All These Perfect Strangers

by Aoife Clifford

  ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘Some of the tiles are loose.’ He shuffled forward until he was sitting with his legs angled out in front. I passed him the torch. There was a neat stack of tiles next to us and I thought perhaps once they covered the hatch and wondered why one had been built in the roof and how Rogan had discovered it. But there was something so magical about being here I didn’t want to ask questions. That was what had got me into trouble with him last time.

  As high as we were, the trees were higher. One was close enough that its branches brushed the side of the gutter. I could hear the swish of the leaves rubbing against the edge. I wanted to tiptoe across the branch and climb the trunk, right up to the sky. Gaining my bearings, I worked out that if we scrambled up and over the ridge to the far side, we would be overlooking the courtyard.

  ‘How many times have you been up here?’

  ‘A couple. If we’d been here earlier we could have seen the sunset,’ Rogan said, lying back on the tiles. ‘Still, no clouds tonight.’

  The moon hadn’t risen yet. Stars scattered across the sky, not as bright as the ones at home. Tracey and I would bunk out and climb The Hill to look at them and plan our escape. I thought of Rachel. Where she lived, even further west than me, there would have been limited artificial light to compete with the stars. There they would have been the boldest. I wondered if she had looked at them as she perfected her American accent and dreamt up a whole new life.

  I moved next to him, feeling so small and unimportant that for a moment I could forget that I had done such big and terrible things.

  ‘Beautiful,’ I said, and shivered, the night settling on my skin. We lay there side by side.

  He cleared his throat and hesitated, before asking, ‘Did the police come back?’

  And I realised this was the reason he hadn’t been at college since Rachel’s death and why I was up here on the roof. The question he wanted to ask without any witnesses. No one to hear the concern in his voice. This was the extent of the talk.

  ‘No,’ I said, and I stared at the stars so hard that my vision blurred.

  ‘So, I guess that’s the end of it,’ he said.

  But I didn’t want it to be the end. So I asked him if he would go to Leiza’s rally with me the next day. It wasn’t an ideal second date but I could sense that if I didn’t ask him then there might not be one. There was no answer. Instead, he leant across and kissed me. Perhaps he just wanted me to stop talking, but I kissed him back all the same. He clambered over to lie on top of me, not an easy thing to do across tiles. His breath on my face was warm, like blowing into cupped hands on an icy day. We were so close that our eyelashes touched. The weight of him pinned me in place and I wrapped my arms around him, trying to do the same. Looking up into his eyes, I wanted to shrink the world so it was only as large as the two of us, ask him if this could be love, but he was already moving his head, turning his eyes south to calculate the bare minimum of clothes that needed to be shed. We ended up having sex on that roof, minimal moving, fumbling, functional, rubber-infused sex. His interest in me quickly shrivelled once he had finished.

  I lay there, as cold and hard as the tiles underneath me. Wordlessly, he began pulling up his jeans. A scraping noise came from the roof cavity below. Rogan grabbed the torch and shone the beam around. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked.

  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

  ‘Come on then. Let’s go. I’m freezing.’

  We left each other in the stairwell on my floor. He didn’t try to kiss me. ‘Good night,’ he said, before I could mention the rally again.

  Saying nothing, I turned down the corridor. I could feel his eyes watching my retreat but refused to turn around. I had that much pride at least. There was no one in the break-out area so I didn’t have to smile and pretend everything was OK, which was lucky because nothing was. Any happiness I had felt earlier evaporated. I was broken. Guilt covered me like a thin layer of grit.

  · · ·

  That night, I had the dream again. I was standing on the bank looking at the river and someone was floating in the water. Even though I couldn’t see a face, I was certain it was Rachel. I called for her to get out, but she ignored me so I got in. The water was much deeper than I expected and I floundered out of my depth and became tangled in the weeds. The girl swam up to me, her face blue in the moonlight, and it wasn’t Rachel after all, but Tracey, and she held my hand. I smiled at her and began to say sorry. Raising her arm, she grabbed my hair and pushed my head under. I woke up in the darkness with a half-scream stuck in my throat and the taste of the river in my mouth.

  Chapter 17

  I could hear raised voices as I came in to dinner the next day.

  ‘I know you did this,’ I heard a boy yell. As I walked through the doors, I saw Toby standing there, looking amused, and Kesh next to him, looking anxious, waiting to be served their food. Joad was in the middle of the room, shouting. ‘They’re fucking everywhere.’ He was shoving some paper under Leiza’s nose.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked quietly. Toby passed me a folded leaflet. I opened it up to see a headline of STOP THIS SEXISM with a photocopied black and white picture of Joad, a rough speech bubble coming from his mouth. It said, ‘That Screwdriver Man has the right idea.’ Underneath was information about the rally.

  ‘I picked it up over at the Union,’ whispered Kesh. ‘There’s other quotes from Joad about rape, gays, racist stuff. It is all over campus.’

  ‘What are you saying, Joad?’ replied Leiza, in her best ringing tone that carried throughout the unnaturally quiet room. ‘Are you claiming you didn’t say these things?’

  Joad’s face contorted. He was so angry that he half spat, half screamed at her. ‘How dare you? I’m going to get you for this, you stupid stuck-up bitch.’

  ‘He’s going to regret he said that,’ said Toby, in an undertone. ‘If he’s not careful, he’ll get booted out of college.’ From the contented look on Leiza’s face, I guessed she might be thinking the same thing.

  Joad looked around at everyone watching him, forks frozen between plate and mouth. Even the cook had come out from behind the counter to stare.

  ‘Fuck you all,’ he said, and then he picked up the edge of Leiza’s table and tipped it over. Dishes, glasses and cutlery went sliding down lengthways, allowing some people to make a grab at their dinner as it slipped past, so the mess wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Still, there was a satisfying smash as a water jug and some unattended plates hit the floor. Then he marched out of the hall, only stopping to rip another of the leaflets out of Annabel’s hand.

  Leiza stood up on her chair. Looking completely composed, she addressed the room. ‘Remember the rally starts in an hour in front of the bar.’ She then stepped down and began to organise the cleanup.

  ‘Couldn’t Leiza be in big trouble for those leaflets as well?’ Kesh asked. ‘I mean, aren’t they defamatory?’ She looked at me.

  ‘Well, not if he said those things, which I bet he did,’ I answered.

  ‘And who’s to say Leiza made them?’ said Toby. ‘The official posters, which I plastered up with my own fair hands, were completely different. I bet she didn’t physically do any of it. It’s just the sympathetic sisterhood getting their pound of flesh. And now, after that spectacle, Joad’s goose is gonna be cooked. C’mon, let’s grab some dinner before this rally.’

  ‘Do we have to go?’ I asked, moving towards the counter. ‘It will be all cold and dark.’

  ‘It’s Take Back the Night, Pen,’ said Toby, reprovingly. ‘Not Reclaim Morning Tea time.’

  But as I turned, balancing my tray, I stopped listening to him. I had caught sight of the table directly behind where Leiza had been sitting. Rogan was there, and the way that eyes can meet across a crowded room, ours did. A long moment. Then slowly, deliberately, he placed an arm around the shoulders of the girl next to him. It was Emelia.

  · · ·

  Rugged up in a coat and scarf, I stood next to
a concrete pillar advertising house shares, upcoming bands, second-hand bikes, university elections and one enormous-sized poster of Joad. This one gave his response to the AIDS crisis. Toby and I were standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the Quadrangle. It was a cloudy night but the street lights gave off alien-like tractor beams of harsh fluorescent so we could see people gathering for the start of the rally. From our vantage spot we also overlooked the beer garden attached to the bar. Staff wearing black polo tops came in and out picking up glasses. A few customers drank beer. In the garden, Pete, the vampirish ticket guy, was having a cigarette.

  A loud distorted voice cut through the noise. ‘Attention, attention. Marshals to the front.’ Leiza, talking into a mega-phone, was standing on a large temporary wooden platform, which had been placed right across the bar’s entrance. Girls shuffled behind her, wearing t-shirts with ‘Marshal’ scribbled on in marker pen. They began to unfold one long banner: STOP THE VIOLENCE, the words painted in alternating purple and green letters. Kesh was holding one end of the banner and, to my surprise, Michael was also up the front and had grabbed on to the sheet at ‘V’. There were suspicious shadows around the ‘i’ and ‘o’ in ‘violence’, suggesting that they had originally been in opposing places. Other girls began to hand out candles stuck through paper plates to those who hadn’t brought their own.

  The space began to fill. This was more than just a loose confederation of Leiza’s cronies. Sandal-wearing Christians jostled for position, hemmed in by Marxists on one side and hippies against nukes on the other. They all glared suspiciously at one another as they fought for prominence. More people came and still more until the place was crowded. I began to pick out faces that I recognised: the girl who got caught stealing a book from the Law Library by the grumpy librarian in my first week; the boy who was always late to every lecture; a couple of Marchmain boys, dressed all in white, standing off to one side; and to my surprise, Joad, at least I thought it looked like Joad, standing in the middle of the crowd with a beanie pulled down to just below his eyebrows.

  ‘Leiza has actually pulled this off,’ said Toby. ‘Either people care a lot more about these issues than I thought or they all really hate Joad.’

  Out of the darkness, tiny flickers of yellow flame multiplied as people lit their candles, quivering like the reflection of stars in the sea. They warmed and softened the square concrete buildings that surrounded the Quad. It was beautiful and the crowd became hushed as if surprised by it.

  Leiza stepped forward on the platform. ‘Tonight we remember,’ her amplified voice began, but she was almost immediately drowned out by a couple of motorbikes roaring up the street. The crowd turned as one to see them park on the footpath on the far side of the rally from where I stood. The two riders got off their bikes and began to push their way through the crowd. In the half-light they were a mixture of leather, flannies, denim and beards. I stood on tippy-toes to see if one of them was Tommy of the metal tooth and wandering hands. Some in the crowd began to boo but Leiza held up her hand to quiet them.

  ‘Just wanted a drink,’ yelled out one of them, as they got up to the front. The other jumped up on to the platform next to Leiza and took a bow. His comrade slow-clapped him in a show of bravado. They were equal parts menacing and childish. Leiza stood her ground and waited them out, not resuming until they had sauntered inside. But the spell had been broken and even though her speech was passionate and articulate, something had been lost by the intrusion. When the next speaker was introduced, the crowd was restless, humming with their own conversations. Toby was no better.

  ‘There’s Nico,’ he said, checking out a boy with a head of carpet-like stubble, standing several people away from us.

  Wearing his grubby white suit with a backpack slung over his shoulder, Nico turned at the sound of his name. There was a nasty rash on his neck and he looked like he had lost weight. He put down his backpack and began to fiddle with the zipper.

  Toby moved towards him. ‘Nico, mate, I haven’t seen you for a while.’ A woman next to us with short hair and large sculptural earrings shushed and waved her candle crossly in our direction. It went out and she fussed around for a neighbouring flame to relight it.

  ‘You still dossing at the Gulag?’ asked Toby.

  The Gulag was a series of corrugated huts up behind the Forestry Building that had been condemned by the university. Rumours were they would be pulled down at the end of the year. Infestations of students squatted in them occasionally.

  ‘Been there ever since they took my Alice away.’ His voice was rough and congested like he had been sick with a bad cold. He pointed in the direction of the bar. ‘They hurt her and now her parents won’t let me see her.’

  ‘Who hurt Alice?’ Toby asked.

  ‘He did,’ and he pointed to Pete, out in the beer garden. The two bikers had joined him. Pete was one of those people who gestured with his hands when he talked. His hands didn’t seem happy.

  ‘Pete,’ I said, surprised. ‘You’re saying the guy in charge of the bar was the one who attacked Alice?’ The lady with the earrings had just been about to ask us to be quiet, but even she got distracted at the turn of conversation and stopped listening to the Health Clinic woman, who was clutching the loudhailer in one hand and a bundle of notes in the other.

  ‘He’s not in charge, just acts like he is,’ said Nico. ‘Those Death Riders, they’re the real power. Them and some guy they call The Master. They hurt people who get in their way.’

  Toby tried to judge if he was serious. ‘Who else have they hurt?’ he asked.

  ‘That nosy one asking all the questions. Came to see Alice in hospital. Rachel something. They killed her for sure.’

  The mention of Rachel was enough for me. Nico was deluded. I turned away, but he kept talking. ‘Leiza better watch out. She’s nosy too, asking for police investigations. They’ll hurt her.’ He was getting more agitated and began talking louder. ‘I’m going to make them pay for what they did to Alice.’ People started to look over as he, shuffling sideways, knocked over his backpack. There was a metal clang and a glug of liquid as something shifted and fell inside it. Hastily, he grabbed it and then left, shoving his way through the crowd, towards the platform. The Health Clinic woman was finishing up.

  ‘Can you smell something?’ asked Toby. He knelt down to where Nico’s bag had been sitting and the shushing lady crouched as well, illuminating the area with her candle.

  ‘Careful,’ said Toby, pushing her back. ‘I think it’s petrol.’

  ‘He has petrol in his backpack?’ I asked. Straightening up immediately, my eyes scouted through the crowd. Nico was moving towards the platform but not only that, boys dressed in white were pushing through the crowd from all directions. I could see at least ten. It was a Marchmain reunion.

  ‘This isn’t good. People could get hurt,’ said Toby. ‘Get to Leiza and grab the loudhailer. Tell people to get out of here. I’ll try and head him off.’ We both started running down the steps.

  Leiza was talking again, introducing the next speaker, the Student Union’s Women’s Officer, but she stopped midway, sensing something was not right.

  Nico had fought his way through and leapt up next to Leiza, looking like a cross between an escaped convict and a mad preacher.

  ‘Forget Reclaim the Night,’ he shouted at the crowd. ‘Let’s reclaim the bar!’

  There was a ragged cheer of surprise and approval at this but Nico didn’t wait to listen. He ran towards the front door, only to find it had been locked. Someone inside must have assessed the situation and acted quickly. Slamming his hands on it in frustration, he then began to open his bag. By this time Toby had reached him and was trying to pull the bag away. I had worked my way to the front, yelling at the non-comprehending people around me to ‘Move back, move back.’ I was about to reach Leiza and the loudspeaker when a couple of the Marchmain boys, their faces covered with bandanas, began to kick at the glass panels of the door with heavy Doc Marten boots. An
odd kind of aggressive excitement rippled through the crowd. While I’m sure that some people sensed danger and started moving away, more began pushing forward. Other fists began to slam on the glass, which shuddered under the weight. The Marchmains were chanting ‘let us in, let us in’, and ‘occupy’, and people took up their cries. A brick hurtled over my head and the sound of smashing glass mixed with screaming.

  ‘No!’ yelled Leiza, as the glass panel gave way, and a boy clambered through, unlocking the door from the other side and trying to jam it open. She began to wrestle with the boy to stop him and I lost sight of her. I was wedged in on all four sides by people I didn’t know. I couldn’t see Toby or Nico and I felt panicked about the possibility of a fire starting in front of us. I tried to fight my way back, but instead I was propelled on by the bodies on either side of me. We were moving towards the doorway and here the crowd funnelled. Pushing started to come from the back, surging those at the front forwards. When the next wave came through, I was dragged several metres towards the building, though my feet weren’t on the ground.

  As the push lulled, I tried to plant my feet down and moved my arms out in front of me, desperate for some space. The next surge would take us through the door, and I was worried I might be slammed into broken glass. I braced myself and then the wave came through. I had almost made it when I started to fall. I reached out to the nearest person and tried to grab on to something to regain my balance. But they slipped past and I landed hard on the floor. Pushing myself to all fours, I tried to get back up but legs and feet kept knocking me down. I covered my head with my arms as the world turned airless. Then I felt my body being pulled upwards. When I was half-standing, half-crouching, I was grabbed around my middle and dragged towards the opposite wall, next to the bakery roller door.

  I sat there, dazed and terrified, trying to get air back into my lungs. It was a few seconds before I could even work out who had saved me. Michael sat next to me on the floor.