All These Perfect Strangers

by Aoife Clifford

  ‘Vodka and . . .?’ I asked.

  ‘Milk,’ Toby answered. ‘Known as a Pale Mary.’

  My stomach curdled at the thought.

  ‘Scull for Scullin,’ Rachel said, as we ceremonially rubbed the waxed cups together. After a night of drinking too much beer, it tasted as though I was gulping down medicine, syrupy sweet with a ferocious after-burn.

  ‘You interrupted us playing a game of Truth or Dare,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m going first.’

  ‘Good, what do you pick?’ said Toby.

  ‘Truth,’ she said.

  ‘Lucky for you. I was going to make you go skinny dipping in the river. Those Marchie boys gave me the idea,’ said Toby.

  ‘Who are they?’ I asked.

  ‘Marchmain Club. Wear white, drink champagne and beat teddy bears with hairbrushes. So of course they take a mountain of drugs. Nico, in particular, is a total mad fucker. He always has the best stuff though.’

  ‘So there’s Maggies and Marchies, and tonight they are both wearing white.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Toby. ‘But tomorrow the Marchies will still be wearing white and open for business. But, back to the matter in hand. What to ask Rachel?’

  Shaking my head at the nonsense of it all, I stretched out on the grass and gazed up at the sky. I was managing to stay on the right sight of being pleasantly unselfconsciously drunk and the moon seemed to be smiling down on it all.

  ‘I can’t be bothered to come up with anything good,’ said Toby. ‘Tell us the most recent bit of scandal that you’ve heard.’

  ‘Well, I did hear a bit of juicy gossip about our new Master.’

  ‘About Marcus?’ asked Toby. ‘Fabulous.’

  ‘It was in his last job, when he was acting Vice Chancellor. This kid was charged with plagiarism or something and Marcus tried to hush it up but instead made everything much worse. There was an investigation into it, and they found that Marcus had previously stopped him from getting kicked out of college for drug use. And then they also found Marcus had been overspending on his expenses account, giving money to the boy. So he was forced to resign before he got the sack and that’s how he ended up here. A bit of a step down from his fancy sandstone university.’

  Thinking the information over, I asked, ‘Was Marcus having a relationship with him?’ It seemed that every male around me suddenly had the potential to be gay.

  Instinctively, both Rachel and I turned to Toby.

  ‘Why are you looking at me?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, you are the expert in these matters,’ said Rachel.

  Toby pulled a mock serious face. ‘Marcus isn’t gay.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘He must be or that story makes no sense at all. Anyway, Pen’s turn next.’

  ‘All right,’ said Toby. ‘Who do you fancy at college?’

  Rachel snorted. ‘That’s obvious. She was making eyes at Rogan over dinner.’

  A denial caught in my throat as I sobered up quickly. I couldn’t believe I had been that transparent.

  ‘No, Pen has to tell us the worse thing she has ever done.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said, getting my voice to work. ‘I didn’t get a chance to pick.’

  ‘Pick truth,’ said Rachel. ‘You look so innocent but life in a small town is so incestuous and twisted. Lust bubbling under the surface.’

  ‘Dare,’ I said firmly.

  ‘Boring,’ said Toby.

  ‘I’m sure we can make this fun,’ said Rachel. ‘You have to kiss the nearest boy . . .’

  ‘Done,’ I said, relieved that it wasn’t worse and moving towards Toby.

  ‘That isn’t Tobias,’ she finished.

  ‘This is so high school,’ said Toby. ‘What’s next, spin the bottle? Who’s the nearest?’ He looked about us.

  ‘Well, whoever is in the bushes is otherwise engaged, so that means it’s the floor bore, Michael,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Ssh, Rachel, he’ll hear you,’ I said. ‘Besides, Michael’s OK.’

  ‘Have you talked to him? Social skills none. Must be from an all-boys’ school.’

  ‘Watch it, lady,’ said Toby. ‘I went to an all-boys’ school.’

  ‘Still, that’s the dare,’ said Rachel.

  ‘I think I better check on Kesh,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Rachel firmly. ‘Toby’s her RA. He’ll check. You can’t be a welsher. Besides, it will probably be the first time Michael has ever been kissed.’

  Michael hadn’t moved from where he had been sitting in front of the willow tree. He gave no outward sign he had heard any of this, though he clearly was within listening distance.

  ‘Yes,’ said Toby. ‘Don’t be a wet blanket.’ He shooed me away.

  I got slowly to my feet. My numb foot now had pins and needles. Stumbling, I walked up towards Michael and sat down next to him, deliberately in the shadows, on the far side from Rachel.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, feeling uncomfortable. I’d never talked to Michael properly before and didn’t really know anything about him, other than he studied Science. ‘Having a good night?’

  He gave me a look which said he had heard every word of our conversation, ‘OK, I guess.’

  Voices rang out behind us, and a group of people, all barefoot and flowing dresses, came down from the oval. I watched them walk past. A girl with a wild untangled mane seemed to have something large and white moving in her hair.

  ‘It’s a rat,’ Michael said, following my gaze. ‘She lives at Chifley. I met her earlier tonight.’

  ‘She lives with a rat in her college room?’ I asked. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  ‘Apparently, rats are quite easy to care for. She told me one of her friends had a rabbit, but it nibbled the light cord and was fried. Rats are smarter.’

  I couldn’t really think of anything to say at this, so I turned back towards Rachel. Kesh had joined them again and was sitting there looking wan. Rachel was peering over at me, an amused look on her face.

  ‘Um, Michael . . . I don’t suppose you heard what we were saying before. You see, we’re playing . . .’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘Oh, good. So you understand that I’m supposed to . . .’

  ‘Do what Rachel says.’

  ‘Well . . . there’s more to it than just doing what Rachel says.’

  ‘Really? She told you to wear that dress tonight, and you did. I heard you talking about it with Toby.’

  He had a point.

  ‘About that, thanks for stopping Joad. I should have said that first off. It was kind of you.’

  His round glasses reflected in the moonlight. ‘I thought university would be different. That you could be yourself here and people would appreciate that. Instead, there are lots of people like Joad and everyone’s too busy being fake, pretending to have a good time, pretending to be something they’re not, doing what they’re told. I don’t understand why.’

  ‘That girl with the rat?’ I asked, not really sure what he was getting at.

  ‘Yes, her. And those Marchmains. And this whole Rubik’s Cube thing. It’s all fake.’

  A yell from Rachel, ‘Tongue included,’ and then I heard Toby and her start to chant, ‘Why are we waiting? W-h-y . . . are . . . we . . . w-aiting?’

  ‘OK, Michael, I agree.’ I was really only listening to Toby and Rachel, desperately hoping their chanting didn’t attract a bigger crowd. ‘But now what I want to do is kiss you, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Only if you want to, not because Rachel said.’

  ‘No, I really want to.’ And I did, justifying it to myself as the equivalent of a non-verbal thank you. I felt exposed next to Michael, like I was out of the circle and on my own. I wanted to get back to the safety of the pack and watch Rachel demand dares or truths from other people.

  So we kissed.

  There were loud whoops from the onlookers.

  Behind the lens, his pale irises looked as though the colour had been washed out of them.

  ‘You’re different, Pen. You
don’t have to be like the other people here. They’re not important.’

  ‘Maybe I’m not that important either,’ I said, standing up. ‘Thanks though for before. I owe you one.’

  As I walked back towards the others, a long rainbow conga line of people came streaming down from the oval. Rachel jumped to the front of it, blowing on a whistle, as if she was leading the army band. It snaked past me, people attaching themselves to it. Kesh, a pale blur in the middle, held out her arm, which I grabbed with the desperation of a drowning person without a backward glance at Michael, and we clumsily shuffled our way along the river bank, across the road and up towards Scullin. As we snaked our way up towards the entrance, I saw someone watching us from one of the rooms on the second floor of Page Tower. It looked like Marcus, but just then Kesh stumbled and I almost fell over. By the time I turned back, the room’s light was switched off and the person was gone.

  *

  Frank is all smiles today, nodding encouragingly. Maybe he didn’t think I’d start writing. It’s a fortnight since he told me I had to do it. I tried to get an earlier appointment so I can get this over and done with but Ivy, in her usual passive aggressive way, has scheduled me in every second Tuesday morning. It’s payback for cheeking her last time.

  ‘How did you feel when he kissed you?’ asks Frank.

  Already, I am lying to him. As far as Frank knows, a stranger kissed me. Whether he can sense that lie, I don’t know. He doesn’t come straight out and accuse me of it, but still, for some reason, he keeps returning to it.

  ‘It was just a kiss.’

  ‘But it’s not just a kiss, is it? You were the centre of attention for that moment. What emotions did you feel?’

  ‘There was hardly anyone else paying attention. And it was pretty chaste compared to what else was happening.’

  ‘But how did it make you feel? The first thing that went through your mind.’ Frank is big on initial reactions and gut instinct.

  ‘It was a dumb kiss. He probably kissed me just because I was the first person he saw. I wasn’t picked out for anything special.’

  ‘You’re avoiding saying how it made you feel.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘A person might feel flattered with the attention. Some people could have felt a little violated, uncomfortable that their personal space has been invaded. For most people the first few months away at university, separated from family and everyone they know, are an intense experience. People fall in love, become infatuated, are lonely, engage in risky behaviour to be noticed, to make a connection. Perhaps that was what that boy was doing when he kissed you, trying to make a connection. So, I’m exploring how you felt about it.’

  ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘Most of what you have told me about today, meeting Marcus, sitting in the dining hall, you describe it as if you were a spectator, an observer. You notice what’s hanging on the wall. The picture of the boy in the office. You describe this kiss as though it’s another picture. Something you saw, not something you felt.’

  I wonder what he would come up with if I tell him that I did the kissing. I expect he’d twist it around and say, as Michael had, that it was Rachel’s decision and not mine, which only proves his hypothesis. You can’t win with psychiatrists.

  ‘It was just a kiss,’ I repeat, fed up. ‘Tell me what the answer is and I’ll say it.’

  ‘That’s not my role here. You know that.’

  I want to tell him that his role is to fill out the damn report for my lawyer and make it sound good. But I don’t. Instead I glare at a spot of chipped paint behind his head. It is a patch of white about the size of a ten cent piece and if this was my office, I’d have to pick at it until all the light-green paint was pulled off and the whole wall was white again. But maybe Frank’s too busy picking at his patients to notice.

  ‘Pen, last time you were in treatment you decided to end it abruptly, against my advice. If we are going to do it properly this time, I need you to commit to what we are trying to do. So, let’s continue. How did the kiss make you feel?’

  ‘It was fun. Lighthearted. Just part of the night.’

  ‘Did you ever see this boy again?’

  ‘No, never,’ I say. ‘Don’t even know his name.’

  ‘Well, let’s talk about some of the other people you mentioned. Was it easy to make friends at uni?’

  And even though I am glad to have got the conversation away from Michael, I find it hard to answer this question.

  ‘I guess so. There were so many people to meet all at once.’

  ‘And yet all the people you talk about in detail seem to be from the same floor as you. Not such a wide group. Friends through geography.’

  ‘They were the people I met first.’ I am trying not to sound defensive but this seems like a pretty hypocritical comment seeing Frank is married to his receptionist. ‘Geography probably shapes most friendships. You work with people, go to uni with people, that sort of thing. You do the same things at the same time. Doesn’t mean it’s not a real relationship.’

  ‘It doesn’t guarantee a lasting friendship either. Take you and Tracey,’ he says.

  Her name is like a punch in the face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe what you and Tracey had was a school friendship. Maybe given the chance it wouldn’t have survived a change in geography. A friendship that ends abruptly can colour our view of it, we mythologise it into something that it wasn’t. Then perhaps later we can see that it had a natural end anyway. What we thought was a road would have turned out to be a cul-de-sac.’

  I bet he practised that analogy in the mirror this morning. He doesn’t understand anything. Tracey is still my friend now despite what he might think. She will always be my friend. For a moment I want to shout this at him, but I bottle it up. I have had to lock away everything to do with Tracey. None of it is up for discussion.

  ‘I think we’ve made a good start today.’ Frank puts on a benevolent face like I’m lucky he has so much insight and wisdom to share with me. ‘See you in a fortnight.’

  Chapter 5

  ‘But really, I don’t understand what is actually sexist about the Murder Game,’ said Joyce, known only to his parents as James, as he squirted tomato sauce all over his lunch.

  There were more Jameses at college than there were in my whole town. Back home they were called Jimmy, Jimbo or Jamie. Never James. This one was nicknamed Joyce because for the first few weeks he carried a copy of Ulysses with him, a bookmark permanently fixed a third of the way in. He was tall with a bad white-man’s-afro and a voice that carried across the room.

  ‘I think Leiza was pointing out that, perhaps, some people might argue it trivialises violence against women,’ said Kesh, apologetically. She was sitting between Toby and Rachel. Michael sat at the far end of the table, occasionally looking at people as they spoke, but not joining in the conversation. Rachel was eating toast after having been caught by the cook trying to steal sausages from the bain-marie.

  Three weeks into term, the Murder Game, billed as a way of getting to know everyone at college, had begun. You were given a victim who you had to pretend to kill by trapping them alone. For the first few days, the college moved in packs, fearful of attacks and of being waylaid in dark corners. But as the body count grew higher, and more people were eliminated, views began to change from it all being good fun to thinking that it was a childish undergraduate game. Leiza had taken a far harder line and had gone to see Marcus to get it banned altogether.

  ‘Such a killjoy,’ said Rachel. ‘She’s pissed off that her petition has been completely ignored and now just wants to wreck everyone’s fun. I mean, she wanted the bar crawl to be cancelled and she complained about the toga party. What would she have us do? Sit round and discuss feminist legal theory?’

  Rachel had assassinated four of her targets already and was currently first on the leaders’ table.

  ‘Perhaps that would be more deadly,’ I joked.

 
Rachel laughed. ‘Still, I managed to kill you.’

  ‘And me,’ said Rogan, walking up to us. ‘Garrotted with a string of rosary beads. How did you die?’ He sat across from me, balancing a plate of food, and gave me a smile. Farmer boy Joad, whom Rachel had christened Toad, moved into the spare seat next to Michael.

  It was the first time Rogan had spoken to me and Kesh blushed on my behalf.

  ‘Killed with the tip of a poisoned umbrella.’

  Rogan dipped his head with a nod of respect at Rachel and pulled in his chair. Our feet accidentally bumped under the table.

  ‘How is that sexist?’ said Joyce. ‘It’s equal opportunity carnage.’

  ‘I see it more as a metaphor for college relationships,’ said Rachel. ‘First we get to know each other, second we screw each other and then we kill each other.’

  ‘At least the first two don’t sound so bad,’ said Rogan.

  ‘What a coincidence. Pen would say the same thing. Maybe you two should get together and go bowling,’ said Rachel, giving me a sly sideways sort of glance. A nervous giggle escaped from Kesh and I pretended to be engrossed in my breakfast.

  ‘Can I have one of your sausages?’ Rachel asked Toby.

  ‘You certainly may not. I need to fuel myself up before my big weekend,’ said Toby. ‘There is a whole tray of them over there.’

  ‘That bastard chef is watching me like a hawk. He won’t even let me have bacon at breakfast.’

  ‘He’s not serving at the moment,’ said Rogan. ‘I think he’s unloading a delivery.’

  ‘I am so desperate for meat,’ said Rachel, standing up. ‘I might even roast my next victim and eat them.’

  ‘You’ve got to hand it to her, she gives good game,’ said Toby, getting up to make himself more toast. ‘If I wasn’t going to win the keg of beer for being the most successful serial killer, I’d put money on her.’

  Joad rolled his eyes but waited until Toby was out of earshot, before saying, ‘First prize is mine. I’m not going to be beaten by any loudmouth bitch or faggot.’ He had a distinctive nasal voice that cut through the general rumble. There was a ripple of uncertainty at the table, as people tried to pretend he was being ironic.