10. Constant Access to Nuts #3
Daniel shakes his head. ‘No, sorry, nothing really. There’s just been a bit of trouble, over the years.
Adams had some sort of violent breakdown when he was in the lower years, and that girl they pal around with - Watson?
- I’m amazed she’s almost made it to graduation, based on her track record.
You seem nice, that’s all, and I hardly ever get to spend time with anyone whose brain hasn’t been addled by years of Working. Don’t get fired, okay?’
Briar nods. He’s right, and Eugenia was too. They shouldn’t be getting involved with the scholars at all, beyond practicalities and pleasantries. They’re a visitor, a tourist here - and it’s of the utmost importance that they don’t forget this again. ‘Not planning on it.’
‘Good! Now, tell me - what have they got you doing locked away in the attic? One of the other teachers said you were from pest control, but I haven’t seen you marching about with any tiny guillotines.’
They talk about Briar’s job, and a bit about Daniel’s, and somehow end up on a tangent about millionaire farmers and inheritance tax, and Briar leaves the office slightly buzzed and feeling much better than they had that morning.
Back in their room, now craving normalcy instead of repelled by it, they reopen the messages on their phone again to sift through their correspondence, and suddenly they don’t find it annoying in the least.
Ten texts from their mum, mostly pictures of their ancient cat, Felicity, and endless questions about the job.
The group chat had 172 new messages - they open it again and scroll slowly this time, catching up on the TV game show everybody’s been watching.
There are a few personal asides scattered in amongst the live commentary.
special k!! maybe B will meet some Tory nepo infant or future royal, fall in love, move to a manor house, start wearing tweed and psychologically terrorising staff over correct amount of nuts in the nut bowl etc
o’connor why nut bowl?
special k!! you can’t expect rich people to have to wait for nuts!!! nuts must be freely available at all times
rhys Actually that is true I read something about the queen and
special k!! . . .
special k!! and?????????
special k!! don’t make me google ‘queen nuts’
special k!! rhys it’s been 25 mins what the hell
o’connor he dropped his shit phone and now the screen will only show that gif you sent earlier of a homophobic dog looking nervous.
o’connor do you want me to write down his queen story for you?
special k!! don’t bother i actually died ten years ago xxx
Briar feels a rush of fondness for their friends.
If they’re honest, it’s never been quite the same with any of them as things were with Seb, but maybe that was just the all-consuming intensity of sharing a country childhood.
Maybe friendships aren’t supposed to be like that: blood pacts, breathing each other’s air, spending so much time together that you stop having to put your thoughts into words.
Everything that happened at the end of primary school had been so painful that Briar has held back a little ever since.
It was a lesson in temperance: don’t let anything mean so much to you, be so integral to the inner workings of your soul, that it’ll kill you to lose it.
Don’t make anybody the god of your life, even if you’ve watched a hundred sunrises together and seen them clutch their heart and cry like they’re dying and tasted the blood from their broken lip.
Kay and the others often comment that Briar is untouchable, unbotherable.
Never plagued with dramatic emotions. Even the bullies at school had been dispatched without fanfare, scraps ending in a quick trip to the toilets to splash water on their face and then straight back to normal.
Briar has always been happy to let them believe it.
Still. When they get back to Eden, they head for the phone tucked behind the stairs, and dial Kay’s number.
She doesn’t pick up. Briar calls again, on impulse, and the second time it only rings once.
‘Hello?’ Kay says, in anxious telephone voice, and Briar smiles even though Kay can’t see them.
‘Did you ever find out what happened with the Queen’s nuts?’
‘Oh! No. I’ll tell you what I did find out - Rhys and Connor are finally definitely shagging, and it’s actually been killing me not to talk to you about it, but I didn’t want to put it in writing because I’ve been letting Rhys borrow my phone when he wants to google something.’
‘Nice,’ says Briar. ‘Good for them.’
‘Nice?! Give me strength. Connor’s fully in love with him! Rhys has no idea! It’s going to fuck our lives up so completely unless they like . . . get married. But Rhys is oblivious. It’ll be carnage.’
‘He might have some idea now,’ Briar says, leaning against the wall, relaxing into the familiar sound of her voice.
‘Doubt it. He could be balls deep in someone and still surprised if they admitted to fancying him. What’s the job like? Are they all weird? Have they been making you do lots of degrading shit? Using you as a human table?’
‘Uh,’ Briar says. ‘No. They’re fine, job’s fine.’
‘Woah, woah, slow down, let me take it all in.’
‘I signed an NDA.’
‘You are an NDA. Blink twice if there’s a secret death cult having orgies in catacombs under the school.’ It’s not actually that far from the truth. Briar lets the silence hang. ‘Well? Are you blinking?’
‘You’ll never know.’
‘Oh cool, I hate you.’
‘I have a car,’ Briar says. ‘Well, it’s not mine, it’s borrowed. But if you’re around, maybe we could meet at McLean’s for a drink, or—’
‘Sorry, Beej. Leaving for Italy tomorrow. And Connor’s gone with Rhys to Wales, remember? And then when I’m back I’m doing camp counselling for junior sociopaths, with church. But I’ll see you in August, yeah?’
August means results day, decisions, conversations about the future.
Briar doesn’t want to think about August. It’s been hinted, with bone-deep embarrassment on Sean’s part, that Briar might be needed to stick around a bit longer at the farm.
That uni might have to be put on hold, for now, just until things are a bit more stable. A gap year. A gap decade. A gap life.
It’s not like Briar has grand plans in that direction, anyway. Kay wants to move to London and design bright, abstract jewellery at Central Saint Martin’s. Rhys is going to do Economics. Connor’s finally settled, almost at random, on English Lit.
There are conditional offers sitting in Briar’s inbox to take media and film studies at Birmingham, Kingston, Leicester and Manchester Met; the degree was chosen by default, the cities with more careful consideration.
The problem is, all Briar ever really wanted was to end up right here at Temple. They had no vision for life after that. All the relief they’d felt at hearing Kay’s voice, the soothing balm of normalcy from wine with Daniel, evaporates.
‘Yeah,’ they say. ‘August. Okay.’
‘Miss you, though. Wish I could. Look, I have to go pack - text me when you can. And never call me from a landline again, I nearly shat myself when I saw the number.’
Briar goes upstairs feeling hollowed-out and stupid, falls asleep with a wine-stained mouth at six o’clock even though it’s a terrible time to take a nap. They dream of the grotto, and a dark, endless tunnel that leads them absolutely nowhere at all.