‘Try to be friendly, Nick,’ Michael whispered. ‘This Tim’s a nice kid. He’s not patronising you, so relax a little. Try a smile. You’re not going to make any friends frowning.’
Nick dropped his gaze to his feet. Yeah, he’s so eager to make friends with me he spent most of the time buttering you up. And he looks like he’s good at sports.
Michael heaved a sigh. ‘And stop mumbling, Nick. I know you don’t mean anything bad by it, but it’s really very off-putting.’
Tim was holding open a thick, age-blackened oak door under a high arched gateway.
‘Did you take them via Ely Cathedral?’ The voice echoing from above was lemon juice and smoke, like a growl poured over cracked ice.
‘Wanted to give you time for a constitutional in case all that shouting earlier had tired you out,’ Tim called back, bounding up the wood-panelled staircase. He gestured them through a doorway to the left as he stepped into a kitchenette on the right.
Nick stopped at the threshold in surprise. The room was full of light, streaming through a grand bay window taking up almost an entire wall of the spacious study. The floor was uneven burnished wood, the walls entirely books, floor to ceiling.
‘Note that young man there.’ Professor Gosswin gestured to where they could hear Tim thumping about in the next room. ‘He is a rude and reckless boy. Your father and godfather always conveyed a very healthy level of terror in my presence. See that you do the same.’
Nick squinted into the darkness of the corner where the Professor was sorting books on to her shelves. ‘Tim said we had to have a glaring match. You may not have realised this from my interview, but I’ll win.’
The Professor turned. ‘Indeed,’ she said coldly, looking him up and down.
Nick met her sharp gaze. ‘Indeed,’ he said.
‘I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,’ drawled Tim, shouldering the door open and carrying a laden coffee tray over to the desk, where he had to balance it precariously on a corner while he moved a stack of papers to create a level space.
‘You’re disordering my research, you vandal!’ hissed the Professor, breaking eye contact with Nick to snatch her papers away protectively. ‘How am I expected to work with all these careless children underfoot, creating havoc in my very own set?’
‘Sett as in badger?’ Nick whispered to Michael.
‘Set as in set of rooms, but badger sett might be more appropriate,’ his father whispered back.
‘Did you just refer to me as a badger, Mr Derran?’
‘I was asking a question about etymology,’ Nick replied.
‘Do you realise that badgers are related to the weasel family? Are you suggesting I am weasel-like?’
Nick frowned at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re more like a polecat. Those are related to badgers too.’
‘Indeed,’ snapped the Professor.
‘Indeed,’ replied Nick.
‘On which note, I’ll have to excuse myself.’ Michael slid his phone from his pocket, pulled a face at it. ‘Got a text. I’m needed at the office. Knew I had to get off soon.’
‘It’s much better that you go now so we can move the conversation on to more civilised matters.’ The Professor turned her back on him in clear dismissal. ‘We’ll see you again far too soon, I dare say, now that you are once again resident.’
‘Bye, Dad,’ said Nick.
‘And you,’ she said to Tim, the moment the door had closed behind Michael. ‘Off you go, Mr Brethan.’
‘Um …’
‘Did you just “um” at me? Go away, I said. At once. Instantly.’
‘She’s dead fond of me really,’ Tim stage-whispered to Nick.
‘You are an odious creature, Mr Brethan. You are always smiling. I have endured quite enough of your buffooning about for one day.’
‘See ya, Nick! Bye, Prof.’
‘Odious boy!’ shouted Professor Gosswin, turning quite purple with the effort, as Tim slammed the door behind himself. ‘What are you looking at?’ she snapped at Nick.
‘Are you imperial purple, do you think?’
Professor Gosswin stepped back to look at herself in the mirrored surface of a brass plate on the wall. ‘Certainly. Imperial from imperator. You should think of me as such in relation to your chances of success at Cambridge.’
‘I thought you were a Law professor?’
‘Mr Derran, I am the College’s only current Life Fellow, in residence in these rooms since before your father trod these halls. I am considered one of the great minds of several Cambridge generations. The execrable Mr Brethan aside, I am generally accorded the respect and fear that are my due. Now, I recall you telling me quite frankly, on our brief first meeting at your interview, that you were of exceptional intelligence, without being a genius. On that basis, while you may be advanced for your age, I am advanced for mine.’
‘So advanced squared.’
‘I think you will find it is an exponential function. Now, sit down … No, not there, you foolish child, there! In front of the chess board.’
‘I don’t play chess,’ Nick said.
‘Then you have even more to learn than I thought. It is quite ridiculous how ill-prepared students are becoming. No more excuses. Make your move.’
Nick stared into Professor Gosswin’s cold, dark eyes and tried not to think how very much like a polecat she looked at that moment: a polecat in its den, getting ready to show its teeth. There wasn’t a hint of a smile around the thin lips, the lined eyes, just the sharp intelligence of a predator.
A year ago, at his Cambridge admissions interview, the Professor had greeted him with the disconcerting statement ‘Three years of your father and godfather for my pains and now they send me you to look at.’
‘I think I’m meant to be looking at you too,’ Nick had replied and, against the odds, Professor Gosswin had smiled.
‘You may have all day, Mr Derran,’ she snapped now, ‘but if I have to endure your company then it shall be in the service of equipping you with at least a little skill. Now make your move.’
‘Hey, Nick!’
He looked up to see Tim hurrying his way from a small courtyard by the chapel. A very pretty girl was staring after him. Nick watched her hands rise into the air, clenching into fists, her face distorted with fury, before she turned in a whirl of glorious dark hair and stalked away.
‘So you survived the Dragon’s Lair,’ Tim said.
Nick gave him a flat stare.
‘Right. Sorry. Forgot you’re not convinced by my startling wit. You’re missing out, you know.’
‘No one’s watching, Tim. You don’t have to be nice to me now.’
Tim was either a much better actor than Michael or he was genuinely puzzled by this response, his face twisting into a bewildered frown before Nick had even finished speaking. ‘Why would anyone be watching?’ he asked. ‘You don’t have some weird paranoid … Um, I mean, you’re not Asperger’s or schizophrenic or anything, are you? Not that that’s a problem, but—’
‘I’m not an idiot savant,’ Nick interrupted.
‘Right. Good to know.’
‘And I’m not a genius either, in case you were wondering.’
Tim grinned. ‘I wasn’t actually, but I suppose that’s good to know too. Grist for the rumour mill and all that. Our porters are gossips but they’re nothing to our manciple.’
‘Your what?’
‘Manciple. Like the butler of the dining hall.’
‘Manciple. Got it. Anything else?’
Tim sighed. ‘Nope. I get the message loud and clear. I’ll get out of your hair. But maybe you could have a go at losing the chip on your shoulder, Nick. Sometimes people really are just trying to be nice.’
Nick watched him set off across Front Court, suddenly cold in the bright sunshine as he tried to think of something to say, even though it was already too late to do more than make a fool of himself by shouting. Tim ducked instinctively as he reached the low, narrow passage into
North Court and glanced back over his shoulder. He grinned, raised his hand in a brief wave when he saw Nick looking, and Nick had time to answer both the smile and the wave before Tim was on his way again.
Don’t screw it up before you’ve even started, he told himself as he set off out of College.
He turned left, thinking to go down by the river, but quickly changed his mind when he saw a horde of ravening French tourists swarming up narrow Garret Hostel Lane. Just as he was about to turn the corner to follow Trinity Lane up to the centre of town, a small door opened within the great doors of an elaborate gateway and a man stepped over the lintel. Nick caught the door before it swung to. On the other side was an open-air space hemmed in by grey buildings. A dark passage led through the building on the right, plunging Nick into cool damp gloom. He emerged into the dazzling sunshine of an immense quadrangle.
‘Courtyard,’ Nick corrected himself, remembering his father telling him that it was ‘The Other Place’ (aka Oxford) that had quads.
Squinting into the glare, Nick saw a fountain topped with an ornate crown of carved stone. Trinity. This was the Great Court in Trinity. Ahead was the chapel, all creamy-grey stone and, to the right, the Great Gate, looking like it should be part of a Tudor castle. Beside it, running along the rest of the college frontage and then down the side behind him, were lower buildings of golden-brown stone with gabled windows.
I get to come here every day, he told the air, finding a smile breaking across his face.
He wandered the College for an hour, eventually finding his way to a quiet courtyard with a circular lawn around an enormous tree that towered above the surrounding roofs. An arched gateway let out on to the Backs, falling away to a stone bridge over the river and, beyond, an avenue of lime trees, all green and gold, ablaze with sunlight. Somewhere to explore another day.
He turned with a sigh and headed back into town to buy some more kitchen and bathroom essentials. They’d forgotten everything from bins to toilet brushes on the ‘keeping the house clean’ front.
When Nick staggered out of the department store an hour later, laden with bags, he hailed a taxi to take everything home, then set out again for food. A short walk led him to Mill Lane, where he’d seen a bunch of shops as the Replacement drove them past the day before. One of the small family-run supermarkets was halal and the other stocked mostly with Asian ingredients, labelled in characters he couldn’t even begin to decipher. In place of the hotdogs and garlic dough balls he’d planned to buy, he gathered up the weirdest-looking fruit he could find (including something leathery purple-brown that a handwritten sign identified as ‘mangosteen’), some chilli-flavoured crisps and a box of eggs, then took it all home.
The fridge looked less clinical with things on the shelves, and the kitchen brightened with a bowl of apples and bananas on the counter. Or maybe it was the sunshine, spilling in the huge bay front window and reaching every corner of the living room. There were no curtains yet, but Nick had fallen in love with the wide wooden window seat the first time he had seen the house. Soon he was curled up with a mug of coffee and a book, the dust motes dancing above the pages, bathed in light and warmth.
In the street beyond, a child laughed and Nick looked up to watch the family pass: a father and two toddlers, chasing their way down the street. A beep from his mobile startled his eyes away from the road.
Dad:
Might be home late. Sorry.
By the time he looked up again, the street was empty.
Chapter 3
(1 × October)
‘You’ve really improved the place this month, Nick,’ said Bill as he made himself comfortable in an armchair.
‘Hey, how do you know some of it wasn’t me?’ Michael asked.
‘That is not an appropriate question to ask a man you shared a set with for two years in College, and then a flat for five years in London.’
‘You never know, I might have—’
‘No, Mike. You mightn’t. Anyway, Induction tomorrow, Nick. You ready to meet your new classmates?’
‘If I say no, will you find a way to pause time so I can get used to the idea?’
Bill laughed. ‘They’ll be nervous too, Nick. Maybe more than you, because they won’t know the town yet. You could offer to show people about.’
Nick shrugged, leaning forward to tidy the mess of papers from his Induction folder that had been spread across the coffee table. ‘I guess I can try that.’
‘Maybe a good start would be to try being a bit more positive,’ Michael said.
‘Talking of positives,’ Bill cut in, ‘any news about your place on the law firm letterhead, Mike?’
Michael pulled a face. ‘Nothing concrete.’
‘Which probably means you’re working even more hours than God sends. Exactly how late are you getting back?’ Bill asked.
Nick watched his godfather’s eyes flick in his direction.
Michael sighed. ‘It’s a bit hit and miss, but I’m doing the best I can, right, Nick? You’re going to be too busy to even notice soon. Whatever the ups and downs of Cambridge, it’s bound to be better having a tough time trying to fit in with the smartest kids in the country than getting bullied by halfwit schoolboys.’
‘I’m not sure that’s the most appetising way to sell the concept,’ said Bill.
Nick looked down, picking at a spot of mud on his jeans. ‘I wasn’t going to have a social life at school and maybe I will here. If not, at least I’ll be achieving something. That’s got to be a step up from where I was,’ he said quietly. He saw Bill lean forward, frowning at his tone.
‘Exactly!’ his father said. ‘And if it doesn’t go to plan, you can always degrade and have another go next year.’
‘I haven’t even started yet,’ Nick bit out. ‘Could we not assume I’m going to fail from the outset?’
Michael rolled his eyes. ‘I never said that. I’m just trying to point out that even if that were the case – which it isn’t, since you’ve never failed at anything academic – it wouldn’t matter.’
Bill cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Isn’t it time to order some food, Mike? Why don’t you take care of that while Nick shows me what else he’s done to the house and I put my bags in one of the guest rooms?’
They each took a bag, trudging up the stairs in uncomfortable silence.
‘Bet it’s nice to have your own self-contained space if you can’t be in halls, right? Not too bad as student digs go,’ Bill said, as he put his bag down in the corner of the room next to Michael’s.
The whole house’s my own self-contained space most of the time.
‘What?’ Bill asked, turning from peering into the bathroom.
‘I finally bought bins, like you said.’
There were also bedside lamps and curtains. Bill stepped out into the corridor, put his head around the door into Michael’s room.
‘I was going for smart hotel,’ Nick said, the words coming out sharp, turning humour into bitterness.
‘It’s a little … impersonal,’ Bill agreed. ‘Why doesn’t he get a picture or two? An ornament?’
Nick shrugged. ‘I asked if he wanted anything. He told me not to bother.’ He jumped when Bill put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Sorry. Nick, I just wanted to say … Well, I wanted you to know that you can call me if … Well, if Mike’s not here and you need help with anything.’
Nick looked up at him, knew from Bill’s reaction that his expression must be that cool intense one that always unnerved people: the look that made him the picture of his mother – waifish and delicate, all high cheekbones, over-long lashes and huge blue-grey eyes, like a storm caught in blown glass.
‘I thought now you’ve got the guest rooms set up you might not mind the odd visit too,’ Bill said, the words awkward and tentative. ‘I know you’ll have all your new friends but we’ve had some fun times too, haven’t we? That time your dad went off to New York and you stayed with me?’
Nick looked away when he realise
d that Bill was waiting for a response. ‘It was nice.’
‘Well. Good. Anyway, I didn’t want to invite myself out of the blue, but just so you know I’m there if you need a hand. So, anyway … I guess we’d better catch Mike before he orders anchovies on the pizza.’
Nick flinched when Bill put his arm about his shoulders to lead him downstairs. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Jumpy about tomorrow.’ But somehow he couldn’t get his muscles to relax, couldn’t stop his movements reading tense and awkward, even though it wasn’t as if he minded Bill touching him.
I’m just not sure what to do with my body, he wanted to say but couldn’t because it would have made him sound like an idiot. I just don’t get a lot of practice. I don’t know what to do.
Chapter 4
(Induction Week [≈ first week of October])
The gym hall at Kelsey Kerridge was packed with rows of Freshers’ Fair stalls, second and third years hawking the various University clubs and societies from behind rickety laminate desks and trying to stop home-printed posters falling off unstable head-height partitions. Squinting at the diagram in his hand, Nick squeezed into the tight-packed column of students squirming clockwise down the middle aisle. He stumbled out of line at the Fantasy Book Club stall, accepting the leaflet that Gandalf thrust brusquely into his hands.
‘Fridays at six during Term.’
‘As opposed to what? The holidays?’ Nick asked.
Gandalf heaved a weary sigh. ‘Full Term’s an extra week before and after Term. We only meet in Term.’ Another sigh as Nick’s face went even blanker. ‘Term is Weeks 1 to 8 when there’s teaching. You do at least know weeks start on a Thursday, right?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Nick drawled. ‘Everyone knows that Cambridge is in a time-warp where different temporal rules apply.’
Gandalf pointedly turned his back to greet a new student.
‘We take it in turns to host in our rooms,’ Spock said, taking pity on him. ‘All we ask is that you nominate your chosen linguistic speciality by Week Three so we can assign a tutor.’
House of Windows Page 3
