by B P Walter
‘Well, I suppose that can happen,’ Ally says, her voice not as smooth as normal. I shouldn’t have taken the conversation into such serious territory, I think. ‘My twat of an ex-husband obviously had a not-so-secret love of enormous breasts. I suppose that’s my only experience of that kind of thing.’
Ally’s still not looking fully at me. In fact, I’m sure she’s deliberately avoiding my gaze.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I’m talking about. It was just something I was watching on TV. Made me think.’ I try to say it brightly, aware my voice is probably sounding false. Something about the mood between us has changed slightly. I would have expected her to pounce on my words, asking if I’ve found something out about James. But she doesn’t. Instead, she changes the subject.
‘Let’s talk about something fun,’ she says, putting a hand on mine, her smile spreading across her lips. ‘Like my plans for a cruise with Cameron in the spring.’
We talk for another forty minutes, Ally showing me on her phone all the places she and her new man are going to visit. Eventually, I tell her I must get going and we gather our things and make our way down towards the entrance. At the doors, I stop still. ‘Oh damn,’ I say, ‘I was supposed to find something for James’s mom.’ I look back at the busy shop floor. The thought of going back in makes me feel so tired, I think I’m going to collapse in a ball on the floor. Ally doesn’t seem keen on lingering.
‘You know, darling, I’m going to have to dash. I’ve got a thing with a few former colleagues in bloody Hornchurch of all places – sodding miles away. One of them decided to move out to the suburbs so we’ve apparently all got to risk our lives in the depths of East London. Practically Essex, you know.’ She says ‘Essex’ in the same wide-eyed way she’d said Miami. ‘Plus, I still don’t know what I’m going to wear. Got to go home and try a few bits on. I’ll see you tomorrow, though. Can’t wait. Your Christmas do is always the highlight of my calendar.’ She leans in to give me a hug and an air-kiss and I say goodbye. She’s gone, lost among the bustle of shoppers.
I linger for a moment then take a deep breath and walk back into John Lewis. Just before I walk into the main part of the ground floor and back towards the escalators, I hear someone running up behind me and suddenly I’m being pulled around. The force of it startles me greatly and I draw in a sharp breath. But when I see the person who’s touched me, there isn’t any hope of drawing in another. I can’t breathe at all. A woman stands before me, her face white, her hair pulled back tightly as if she were about to go to the gym. Indeed, her whole attire suggests sports activities – she has an Adidas tracksuit and running shoes on, and a hoody that looks like it’s seen better days. Anyone would think she was a teenager or university student, if the lines in her face didn’t show so clearly she’d passed thirty-five.
‘Julianne.’ She says my name in almost a whisper and as soon as she’s said it I know exactly who she is.
‘Oh my God,’ I say, and take a step back. I’m instantly knocked aside by a man carrying a lot of bags, but I hardly feel it. I just stare at the woman in front of me. ‘Holly.’
‘Hello.’ Her tone is flat and her eyes keep darting about. ‘I was waiting for Ally to go. She hasn’t changed, has she? She looks just the same.’
I’m still trying to breathe, my legs unsteady, dimly aware shoppers are trying to push their way around us. ‘It must be … twenty years … or more. I can’t … I can’t stop and chat,’ I say, trying to act like there isn’t anything weird at all about this meeting. ‘But I hope …’
‘She said you called her. Myanna. She said she tried to talk to you a year ago but you didn’t respond and then she got bogged down in something else, something to do with ISIS trafficking women; important, of course, but it was frustrating as I really felt something was happening and then nothing came of it.’ She’s gabbling now, getting her words out in a rush. ‘But you called her two days ago. She’s going to help me. Help us. She’s got the time and the resources now.’ Her eyes are wide and I can’t help it – I’m frightened. Frightened by all the things she’s saying. ‘She’s been trying to get in touch with you but she thinks you’ve blocked her number or something. Have you?’
I feel the temperature around me changing, my skin going cold, my legs threatening to give way. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say.
‘I’m the reason she got in touch. I told her. I said you might help us. You might be willing to talk.’
I stare at her in horror. ‘Talk about what? What’s there to talk about? I don’t know what any of this is about …’
‘Don’t you? Please, Julianne. We can go somewhere right now and …’
‘I can’t,’ I say, forcing myself to straighten up and breathe slowly. ‘I’m busy. Tell your friend not to get in touch with me again.’ I walk away from her, back out of the doors of the shop and onto the street.
‘Julianne!’ She screams my name. People around me stop and stare, causing other people to knock into them, but I carry on going. I don’t stop. I push on until I reach Oxford Circus Underground station, then force myself to steady my pace and walk calmly behind the flow of shoppers and commuters heading home. It’s only when I’m safely on the Victoria line, sitting in a miraculously vacant seat, that I let my guard down and start to cry.
Chapter 14
Holly
Oxford, 1991
Part of me had wanted to never talk to them again when I got back to Oxford. That was the New Year’s resolution I had made to myself when I got on the train in London. I was going to focus on my studies, maybe make some new friends, rekindle my friendship with Rachael and Becky. They’d been a little cool with me since I’d become more and more unavailable. I even considered joining a society or two. Something different. I’d never been much good at sports, but maybe there’d be something about learning a new language or art. I managed to get myself into a pretty positive frame of mind and then set forth devouring Emily Brontë’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I’d made my way through nearly two-thirds of the book when I arrived at the station, and planned to keep my place with one hand and lug my travel bag off the train with the other. However, as I stepped on to the platform, a gust of unusually strong, icy wind sent the book flying out of my hand and onto the damp, gritty floor.
‘God’s sake,’ I said under my breath, then saw someone stooping to pick it up. I knew the blonde hair immediately.
‘Christ, this looks dry! Couldn’t you have found something a bit more lively to read to ease you into January?’ Ally shook the book a little to get rid of a few specks of dirt and held it out to me.
‘Were you on the train?’ I said, taking the book from her, not bothering to say thank you.
‘I was indeed! Didn’t see you, though.’
‘Were you in first class?’ I asked, starting to walk towards the ticket barrier.
‘Guilty as charged.’ She let out one of her barking laughs and stuffed her hands into her expensive-looking and rather eccentric blue and pink coat.
‘Well, that explains why then.’
I thought this might remind Ally that there was supposed to be at least a suggestion of awkwardness between us. After all, I had fled Oxford without a word of goodbye to any of them, but either she didn’t realise or was determined not to show it.
‘I just popped to London for a bit of shopping. Been back here for four days now, but I was craving some retail therapy. Mother has been driving Ernest and me insane over the whole Christmas holiday and he’s got all tense and weird about his studying, so I took myself off to Harrods for a nose around the sales.’
I looked her up and down but she didn’t seem to have any bags of shopping with her. ‘Didn’t find anything you liked?’
‘Oh, heaps of stuff. Simply heaps. But it’s all being sent on. Some of it here, the rest back home. I have this mortal fear I’ll be the madwoman running for a train who sends showers of clothes skidding across the station platform and there’ll be security guards a
nd ticket inspectors scrabbling to pick up my bras and whatnot. Do you ever have that?’
‘As in, has it ever occurred to me, or do I ever worry it will happen?’ I wasn’t really in the mood for Ally’s silly little problems of privilege and fully suspected this particular fear was actually a lot of nonsense, and she had the clothes sent on because she was lazy rather than being worried about dropping them.
‘It hasn’t really happened to you, has it? Oh Christ, I’m terribly sorry if it has.’
‘It hasn’t.’
‘Well, I just always think it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
Outside the station Ally again sidestepped any awkwardness when I went to walk back to the dorms by immediately striding up to a taxi, brushing away my objections with a swish of her hand and a cry of ‘Nonsense! Get in!’ I found myself being driven through the familiar streets towards our halls. Inside, I walked past Ally’s room, determined to get going with my unpacking, but to my irritation found her behind me as I unlocked the door, following me in, talking animatedly about the huge row her father had had with a famous, award-winning novelist at their house on Christmas Eve (‘I can’t tell you his name, I’m afraid, but the surname starts with a B’) over something as trivial as the year of the wine they were drinking. She continued talking while I was unpacking and, though I was only half-listening, I stopped dead when she said, ‘James was sorry not to see you before you left, you know.’ I paused in what I was doing and turned back to face her.
‘Was he?’
She grinned. ‘He was indeed.’ And she winked at me. I felt myself blushing and turned back to the clothes I’d been folding. ‘Oh, come on, Holly, it’s plain as day to anyone that you fancy him and I think he fancies you in his own way.’
I didn’t say anything for a minute, then replied very quietly: ‘I think he’s got his hands full.’
Ally made a ‘hmm’ sound, as if weighing something up in her mind. ‘I must confess I’m not as taken with Julianne as I would like to be.’
‘He isn’t your brother,’ I said. ‘Surely he doesn’t need your approval.’ It probably sounded a bit harsh, but Ally carried on talking.
‘I know, yes, I really should just mind my own business. But he needs someone … I don’t know … with a bit of backbone. I’m not convinced she has any. No spark. She’s pretty enough, of course, but I don’t think she has any fizz. Do you know what I mean?’
‘She certainly had some fizz at Rupert’s party before Christmas.’
The words were out of my mouth before I had time to really consider how sensible they were.
‘Oh really?’ Ally said, sounding curious.
I nodded. ‘I saw them together. She was giving him oral sex.’
Ally looked at me blankly for a second, then guffawed with laughter. ‘Good God, Holly, you make it sound so clinical. Well, I’m sure they weren’t the only ones getting a bit fruity at the party. And while we’re on the subject …’ Her face turned slightly pained, as if she were preparing to address a subject that was unpleasant to her. ‘I need to offer you an apology. I had a ghastly headache that night and demanded then and there that Ernest get the car to take us home. I felt absolutely awful that we had just abandoned you like that. Rupert gave me a bit of a telling off about it when we saw him over the holidays.’
I wasn’t sure where to look, so chose the floor. ‘It’s okay,’ I said, even though it wasn’t and I didn’t believe her headache excuse for a moment. ‘I survived.’
‘Can we make it up to you? We’re going to a bar tonight. The Scarlet Cape, it’s called. I know, it sounds like a brothel, don’t get me started on the name, but it’s honestly rather fun. They do really nice cocktails. Ernest and James are coming, and Peter, finally. And, even better for you, Julianne is not coming. She’s got an exam soon and needs to go study.’ She said these last two words in an imitation of her accent, and then pulled a face, as if the idea of revising for an exam was some strange American phenomenon that had yet to cross the Atlantic.
‘Honestly, Ally, I think I’m fine. I’m really not in the mood, and I mean it this time. It’s nice of you to ask, but I really would rather finish this.’
She wouldn’t accept the declined invite at first, but after badgering me for a bit she nodded and said, ‘Fair’s fair. We’ll be heading back to Ernest’s room after, probably around midnight, post-drinks drinks. If you can’t sleep or get bored of sorting out your knickers drawer, do join.’
I told her I would bear it in mind.
I went to bed early that night, determined to wake at the crack of dawn and go to the library, but instead spent the two and a half hours tossing and turning, unable to find the right thoughts to guide me into the usually comforting world of sleep. Images of Ally, sitting on my bed and talking about James and Julianne, kept swimming into my mind, no matter how hard I tried to think of something else. James’s eyes. That confident, almost challenging, gaze he had held me in as he allowed Julianne to do that to him. That thing I had wanted to do to him the moment I met him, and more besides. I thought of my time with George on the sofa at home and how plain it had all felt. How strange yet mundane, unusual yet uninspired. It wasn’t what I’d expected. It wasn’t enough.
I got up and pulled on my clothes. It was just past midnight. Though I’d have preferred to have spent some time getting ready properly, I quickly pulled on some black jeans and a light-blue cotton jumper over the white t-shirt I’d worn in bed. On top of this, I picked out my thickest winter coat from the wardrobe and set off down the corridor, out of the building and into the night. The courtyard was coated in a thin layer of snow and I crunched my way across it, walking the short distance down the road to where the boys’ halls were. A young man held the door open for me on his way in, removing the obstacle of gaining access after hours without a key, and I remembered where Ernest’s room was easily enough. I stopped in front of it, knocked and, thinking I’d heard a voice call out from inside, opened it and walked in. Darkness greeted me. I took a step back outside into the dully-lit hallway, disconcerted. Were they all sitting in the dark? Then I heard voices to my left and realised it must have been another group of students I’d heard. Ernest’s room was empty. Though not as bitingly cold as the January winds outside, the corridor was far from warm, so I decided to wait inside. I’d been invited, after all, I thought as I turned the light on and settled myself on the bed.
Ernest’s mattress was softer than mine and dipped quite a bit as I put my weight on it. I glanced around, taking in the books I had examined on my previous visit and the general untidy feeling of clutter and disorder. On the floor by my feet were the familiar scattered items of clothing and, within them, a fold of maroon fabric. I reached down and retrieved it. James’s tracksuit bottoms, the ones he had been wearing when I’d seen him emerge from Ernest’s bed all those months ago, were in my hands. Weighty, extremely soft, no doubt a premium brand. I brought them closer to me and saw a glint of white poking out, then something fell on my lap. A pair of men’s underpants. I jumped up, as if they were a tarantula, and let them fall to the floor.
My heart was beating and I glanced at the door, convinced someone would step in at any moment and declare I was a pervert and shame me in front of hundreds of my fellow students. But no such thing happened. I nudged them gingerly out of my way and sat back down. Still clutching the tracksuit bottoms, I gave in to my overwhelming desire: I brought them to my face. His scent – that strange, elusive, manly scent – a mixture of his aftershave and something else, something more primal, filled me as I drew in a breath. I let my mind hang there for a moment, picturing him, his face, his smile, his eyes, that look as he leant back and watched me watching him being satisfied in the most pleasurable way possible. I was excited, I could feel it between my thighs, and I desperately wanted to put my hand under my jeans, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it here. I thought about later. What I’d do to myself when I got back to my bed. I’d almost decided to return to my dorm and pretend
I had never arrived here when the noise of a door down the corridor closing made me start.
‘Let’s get you into bed, young man,’ said a posh male voice. Ernest’s voice.
‘That sounds promising,’ another said, and I knew it was James.
‘With the American and the Pauper forsaking your needs, I think I’m the best you’re going to find.’ Ernest laughed to himself, but James cut across him.
‘Don’t call her that. Really, don’t.’
Their voices were getting close and, in a second, I hit the light switch, and then felt my way to the wardrobe, relieved to find there was more than enough space amidst the jumble of shirts for me to stand. I didn’t know what I was doing, why I hadn’t just stayed seated. But now I was in there, I was scared to come out in case that was the first thing they saw when they walked in: me, emerging from Ernest’s wardrobe like the freak they no doubt thought I was.
I watched from the slit as the two boys entered the room and turned on the light. Ally wasn’t with them, nor was Peter. They were both stumbling a little. Alcohol, it seemed. But not enough of it to make them hit the bed straight away. Ernest crouched down at his desk, picking up some papers from the floor and putting them in his bag. ‘Darthall’s bloody Proust essay tomorrow. Fucking hate Proust. Had to force myself to finish it.’
James merely murmured in response. He pulled off his jumper and shirt in one apparently effortless movement, his subtly toned body exposed. ‘Can we turn off the light?’ he said.
‘Just a sec.’ Ernest finished sorting out his papers and then hit the switch on the wall. The room went dark again, though they were both clearly visible from the light pollution streaming in from the window. A strange, weak, orange glow washed over James’s torso. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off. My heart felt like it was doing gymnastics in my chest and I felt sure they’d hear its relentless pounding if they didn’t hear my breathing first. James stood there in his briefs, then pulled them off, too. The shock of seeing him completely naked overwhelmed me for a couple of seconds. I felt like a deviant, a voyeur – a horrible, sinking feeling of guilt mingling with the prickly rush of a teenage girl brushing up against the boy she likes at the school disco. Here I was again. Always on the outside and unable to look away. I shouldn’t have been there. I didn’t want to be, and yet I did, desperately, want to carry on staring. Shadow fell on his crotch as he turned, covering any frontal nudity as he got into the bed. Ernest started to remove his clothes seconds later. He, too, removed his briefs, and I got a brief glimpse of his penis as he turned around. Before he got into bed, however, he picked up a pair of what seemed to be boxer shorts from his drawer and put them on. They were together in bed. Both boys. Ernest and James. The latter completely naked, the other in just his pants. They lay quite still for a while. After what seemed like an eternity, the two shapes seemed to mingle and I realised Ernest had pulled himself close to James. He put his arms around his friend so he was hugging him from behind.