‘I wish it was that straightforward,’ Theo said with his mouth full, ‘but my dad would go crazy.’ It was a miracle he was at university at all and not chained to a desk in Villiers House.
Spud made as if he was answering a phone. ‘Oh hello, yes. Right, I’ll tell him.’ He theatrically mimed replacing the receiver. ‘That was the Universe on the phone. It said, “Tell your mate that this is his life, not his dad’s, and he needs to do what makes him happy!”’
‘You make it sound easy.’ Theo took another bite, he was famished.
‘I think it’s as easy or as hard as you want it to be.’
‘For you maybe. What would your dad say if you changed course?’ He licked his greasy fingers.
Spud held his gaze. ‘My dad doesn’t care what I study, he just wants me to be happy and he is beyond chuffed that his son has got a place at university. It’s a big deal for us. I’m the first ever on either side of the family to go and not just to any university – UCL, in that London!’ He was making fun of himself, but Theo knew his humour masked a very real truth and he envied Spud that.
7
Spud had been right, as he often was. Switching degrees had been a doddle and Theo had thrown himself into his new course, attending lectures with pleasure and writing essays with gusto. The hardest part had been trying to tell his parents, but after one attempt he made a decision and kept his course change to himself. They hadn’t exactly taken an interest in his engineering degree anyway, so why should this be any different? It was now the autumn term of his final year and he had already started looking at the jobs pages, keen to get on with his chosen career as soon as he graduated. He was particularly interested in housing policy, which was one of his specialisms.
It was rare that he slept through his alarm, but today had been an exception. He cursed the fact. It was vital that he get in on time for this morning’s tutorial. His tutor had made it quite clear from the beginning: ‘A degree from UCL cannot be coasted. A degree from UCL requires investment from you in the form of hard work and commitment and if the concept of industry and reward is something you do not understand, then might I suggest that a degree course here is not for you.’ His dissertation was looming and today was the day set aside for discussing it with his tutor. It was important to Theo that he be the best he could, and regardless of whether he eventually managed to get his hoped-for 2:1, a good reference from his tutor would be enormously helpful.
‘God, I hate being late!’ Theo muttered under his breath as he raced from the flat in Belsize Park he shared with Spud and ran down the street. Jumping back onto the kerb, he tucked his shirt into the waistband of his jeans and looked the length of the road and back again, his eyes searching for a cab. ‘Come on, come on!’ he pleaded. He glanced at his watch. ‘Shit!’
He started to half walk, half run in the direction of the UCL campus, watching eagerly for a cab as he went. Finally one swung into view. He jumped up and down, calling out ‘Taxi!’ with his arm straight up in the air. The cabbie flashed his lights and pulled over. Theo scrambled in, sat back and took a deep breath. He wished he’d had time to shower properly instead of doing only a quick spritz with a can of deodorant.
As the cab trundled along Eversholt Street and idled at the lights, Theo stared distractedly out of the window, mentally rehearsing the excuses he might offer to explain his tardiness to his tutor. And suddenly, there on the pavement, waiting to cross over, dressed in high-waisted baggy jeans, a cropped baby-pink sweatshirt and with a purple file in her arms, stood none other than Kitty Montrose.
‘Stop the cab!’ He leant forward and banged on the dividing screen.
The cabbie tutted and pulled over.
Theo thrust a note at him. ‘Sorry! Keep the change!’ he managed as he jumped out, desperate not to lose sight of her.
His heart thumped as he drew closer. He hoped he wasn’t mistaken. Many had been the time during the two and a half years since leaving Vaizey that his spirits had lifted at the sight of a red-headed girl, only to be disappointed when he got near enough to see that she was a poor imitation of the real thing.
He sidled along the pavement and watched her peer into the newsagent’s window. He looked to his left and felt a spike of joy through his gut. It was her! No doubt about it. His jaw tensed and his mouth went dry. He tried to calm his thoughts, didn’t want her to know he’d followed her – it had to look casual, a coincidence.
He willed her to go into the coffee shop, giving him a legitimate excuse to follow and bump into her in the queue.
‘Hey, Kitty,’ he practised in his head, ‘fancy seeing you here!’ He experimented with the face he would pull, sucked in his stomach and wondered how he should stand, how best to show off his height and broad shoulders.
‘Oh my God! Theo? Theo!’
Her yell drew him from his thoughts. He looked and did a double-take for real, no time for rehearsals, as there she was not three feet away and she was smiling at him. He needn’t have worried about feigning surprise; his shock at interacting with the girl who haunted his dreams was genuine.
‘Oh my God! Kitty!’ He beamed. ‘No way!’
She rushed forward, dropping her bag and file on the pavement, and threw her arms around his neck. For a glorious second he knew what it must have felt like to be Angus Thompson, with Kitty’s body pressed against his and her floral scent enveloping him like a gossamer cloth.
It felt bloody brilliant.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked as she pulled away.
He slid his hands from her waist, where his fingers briefly made contact with her silky skin, and tried to hide the tremble to his limbs. ‘Just on my way to uni. Exams are coming up, so I’m looking for a few pointers on my dissertation,’ he said, with none of the urgency he should have felt.
‘Oh God, it’s so great to see you! Look at you!’ She bobbed her knees, and he understood, because he too felt like dancing. ‘Do you want to grab a coffee? Have you got time? I don’t want to keep you.’ She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, to the coffee shop along the street. It had tables outside and a chalkboard detailing the cakes on offer and the soup of the day.
‘Now?’ His mind raced, weighing up the consequences of missing his tutorial against the chances of seeing her again, alone like this.
‘Yes, now!’ She laughed.
‘Yep, of course, great!’
He fell into step beside her and it was a strange thing. He was twenty, working hard for his degree, living with Spud and, emboldened by booze, had spent time with a fair few girls, yet at that precise moment, walking along the street with Kitty by his side, he felt like he was fourteen again and just as clumsy. Even his natural walking pace lost its rhythm and he feared he might stumble if he didn’t concentrate. He dismissed the several topics of conversation that flared in his mind, wanting to say the right thing, wanting to sound cool and yet interesting. His thoughts raged.
‘I’m at college, not far from here.’ She nodded into the distance. Her soft Scottish lilt hadn’t disappeared and this made him happy. It would have been difficult to supplant the voice he heard in his daydreams.
‘And you’re studying journalism, right?’ He tried to make it sound like he didn’t know exactly what she was studying, as if he might have forgotten her plans laid out excitedly during one English lesson.
‘Yep.’ She nodded. ‘Don’t know if that’s what I’ll do finally, finally, but I’m enjoying it, so...’
‘You’re a long way from the Highlands,’ he said, stating the obvious.
‘I know.’ She looked down. ‘And I miss it so much. There are days when I have to stop myself throwing everything I own into a suitcase, jumping on a train, climbing into my walking boots and racing up a mountain to gulp down lungfuls of that beautiful clean air!’ She closed her eyes briefly and he glimpsed the freckles that dotted her lids, just as he had remembered.
‘Racing up a mountain or going for a swim.’ He smiled.
‘Oh, Theo,
you remembered! Yes, I still love to swim.’
I remember everything: each word, each touch, each burst of laughter.
He studied her pale complexion and that tiny nose, half listening to her chatter about her course and her flatmates but at the same time taking in every detail of her, which he knew he would replay in the early hours whenever sleep evaded him. He watched her gather her cappuccino from the counter into her dainty hand and make her way past the tables to a vacant booth along the laminate-clad wall. He paid for the two of them, then followed with his can of 7up, remembering suddenly Mr Porter’s words about girls who always assumed the man would pay: ‘If she’s the kind of girl that is impressed by gifts and expensive treats, the kind of girl who won’t pay her own way, then I would say she isn’t the girl you want...’ He swallowed the familiar mixture of guilt and sadness that hit him whenever he remembered Mr Porter and automatically felt inside his jeans pocket for the fishing-fly pin he carried whatever he was wearing.
‘It is good to see you, Theo.’ She studied his face and he felt himself blushing under her scrutiny. ‘You look...’
‘I look what?’ He was curious and self-conscious in equal measure. He watched the words form on her lips.
‘You look lovely.’
‘Lovely? I’d prefer something a bit more rugged,’ he quipped, tensing his arms into a he-man pose before sipping from the can. He was delighted nonetheless.
‘Nope.’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to choose the words in my head and that’s it: you look lovely to me.’
There was a second or two of silence while he let her words settle on him like glitter. They held each other’s gaze without embarrassment, as if their shared history allowed for this intimacy.
‘I’ve often thought I might bump into you, and I’ve kept a lookout for you, but you never go to any of the reunion events at Vaizey, do you?’ Her words robbed him of the chance to respond to her compliment.
‘No. I have absolutely no desire to go back.’ He sat up tall in the seat, subconsciously showing her that he was now grown-up, different.
‘But you should. They’re good fun and it’s nice to catch up with people.’
Theo struggled with how to respond, saddened and inexplicably angry that she felt affection for the place he’d detested, and wary of sharing his true feelings about their school. He didn’t want the glitter to lose its shine. ‘Only hell or high water would drag me back there,’ he offered finally and firmly, hoping this was enough.
‘I always liked sitting next to you,’ she continued, seemingly oblivious to the depth of his feelings about Vaizey. ‘I liked it very much. I remember how whenever Mr Reeves said something risqué or stupid we’d look at each other – that little glance that meant we both got it!’ She threw her head back and laughed her beautiful laugh.
‘He was so dull.’
‘He was so dull!’ She laughed again and he joined in. It felt good to share this. ‘“Page forty-three of the nominated accompanying text on Othello, please, ladies and gentlemen!”’ She mimicked their English teacher’s monotone warble perfectly.
‘Oh my God, don’t! That’s too scary!’
‘Shall we get some cake? I’m starving.’
‘Sure.’ He stood up.
‘Just one bit, we can share.’ She spoke matter-of-factly and he felt his heart might burst through his ribs.
The two sat in the booth with a slab of Victoria sandwich between them and two forks, jousting for the best bits of the disappointingly dry sponge. Theo didn’t care that he’d missed his tutorial. He didn’t care about much. He just wished he could bottle the hour and a half they sat there together, isolated from the real world, so he could carry it around in his pocket for the rest of his life. It was one of those rare, rare moments when there was nowhere else in the world that he would rather be.
‘So, Theodore,’ she asked sternly, ‘have you learnt any of Mr Kipling’s poetry yet?’ She dipped her chin and looked at him through her strawberry-blonde lashes.
Theo carefully laid his fork on the tabletop and took a swig of his lemonade to wash away the cake crumbs. He stared up into her green eyes and began.
‘This is from “The Gipsy Trail”.’ He coughed. ‘By Rudyard Kipling.
“The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,
The deer to the wholesome wold,
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old.
“The heart of a man to the heart of a maid—
Light of my tents, be fleet.
Morning waits at the end of the world,
And the world is all at our feet!”’
He had never imagined he might say the words out loud to her. He’d memorised the poem purely to plug the gaping hole in his knowledge, exposed that first day he’d met Kitty, and because the words seemed so apt.
Kitty’s eyes glazed over with emotion, and so did his. They stared at each other in silence, and like the white spaces that allow an image to stand boldly on the page it was the silence that spoke loudest to him. It was a moment to be cherished. A moment in which to do something – when would he ever get another chance?
Her eyes were searching for something and her mouth moved, as if she was ordering the thoughts that hovered on her tongue. She looked down into her lap and her voice when it came was hushed.
‘That’s beautiful.’
‘You are beautiful. The most beautiful. I have always thought so. Always.’ He offered this, not knowing where the courage to speak his mind had come from; it was as if the words tumbled out of their own accord.
He watched aghast as her tears fell. He focused on a solitary tear that slipped like glass over her cheek, magnifying the freckles as it travelled. He so wanted to wipe it away with the tip of his finger.
‘Please don’t cry! I’m sorry if I made you sad.’
‘I’m not crying because of you, I’m crying because I have so much going on that sometimes I can’t think straight.’ Kitty sniffed and looked up at him.
Emboldened, he placed his hand over hers. ‘Oh, Kitty, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to go and get something to drink that isn’t coffee?’
Kitty nodded and managed a smile. ‘I really would like to go and get something to drink that isn’t coffee.’
The pub was quiet, not that this put a dampener on their day. Their boozing was frenzied: whisky shots followed pints of beer, and by early afternoon they were more than tipsy. Theo was fearless whenever he wore his booze cloak. Reaching for her hand, he pulled her to him and kissed her firmly on the mouth. He might have been part sloshed, but that kiss was as good as any he’d dreamt about. They parted and stood inches from each other, as if no words were needed. Theo reached for his bag and coat and watched as Kitty downed the last of her drink and picked up her file. Hand in hand, with Theo leading the way, they part ran, part walked to his flat in Belsize Park. They kissed on the stairs and again in the hallway and by the time he opened his front door, Kitty was pulling at his shirt, yanking it free from the waistband of his jeans.
‘If you knew the minutes, hours, days, weeks I have dreamt of this moment, Miss Montrose.’ He kissed her hungrily, guiding her to the bedroom.
‘You are my knight in shining armour, remember?’ Kitty slurred, hooking her hands around the back of his neck.
Theo felt the swell of joy in his gut. This was happening! Kitty was in his arms, in his bedroom and she was taking off his clothes...
*
Propped up on his elbow, he watched Kitty sleep. He was sobering up now and totally in awe of the beautiful girl lying on the pillow next to him. His face ached from smiling. He lay down next to her, suffused with an unfamiliar serenity. In his head, he made plans. When you wake up I’ll take you for supper, and one day we’ll go to the Highlands together. I’ll watch you swim and then I’ll wrap you in a warm towel...
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, stretching her naked arm over her head
with abandon. ‘Oh God, Theo!’ She placed her hand over her eyes, as if the lamplight offended. ‘What time is it?’
He glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. ‘Nearly seven.’
‘In the evening?’ She sat up straight.
‘Yes, in the evening!’ He laughed.
‘Shit! Oh Shit!’ Kitty flung back the duvet and, unabashed by her nakedness, felt around on the floor for her hastily discarded clothing.
‘It’s not that late – I thought we might get some supper?’ He moved the pillow beneath his head to get comfy.
‘Supper?’ She stopped ferreting on the floor and glanced at him. She looked stricken, and though her expression was hard to read, it was clear that supper was out of the question. She was squinting now, her brow furrowed in confusion and her top lip hooked with what might have been disgust.
Theo swallowed as a gut-churning quake of nerves and inadequacy burbled inside him.
‘Theo...’
She faced him now, and he knew that whatever was coming next, he didn’t want to hear it. His confidence collapsed and all of a sudden he was sitting in a puddle of regret and shame.
Kitty blinked rapidly and looked mournfully into her lap, her knickers in her hand.
Theo saw her eyes jump to her bra, jeans and top, locating them on the floor in case she needed a quick exit.
‘I’m getting married.’
Her words cleaved open the quiet tenderness between them, peeling the beauty from the day, leaving him raw and feeling horribly foolish. He was that same fourteen-year-old boy all over again, his hopes newly dashed, just as they had been back in the classroom that first day.
What had you honestly expected, Theo, you weirdo? She’s probably never given you a second thought, not really.
‘You’re...?’
‘I’m getting married,’ she repeated, a little louder this time.
Theo Page 10