Nudge 33 The Escape
The Escape
He’s standing at the station in a puffer coat despite the twenty-five-degree heat, scrolling through his phone with no awareness of his surroundings at all. But, regardless, my heart grows three sizes and I barrel towards him, enveloping him in a hug.
‘What the hell!’ Anton jumps out of his skin.
I don’t care. I keep squeezing despite his protest.
‘I’ve missed you,’ I sigh, feeling him finally give in.
He grunts, reluctantly hugging me back. ‘Missed you too.’
Anton called me the second he read my first text, convinced that it was some sort of practical joke.
‘It’s too spontaneous. You don’t do spontaneous,’ he said.
‘I need to get out of London and I miss you!’ I explained. ‘Do you have a spare bed? The same-day return was too expensive.’
Though he didn’t quite buy the relaxed attitude, he went along with it for my sake. However, I see him steal worried glances at me the whole bus ride to his flat.
His house is cleaner than I expected, which isn’t saying much considering my expectations stemmed from the state of his room at home. There’s a typical student-housing light layer of grime, but it’s not the dirt-riddled cesspit I assumed he would occupy.
‘Our sofa folds out into a bed!’ one of his flatmates says to me, excitedly leading me to it.
Her name is Jul, and I’ve seen her in his tagged photos and clicked through out of curiosity of her weird username. She seems nice enough, and, so far, is the only one who’s said more than a nervous ‘hi’ to Anton’s older sister.
‘We’ve been waiting for a chance to test it out!’ she continues, kneeling on a cushion as she reaches for the sofa’s lever.
After a brief struggle and some help from Anton, the two of them unfold the sofa to reveal a makeshift bed. It’s laden with crisp crumbs and old lint that has slipped through the cracks over time, but looks sturdy enough.
‘I can take this, and you can take my room,’ Anton says, catching my grimace as I eye the sofa.
‘Thanks, but this is fine!’ I look away before I see too much. Given the option of this sofa bed or the mysterious man-cave of my twenty-year-old student brother, I will take my chances on the dodgy sofa bed any day.
‘We’re going out tonight, if you wanna come!’ Jul says. ‘Some of my med friends are coming round for pre-drinks.’
‘I didn’t pack for a night out, but thank you,’ I say as politely as I can.
Jul is the kind of girl I wish I could have been at uni – optimistic and friendly, and down for a night out.
I feel like I spent my three years focusing on deadlines and societies and upping my CV.
I made friends for necessity and I went out to fulfil social contracts, but I was never that girl who just had a good time.
The one time I tried, it ended so disastrously that I never dared to try again.
Jul’s bright eyes cause a pool of regret to rise in the pit of my stomach.
She’s having the time of her life, as she very much should, before the world inevitably swallows her up.
‘You can borrow something of mine!’ she offers happily.
‘I’ll see how I feel,’ I say in the end.
It’s more than enough for her. She skips away gleefully.
Alone again, Anton leads me to their kitchen, boiling the kettle before I even have to ask. He ruffles through the cluttered cupboards, eventually striking gold with a polka-dot pastel mug and crumpled box of Earl Grey tea.
‘I don’t have teabags . . . Or a mug. But the girls do and they won’t mind if I borrow one for you,’ he says. ‘I don’t have milk either, but Jul drinks this pea milk stuff. She says it’s good, so . . .’
He haphazardly splashes in a glug from the carton. Then he ushers me back to their living room, proudly presenting me with the worst-looking cup of tea I’ve seen in my life.
‘Thank you,’ I say, faking a welcome sip.
‘No worries, let’s sit. What’s wrong with you?’
He asks it before I’ve even sat down, his face firm and assured that he will get an answer.
‘Sorry?’ I ask, scrunching my face right back at him.
‘You heard me, what’s wrong with you? Is Dad sick?’
‘What? No! Why would Dad be sick?’
‘Why would you just up and leave London to come here? Is it Mum?’
‘Everyone’s fine.’
‘Then what’s wrong with you?’ he asks for the third time.
He’s annoyingly stubborn, even more so than me. I blame my mother for giving us both her most irritating trait. But the last week has shown me I need to overcome it, and now is as good a place as any to start. His mouth stretches into a satisfied smile as I sigh and place my mug on the table.
‘Everything’s a mess,’ I say, watching the swirls appearing on the surface of the tea.
‘What’s everything? What’s a mess?’ he asks carefully.
I shut my eyes to the world for a moment, exhaling deeply and with it, blowing away the dark cloud masking my issues. I can’t bear to look him in the eye; it’s too hard.
‘Too much to count.’
I’m supposed to be the adult when it comes to us – the one that’s supposed to help him. Now here I am, washed up on the shore of his student accommodation, running from my problems and having to admit that I’ve fucked up my life.
‘I’m stuck in this rut. I can’t get a pay rise to save my life, but the world keeps getting more expensive.
And Raina’s getting married! And Kimi’s on track for partner despite being way below the average age, and Devi just bought a house, and I am so happy for them all, but I can’t help but feel like I’m the only one struggling.
’ I gasp for breath, choking on a stray tear.
‘I can’t talk about it with them, or anyone, because I just sound bitter.
I want them all to do great, of course, but is it wrong to wish that I was up there with them? ’
He gently nudges a roll of kitchen towel my way. I tear a piece off and dab at my face furiously.
‘And I finally get the opportunity to maybe prove that doing the right thing for years wasn’t just for nothing, and I hinged it all on a stupid bet that I don’t even know if I can win, or even want to win. And now Aiden . . .’
I can’t finish. The words won’t come. Aiden’s makeshift toast in the greenhouse comes rushing back to me.
God . . . You make me so bad with words.
My mouth is dry from the salt from my tears. I take a large gulp of tea, forcing myself to focus on something other than the painful throb in my chest.
‘Aiden from school,’ Anton says. ‘What is this bet?’
I rip another piece of kitchen roll off, dragging the coarse paper under my eyes.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘Honestly, I don’t even care any more.’
‘Then why are you crying over it?’ he asks, peering at me gently.
I whimper. ‘I’m not. I’m crying because I’ve spent so long wanting to get somewhere to practically no effect.
I’m nearing thirty and I don’t even know if I want anything I have written on my list any more.
I’ve wasted years – decades – of my life climbing from step to arbitrary step, for what?
It all feels so hopeless and – I don’t know – I just wish I could go back and start over again. ’
‘Then start again,’ he says plainly.
‘I can’t,’ I say, whinging. ‘Didn’t you hear the part where I said I am nearly thirty? That’s no age to start over again.’
I can’t stop crying. It’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t dare judge.
Instead, he leans from his seat and embraces me in a bear hug.
We stay like that for several moments, until I reach up and yank his earlobe.
He pushes me away roughly and I let out a watery laugh.
The first real laugh I’ve had since leaving Evie’s house.
‘We’re going out tonight,’ he says firmly.
‘I appreciate the offer, but the last thing I wanna do is party with a bunch of twenty-year-old med students that are already cooler than me,’ I sigh.
‘Yeah, I’m not gonna go to that party. We’re going out,’ he says.
‘Where?’ I ask, subtly pushing the cup of tea away.
‘Get dressed.’
‘Anton . . .’ He’s grown up with me, he should know that I need more information than that.
‘If you can hop on a train last minute, then you can get dressed without knowing where you’re going,’ he says. ‘Go wash your face and get ready. I’ll text Jul – I’m pretty sure she has a spare clean towel.’
Jul did, in fact, have a spare towel and it was by far the cleanest thing in the whole bathroom. How the two girls in this flat get by I do not know, but I commend them for being two of the world’s strongest soldiers.
After freshening up and changing out of my grubby travel T-shirt, I join Anton at the foot of his stairs and wave goodbye to his flatmates, now at least three drinks down.
We wander haplessly through the back streets and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from going full mum and questioning his safety.
But eventually we arrive at his students’ union, heading through the foyer and straight up the stairs.
My ears fill with noise the second we turn a corner, music and laughter filling what looks like the union’s common room. The place is packed full of students, lounging across sofas, gathered round pool tables, and reaching for cups filled with ominous liquids.
‘The ACS have these casual hangs every Friday night,’ Anton says. ‘I swing by every once in a while, when I need a pick-me-up.’
He guides me through the room, swerving breezily through the different groups with fist bumps and head nods, and quick stops for private jokes.
I’ve always known Anton was social – he’s never at home – but seeing him in his element is something different entirely.
He’s so calm and comfortable, and it fills me with peace knowing that he’s found a community when he’s away.
He stops at one specific group, greeting a guy with locs and two of his friends, before being handed a drink and turning around to introduce me.
‘This is my sister, Maddison. Mads, this is Monts, Sam and Tyrell. Monts is my ACS older brother,’ he says. ‘We’re on the committee together.’