by Mel McGrath
‘That’s awful. I’m so sorry.’
‘Nevis is upset because the university seems to have issued a rather bald statement saying that the girl had a history of mental health problems.’
‘Neither kind nor adequate in the circumstances.’
‘No. I should think they’re running scared. Doing whatever they can to distance themselves.’
‘How is Nevis taking it?’
‘She says she’s OK but she sounded upset. I’ll give her a call later…’ She tails off and swallows hard. The skin on her face feels hot and itchy. ‘Alex, can I tell you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘About six months ago, something changed between me and Nevis. Not the usual teenage stuff or mother-daughter stuff. It happened overnight, like a tulip going over, you know, the way the petals drop away until all that’s left is the green centre.’
‘And you have no idea what caused it?’
Sometimes it is easier just to tell the whole truth.
‘I’m not sure. There was one evening when I came in a bit worse for wear and inadvertently called Nevis by her birth mother’s name.’ Alex winces sympathetically but says nothing, so Honor continues, ‘I think Nevis believes I would rather she was more like Zoe. It’s not true though. I never wanted Nevis to be anyone but herself. It was just an idiotic mistake.’
‘We all make them.’
It is good of Alex to want to try to console her but she is not ready to be soothed.
‘But that was at the end of last spring and things settled down over the summer. At least I thought they did. Nevis’s friend, Satnam – the one who’s in hospital – came to stay with her boyfriend Luke and we had a great time. Just before Nevis came back here for the start of the academic year something happened. I’ve no idea what and she won’t tell me, but her attitude towards me completely changed. Like, overnight.’ She feels her face prickle, the tear ducts begin to pulse. Her hands ball into fists from the effort of chasing the tears away. ‘I just wonder if, I don’t know, she was attacked or something and doesn’t know how to tell me.’
For a moment Alex hesitates, uncertain how best to respond, then gathering himself, he leans towards her and lays a hand on her shoulder.
‘The work on the boat will wait… I’m sorry, that was a silly thing to say. Of course the boat doesn’t matter at all.’ His hand grips the flesh where the arm meets the shoulder. ‘What I really meant to say is that you might feel better if you find out.’
Chapter 31
Nevis
‘Do you know Luigi’s? It’s only a few minutes’ walk away,’ the Dean says.
On the way over to the Deanery, Nevis had felt a stirring in her belly. The Dean had taken a special interest in her which could only mean that in some small way she was herself special. Gifted, if only in the mathematical realm. No one other than Satnam and, perhaps, Bill, their neighbour on the water in Hackney, had ever sought out her company. Her life had been lived in the absence of birthday party invitations and sleepovers. She’d never gone out for meals, was a stranger to a catch-up drink or a weekend get together. Now, finally, someone had invited her somewhere, and not just anyone, but the man whose intellect and mathematical intelligence she respected more than that of anyone else she had ever met. By the time she reached the Dean’s door she’d all but forgotten Jessica and felt almost dizzy with excitement.
Now, hurrying to stay abreast of the Dean as he strides across the car park towards the main campus gate, she feels the light, summery expansiveness inside her gradually fading. The Dean fills the opening space on their short walk to the restaurant with small talk about the university. Struggling to keep pace, Nevis does her best to reciprocate but she’s already hopelessly out of her depth.
Before long he stops at a brightly lit doorway and pushes it open, lifting his arm to form an arch to allow Nevis to proceed into the interior. A short, wiry man comes up, smiling warmly, and greets the Dean with a vigorous handshake and hesitates as if waiting for something to happen. The Dean, returning the smile with one of his own, says, ‘Don’t worry, Luigi, I’ve got it,’ and turning to Nevis with raised eyebrows, holds out a hand and says, ‘Your coat?’
Nevis fumbles with the buttons, embarrassed at her hopelessness. Her earlier airiness, her sense of possibility, felt like an overlay now, a temporary concealment, like a cloud passing over the midsummer sun. All gone now, leaving her feeling like she might bake in the bright heat of Cullen’s brilliance.
The Dean hangs her peacoat on a peg, then covers it with his own tweed jacket. As she watches she catches herself wondering what it would feel like to fold her own self into him, to be enveloped in his arms. Where did such dizzy notions come from? Shocked at herself and perturbed at the thump of her heart, she drops her gaze and breathes herself back to calmness while Luigi shows them to a tan leatherette banquette set into the right-hand wall at the back of the restaurant. The Dean waits for her to sit and the waiter waits for both of them, before placing the menus on the table and announcing a couple of specials. The Dean thanks him and watches him leave before turning to Nevis and in a rueful tone says, ‘I wish we were having lunch in happier circumstances. The food is really wonderful.’
She nods, anxious that the phrase ‘happier circumstances’ is an indication that the conversation is about to head into choppy waters.
The Dean says, ‘You’ll have a glass of wine, won’t you? We could probably both use one.’
With a wave of the hand he signals the waiter over and orders two large glasses of Chianti. They wait in silence until the wine arrives. She is aware that he is looking at her but manages to avoid his gaze, afraid of embarrassing herself by her girlishness. Is it possible he finds her attractive? No, she can hardly dare to imagine that’s it. Admires her perhaps, is impressed by the byways of her mind.
‘You seem a little unsettled,’ he says, smiling kindly. ‘Hardly surprising in the circumstances. We’ve had news from Satnam’s parents this morning. She’s stable, so that’s a good thing.’
‘Yes,’ she says, touched by his concern but torn, too, by his assumption that Satnam is the cause of her anxiety because the fact of the matter is that in the last ten minutes she has almost – but not quite – forgotten her friend.
When the wine appears, he raises his glass. She reciprocates, and gulping down half the contents, allows herself a moment of fantasy. Here they are, a couple of mathematicians joined together by their appreciation of the perfection of algebra and geometry.
He opens his mouth to speak and she braces herself, hoping that whatever is coming next, she will be able to meet it. The Collatz Conjecture or perhaps – she blushes at the thought – the Kissing Number Problem.
Instead, he says, ‘I expect you’ve heard about Jessica Easton? Nothing stays off social media for long.’
She catches his eye briefly then tilts her head away so that he will not see her anguish as the world comes crashing back in. Is this why the Dean invited her to lunch? To talk about a dead girl?
‘Yes, I heard.’
‘You knew her, I suppose? It’s very sad. The timing…’ he stops himself and directs his gaze downwards as if scooping up thoughts lying on the floor. ‘Of course, we knew she was ill, but why she chose this moment is a mystery.’
Nevis presses her lips so tight it feels they might burst from their skins, like two sausages, and reaches for her wineglass. She thinks, please don’t make me talk about this. I don’t know what to say.
‘Oh, you’ve nearly finished your wine. Let’s get you another.’ The Dean waves to attract the waiter’s attention and points to her wineglass.
She waits for the wine with her hands in her lap, head bowed. The food hasn’t yet arrived and she’s already gulped down a large glass. He will think she’s a boozer.
‘So then, Jessica,’ he begins.
She wishes he’d leave the subject. ‘I didn’t know her very well.’
‘It’s so difficult for the parents when they
have nothing to go on,’ Cullen says, ignoring her response. ‘I don’t suppose you know whether she left any kind of communication. A letter, or, I suppose, more likely these days, a text message or an email?’
The waiter returns to take the food order. She glances at the menu.
‘Nevis?’ the Dean says, with one eye on the waiter.
‘Oh, I… I haven’t really looked.’ There is panic in her voice.
Cullen’s eyes fall back to the menu. ‘The spaghetti arrabbiata is rather wonderful here.’
‘OK,’ she says. The only spaghetti she knows is Honor’s spaghetti bolognaise. She’d cooked it that evening last summer, when Satnam and Luke came to stay; before the letter, before the incident on the bridge, before Jessica’s death, before everything mad and weird and inexplicable. The Dean orders two portions of the spaghetti and a side salad and another two glasses of wine. At that moment his phone pings. He picks it up and inspects the screen, then puts it down again.
Clearing his throat he says, ‘You were saying, before, that Jessica and Satnam were friends.’
Did she say that? If she did, she has no memory of doing so. Why is he interrogating her like this? Didn’t he say he wanted to talk about her work and also to tell her something? Was this the something? If only she understood better what was expected in this kind of situation.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Oh, but you did say,’ he says, smiling, his gaze not following. ‘I wanted to ask whether you’d managed to get into Satnam’s phone? We thought it might be useful, you know, to understand what might have been going on in Jessica’s mind. The two of them almost certainly had some kind of correspondence, given they were friends, like you said.’
‘Yes. I mean, no, I still don’t know the passcode.’ She wonders whether she should mention what Tash had told her about Jessica’s previous attempt to kill herself but decides not to. This whole situation has left her feeling confused and anxious, not knowing whether it would be right to pass on something that might not be true. In such situations, she thought, perhaps it was best to say nothing.
‘I see,’ Cullen says now. ‘It might be a good idea to leave the device with me. I can pass it on to the parents. As a matter of fact, I mentioned it to them and they did say they would love to have it.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘No hurry. Next time you come into the university. Later today or tomorrow will be fine.’
The food arrives. Nevis picks at the pasta and tries not to flinch at the spiciness of the sauce.
‘Do you like it?’ he says.
‘Yes,’ she says, doing her best to conjure a smile.
‘Arrabbiata means angry.’ He fixes her with a steady look and, returning her smile, in a gentle voice continues, ‘Sometimes, when someone makes a suicide attempt, the person’s loved ones can sometimes feel quite terrible anger, almost rage really.’
‘Oh,’ she says. Her head is suddenly rather swimmy. Is that the wine?
His eyes have been on her all this time. ‘It can be terribly unproductive, that kind of anger. It can lead people to do very destructive things.’
‘Oh but…’
He lifts a hand to silence her but there is still a smile on his face. ‘Here’s what I think. I think no one would blame you in the least if you were feeling quite a bit angry. Or if not angry, then very upset.’
‘They wouldn’t?’
‘No, in fact they’d think how brave you are to acknowledge it.’
A kind of flustered silence falls between them. Not long afterwards the waiter, returning for the plates, asks if either party would like a dessert.
The Dean says, ‘Not for me, but I’m sure this young lady can fit in a tiramisu.’
Nevis demurs but the Dean orders anyway. Waiting until the waiter is out of earshot, Cullen leans in and says, ‘I hope you know, Nevis, that you are an exceptional mathematician, without question a candidate for a first, and I’d like to help you fulfil your potential.’ Cullen finishes his wine, observing her so intently that she has to look at her feet and pretend to be somewhere else. The skin on her face begins to redden. That someone like the Dean could show such an interest in her and think she has potential.
‘But that means that we have to work together to make sure this thing with Satnam doesn’t derail you.’ He taps two fingers on the back of her hand and oh God, she could burst. ‘So I think you should tell me what’s troubling you. Your friend in hospital, obviously, but deeper than that.’
She sits back in her chair feeling the breath in her body, sensing that the time has finally come and that the Dean will not only listen but he will understand. Taking a deep breath through her nose she opens her mouth and begins to speak, starting with what Jessica had said about the row at the Valentine’s Day party, leaving Natasha out of the picture, and going on to say that she had found Satnam crying and saying she wanted to leave and how she, Nevis, is someone who likes clear lines of thought and this has all become a bit of a jumble in her head and left her unsure what to think.
Once she’s finished, to her surprise, he reaches out and takes her hand in his as if he were placing something very precious in it. There is something so shocking about the feel of her hand inside another, larger and masculine, that she does not think to pull away. Perhaps she does not want to pull away. She is not thinking about Jessica or about Satnam now. She is thinking about him, the touch of his palm in hers, the pulse in his fingers, the brush of the hairs on his arm on her wrist. The moment lasts a few seconds but leaves her feeling deliciously bewildered.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘there’s absolutely no point in speculating about what might or might not have been going through Satnam’s mind. The important thing is to stay strong and try not to let any of this get to you. Stay away from social media and keep your distance from anyone who tries to push you off course.’ He sets his glass aside and dabs at his mouth. She watches his lips. ‘Speaking of which, haven’t I seen you and Natasha Tillotson together in the last couple of days? You were in the library, as I recall.’
‘Yes,’ she hadn’t spotted him there, ‘but I’ve only got to know her very recently. Since…’ she tails off, realising that she hasn’t mentioned Tash’s emails and wondering if she should, then deciding against it. From what he just said the Dean thinks Tash might come into the category of people it might be best to avoid right now. Besides which, there is no need to resort to tittle-tattle or idle gossip. The Dean would think less of her if she divulged anything that wasn’t relevant or made Natasha look bad.
Expecting that to be the end of the matter she pushes away her tiramisu and finishes the double espresso the Dean ordered with her dessert, but to her surprise, the Dean is not done with the subject. ‘Take it from me, girls like Natasha can be very destabilising. Besides, I’m not sure how much longer she’ll be at Avon.’ He taps the bulb of his nose with a slender finger. ‘But I didn’t tell you that. So let’s focus on you getting that first and set aside everything else for the moment.’
Nevis is at once curious and flattered. To be trusted with the Dean’s secret! To have prior knowledge of something that perhaps only Natasha and the Dean know. Not that it’s any great surprise. Hadn’t Jessica said that she, Natasha and Satnam had all been thinking about leaving back in February? Wasn’t that what the row at the Valentine’s Day party had been all about?
The Dean catches the waiter’s eye and flicks his chin for the bill. They wait in silence while he deposits a small fan of banknotes on the table. ‘Shall we go?’ he says, and without waiting for an answer, rises from the booth. She gets up and walks back under the arch made by his arm at the doorway and into the daylight. It is warm and the lunchtime shoppers are out.
‘Well, I’ll leave you here,’ says the Dean, at the entrance to the campus. ‘Remember what I said. Put all of the events of the last few days out of your mind. Don’t think about it and certainly don’t waste your time gossiping about it. You are so special, Nevis, you have such a gre
at future ahead of you. It would be a shame to put any of that in jeopardy, don’t you think?’ He turns to go and thinking better of it, spins about on his heels to face her, raising a finger in the air as if testing the direction of the wind. ‘I almost forgot. Satnam’s phone. I’ll be in meetings, but you can leave it with my secretary. No hurry. Next day or two will be fine.’
Chapter 32
Cullen
On his way back to the office, Cullen keeps his head down, anxious not to be accosted by anyone wanting anything from him, chewing over the lunch in his mind, pleased to have secured to his satisfaction a full understanding of the limits of the Smith girl’s knowledge and to have made such an obvious impression on her. She knows almost nothing of consequence, of that he is sure. Satnam had evidently never confided in her and Natasha and Jessica had chosen to tell her very little either. He considered he’d done a good job of putting her off the scent. And although it would make him feel better to have Satnam’s phone in his possession – he believed in the belt and braces approach – he thought the device was unlikely to present much of a threat. The Manns still seemed to think it had been lost somewhere between the bridge and the ICU. It was a little odd that Nevis hadn’t told them that it was in her possession, but perhaps it hadn’t occurred to her. She seemed an unworldly creature. Nevis hadn’t made any effort to crack the passcode so she evidently didn’t believe that there was anything on the phone worth looking at. All in all, the lunch had made him feel better, more secure. The phone would soon be in his possession and, so long as he wasn’t stupid enough to pull another stunt like the one at the hospital, Maddy would support him. Mark Ratner could be contained with threats if nothing else. He’d find a way to get the loan shark off his back, Veronica would get pregnant, and the Dalek would die. The only real threat to his future – and his sanity – might be Natasha Tillotson. What he really wanted to do was to find a way to get rid of her before she started making trouble. The clock began ticking down on Natasha’s future at Avon the moment Cullen saw her getting into Ratner’s car. The affair was one thing. In normal circumstances he’d have found a way to feign ignorance, but the fact that he’d caught the two of them in the lab that night and that Ratner was insisting on maintaining his connection to her made that impossible. Natasha knew that he, Cullen, knew about the affair and had chosen not to do anything about it. She didn’t know why but then nor did Ratner. Which was why he’d called an emergency meeting with the girl to ‘discuss her performance’.
