‘I think Monopoly,’ Michael said as Nick took their stack of games out of the cupboard.
‘Are you sure we should be giving Nick any ideas about world domination?’ Tim asked, settling on to the sofa again.
‘Talking of domination, you didn’t tell me what you got on your last assignment, Nick,’ Michael said, putting the racing car on the first square.
‘Give or take an alpha,’ Nick muttered, taking the cat for himself.
‘What does that mean?’
‘A II.1. I couldn’t do this graph thing.’
‘Have you figured it out now?’
Nick shrugged. ‘I think maybe it’s something you can either do or not. Susie couldn’t do the problem, but she aced the graph. She said she could just see it in her head.’
‘Ah, an idiot savant.’
‘She’s not an idiot, Dad,’ Nick said quietly. ‘She’s kind of … impressive when she isn’t crying.’
‘She cries in lectures?’
‘Mostly in supervisions. And it’s not my fault, before anyone says anything.’
Bill and Tim both held up their hands.
‘Why would it be your fault?’ Michael asked.
‘My supervisor says I’m not very sensitive to the fact that there’s a lot of stuff I find easier than the others.’
‘Well, you can’t help being a genius. And why would you want to?’
Nick sighed. ‘I’m not a genius, Dad. And actually I don’t know that I do find it easier. I think I just work harder. Well, harder than Frank anyway. He never seems to do anything. Susie’s not lazy but I still do at least double what she does so—’
‘So why shouldn’t you show what hard work and brains can achieve?’ Michael interrupted.
Nick shrugged again, turning his attention to tidying up the Monopoly bank.
‘Well, a II.1’s not so bad,’ said Michael. ‘And at least you’ve finally got your supervisor to actually give class marks.’
‘I tried to get a rough percentage out of him, but he went all sorrowful.’
Michael threw up his hands. ‘Sorrowful? In our day … Well, you’ve met Gosswin. Cambridge is a place for Gosswins and people like us. People who don’t need to be … cuddled through life.’
‘I think it’s “coddled”, Mike. Maybe we’ve done enough damage to the brandy for one day,’ put in Bill, swapping Michael’s glass for a coffee cup.
‘Give that back, Morrison. I said “cuddled” and I meant “cuddled”. This is a stage of ridiculousness beyond coddling. When did students get so precious about their feelings? I can’t remember anyone caring a hoot for mine – or anyone else’s – when we were undergrads. The way I remember it, the fellows had a hearty disdain for the vile little worms interrupting their research and their drinking with a need for lectures and supervisions. Don’t you remember when we were up, Bill? People used to keep their lights and music on all night to kid others into thinking they were studying twenty-four/seven, whereas really they were sleeping with earplugs and eye-masks on.’
‘Really?’ asked Tim, grinning. ‘People did that?’
‘Certain people did,’ said Bill pointedly.
Tim tipped Michael an imaginary hat. ‘That is clever, sneaky and cruel all in one. I quite like it.’
‘Maybe you can find a tutor for this graph stuff, Nick,’ Michael said, dealing out the property cards as Bill dithered over the tokens.
‘I’ll read some more over the holidays. See if I can work it out.’
Michael smiled, clapping him on the back. ‘Guess it would be a pity to let First Term work beat you after all those years complaining how bored you were at school.’
‘That is quite enough work talk for Christmas Day,’ Bill said. ‘I suspect I am a Scottie dog rather than a top hat,’ he added mournfully. ‘How do you classify yourself, Tim?’
‘Old boot. I’m surprised you’re not a battleship, Nick.’
‘Why’re you an old boot? Because you’re single and stuck with us rather than some girl you didn’t like?’
‘Who says I didn’t like her?’
Nick gave him a look. ‘Ange said you were only going out with her for a Christmas invite. This’, he made a gesture at the room, ‘has to be better than that.’
‘You mean you give me a higher-quality hard time than she would’ve?’
The doorbell rang before Nick could reply. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said, trotting through to the hall. He opened the door expecting carollers only to find Ange on the mat.
‘Nickie! Merry Christmas!’ she shouted, throwing her arms around him. ‘I won’t stay and interrupt, really I won’t. I just popped over from Mum’s – she’s in the Shelfords so just up the road – but here.’ She rummaged in her bag, frowned, rummaged some more. ‘Where … Here we are!’ She pulled a violently purple scarf out of her handbag and flung it around his neck. ‘All the best boys wear purple.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do: I very do! And I made it so it’s extra-specially purple.’
‘I didn’t know—’
‘That we were doing presents? Of course not, Nickie. That’s not the point. Just wear it and stay warm and that will be lovely.’
Nick grinned shyly at her. ‘Shall I get Tim?’
‘Tim’s here.’
Nick turned to see him slouching in the doorway, but he was frowning rather than smiling.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Ange whispered. ‘I brought you a present.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Tim echoed, but his tone put an edge on the words.
Ange sighed. ‘Don’t be like that.’ She held up her hand when he opened his mouth. ‘This is exactly why it wouldn’t have worked. Don’t ruin us, Tim. We’re good enough as we are. Just be grateful for that.’
Nick hunched into the depths of Ange’s scarf, wishing he could dig himself down into the floor.
Tim sighed, then stepped around him. When Nick dared to look up, Ange was standing in Tim’s arms, eyes the wrong type of bright. As Nick slipped away, he saw Tim’s face turn so he could press a kiss to her hair.
Chapter 14
(Christmas Vacation [≈ first week of January])
‘I don’t suppose you could make your New Year’s resolution something to do with giving up the whole torture-by-chess routine?’ Nick whined as Professor Gosswin pressed his king’s face into the board with unnecessary relish.
‘While there are things about the past I would be overjoyed to change, my present life is almost entirely to my satisfaction. Though I suppose it is incumbent upon me to consider the lives of others.’ She nodded. ‘My resolution is to meddle more frequently and to a greater extent.’ She gave Nick a beatific smile. ‘So, Mr Derran. What are your goals?’
‘A starred First?’
Professor Gosswin glared at him. ‘If that is the sum and total of your goals for the year, I shall be disappointed in both your ambition and your imagination.’
Nick rubbed at his forehead. ‘The usual, I guess,’ he said, pushing up from his chair and wandering over to the window. ‘Friends. To get on better with my dad.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure how to change those things, but if I work hard enough, I probably will get a First. Seems like a good move to focus on the thing that’s definitely achievable. I mean, I’m always going to be difficult and prickly and different, but I’m not always going to be young: even if I’m never quite in step with other people age-wise, it won’t matter so much once I’m an adult. And if I’ve used the time to get myself a really good degree from Cambridge, it’s not exactly wasted, is it? Even if I do have to just tread water about all the other stuff I want.’
‘It’s certainly the easy option.’
Nick turned away from the window, frowning. ‘What’s easy about working hard?’
‘Exactly as you said, Mr Derran: there is a clear connection between effort and marks – at least for people with your intelligence. There isn’t a formula for achieving the other things you want. Now, I’ll grant that you have taken s
teps to remedy your loneliness, but you do not give it your full attention.’
Nick turned his back on her. ‘And what else should I be doing? You can’t make other people change. You can’t make them like you. And it’s not like you can just manufacture family members when you’re short of a few.’
‘When you do not have a traditional family life, you must either do without or find yourself a non-traditional one.’
‘Because that’s so easy to do,’ Nick sneered. ‘There are bits of family lying around everywhere. Or maybe there’s a mix you can buy in the supermarket.’ He snapped his mouth shut, raised his arms in front of his face, rubbing the heels of his hands against his forehead. ‘That’s not … I know you … It doesn’t mean I don’t love the book. It’s … It means … What you said in the inscription …’
He jumped when he felt a touch on his arm, looked down to see Professor Gosswin’s hand on his wrist. She squeezed once and then sat back in her chair, shaking her head at him. ‘You can waste your life grieving for the family and friends you wish fate had set before you as a child, or you can focus on the fact that as an adult – or a near-adult in your case – you may choose what to set before yourself. Now,’ Professor Gosswin said, her tone businesslike once more, ‘tell me about the first Brethan–Derran–Morrison Christmas.’
Nick shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Tim cooked a lot. He insisted on doing all the washing up. It was a bit weird actually.’
‘I imagine he was grateful.’
Nick tilted his head. ‘Maybe.’ He sighed, fidgeting with a loose thread in his sleeve.
‘Yes, Mr Derran? In what way did Mr Brethan seem ungrateful?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Not that.’ A deep breath. ‘I asked my dad if we could visit Mum. Her grave, I mean. He said maybe. But then one day it was too rainy. And one day he was busy … It’s her birthday soon and … Well, I suppose I could go by myself. I’d have to get a taxi – there’s no train station nearby – but Dad would probably be happy enough to pay so long as he didn’t have to be there.’
‘Which of course is the least important consideration,’ Professor Gosswin said. ‘If I were you, perish the thought, I would ask Michael outright, while’, she continued, talking over Nick’s attempt to protest that he’d tried, ‘Mr Morrison was present.’
‘Oh.’ Nick sat back in his chair. ‘I’ll do that.’
‘Of course you will, stupid boy! Why else would I have suggested it?’
Nick grinned.
‘And stop that inane smirking. Next minute you’ll be trying to kiss my cheek.’
Nick blinked. ‘Would you like me to?’
‘The thought fills me with equal parts horror and revulsion. Go away instantly. What did I do’, she asked her ceiling, ‘to be saddled with this impertinent creature who refuses to quail or grovel?’
‘Mostly you remind me of my grandmother.’
Professor Gosswin turned purple with outrage. ‘In what possible way’, she bit out, ‘do I seem grandmotherly to you? I am the wolf who ate Grandma.’
‘Exactly,’ said Nick. ‘That’s exactly what my grandmother was like. Only I knew what she meant.’
‘And what do you believe that I mean?’
Nick coughed, fiddled with his watch strap, eyes on the ground. ‘About earlier, I didn’t mean it like it sounded. Your gift. The book you gave me … I … I think so too. I mean, the inscriptions …’
Professor Gosswin took a sharp little breath, refusing to meet his eyes. ‘You’re welcome, Nick,’ she said. ‘It was time for it to have a new home. Somewhere it could do further good. It has given me everything it can and there is nothing I need the pages for now that my memory can’t supply. It is a good place for it to belong.’
Nick swallowed, nodded. ‘I … just … Thank you. It … Thank you.’
‘Yes, you’ve said that, Mr Derran. You know how I feel about people repeating themselves.’
Nick grinned, pushing himself to his feet. ‘See ya,’ he called over his shoulder, as he ducked out into the hall.
‘What did you say to me?’
Nick hunched his shoulders and sidled back into the room, then darted forward and kissed her cheek.
Her bellow of outrage followed him down the stairs and round the curve of Latham Lawn.
Chapter 15
(Lent Term × Week 1 [≈ third week of January])
‘Winner is TitHall Men’s Third,’ the guy in charge of the quiz announced into the first true hush of the evening.
Nick flinched as Brent sprang to his feet, bellowing in triumph. He leaned away only to be rocked back into his seat as Brent gripped his shoulders and shook him.
‘Bossy and brainy! TitHall rules!’ he yelled. ‘Our cox beats your cox on and off the water!’
The crew struck up a chant of ‘Free round, free round’ and suddenly Nick found a beer in one hand and a shot glass in the other.
‘Why is the St John’s Boat Club called Lady Margaret anyway?’ Nick shouted over the roar of noise.
‘No idea,’ Brent said, clapping him on the back. ‘Bottoms up—’
‘Boat race!’ someone from the other team yelled and suddenly everyone was standing in a line, tipping back their shots like an alcoholic stadium wave. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nick threw the liquid into his mouth. For a moment, everything was fine, then he was doubled over, coughing and hacking, eyes watering. The others were stomping and dancing around him, jeering at the other quiz team, whose battle cry of ‘Olly, olly, Lady Maggie’ trailed off dismally as they realised they’d already lost.
‘Three NOTHING!’ came the roar from his teammates.
Sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Nick sighed and took a sip of his beer, then another. It soothed the burning in his throat.
‘Ha! We are unstoppable!’ Brent cried, throwing himself on to his stool and nearly off the other side. ‘Oops,’ he said, steadying himself by casting an arm over Nick’s shoulders. ‘So, shortstuff, I thought you were a maths genius. Where did all that stuff come from about Shakespeare? How do you know about Jane Austen?’
Nick shrugged. ‘I like to read.’ He took another sip of his beer. ‘I wanted to do English but they wouldn’t let me. Said you need more “life experience” to be able to truly understand literature.’
Brent pulled a face. ‘What do they know? You were, like, on fire, my man. Gee-Nee-Oous!’
‘I’m not a genius.’
Brent didn’t listen. ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting another shot glass into Nick’s hand. ‘S’only fair you get to enjoy your share of our winnings from LOSERS, LOSERS, TRIPLE LOSERS,’ he yelled at the other team.
Nick squeezed his eyes shut as the shouting started all over again.
‘Come on. Knock that back,’ said Brent. As Nick put the glass tentatively to his lips, Brent tipped it upright for him, then snatched it away, slamming it down on the table and pounding happily on Nick’s back while he coughed and gasped. ‘Here you go,’ he said, passing Nick’s beer back to him.
‘I think I’ve had enough.’ He took a sip of the beer then tried to push the glass away, only for Brent to press it into his hands again.
‘Aw, don’t be a spoilsport. Live a little! Come on. Won’t do you any harm. I was getting trashed Friday to Sunday like clockwork at your age. We’re not in College. No one who cares is here to see. Just enjoy it!’
Nick laughed as Brent chinked glasses with him. He took a deeper swallow of his beer, then clattered the glass awkwardly down on to the table. Brent clapped him on the shoulder.
By the time they piled out of the pub, the floor had started rocking gently, as if they’d put out on the river. Although Nick found he could make out barely two words in five amid the roar of voices, everything everyone said had become extremely funny. Once they were all assembled on the pavement, they turned as a pack and staggered back towards College. The others were singing, or at least loudly slurring, a song Nick couldn’t have hoped to recognise. But since none of
them seemed all too sure of the words, or the tune either, Nick just recited the bit of ‘Kubla Khan’ that came to mind and the others seemed content with that as a counterpoint.
‘Boaties rule!’ Brent shouted at the sky. ‘Best days of our lives, lads. Best days.’
‘Best nights,’ someone else called.
‘Like you could get it up right now,’ said one of the twins, whom the crew had tacitly given up trying to tell apart.
For a moment all progress ceased as they clung to each other, giggling.
‘Go on. I dare ya,’ Brent said to the other twin.
‘Watch this then!’ shouted the twin and took off running straight at a lamp post. He launched himself into the air and clung on about two metres up, then pulled his scrabbling feet on to the base of the post. With a grunt, he leapt upwards, clinging briefly a half metre higher before he slid slowly back down, legs folding helplessly so that he ended up sitting on the pavement, arms and legs hugging the post.
The others roared with laughter while the twin righted himself with great dignity. ‘Thassh five rounds to you, mate, ’lesh you can get higher.’
‘You said you’d climb it!’
‘You’re too sssshicken to even try. I win ’lesh you try. You’re just sssshicken. Sssshickened out in the pub crawl in Freshersh Week. Got no balls. Got a tiny little dick. Afraid everyonesh gonna see.’
‘Yeah? You think so? Double or nothing. Starkers from here to Trinity Lane and we’ll see who’s got the puny eppickwument.’ Brent stopped, frowning, then shook his head. ‘Ready?’
‘Ha!’ said the twin. ‘Shteady …’
The ‘race’ started with much hopping and stumbling down the street as they tried to run and pull their trousers off at the same time. A passing biker cursed them individually and collectively as he was pelted with jumpers, T-shirts and a pair of belts.
The others stumbled along after, collecting the discarded clothing as they went.
Nick watched the twin shove Brent into a postbox, then get pitched over a bollard in turn.
‘Ouch. That had to hurt,’ someone muttered.
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