Chapter 6
‘That’s a very gorgeous coat,’ I say as Jessica Bailey, my personal tutor and the lecturer for my Sculpture in Space course, slips on a cobalt-blue wrap coat after our seminar.
I am the last one in the seminar room because I was, of course, too busy chatting to pack up my things and now I’m at risk of getting locked in by Jessica.
There would be worse people to get locked in a room with – she’s actually really cool, and not even that old.
She blushes. ‘Thank you, Mary-Elizabeth. That means a lot coming from you. It’s always fun to turn up to classes and see what you’re wearing.’
‘I aim to please,’ I tell her perkily.
‘Well, if you carry on the term at the level of your first essay, I’ll be very pleased indeed,’ she says, holding the door open.
‘Oh! Yes, thank you for that!’ I had been pleasantly surprised by how well I did on my first essay.
She turns to me over her shoulder as she locks up.
‘Don’t thank me, it was all you. I didn’t think there were any interesting things left to say about Jeff Koons, but somehow you managed it.
That’s one of the reasons I stick around, you know?
It’s nice to be surprised by my students .
. . sometimes you say things I hadn’t considered before. ’
‘Always aiming to make life slightly less boring!’
‘You know,’ she says, just before we part ways so she can go out the front exit and I can weave my way through a series of corridors towards the back (a shortcut to the Quad office that lets me avoid the drizzle).
‘I get the feeling you think you’re a bit .
. . I don’t know, frivolous . . . and maybe you are, but you’re also really sharp.
A really good student. I never wonder if you’re going to show up unprepared or turn in a bad essay.
Even when you were a fresher I felt you had this real spark of curiosity when everyone else was just finding their feet. ’
I feel warm with pride. ‘That’s . . . really kind of you,’ I say awkwardly, running my fingers over my puffy balloon-letter ‘M’ necklace, and now it’s my turn to blush.
All through school, I felt like such an underachiever, always bewildered in science and maths classes, like I’d completely missed something that everyone else seemed to know.
Concentrating in class and doing my homework and revising for exams felt like this big, grey headache.
Or a bunch of cables all tangled up in my brain.
But now I get to learn only about things I really want to learn, it doesn’t feel like such an effort.
I’m glad it’s not going unnoticed. ‘See you next week, I guess!’
‘We soldier on!’ Jessica says with the smile of an overworked person.
* * *
On Thursdays I am blessed with an hour’s break between Jessica’s Sculpture in Space class and Possibilities of Portraiture, which I generally spend lurking in the Quad Media office since it’s so close to the History of Art Department.
When I arrive for my hour’s time-wasting today, I find the office is already unlocked and my magazine colleague Olu, fashion editor extraordinaire, is beavering away at her laptop.
‘What’s up?’ she says, glancing up at me quickly as I take a seat at the desk opposite her. Obviously, I always want to chat, but I can sense that she’s in focus mode.
‘Not much . . . I’ll leave you to it, don’t worry about me,’ I say, sliding my laptop out of my bag so I can at least pretend to do some of my essay for Considerations of Curation.
‘Come on . . .’ Olu murmurs under her breath, almost through gritted teeth. I can tell it’s not directed at me, but I’m too scared to ask what she’s waiting for.
I tap away, wanting to get this essay started in good time so I can devote all my energy to a) my club night and b) my romantic aspirations.
‘Did you see there’s a new edition of the newspaper out?’ she says absent-mindedly, nodding over to a pile in the corner of the office before going back to her work.
I saunter over and pick one up. ‘Oooh, an interview with the provost about the new sports centre . . . how inspiring,’ I say, casting a bitchy eye over the front cover.
Olu chuckles and shakes her head.
It’s only when I open it that my worst fears are confirmed. No Nonsense is in there again. They haven’t got bored of their silly little column. Ugh!
Listen to this, just listen, OK? Here’s my column from the next issue of Quad Magazine:
Dear M-E,
My boyfriend broke up with me a few months ago at the beginning of the summer and I spent the whole holiday being completely devastated.
Now we’re back at uni, he wants us to get back together, but I’m wary.
I was completely crazy about him and the break-up was so hard, and I was just about ready to think about getting over him.
The fact is, I’ve just never met anyone else I feel so strongly about.
He says he’s had time to think and he regrets breaking up with me.
Am I deluded for even thinking of going back there?
Love,
Dazed and Confused
Dear Dazed and Confused,
I think your heart is telling you to give it another go.
Whether or not that’s the right thing to do is another matter, but I can tell your impulse is to get back with him.
You’ve seen what life is like with him, you’ve seen what life is like without him, and it sounds like you prefer it when he’s around.
Was he an otherwise decent boyfriend aside from the break-up?
Is he nice to you? Does he make you feel important?
Does he devote enough time to you? I don’t know the circumstances of the break-up, but it’s possible he did make a mistake and has learned from it, and that you can move on together, stronger in the knowledge that you’re both really choosing to be there.
I know it’s scary to put your trust in someone again after they’ve hurt you, but I think you can tell whether he’s really learned and grown since you were last together. Good luck in making your decision!
Love,
M-E
And now here’s bloody Laurie’s column in the newspaper:
Dear No Nonsense,
My boyfriend wants to get back with me after dumping me unceremoniously at the beginning of the summer holidays. What should I do? I’ve really missed him, but I’m cautious about trusting him again!
Help!
Dear Help!
It’s pretty clear what’s going on here: your boyfriend dumped you at the beginning of the holidays so he could go and sow his wild oats in Ibiza or Mykonos or wherever he went with his mates, and now he’s back at uni and he wants that sure thing again.
He’s had his fun and now he wants steady, reliable Help!
back in his life. Are you going to reward him for breaking your heart or are you going to stand firm in your conviction that he’s a rat and a player, which you know deep down is exactly what he is? Dream bigger!
No Nonsense
‘This fucking guy!’ I say, staring down at the new copy of Quad News.
‘What?’
‘This! Fucking! Guy!’ I repeat, emphatically slamming my hand down on the desk for dramatic effect. ‘This Laurie O’Donnell! He’s pulling some shit again and I don’t like it one bit.’
‘What kind of shit?’ Olu leans back in her chair, like she’s maybe grateful for an excuse to abandon her task, at least for a few minutes.
‘The last three editions in a row of Quad News have had advice columns in, written by this Laurie O’Donnell character, answering questions that are very much just a lightly rehashed version of the questions I, Mary-Elizabeth Baxter, had answered in Quad Magazine!
I know imitation is the greatest form of flattery or whatever, but he’s clearly taking the piss out of me! ’
Olu sighs, and looks very much like she’s going to tell me I’m exaggerating or blowing things out of proportion, so I hold up a hand to pause any objections.
‘AND,’ I say, extremely emphatically, ‘this all started after we met at that beginning-of-term soirée, and I felt he was quite rude and obnoxious. It’s like he’s doing it all on purpose just to wind me up and make me feel stupid. ’
‘Well, if he is, then he’s a dick.’ She shrugs and spins around in the office chair, which is a potentially dangerous move since all our furniture is on its last legs.
‘That’s the only possible explanation,’ I say, throwing the newspaper into the paper recycling. ‘He’s trying to lure me into an out-and-out rivalry. Well, I will not be drawn into silly boy games. I’m much too clever for that.’
Olu spins back to face her laptop screen. ‘Too right,’ she says absent-mindedly, then all of a sudden she gasps and lets out a strangled, delighted scream.
‘What?! What?!’
She scoots over to me on the chair, which nearly tips over in the process, and grabs my arm. ‘They just sent out the emails with the year-abroad placements for next year! I got into the Sorbonne!’
‘Oh my God, that’s amazing! Even I’ve heard of the Sorbonne!’ She honestly looks like she’s about to cry, she’s so happy. ‘I’m really glad I was here to witness this happy moment.’
She’s clutching her cheeks like they already hurt from smiling. ‘I didn’t think I was going to get in! I thought I’d spend the year teaching French to some little menaces in a random town in the middle of nowhere!’
‘Hey,’ I say, remembering something. ‘Isn’t Felix on your course?’
She nods.
‘I wonder where he’s going,’ I muse faux-nonchalantly.
‘I can tell you – the French group chat is on fire right now. Let me just do some scrolling . . . there!’ she says, finally locating the message. ‘Guadeloupe!’
‘Guade-bloody-loupe?!’ I say, a little outraged. ‘That’s so far away!’
‘Why?’ she asks with a sly smile. ‘You going to miss him?’
‘No,’ I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. ‘Not one bit. Not at all.’
‘He’s hot,’ she shrugs. ‘I don’t blame you.
I’m sure he thinks he’s going to decolonise the Caribbean,’ she says, rolling her eyes.
‘When actually all he’s going to do is treat it as a glorified gap year and know he can come back and say whatever he wants about it because he’s the only one from Queen Anne’s who’s going. ’
‘That sounds about right,’ I say with a smile. Sure, Felix is kind of bullshit, but maybe he’s my kind of bullshit.
‘It feels like it might be a bad time to get into something with someone, right? Just before our year abroad, you know?’
I shrug. ‘I know. I can handle it.’
‘OK, if you’re sure . . .’
‘I’m sure. It’s not like I want him to be my boyfriend or anything. I just want to sleep with him. Get in, get out, you know?’ But I don’t think Olu is really listening, she’s too delighted with her good news about going to Paris.
Guadeloupe! Of course somewhere like Paris would be too basic for the likes of Felix, wouldn’t it?
Couldn’t just go to Montpellier like everyone else.
Lyon not exotic enough for you? No, it simply must be the Antilles!
Just my luck. Just as there’s some vague hope of getting with Felix on the horizon, he’s shipping off to the Caribbean in a matter of months! Fate, why do you wrong me so?