Chapter 6
THEN
Three days after meeting the guy on the roof, I found myself eating dinner in the hall of University College while Lily was in a tute. I pretended to study the portraits that covered the wood-panelled walls as I slowly picked at my food.
I knew no one would be looking at me and wondering why I was eating at Lily’s college rather than my own, or, worse, judging me for having dinner alone. But it felt like everyone was. If anyone asked me why I was here, I knew that I would struggle to provide an answer that made sense.
For the last few days all I’d been able to think about was him.
I’d manufactured a million reasons to pop into Univ (which is what everyone called University College) – I visited Lily at sunset each day and gazed out of her bedroom window to see if he was on the roof, I checked out a book that only their library had, I visited the (not particularly artistically significant) sculpture of Shelley twice.
Finally, I took to wandering around the two medieval quadrangles, looking up at the windows on the top floors, wondering which was his.
I knew the world wouldn’t end if I didn’t see him.
He’d probably forgotten all about our meeting already.
But for the first time, in as long as I could remember, I didn’t really have anything I needed to do.
In the absence of readings to churn through, essays to bang out or exams to cram for, it felt good to have something on my to-do list.
And so I’d found myself turning up to Univ for dinner with Lily’s student card to buy food, in the hope that he might be both awake and hungry, and that I’d see him again.
Alas, it was a silly plan anyway. Even if he did turn up for his 5.
15 pm breakfast, he’d probably be with friends.
What was I going to do? Pick up my tray, walk across the room and blurt out, Sorry for freaking you out on the roof neither of us were meant to be on .
Except – I swallowed – he’d just entered the hall. Alone.
He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed again, his T-shirt and hair askew, though today he’d at least pulled on a pair of jeans.
I’d forgotten how tall he was – he looked like a Viking king or the kind of person they’d happily cast on Home and Away .
He carried his tray, loaded to the edges with food, and a thick science textbook, as if it weighed nothing. I instantly lost my appetite.
I watched him walk slowly towards the empty end of one of three long wooden tables and put his tray down. He was about to sit when he noticed me in the same spot two tables over. I quickly looked down at my mostly full plate.
He probably didn’t even remember me. Or if he did, it wasn’t as if I’d made a fantastic first impression – he’d thought I was about to leap off a roof’s edge for the first half of our conversation and then spent the rest of the time writing me off as another corporate sell-out.
He smiled. Then he picked up his tray and began to walk towards my table. I felt the same nervous feeling in my stomach that I got just before I was allowed to turn over an exam paper.
He stopped opposite me and cocked his head. ‘Is this your college?’ he asked.
‘If it’s not, will you tell the porters?’
‘Absolutely. What’s the point of having enormous stone walls with fortress-style gates if anyone can just walk in?’
I laughed nervously.
‘Can I sit with you?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’m Rebecca Evans, by the way.’
‘Alex Lawson,’ he said as he swung his long legs over the bench. ‘I’ve been looking out for you. But when I didn’t see you in the hall, the library or on the roof, I came up with two theories.’
He’d been looking for me? I’d convinced myself that even if I did track him down, I’d have to remind him who I was. For a moment I felt a flutter of hope. But I quickly quashed it.
‘My first theory is that you’re a ghost,’ he continued.
‘Interesting hypothesis. How are you going to test that assumption?’ I asked.
He leaned across the table and rested his hand on mine.
I felt a shiver run through me and hoped he hadn’t noticed.
His hands were enormous and warm, almost hot.
No wonder he was only wearing a T-shirt in still-chilly weather.
‘My hypothesis has been disproved by the evidence,’ he said. ‘You’re flesh and blood.’
I felt like I was all flesh and blood. Which was strange. Until about a minute earlier I’d always felt like a brain that was burdened by a body. Now I felt like my nerve endings had been turned inside out.
‘Luckily you have a second theory.’ I managed to keep my voice steady.
‘My second theory is that you don’t go to this college,’ he said.
‘I’m at Trinity.’
‘But eating in Univ?’
‘I came to speak to you,’ I said quickly. ‘I wanted to say that I was sorry about the other night, for the whole freaking-you-out-on-the-edge-of-the-roof situation. I can see why you thought... not that I would ever... but I mean, I was feeling weird that day, slightly wobbly.’
‘Not an ideal feeling while on the edge of a roof,’ he said. I laughed. ‘Why were you feeling weird that night?’
‘I’ve been so focused for the past few years.
I feel like I’ve been trying to clear a never-ending series of get-a-job hurdles.
I haven’t had time to breathe or think. And now I’ve ticked everything off, and I have time to breathe and think.
Maybe that just threw me.’ Why was it so easy to open up to him?
I hadn’t even told Lily how unexpectedly lost I’d felt for the past few days.
‘You seem more . . . grounded now,’ he said.
‘I am. I’ve made a plan,’ I said. ‘I’ve written a new list of all the stuff I want to do this term... All the classic Oxford student experiences you’re meant to have except I was too busy studying to do any of them.’
‘You’ve written an actual list?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, I’ve called it my “Salad Days List”,’ I said. ‘It’s a phrase that Shakespeare made up to describe the period in your life when you’re young and it’s all meant to be pleasure and fun. And I figured... I’m young. So maybe it’s time for the fun part?’
‘You like Shakespeare?’ he asked.
‘I like lists with good names.’ I attempted a nonchalant shrug while bracing for a judgemental eyebrow raise or a flat-out laugh.
‘Can I see it?’ he asked instead.
‘Umm... okay,’ I said. I reached for my bag under the wooden bench and yanked out my spiral-bound notebook.
I flicked through pages I’d furiously covered during lectures and tutorials.
He didn’t even attempt to pretend not to read my notes over the table.
I flicked faster – through weeks of my thoughts and analyses of the assigned readings and feedback from professors.
I knew that the way I studied was over-the-top, beyond thorough, but it was how I retained information.
I finally found the list and handed him my notebook.
As his eyes darted over the page I was very aware of my neat, schoolgirl lettering.
I was equally conscious of the fact that I’d approached my first and last summer of freedom, the few weeks of my academic career when there was nothing left to do, like a graded assignment.
‘ Find the witch in the bottle at the Pitt Rivers Museum . Drink Pimm’s at Summer Eights . Watch a celebrity speak at the Oxford Union . Play croquet ,’ he read aloud. He flipped to the next page where the list continued. ‘And there’s more. This list is very comprehensive.’
If anyone else had made that assessment I would have been sure they were teasing, but he seemed sincere. He looked up at me. ‘Can I come with you to May Day morning?’
I stared at him for a moment. While I’d been wandering the college hoping to bump into him, I’d never imagined that he’d suggest we hang out together.
‘Yeah, of course. I mean, you’re the only person I know who will already be awake,’ I said.
His face split into a grin. I smiled back.