I tried, but… I just cant go against my family. Im sorry.

Afterwards, Claire sat at the table, gazing into her empty cup. She wanted to cry, but only felt a hollow irritation.

Why? she fumed. I did everything right! Whys he so obsessed with his mums opinion? Shame I couldnt catch him out and make him stay…

But worse was coming. A fortnight later, Claire heard that less than pleasant rumours now dogged her among eligible men. Word was, she hunted for rich husbands, used Tom just for his money. Gossip spread like spilled wine through their tight, snickering social circuits.

Now, entering parties or old haunts, Claire felt the whispers, the glances, the brittle politeness. Men who once flirted kept their distance. One whod once chased her gave only the briefest nod before leaving.

She pretended not to care, but knew her reputation was now so tattered that hopes of a lucrative marriage were dashedat least among these circles.

Going home was unthinkableshe had told her parents so many wild tales, she couldnt imagine how to explain her situation. On the phone she kept up the story: how her studies at a top university thrived, how prestigious firms clamoured to offer her jobs, how her fiancé was posh and devoted.

Her parents beamed with pride, even giving her news as gossip fodder for their friends. Claire imagined their faces glowing as they bragged, and she clung to the illusionshe couldnt bear their disappointment, nor questions she couldnt answer.

Emily alone knew the truth, stumbling on it by accident one unlucky visit.

Come home, Claire, theres nothing left for you here, Emily had said solemnly. Just tell Mum and Dad you lied.

Claire had straightened, wiped her tears, and declared:

Admit to lying? Never! Ill fight on, and live my best life yet!

She truly believed itshe thought sheer will would put it all right. She kept dating, meeting people, sought any way into the right set. But time passed, wealthy prospects vanished. Those who showed any interest soon melted away once Claires demands became clear.

Meanwhile, her grans inheritancewhat was left after the flatdwindled away. First Claire tried saving, then gave up luxuries: no more coffees out, new clothes, even gave up the gym. But the bills grew, groceries ate the rest, something she could no longer ignore.

One morning, counting out her remaining pounds, Claire saw she could delay no more: she *had* to work. She sifted through jobs, looking for something worthy, but with no degree and no CV, she faced a string of polite rejections.

So, the erstwhile queen of the playground wound up behind a checkout at Sainsburys. At first, it was nearly unbearable. Shed catch customers sizing her up, overhear little commentsseems far too posh for tills, that one. Shed try to smile, scan the items, thank them, and remind herself it was only temporary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday I got an invite to the school reunion! Claire finished her story, sitting glum in the kitchen. I *have* to go, dont you see. Otherwise everyone will think my lifes in pieces and I was afraid to show my face!

Emily set down her spoon, stirred her tea, and considered Claire closely. She said nothing at firsta hint of doubt in her look.

Havent you considered they might already know about your real life? Maybe they want to laugh at you, for all those old wounds? You do remember the way you carried on at the prom… not everyones forgotten, you know.

Claire jerked her head up, face flushing.

Nonsense! she scoffed, shooing away the thought as though it were a persistent wasp. Im a pro at cover stories. No one knows for sure. I just have to show up and show everyone whos in charge.

Emily reclined against the chair, absently tapping the rim of her cup. So much of this sounded strangenot least, why on earth would anyone invite back a girl whod once lorded it over everyone and delighted in making predictions of doom? Could they really want to see their queen again, after all those years?

But she said nothing more. Emily had learned not to force her opinions on her sister; Claire always did as she wanted, and picked up the pieces on her own.

Fine, Emily nodded, tone neutral. If youre set on going, go. But do think: are you ready for whatever might happen there?

What could possibly happen? Claire frowned. Everything will be just fine. Ill pick the nicest dress, get my hair done… No one will even guess that things arent perfect.

Alright. If you need help with your outfit or hair, just ask. Im happy to.

Claires shoulders dropped as if that was all shed hoped for.

Thanks, she breathed. Ill definitely need your advice. I want to look impeccable. So that no one even suspects anythings gone wrong.

**********************

Claire shot out of the bistro, tears smeared across her cheeks. The night air pressed cold against her flushed face, but she barely noticed. Her feet carried her away from the building where, not half an hour before, shed been trying so hard to be someone she wasnt. *Emily was right*thudded through her head*I never should have come!*

But at first, things had gone so well. When shed swept into the function room, heads had turned at once. Claire had rehearsed every step: the artful saunter, the half-smile, the tossed look at her watchit was all to show she was terribly busy, but for them, shed made time.

She quickly joined a group of classmatesthose shed never been that close with long ago. The lies began to spill forward. Husbands a company director, currently abroad; enormous house with a garden full of roses, all year round; holidays in the Algarve several times a year. Claire spun out her fabrications, oblivious to the exchanged glances, hidden grins, or the sneers flickering in her old classmates eyes.

She felt every inch the belle of the balluntil it happened.

I bumped into Claire recently… a voice boomed, cutting through the chatter. She barely remembered the old classmate whod said it, but now all eyes turned. Claire tried to muster a smile, but her face wouldnt cooperate.

Yes, me too! chimed in another girl, whipping out her mobile Ive even got photos, actually. Bumped into her only last month.

That was the start. On the big screen, someone deftly mirrored her phone, and up came the snapshotsone after anotherof Claires real life.

There she was, behind the supermarket till, forced smile under the strip lights, standard-issue uniform, namebadge shining. There bending over the discount shelves, working out what she could afford this week. There boarding the bus, clutching a plastic bag of essentials. And thenworst of alllugging shopping up to the battered door of her run-down block.

Laughter. Just one at first, then another, then a spreading ripple getting louder. Someone quipped, Not quite the manor house, eh? Another added, Company director hubby works the night shift at Lidl, does he?

Claire stood rooted, feeling her cheeks burn, knees wobble. None of it was truly shamefulhalf the country lives just like thisbut shed paraded her luxury fairy tale for so long, shed half-believed it herself. Now these images tore the mask awaycold, hard, and final.

Not waiting for the next blow, Claire turned and dashed for the exit. She didnt hear what was shouted after her, didnt see who tried to call her back. Only the cold air, the tears she wiped away, and her breath catching as she hurried to the nearest bench, trying to gather herself.

She didnt see the man who collided with hershe clipped his shoulder, stumbling.

Are you alright? came a concerned mans voice. It held genuine warmth and care, so honest it stopped Claire in her tracks.

She looked up into the face of a strangerutterly ordinary: cheap jacket, a shopping bag in hand. But in his eyes was such undiluted kindness that Claires last shreds of composure fell away.

No… she whispered, barely audible, as tears gathered again. My fiancé left me just before the wedding…

Well, it seemed, life was still determined not to teach her a thing.