House of Windows (13 page)

‘Hey, do you want to get an almost-end-of-term coffee?’ Nick asked, as Frank closed the door on their last supervision of Term.

‘Busy,’ Frank grunted, pushing past.

Susie hitched her bag up, looking weary and frustrated. ‘I’m sorry, Nick, but I’m skint. You won’t believe how happy I am that it’s the end of term. I just did the same as everyone else in Fresher’s Week – you know, bops and Cindy’s – and I didn’t drink any more than they did, but I guess their parents are loaded because I burnt through most of my loan for
the term by Week 3. Nearly had to go and ask for hardship money.’

Nick shrugged awkwardly. ‘I could get this one.’

Susie smiled, reached out to pat his arm. ‘That’s sweet of you, Nick, but it wouldn’t feel right.’

‘’Cos letting me buy you a coffee is practically the same as taking candy from a baby, got it,’ Nick snapped, turning away.

‘Nick …’ he heard her call, before her voice trailed off into a sigh. ‘Have a good Christmas!’ she shouted just as the fire door slammed closed behind him.

It was sleeting across Front Court, the wind driving the icy rain under umbrellas. Nick didn’t even bother with his. For a while he loitered under the arch by the p’lodge, watching the courtyard turn progressively greyer and dimmer, then hunched into his coat and hurried into the shelter of the corridor between the buttery and the dining hall, before lunging out again to hurtle around the path by Latham Lawn. He clattered through the doors into the library and up the wooden stairs. The cushioned window seats overlooking the river on the third floor were empty. He tossed his backpack and coat aside to drip on to the fuzzy squares of coarse carpet that captured dirt as if it were treasure. Shiny black patches of trodden filth shone under the lights.

An hour later it was time to meet the crew down by the boatsheds, though they kept their outing short, keen to head back to their rooms for a hot shower as soon as they’d packed away.

‘See you for the Christmas party later,’ Brent said, stretching with a groan.

‘Are you sure the porters won’t just chuck me out?’

Brent clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Trust your captain, kid. I’ve got it covered.’

‘You mean you’ll wing it.’

‘Well, it worked for the Formal Swap with Peterhouse: got you into
a
Formal Hall that way, didn’t we, even if it wasn’t at College. Besides, if they try to keep you out tonight, we can just decamp to my room, OK?’

Nick grinned. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

But the barkeeper seemed willing enough to let Nick in, though he was presented, without being asked, with a series of lemonades while the others guzzled their way through an astonishing amount of ‘College plonk’, as Brent called it.

‘You OK, Nick?’ one of the twins asked, leaning against his shoulder.

‘Brilliant,’ he lied.

‘I’m sad,’ the twin confided, sniffing despondently. ‘I’m not sure why, but I’m very, very sad.’

Nick tried patting him on the shoulder. This made the twin tear up. ‘Be right back,’ Nick said, slipping out of his chair.

‘You going to the bog? Gonna come too, like girls, always going in pairs.’ The twin giggled to himself for a moment before the giggles became hiccupy.

Although Nick locked himself in a cubicle, when he emerged the twin was waiting for him, slumped against the wall, using the hand dryer for support.

‘It’s all just so …’ The twin took a shuddering breath. ‘It’ll all be gone soon. We’ll be
old
. Then we’ll be
dead
.’

Nick slipped away while the twin had his face hidden in his hands. ‘Your brother’s in the loos. He’s a little … morose,’ he reported to the other twin, who just shrugged.

‘Always happens,’ Brent said. ‘Be in there for hours. You know, that’s going to be a problem,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Need to have a slash.’ He made a face. ‘Last time he was like this, he cornered me against the sinks and told me about every girl who ever turned him down. Hugged me every time I tried to get past him, then threatened to cook himself to death with the hand-dryer if I didn’t promise to help him find a date by Valentine’s Day. I can’t face it again. Can’t you get him out?’ he appealed to the other twin.

‘Nope. Not his keeper.’

‘Suppose I could try the girls’ loo,’ Brent said dismally, then suddenly brightened. ‘Always wanted to see what it looked like in there. Yup. Going on an adventure to the girls’ loo!’ he announced to much cheering from the rest of the crew.

Brent processed proudly down the corridor with the rest following. In front of the door to the ladies’, he turned and saluted his men then marched inside. The crew held their breath. A few seconds later, he came back through the door, pursued by two petite girls with worryingly determined looks on their faces.

‘Busted,’ Brent said. ‘But you’re welcome to punish me,’ he told the girls.

One pushed him on to a barstool. ‘You will sit there.’

‘Anything for you,’ he said soulfully, staring blearily at her left eyebrow.

For a while they clustered around him, digging in their handbags, soon joined by a chattering posse. Five minutes later they stepped back and presented Brent with a mirror.

He squinted at his face. ‘I make a
hot
girl. But I’d have gone with the glitter purple not the blue,’ he added, poking at the eyeshadow compacts laid out on the bar counter. ‘Whatcha say, boys? Who wants a snog with your captain?’

He spent the next five minutes chasing the non-crying twin around the bar, until the barkeeper chucked them out just in time for both to throw up in a Front Court window-box. Nick used the opportunity to slip away.

In Trinity Lane, he turned down towards Clare, wandering to the gates into King’s so that he could watch the light moving behind the stone tracery around the Old Schools windows. It didn’t look real. The intensity of the colours, the beauty of the shadowy buildings made it seem like something computer-generated: stronger, better, more vivid than the real world ever was. The cobbles were indigo and bronze under the lights, shining with the ground mist that crept up the lawns behind King’s Chapel from the river. He watched the windows again as he walked back the way he’d come, then turned away up Senate House Passage.

Every step seemed to turn the world more ordinary, more real, comforting and sad at the same time, like he’d turned his back on the impossible because he didn’t have the courage to hold his ground.

He yawned his way into the kitchen a little after midnight to find that Tim had covered the table with paperwork and was sitting, elbows braced against the wood, with his head in his hands. ‘Does getting drunk with people make you understand them better?’ he asked.

‘What?’ Tim looked up, shook his head. ‘No. Why would it?’

‘Everyone had a blast tonight except me. Either there were a bunch of in-jokes going on or I missed what was funny. Or maybe I am the most boring bookworm the world’s ever known and I really don’t know fun even when it’s puking on my shoes.’ Nick slumped into a chair, then got up again when he saw a flash of frustration cross Tim’s face. ‘Oh, don’t sulk. I’m not after a midnight heart-to-heart. I’ll go up as soon as the kettle boils: you only have to put up with me for the next two minutes.’

‘Did I say anything?’ Tim asked mildly.

Nick looked away. He kicked lazily at a table leg. ‘Just … why does anyone bother? By the morning surely you know that you only had a good time because you were drunk. There’s no conversation to remember. There’s nothing interesting or important or … It’s just so
pointless
.’

‘The boatie scene not all it’s cracked up to be?’

Nick shrugged. ‘I thought I’d feel happier knowing I had people to go out with. People who didn’t just have me there on sufferance. But for that type of stuff aren’t people pretty much interchangeable? Can you really build a friendship on the fact that you happened to be one of the people there when
Brent stormed the girls’ loo? I just watched. It wouldn’t have made any difference if I wasn’t there.’

Tim grinned. ‘You are not getting me to say that I think you should storm the girls’ loos yourself next time.’

But Nick didn’t smile like a normal person would have. He just fixed Tim with that strange solemn expression and let the silence grow thick and awkward, as if he were waiting for something while the kettle fizzed to a boil in the background.

With Tim working double shifts at the coffee shop, the house was too quiet. Maybe it was some lingering uneasiness after the burglary, though he knew the chances of a repeat were minimal, but Nick found he’d got used to having another living, breathing presence around: someone to talk to now and then, even if it was just to say ‘How about a cup of tea?’

For a while he occupied himself looking up Shakespearean insults to use on the boat club. Neither ‘fustilarian malt-worm’ nor ‘flagitious giglet’ exactly ran off the tongue, but short of resorting to Latin nothing else seemed quite impressive enough. But there were only so many webpages on esoteric insults with genuinely original material and soon his laughter sounded forced even to his own ears.

Turning on the TV for the sound of another voice only made him feel more alone: talking to himself seemed strange
and unnatural after a month where his words weren’t just falling on empty air. It had surprised him how much he’d enjoyed sharing his space: how far that went towards making the world seem more real, less distant.

With a sigh, he packed up his work and set off for the library, but detoured at the last moment into Clare to stand on the white stone bridge under the glorious copper beech, beautiful even naked of leaves. On the left, on the far side of the river, King’s College meadow was pale primrose in the cold sunlight, the weeping willow blue-white with frost, trailing into an iron river between silver banks. The dried leaves of the beech hedge that edged the Fellows’ Garden rattled in the wind. The shadowed flagstones were treacherous with ice, the air sharp as salt.

To the right, he could see Trinity Hall’s library jutting out over the river, all raw red brick and tall glass windows. He’d been standing just here, the day of his interview, when he’d decided that he absolutely had to go to Cambridge.

And now here he was. And there
it
was.
My College
, he breathed.

Ten minutes later, he was looking out of one of the windows he’d watched from the bridge. Only he seemed to be just as alone here. No other silent students labouring over their notes. No quiet camaraderie.
If even Cambridge students don’t spend their holidays in the library
… The words caught awkwardly in the air, seemed to hang there, mocking him. His skin prickled with embarrassment though there was no one to see, no one to hear. Sighing, he scooped his books back into
his bag and hurried around Latham Lawn to Dr Gosswin’s staircase. Arriving half an hour early for an appointment with the Professor was inviting an argument, but better that than the slippery, shivery emptiness of the library. Yet all she said when he knocked, then popped his head around her door was, ‘You’re early. Good. You can make me coffee now.’

There was something comforting about being able to move around her gyp room almost without thought. It was nice to know a space that wasn’t his so intimately: to know exactly how to make her coffee. Apart from his dad, Tim and Bill, he didn’t know how anyone else in the world took their coffee. It seemed somehow like a failure.

‘For someone with such poor social graces it is incomprehensible that you should adopt such a relaxed and comfortable demeanour in my presence,’ she told him, when he brought the coffee tray in. ‘You have yet to attain the elevated position that would afford you the impunity to be irascible that is
my
due.’

‘My supervisor’s been telling tales, hasn’t he?’ Nick threw himself back in his chair. ‘So I got a little frustrated last week about this extra activity graphing a transformation. I figured out how to get the right answer, but I didn’t really
get
it. I’m never going to get a First if I don’t understand what I’m doing, and my supervisor wasn’t going to explain it because stupid Frank couldn’t even do the basic bit of the problem. If teachers can’t focus on the difficult stuff at uni because they’ve always got to focus on the stupid people, when can they?’

Professor Gosswin steepled her fingers. ‘Your life would
be easier, Mr Derran, if you didn’t categorise the majority of other people as stupid.’

‘But they are—’

‘They are more stupid than you, yes. Most of the world is more stupid than you. I can sympathise with your frustrations, Mr Derran, without thinking you are doing yourself any favours in the manner in which you choose to tackle these frustrations in front of your peers.’

Nick clenched his hands on the arms of his chair. ‘Why am I not allowed to get frustrated? Susie
cried
in our last supervision and she just got a pat on the back. Frank spends half the time swearing and he just gets a laugh. Why is it a problem when
I
show how I feel? Why is it any less important that I’m frustrated just ’cos I’m frustrated at a higher level than they are? I’m not doing it to make them feel bad, so why do I have to be understanding about the fact that they’re not being stupid to annoy me?’

‘And what did your father say when you talked to him about this?’

‘He said I’ve got as much right to learn as they do.’

‘And that “standards have gone down and those who can’t keep up should find themselves another university to study at”, I dare say.’ She shook her head.

Nick looked away to the window and shrugged.

‘You will use
words
, Mr Derran, to reply to my questions. You must refrain from this louche and unpleasant habit of raising a shoulder by way of response. It is a most imprecise form of communication.’

Nick scowled at her.

‘The glare at least is unambiguous,’ she conceded.

‘Everyone keeps waiting for me to run up against something I’m not clever enough for. They keep saying it gets harder and if there’s already stuff I can’t do—’

‘If your supervision partners are likely to pass with at least a Third or, at worst, an Ordinary, what are you likely to pass with, Mr Derran?’

‘My dad says that a First from Cambridge will open doors for the rest of my life.’

Professor Gosswin sat back in her chair. ‘And so it will. But then, Mr Derran, I dare say your intellect will do much the same, to much the same degree – especially if you could learn to be somewhat less of a challenge on a personal level.’

‘Some people like a challenge,’ Nick grumbled, sitting forward to reset the chessboard for a new game.

‘But
most
people like a quiet, easy life, Mr Derran. My life would have been quite different if I had been willing to concede that point.’

Nick looked up at her. ‘You’re not sorry you didn’t.’

Professor Gosswin’s eyes brightened. ‘Only sometimes.’ She cleared her throat, waving her hand at the board. ‘Leave this and fetch me another cup of coffee, you inconsiderate boy.’

‘Isn’t it a bit late for you to have so much caffeine?’

Professor Gosswin rolled her lip up in a sneer that showed her crooked left incisor: a sign of certain danger. ‘When I am ready for a nursemaid I shall
not
offer you the job.’

By the time Nick came back with the replenished coffee tray, Professor Gosswin was standing by the window, looking out over Latham Lawn to the roofs of Clare and the spires of King’s Chapel. She turned slowly, gesturing at a brown-paper package on the chessboard. ‘Something to occupy yourself with over Christmas,’ she said dismissively. ‘Now pour the coffee.’

Nick did as he was told as she settled back into her chair, then sat turning the book – because it could only be a book – over in his hands.

‘It is not a watch, Mr Derran. It does not need to be tossed or wound in order to work. Put it in your bag and stop fussing at it.’

Nick pushed up from his chair then stopped and turned back. ‘Thank you,’ he told the floor by her right foot. ‘You didn’t have to.’

‘Of course I didn’t. Why do you always persist in telling me that I
don’t
have to do things, when I am perfectly well aware of that fact?’ She shook her head. ‘Now, return to your seat so I can trounce you once again.’ She turned the board to take the white pieces and advanced a pawn.

Nick picked a pawn at random.

Gosswin slapped his hand away from the board and moved a different piece for him. ‘Think, Mr Derran,
think
. You cannot blunder blindly on to the board and expect fate to guide you silently to victory.’

‘Well, nothing else is working.’

‘Perseverance, Mr Derran. Chess is a game played between
people. And all things between people that are of any worth require perseverance.’

Nick sighed as she slammed a knight down for her turn.

‘People sometimes do not learn as fast as they should, nor indeed as fast as they need. But sometimes we have to accept that there are types of learning that cannot be rushed. It’s a difficult lesson for those of us who are usually quick on the uptake,’ she added wryly. ‘There are things I think I am only just starting to learn now, when it is almost too late for them to be useful. On which note, is your godfather joining you for Christmas?’

‘Yeah, but how’s that related?’

‘And Mr Brethan. What are his plans?’

‘I haven’t asked.’

Professor Gosswin heaved a sigh of great forbearance. ‘Then maybe you should,’ she said.

The book lay open across his knees, glowing as if even the cover were gilded in the last of the sunlight spilling between the houses opposite. A group of kids raced past, yelling and laughing, piling up the front path of one of the neighbouring houses and through the front door. A group of teenagers sauntered in the opposite direction, pulling faces and looking disdainful.

‘Whatcha reading?’

Nick started, nearly dropping his book as he jolted
upright. Tim was slouched in the doorway, looking unshaven and shadow-eyed.

Nick’s hands pressed the book protectively to his chest. ‘Something Professor Gosswin gave me … to read.’

Tim shrugged. ‘I didn’t think you were going to play tennis with it.’

Nick grinned. ‘It’s … Well, it’s a good book, but it’s less about the content and more … I guess you could say there’s another meaning to it.’

‘Ah, a mystery. Fair enough then.’ Tim let his satchel drop to the floor. ‘Coffee?’ he called, as he loped through to the kitchen.

‘You OK?’ Nick asked, coming to lean in the doorway.

Tim shrugged. ‘Why?’

‘You look,’ he made a vague gesture in the air, ‘disreputable.’

Tim laughed, though there was something brittle about the sound. ‘Sounds about right.’

‘I thought you were going to see Ange.’

‘I was.’

‘She stood you up?’

‘Nope.’

‘Did she tell you off about a girl?’

Tim gave him an aggrieved look.

‘What?’ Nick raised his hands. ‘You don’t tend to upset her in any other way. So what did you do?’

‘Just leave it alone, Nick.’

Nick watched him splat a teabag on to the floor then
slosh milk across the counter, cursing as he grabbed a cloth to clean up the mess. ‘Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask what you’re up to for Christmas: when you’re going to see your family—’

Tim hunched over the counter. ‘When do you want me to go?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When do you want me to clear out?’ Tim snapped.

‘Hey, I was just asking—’

‘You tell me the dates I should be gone, and I’ll go.’

‘I know you said to leave it alone,’ Nick snapped back, ‘but I thought you meant your fight with Ange, not
all
topics of conversation.’

‘It’s not … Look, just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.’

Nick raised his hands in a helpless shrug. ‘I don’t want you to do
anything
, except not yell at me for nothing. I was just asking about your plans. If you’re going to be here it would be good to know. I mean, we don’t have anything special planned but I guess if there’s something particular you like for Christmas dinner we should order it or find where we can buy it, or,’ he wrinkled his nose, ‘I
suppose
we could find a recipe.’

Tim’s face did something so odd that Nick wondered if perhaps that was how he looked when people said he went blank and remote. ‘But you must want some time … I mean, family time.’

Nick peered into his mug as if checking it was clean,
rubbed at a mark on the rim. ‘Bill will be here, but you like him, right? He’s coming on Christmas Eve and going to his sister’s on Boxing Day. Some years we go to his but Dad thought it would be fun to do Christmas in Cambridge this year. Not that we do much: play board games, watch films. Well, mostly Bill and I do that and Dad creeps off to work till Bill fetches him back. It’s kind of like you’d expect: not terribly jolly but … I just assumed you’d want to go and see your parents.’

Tim snorted. ‘That wouldn’t be jolly at all. They … They died the summer before I came to uni.’ He cleared his throat, looking away, but Nick stayed silent, staring at him. ‘I thought Gosswin might have said.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Anyway, no aunts or uncles, no grandparents. My sister’s in America. I’m going out just after Easter for her wedding but no way does my budget stretch to a transatlantic Christmas as well. The plan
was
to go to my girlfriend’s and then I thought maybe Ange might invite me but …’ He cut himself off, clenched his jaw for a moment. ‘If you’re really sure you don’t mind me being here, I can stay in my room whenever you want, or go out for a bit …’ He turned only to jump when he found Nick standing next to him, hand raised as if about to touch his arm.