Chapter 1 #2
I can guess what Gregory will think: that it came from the bargain bin at the big fat gypsy wedding shop.
He’s not met my parents before. That’s supposed to happen today too.
There is a flutter of panic in my stomach that not only will he meet my parents today for the first time, but I’ll have to meet his.
And our parents will have to meet each other officially.
This has the potential to be a car-crash.
I squint vaguely into the distance, certain that my mother’s dress is going to bring on a migraine or an epileptic seizure for someone in the Special Assistance row.
I find poor Frank beside her and notice that he doesn’t look quite right either.
There is a lot of white tissue paper stuck to his face, as though a family of baby moths has landed on his mottled cheeks.
I try a subtle wave, which causes Mum to jump even higher out of her seat and propel her arms above her head like an air traffic controller.
I give her a discreet thumbs-up and she sends me a double thumbs-up back, looking like she will literally burst with pride – and she doesn’t even know about the valedictorian bit yet.
Or the ninety-six per cent. Or the Ivy Court lodgings with the original fireplace.
Once she hears this, she will explode, a full-on biological combustion, and this ancient hall will look like a bloody scene from a zebra abattoir, shards of black and white satin with hot pink fringing splattered across the wood-panelled walls.
I lean in to Harriet’s ear and whisper good luck.
Biological combustion and all, today is going to be the best day of our lives.
The ornate Vice Chancellor takes to the centre of the stage in front of us and strikes the gong.
He calls order and a hush descends upon the audience.
Running his hands down the sleeves of his gold and scarlet gown, he steps up to the podium, adjusts the stem of the microphone and begins the graduation in proper ceremonial style, turning to the two seated professors on the stage.
Dr Burley sits to the left of the infamous Dean, Dr Margaret Winters, both of them in throne-like brown leather chairs. They nod to the Vice Chancellor, giving their blessing for the proceedings to commence.
He clears his throat. ‘We are here today to honour the exceptional achievements of our best and brightest, within not only Great Britain, but arguably the whole world. To be awarded a doctorate from Banbridge University is beyond the reach of the vast majority of human beings. It takes exceptional intellect, talent and discipline to reach such dizzying academic heights, and yet today we are honoured to be in the company of this elite. Please join me in applauding all our psychology graduates present.’
An encouraging ovation ensues. I can hear Mum whooping from her seat at the back.
‘However, today’s ceremony is a little different from those of previous years. Today we are here not only to congratulate this class as a collective, but also to celebrate and acknowledge the achievements of certain individuals within this class group.’
I place a hand on my stomach to settle the whirring butterflies.
‘Three exceptional individuals. Three landmark achievements. Game-changers, if you will.’
There is a nervous titter from the crowd.
The Vice Chancellor’s gaze settles on Harriet and me in the front row. ‘Game-changer number one: three of you have achieved over ninety per cent in your final dissertation. This has never happened before. Poppy Bloom, Harriet Law and Gregory Stubbs, we offer you our heartfelt congratulations.’
Harriet’s hands fly to her face in amazement, and I wrap my arms around her and give her an almighty hug. Go, Harriet!
Gregory is behind us. I turn to catch his eye, but he remains focused straight ahead, eyes on the stage.
He looks fantastic. Black hair cut tight to show off his high cheekbones; deep, almost black eyes.
He looks especially princely today in his robes.
Ah, Gregory: fit, clever and mostly kind.
The best hybrid I’ve come across. Today is a major game-changer for us too: from now on we’ll no longer be students living in financial limbo; we will be free to do what we like, catch up with other, proper couples who are now at the stage of engagement parties and deposit-saving and caring about bins.
I breathe him in. We can so be like that.
I’m going to get us Egyptian cotton sheets and cut-crystal glasses.
I will learn to cook and bake and grow herbs, and he will bring me cups of tea while I pore over dusty tomes in my private little library.
Ivy Court will be our hideaway home, sealing us safe from the outside world with all its madness.
Just the two of us, cosied up together, safe and happy in our book-lined life.
I can’t wait; I honestly just cannot fucking wait.
The Vice Chancellor taps the microphone to restore order.
‘Game-changer number two: the average age of a PhD graduate is thirty-seven. For the first time in our history, all three of our highest-achieving PhD graduates are under thirty years of age. So once more, huge congratulations to Poppy, Harriet and Gregory.’
Another round of applause; another shrill but gutsy whoop from my mum.
I turn around in my seat to try and catch Gregory’s eye again, but still the same steely stare ahead.
What is up with him? Why is he being like this?
I’m well aware that he is a moody bugger, and more than capable of marathon sulking, but really?
Today of all days? I rang him last night numerous times but he didn’t pick up; then this morning he texted me to say he was exhausted from travelling and would catch up with me after the graduation.
He’s probably just as nervous as Harriet and me.
Still, he’ll cheer up when I tell him about my plans for us at Ivy Court.
‘And finally, game-changer number three: we have an astounding new precedent set by Dr Poppy Bloom.’
He motions for me to leave my seat in the front row and join him on the stage.
This isn’t something I had anticipated. I take a deep breath and Harriet gives me a wink as I smooth the lapels of my gown and walk towards the podium.
Just one foot in front of the other, then bow, say thanks and sit down.
‘Dr Bloom has achieved a staggering ninety-six per cent in her final doctoral thesis, thereby superseding the record previously held by our own esteemed Dean and world-famous author in the field of social psychology, Dr Margaret Winters.’
Skeletal and silver-haired, Dr Winters nods curtly behind dark-lensed reading glasses. The Vice Chancellor reaches out his hand to shake mine. ‘Well done, Poppy.’ The room erupts with applause and Dr Burley thumbs the armrest of his leather seat and shouts, ‘Knew you could do it, Poppy!’
This is big. Beating Dr Winters? I still can’t believe it. Dr Winters is a god.
I can’t see Mum and Frank’s faces in the crowd but I can see their outstretched hands holding up their phones, filming the whole thing. I spot Harriet in the front row clapping wildly, but Gregory is still staring ahead, his face unmoved.
The taste of port on my teeth is sweet and sickly.
I can’t say I’m a natural when it comes to being the centre of attention.
Standing up and speaking in front of big groups of people fills me with bowel-emptying dread.
When I was younger, I begged my mum NOT to throw a birthday party for me; all those people, swarming and expectant and impossible to predict.
Painfully shy was written on every one of my reports through primary school. Painfully accurate, I’d say.
Dr Winters approaches the podium. Everyone returns to their seats and settles to hear her speak.
‘Exceptional. This is our Vice Chancellor’s choice of words. And it is quite fitting, as I am about to make an exception to a tradition we have respected in this faculty for a very long time.’ She shifts her glasses to the top of her head.
‘In the past, it has been traditional to award the highest-achieving doctoral graduate a place on our academic team as an esteemed fellow. They are appointed as a professor; they may live in the grounds of the university and undertake research and lecturing duties. It is a much-coveted and respected route into academic life.’
She turns from the crowd to look me straight in the eye. She is not smiling.
‘However, this year we have the chance to cast off old traditions and create new ones. These new traditions reflect my vision for the future of this great institution. Therefore, I shall not be extending the invitation to become a Banbridge fellow to the highest academic achiever. Instead, I have decided to take a holistic approach, selecting not on academic ability alone but also with considerations of personality, social acumen and emotional intelligence.’
Sorry? Could you say that again in normal English?
‘This may seem jarring initially, Poppy, but I’m sure in time you’ll come to understand my rationale.’
At first I think I’ve misheard her, but the whispers and nudges from the crowd tell me that is not the case. Not extending an invitation? Not selecting on academic ability? I’ll come to understand?
‘This is a personal and professional judgement. Dr Bloom, your thesis has been the subject of tremendous debate amongst colleagues across the globe. Some believe that it is an example of academic genius, “a work of brilliance; full of hope, ambition and boundless possibility”, to quote my colleague Dr Burley. But we are divided.’ Dr Winters pauses a moment and then leans in to her microphone, as if unable to help herself.