by Croft, Pippa
‘I didn’t say I was happy about it, but I cope, same as all the other students.’ I smile, and also keep to myself the fact that for many nights of the past two terms I’ve shared Alexander’s room at his house in Oxford. ‘That’s about all there is to see in here. Most of my stuff is in the trunk room along the landing. Shall we take a look around the rest of the college?’
Outside, my parents seem impressed by the rest of college and it does look stunning this morning, with the sun shining down on the dark honey stone from a sky so blue you’d think it had been Photoshopped. The Hall is always a winner with visitors, and even I feel the impact of its formal splendour today. Even though my parents have been to embassies and palaces, Wyckham’s combination of tranquillity and grandeur can’t fail to make an impression.
‘I can see why you love it here.’ My mother puts her arm around my back as we wander through the cloisters. I can’t help but remember that this was the place I first met Alexander, or rather where I almost fell on top of him.
‘Where’s Alexander’s room?’ my father asks.
‘He has a house about half a mile away on the way to the Parks.’
‘A student house?’
‘No, it’s one of the properties owned by his family.’ They make no comment but the brief silence says everything. ‘Would you like to see the gardens?’
As we stroll through Wyckham’s gardens, you’d think the old place had pulled out all the stops especially for my parents. The trees are thick with pink cherry blossom and rhododendrons are bursting out in delicate purple and cerise. The lawns are manicured to perfection and students lounge on the grass, reading and chatting. It’s an idyllic scene and one, I realize, that I’m going to find very hard to leave behind. Again, I get the fluttering in my stomach when I remember that I have barely eight weeks left. The thought of saying my goodbyes to my coursemates and friends from my dance class, let alone Immy, brings a lump to my throat. And I don’t even want to think about Alexander.
‘There’s a man waving to you.’ My mother tugs at my arm and when I glance over to the archway that leads from the quad to the gardens, my spirits take a nosedive.
‘It’s Professor Rafe, my tutor.’
‘He’s coming over. How nice of him!’
‘Isn’t it?’ I mutter, as Rafe strides over the lawn towards us.
The moment he reaches me, he gives my parents a charming smile and greets me warmly. Realizing I can’t avoid what’s coming I manage to turn my grimace into a smile of my own.
‘Professor Rafe, can I introduce my parents, Bill and Blythe Cusack?’
‘Mrs Cusack, Senator Cusack. How lovely to meet you.’
‘Bill and Blythe will be just fine,’ my father says solemnly. I can see he’s amused by Rafe’s ‘Englishness’. If only he knew the truth …
‘You know, you two could be sisters,’ Rafe says. My skin crawls and for a horrible moment I think he might actually kiss her hand, but fortunately he seems to decide against it.
My mother rolls her eyes but I can tell she doesn’t hate the compliment, however cheesy. ‘Oh, not at all. I’m so glad we’ve met you. You know, when you emailed Lauren to say you were so impressed by her application for her master’s, she never stopped talking about it. I’ve never seen her as happy as when she heard she’d been accepted.’
‘Mom!’ I’m dying of embarrassment, not just at my mother’s bragging on my behalf, but at the memory of a time when I was seriously in awe of Rafe. I’m still thrilled to have been accepted and impressed by his academic prowess, but since then, his manipulative, creepy ways and attempts to hit on me have plunged him to rock bottom in my estimation.
‘Yes, we are delighted to have her here at Wyckham.’ I’m still cringeing when he turns to me. ‘So, Lauren, I’m delighted to see you back, ready for the fray. This is the most important term, but I don’t have to remind you of how critical the next few weeks are, do I, and how vital it is not to be distracted?’ He directs a piercing look at me. I hold my breath, dreading that he might start warning me not to spend time with Alexander.
‘No, Professor, you don’t have to remind me.’
‘Of course I don’t. Lauren’s one of our most conscientious students,’ he says and my mother fails to hide her delight. I’m not sure what Daddy thinks; his diplomatic smile could be genuine pleasure at hearing me praised – or merely diplomatic.
Rafe carries on. ‘Now, Blythe, Bill, you must tell me what you think of Wyckham. Has Lauren given you the grand tour yet?’
‘Yes. It’s very impressive,’ says my father, while slanting me a look. Does he suspect that Rafe has been hinting about Alexander being a distraction? Even if he does, it’s none of my parents’ business how I run my life here, but … how I wish they weren’t so uptight about Alexander.
My mother beams. ‘I had no idea the gardens were so beautiful and I love the Great Hall. The main part of the college is Jacobean, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes, it was built by Puritan founders. Has Lauren told you about some of our more famous alumni?’ Rafe asks.
‘Not yet,’ I mutter.
‘Oh, I must fill you in, Blythe. Would you like to see the Fellows’ Garden? Visitors aren’t allowed in but I can take you on a private tour, if you’d like.’
No, no, no! I want to scream but of course my mother is already telling Rafe she’d be delighted and when Daddy glances at me in a contented way that I rarely see from him, I know I’ve lost the battle. All I can hope for, while I trudge after them, is that they never bump into Rafe again. Telling them he’s actually a lecherous creep would only make them worry about me even more and have my father threatening to phone the Dean or punch Rafe’s lights out. They’ve already heard enough drama in the past few days to make them want to whisk me back to Washington on the first plane out, without me adding to their concerns.
Finally, we’re back at the gateway which leads into the main gardens, and the chapel clock chimes half past the hour.
‘Will you join us for lunch, Professor Rafe?’
Just in time, I squash down a squeal at my mother’s invitation.
‘That’s extremely kind of you but sadly I have to go and meet some prospective students and try to convince them I’m not as terrifying as my reputation.’
My mother tsks. ‘Oh, I’m sure no one could be terrified of you, Professor!’
‘I hope not. Lauren isn’t scared of me, are you?’
I throw him my widest smile, while wanting to push him in the compost heap. ‘Not at all.’
‘Good to meet you, Professor.’ My father holds out his hand and shakes Rafe’s. ‘Thanks for taking care of Lauren.’
What am I, twelve? ‘I don’t need taking care of, Daddy,’ I say coolly.
‘She certainly doesn’t.’ So Rafe’s acting like he’s on my side now? I don’t need his help either, but I do want to be out of here so I make an exaggerated show of checking my Cartier. ‘We mustn’t be late for lunch. Brown’s gets very busy at the start of term and we need to be there early to get a table.’
With a brief kiss on the cheek for my mother, Rafe is gone and my favourite sight of the morning is of his back disappearing through the arch to the Front Quad.
‘Well, that was interesting,’ Daddy says while my mother inspects a statue of one of the college’s previous wardens and I give a silent sigh of relief. ‘Your professor has some unusual political views.’
‘And here’s me thinking you were confining your conversations to the flora.’
Daddy raises his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Professor Rafe has given me the benefit of his political views before,’ I explain.
‘I guess it’s good to be challenged,’ says Daddy carefully.
‘As long as the person is well informed? I’m here to study art, not politics. That’s Alexander’s area,’ I say.
‘So I heard. He has some robust views too.’
‘That’s why he’s doing his master’s here, Daddy, to develop hi
s opinions.’
‘True, and while I don’t agree with some of them, he strikes me as much better informed than your professor.’
‘Which is why Rafe is a History of Art academic, not the Politics tutor.’
My father laughs softly. I’m not sure exactly what he thinks of Rafe but knowing Daddy, he won’t be taken in quite as easily as my mother by Rafe’s charming facade.
‘You’ve always had opinions of your own, Lauren, and they’ve definitely become more robust since you came over here.’
My skin prickles with tension but I’m determined to stand my ground. I also see something I rarely see in my father’s expression: doubt, uncertainty. It must be hard for him to have to let me go.
‘I am my father’s daughter,’ I say gently and kiss him briefly on the cheek. ‘It’s my duty to have robust opinions, even if you and Mom don’t like them.’
‘Even so, it’s still my duty to stop you from getting hurt and it always will be.’ He looks at me and I weigh up whether to continue the debate but we’re both saved by my mother, for once, who hurries over the lawn.
‘Shall we go? I’d hate to miss lunch. Your tutor seems charming, if a little eccentric; handsome too, in a geeky way. Do some of his students have a crush on him?’
‘I don’t!’
‘Not even an intellectual one? You seemed very keen at the start of the course.’ My mother assumes her innocent face.
‘He’s very smart but he’s my tutor. I appreciate his knowledge and insight into art.’
She links her arm with mine. ‘I’m sure you do.’
Lunch at Brown’s was a great idea. I love the buzz and vibe, even today when the place is heaving with nervous students and anxious parents trying to pretend they’re cool with leaving their sons and daughters again for their exam term. I remember when mine left me at Brown University, which now feels like a very long time ago. The contrast with the day I arrived at Wyckham and the confident way I lead my parents through the streets and alleys of the city makes me realize how much I’ve found my way around Oxford, both geographically and metaphorically, despite the dramas of the past two terms.
I only wish I knew my next move as clearly.
We take a mini tour of the Sheldonian Theatre after lunch, and as we gaze over the ‘dreaming spires’ and meadows beyond from the cupola, the whole of Oxford is spread out before me. Once again, the reality that I have one term left to enjoy it all is brought home to me. I have one term left to get a really good master’s degree and soak up the experience. One term to spend with Immy and my friends, one term to spend in Alexander’s bed and life. One term before everything is flung up in the air again. Right now, the future is as unknown to me as the world beyond that horizon.
A few days later, my parents have left to spend some time in London and the whirlwind of term has started in earnest. Alexander is back at the Oxford house trying to catch up on his studies and I’ve stayed in college to give us both a chance to concentrate on work but after spending so long staring at books and the computer screen, I really need to get out with Immy. As well as revising for exams in the Theories and Methods of the History of Art at the end of term, I have two essays to prepare for my option paper and a dissertation on my special topic – unfortunately with guidance from Professor Rafe, which means I’ll have far too much contact with him for my liking.
We left it so late to get to the Turf they were about to call last orders but it’s a fine, if chilly, night and they still have the heaters on in the courtyard, where a brandy slips down nicely.
‘You do know we might not ever do this again.’ Immy glances up at the tower of New College, lowering blackly against the inky sky.
‘Oh, don’t say that!’
‘It’s true, though. Every time we visit a pub or cafe, it will probably be the last time.’
‘It isn’t like you to be so down,’ I say. ‘How’s work going?’
She curls a lip. ‘Even though we’ve only been here a few days, I’ve already lost the will to live and I’m stressing about Finals. I’m not good with exams, but my father has read the riot act to me. I’m also missing sex. I know Skandar turned out to be a grade-A shit, but he was a wonderful shag. I had lunch with Freddie the other day and I almost thought of asking him for a quickie but he’s going out with a Theologian from St Hilda’s.’
Freddie is one of Immy’s many exes and a sweet guy, but if she’s thinking of rekindling that particular flame, she must be desperate. ‘Best let sleeping dogs lie,’ I soothe. ‘Although I know what you mean about time running short and about being stressed. I keep telling myself that whatever academic pressures I’m under, it must be worse for Alexander, so I need to knuckle down. We’ve agreed to try and spend more time on our studies and less time with our clothes off. It’s very distracting!’
Immy snorts. ‘Like that will happen!’
‘I have to try.’
She sips her brandy and says, super casual, ‘How is he?’
‘His arm’s still very sore and he gets frustrated when he can’t do what he wants with it.’
She wiggles her little finger. ‘You too, I should imagine.’
‘Immy!’ I say in mock outrage. ‘I have to admit though, the injury has had one upside. We’ve done some interesting improvisation …’
She laughs. ‘But he’s on the mend?’
I consider my answer for a second or two. Physically, yes. I’m not sure about other ways. ‘He seems to be.’
‘Have you made any plans yet? Are you going back to the States?’
‘I don’t know. I think my parents would like me to.’
She sighs. ‘I’ll miss you. Promise you’ll keep in touch.’
I sip my drink before replying, knowing if Immy gets maudlin on me, I might start blubbing in the pub garden. ‘Of course!’ I smile. ‘Hey, I bet when we’re fifty, we’ll all be sitting at the Wyckham Gaudy, talking about the good old days.’
She sticks out her tongue. ‘Fifty? God, that’s a horrific thought! We’ll be all wrinkly and decrepit and sensible.’
‘I hope not! Though we’ll probably have kids by then, maybe even grandkids.’ Suddenly I picture myself in tweeds and a headscarf, riding behind Alexander across the estate at Falconbury …
‘Never. I intend to stay young, free and single from now on,’ Immy declares. ‘What about Alexander?’ she asks.
‘I expect he’ll look just like his father,’ I say, the image of Falconbury etched on my mind.
‘I didn’t mean in thirty years’ time. I meant what’s going to happen to you two at the end of term?’
I shrug and take a long gulp of my drink.
‘It’s going to hurt, you know,’ she says, refusing to let me off the hook. I’m not sure I like the tough love but she’s right. ‘Assuming of course that you do go back,’ she adds.
‘I have no idea what I’m going to do,’ I sigh. ‘I just can’t think about it right now. So, what about your plans? Have you decided to stay on or get a job?’
‘Me? Stay on here! They can’t wait to get rid of me. No, I’ve had enough studying to last me for the rest of my life and I’m not sure I’m employable either. I’m thinking of going travelling for a year, maybe, while I decide, but I have to get through my Finals first.’
‘So you’re not going to be distracted by anything or anyone?’ I say jokily.
‘If the gorgeous Scott is taken, then no. I think I ought to pay a little attention to my work, just for a change.’
‘All work and no play …’ I say.
Immy winks. ‘Well, maybe I’ll squeeze in a little time for some fun. It’s May Morning tomorrow, you know. I’ll call for you at three-thirty.’
I’ve already been awake for five hours when my mother’s name flashes up on the screen of my phone the next morning. Immy and I got up while it was still dark and went down to Magdalen Bridge with a bunch of friends, to hear a choir sing a madrigal from the top of Magdalen Tower. The whole town was heaving with people from t
he university and miles around, though I suspect that had less to do with heralding the arrival of spring and more to do with the pubs being open since dawn.
Having breakfasted on Pimm’s and pain au chocolat, I’m now wondering how I’m going to keep my eyes open during Rafe’s lecture on Iconography and Symbolism – but first I have to speak to Mom.
‘Hello, Mom.’
‘Hi, honey, how are you?’
‘I’m – uh – good, thanks.’
‘Are you sure? You sound a little croaky.’
I glance in the mirror, thinking it’s a good job she can’t see me too. ‘Do I?’
‘Yes. I hope you’re not going down with strep throat. Leah Schulze’s niece says it’s rife at Brown. Several students have been hospitalized.’
‘With strep throat? No, Mom, I sound croaky because I was in the pub at six a.m.’
‘In the pub at six! I thought you were meant to be working.’
‘I’m about to go off to a lecture but it’s May Morning today. The bars open at dawn. It’s traditional.’
‘Oh … well, if it’s a tradition, I guess it’s OK. Now, I know you’re incredibly busy,’ she says with heavy irony, ‘but Daddy has to go to a lunch reception in London on Saturday so I thought you and I could go shopping, or you can show me around some of the museums and colleges,’ she says.
‘I am busy, but I’d like that,’ I don’t hesitate to reply, realizing that I would, and calculating that I can catch up by working late on Friday evening and getting up early on Saturday morning.
‘Then afterwards, when your father gets back, I thought we could go out to dinner.’
‘Sounds good,’ I say, cheerily.
‘I hoped you’d say that because I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a table for four at the Churchill. I assumed you’d want Alexander to come?’
Assumed? I guess I ought to have expected this, but I still feel a prickle of unease at inviting Alexander along to a family dinner. ‘I don’t know … He’s incredibly busy.’
‘Well, I think it would be good to return his hospitality, and your father and I would like more time to get to know him. I’m sure he can spare a couple of hours for a meal. After all, he has to eat.’