All These Perfect Strangers

by Aoife Clifford

  I thought how disappointing that would be if he was serious, and watched him disappear into the crowd.

  The Chancellor made steady progress over to where we stood, the Sub-Dean hovering behind him. Marcus had been caught up in conversation with a man wearing leather patches on his cardigan’s elbows.

  Red-faced from the heating, the Chancellor demanded a drink of Kesh’s breasts.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ began Kesh, ‘but we aren’t meant to serve any drinks until after . . .’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped the Sub-Dean. ‘Get some sherry for the Chancellor at once.’

  At this, some parched academics came up looking hopeful, but were shooed away by the Sub-Dean, who grabbed a glass of sherry from the table and presented it with something of a half bow. The Chancellor looked coldly at the Sub-Dean and icily at the glass.

  ‘Didn’t realise we were on rations,’ he said. ‘Marcus . . . Marcus,’ he called. Marcus, who had been loudly recounting his Salman Rushdie anecdote, came over.

  ‘Bryan, being overzealous again? Don’t worry, Leonard, I have some very good whisky in my office. Let’s get this talk started and I’ll revive you with it at the end.’

  He gestured to Rachel, handed over a set of keys, and gave her whispered instructions. She immediately left the room.

  I found Rogan and sat down next to him. We hadn’t really spoken much since the Film Group night, but when he discovered I had been one of the people to find Alice, he had been really concerned. I took that as a hopeful sign. He asked more questions about my hospital visit to Alice, and, grateful for a topic of conversation that interested us both, I told him more about Nico, whom Rogan knew from a tutorial last year. We talked until Marcus stepped up to the microphone and introduced the lecturer, a visiting American academic.

  Dr McKillen had a soft Southern accent that gently blurred the end of sentences, belying her rousing message of a call to arms. While she sounded nothing like Rachel, she seemed to share her view that most of those who said they supported Rushdie and his freedom of speech were not doing enough. People’s commitment to the cause was tested when she started to read some of the controversial passages from the book. You could feel a ripple of anxiety move through the audience as if militants would storm the building, and I could see the Sub-Dean glancing at his watch so often that it seemed like a nervous tic. When she finally finished her speech, exhorting us to stand up for what was right, Marcus quickly confiscated the microphone and said that instead of going into the advertised question time, perhaps people should debate the issue amongst themselves while sampling from the ‘selection of delights cooked up by the Scullin kitchens’. This was embraced enthusiastically by the audience who hadn’t yet seen what was on offer.

  Rogan stretched his legs out.

  ‘What did you think of that?’ I asked.

  ‘Easy to say in theory. I feel bad for the innocent people getting threatened. You know, the booksellers or publishing employees. Rushdie is being guarded twenty-four hours a day. Who’s looking after them? Sometimes, other people pay the price for you trying to do the right thing.’

  I nodded, not sure of what to say.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Anyway, how’s your term going? You enjoying Law?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I answered. ‘Duller than I expected. Lectures especially. Weird sitting in a class with more people than in my year-level at school. Tutorials are OK.’ Outside of Dale, I hadn’t really bothered to meet many people in my course and tended to stay close to college rather than hang around Law School.

  ‘Did they do the whole “look to the left, look to the right, only one of you three will make it through this course” thing?’

  ‘That’s a joke, right?’ I asked.

  ‘Must just be an Accounting first-year tradition. Anyway, I’ve got to help Toby stock the beer fridge. He’s expecting a rush to the college bar when people see what Bryan has in store for them.’

  Kesh was already behind the food table when I got there.

  ‘Rachel hasn’t come back with the whisky,’ she said, looking anxious. ‘You don’t think she’s off drinking it somewhere? And here’s the Chancellor now.’

  The Chancellor had set a determined course back to our table, ignoring Bryan, who was trying to introduce him to Dr McKillen. Marcus was walking with him, nodding to people as they went past.

  ‘I think we can declare our first Academic Night a success,’ Marcus announced.

  The Chancellor snorted. It wasn’t clear if he was agreeing or deriding.

  As they reached us, Rachel slipped into the room holding a bottle and a couple of glasses.

  ‘Perhaps you could have a pastry while we pour you a whisky, Chancellor,’ I said, offering them the tray. Marcus, out of loyalty, picked one and took a large bite.

  ‘What are they? Fish?’ asked the Chancellor.

  Marcus was making hard work out of swallowing it. ‘Fowl would be a more accurate description,’ and he directed a wink in our direction. ‘Stick to the whisky, Leonard.’ He waved a hand at Rachel.

  ‘Yes, you wouldn’t want a man to die of thirst,’ said the Chancellor, who on close inspection looked like he’d been hitting the bottle hard before he arrived. ‘Might cut down on the conversation.’

  By this stage, the Sub-Dean, abandoning Dr McKillen to well-wishers, had weaselled his way next to the Chancellor, pressing more food onto him as a way to get his attention. But the Chancellor was too busy leering at Rachel’s short skirt to notice.

  ‘A ministering angel, Marcus. I am beginning to see the attraction of being more hands-on with the students.’ He laughed loudly at his own joke. ‘Now, young lady, where do you come from?’

  Rachel didn’t answer, concentrating instead on pouring the drinks, so Kesh piped up.

  ‘Rachel’s mum is an ambassador so Rach has lived everywhere.’

  Rachel shot Kesh a dirty look, but the Chancellor was captivated, and as Rachel passed him his whisky said, ‘Is that so? Where is her current posting?’

  Again, Rachel seemed reluctant to answer but was saved by Leiza, who pushed into the group, carrying a ream of paper.

  ‘Excuse me, Chancellor, in light of the recent attacks on campus, I want to present a petition to you demanding better security . . .’ The rest of her message was swamped by the Sub-Dean who seemed to think she presented a threat to the Chancellor and jumped in front of him, waving his arms. This achieved nothing other than knocking the whisky bottle out of Rachel’s hands. It smashed onto the floor. A nearby academic, already a little unnerved by the talk or perhaps the catering, screamed.

  ‘Bryan, look what you’ve done,’ I heard Rachel say, delightedly.

  The Sub-Dean coloured but tried to pretend it had nothing to do with him. Marcus took charge, neatly taking the petition from Leiza, saying he would ensure the Chancellor would receive it at an appropriate time. He then escorted the Chancellor away with promises of cognac in his office. Rachel, who had been splashed by the whisky, used that as an excuse to leave Kesh and me to finish the cleaning up, directed by a furious Sub-Dean.

  · · ·

  It was at least another hour before we got to the Rec Room. This was where students usually hung out if they were staying in college for the night. Sparsely furnished with a handful of rickety tables, its main attractions were the TV perched high on one wall, and on the other side of the room, past the pinball machines, the small college shop which sold lollies and stamps and, after 6 p.m., beer. Rachel, back in jeans and a t-shirt, was perched up next to the counter, chatting to Toby who was on shop duty tonight. She was rolling cigarettes, tendrils of tobacco peeping from a bright yellow plastic pouch on the seat beside her, her tongue darting out to lick the edge of each tobacco paper.

  ‘All in all, a very interesting night,’ she said.

  ‘Not if you had to actually work,’ I answered.

  ‘I’ve been working hard as well, just more cerebrally than you minions. Look what I still have.’ She shook a se
t of keys at me.

  ‘Do they belong to Marcus?’

  She nodded. ‘Think of where I could get into with these beauties. Every room in the college.’

  This didn’t concern me too much as Rachel waltzed into my bedroom whenever she wanted to anyway.

  ‘I already had a snoop around Marcus’s office. Checked out a few student files in Carol’s filing cabinet. Very interesting. Do you know Michael’s mother died when he was ten? I expect it was of disappointment in having produced something so weird.’

  ‘She died of cancer,’ said Toby, sharply. ‘And if you say one more word about what you read, I’m taking those keys back to Marcus and telling him what you did. You could be expelled, you know.’

  Rachel poked out her tongue, and then picked up her cigarette, which she started smoking with impatient gasps. Ignoring her, I looked around the room for Rogan. Small groups of people sat at tables chatting to each other. A tight knot of boys gathered around the pinball machine. In the middle of them was Joad. Michael was sitting on a chair at the edge of the group. The boys began to laugh, and I heard Joad say. ‘You’re on, mate. I accept.’

  ‘Rogan here?’ I asked Toby.

  Toby shook his head. ‘Got some urgent message and headed off.’ He pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge for us. ‘Here you go, on the house.’

  ‘That’s very generous,’ said Kesh.

  ‘Well, when I say on the house, I’ll put them on Rachel’s tab. Least she can do. One for Michael as well.’ He frowned at Rachel, as if daring her to argue with him. But she was too busy tucking the keys away in her bag and looking as though she was about to leave. ‘And here’s the party pooper.’ Leiza stalked across the room towards us. A smattering of applause broke out from the handful of girls in the corner, but it quickly died away.

  Toby stared at her. ‘Leiza, not one single thirsty academic have we had in here tonight. We were going to make a killing, but instead, thanks to your one-woman protest, they have all hightailed it out of here.’

  Leiza was even more annoyed. ‘Don’t you start. It took ages getting all those signatures and I bet Marcus doesn’t even give him the petition. They think it will all be forgotten by the start of next term and they won’t have to do a thing. Get me a drink and give me a break.’

  ‘Let me buy it for you,’ said Joad, who came up to us, carrying empty bottles. ‘A beer?’

  Leiza narrowed her eyes, obviously wondering what the catch was, but nodded her head all the same.

  ‘I thought that was courageous of you standing up to the Chancellor. To quote Dr McKillen: “Be brave, take action”.’ He smiled at Leiza. ‘I admire you doing that.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Kesh.

  Leiza shrugged. ‘Don’t know if the Sub-Dean will see it that way. He called it a career-limiting move, but then I think he was referring to his own. Apparently, we will be having a meeting tonight to discuss it.’

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ said Toby quietly, for standing in the doorway was the Sub-Dean. ‘I’ll keep your beer cold for you.’

  The Sub-Dean blinked belligerently at us. ‘Ms Parnell, a word.’

  Joad actually walked Leiza to the door, patting her on her arm as she left the room. Snorts of laughter came from Joad’s table of friends.

  Toby waved at Michael and pointed to the beer. Michael looked blank but came up to us and I passed it over to him.

  ‘For you,’ I said.

  Michael studied the beer, while I turned back and looked at Joad, who was still standing at the door, seeming pleased with himself.

  ‘What’s he up to?’

  ‘It’s for a bet,’ Michael said. ‘I heard them before.’

  Before I could ask any questions, Kesh continued talking.

  ‘What happened to Alice was dreadful. We should all be campaigning for better security cameras and more patrols.’

  Toby shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Kesh. Would it really make a difference? You can’t put cameras everywhere. There’s always going to be some danger. Don’t people just have to be sensible?’

  ‘Are you saying it’s OK women can’t walk around campus by themselves?’ asked Rachel. She was still annoyed at Toby. ‘Alice has been disfigured for life. I’m not saying Leiza isn’t a pain in the ass, but this time she’s right.’

  ‘I know the solution,’ said Joad, who had swaggered over and rejoined the group. He signalled Toby for another drink.

  ‘What?’ said Rachel.

  ‘Just say yes. There’d be no rape if you chicks put out more. That Marchmain pricktease got what she deserved.’

  For one moment, the only sound was a series of descending pings from the pinball machine. Then Rachel walked straight up to Joad and smacked him as hard as she could. His head snapped back with the force of the blow. Fingermarks appeared on his face. He gaped at Rachel and then raised a closed fist to punch her, but Toby had already jumped the counter to get between them and Stoner stepped forward and grabbed his arm.

  ‘C’mon man,’ said Stoner. ‘You don’t want to do that.’

  Joad swore as Toby told him he should leave. Some of the boys who were with him beforehand came up looking sheepish, and helped hustle Joad out of the room.

  ‘You need ice on your hand, slugger,’ said Toby, heading back to the right side of the counter. He scooped up some ice from the freezer, put it in a tea-towel and gave it to Rachel.

  She made a fist and then flexed her hand. Her palm was bright red. ‘Should have got in another one.’

  ‘You could be in a whole lot of trouble,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’d better go to bed.’

  Rachel pressed the ice into her hand. ‘Hark at you, Little Miss Bursary. Of course you’d never do anything that would get you into strife.’ She gave me a knowing look before saying loudly, ‘You all know Joad had it coming to him.’

  ‘Here’s hoping the Sub-Dean agrees,’ Toby said. ‘C’mon, Rach, Pen is right. Head to bed.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? The night is but young.’ Before anyone could stop her, she picked up her bag and walked out of the room.

  *

  Frank puts down his notepad. ‘I sense that you are not fully engaged with this process, Pen.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I slam the diary shut. The pages make a muffled slap. ‘That’s what we agreed. I write what happened and you write my report.’

  ‘Do you view it like a bargain?’ he asks. ‘A direct exchange?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m keeping up my end.’

  Frank looks at me carefully. ‘You could think that. Tell yourself that you’ve arrived on time to our sessions and have mostly answered my questions. But still, I get the impression you are not engaging in the process because you don’t believe you belong here. That you really don’t need treatment.’

  There is no answer to that because it is exactly what I am thinking. I guess a broken clock gets to be right twice a day.

  ‘Why did you choose to tell me about the Academic Night?’

  I shrug my shoulders.

  ‘I think you did it because it allows you to blend into the background and instead gives me all these other people to think about and analyse. A maze of human behaviours to get lost in. I am getting a picture of everyone else but you. But what you need to realise is that you are my patient, not the others. I am treating you. So next time, I don’t want to hear about what you did in term break, or the Sub-Dean’s pettiness, or how you wrote an essay or attended lectures. Next appointment I want you to start with the Friday after term break. That’s your real end of the bargain.’

  Reluctantly, I nod.

  ‘Good. No more distractions then.’

  But that’s not right. What I read out wasn’t a distraction.

  Things don’t go wrong in an instant. There isn’t one single moment when the world suddenly splits in two. Rather, it begins with a minute crack, and then another and another, until they join together, getting bigger and wider and all the time you keep fooling yourself that this can still be fixed. That you ca
n fill them in and everything will return to normal.

  The Academic Night was the beginning. A hairline fracture, a fissure too small for Frank to notice. But I can hardly blame him; at the time I didn’t see it either.

  Chapter 9

  It was the Friday afternoon after term break and Rachel stopped talking the moment I knocked on Kesh’s open door. She was lying cat-like across Kesh’s bed, ash falling from her cigarette onto the faded pink ruffled cover that Kesh had owned since primary school. There was an ashtray on the table above her head that was solely reserved for her use. Kesh, who suffered from asthma, didn’t smoke and wasn’t supposed to be on our floor at all. An administrative error had meant that her non-smoking floor request had been overlooked but she didn’t want to complain about it.

  ‘A gun?’ asked Kesh, who had her back to me and was standing on a chair, tying a piece of string to a hook.

  Rachel caught sight of me and her mouth curved into a thin-lipped smile.

  Uncertain, I rapped my knuckles against the wood. Kesh turned and beamed. Her face was the equivalent of a poly-graph, unable to hide her thoughts or emotions.

  ‘Let me guess, the Murder Game?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, no, not that Murder Game anyway,’ answered Rachel.

  ‘Rach wants to know if I have ever used a gun. Have a look through my make-up, while I get this washing hung out.’

  Kesh moved the chair across the room and clambered up, threading the string around a hook on the wall and then pulling it taut.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Rachel asked me. There was a barbed tone to her voice which I ignored. Ever since she had come back from term break there had been an amplification of her sharpness, as if just touching her could give you an electric shock.

  ‘Tonight’s the big date,’ explained Kesh. ‘I’m doing Pen’s make-up.’

  ‘What date? Not with Rogan?’ asked Rachel.

  I said nothing, and walked over to Kesh’s dresser. Kesh had spent a small fortune trying to get boys to focus on her face instead of her chest. She owned an impressive array of make-up pots, tubes and brushes. I concentrated on finding a lipstick I liked.