Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
George
I knew it from the moment we locked eyes. It couldn’t have been more different than the time we kissed at the club. That time was pure impulse. This time felt inevitable.
I could taste the chocolate fountain on Lucas’s lips, feel the wind in my hair. I could have gone on kissing for hours, but after a minute or two, we were jolted out of it by the Ferris wheel starting to work. Once we got down on the ground, I thought we’d at least talk about what just happened. I felt bad about Amir, and I’m sure Lucas felt worse. But I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, and neither could he.
We just kept on going around the ball like we had done before. Except that everything was different. I can’t speak for Lucas, but that kiss changed me. I can never go back to how I was before. There was a part of me that wondered if I could really go through with this. Now it’s not even a question.
It’s not about male or female. It’s Lucas. He’s the one.
As we stood and watched the fireworks, I saw him shiver and was desperate to put my arms around him and keep him warm. It was only at 6 a.m., after the survivors’ photo, that we finally touched again, sharing a hug before we went our separate ways.
I didn’t want to let go.
Now I’m lying in bed as the morning sunlight streams through my window and wishing Lucas was here. It’s not a painful feeling – or maybe it is, but in a way that feels exquisite.
I can’t think of anything I’d like more than to be cuddling in bed with Lucas. Not that we’d cuddle for long. The things I’d do to him. I can’t bear to think about it. I thought about it enough when I got home after the ball, climbed into bed and relieved all that built-up tension. What happens now?
Lucas has a boyfriend. He seems to really like Amir. But he must see that there’s something special between us. More special than what he has with Amir? That’s a question for him.
Maybe we can talk later, after we’ve received our exam results. I want to message Lucas and make a plan, but I don’t know what to say.
I feel my phone vibrate and my pulse quickens at the thought that it might be him. But no, it’s an email from Professor Mishri with a single line of text:
Please come and see me at your earliest convenience.
I dress in a hurry and sprint across Great Court. It has to be good news. If I’d failed, she wouldn’t want to see me in person. Maybe I’ve done so well that the economics department want to offer me a place on their master’s course. Yes, that feels like something Professor Mishri would want to tell me face to face. I charge up the steps to Professor Mishri’s study and burst in without knocking. She’s standing talking to a smart-looking middle-aged woman who’s cradling – is that a chinchilla?!
‘George!’ says Professor Mishri. ‘You scared me.’
‘You did say my earliest convenience.’
Professor Mishri gives a pointed look to the woman, who lowers the chinchilla into a travel cage.
‘Let me know what the vet says,’ says Professor Mishri.
The woman nods and walks out with the chinchilla. Professor Mishri turns to me.
‘Well, at least you finally got to meet Tilly.’
I can only stand and stare.
‘Why don’t you have a seat, George?’
I stay standing. I don’t like the look on Professor Mishri’s face.
‘Look, George, it’s bad news. You’ve failed.’
It doesn’t register for a moment.
‘What?’
‘You’ve failed your degree.’
‘No, how is that .?.?. what mark did I get?’
‘You didn’t.’
I can’t compute what I’m hearing. ‘But .?.?. I got loads of answers right.’
‘Yes, no, you got plenty.’
Professor Mishri coughs and averts her gaze.
‘You’ve been failed for plagiarism.’
I freeze. Professor Mishri is silent.
‘Is this .?.?. are you talking about my dissertation?’
‘Please, George, have a seat.’
I manage to stumble into the armchair that Professor Mishri is gesturing at. I feel hollow. This is like a bad dream.
‘Let me explain,’ she says. ‘The person marking your work noticed that your exam answers were printed on a different type of paper to the kind we use. Which means that your papers were swapped.’
I feel sick. I can’t bring myself to respond. But I’m no longer confused. Lucas must have swapped my exam papers. That’s the only explanation.
‘Do you have anything to say?’ asks Professor Mishri.
‘No! I didn’t swap anything! It must have been someone else.’
Professor Mishri looks surprised, as if she can tell I’m being honest.
‘Right, well, unfortunately that doesn’t matter.’
‘What?! How can it not matter if someone swapped my exam papers without me knowing?’
Professor Mishri fiddles with her sleeves.
‘Because, after realising this, we submitted all your work to a plagiarism check. Including the dissertation. We have AI programs that can detect these things, compare them to previous essays and so on. It concluded that none of it was your own work, even though you’d made a good effort to hide it. At this point, I was asked my opinion and I’m afraid I did have to say that .?.?. I’d had my suspicions.’
I’m too shocked to respond.
‘Now there may be some complicating factors as you say—’
‘Complicating factors? Someone’s fucked me over!’
‘That may be true, but the university isn’t interested. There’s clear evidence you cheated, and given the attention there’s been on you specifically, everyone’s keen for this not to get any more awkward than it needs to be. I’m so sorry, George.’
As I leave Professor Mishri’s office, my head is spinning. It can’t be true. It just can’t. I can’t get my head around it. It’s one thing for Lucas to swap my papers, another for him to let me believe I’m capable of passing on my own. To think I took that as proof that Lucas wanted to be with me. Then it hits me.
He doesn’t believe in me.
He doesn’t think I’m smart.
And if he doesn’t think I’m smart, why would he want to be with such an idiot?
Why would he ever love someone like me?
This is even worse than failing my degree. I’m not good enough for Lucas. Thank god we didn’t talk about what happened last night. How did I let myself get sucked in? I must have been blinded by love. I feel a burst of pure anger at what Lucas has done. I call him up and ask where he is. He sounds surprised, but says he’s at a tea party at the orchard in Grantchester.
I jump in a cab and make my way over there.
The orchard is full of customers sitting at dark green chairs set among the dappled shade of the apple trees, but I can’t see Lucas. Then I spot a private gathering in the far corner. A table has been set up, and an absurdly luxurious afternoon tea is being served. Amir stands at the head of the table, pouring tea into painted china cups. Eight or so guests sit on wicker chairs, eating cucumber sandwiches and scones with jam and cream. The women are dressed up like they’re Alice in Wonderland. There’s a man in a straw hat. Lucas is sitting next to Amir in a buttoned-up shirt. He looks up in shock as he spots me.
‘Hello, George,’ Amir says tightly. ‘Did Lucas invite you?’
Lucas blushes. ‘No, I—’
‘We’re celebrating Lucas coming top of the year again. It’s too late to include you in the seating plan, but you’re welcome to have a scone.’
‘I just need to talk to Lucas.’
I drag him away from the group before he can object.
‘I know what you did,’ I say, eyes blazing.
Lucas gulps. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You don’t have anything to confess?’
Lucas shoots a panicked look at Amir and his friends, who are watching in fascination while trying to maintain a sense of decorum.
‘Would you like to explain why I’ve failed my exams because someone swapped the papers?’
Lucas turns pale. ‘What?’
‘Don’t fuck with me, Lucas, I know everything.’
Lucas stares back at me. ‘Shit. Fuck. How did they find out?’
I feel a rush of indignation at his implicit admission.
‘Because, you dumbass, you printed them on the wrong type of paper.’
Lucas is reeling. ‘And they failed you because of that?’
‘Yes. It’s called cheating.’
‘But .?.?. did you tell them it was me who did it?’
‘Is that what you’re worried about?’
‘No! I’ll go and confess right now if it will help. Fuck, George. Fuck!’
Amir walks up to us, clutching a teacup. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Obviously not,’ I snap.
Amir glances at his guests. ‘Lucas. All my friends are here.’
‘I’ll be back over in a minute,’ Lucas whimpers.
Lucas waits for Amir to leave, then turns to me. ‘Let me see what I can do, George.’
‘No. Stop. You’ve done enough.’
He’s genuinely distraught, but that only makes it worse. How did he think he’d get away with this? I can’t look at him any longer. I go to walk away, then turn back, fuming.
‘Just do me one favour. Don’t ever speak to me again.’
Lucas
What have I done? What the hell was I thinking? George’s life is ruined and it’s all my fault. I can’t let this stand. I know what I have to do. Fuck the consequences. And I’m not going to hang around and wait for an appointment. I tell Amir there’s been a mistake with George’s exams which might be my fault, then abandon the tea party. I can see that he’s annoyed, and his friends think this is what comes from dating a commoner, but I really don’t care about that right now.
As I head back to town, it takes a bit of googling to find the information I need, but eventually I establish that the man I want to see is called Edwin Dunn. He’s the guy who spoke to me and George in the boathouse at the start of term. Turns out he’s the Director of Strategic Impact for Cambridge University, whatever that means. His office is in a grand old building next to the Senate House. I walk in and tell a secretary I need to speak to Edwin Dunn urgently. She says he’s unavailable. I say he knows who I am and he won’t want to miss me.
She disappears, and a few minutes later, he’s magically free to see me. He shepherds me into his room.
‘I take it you know what happened,’ I say.
The man looks at me. Even though I now know his name, he’s still so blank and nondescript that it doesn’t seem to bear any relation to him.
‘I’m not sure what you’re referring to.’
‘George Holst.’
He doesn’t betray a reaction.
‘He failed his degree because someone swapped his papers. It was me. I did it.’
Still no reaction.
‘If anyone should be failed, it’s me.’
‘Have you received your exam results?’ the man asks.
‘Yes. I got a distinction.’
‘Then you have your result.’
‘But don’t I need to be punished for cheating?’
The man looks at me coolly. ‘Do we have any evidence you did what you’re claiming?’
‘I’m confessing it.’
‘That doesn’t mean you did it.’
‘Why would I confess if I didn’t do it?’
The man shrugs. ‘Maybe you think you can both get off that way. You might get some punishment, but you’ll still have your degree result. And George will get to stay.’
I have to laugh at his gall. ‘Who would risk that?’
‘It’s conceivable.’
‘Only because you just conceived it.’
‘It’s irrelevant, in any case,’ says the man. ‘He cheated on his dissertation.’
‘His tutor’s known that all along! She never said anything.’
The man narrows his eyes at me. ‘What did I say to you at the start of term?’
I’m momentarily silenced.
‘Don’t embarrass the university. We do not want a scandal.’
‘Oh, I can make a scandal. I can go public.’
‘I assure you that won’t end well for you.’
I don’t flinch. ‘Do I look like I care?’
He wasn’t expecting that. I can see his mind whirring, wondering how he’s going to keep me quiet and stop this from blowing up. I need to keep pushing.
‘I’m the number one student in my year. I grew up on a council estate. This university needs people like me. Trust me, you don’t want this to get ugly.’
As I say it, I’m trying not to let my nerves show. What am I even threatening? Is there really a scenario where this all works out for me and George if we go up against him? Then I remember I have one last trump card. I reach into my bag.
‘These are George’s real exams papers,’ I announce. ‘I kept them.’
The man glances down at them in surprise.
‘I didn’t read them properly before I swapped them, but I’ve had a look and they’re really good. Even if you fail him on his dissertation, he might have done enough to pass.’
I thrust the papers into the man’s hands.
‘Mark them fairly,’ I plead. ‘George tried so hard you wouldn’t believe. Punish me if you really have to. But please don’t take it out on him.’
George
The email is unsigned. It’s sent by a secretary, but there’s no name attached, other than the university. I have no idea who was behind the decision, but I’ve got it in writing:
On reflection, the university has decided to award you a degree. However, you will not be permitted to attend graduation or continue your studies at Cambridge.
My first thought is relief. Leaving Cambridge without a degree after three years would have been hard to come back from. But once the dust settles, there’s not much to be happy about. Lucas already offered me a degree on a plate. I decided I’d rather sit the exams and get the result I deserved. That chance has gone, and so has the thing this was all originally aimed towards – rowing for Cambridge next year. I’m not even allowed to graduate. That feels like an unnecessary kick in the teeth.
Are they worried about publicity? Maybe that’s why I’m getting the degree after all – give me enough to stop me complaining, but ensure that I slip off into the shadows and never return.
They’ve got their wish. I start packing immediately.
I have to get out of here. Leave Cambridge today. There’s nothing left for me here. I already regret confronting Lucas. What was the point? It doesn’t change anything. I need to get away from Cambridge, away from the boat club, away from Lucas. Everything that has given my life meaning over the past term.
I check my phone and see a message from my parents. They’re heading to the airport to fly over for my graduation. Oh god, what am I going to say to them? Do I tell them the whole story? Of course not – they don’t want to know their son’s a cheat. That’s what I can’t forget here: I may have eventually changed my mind about cheating, but not for ethical reasons, and not when it came to my dissertation. I don’t deserve a thing.
I log on to my computer and find a flight to Madison, Wisconsin. Maybe I can stay in the city with my cousins for a few days. I’m not ready to face my parents. I’ll call them in a minute. Make up some excuse. As I fill in my details on the airline’s website, it asks for my passport number. My bags are in a jumble all over the room. There’s no knowing where my passport has ended up. I find a binder full of documents and tip them onto the carpet. Most of it’s junk – a ticket to last year’s ball, a lanyard for the steward’s enclosure at Henley.
Then there it is: the business card of Landon Hughes, the Oxford rowing coach.