Chapter 5 #2
My eyes wandered to Clementine at the other end of the bridge.
She was standing in the light of a lamppost, talking to a girl who looked distinctly nervous.
Ashton’s friend placed her hand on the other girl’s throat and began to stroke.
The longer she let her hand linger, the more I saw the apprehension in the girl’s eyes fade.
But not only that. Everything else faded a little, too: the colour in her cheeks, the smile at the corners of her mouth, the tension in her posture.
I frowned and took a step towards them. ‘So wary?’ a voice whispered into my ear.
Whirling around, I bumped straight into someone’s chest. A wide, bare chest, because the person was wearing only boxer shorts.
I lifted my gaze to his face, which was very close to mine.
Victor placed his hands either side of me on the balustrade, smiling down at me.
It took every ounce of willpower not to ram my knee directly between his legs.
‘Something tells me you lot don’t really care what happens to your guests.’
He laughed, his breath hot on my face. It smelt like peppermint toothpaste, but somehow I got the feeling he was drunk. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. We’re meticulous when it comes to our “guests”.’
I hesitated. Victor definitely seemed like he was on something, if not drunk then high. Enough, perhaps, that he’d accidentally let something slip. ‘And who are “you”, anyway? Clearly not your average group of friends.’
Victor blinked, but his face betrayed no emotion. If I caught a glimpse of anything, it was a flicker of curiosity. ‘Oh, yeah? And what makes you say that?’
‘Well, for one thing, you walk around the college grounds like you own the place. Where are the porters when you do stuff like this?’ Victor tilted his head to one side, but said nothing.
I decided to take a shot in the dark. ‘As far as I’m aware, you’re all studying at different colleges, but you act like you’ve been inseparable for years. Then there are the tattoos.’
‘Tattoos?’ I didn’t fail to notice the attention creeping into his eyes. His pupils seemed to contract, as if his mind were clearing.
The thought had just popped into my head, but now it was solidifying into certainty. I gestured to the mark just below his collar bone. ‘Ashton’s got the same one. Something tells me you all do. They look like they belong together.’
Victor grinned broadly, although it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re very observant, Anna Karenina.’
I stared at him, exasperated. ‘Stop calling me that.’
‘Would you rather I used Mabel Emilee Golding?’ He rolled every single syllable around in his mouth, leaning in.
Instinctively I shrank back, but the balustrade pressed mercilessly into the small of my back.
‘Daughter of Rowan Golding and Simon Lore, both deceased. Born in Bath but resident of Hamsey since the age of fifteen, in the care of her guardian, Clara Golding. Second-year English undergrad on a full bursary at Trinity Hall, currently living in West Court, J2.’
Suddenly my heart was pounding against my ribs, thudding harder every time he recited a fact he couldn’t possibly know. Wasn’t allowed to know. My mouth went dry – I swallowed. ‘How—’
‘Like I said,’ he interrupted with a sneer. ‘We’re meticulous when it comes to our guests. Especially when we’ve taken a liking to their company.’
‘I haven’t given you any reason to like me. I hope.’
‘I’m afraid you have. You’re so gloriously closed-off.
It has a certain charm.’ He lifted his hand and coiled a lock of my hair around his fingers.
His nail polish gleamed blue as I felt a surge of red-hot panic.
He lowered his thumb towards my carotid artery.
He didn’t touch me, but his nearness felt almost tangible.
Despite the cold night, his skin radiated a strange heat.
Almost like he had a fever. Victor tutted.
‘Unfortunately, you’ve been declared off-limits.
Such a shame.’ Suddenly he glanced to one side, then promptly drew back.
With an exaggerated gesture, he put his hand to his temple as if in salute.
Confused, I followed his gaze towards the person standing at the end of the bridge, nearer the main college buildings. Hands in his coat pockets, his face a mask of greyish night and flickering lamplight.
Blake was so obviously staring at us that my body tensed. Before I could decide whether to wave provocatively, he had already turned away.
‘Doesn’t matter. My June girl is waiting for me,’ Victor murmured beside me, and a moment later I felt a breath of wind.
When I looked up, I realised he was climbing onto the balustrade.
‘Are you completely fucking plastered?’ I blurted.
‘The water’s not that deep, if you’re unlucky you could break your—’
‘People like us don’t have bad luck,’ he broke in, grinning.
Panic began to stream into my muscles, and I reached out instinctively to grab him, but he’d already spread out his arms, let out a yell and …
jumped. I gasped and grabbed the balustrade, leaning over it.
As my gaze fell on the water’s surface, it was already parting again.
Amid a swirl of waves and black, Victor’s head emerged.
Somebody called to him from the bank, and others laughed as he swam towards the middle of the river, up to one of the women who a short while ago had been among the few people thickly swaddled on the bank.
Now she was treading water in vividly white underwear, laughing as Victor drew her closer to him.
She threw her arms around his neck as he buried his face in hers.
My artery thrummed at the memory of him almost touching me just minutes earlier.
I looked towards the bank, where Zoe was now sitting nestled into Ashton’s chest, wrapped in a blanket. He hadn’t buttoned his shirt back up yet, but he was rubbing her shoulders as if to keep her warm. That’s nice, I tried to think, but what I felt was: That’s dangerous.
Probably what Victor had said was true. People like them didn’t have bad luck. But at that moment I realised what Davie had meant: people like them brought bad luck.
If I wanted to make Zoe realise it too, I’d have to understand it better myself.
I’d spent pretty much my whole life learning new things, so if anybody was going to find out more about this group of friends, it was me.
It was just a matter of identifying the right source material.
As if of their own accord, my eyes drifted to the far end of the bridge. It was worth a try.
* * *
I knew where I’d find him even before I’d set foot on college grounds.
Cambridge at night was a densely woven darkness, shot through with darts of light from lanterns and illuminated windows.
Now and then you heard the voices of returning pub-goers or bursts of laughter from student rooms, but otherwise the colleges at night were mostly one thing: silent.
You heard no music there. Especially no organ music.
I wasn’t completely sure until I was standing just outside King’s College Chapel.
By now the low notes reverberating through the imposing walls weren’t just audible but tangible, and the ground shook beneath my feet as I approached the main entrance.
I knew it would be wiser to stay away from the chapel.
It was only a matter of time before somebody noticed me poking around where I wasn’t supposed to be, and I didn’t want to be accused of trespassing, disturbing the peace or possibly blasphemy.
Still, I didn’t hesitate to turn the handle.
Like I said: curiosity has always been one of my most helpful yet problematic qualities.
I’d only been to the chapel a few times before, mostly to hear the choir.
There was something magical about it: the way the fan vault filled with voices as the sun falling through the stained-glass windows cast a motley carpet of light across the floor, or when the interior was lit with scores of candles.
This time I was met with darkness. When I first arrived at Cambridge, I’d gone on a guided tour of every college, including King’s.
As part of the tour they had taken us to see the organ, so it didn’t take me long to find the stairs that led up to the organ loft.
The higher I climbed, the louder the music became, until eventually I felt like I was standing in the very mouth of the instrument.
I recognised him immediately. The dark hair curling at the nape of his neck, the way he carried himself, at once graceful and tense.
Blake and I had only met twice, but somehow I could sense I’d know him anywhere.
It was fascinating to watch him. His fingers danced over the keys with astonishing fluidity, his shoulders moving as though swimming in the sound, his feet operating the pedals with such practised skill that I wondered how often he played.
From the first moment I saw him, I knew there was something strange about him, but I’d never have guessed he used his spare time to break into one of Cambridge’s most famous landmarks to play the organ.
When I took a step forward, he stopped abruptly. The last note resonated powerfully between us, but I could still hear myself swallow loudly.
Blake was still for five seconds, then he took a deep breath. ‘You really have a knack for showing up where you’re not wanted.’
So. Now I knew where we were going to pick up. It took an effort of will not to respond in kind. If I wanted to get anything out of him, I’d have to tread carefully for a while. I walked up to him. ‘Aren’t you worried about getting caught?’
He stared obstinately straight ahead of him, not giving me so much as a glance. ‘We never get caught.’