Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
George
I love the holiday season in Wisconsin. Everything is covered in a blanket of white, there’s a snow sculpting contest on the hill above town, and some years the lake freezes over and gets turned into an ice rink. My parents always have to work, but Chuck decides to be nice to me for a week and we get into the Christmas spirit. We drive down Candy Cane Lane to see the lights, buy roast almonds at the German market, then go home and stuff ourselves on cinnamon rolls and deep-fried cheese curds. There’s nowhere more magical at this time of year. Which is why it’s a shame that this year, I’m on a rowing camp with the Oxford crew in the middle of the French alps.
My alarm goes off and I fumble around to put it on snooze. I see a Happy New Year text from my friend in New Zealand. How is it New Year’s Eve already? I shudder as I feel the cold and pull the comforter up to my neck. My feet poke out of the bottom. We’re staying in a seventeenth-century chateau which has been converted into a sports camp. That might sound glamorous, but the dorms here give little sign that this was once a chateau. They’re as bare as they probably need to be when they have to accommodate a new set of athletes and their bulking bags of equipment each week. The twin beds are tiny, and my room-mate Daley is fast asleep. The only benefit of getting up early is that I don’t have to witness his morning jerk-off.
My five-minute snooze is over before I know it. I force myself out of bed, pull on a tracksuit and shuffle downstairs. I don’t want to keep Landon waiting.
I didn’t think twice when I called up Landon impulsively last summer. Lucas had always been open about the fact that he’d happily switch to Oxford if he didn’t get the chance to row for Cambridge. Since he was responsible for me not being able to row for Cambridge, I didn’t feel bad about doing likewise. I was never planning on keeping it a secret. But when I spoke to Landon, he couldn’t have been more excited. He’d just signed a deal with a streaming network to have the cameras follow the Oxford crew for a year. The idea of having someone like me on the team, with my social media following and dramatic narrative arc, sent everyone into a frenzy. The whole squad were made to sign NDAs. We’re not planning to reveal my presence on the Oxford team until the last possible minute, creating a suitably shocking ‘moment’ for the documentary season finale.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. But I’ve been terrified about what the Cambridge crew will say when they find out, Lucas in particular. I’m happy to postpone that news for as long as possible. Mostly I’m just happy that, rather than having an embarrassing end to my British rowing career, I’m going to get a second shot at winning the Boat Race. True, my priorities had started to shift by the end of my time in Cambridge, but this year I’m signed up for a master’s in Business Administration, which is not going to challenge me academically. Instead, I’m going to focus on what I’m good at.
‘Morning, George!’ says Landon as I arrive at the gym.
It takes a moment for me to adjust to the bright lights and realise there’s a crew filming.
‘You’re cool with the cameras?’ asks Landon.
‘Sure!’
I’m contractually obliged to say that. When Landon told me last night he wanted to have a one-on-one early morning gym session, I felt special. But then again, he could have picked someone else for this scene.
‘We’re loving the buddy arc that’s forming between you guys,’ says the producer. ‘Viewers love a bromance.’
I wasn’t aware that Landon and I were buddies, but I’m not the one who’s been watching the footage.
‘Ignore the cameras,’ says Landon. ‘Let’s do some weights, and let the chat flow naturally.’
‘You’ve got our conversation points, right?’ says a producer.
‘Oh yeah,’ says Landon. ‘Memorised them.’
We do some warm-ups in front of a mirror. Landon makes sure to pick the same weights as me. It’s hard not to stare at the chin implant he got right before we started filming. After a bit, he sits down on the bench to wipe his brow.
‘So how do you like the camp, George?’
‘It’s awesome.’
‘Pretty special place to train.’
‘Totally.’
‘Are you bonding with the guys?’
‘Yeah. I feel like I’ve known them forever.’
‘Maybe a bit more tentative,’ says the producer. ‘This is only episode three.’
I blink and try to snap back into the conversation.
‘Are you bonding with the guys?’ says Landon.
‘I’m getting to know them better every day,’ I say. ‘Still a long way to go.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the producer give a thumbs up.
‘Nice,’ says Landon. ‘So you’re not regretting the move to Oxford?’
I smile. We’ve already discussed this. In fact, we’ve filmed several confessionals to make sure the viewer is fully on board with my decision and doesn’t see me as the villain. I have to convince people I didn’t have a choice other than moving to Oxford. But I can’t say anything that makes it sound like I’m going to go easy on Cambridge. The producer has assured me it will all come out perfectly in the edit.
‘No,’ I say to Landon. ‘Best decision ever.’
Landon gets up and walks over to me. ‘Put it there, bro.’
He pulls me into the classic bro embrace. Maybe we are buddies.
‘Cut!’ says the producer.
Landon pulls back immediately.
‘Thanks, George – you’re a pro.’
Officially, the Oxford rowing squad comes to the Alps for new year to mimic the conditions of spring in England. But there’s something about the light out here that’s from another world. Le Temple-sur-Lot is only an hour from the airport in Bordeaux, but it feels like the middle of nowhere. The village is perched on the edge of a wide, slow-flowing river. I’m sure Landon timed this morning’s training session to coincide perfectly with dawn. The mist is rising off the river’s placid surface, as streaks of orange and gold light the sky behind it. This scene is going to look so good in the TV show.
As we complete our warm-up, I see the silhouette of Landon standing on the river bank with his megaphone, the camera crew behind him.
‘Right, boys,’ says Landon, ‘this is the last scene we’re shooting before the crew gets the night off. Let’s go out with a bang. We’re gonna be seat racing.’
Everyone grumbles, or at least, does as much grumbling as they can permit themselves in front of the cameras. Landon announces the first four to go out, and it’s me, along with Tobias, Rodrigo and Steve. It was weird having to learn the names of a whole new crew, but I’ve done my best to bond with these guys. Everyone’s been so nice. I’m sure it helped that the producers made clear I was to get a positive reception, but I have no reason to think it’s not genuine.
I get in the boat with the other rowers Landon has requested and share a look with Felix, who’s going to be coxing us. Spending considerable amounts of time seated opposite Felix was a factor I didn’t consider until I arrived in Oxford. I haven’t forgotten what Lucas thought of the guy. Felix is the joker of the series, and some of his jokes have been aimed at me, but it’s all good fun. As I slide into my starting position and get ready to pull, Felix leans into me and whispers, ‘Don’t go out hard.’
‘Why?’
‘To make Tobias look bad. We don’t want him to make the team.’
Tobias is a German guy, very serious and not a popular figure among the English toffs who make up the bulk of the Oxford squad and seem to think it’s still 1939.
‘Who’s we?’
Felix gives me a warning look. I glance around. The cameras aren’t anywhere near us, but I’m wearing a microphone which picks up everything.
‘Just do it,’ says Felix.
I try to think fast. They’re not going to feature me engaging in any cheating. Felix isn’t stupid, he knows that too. Which means it’s him, not the producers, who want this to happen.
Am I meant to object? Is that what the hero would do?
‘I’m going to row my own race, Felix.’
‘They’re not going to use this,’ says Felix, guessing my train of thought. ‘We’ll get away with it, trust me.’
‘That’s not the point.’
As we set off, I give it everything I’ve got. But no matter how hard I pull, there’s no escaping Felix, sitting right in front of me, giving me a death stare. I can just hear him, telling the whole squad I refused to obey his orders and turning them against me. I’ve put in so much effort to make them like me. I’m not sure I can stand becoming the enemy.
And so, without saying a word, I slow down my pace. Felix senses it immediately. He doesn’t say anything either, but once we finish, he gives me a little nod of approval.
‘Thanks, George,’ says Felix. ‘You’re the best.’
Tobias swings his leg over the bench and sits down next to me with his food tray. The meals here are served in a noisy cafeteria that does little to uphold the French reputation for haute cuisine. Usually I’m happy to sit with anyone at lunch, but right now Tobias is the last person I want to see. I can barely look him in the eye.
‘Great effort out there,’ says Tobias.
‘Thanks.’
‘Did you think our boat felt fast?’ Tobias asks, fiddling with his juice box.
‘Yeah,’ I lie. ‘We were solid.’
‘I don’t know,’ says Tobias. ‘I felt like you got quicker once I was swapped out.’
Does he know? Needless to say, I want Tobias to like me too.
‘Don’t go on how you feel,’ I say. ‘Only Landon knows our splits.’
‘Actually, the guys were timing too, and I heard one of them say I was slower.’
‘Tobias, don’t listen to them, seriously.’
‘Guys, are we capturing this?’ says the producer.
I glance up and see that a crew has swooped in on the fly to film my conversation with Tobias. I look at them in a panic.
‘I thought you’d wrapped.’
‘Ignore us,’ says the producer. ‘This is great. Nice little pep talk.’
That’s the problem with trying to keep everyone happy. You can so easily tie yourself in knots. The producer has enough in the can to destroy my reputation at this point, but all I can think about is giving her and Tobias what they’re asking of me. The producer waves her hands for us to continue.
‘So you think there’s a chance Landon will pick both of us?’ asks Tobias.
‘I, er, yeah, sure, of course there’s a chance. You’re a great rower.’
Tobias’s face is flooded with gratitude. ‘Thanks, George. I needed that.’
He puts an arm around me and pats my back manfully. Behind him, the producer does a chef’s kiss.
After lunch, I pull on a coat and go for a walk through town. I can imagine my mom liking a town like Le Temple-sur-Lot. It’s not so different from where we live in Wisconsin. I wander along the main street, even though almost all the shops are closed. I’ve heard that the French know how to take a holiday. If only I’d taken their lead. There’s one store open, so I go in and buy a postcard and some stamps to send to my folks back home.
I never made it back to Wisconsin last summer. My parents were so mad about wasting all that money on their flights to my graduation that I couldn’t face seeing them, and I’m still not convinced a trip home would go well. But it’s easy to get lonely in the week between Christmas and New Year’s.
It’s great how nice everyone has been on the Oxford crew, but it does get exhausting. I’d just started to get good at standing up for what I want, but I know why I’ve slipped back. It’s because I don’t have Lucas hyping me up. I’ve worked so hard to forgive him, but I still get a flash of anger every time I remember what he did with my exam papers. And I hate feeling like that, so I try not to think about it.
But that just means the anger keeps coming back.
I haven’t spoken to Lucas since that day in the orchard. I’m not even sure he knows they gave me a degree in the end, but I don’t feel he deserves to know that. It’s not like he had anything to do with it. Some days, I’m desperate to get in touch and tell him everything. That’s why it’s great I signed that NDA.
After all, what good can come from speaking to Lucas? He’s still with Amir. I blocked Lucas on all my accounts, but one night I cracked and created a secret Instagram account so I could stalk him. He posts photos occasionally of him and Amir at private views or on foreign holidays. They look happier than ever. I know Lucas reacted as if my confession to him was a joke, but he must have realised it wasn’t, after the kiss and everything else. He knows how I feel. And he never once suggested he feels that way about me.
So really, it all worked out, in the sense that it never would have worked out between me and him. It’s actually better for everyone that I moved to Oxford. It’s just a bit hard to appreciate on cold winter days in the middle of nowhere.
As I head back towards the chateau, my phone starts to ring. It’s Jemima. I take back what I said about everyone taking a break between Christmas and New Year. There’s no way this woman hasn’t been hustling.
‘Hi, Jemima. Where are you?’
‘I’m on a sober retreat in Wales.’
‘Wow. That’s so—’
‘Just kidding. I’m drinking champagne on top of a mountain in Val-d’Isère.’
‘Ha. Sounds fun. How is it?’
‘It’s awesome, George, because guess who I just bumped into. Tamara Foyle.’
Am I meant to know who that is? As far as I’m concerned, every British woman in Val-D’Isère for New Year’s is called Tamara Foyle.
‘She’s features editor for Vogue . And she’s agreed to a shoot.’
‘With who?’
‘You!’ Jemima cackles. Then burps.
‘Oh, but you know I can’t do any press at the moment.’
‘It’s not for now. We’d time it to the week of the Boat Race. Landon’s already signed off on it.’
At first, Jemima wasn’t down with the whole year of secrecy thing. But she quickly saw what an opportunity it was to raise my profile. I should have guessed she’d be planning something like this.
‘What kind of shoot?’
‘It’s going to be very classy.’
‘Will I be clothed?’
‘Tamara wants you in your kit. We can place a strategic oar if you’re worried about shrinkage.’
‘That’s not—’
‘I need a quick answer, George. I’m about to jump off a ski lift.’
‘What?! Do you mean jump on a ski lift?!’
‘Potato, po-tah-to.’
I hear someone shriek with laughter in the background.
‘Can I get back to you, Jemima?’
‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’
‘What? No, wait.’
I don’t need Lucas to help me stand up to people. I can say no. It’s not that hard.
‘I’ve got to go, George – I’ll send over the contract. Tamara, you slag!’
Tonight’s New Year’s Eve party kicks off with a hallowed tradition: the eighty-fifth annual Oxford Boat Club Pantomime. As far as I can tell, a pantomime is a fairy tale combined with a drag show and a load of audience participation, which I’m finding hard to picture. But presumably tonight’s performance will enlighten me. Felix has taken on directing duties. The cast have conceived a version of Jack and the Beanstalk – at least, that’s the title they’re using. It bears little resemblance to the original fairy tale. I’ve been told that the main purpose of this annual tradition is to make fun of Cambridge. People still talk about the version of Cinderella where two Cambridge-based Ugly Sisters tried and failed to deny Cinderella her prince. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t follow the target of the satire. This is just Jack and the Beanstalk with all the key details changed to something rowing-related. Jack goes to market to sell his mom’s boat, and comes back with five metal screws. When his mom throws the screws in the flower bed, they grow into an oar, which Jack uses to climb up into Giant Land. That makes no sense. Screws don’t grow into oars in the way beans grow into beanstalks. But maybe it makes sense if you’re British.
‘Fee fi fo fum,’ Felix declares in the role of The Giant, which I have to admit is hilarious casting. He’s attempting an American accent, for some reason.
‘I smell the blood of an Oxford man.’
The guy playing Jack gasps in mock horror. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m George Holst,’ Felix thunders.
Everyone bursts out laughing.
‘And why are you so massive?’ asks Jack.
‘Because I rowed for Cambridge but I got too big for my boots.’
Everyone laughs again.
‘But, George,’ says Jack, ‘we’re on the same team.’
‘I don’t care. This is my TV show. It’s all about meeeeeeeee!’
I don’t believe this. They’ve made me the villain. All that effort I’ve put in to befriend them, and the minute the cameras stop rolling, they reveal what they really think of me. I even did what Felix asked in the seat racing, and still I’m the enemy. Still he mocks me.
I can’t win. And I don’t know why I thought I could.
‘Ooh, he’s not happy,’ someone shouts from the audience.
Everyone turns to look at me. I’ve let my mask slip. It would be so easy for me to smile through this, force a laugh, convince everyone I’m a good sport. But what would be the point? I don’t want to waste another minute trying to get these boneheads to like me. I stand up, swipe a bottle of vodka from the table, and walk out.
Up in my room, I’ve drunk half the bottle of vodka before I know it. I start firing off Happy New Year messages to random people. I don’t bother sending one to my parents. They’ve got some big party at the country club and will be rushed off their feet getting ready. I start to compose a message to Chuck instead, getting nostalgic about Candy Cane Lane and cinnamon rolls. But after so much vodka, I’m struggling to type, so I video call him.
‘Dude, what’s the matter?’ Chuck asks as he picks up. He’s in the living room at home, sipping from a mug and wearing a Christmas jumper Mom knitted for him.
‘Nothing. I just wanted to say hi.’
‘It’s New Year’s Eve. You should be partying.’
‘Says who? You’re not.’
‘It’s 3 p.m here. I’m heading out later. Gonna go watch the Big Cheese Drop with Mom and Dad.’
I feel it like a blow to the chest.
‘They said they were working tonight.’
‘They were, originally. I convinced them to take the night off.’
My face turns sour. ‘Of course you did.’
Chuck looks puzzled.
‘You were always the favourite.’
Chuck bursts out laughing. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Admit it.’
‘Are you drunk?’
‘We both know it’s true.’
‘George. Don’t do this.’
‘Why don’t Mom and Dad like me?’
‘Jesus, George!’
I stare him down.
‘Of course they like you,’ says Chuck.
‘They never have time for me.’
I’m trying really hard not to cry in front of him.
‘You never come home.’
‘’Cos they’re always so busy.’
‘Yeah, George, they work goddamn hard.’
‘Except when you tell them to stop.’
Suddenly I look at Chuck and wonder what the hell I’m doing. It’s Chuck. We’re not going to have a heart to heart. That’s not what we do.
‘Don’t tell them we talked, OK?’
Chuck scoffs, but I can’t tell if that’s because it’s the first or the last thing he’d do.
‘I have to go, Chuck.’
‘Dude—’
I look at him desperately.
‘Do me a favour and pour the rest of that bottle down the sink.’
I always was good at doing what I’m told. But now I have no liquor left, and it’s still only 10 p.m. I feel weirdly obliged to stay up until midnight, but I can’t bear the thought of being alone in my room for another two hours. No more drunk texting. Definitely no more calls. I log on to Instagram and see that Lucas has posted a story. It’s a shot of a rowing oar dipping into a river not dissimilar to the one at Le Temple-sur-Lot. ‘New year, same old’ reads the caption.
He must be at Cambridge’s rowing camp in Spain. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably having the time of his life at whatever party they’re throwing.
But what if he isn’t? What if he’s still as hung up on the events of last term as I am? What if he’s sitting alone in his room, filled with desire and regret? What if he thinks back to that night at Trinity Ball and realises he’s never been so happy?
What we had was one of a kind. There’s no way I’m the only one who sees that. There’s no way Lucas doesn’t miss it too. He’s going to find out what I’ve done eventually. Much better that it comes from me. I unblock his number, then remember the NDA. I’ll be in serious trouble if the news gets out. It’s not like Lucas is someone I can trust anymore. He’ll just have to find out when everyone else does. Then my eyes fall on the postcard I bought to send my parents.
Lucas definitely knows that Le Temple-sur-Lot is where Oxford have their training camp. All I need is a way to let him know it’s me.
Then it hits me. I already came up with the perfect words when I wrote that card for him during the Bumps. I can still remember those three sentences by heart. I write them out on the postcard. I’ve covered the cost of stamps to Wisconsin – it will easily reach Cambridge. I don’t know where Lucas is living this year, but if I address it to his college, it should get to him.
I layer up and head outside to find that it’s started to snow. The rest of the squad have come out and are doing naked snow angels. The producers really missed out on some great content by wrapping early.
Nobody notices me as I traipse into town and find the post office. My hand hovers over the letter box.