by Adrian White
She cut herself badly that night.
Katie was right in thinking she could retain some anonymity while studying for her degree. The numbers attending the lectures were large, but she soon became used to that. Seminars were harder – Katie had to contribute in these smaller groups, or the tutor would notice and Katie would drop marks. It was in these early classes that Katie learnt the skills of argument – that when it came to the rules, there were no rules. First, she had to confront the snobbery she came across each day, imagined or otherwise. Katie brought a baggage of inferiority into the class, and felt that everybody talked down to her; she could take it from the tutors but not from the students. Then there was the intellectual intimidation, the assumption that surely she was aware of such and such a case – that what Katie was saying was nonsense. This happened twice before Katie realised that it wasn’t snobbery, and it wasn’t arrogance. Only one thing really mattered, and that was that she won her arguments. She played up her persona as the naïve innocent, or went on a charm offensive to disarm her classmates, and these worked for a while; but eventually Katie learnt to depend on her brains. It was, after all, what she did best.
There were many new accents that Katie had never heard before. They might have been easier to understand than Mike’s, but for Katie they were just as strange. When it came to making friends, Katie remained distant to the point of being rude; if she was thought of badly, she’d rather that than get to know anyone or – and this would have been worse – allow anyone to get to know her. She knew from school that people needed to put you in a box, a category they could be comfortable with, and if Katie’s category was ‘difficult’ then so be it. If she was to live out in the world, she wanted to do so on her own terms. The alternative was to give up and go back into care, this time as an adult, and that didn’t appeal to her one little bit.
Katie had a flat on Bonsall Street in Hulme. It wasn’t unusual for students to live in Hulme at that time – it was cheap and close to college – but it was strange for a first year, and unheard of any student to live on her own. But she was well able to look after herself; she’d looked after her mother and aunt when she was only nine years old – her grandmother too for a while. She was discovered by the social services when she called a doctor to the house; she wanted to know what to do with the dead body of her grandmother. Until this age she hadn’t attended school, or played with other children, or anything really, other than cook and clean and skivvy for the adults in the house.
Katie was taken into care, and for the first time in her life she came into contact with other children. School was difficult. Katie never caught up with her studies – she deliberately and wilfully refused – and she carried the added stigma of living with people other than her parents. There were repeated attempts and failures to find her a foster home, but Katie resisted this as she resisted everything. She wore down a succession of social workers, and her teachers never looked beyond the legal requirement of Katie attending school. This disinterest suited Katie; she knew what was expected of her – just like the teachers – and was quite happy just to go through the motions.
By the age of fourteen, she found enough privacy to do herself harm. The secrecy of cutting herself became the focus of her day – not an easy task when you’re in care.
It was only when Katie was no longer legally obliged to attend school – at the age of sixteen – that she recognised the use of an education. If you were unsympathetic, you could say she started to grow up, but Katie had done her fair share of growing up as a child. She realised that studying for and passing exams could change who she was; it might even eradicate where she came from, and help her choose whom she wanted to be. Qualifications were a ticket; she didn’t know where that ticket might take her, but she knew she needed to be some place else.
Katie had to ask for help – again, not an easy thing when you’ve alienated just about everybody in your world. She learnt how to study independently, and was as bloody-minded and determined to catch up, as she had once been not to learn. She spent a year discovering just how much she already knew; seven years of compulsory attendance at school had left its mark after all. The day centre she attended supported Katie’s application to sit her O' level examinations for the following year, the summer of 1977. The crisis the exams brought on, and the frenzy of cutting that followed, was Katie’s real initiation into adulthood. She was faced with the stark consequences of her choice to better herself; she either did this thing or she accepted defeat, and gave in. She didn’t give in, but it was hard not to.
Only Katie was surprised at how well she did in the exams, and it gave her the confidence to go on to take three A' levels the following year. She also read a great deal for the first time in her life – studying The Grapes of Wrath for her English, led Katie on to a succession of twentieth century American writers. She loved Gatsby, and Holden Caulfield of course, but more than anything it was the fact that there was a whole world out there – or at least a whole continent – that was completely different to anything Katie had ever known. Like the books, America seemed accessible. The enormity of the landscape was appealing to her, and Katie realised just how limited a world she lived in.
Once Katie turned eighteen, she was free to live where she liked – or wherever the council would allocate her a flat. This was another huge step for her, but by now Katie had learnt to recognise the decisive moments for what they were. She was able to jump the queue on the housing list, though in truth there wasn’t that much of a queue to live in Hulme; you had to be pretty desperate to want to live there – or a student, of course.
It soon occurred to Katie that she was clever enough to go on to college, if that was what she really wanted to do. She was too late to apply for that same year, immediately after taking her A' levels, but her grades were such that she’d be accepted anywhere. There was no question of her leaving Manchester, and it was typical of Katie that she chose to study law. It was one of the hardest subjects to get into – as though Katie was deliberately putting it up to herself – but it made sense in other ways too. There was no A level she could have taken that would have particularly equipped her for a degree in law; even those applicants that had already studied law were told to forget everything they’d been taught, and to start afresh. And if Katie was to sell herself as a model of self-improvement – and she could see in the interview to get on the course that this was what everyone wanted of her – what better subject than the law? Her social worker was happy, the university were happy, and she received an unconditional offer of a place to start in October of 1979. She was frustrated with the wait, and asked for a reading list well in advance.
Katie grew to like the mix of people around the flats. Hulme was very different to its more famous neighbour Moss Side, both racially and architecturally. A few terraced streets remained but Hulme was dominated by the crescents of flats, a nightmare vision of planning more suited to Ceausescu’s Romania than inner city Manchester. Moss Side had an identity, whatever you thought of that identity; it was compact and defined. Hulme was a sprawling mess, with traces remaining of all the many failed attempts to provide housing that people could afford.
There were Irish pubs, there were black pubs and there were student pubs; there were pubs that managed to be all three at different times of the day, or on different days of the week. There were families still around from when the flats were first built; there were business types who liked living close to town and paying so little rent; and there were untold numbers who had opted out – from work, from college, from what was left of society. There was a drug culture, but it was a laid-back drug culture; it was nobody’s business but your own if you chose to get wasted. Katie wasn’t stupid or careless; she was a woman, alone – a beautiful woman, alone, however hard she tried to hide it. There were times and places to avoid but generally she felt safe. She had a way of walking – invisible walking, she called it – ghosting through the streets at all hours, to and from the Law Library. She heard thi
ngs at night-time but nothing like what she heard as a little girl.
It was at most a ten-minute walk from Bonsall Street to the Law Library. Katie heeded the young lecturer’s advice and made the library her second home. She was happy to return to the discipline of studying. The Law Library was closer and convenient, with a much wider range of case law than either the John Ryland's or the Central Reference Library in town. It was also possible to use it at any time, day or night, and Katie took full advantage. She had only herself to please. Once she knew her timetable, she adjusted her work-study and sleep accordingly. The library was naturally much quieter at night time – though Katie was rarely alone – and sleeping through the day in Hulme wasn’t unusual, it was the norm. By early November of that first term, she had a steady routine that allowed her to follow the course without becoming at all involved in university life.
Katie was invisible walking along Oxford Road towards the library one night when she heard someone shout her name.
“Hey, McGuire.”
Katie hesitated for a second, and then walked on.
“Hey!”
She knew it was Mike from the day of registration. She remembered how badly she’d handled meeting him that day, and this made her stop and turn around. Mike held open the door of a black cab, and spoke instructions to whoever was inside.
“Stay there,” Katie heard Mike say, like he was training a dog. He left the cab and walked over to Katie.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s Katie, isn’t it? I’m Mike, remember, from the first day of term?”
“Yes,” said Katie. “I remember.” She thought for a second that he might offer to shake her hand again, but Mike had obviously learnt.
“Where are you going?” he asked again.
“To the library,” said Katie.
“At this time – it’s almost midnight.”
“It’s quiet,” she said. “I prefer it with fewer people around.”
“But what about sleep?” asked Mike, “Or recreation and fun – things like that?” He grinned up at Katie.
“Which are you about to do,” she asked, “sleep or recreation? Your friends are looking for you, by the way.”
Back at the cab, two students stepped out from the cab and on to the pavement.
“No,” shouted Mike. “Eugene, Rory – get back in the cab. Just – wait in the cab. I’m coming now, okay – don’t let the cab leave, whatever you do.”
But it was too late. One or the other, Eugene or Rory, reacted to something the driver said, and closed the door of the cab. The two of them stood and watched as the cab drove away.
“Oh Jesus,” said Mike to Katie, “this is harder than I thought it was going to be.” He called over to his friends again. “Look, just stand there, okay? We still have to wait for Bruno – just, stand still and don’t move.” He turned back to Katie and smiled. “Mathematicians,” he said. “They don’t get out too often.”
“But they’re out with you tonight?”
“Something like that, yes. We’re going to the casino.”
“The casino?” asked Katie. “How old are you?” As soon as she said it, she regretted it.
“Eighteen,” said Mike. “Well, almost, anyway. Rory tells me – I know Rory from home – Rory tells me Eugene has something wonderful to show us.”
“At the casino?”
“It’s to do with playing cards – blackjack, actually.”
“And where’s home?” asked Katie.
“Belfast,” said Mike. “Can you understand what I’m saying yet?”
“Barely,” said Katie. “I thought you were Scottish.” She was still ashamed of how she’d behaved when they first met. “I’ve never been out of Manchester,” she said.
“Never been out of, or lived out of?”
“Been out of,” she said. “Is that what you do – play cards? When you’re not studying?”
“It’s what I’m doing tonight. What about you – what do you do when you’re not studying? Or are you like these guys and never leave the library?”
“I – I think your friend’s arrived.”
“Bruno!” shouted Mike. “Where the hell have you been?” He turned back to Katie. “I’m going to have to go, but you’re more than welcome to come along.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, “but thanks anyway.” She looked across to where Mike’s mathematician friends were waiting. The new arrival – Bruno – was repeatedly jabbing at the upper arm of one of the others with his fist. “Is he hurting that boy deliberately?” she asked.
“I think I’m needed,” said Mike. “I’m going to have to go, but I’ll see you around, okay?”
And Katie did see Mike around more often – in the library, in lectures – whether by chance or design, she didn’t know. They didn’t share any of the same seminars or tutorials – perhaps Katie just noticed him more? Mike was rarely alone, even in the library, and always seemed to have at least one or two hangers on. Katie was curious – and also a little envious – to see how easy Mike was with other people. She began to see a pattern amongst Mike’s friends; he was a magnet for students who would otherwise have found it hard to socialise in college. Katie recognised the type because she was one herself. Social misfits were comfortable in Mike’s company. And not just from the Law department. Eugene and Rory, Katie knew, were mathematicians, but she often caught sight of Mike outside the Medical Building, surrounded by students in white coats, and laughing, as ever.
Yet Mike never hit on Katie; there was just the occasional smile, or a wave across campus. When they spoke again, it was Katie who approached Mike; she saw him alone, for once, surrounded by bound case histories in the library.
“So you do actually study law, then?” she asked.
“Tell me about it,” said Mike. “Look at all this stuff! And getting your hands on it is impossible; people are ruthless when it comes to hiding these case files – just so they know where to find them for themselves.”
“It’s worse than that,” said Katie. “I think they’re deliberately trying to sabotage any hope we might have of finding them.”
“Is that why you come and study in the middle of the night?”
“Partly,” said Katie, “yes.” She smiled. “How was the trip to the casino? Did you lose all your money?”
“It was disastrous,” said Mike. “We never even got as far as hailing another cab. Bruno wouldn’t leave them alone, and in the end I had to take Eugene and Rory home.”
“So you didn’t get to hear Eugene’s big secret?”
“No,” said Mike, “but I didn’t lose any money either. There’ll be another time, I guess – so long as I can persuade Eugene to meet me again, that is.”
“And would you do that often – go gambling, I mean?”
“Well, not so often,” said Mike, “but you have to do something, don’t you? It can’t all be work and no play. What about you – what do you do when you’re not memorizing cases of English law?”
For the past three consecutive Saturdays, Katie had gone on her own to the White Horse pub in Hulme. There was something about the place that gave her the confidence to go in and, once inside, she felt so comfortable that she stayed. There were a few raised eyebrows – she was, after all, a white girl on her own in a black man’s pub – but she was left alone. It was actually quite a mixed crowd and everybody was there for the music – a black dude of a DJ in a white suit and hat who played his favourite records on an old twin deck. Some people danced, but most just sat and listened and talked; it was a place where you could just be. It wasn’t entirely a student-free zone, but it was good enough for Katie – she thought of the people drinking at the White Horse as real people. She drank vodka with orange and was happy; she gave off an air of self-containment and nobody bothered her.
She hesitated before letting Mike in on her secret, but went ahead anyway.
“If I ask you to meet me . . . ” she began.
“I’d love to meet you,” s
aid Mike.
“I can’t . . . do anything,” said Katie.
“You wouldn’t have to do anything,” said Mike. “It’ll be nice just to meet you away from the library for once.”
Katie smiled. She knew this was what she wanted, but it didn’t come easily. But then she thought, well, she had to start somewhere – it might as well be with Mike.
“What are you doing with all those people?” she asked.
“All what people?” asked Mike.
“All the people you hang around with – am I going to be an addition to your collection of freaks? Am I a weirdo too?”
“No, you’re not a weirdo,” said Mike, “and neither are they. They’re all remarkable people, that’s all.”
“Including that Bruno?”
“Bruno’s . . . different, but still remarkable in some ways. He’s troubled, I would say, rather than remarkable.”
“And me?” asked Katie. “Am I remarkable?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Mike. “I don’t know why yet, but I think it’s remarkable for some reason that you’re here.”
“And you – how are you remarkable?”
“I’m remarkable in that I recognise remarkable people; it’s very easy to miss them, you know.”
They agreed to meet the following Saturday.
But when it came to Saturday, Katie had a crisis and cut herself so much that she couldn’t stop the bleeding. She hadn’t been able to study all day and in the end had given up and gone to the gym, but however hard she pushed herself, she couldn’t get meeting Mike out her mind. She told herself it was no big deal; there was no pressure and that Mike was safe – he wouldn’t try anything. But telling herself was one thing, believing it was another. If she’d had a way of contacting Mike she would have cancelled, but she had no idea where he lived and hoping to see him around the campus was hopeless.
So at about eight o’clock she started getting ready and that was when the trouble began. Part of the problem was familiar to her – she was sick of her punk gear, or rather, she was sick of how the designers and copycats had hijacked what she liked to wear. Her clothes had once meant something to her, but now they were just a fashion statement. She went to see The Clash the previous year in the Apollo and she thought even they were a watered down version of what she hoped they’d be – more or less inviting the audience to storm the stage during White Riot, manufacturing an event and packaging it for the press. Katie looked around her and saw all these other Katies falling for it - replica Katies from London who would be back in college tomorrow. And now here she was, doing exactly the same, dressing for rebellion while studying for a law degree. Part of Katie wanted this – to be just like everyone else – but what she really needed was to prove she was as good as everyone else – if not better. She wanted to be normal, and yet somehow different.