Influence (5 page)

Lizzie was
in her favourite place in the world.

Her first
trip to Oxford had been four years ago, which had been a year after her aunt had
moved south. Lizzie’s mother had put her on a train at Edinburgh’s Waverley
station, kissed her and passed in her rucksack. As the train had pulled out her
mother had cried, Lizzie had not. It was the first time she had done anything,
of real note, on her own and she was far too excited to be upset. Janice had
met Lizzie off the train in Oxford, and immediately given her a tour of the city,
or as much of a tour as she could manage, being a relative newcomer herself.

Lizzie had
arrived prepared, with a list and a heavily marked and highlighted map.
Janice’s tour had, before long, descended into a fulfilment of Lizzie’s wish
list culminating in a trip to the Pit Rivers museum, where Janice feigned
enthusiasm for the shrunken heads and weird trinkets, which in truth she found
boring and creepy but had enthralled Lizzie no end.

Lizzie had
fallen in love with Oxford, and it had been love at first sight. She was
smitten, sold. The history, the civility and the prestige which resonated from every
inch of the city was utterly spellbinding. Lizzie had recently been introduced
to the idea of someday going to university, she had visited Glasgow University
with her school and had been in awe of the main building and surrounding area
of the campus in the west end of the city. She had understood then that
universities comprised of many buildings sometimes spanned out over large
areas, such as she had found in Glasgow but she had struggled to get her head
around Oxford. The University of Oxford, as far as Lizzie could tell, was
Oxford itself, like the city was a living, breathing institute of learning.
Countless colleges, which somehow existed in their own right, also made up the
university as a whole. To Lizzie it was like a dismembered body, each
unattached limb and organ still performing its function independently but
somehow held together and coordinated as part of a larger entity.

Janice had
suggested a few different restaurants and fast food outlets but Lizzie had
asked if they could eat outside as, after all, it had been a lovely day. They bought
sandwiches, crisps and drinks and Janice had followed Lizzie as she searched
for a place to sit and eat. Lizzie had found a little bench within the grounds
of Jesus College. She had been unsure whether it was permitted for non-students
to make use of it, but it was wonderful to sit and watch the students come and
go. Some lazily walking in the sunshine other scurrying off to some lecture they
were late for. They had sat in silence indulging in Lizzie’s favourite pastime
– people watching. How people interacted with one another, and how they went
about their business, wrapped up in their own little worlds fascinated her and
from this bench she could watch, as if invisible, the students of Oxford
University live their strange, privileged, wonderful lives.

Lizzie still had no
idea whether it was okay for her to sit on this, her bench as she considered
it, but by now she refused to feel uncomfortable even if it had turned out she
was somewhere she shouldn’t be. The magic of Oxford had not diminished for her.
Each time Lizzie came back to Jesus College to sit at her bench, listen to
music and thumb through a novel it took her back to that first time, to her
adventure with her aunt Janice, before it had all fallen apart.

That first time
Janice had met her from the train she had been full of smiles and laughter. The
last time she had collected Lizzie from the platform however she had managed to
hold it together for all of five seconds before wrapping her arms around her
and sobbing her heart out. Lizzie’s own resolve collapsed even though she would
have sworn blind that she had completely cried herself out that she was, by
then, numb to it all.

Lizzie’s mother’s
death had not been unexpected, she had been sick for some time, and really sick
for the last twelve months, however when the inevitable happened it had still
come as an earth shattering shock.

The illness took her
mum from her but also, strangely, it had brought her back to Lizzie. She had
been twelve when her mother had met her stepfather. Lizzie had never met her
own father and knew very little of him other than that he had left before
Lizzie had been able to form any memory of him. It had been a prickly subject
and Lizzie had learned to leave it alone. Besides, she didn’t know enough of
him to miss him. When her stepfather had moved into the house she had resented
him from the start. He wasn’t cruel to her mother but nor did he seem to make
her happy or make her life, in any noticeable way, easier. Lizzie saw him as a
leech draining her mother’s attention and time. Her stepfather had held a few
jobs, briefly, but nothing of any note. He had attempted several times to act
like a father to Lizzie and each time it had resulted in a vicious argument
which had upset Lizzie’s mother most out of the three of them. Lizzie’s
relationship with her mum had deteriorated as a direct result of him, they
rarely conversed anymore, and when they did talk it was almost always with
raised voices. Lizzie had taken to spending as much time away from the house as
possible, returning only to sleep and eat. He was a wedge between them and the
tight bond they had once enjoyed had slackened. By the time her mother had been
diagnosed it hung loosely and tenuously.

That day though had
sparked a change, a reversal. The sicker Lizzie’s mother became the more she
needed Lizzie and the less her stepfather would be around. ‘Your mother needs
her rest’ would be the common parting shot as he would leave the house for
destinations unknown. Lizzie barely left her mother’s side in that final year.
School was no longer of any importance despite her mother’s pleas. Lizzie had
her mum back and she was determined to relish every second they had left
together.

There then followed a
dark time, a period which had passed in a cloud of drowsy but raw emotion.
Lizzie had only fleeting recollections of family and friends she only knew from
photographs drifting through the house like ghosts, looking pityingly at her
and all muttering their condolences. The only person Lizzie wanted to see was
her aunt Janice but she had been out of the country with work and had been
unable to return on time. She hadn’t blamed her, after all her mother’s passing
had come sooner than the most cynical of the doctor’s predictions; she had not
blamed her, but she had needed her.

In her will Lizzie’s
mother had requested three things. That Lizzie’s guardianship be tasked to
Janice, that the house be left to Lizzie with the provision that her stepfather
be allowed to stay in it for as long as he required and that whatever estate left
be used, by Janice, to ensure the best possible schooling for Lizzie for her to
complete her studies. Lizzie’s mother had been so proud of her academic prowess
and it broke her heart to be the reason for her having missed such an important
period in her schooling. Janice and Lizzie’s mother had clearly discussed the
matter at length before her death as Lizzie learned of her enrolment at Queen’s
Grove House as soon as she had arrived in Oxfordshire. Janice had explained she
had passed by the school many times and when Lizzie’s mother had expressed her
wishes she had investigated the matter and found the school to be just about
within budget and excelling in performance.

Lizzie drummed her
fingers on the arm of the bench, oversized headphones pumping music around her
head as she considered the circumstances that had brought her to this place. It
was late morning, grey skied, but dry. Lizzie looked around the courtyard of
Jesus College which had suddenly busied while she had been lost in her reverie.
It must have been the start of a new lecture period judging by the way students
bustled their way here and there. She imagined herself among them, and
strangely she envied their concerns and problems – late for class, end of year
exams, fitting in and being surrounded by people you assume are so much smarter
than you. This last one wasn’t difficult to imagine. Lizzie was well aware of
the huge task she had taken on at Queen’s. She had missed so much school, and
even before her mum had been struck down her grades were only just on par with
entry levels at Oxford. Her poor prelim results had been a real blow, and as a
result she had tried to employ a sense of reality. She swore to herself she
wouldn’t allow her hopes to rise to Oxford level any longer. Her application
was in, it had to be by now, but she was now looking to alternative options and
trying to put thoughts of studying here far from her mind, which is not easy
sitting in the middle of Oxford.

Blistering feedback
interrupted her thoughts and Lizzie pulled her headphones down to rest around
her neck. She would see people from time to time looking curiously at her giant
black headphones, like something a radio DJ would don. Of course the trend was
to go for small and discreet but Lizzie hated the little razor blades you had
to stuff into your ear canal. They irritated her, they failed to block out
external noise and worst of all they didn’t carry that - piss off and leave me
alone - message her own conspicuous choice provided.

A group of Asian
girls, perhaps Japanese, huddled together examining either a timetable or a
map, Lizzie couldn’t quite see, and therefore she couldn’t tell if they were
students or tourists. On the grass near to them a boy sat with his back against
the trunk of a tree reading a book. On his lap lay his jacket and on top of
that the head of a girl, his girlfriend she assumed, who was also reading a
book. Lizzie was beginning to drift into thoughts of how difficult it must be
to maintain a relationship while studying here, particularly if you were also
holding down a job to pay for tuition and everything else that went with living
somewhere other than at home when another group of students wandered into her
eye line and stopped on the grass blocking her view of the reading couple. This
group caught Lizzie’s eye straight away, they demanded your attention. Lizzie
pulled back on her headphones but pressed stop on the CD to allow her to
concentrate whilst still maintaining the illusion of being deaf within her
bubble. There were six of them, Lizzie counted, each a little weirder than the
next. Two of them, boys, were impossibly tall which would have made them conspicuous
enough without the trench coats and eye makeup. There were three girls with
very white faces and very black eyes, one of them had harshly applied blusher
on her cheeks in a triangular shape and reminded Lizzie of Elvira from that
awful movie she loved. The remaining boy wore a black leather jacket and his
look was a toned down version of the others. His dark curls were piled on top
of his head with the sides shaved in making him seem taller than he was but as
he stepped next to the two giant ghouls it became apparent just how short he
was, probably no more than an inch taller than her. Lizzie all but rubbed her
hands, her favourite hobby of people watching had just flicked on to an
unexpectedly interesting channel, she just wished she could turn the volume up
and listen in. She inspected the group with Attenborough intrigue. She tried to
work out who the alpha Goth was and who was coupled with whom among the group.
She also wondered what the collective noun was for a group of Goths. A misery
maybe, or perhaps a glum? A glum of Goths had a nice ring to it, but who knew?
Lizzie watched for a while and found herself a little disappointed, as despite
all the promise of their appearance they actually seemed pretty normal. They
chatted, they smoked and, much to Lizzie’s surprise, they laughed.

One of the girls left
and the others seemed ready to break apart when the small guy with the curly
hair caught her eye, He was staring right at her.

The hair on the back
of Lizzie’s neck suddenly stood up, she felt like an undercover cop suddenly
rumbled during a stake out. She looked away acting as nonchalant as possible.
She bobbed her head in time to non-existent music and scanned every angle of
the landscape other than at the Goths. After thirty seconds or so had passed
she thought it safe to venture a look. She turned to see the boy still looking
at her; he was smiling and held a hand out giving a small wave. Lizzie’s first
instinct was to turn away but she caught herself as this would surely have been
proof of her guilt. Instead she gave a smile and bounced her head away slowly
to the silent song. Another thirty seconds passed and Lizzie allowed her head
to gradually turn back to the boy who was, shit! Walking right towards her.

Lizzie’s pulse
quickened. She pulled her bag in close to her thigh on the seat of the chair
making it impossible for anyone to sit right next to her. She folded her arms,
turned her head to the side once again and waited.

‘Hi,’ he said though
Lizzie pretended not to hear. She continued the head bobbing charade hoping one
failed attempt might put him off. He stood in front of her though, keeping a
respectful distance at least. Unperturbed the boy leaned his head down into her
eye line apparently fooled by the headphones but not put off by them. ‘Hi,’ he
repeated. Lizzie could no longer continue to ignore him, not without descending
into an unacceptable level of rudeness which Lizzie’s character would not
allow. Lizzie pulled her headphones around her neck.

‘Sorry?’ she said in a tone she hoped was
neither rude, nor inviting.

‘I said hi,’ Lizzie
looked up at the boy who was smiling at her. He was obviously older than Lizzie
but only by a few years. He was very slim, even with the fairly rigid leather
jacket on.