Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Lucas
When I get home that night, I jerk off immediately. That was unbelievably embarrassing, but I’m sure George understands. It was a heightened situation. Men aren’t in total control of our equipment. You can get an erection from riding a bus, for god’s sake. I mean, George was rock hard and he’s not even into men. At least, I don’t think he is. He did make that comment about my butt, and he was very cool about the idea of flirting with Dr Castillo. But that’s irrelevant. It’s a sign of how close we’ve become that this is not going to be an issue between us. I felt way more awkward after the kiss in the club. Look, I’m not denying it was hot. George is hot. That’s just a fact. But it’s not going to affect anything. I’m not going to let it.
Still, when I walk into the economics department the next morning and see him standing there, I turn bright red.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask in surprise.
‘I told you,’ says George, ‘I’ve been coming to lectures. I’ve been learning so much.’
‘That’s great, but you can stop now. We’ve got the exam topics.’
George looks aggrieved.
‘It’s not just about passing my exams,’ he says. ‘I’m enjoying it. The other day I had a whole conversation with Dr Janacek about general equilibrium.’
I smile at George, impressed.
‘I wish this wake-up call had happened a year ago,’ I say. ‘Then we might have got away without cheating.’
George looks momentarily wistful, but snaps out of it.
‘Better late than never,’ he says with a shrug. ‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘I’m guessing they haven’t written the questions yet,’ I say. ‘We might have to break into the department a bit closer to exams.’
‘ Ocean’s 12 !’
‘Sure. In the meantime, I’ll try to guess the questions based on these topics, and draw up some essays you can start memorising.’
‘Cool. What about Friday night?’
‘What about it?’
‘I thought we could watch a movie.’
‘Why?’
‘I have this tradition that when I make a new friend, I make them watch the greatest romcom of all time: Notting Hill .’
George looks at me solemnly and puts on the worst British accent I’ve ever heard.
‘These carrots .?.?. have been murdered.’
There’s something risky about the idea of me and George sitting on a sofa and watching a romcom together. But there’s also something comforting about the idea of cementing us as friends.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘Awesome.’ George goes to leave.
‘Hey, George.’
He turns back.
‘I’ve got my date with Amir this afternoon.’
‘You’re going on a date?!’
‘No, at the coffee shop. First time since .?.?. don’t remind me. If he doesn’t show, I’ll know I’ve fucked it.’
‘I feel like he’ll show.’
‘And then what?’
‘Just go with the flow.’
That’s a recipe for disaster. I frown at the idea.
‘Sorry,’ says George, ‘that’s a bit vague. How about this – ignore the voices in your head and read the signs he gives you.’
That’s slightly more helpful, but I’m still not feeling ready, and George can tell.
‘Lucas, I know you don’t feel it deep down. But you’ve come so far. The way you flirted with Dr Castillo was amazing.’
‘Only because you were there.’
‘I’ll be there this afternoon.’
‘What, squatting underneath the counter, giving me a thumbs up?’
George sticks his thumb in the air and beams at me. I laugh.
‘In spirit,’ says George. ‘I’d be there in person, but that might be risky.’
‘I’m the risk,’ I say dolefully.
‘Stop that,’ says George. ‘You’ve never been the risk. Ant-Man, Felix, Dr Castillo .?.?. you risked every one of them. And you survived, just like you’ll survive whatever happens with Amir. Now go get your man.’
It feels so good having George in my corner. Maybe this stopped being a deal a long time ago. George wants me to succeed. He believes in me more than I do. I’m really not sure what I’d do without him. Except that I’m without him right now.
It’s 4.15 p.m. and Amir has just walked into the coffee shop. As usual, I can’t believe how good he looks. He’s wearing a loose-fitting vintage shirt, his fringe is tucked behind his ears, and his eyelashes look longer than ever.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Hey.’
I think that’s relief on his face.
‘The usual?’ I ask.
Amir smiles. I’ve finally admitted it.
‘Yes please.’
I start to make his coffee. This is going well. Don’t drop the ball.
‘How’s the revision going?’
Amir sighs. ‘It’s a lot.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Yeah, I could do with a break.’
Amir hesitates.
‘There’s this concert on Friday. Trinity choir, singing on punts. It’s meant to be beautiful.’
‘That sounds awesome.’
There’s an awkward pause. Why is he telling me about the concert? Is he just making conversation? Surely if he wanted to invite me, he would. Then I remember George’s instructions: ignore the voices in my head and read the signs.
Amir’s here. He came back. He came back to tell me about a concert. He’s not just making conversation. He wants to go with me, but he’s too shy to ask – probably because of how it went last time. The ball’s in my court, but I’m still too scared to seal the deal.
I glance down and picture George squatting beneath the counter, giving me his goofy thumbs up. I might not be able to envisage a positive outcome, but he can. Then it comes to me. The perfect response. The only possible response. I look up at Amir.
‘We should go.’
Amir double-takes.
‘To the concert,’ I clarify.
A grin spreads onto Amir’s face. ‘I’d love that.’
For an hour or so, I’m so in shock that I forget to text George. When I’m finally about to, I remember that the concert clashes with our movie night. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to tell George I need to cancel. I’m a hundred per cent sure he’d be happy for me. OK, maybe ninety-nine per cent. The other one per cent of me is convinced that I detect a slight note of envy whenever I talk about Amir. It’s so subtle that I’m not sure George is even aware himself. But that’s crazy. I must be imagining it.
Even so, I decide not to tell him about my date. Instead, I wait until the day itself, then tell him I’m feeling sick. It’s a risky lie, given that the concert is taking place in George’s college. But a classical music concert is the last place I’d find him. He tells me to get some rest and that he’ll pass on my apologies to Julia Roberts.
It’s still only 10 a.m. and there are hours until the date. I have nothing to do all day except panic. Since I’ve been trying to cut down on my panicking, I go to the shops and buy a new shirt I can’t afford. When that only takes an hour, I decide on a whim to get a haircut. The barber has barely started to cut my hair before I regret it. Not only does he cut off way too much as usual, but it’s going to be obvious I got my hair cut for the date. As I survey the wreckage, I look at the barber ruefully.
‘Shave it all off, why don’t you?’
‘Really?’ says the barber. ‘I don’t think that would suit you.’
The resulting look is so awful that it’s essential I avoid all mirrors for the next few hours. It’s like that episode of Fleabag where her sister gets a disastrous bob, except that I need to be giving main character energy, not supporting comic relief. On my way back to college, I accidentally see my reflection in the window of Dorothy Perkins. I’m so appalled I think of texting Amir to cancel. I’m in desperate need of a pep talk from George, but I’ve shot myself in the foot on that count. That leaves me with one option.
‘You look lovely,’ says my mum.
‘Be honest.’
‘I am being honest.’
‘You’re my mum. It doesn’t count.’
‘Then why did you come here?’
‘I don’t know, Mum! I can’t be accountable for my actions following the trauma that was unleashed on me this afternoon.’
‘It’s a haircut. Do you want a cuppa?’
I can’t remember the last time I came to see my mum at work. She’s delighted, I can tell, but she can see the state I’m in and is trying not to look too pleased. We’re in a tiny little cubicle which is insultingly called her staff room. It’s a joke when I think of the grand old rooms that are reserved for Cambridge’s academic staff. But right now, it’s perfect. I perch on the counter as my mum makes me a cup of tea.
‘What if he’s doing this as a prank, Mum? I know a girl who was invited to a drinking society by a guy and then she found out it was Pull a Pauper night.’
My mum looks appalled.
‘If he does that, you send him to me, and I’ll give him a good slap.’
I laugh but my mum doesn’t join me. ‘So he’s rich then?’
I sip my tea. ‘He’s not poor.’
My mum raises an eyebrow and says nothing.
‘How do you handle them?’ I ask. ‘I mean, you’re surrounded by these people.’
My mum looks at me with a shrug. ‘If they’re nice to me, I’m nice back. Is this boy nice?’
‘I think he is.’
‘Then you’ll be fine.’
‘What if I’m not? What if I blow it? What if I’m so nervous I can’t speak?’
My mum gives me the look of a woman who has heard approximately four thousand of these freakouts from her son over the past twenty-one years.
‘Then he can send you to me and I’ll give you a good slap.’
Before I know it, it’s seven o’clock and I’m racing to meet Amir outside Trinity. He’s waiting for me when I get there, carrying a wicker picnic hamper and dressed in wide-cut trousers and a brilliant white shirt. Perhaps he sees me looking him up and down, as he gives me a similar once-over.
‘Nice shirt,’ he says.
I think of my mum and sister at the Boat Race, and decide that the only possible reason Amir could be saying this is out of sympathy.
‘My mum bought it for me.’
‘Cute,’ says Amir. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’
‘Starving.’
‘Perfect.’
We cross Great Court and follow a steady stream of students heading towards the river. As we arrive, the choir are taking their places in four punts that have been tied together and moored to the far bank. An audience has started to gather on the lawn on the bank opposite, passing around bottles of wine and packets of Kettle Chips. Amir pulls out a tartan rug from the hamper and unfolds it with a flick of the wrists. He places it on the grass, making sure there are no creases.
‘Have a seat,’ he says.
I sit on the rug, unsure if he’s expecting me to take my shoes off. I feel like I’ve entered one of his Instagram shots, only unlike in my dreams, it’s a maze of potential faux pas.
Amir gets out two glasses and a bottle of champagne. ‘Sorry it’s not Pol Roger. I didn’t have time to go to Waitrose.’
I smile and say nothing. Is this what George feels like in lectures? Amir proceeds to get out various cheeses and crackers, unwrapping them from expensive-looking boxes and placing them side by side. He hands me a plate and fork. I reach for one of the cheeses. Amir makes a little noise. What did I do wrong?
‘I’d start with the Caciocavallo if I were you,’ Amir says. ‘Followed by the Pule, then the époisses de Bourgogne.’
I give him a gormless look. Amir smiles.
‘Mildest first. Left to right.’
‘Got it.’
‘And don’t worry. I got them out of the fridge a while ago.’
Can’t say I was worrying about when he got them out of the fridge. It’s not just cheese – there’s Ibérico ham, smoked salmon blinis, and three different sorts of paté. No word on when they came out of the fridge or what order you’re meant to eat them. I’m dreading what Amir’s going to pluck out of the hamper next, convinced that I’m going to panic and snort some caviar or find another way to expose myself as the uncivilised oik I am. Amir glances up and sees my look of dread.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Sure,’ I say, leaping to my feet. ‘I just need the bathroom.’
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m pounding up George’s staircase and knocking on his door. It swings open and there’s George, wearing a dressing gown and a clay face mask. Behind him, I can hear Julia Roberts attempting to emotionally blackmail her way to a chocolate brownie. As I catch my breath, George looks at me in confusion.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks. ‘I thought you were sick.’
‘OK, don’t be mad but .?.?. I’m on a date with Amir.’
George’s jaw drops open.
‘We’re at the river concert,’ I say, blushing. ‘He thinks I’ve gone to the loo.’
George tries to process what he’s hearing.
‘Jesus, Lucas, what the hell? When you didn’t message me after your shift at the coffee shop, I figured he hadn’t shown.’
‘Yeah, no, he did, and now we’re on a date. I thought I could handle it without you, but I can’t.’
‘You can!’
‘I can’t, George. He’s making me eat three different kinds of cheese in a certain order and I feel like he’s judging me.’
George looks protective. ‘Did he say something?’
‘No.’
‘Did he give you a funny look?’
‘No! He’s been nothing but sweet.’
George’s expression fills with sympathy. ‘Lucas, I know it feels like he’s judging you. But that doesn’t mean he is. How many people do you think Amir knows who eat cheese in a certain order?’
‘Loads!’
‘And who did he choose to be on a date with?’
I feel silly as I realise George’s point.
‘Me.’
‘Exactly.’
I get a surge of gratitude towards George. This is why I came here.
‘You see? I couldn’t have done this without you.’
‘Yes you could, Lucas. You’ve done the hard part. Just be yourself.’
George looks at me sincerely.
‘Now get back down there before he thinks you’ve got a serious bladder problem.’
When I arrive back at the river, Amir has a look of relief which I can’t help but find reassuring. To be fair, it’s not inconceivable that I might have done a runner if I hadn’t had George to calm me down. I tell Amir I got caught in a queue, then settle in next to him in time for the start of the concert. The choir make a beautiful sound, but it’s all the same to me. Amir listens intently, as if he’s at a church service. He can tell I’m not familiar with the programme, so he leans in occasionally to tell me little nuggets about this or that composer.
As darkness falls and I sink my third glass of champagne, the atmosphere becomes sultrier. The choir finally do a song I know, a jazzy version of ‘Moon River’. I smile at Amir, and he slides his hand into mine.
How is this real? How am I holding hands on a date with Amir? I’m getting cramp, but I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to wake up from this dream.
The choir do a Broadway medley for their finale, and everyone applauds. For the encore, four gondoliers step onto the punts and start punting the choir away down the river as they sing one last number. As the choral music fades into the darkness, the effect is haunting.
Following a final round of applause, everyone starts to pack up their picnics and leave. But Amir sits in silence, still enraptured. I don’t want to interrupt the moment, but eventually, once we’re more or less alone, Amir turns to me.
‘How good was that? I love that they did the full version of ‘Ne Irascaris’. And that Tierce de Picardie at the end of the Wilbye was outrageous.’
I smile and nod.
‘Which one was your favourite?’ Amir asks.
I pause to think. I should probably reference one of the composers he mentioned, to show I was paying attention. Who was that one I liked, Pearson or Parsell or something? I’ve drunk too much and my mind is swimming.
Then I recall George telling me to be myself. If Amir wanted to go on a date with a musicologist, he would have.
‘My favourite part was when we held hands.’
Amir smiles at me with affection. ‘You’re adorable.’
He leans in and kisses me. Amir kisses me. Amir.
He’s so tender. So delicate. I knew in my gut this was worth chasing after, but I didn’t realise it would feel this good. After a while, I pull back and let out a little laugh.
‘What?’ asks Amir.
‘I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve liked you for a while.’
‘Same.’
I look at him in amazement.
‘I could never tell what you thought of me!’ he says. ‘Then when I saw you in the club with George, I thought I’d missed my chance.’
‘Oh god, that? That was nothing.’
‘Yeah, I asked my friend Wilbur, he said George is straight.’
The knowledge that Amir has also been airing his anxieties over our interactions is unimaginably reassuring.
‘And the whole garden party thing didn’t put you off?’
Amir laughs. ‘I mean, it kind of confirmed that you liked me.’
I feel a rush of adrenaline as he says it. I look around and see that we’re the last people left on the lawn.
‘What do you want to do now?’ I ask hopefully.
‘I have a mock exam in the morning,’ says Amir. ‘I should get to bed.’
I can’t help feeling a pang of disappointment.
‘I mean, I have training at six a.m., but sleep is overrated.’
Amir smiles softly. ‘There’s no rush.’
As my alarm goes off the next morning and I blunder my way to the train station, I’m so tired I’m almost euphoric. Despite getting home at a sensible hour, I barely managed to sleep. I can’t believe that date was real. It was perfect. I didn’t even masturbate once I was in bed. Amir is right – there’s plenty of time for us to have sex. Last night was about the romance.
I barely make it through the training session. I crash into the bank twice, and much as I regret skipping breakfast, I’m fairly sure if I’d eaten anything it would have ended up in the river. I’m so focused on holding it together that I don’t say a word to George about my date. I’m well aware that he’s looking at me with curiosity and concern, but it’s only when we make it back onto land after our session that he pulls me aside.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘You were a mess out there. How did the rest of the date go?’
I burst into a smile. ‘We kissed!’
‘Lucas! Oh my god!’ George whoops in delight and scoops me into a hug.
I laugh, then hear someone behind me. I turn and see Fran.
‘What are we celebrating?’ she asks.
George puts me down and I give Fran a wry look.
‘Local man not as hideous as previously believed.’
I expect Fran to laugh, but she doesn’t. ‘Deb wants a word with you two.’
‘Just the one?’ I say, still grinning.
Fran remains sober. ‘I’m around later if you want to talk.’
That’s ominous. George and I cross over to Deb. She takes a deep breath, which means only one thing: she’s going to say a full sentence.
‘Boys .?.?. I’ve been sensing you’re both a bit distracted.’
‘It’s exam term,’ I say. ‘Everyone’s distracted.’
‘Not everyone. Some of the squad have been posting PBs. But George, you’ve been way below your usual standard recently.’
‘The seat racing wasn’t my fault.’
‘I’m not talking about that. I’m looking at the whole picture. Same for you, Lucas. I’m not sure what you were doing today on the river.’
I look at Deb in panic. ‘It was a blip.’
‘Right. Well, I’m afraid until you’re over that blip, I’m giving you both a rest from the first boat. Fran and Tristan will be taking your places for Henley.’