Chapter 8
Mabel
The midday sun fell through the three arched windows, casting soft dappled light onto my notepad.
One half of the bird was bathed in white, the other dipped in shimmering lead pencil.
I’d been pressing down so hard that the paper was beginning to ripple.
No surprise that my hand had drawn the image of its own accord: I’d stared at it so much over the past few days that its contours felt burnt into my retinas.
Normally I tried to stay focused in class, but during this supervision I allowed my mind to wander for a few seconds, if only because I knew that each doodle and every glance out of the window would throw off the person talking.
And it did. Matthew had just finished speaking, and now I felt his eyes burning into me. I had to hold back a smile.
The room was lined with books, and contained an oak desk and two velvet armchairs placed across from each other.
Professor Ruiz leant against his desk, eyeing me over the top of his glasses. ‘Miss Golding? Perhaps you’d like to respond?’
‘Sure.’ I concentrated on Matthew, who was sitting opposite me, wearing a plaid shirt.
He had one leg crossed over the other, but behind the studiedly casual pose I could see he was readying himself for my response.
His expression, as usual, was poised somewhere between boredom, haughtiness and tension.
Matthew and I had ended up in supervisions together – classes where we discussed the course content in small groups – last year, too.
Neither of us was happy about it, because we’d realised after the very first session that we definitely did not like each other.
I sensed this was why Professor Ruiz had paired us up again: he believed it encouraged deeper discussion if you hated the idea of yielding even an inch of ground to your opponent.
And I really did. If I hadn’t already disliked Matthew, any lingering impulse to be polite had evaporated the first time he referred to me as Cinderella.
Eventually I shook my head. ‘Sorry, but I’m not sure where to begin. It feels like we’re talking at cross purposes.’
Matthew knitted his blond eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your argument misses the whole point. You obviously haven’t understood the real crux of the theory.’
He uncrossed his legs with a jerk and planted both hands on his knees. ‘I understood it perfectly. Maybe you’re just not capable of following my train of thought.’
I shrugged, smiling. ‘Yeah, maybe. Why don’t you try summarising your argument in two sentences? Slowly and clearly, so I can understand it, too.’
Matthew was silent. With every second that passed, his face turned a deeper shade of red, until he leant abruptly forward, fingers clenching around his knees. Something in his eyes told me he wished they were around my throat. ‘You stupid, arrogant—’
‘Mr Bassett,’ Professor Ruiz broke in sharply, fist slamming down onto the desk. ‘If you please.’
Matthew leant back in his chair, exhaling. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered grudgingly.
‘No problem.’ I smiled as good-naturedly as I could, knowing it would rile him up even more.
‘Good.’ With a glance at his watch, Ruiz got to his feet. ‘Our time is up. Mr Bassett, I’d like you to prepare an essay for next week that persuades us all you have indeed understood the point. Good work, Miss Golding.’
Matthew was practically skewering me with his glare as I stuffed my things into my bag and slipped into my coat.
I eased the collar of my blue floral-patterned top out from underneath the saggy jumper I was wearing over it.
Zoe had given it to me. Judging by how new the fabric felt, she’d barely worn it.
I knew Zoe sometimes gave things to me that she pretended she simply didn’t want anymore.
But ever since I’d found a tag on a pullover she’d supposedly not worn in years, she at least went to the effort of putting new clothes on a couple of times before she offered them to me.
It did make me a bit uncomfortable, but given that several items in my wardrobe were now more moth-hole than fabric, I forced myself to see it as a grey area, dignity-wise.
Especially because I knew Zoe didn’t think of it as patronising or superior.
It’s really not a big deal, she had said last spring, when I angrily dumped the pullover onto her bed.
I help you with stuff like this, and you help me when I’m stuck on an essay or whatever.
That’s what friendship is, Mabel. We support each other in whatever way we can.
I didn’t have enough experience of friendship to know if she was right, but I was pretty sure that as friends went, Zoe was rare. And precious.
I ran the tips of my fingers over the bird drawing at the corner of my notepad before I shoved it deeper into the bag and left the room. Ruiz’s office was in Trinity College, which didn’t give me much time to get back to my own college in time for the next supervision.
I was plaiting my hair into a hurried braid as I speedwalked down the corridor.
Just as I reached the stairs, I felt someone tread on my heel from behind, so suddenly and so hard that my foot got stuck and I pitched forwards.
By sheer good luck, I managed to grab onto the banister and catch myself before I fell down the steps.
Heart hammering, I stared into the void on the other side of the railing, then at the floorboards beside me.
My toes had slipped out of my shoe and I’d dropped my bag, spilling half its contents noisily down the stairs.
Before I realised what had happened, Matthew was standing next to me, pressing my shoe into my hand. I grasped it reflexively, flinching as he leant towards me. ‘Careful, Cinderella. If you lose this you won’t be able to afford a new one.’
My heart was racing so quickly that I couldn’t think clearly, let alone come up with a half-decent retort.
A moment later, Matthew was barging past me, but not without kicking one of my folders even further down the stairs.
I waited until he was out of sight then slipped my foot back into my patent leather shoe and knelt down to gather up my things.
Two girls deep in conversation gave me a wide berth, and someone else tutted irritably as they stepped over my belongings.
I clamped my lips shut, trying not to say anything.
I swept a few elderberry sweets and several hairpins haphazardly into a pile and scooped them into my bag.
My brain knew that Matthew was an idiot, but somehow my body still reacted with surprise that he would show it so obviously.
I was used to distainful scowls and even insults from him, but this was new.
My fingers shook and I dropped a pen that rolled down the stairs. It only got two steps down before it was stopped by a shoe. Dark leather, gleaming buckle, the dusty hem of a pair of trousers.
‘Thanks,’ I said, then froze as I looked up.
Blake glanced briefly down at me, then crouched to pick up the pen.
Instead of straightening back up, he stayed at my eye level, and set it in front of me before reaching for the folder next to him.
‘I saw what happened. Charming lad.’ He tucked a few loose sheets back in and held the folder out to me.
I took it with a snort, which I regretted the moment I heard the lingering tremor – in my movements as well as my voice. ‘If you enjoyed that you should see our supervisions.’
He frowned. ‘Does he always treat you like that?’
‘More or less.’ I got to my feet, slid the folder into my bag and took a deep breath.
Only then did it hit me what was happening.
This wasn’t just anybody: this was Blake.
Blake Ames, if Davie’s research was to be believed.
The person who had made it excruciatingly plain to me four days ago that he wasn’t interested in exchanging so much as a word with me, let alone being seen with me.
And yet. Not only had he been the only one to help me – he’d showed no signs of leaving.
Part of me didn’t like that he’d seen what happened.
I hated looking weak. Especially in front of somebody who already thought I was needy and pathetic.
Another part of me knew there was an upside.
It couldn’t hurt to speak to Blake if I wanted to find out more about him and his friends.
And as long as he felt sorry for me, he wouldn’t take me seriously enough to be wary of spilling secrets.
‘You should report him,’ he said as we walked downstairs side by side.
I rolled my eyes. If I told Zoe about it she’d be filling in a misconduct form before I’d even finished the story.
Davie, on the other hand, would probably tell me to talk to my college tutor and keep my distance from Matthew for the time being.
I had no intention of doing either. All I wanted was to keep my head down, get through the next few years and come out on the other side with the best possible degree.
I had neither the time nor the energy for someone like Matthew.
And I wasn’t going to dim my own light so that he could feel better about himself.
‘The university doesn’t care about a little bit of rivalry.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s just threatened: I work harder, I get better marks, I beat him every time we have a debate.
If he needs to act like a neanderthal every now and then to make up for it, fine by me.
’ I shoved the double doors open and turned to let Blake through.
He paused in the doorway and scowled at me, exasperated.
‘What?’ I asked.
He blinked, then walked past me. ‘Nothing, just … you really don’t care what other people think, do you?’