Nick
Nick
Four weeks before
He turns and takes the shortcut through the park, making his way back to the Cecil Broad Building. As he walks, he hugs his coat tighter around him. He has no idea what time it is. Gone 2 a.m., certainly. Curry with a few course mates somehow turned into an all-night gaming session.
The park is still relatively busy with students, as it always is. Some drunk and lairy. Others drunk and sombre.
He marches past them, keeping his sight on the Cecil Broad Building just ahead. Home sweet home. In university folklore, it’s nicknamed the Asylum, because its design was based on a Swedish mental asylum from the 1960s. There are rumours that it’s cursed.
Nick likes a party as much as the next student, but he could see how a place like the Asylum might get to you. It’s noisy, busy, crowded. A place you could easily feel alone in, without ever actually being alone.
It’s also monumentally ugly: a Brutalist concrete disgrace. A few years ago the university tried to tart it up a bit by sticking cladding all over the outside, but it is still the most hideous building he has ever seen.
It was named after Cecil Broad, one of the university’s former vice chancellors, who tragically – and ironically – took his own life in the early 1950s.
Nick knows it was unlucky to be dumped in this accommodation, especially given that it wasn’t even on the list of preferences he submitted when he applied to study here. He would love to know who decided these things, and how. Did they pick names out of a hat? Run them through some kind of computerised sorting device?
At least he likes his flatmates. There are four of them in total: Beth, his bathroom buddy; Anna, the girl he’s somehow ended up seeing, in a very casual sense, after snogging her on the first night out; and Rosa, who is nice enough but a bit… intense.
He rounds a corner. Then, he spots something just ahead in the distance. A familiar cropped bob silhouetted against a streetlamp: Beth.
She is sitting on a bench, looking down at her knees.
He increases his pace.
‘Beth?’ he says, as he draws closer.
The bob turns, and he sees her face then in full detail, lit up as though on a stage.
She has been crying. Rivers of muddy mascara stain her cheeks, and her nose is red and swollen.
His cheery mood dissipates.
‘Hey Nick,’ she says, raising her eyes to the night sky.
‘What’s the matter? What are you doing sitting out here?’ he says, frowning. ‘It’s freezing.’
She sniffs.
‘Well? Do you have an explanation for this behaviour young lady?’
He sits down next to her. She doesn’t laugh at his poor joke.
‘Whoever he is, you do know he’s really not worth it, don’t you?’ Nick says, putting his arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder and he briefly realises that this feels entirely natural, despite it being the first time they’ve had physical contact since they shook hands two weeks ago.
‘He is,’ she replies, but she smiles a little as she says it.
‘No, he really isn’t.’
‘He really is.’ She pauses. ‘It’s my grandad.’
‘Oh fuck,’ Nick says. ‘Yeah, so yeah, OK, he probably is worth it then. What’s happened?’
‘He’s had a fall,’ she says, and she wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. ‘He’s broken his hip, and the doctor said they probably need to operate but his heart isn’t particularly strong so he likely won’t survive the operation but they can’t leave him with a broken hip, so they have to try and…’
‘That’s shit,’ Nick says, feeling the inadequacy of his words.
‘He’s eighty-seven. But the worst bit is he’s all the way down in Sussex, and there’s no way I can get down there in time to see him before his operation tomorrow and I’m just worried I won’t get to… I can’t believe it. I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, and now this happens! It’s like the universe is trying to tell me something.’
‘What time is it?’
‘What?’
‘His operation?’
She sniffs, shaking her head.
‘11 a.m.’
‘That’s doable.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ she says, an edge of irritation creeping in. ‘I checked. The train times don’t work.’
‘Who said anything about trains? I’ll drive you,’ he says.
A realisation dawns: he has taken a step towards something risky, but also, he doesn’t care.
She looks at him. Her mouth opens slightly.
‘I didn’t know you had a car.’
‘Well, I do.’
‘I can’t ask you…’
‘You didn’t ask me. I’m offering.’
‘Nick…’
‘How long does it take to get there?’
She straightens up, visibly brightening.
‘I don’t… I guess four hours? It’s too far…’
‘OK, so let’s work backwards, you need to be there by 10.30, just to make sure there’s enough time, but let’s say 10 to be safe… we’ll be driving through rush hour which is less than ideal so let’s leave at… what, 5.30?’
He’s grateful he chose not to drink this evening. He was too hungover from the night before and decided to give his liver the night off. He’s always liked the word for such situations: serendipity.
‘5.30 in the morning?’ Beth says. ‘Are you mad? That’s like…’
He glances at his wrist.
‘Yeah, that’s like three hours away. Not much point in going to bed then, I guess. Unless you’re a fan of the power nap?’
‘Nick,’ she says. She seems unsure of him now – whether he’s just joking around, whether his offer is genuine. He knows that this is the downside of his persona. People never know whether they can take him seriously or not. ‘You can’t… don’t you have lectures tomorrow?’
‘Jesus, Beth. This stuff is important. Lectures can wait. Come on,’ he says, standing and taking her hand. He hauls her to her feet. ‘Let’s get back to the Asylum, have a cup of tea and you can tell me everything about your grandad.’
He loops his arm through hers as they take the final steps through the park. Once they’re inside their communal kitchen, she sits with her feet tucked under her on the squashy plastic bench, and takes off her jacket.
That’s when he notices she’s wearing a black dress, with small stars all over it.
‘Oh,’ he says, swallowing. ‘You look nice. Where were you this evening?’
‘I was out with some people from my course. We’d been to the theatre earlier then went for drinks. I got a text from my mum to tell me what had happened. She was already at the hospital. And I just left my course mates and ran off. They’ll think I’m a right weirdo now.’
‘No, they won’t.’
She tugs at her dress.
‘Ugh. I’m going to change.’
She slips out of the kitchen and returns a few minutes later in a checked shirt and jeans. Her face is now clean of the smudged mascara.
He hands her a mug of tea. She smiles gratefully and criss-crosses her fingers around it.
They sit in silence for a few minutes. He wants her to understand that he gets it, that his grandparents were the most important and positive influence on his early life, but he doesn’t know how to open up to her without seeming really intense and weird.
‘It’s going to be OK,’ Nick says, quietly, when their eyes next meet. It’s strange, being serious with Beth. But at the same time it feels right. ‘We’ll get to him in time. I promise.’