Chapter 9
THEN
I looked up to see if I could spot any blond heads in the crowd and felt compelled to stop.
The city’s sky was awash with tinges of blush and tangerine.
I rifled through my bag and pulled out my digital camera.
I looked at the small screen and took the photo.
I hadn’t quite managed to capture what had made me stop, but it was still beautiful.
To be deeply moved by spires wasn’t exactly an original thought, but right then I truly believed that I was the only person who had ever felt that way.
‘Hi.’ A deep Australian voice spoke behind me. I turned around and there he was in an unbuttoned navy woollen coat with his college jumper beneath it, black backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked exhausted but his bright blue eyes sparkled.
‘You haven’t slept yet, have you?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘You know you’re allowed to shift to the local time zone when you move countries,’ I said.
‘It’s not normal to be jet-lagged for three years?’ he asked with mock surprise. I laughed and my nerves settled.
‘I’m considering subletting my bed,’ he added.
‘Don’t do that.’ The words tripped off my tongue before I realised what it sounded like.
He raised an eyebrow, and I knew my cheeks would be flushed.
‘I think it’s almost time. Should we try to get further down the street?
’ I asked, keen to move the conversation away from Alex’s bed.
Whatever effect Alex seemed to have on me couldn’t quash my pathological need to be on time.
‘Yep,’ he said. He offered me his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I took it. It was strong and, just as I remembered, warm.
Together we moved with the tide of people streaming towards Magdalen College.
A mix of students, Oxford locals and visitors, who looked like they were at a Midsummer Night’s Dream costume party had filled the length of High Street, right down to the bridge.
Everyone stared up at the college’s bell tower, waiting for the show to start.
‘I think it’s more fun being up on the roof than down here,’ he said.
Before I could reply, it began. There were six clangs and immediately the buzz of anticipatory chat died down and the crowd stopped jostling.
Out of the silence and stillness, a choir in the bell tower began to sing a hymn in what I assumed was Latin (or was it ancient Greek – neither language seemed dead in this city).
It was far too early in the day for choral music hardly anyone could understand, sung from a medieval tower to celebrate the arrival of summer.
But it was also magical, the kind of thing that only made sense if you were there in the moment.
I snuck a glance at Alex just as he turned to look at me and we smiled at each other. Who was this guy? And why did it feel as if there had been a surge of electricity through my body from where my fingertips met his.
The choir finished the final hymn, which sounded like it had been composed by someone in a fever dream, and the crowd slowly began to clap.
Solemn proceedings completed, a street party sprang up around us.
Accordions, banjos, trumpets and many varieties of percussion struck up enthusiastically, and we were part of a jolly, if slightly earnest, street party.
‘This country has the most random traditions. I’m obsessed,’ I said.
‘Australia just can’t compete with this level of enthusiastic participation,’ he agreed. ‘Coffee?’
All the cafes in the centre of town had opened hours earlier than usual. The smell of bacon and coffee seemed to be wafting out of every picturesque pastel shop door. My stomach had a Pavlovian response, either to the smell or suggestion, and rumbled.
‘Definitely, yes, and also food,’ I replied.
We took the last tiny table in a cafe that was pumping out breakfast sandwiches and ordered two with coffee. We both drank long blacks and somehow this didn’t surprise me.
‘Do you know what I love about this country?’ Alex asked between enormous bites.
‘Its unproblematic colonial past,’ I guessed. He laughed.
‘Its food,’ he said. I smiled – I suspected that he held a contrarian opinion on most things.
‘No, seriously,’ he continued, ‘I think the thing I’m going to miss most about this country is cheese and onion crisps.’
‘You’re moving home?’ I asked.
‘No. No one’s doing work in my research area in Australia. I’ve applied to Harvard for my post-doc, so I guess I’ll have to get used to a whole new world of snackage.’
I felt an unexpected flicker of disappointment. I didn’t even know him so why did I care that there would soon be half a world between us?
‘So why consulting?’ Alex asked. I smiled. I liked that he wanted to have a real conversation.
‘Do you want the answer I’ve given in job interviews?’ I asked, though I already knew what he’d say.
‘No.’
‘I’ve never told anyone the real answer,’ I said. ‘Probably because it’s not a very interesting story. And it’s really nerdy.’
‘Luckily you’re talking to someone who was in the Australian Science Olympiads team.’
‘God, I love this city. It’s like Disneyland for geeks. Every college should have a diversity rep for any rogue cool kids that get in.’
‘You’re changing the subject,’ he said, though he looked amused.
‘Okay, in my first year of uni I embarked upon “Project Job”,’ I began. ‘I wrote a list—’
‘I’m sensing that lists are a thing for you,’ he said.
‘If you keep interrupting me, I’m going to give you my extremely polished and compelling interview answer,’ I said.
He grinned.
‘So, I wrote a list of qualities I’d enjoy in a job. I wanted to work with smart people... I wanted to have snappy conversations in hallways like on The West Wing —’
Alex laughed, a sound that I was now convinced was causing the release of irregularly large hits of dopamine.
‘I wanted to earn enough money to live on. I wanted to... help people. Then when I heard about a career that might fit my criteria, I challenged the assumption. I met people for coffees and asked them a zillion questions about what they did. I did work experience.’
‘What jobs did you try?’ he asked.
‘Investment banking. But everyone was really into money,’ I said, shrugging dramatically.
‘Who would have thought,’ he said drily.
‘Do I have to remind a scientist that it’s important to test a hypothesis,’ I countered.
‘Actually, if you could remind some of my undergrad students that would be helpful,’ he shot back. I pointedly ignored him.
‘I tried law. A think tank. Government policy. Insurance.’
‘I’ve heard that actuaries are wild,’ he said.
‘There was a high probability of loose Friday night drinks,’ I said, and we both laughed. I took a sip of my nuclear-strength coffee.
‘The winner of “Project Job” was consultancy: it checked all the boxes. I spent my last few years of uni working my arse off to get a grad job at one of the top firms.’
‘It had to be a top firm?’
‘Umm, yeah, I guess. None of my family are in the corporate world. I wanted to show them I could pull it off,’ I said. I picked up my napkin and wiped a smudge of HP Sauce from the corner of my mouth.
‘So why do you want to fix hearts?’ I asked.
‘Are you changing the subject?’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘So why?’
Alex paused for a moment and pulled off his hoodie. I caught a glimpse of a stomach that seemed far too washboard for someone in STEM. I pulled my eyes back up to his face.
‘My mum unexpectedly died of heart disease when I was a teenager,’ he said. ‘She had a cardiovascular issue that wasn’t picked up but could have been treated if it had been. Our early prevention diagnostic tools are expensive and mediocre. I want to make one that’s cheaper and better so...’
‘... other people’s mums get to live.’ I finished his sentence before I even realised what I was doing. But I’d heard a crack in his voice and wanted to give him a moment to recover. ‘I’m really sorry. That must have been... fucked.’ I almost never swore but I couldn’t think of a better word.
‘Maybe that’s what I should call my research. “Trying to make something not-fucked out of something fucked”,’ he said, with a laugh that was different from his other ones. It was darker and from somewhere deep inside him.
‘I actually think that’s the definition next to the word “innovation” in the Oxford English Dictionary ,’ I said. I could tell he needed me to make a joke, even if it wasn’t a great one.
‘Do you have time for one more stop?’ he asked as he checked the time on his black Swatch watch. We’d both finished eating and people were hawkishly eyeing our table. I sensed that there was more to his story, but he’d hit his capacity for vulnerability.
‘Sure,’ I said. I had nowhere I needed to be for the next two months. Normally my social battery was quick to run out, but I was as energised and alive as I’d ever been. I wanted to prolong that feeling for as long as possible.
‘Thanks.’ Without telling me where we were going, he led me out of the narrow sandwich shop and across the street.
I assumed he was taking me back to his college. The image of a bed that hadn’t yet been slept in flashed through my mind. It dissolved as he stopped in front of the Examination Schools, a building on the High Street with an imposing stone facade.
Oxford, as a general rule, liked to come up with a weird and specific name for every part of the university. But this building had a self-explanatory name – it was the place where most of the university exams, as well as lectures, were held.
‘Is this like one of those bad dreams where a test is sprung upon you with no notice?’ I asked. ‘Because that is actually my worst nightmare.’
He smiled but still gave nothing away. Even though I was joking, my heart did begin to race as I climbed up the well-worn steps.
One of the fun surprises of Oxford (not advertised on its website) was that the university held exams at the beginning of each term to make sure you’d studied over your holidays.
I didn’t have any this term (due to my professors not really caring about visiting students when their actual students were preparing for their super-serious end-of-year exams) but I’d been filled with epic levels of dread the last time I’d entered this building.
I followed Alex across the mosaic-tiled lobby to a small wooden desk. There was a sign hanging above it: Submissions . Alex dumped his backpack on the floor, unzipped it and pulled out three thickly bound documents.
‘I’d like to submit my PhD,’ he said to the lady manning the desk.
‘Fill out this form,’ she said, as if he was collecting a parcel from the post office. I watched Alex fill in his name, student number and what must have been the title of his thesis. She checked his student details, took his trio of documents and then stamped the form with the date and time.
‘Congratulations,’ the lady said in the tone of someone who saw milestone moments all day, every day.
I managed to wait until we were a few metres away from the desk.
‘Did you just... hand in your doctoral thesis?’ I asked.
‘I did,’ he replied. ‘That’s what I’ve been working on around the clock for the last three years. Last night I finished it and had it printed. Hence the no-sleep thing.’
‘That’s huge, congratulations!’ I squealed. ‘Wait, I have to take a photo. This is one of those big moments. You need to record it.’
He smiled, but I saw a flicker of something pass over his face, a shadow.
Before I knew what I was doing I stepped forwards and wrapped my arms around him. I felt him tense up and then after a moment exhale. Then slowly he circled his arms around me.
We were so close that I could feel the beat of his heart. And I’d lost control of mine. I’d experienced a lot of panic attacks and this felt similar, like my body was responding to a crisis. Except the feeling wasn’t really the same at all.