Languages class is a lot like being back in secondary school; faced with a mundane, common subject, the majority of the class lose focus, joking and laughing as the minority attempt – in vain – to listen.
The first language on our curriculum is Mandarin, with our tutor – Mademoiselle Chaffet – insisting it the most commonly spoken language in the world, much to the protests of the English and Spanish students. Unfortunately, it's one of the most difficult languages for a western speaker to learn. Similar in written and spoken word to Chinese and Japanese – not only a very different language to English – but also an entirely different alphabet.
Mademoiselle Chaffet has a body age of at least seventy, but what disadvantages her age brings her, she makes up for in both character and knowledge. She speaks over thirty languages fluently and can hold a conversation in at least twenty more. She tells us that we'll be learning them in order of common usage, to aid us when we leave the Institute and travel through the world.
Despite our natural abilities to absorb information like a sea sponge, over the course of a five year period we'll only learn around ten languages fluently. But the subject itself and the origins of language have always fascinated me and – whereas before I had no flair for retaining foreign tongues – I'm now able to remember whole sentences after repeating them just once.
My first day of classes is long and exhaustive and at 6:30, wrapped in my bedsheets, I will myself to drift into a sound, dreamless sleep. The hardest part of Immortality – so far – is the lack of sleep. Such an unnatural thing to remain awake constantly with no intervals of nothingness and no need to rest. It's almost impossible to fill the night time hours with activities and as the years go by, I can only assume it'll get harder.
It's mid-October and the nights draw in early, the sky already an ebony black with twinkling stars beyond heavy, grey clouds. Tia hums tunelessly from inside the bathroom before drifting past my bed – a wave of powder and perfume – and hovers in the moonlight, her figure an eerie silhouette in her white silk gown. She stares inquisitively down at me, cocking her head to one side, studying my still outline beneath the duvet.
'I don't know what you're getting so comfy for, we're going out.' She states, flicking on my bedside lamp and swiping a can of hairspray from the cluttered shelf.
'You're going out,' I correct her, shifting comfortably onto my side, sinking further into the divine mattress. 'I'm staying right here.'
'Oh no, Miss Ryder, no room mate of mine is staying home like a boring old recluse. We're going to socialise – there are people you simply must meet. Think how rude you'll seem staying in on your first night.'
'I don't care how rude I seem, I'm mentally exhausted from classes. It was my first day today, in case you'd forgotten,' I roll my eyes though Tia can't see me as she sheds her dressing gown and pulls open her wardrobe. 'Besides,' I continue. 'We can't go anywhere. We're not allowed off the grounds and I'm not breaking the rules on my first day.'
'Don't be so ridiculous, Eve,' She tuts, stripping off her nightgown to peer at her naked reflection in the full length mirror. Her clothed figure is deceiving; giving the impression of a too-skinny torso and bony hips, but beneath the material lies beautiful curves and supple skin. I try not to stare, pulling the bedsheets up over my head.
'We're going to the common room, everyone will be there.'
'Look, there's one thing I'm definitely not up to and that's socialising.' I shake my head, refusing to budge from my warm and cosy nest.
'Oh, come on!' Tia whines, abandoning her reflection and crossing to my bed, taking hold of the duvet and yanking hard. The covers fly off me as I scrabble around for them and Tia poses – hands on her hips – completely unashamed of her nakedness.
'Don't be like Mathilde.' She pouts, widening her orange eyes and jutting out her chin.
'Who's Mathilde?'
'My old room mate. Boring as hell, never went anywhere or did anything – it was like rooming with Kate Bush.' She sighs, hanging her head and peering up at me through thick lashes. Though I know this sorrowful face is a show just for me, I can't help but soften at the sight of her. I groan loudly.
'Oh, fine,' I snap, deliberately ignoring Tia's celebratory dance as I stumble to my wardrobe, hastily hunting through to find a suitable outfit. 'But I'm not staying out late.' I warn her, grabbing some black jeans and a low-cut black shirt.
*
Tia's favourite common room is the biggest of the four and – come 7:30 – teaming with students of every year. The warm, orange glow of the fireplace is comforting and inviting. Candles flicker atop intricately carved tables and the chatter of friendly voices and low, hushed laughter fills the room.
The various sofas are large and mostly taken but Tia spots an empty one, adjacent to the fireplace. There are no televisions – no blaring screens and tinny voices – so everyone is forced to use good old-fashioned conversation for stimulation.
I sink into the worn leather Chesterfield as Tia scans the room for Meredith; beckoning her over with a dramatic wave. Meredith weaves her way through the tight crowd, her bright orange hair shimmering in the firelight. She's closely followed by two strangers, identical in both appearance and the beauty of it.
As they reach us, Meredith pecks Tia's cheek and smiles warmly at me; her two stunning companions with dark hair and tanned skin wait patiently – clad in their tight, designer clothes – to be introduced.
Tia stands and envelopes them both in turn, giving them flamboyant kisses and squealing over their Louis Vuitton hand bags.
'Eve, you've already met Meredith,' Tia states, remembering my presence and tugging on my hand. 'This is Ursula and Arlinda Bermudez.' She gestures at both in turn and they smile graciously, revealing rows of perfect white teeth. They study me with their large brown eyes as they teeter on the top of six inch high heels.
'Lovely to meet you, Eve,' Ursula – I think – addresses me in a thick Spanish accent. 'How are you finding your first day at the Institute?' They sit down on the big cushions by my feet as Meredith joins Tia and I on the three-seater sofa.
'Exhausting.' I reply, shifting awkwardly in my seat. It's always made me uncomfortable to be around beautiful women. I can't shake a sense of intimidation and unworthiness even as I speak to the perfectly polite and friendly Bermudez sisters. On the outside, I may look like an exquisite and ethereal Immortal; but on the inside, I still feel like an East End tramp.
'It's so much to take in, isn't it?' Meredith touches my hand, just a little too much sympathy in her navy blue eyes. 'I remember too well what it was like. Still, you seem to be coping well. And you've been lucky scoring Tia as your Mentor.' She grins, elbowing Tia who feigns embarrassment.
'Well, we simply can't wait for the First Year Ball,' Arlinda squeals, twitching with excitement. 'We remember ours; such a spectacle. It will be nice to enjoy it without the anxiety of actually being a first year!' She laughs, tossing her shiny dark hair over her shoulder before being elbowed by her sister, who nods subtly at me.
'Not that it won't be enjoyable for you, of course. I'm sure it will be beneficial... meeting everyone and – ' Arlinda stammers, embarrassed.
'There he is!' Meredith hisses – interrupting Arlinda's awkward monologue – as her body suddenly stiffens, her eyes wide as saucers. I turn – as do we all – to follow Meredith's line of sight and an unpleasant feeling settles in my stomach as I clap eyes on Malachy Beighley. He stands by the common room door, alone, as a group of second years eye him in both wonder and intimidation.
'Ah yes, dear Señor Beighley,' Ursula drawls, her pretty mouth drawn up in a knowing smirk.
'The object of our poor Meredith's affections.' Arlinda chimes in, joining her sister in a conspiring expression.
'What?!' I speak a little louder than intended as I round on Meredith, her eyes now filled with defensive confusion. 'You like him?' I scoff, losing the art of subtlety. Meredith glances at Tia in confusion before fixing me with a steely stare.
I suddenly feel embarrassed and out of my depth as all four girls stare at me, awaiting my explanation. I mutter something non-committal about 'types' to a less than discouraged Meredith whose attention is far from my hasty, awkward explanation. Her blue eyes are fixed on Malachy as he greets a fair haired boy.
Continuing conversation proves extremely difficult as we speak over Meredith's unmoving head. She ignores us completely, making no attempt to be subtle in her silent advances towards Malachy – whose eyes flicker towards her on more than one occasion, just a hint of panic in their icy blue irises.
'So...' I clear my throat as the conversation lapses once more into awkward silence. 'Where are you girls from?' I direct most of my questions at the Bermudez sisters as Tia is perched just beyond Meredith's head, out of my sight.
'Brazil,' Arlinda replies, beaming proudly. 'Our father had investments in coffee, very good trade. Before he died, of course.'
'And you are from England, yes?' Ursula questions and I nod, opening my mouth to reply before being sharply cut off by Meredith, who leaps into action; arranging her limbs with precision on the sofa.
'He's coming this way!' She hisses, smoothing her pale yellow dress and licking her lips in a frenzy of motion. Ursula and Arlinda mutter quietly, assuring Meredith she looks 'fantastic.' Malachy nears us, greeting third and fourth years as he makes his way through the crowd, a leather jacket slung lazily over his shoulder.
'Hi, Malachy,' Ursula greets him before he's even reached us, possibly in an attempt to ensure he stops to chat.
'Ladies,' He nods in an unusual, awkward fashion. His smile is brief and doesn't reach his eyes. 'Meredith,' He singles her out for some reason and Meredith almost chokes on thin air. She opens her mouth to speak but no sound comes out. Malachy lingers for a moment, hovering. I cringe inwardly, pleading silently with Meredith to pull herself together. Tia comes to her rescue, launching herself forward and smiling a little too broadly as she pats her friend's knee.
'How are you keeping, Malachy?' She asks, throwing a quick glance at the Bermudez sisters who appear equally embarrassed for Meredith.
'Very well, thank you. Yourself?' Malachy replies, adjusting his stance. Strangely, he doesn't seem his usual, egotistical self; but the conversation feels forced, wrapped in an air of hesitation as both Tia and the Bermudez sisters battle to keep Malachy where he is, giving Meredith time to compose herself.
'How is Lucrezia tonight?' Tia asks, her tone perfectly polite but with an underlying disapproval barely hidden in her voice.
'She's well.' Malachy nods stiffly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. The air has become stuffy – the awkwardness hard to bear – and I start to contemplate excuses to make a quick escape. Before I can interject, Ursula hooks her ankle on a spare wooden chair and pulls it closer to Malachy, gesturing for him to sit.
'Why don't you join us?' She asks, shooting a pointed look at Meredith. Though I understand entirely her reasons for her invitation – who wouldn't try to help out their love-stricken friend? – I simply wish that I wasn't caught in the middle of this embarrassing exchange.
Malachy himself is hesitant as his eyes flicker to mine briefly, seeming to gauge my reaction before he sits. A long silence pans out, with each woman racking her brains for a means of conversational topic. Even Tia appears at a loss to salvage the situation and – just as the awkwardness becomes too much to bear – a tall, curly-haired boy appears from nowhere, slinging an arm casually around Malachy's shoulders.
'How is it that you get to hang out with all the pretty girls, eh, Mal?' He raises a dark eyebrow, speaking loudly in a broad Scottish accent. I feel a sharp pang near my heart as I remember my mother's Glaswegian lilt.
'Save some for the rest of us, won't you?' The boy, thankfully, breaks the uncomfortable silence as both Tia and the Bermudez sisters burst into relieved grins.
'Ah, Richard,' Ursula and Arlinda stand simultaneously to embrace the scruffy but handsome boy with particular fondness. He greets them warmly, winking at Malachy as he pinches Ursula's behind and she giggles like a school girl.
'Tia, looking as cute as ever.' He grins roguishly at Tia who rolls her eyes disapprovingly, but can't quite manage to keep the flattered smirk off her face.
'Eve, this is Richard Miller,' she clears her throat, introducing us. 'I'm sure he'll be pleased to meet you.' She adds sarcastically. Richard laughs loudly.
'Aye, of course, always pleased to meet the new girls.' He smiles, offering me a suggestive wink.
'In your dreams.' I reply smoothly. I try to dislike Richard's cocky, sexist attitude but find it decidedly difficult. The tense atmosphere has dissolved in his presence and everyone seems more relaxed with him here. Well, except Malachy.
'I'm sure you will be,' He grins at me before turning to Malachy. 'So, has my friend here been keeping you ladies satisfactorily entertained?' He asks, eyeing Meredith with a knowing smirk.
'I see he's made quite an impact on this one here.' He nods at her, speaking to Tia who shoots daggers at him.
'Malachy makes an impact on everyone, doesn't he Arlinda?' Ursula grins, laughing a little too loudly in an effort to save Meredith.
'Well, he's not much of a talker but he's certainly a looker, eh girls?' He nudges Malachy's arm, who remains silently composed, before Richard turns his attention to Tia. 'You never got back to me about that dinner we had planned, what's all that about?'
'The dinner you had planned, Richard. I never agreed to it.' Tia smirks.
'Aye, you did. In your head. You just didn'y wanna seem too keen.'
'Is that right?'
'I've been asking and asking you to go out with me, Tia. You've played hard to get for long enough sweetheart. Don't worry, we won't think you're easy.'
'Richard, you are impossible! As if anyone would ever consider going out with you after learning of your reputation.'
As Tia and Richard's easy banter fills the void of social awkwardness, I subtly turn my attentions to Malachy. He isn't listening to the conversation, isn't laughing at Richard's lame chat up lines; his eyes are glazed over, his thoughts far away.
He seems subdued – morose even – and despite my deep dislike for him, I have a fascination as well. Though Meredith stares fixedly at him, her face only a foot from his, he fails to notice her, too, as he sits alone in his own little world.
'Excuse me ladies and... Oh. I was going to say gentlemen but I realise there's only one present,' Ursula gestures to Malachy and Richard grins, clutching his heart in feign offence.
'We must visit the ladies. Meredith?' She eyes the transfixed girl pointedly, snapping her out of her trance. She glances around, confused.
'Are you coming?' Ursula raises her eyebrows, waiting for Meredith to catch onto her plan. The Bermudez sisters want to give her a little pep talk in the bathroom and, nodding slowly, she gets to her feet.
'I'm going to get a drink, want one?' Tia asks me and I nod vaguely, not taking my eyes from Malachy to ask where Tia will go or how long she'll be.
'I'll come with you,' Richard offers. 'To help, of course!' He protests when Tia raises a suspicious eyebrow. 'You might be persuaded to show me where your room is.' He mutters as they head off, both grinning like Cheshire cats.
By the time I realise I'm alone with Malachy, it's too late, and I cast my eyes frantically around the room, searching for an excuse to get up and leave. I wonder how long the Bermudez sisters will be but – judging by Meredith's behaviour – I would expect the pep talk to take quite a while.
From the corner of my eye I watch Malachy jerk into motion as he, too, realises we're alone; that he can no longer shrink into the background, safely hidden by Richard's banter.
'So,' he clears his throat as I glance up at him, willing him to make an excuse to leave. 'Are you enjoying your time here?' He asks, darting his eyes around the room, at every face but mine. I'm uncomfortable being confronted by this strange version of Malachy; he'
s shifty and awkward, one could go as far as to say shy or nervous.
I cast my mind back to the few times I've encountered him before and remember distinctly his obvious arrogance.
'Yes, I suppose so.' I shrug, clawing for conversation. He nods slowly, racking his brains, too.
'Where are you from?' He asks. I resist the urge to groan – making small talk with Malachy was last on my list of things to do at the Institute and, once again, he's offered me a one-word-reply question.
'England, like you.' I sigh, but he shakes his head.
'I'm from Germany, originally,' He corrects me, his eyes catching mine for only the second time since he approached us. He has a striking stare, piercing – the kind that holds your attention. 'Berlin.' He adds, dropping his gaze.
'You're not going to tell me to 'run along' today then?' I quip, unable to resist the sarcastic comment. A long and tension-filled pause plays out between us. He shifts in his seat, swallowing hard.
'I apologise about that,' He mutters, glancing warily about the room. I try to hide my surprise – an apology was the last thing I expected to receive from Malachy. 'I was... having a bad day.' He finishes lamely.
The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) Page 10
