Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas
‘There,’ says Amir. ‘You look lovely.’
‘What do I do if it comes undone?’
‘Call me. I’ll talk you through it.’
Amir has insisted on lending me his spare black tie for Trinity ball. He had the one he wore as a teenager sent up from London. (How do you get things sent up from London? Did a butler bring it in a horse and cart?)
I think I prefer a clip-on bow tie, plus this suit is kind of starchy and doesn’t fit as well as the one George rented for me. But it’s so sweet of Amir to go to all that effort.
‘Send me photos,’ says Amir.
‘I will. I can’t wait to go to our first ball together tomorrow.’
Amir tucks a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. ‘You sure you can manage two in two nights?’
‘I’ll behave.’
Amir kisses me on the forehead. ‘I know you will.’
It’s so cool how relaxed Amir is about me going with George. I’m not sure he’d be quite so cool if I told him what George confessed in the boathouse. It’s occurred to me since then that he might have been telling the truth. Actually it occurred to me in the moment, which is partly why I laughed it off. But that’s ridiculous. I get that it all got a bit confusing between us at the end there, but declaring your love to someone who has a boyfriend? That’s something else. That’s serious.
George has never even been open about being into guys. There’s no way he actually wants to date a man, not when he’s spent a lifetime as this wholesome jock who has women throwing themselves at his feet. And even if he did, he wouldn’t want to date me. I’m just too different. Too sarcastic. Too pessimistic. Not to mention the fact that he looks like a supermodel and I don’t. People like George just don’t fall for people like me. He must have been joking.
As I head over to Trinity, the college is buzzing. Trinity May Ball is legendary, in Cambridge and beyond. Vanity Fair once described it as the third greatest party in the world. Every element of the ball is designed to convince its attendees that it’s worth the ￡250 price of the ticket. Even the queue is glamorous. People are lining up around the edge of Great Court in their ball gowns and tuxedos, sipping champagne as they wait to be permitted entry. A few weeks ago, I would have been panicking that everyone was looking at me and knowing my black tie was borrowed. But after that house party with Amir and his friends, I’ve realised they’re just as likely to be worried I’m judging them. Which I totally am.
‘Come in,’ calls George as I knock on his door.
I walk in to see him topless with a towel round his waist.
‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m a bit behind.’
He tells me to take a seat and strolls into his bedroom. As he shuts the door, he tugs his towel loose and I catch a glimpse of him naked.
I feel a surge of lust that almost floors me. What’s wrong with me? It’s the confession in the boathouse. It’s changed things, whatever I try to tell myself. That and knowing George sleeps with men. Suddenly all sorts of things are easier to imagine.
I walk over to the window and try to distract myself by observing people in the queue. A few minutes later, George emerges in his tux, struggling to clip his bow tie on.
‘Can you help me?’
I look at him, blushing.
‘If you can reach,’ George adds with a grin.
‘Fuck off,’ I say, swiping him playfully. As I stand behind him to fix the tie, I’m hit by the scent of his aftershave.
This is disorienting.
‘We should get in line,’ says George.
He turns and notices my distracted gaze.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
We join the queue and are admitted into the ball soon afterwards. Trinity’s ancient courtyards have been lit with flickering lanterns and multicoloured spotlights. I grab a glass of champagne, feeling a bit overawed. The mood is weirdly restrained, with everyone acting like they’ve been here, done that – but then, lots of them have. The first people we bump into are Tristan and Eleanor. Tristan is wearing an enormous silk cummerbund, while Eleanor has a fur stole around her shoulders. They don’t look a day under fifty-five. I’ve only ever had one proper conversation with Eleanor at a boat club dinner, but I feel like I know her intimately. I got so annoyed by her attempts to prove she was better than me at economics that I kept changing the subject, and we covered everything from the relative merits of the various Bake Off presenters to her preferred method of cooking monkfish.
‘Trinity Ball, eh?’ says Tristan. ‘You two are inseparable these days.’
I smile at Tristan. ‘They’re calling us the dream team.’
Tristan scoffs. ‘Officially you’re still the second team.’
‘Only ’cos training’s on pause. You wait.’
Tristan laughs. ‘Don’t you still have to pass your exams, George?’
‘Yeah,’ says George. ‘What about it?’
Tristan smirks at Eleanor. ‘How do you fancy his chances, Ellie?’
Eleanor glares at him. I’m sure she’s spent hours of her life bitching about George to Tristan, but presumably she wants to keep up appearances in public.
‘I wish him all the best,’ Eleanor says tartly.
‘As do I,’ says Tristan. ‘But I think I’ll wait until results day before I get too worried about this “dream team”.’
Thank god I swapped George’s papers. It’s given me the odd moment of panic, but George really believes he’s going to pass, and spoiler alert – he is.
As we start to sample the ball’s entertainments, George bounces around like a kid at a playground. We play a few rounds of blackjack at a makeshift casino, where I lose, so George gives me his winning lollipop. In the main marquee, some American indie band is playing a load of songs no one knows. George feels sorry for them and insists on dancing like a goofball right at the front. A wandering magician performs a card trick that George finds so mind-blowing that he asks if he can post it on TikTok. We head to the food tent and gorge on wagyu beef sliders and Thames oysters, followed by profiteroles, mini millefeuilles, and suspiciously coloured macaroons. Just when I think I can’t eat any more, we discover a chocolate fountain.
‘This is incredible!’ George exclaims.
‘Isn’t this your third time at Trinity Ball?’
‘Yeah! It gets better every time.’
He dunks a strawberry under the chocolate fountain and hands it to me, but I decline. George gives me a chastening look.
‘What’s going on, Lucas?’
‘I’m full.’
‘No, something’s up.’
I let out a sigh. ‘I just feel like I should save some of my energy for tomorrow.’
George swallows hard. ‘What if there’s an apocalypse tomorrow? You have to live in the moment.’
‘The world would fall apart if we all did that.’
‘I’m not talking about everyone. You, Lucas. You need to stop worrying.’
I don’t say anything, but I’m listening.
‘It’s cute that you want to save yourself for Amir. But we’re young. You’ll be fine.’
‘I guess.’
George smiles and hands me a napkin. ‘So what are you going to do with this?’
Just then, I spot some chocolate on George’s upper lip. I lean in and wipe it off. George is startled, but holds my gaze. There’s an invisible force pulling me towards him. It’s making me want to – no, I can’t think like that. I screw up the napkin and chuck it in the bin.
‘Done,’ I say with a flood of relief. ‘Let’s party.’
The lawn on the other side of the river has been turned into a fairground. Our stomachs are in no state for such hijinks, which is unfortunate – for our stomachs. We bounce on the bouncy castle, whiz down the helter-skelter and go round and round on the carousel. As we get on the dodgems and crash into each other repeatedly, I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.
A Ferris wheel has been installed next to the river, casting a shimmering reflection with its neon lights. The queue snakes all the way up to the bridge, but eventually we make it to the front. George and I are shepherded into a seat, a safety barrier comes down, and the wheel starts to rotate. It didn’t look all that tall from down on the ground, but once we get up to the highest point, my stomach lurches and I wish I hadn’t eaten and drunk quite so much.
From up here, we have a stunning view over Trinity towards St John’s. But as I turn to George, he looks melancholy.
‘What’s wrong?’
George turns to me. ‘Nothing’s wrong, it’s just . . .’
He looks into my eyes, but can’t bring himself to say it. I think again about his confession before the Bumps. Maybe I should bring it up. Just in a casual way, to see where it leads. If he really did mean it, it would be good to get it out there.
‘George?’
Before I can continue, I hear a thud, then feel a big judder. The Ferris wheel has ground to a halt. I stare at George.
‘What the fuck?’
I look down and I’m almost sick. The wheel has stopped turning with us right at the top. Beneath us, I hear nervous shouts and screams.
‘Probably just a mechanical issue,’ says George.
‘Just?!’
‘It will get moving any second. We’ll be fine.’
‘How can you say that?!’
‘I just know we will.’
‘Give me one good reason.’
George rests a hand on my arm. As he looks at me, all my fear melts away. What’s about to happen flashes before me, and I know that if I give in to it, there’s no turning back. But I don’t pull away. I close my eyes and lean in to it.