by Roz Nay
Freddy’s cell phone began to ring in his blazer pocket. “It’s champagne and freshly squeezed orange juice.” He rummaged for his phone and stared down at the number on the screen as he wriggled out of the booth. “Do excuse me, chaps. Back in a mo’.”
We watched him scurry to the back of the café and push through the doors toward the bathrooms.
HP pulled his hoodie off over his head, taking three-quarters of his T-shirt with it. He rearranged himself but wouldn’t look at me. “You two seem close.”
“He’s my friend. He’s been kind to me.”
“Oh, I bet he has.” HP nodded over at the waitress, and when she arrived at the table he ordered three beers. “And what’s good to eat? Everything you have is made with goat cheese.”
“You don’t like goat cheese?” She curled a strand of blond hair for him, jutting a hip out and slanting her chrome tray against it. “It’s really smooth and creamy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just bring us the beers, okay? I’ll help my friends with the menu.”
She returned a few moments later, looking only at HP as she slid the bottles onto the table.
He took his and raised it. “Here’s to the real people.”
The three of us clinked.
Freddy came back from the bathrooms but didn’t sit down again. His nose wrinkled at the sight of us drinking, because he found distasteful either the beer or the fact that we were drinking it without glassware.
“A word, if I may.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “It was very nice meeting you, gentlemen. Enjoy the mother country; I’m sure Ange will show you the best bits.”
HP and Ezra tilted their bottles to him with their mouths pressed closed.
Once we were huddled in the yellow doorway of the café, Freddy gripped my wrist.
“Do you seriously expect me to believe that that is the guy?” He threw furtive glances back at HP, who was in the booth with Ezra, both of them laughing. “Angela, they’re … they’re children! You’re miles beyond them.”
“What’s it to you?”
He blinked at me for a few seconds and let go of me, quietly hooking his umbrella over his forearm.
“That call was from Keble College. They have our May Ball tickets.” Freddy adjusted the tuck of his handkerchief in the pocket of his blazer. “I took the liberty of ordering two more for your … friends. I assume they’re staying? I’m off to pick the tickets up now.”
“Thanks.”
He sighed and reached out for my forearm again, gentler this time. “You can do what you wish, of course. Romance-wise, I mean.”
“You think you know me, Freddy?” I pushed forward off the window and pulled the café door open. “I’m miles beyond you, too.”
I watched as the hurt unfurled in his eyes like squid ink through water. He turned on his heel and clipped briskly away down Dawson Street.
* * *
Ezra wanted to do typically tourist things while he was in Oxford, so we spent days punting on the Cherwell, or visiting the arts cinema in Jericho where Ezra refused to read the subtitles and spent hours throwing popcorn at the prettiest girls. As much as I liked the joviality of Ez, I was getting tired of him fast. In my college room, HP and I shared my single bed, but with my arm outstretched I could literally touch Ezra’s knee as he lay on the floor. Every time we tried to whisper in the darkness, Ezra either shushed us or joined the whispering. Finally HP and I carved out some time for just us, and I took him to my favorite haunt.
HP slowed as we reached the courtyard of the Radcliffe Camera, where the sky was cloudless behind the dome. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring up at the glass and masonry as I sat down on the broad step of the Bodleian Library, my back against the door.
“Amazing, hey?”
HP turned. “It looks different every time I see it. Maybe it’s the color of the sky.” He sat down next to me.
“Are you having fun?”
“I am.” He nodded slowly. “You?”
“Good. I’m great. Listen, I wanted to thank you for coming over. I haven’t had a chance to say that yet.”
“You’re welcome.”
Our words felt formal, like we were interviewing each other for a corporate job. In the three days that had gone by, we’d rarely spoken of home.
“So how’s Cove? Anything to report?”
“Coaching’s good. Carpentry’s good. But you know Cove. Nothing ever happens.” He kicked the heel of one shoe against the step. “Especially compared with here.”
“What do you mean by that, exactly?”
“I don’t know—I just feel like you’re…” He took a breath. “Do I need to worry about this Freddy guy?”
“Oh, God, no,” I said. “There’s nothing going on with me and Freddy. Seriously, the guy irons his jeans so there’s a pleat down the front.” I pulled HP’s arm so he rocked closer. “I didn’t tell you about him because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Look, it’s all good and I believe you and everything. Just … don’t lie to me, LJ. I can’t stand liars.”
“Freddy’s just a friend. I swear to God.”
“Okay,” he said, kissing me quickly. “Enough about Freddy. Enough.” He looked out over the courtyard, where the tourists were making peace signs for photos. “So are we together still? Or are we ‘seeing what happens’?”
“Don’t ask me! You were the one who wanted to make it vague in the first place.” It came out sharper than I’d intended, and I saw his eyebrows knit again. I slipped my arm through his. “I think we should stop worrying and just relax back into each other.”
“Yeah.” He stretched and ruffled his hair. “Yeah, let’s just have some fun. Good call. Enough of all this heavy shit.” He pulled me toward him by the neck of my T-shirt.
We kissed as we stood, surrounded by tourists and pigeons and the singsong bells of bicycles. We couldn’t get to my college room fast enough.
That night we drank in the bars on Cowley Road and partied in the O2 nightclub. It was full of synthetic smoke and weird lighting that gave all the clubbers blue teeth and dandruff. We hadn’t checked ahead so it was some kind of jungle DJ who played music so manic, it made me feel like I was about to have a panic attack. I retreated to the back bar where the beat was reduced to a dull thump and let the boys get on with it.
At around 2:00 a.m. we wandered back up Cowley Road, stopping at Kebab Kid for the boys. The puddles shone psychedelic with grease. I waited outside, sitting on a nearby bus shelter bench, and stared at an old man in the doorway of a betting shop. He’d vomited on the front stoop and couldn’t get up from it—every few minutes he’d skid his toe forward looking for a foothold before slumping back against the door.
A guy with a foot-high Afro loped along the sidewalk asking everyone he passed for money. His hips led his stride, his gait spongy. If denied money, he’d point in the person’s face and say, “Fuck you.” He moved through the whole late-night crowd that way, repeating his script until, by the fifth attempt, he simply said, “Can you spare some change fuck you,” all in a single breath. Wherever you looked on Cowley Road there was humanity, the true slimy viscera of it.
And yet there was HP through the smeary kebab shop window. There he was, pointing at sauces, jostling and joking, befriending everyone standing around him. I watched him from ten feet away, loving him for his knack of happiness. He was a rarity, a resilient light, and with a world full of choices surrounding him, he continued to choose me.
CHAPTER NINE
“I’m curious, why did HP bring his friend to England with him?” Novak interrupts my daydream. “I mean, here’s a guy who’s crazy about a girl, saves up all his money to come see her after a prolonged absence … and brings his buddy along. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
I keep my face still. “HP and Ezra were a double act back then. They did a lot together.”
“Perhaps he wanted a buffer.” Novak sits forward, his eyes sharp. “Did you ever think about that?”
If he’s trying to get a rise out of me, he’ll have to do better.
“No? Okay. Just asking.” He stands suddenly and pushes his chair back along the squeaking linoleum, then drifts around the table with his hands in his pockets and stares out the thin horizontal window that flanks the right side of the room. He seems to be whistling through his teeth.
“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” I ask.
He doesn’t turn. “You have a rather pessimistic view of the world.” On the way back around the table he hesitates, and instead pulls out the chair next to mine and stands in the gap.
I feel like a Catholic at a confessional, the priest joining me in the booth.
Novak sits down in the chair, facing me. “Do you think it’s normal that Saskia’s missing? Is it all just part of life’s inescapable loss?”
I ignore his question. “Do you watch safari shows, Novak? I watched this show on Discovery once where a mom hippo and her baby were trying to cross a river, and this other grown male hippo comes in and starts stomping the riverbed so that the mom and baby get separated.”
Novak breathes heavily.
“They were crying for each other, the mother and the baby. It is the rawest noise I’ve ever heard. The adult hippo stamped the baby to death while the mom was forced to stand and watch.” I let that sink in. “That’s nature at work; that’s natural. Animals understand the imminence of danger, and yet they still bond. I find that interesting.”
Novak scratches his cheek. “It seems you’d like to educate people on how to behave.”
He’s starting to invade my space. I fight the urge to push my chair away from him. “I’m just saying we should all admit it: There’s always sorrow. It’s why we’re here right now, Novak.”
He shakes his head. “So, which hippo are you in that story?”
“Which hippo? That’s your question?”
“The male one?”
“Please. I’m talking about my worldview, not playing pretend.”
He pauses, meters his words like a metronome. “Did you hurt Saskia to prove a point?”
“No.”
He scribbles a few more words, underlining something, pressing hard. When he speaks again his voice is too breezy. “Well, I’m sorry I cut into your story. I hope you haven’t lost your thread. So … HP and Ezra joined you at Oxford. Didn’t you all attend some kind of ball?”
He’s been talking to HP. I nod imperceptibly.
“What did you wear to the ball, Angela?”
I let out one bark of a laugh. “How’s that relevant?”
“Good storytelling’s in the details. You know that.”
“I wore a men’s white dress shirt, tailored so it fit. It stopped at my thigh. I had on a black necktie, worn loose, and heavy mascara. Black, knee-high boots. Four-inch heels.”
He pulls at the knot of his tie, loosening it. “See? That tells me a lot.”
“Such as?”
“You grew up. You finally figured out you were attractive. And you wanted HP to realize it.”
We stare at each other across the table. I can play this game, too, if he wants.
CHAPTER TEN
When I clipped down the stairs to the Hertford quad in my high heels, HP and Ezra were waiting on the lawn in their tuxedos. They both turned and bowed. I’d never seen either of them look so grand. HP’s tux fit the line of his shoulders perfectly, and the white of his high collar made his face look even more tanned. He’d been to the barber’s, his hair cut close to his neck and parted to the side like Robert Redford as Jay Gatsby. Ezra had shaved.
For weeks I’d practiced walking in my boots up and down the wooden floor of my college room. Of course I didn’t attempt the grass, but my steps were confident as I strode along the stone path to its edge.
“You look … like, wow.” HP headed toward me.
“That’s a hell of a long way from your T-shirt at our graduation party,” added Ez with a whistle. “Hey, you don’t get any offers tonight, you can totally come home with me.”
“M’lady,” said HP, ignoring his friend.
I took HP’s arm and together we headed out of the gates of Hertford toward Keble, stealing glances at each other every now and again. The electricity between us crackled with every step. Detective Novak, it was the best ten minutes I’d had in Oxford.
Freddy stood at the main entrance in a waistcoat and tails. When we were ten steps away from reaching him, HP suddenly grabbed me around the waist and pressed me to the rusty college brickwork.
He kissed me full on the lips. “Let’s have an epic night.”
I wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection, but honestly, I could have ditched the entire ball and just gone back to my room with HP right there and then.
“Ladies and gents.” Freddy arrived at our side, his eyes darting. “I hate to push in, but if we don’t hurry all of the champers will be gone.” He stretched in past HP’s chest and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re looking enchanting, my darling. I’m reminded of A Clockwork Orange.”
“Good.” In heels I was exactly Freddy’s height.
“Shall we?” He flourished us toward the entrance, and we all trailed through the grandeur of the main doors together. Keble’s quad is six times the size of Hertford’s, and they’d jammed it full of every fun activity imaginable. With the college buildings as a perimeter, the inner lawns thudded with music. We stood, wide-eyed, looking at the spread.
To the left of us was a huge beer tent, flanked to the right by bumper cars rented from the carnival. They’d set up a greasy pole in the very center of the quad for students to straddle while they hit one another with pillows, and next to that was a bungee rope that you had to run hard and fast away from in a Velcro suit, only to be whipped backward and stuck to a wall like a bug on flypaper.
We didn’t know where to start.
“I vote beer,” shouted Ezra above the din. He and HP headed through the flaps of the white marquee, leaving me standing alone next to Freddy. He put his arm around me.
“Have you been enjoying your week, Ms. Petitjean?” His teeth blushed from too much Malbec. He must have started early.
“It’s been fine.” I put one hand on his lapel. “Listen, I’m sorry I was a bitch to you at Coco’s.”
“Oh, pish-posh. Let’s not bother with piffle.”
“But you’ve been kind to me, Freddy. From the very start.”
“Well, you’re special, my darling. Not everyone’s as brilliant and unkind as you are.”
I turned to see if he was joking and felt relieved when he trumpeted his nose into his spotted handkerchief. “Come on. We’re wasting time. Let’s go and find the champers.”
Inside the beer tent, it was even louder and the walls shone slick with heat. We spied HP and Ezra by the bar and started to push our way through the bodies toward them. I slipped under the elbow of a man in a white dinner jacket and popped up into the middle of the boys’ conversation. HP was roaring with laughter and a girl in a sky blue, skintight dress was touching his forearm as if to say, Stop it immediately, I can’t take any more of your fun.
“I’m serious,” Ez was yelling. “We got home with no shirts and a black eye each and his mom took photos of us.”
The girl shook her head, the locks of her blond hair tickling at her bare shoulders. She was slim, wore very little makeup, and had freckles across her nose and a strange, dark tan on the bottom half of her face that made it look like she’d dipped her chin in cocoa.
“You guys are awesome.” I could hear she was Australian.
“Hey.” I inched myself into the outer curve of the circle. “Did you get me a drink?”
Ezra and HP looked sideways at each other.
“I’ll go,” said Ezra. “What are you having?”
I stepped with Ezra to the bar, looking back over my shoulder distractedly to see HP hunker down and listen to something else the girl was saying. When he replied he covered his mouth with his hand to make sure he di
dn’t spit on her. He only did that when he was making an effort.
“LJ!” Ezra poked me in the back with a stubby finger. “What are you drinking?”
“Champagne. And one for Freddy. Who’s the girl?”
“She’s an Aussie, just back from the Alps; some kind of snowboard instructor.”
When he handed me two glasses of champagne, he shoved them and they spilled a little. He wiped his fingers down his lapels and hurried back into the circle. Freddy stood behind me and reached over to take his glass.
“Bloody Australians,” he said into my ear. “Who wears flip-flops to a ball?”
I glanced at the girl’s feet and headed back into their circle.
“Why’s your face half brown?” I asked. HP, Ezra, and the girl turned to me.
“Spring skiing,” chorused the boys.
“What’s with the tattoo?” I nodded at her left forearm, the inside of which was inked with an elephant, decorative and colored.
“Elephants are heaps beautiful. They keep soul mates for life and mourn their loved ones.” Her teeth blazed whiteness. She looked like she ate nothing but apples. “And I like their knees.”
I snorted.
“Little John, we’re going out to do the bungee run. You in?” HP drained his pint glass.
“God, no.”
“Little John? Cool name! Like the Merry Men!” The true blue of the girl’s eyes shone. “So which one of you is Robin Hood?”
HP and Ezra both pointed to their own chests.
“What’s your name?” I fired back.
She held out a smooth, toned arm. “I’m Saskia.”
When I shook her hand her fingers felt icy against mine.
* * *
At the mention of Saskia, Novak sits up straight in his chair.
“Look at you,” I say. “It’s the arrival of Saskia into my story. You must be excited.”
He knocks his pen against the clipboard on his knee. “I was interested to know how your paths first crossed. And more interested in hearing how they led you here.”
“Hey, I’m only here for another … sixteen hours. Give or take. Beyond that, my path splits.”