Chapter 4 #2
‘That might be too late,’ I almost begged.
‘I really need to get it sorted or I’m going to find myself back in Rothersley with my mum and dad, working my year at the Miners’ Social Club, pulling pints.
’ I gave a little laugh when she looked at me in horror.
‘Look, how about I meet you there?’ I asked.
‘Meet me where? In London? In Brian’s office?’ She began to look worried.
‘No, no, at your locker? At the sports hall?’
‘Well, all right. I’ve a game across there straight after this lecture.’
‘I can walk down with you,’ I said.
‘Look, I’m not promising…’ She trailed off as Dave started talking and we moved to take up our usual seats.
‘I know, I know, but honestly, any help I can get…’ I broke off as Dave glared at us both and we sat down.
Two hours later, making sure Jilly couldn’t run off, I tagged along with her, walking the ten minutes to the university sports hall.
Sport not being high on my agenda (I’d made only the netball C team at school and that was because they needed to make up numbers during a flu outbreak) the university sports hall had never been on my wish list of places I just had to visit.
During my first year at Leeds, I’d been too entrenched with the politics of university life, finding myself in a slightly iffy relationship with Roddy McClellan, the newly elected president of the student union.
To my shame, I soon realised I didn’t really like Roddy very much.
He drank too much beer, wasn’t averse to breaking wind in public and was downright critical, no, let’s be honest here, was actually horribly scathing to and about anyone who didn’t agree with his political thinking.
What I did like was the kudos of being seen, a lowly first-year fresher, with the political might of McClellan and those with whom he associated.
If I learnt anything, that first year at university, slightly shy and missing home, it was to try to listen to all arguments, try to see and consider others’ points of view.
That’s why I’d felt particularly cross with Frank the other evening in the library when he’d accused me of being judgemental.
I knew I could be, and I didn’t like myself for it.
Everyone seemed to be at it, either already on the squash and badminton courts, or waiting in twos for their allotted booking to begin.
There was a smell, almost feverish, of rubber, sweat and heat with undertones of chlorine.
A steady and persistent thwack of rubber balls hitting the walls of the squash courts, interspersed with shouts and groans both of glee and despair, signalled numerous games in play.
I followed Jilly through double doors and down to a row of lockers in the female changing rooms, standing obediently to one side amongst women in various stages of undress, as she silently mouthed digits of her combination lock.
‘Right, hang on, I think it’s in my bag.
Not sure though and, as I say, I’m not promising anything.
’ Jilly was obviously feeling somewhat hassled by my insistence.
‘I mean, it’s really not up to me… OK, right…
yes… here we are. Do you have a pen?’ She read out the phone number almost resentfully and I realised, in my usual cackhanded way, I’d come on a bit strong, perhaps forcing her into a situation she hadn’t wanted to be in.
‘Jilly, I’m so grateful for this. Do you mind if I mention your name?’
‘Suppose so.’ Jilly looked doubtful. ‘But, you know, I’ve only got the placement because of…’
‘I know, your mum’s cousin’s friend’s friend,’ I soothed. ‘I’ll let you know if I get anywhere. Thanks again.’
‘D’you know the way out?’
‘Left at the top and straight on?’
I’d obviously got it wrong because I found myself looking down onto a bank of squash courts, fascinated by the energy of two red-faced girls on the first court, both determined to outdo the other.
Hell, I conceded, as the smaller of the two swore and emitted a cry of pain when the hard rubber ball hit her arm, squash was obviously a bit of a rough game.
‘Thinking of taking it up?’ I turned to find Theo Mandeville at my side, dressed in crisp logoed white shorts and polo shirt (someone obviously used Persil), a racquet in one hand, a bag of balls in the other.
I found myself blushing. Why? Why on earth was I embarrassed at his finding me here, simply watching, fully dressed in coat, hat and scarf while everyone else was capering around almost in their underwear?
Oh, God, please don’t let him think Fliss had sent me on a recce to hunt him down. That we hunted in pairs.
‘No, no, no, no’ (too many noes, Anna), I gabbled, turning away from him again. ‘I just needed to collect some important information from one of the lockers.’
‘Collect information from a locker?’ Theo looked bewildered as well he might. ‘What are you on, a mission for MI5?’
‘Something like that!’ I laughed girlishly.
Idiotically? I didn’t trust myself to turn and look at his face.
Would he see I fancied him like mad? I was acting like a kid at school.
Jesus. And fancy him? Theo Mandeville, for heaven’s sake?
So, instead, I sort of half-turned, coming face to face with his legs.
And, as Clare had so succinctly put, only a day or so ago, his legs were divine.
Strong, long, muscled and tanned with golden hairs.
I needed to go, needed to get back to the library and sort out my future in London.
‘Right.’ There was silence for a good ten seconds and then Theo reached for my hand.
Goodness, what was he doing? Why the hell was my pulse racing?
‘Your hands are still cold.’ It was a statement rather than a question. ‘Where are the gloves I gave you?’
‘Oh, gosh, yes, sorry,’ I twittered. ‘They’re back at the house. Sorry. I’ll get them back to you.’
‘I’m really not bothered about reclaiming the gloves.’ Theo smiled as I turned back to him. ‘More an observation of how cold your hands are.’ His warm hands still held my own, stroking them gently to bring back the warmth.
We both jumped – guiltily? – as someone else appeared at our side and I hastily took my hand from Theo’s.
‘Oh?’ Fliss said, racquet in hand, nudging me none too gently in the back with it. ‘You’ve suddenly taken up an interest in squash, Anna?’
Before I could reply that I was merely fulfilling my obligations as an agent for MI5, another voice, this one cool, collected and somewhat haughty, spoke.
‘Theo? Come on, our session started five minutes ago.’ We turned as one as a pretty blonde laid a hand possessively on Theo’s arm, ignoring both me in my woolly hat and duffle coat and Fliss, dressed in a too-small tennis dress of Katy’s, trying her best to look as though she knew exactly which way to hold her racquet. She obviously didn’t.
‘I think if you hold the racquet a little further down its handle,’ Theo said kindly to Fliss, ‘you’ll have rather more success.’ He gave my arm a slight squeeze – had I imagined it? – and went to join the girl who was waiting impatiently for him.