Jenna
Jenna
Jenna follows Callum along the narrow, pedestrianised streets, through the honeyed archway. The wheels of Callum’s suitcase rattle behind her, and she quashes the feeling of self-consciousness, tells herself that nobody is paying her any attention, they are all too preoccupied with their own children.
Heading into the Porter’s Lodge, they wait in a queue to collect Callum’s key, to be directed to the room he has been allocated. Stealing a glance at her son, he turns his head, catches her eye. His smile is filled with excitement, and she is relieved that it is only she who is nervous about this new chapter in his life.
When it is Callum’s turn, she watches as he chats with the porter, shares a joke about his terrible sense of direction, swells with pride at how he is taking it all in his stride. He has been here only three times before – once for an open day, once for his interview, and a third time over the summer, to familiarise himself with the city – and yet he seems so comfortable already, as though a part of him knows this is where he belongs. As though he understands intrinsically that he has found his academic home.
The porter gives Callum the key to his bedroom and a map of the college, patiently explains where they need to go even though he must have given directions countless times already today. Callum listens, nods, while Jenna thinks about the fact that, in a few hours’ time, she will leave Callum here, in this Oxford college founded over five hundred years ago, to begin his university career and his life as an adult.
As she follows Callum across the quad with its immaculately mown lawn – Callum carrying two enormous rucksacks, Jenna pulling the wheelie suitcase behind her – a passing student asks if they need a hand with anything, and Callum thanks him, says he’s all good. Jenna allows herself a flicker of reassurance that it will be okay, the other students are nice, Callum will find friends here and be happy.
‘You alright, Mum? You sure you’re okay with that suitcase?’
Jenna pulls her face into an optimistic smile. ‘Honestly, love, I’m fine. It’s not as if you’ve got any free hands anyway.’
Callum grins and looks back down at the map.
So many times over the past year, Jenna has worried whether Callum will ever get here; whether he will achieve the grades he needs, overcome the difficulties he’s experienced, realise his potential.
In the days after the revelations about Isla’s death became public – Jack killing Isla, Nicole having covered it up, Andrew and Isla’s relationship – the school community seemed to exist in a state of shock. But gradually, as the weeks passed, life reverted to normal. Mr Marlowe had shown unwavering care for Callum’s wellbeing, and the school had gone to exceptional lengths to support him; in time, Jenna had accepted that Collingswood were not looking for a reason to castigate her son but in fact wanted nothing but the best for him. By the new year, Callum had reintegrated socially, got his head down, studied hard. He had put his energies and focus where they needed to be. When she and Callum stood in the quad at Collingswood on A-level results day, A4 envelope in Callum’s hand, and he read them out – four A-stars – she had wept with both pride and relief.
‘I think this must be it.’
Callum checks the numbers on the wall against the key in his hand before leading them up a narrow, spiral staircase. At the top, he finds the right room number, slots the key in the lock, opens the door.
‘Wow.’
Following him inside, Jenna’s eyes widen. The room is beautiful: leaded windows overlooking the courtyard, ivy curling around the frames, a desk beneath the view. A single bed, an armchair, a sink against the wall. To the right of the desk is a line of shelves that await Callum’s textbooks. A slim wardrobe is tucked into an alcove by the door with a mahogany chest of drawers next to it. It is everything Jenna imagined an Oxford college room to be.
‘Not too shabby, is it?’ Callum smiles at her, and it is as though she can see the next three years playing out in her mind. Callum settling into university life. Him making friends, friends he will have, hopefully, for a very long time. Callum joining the athletics club, the cross-country team, the film club. Him taking notes in lectures, offering ideas and opinions in seminars, writing essays at his desk under the window. Finding a girlfriend, perhaps, and falling in love. Finally – hopefully – relinquishing the ghosts of the past.
Callum hauls the oversized rucksacks from his back, uses them to prop open the door, pulls the duvet cover from one and throws it onto the bed.
‘Hey.’
Both Jenna and Callum turn to find a teenage boy – tall, wiry, wearing a Radiohead t-shirt – standing in the doorway.
‘Hey.’
‘You a fresher too?’
‘Yep. I’m Callum.’ He holds out his arm and they shake hands.
‘Tom. My room’s two doors down. I was going to have a look around, check things out if you want to come, or do you want to get sorted?’
Jenna watches Callum hesitate, can almost hear his thoughts whirring; he will feel guilty leaving her here alone when they’ve only just arrived.
‘It’s fine, love – you go. I’ll get things unpacked and see you when you get back.’ She keeps her voice light, breezy, as though this is the most normal thing she has ever done: bringing her son to one of the most famous universities in the world, watching him make his first friend, seeing him metamorphose before her eyes.
‘You sure?’
‘Course. See you in a bit.’
‘Okay. I won’t be long. Don’t leave before I get back.’ He grins at her before heading out of the door with Tom. As they walk down the corridor, towards the stairs, Jenna hears the beginning of their conversation – Tom is studying history, he comes from Manchester – and she waits until their voices fade before unzipping the suitcase, pulling out a pile of Callum’s hoodies.
Lowering herself onto the edge of the unmade bed, she looks around the room, does not know how to reconcile her feelings: the pride with the loss, the excitement with the trepidation, the hopes with the fears. The concern that perhaps, in coming here, Callum is not just starting university, but is embarking on a journey that will take him away from her forever: educationally, culturally, geographically. It is both a fear and, paradoxically, a desire; she wants Callum to have better opportunities than she had, has fought so hard to help him succeed, knows how much he has to offer. And yet, sometimes, she cannot help worrying that the young man who graduates from Oxford in three years’ time will be unrecognisable from the teenager she has brought here today.
She instructs herself to stop being maudlin. This is a wonderful opportunity for Callum, everything she has ever hoped for him. And she feels cautiously optimistic that however far his education may take him, he won’t lose a sense of who he is, where he comes from, the values she has taught him: integrity, kindness, a sense of social responsibility.
As she puts his jumpers away in a drawer, she thinks of Abby and Nicole, of how they might be occupying their time this week. She wonders how Abby is feeling, whether she dares acknowledge what she would be doing in a different, parallel world – taking Isla to university, just as thousands of other, luckier parents all over the country are doing – or if the thought is too painful, an alternative reality Abby cannot allow herself to imagine. She thinks of Nicole, how she might be coping, and what Nathaniel may have decided to do with his future. The irony does not escape her that two years ago it would have been unthinkable that it is Jenna, of the three of them, who is the lucky one.
Glancing at her watch, she wonders when Callum will get back, what time she will leave him here today. The prospect of returning alone to their empty flat – returning from work every day to Callum’s absence – is not something she can bear to imagine. It is going to take time to adjust, and she is choosing not to contemplate it until she needs to.
Tucked between Callum’s pants and socks, she finds a framed photograph. It is a picture of the two of them in Spain this summer, outside the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, from the long weekend they spent there to celebrate Callum’s A-level results. He looks happy, relaxed, grown-up. He will thrive here in Oxford, she is in no doubt.
Placing the photo back where she found it – it is for Callum to decide if he wants it on display – she begins to make his bed, the last time she will do so until he is home for the Christmas holidays. Waiting for Callum to return, she knows it is almost time for her to leave him, and she feels as sure as she can be that, when she does, he will be just fine.