House of Windows

by Alexia Casale

  By the time his father called to say he was on his way back, Nick was resigned enough to dwell with anticipation on how Michael would take the news.

  ‘You’ve already met, so I won’t hear any excuses,’ Professor Gosswin insisted calmly in the face of Michael’s aghast protestations. ‘Mr Brethan is generally easy-going and acceptably clean. His financial situation is straitened – through no fault of his own – so it will be to everyone’s advantage that he live here. His basic bed and board will be free and, in exchange, he will be a presence in the house as proof against emergencies and times – of which I feel certain there are many – when you, Michael, are detained overnight in London. Mr Brethan will help in the garden with the lawn and also with the general upkeep of the house, including overseeing any workmen who might be needed to make repairs. He will not be expected to cook or do laundry, other than for himself, nor will he provide help with Nick’s coursework.’

  Nick snorted.

  ‘Be quiet,’ she ordered. ‘As I was saying. Mr Brethan will be an adult presence—’

  Nick snorted again.

  ‘You are not a piglet, Mr Derran. Please stop grunting like one. As I was saying, while you are more than usually capable of your own care, you are nonetheless under age and, as such, should not be living alone for the better part of the week.’

  Michael coughed, fiddling with the tassels on his loafers. When Nick glanced at Bill, he was startled to see that his godfather looked oddly pained.

  ‘This will be good for all concerned,’ Professor Gosswin said. ‘You do not seem to be in Cambridge enough to be more than minimally inconvenienced by this ideal solution, Michael, so I would advise you to accept my help graciously.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘This is how it is going to be, Mr Derran.’

  Chapter 9

  (Michaelmas Term × Week 5 [≈ second week of November])

  The trailing willow leaves were amber against the blue-green of the frosted grass on the banks, the moss on the trees almost yellow in the early morning light. The water was mirror-grey, slick and oily in the still air, the ripples fat and lazy, rolling away from the boat as they crossed the river to park in front of the boathouse.

  They got the boat out of the water and into the racks with minimal fuss and no accidents.

  ‘Well, it’s better than last week,’ said the coach. ‘I might even be able to let you out on your own before you graduate.’

  ‘Hey, we overtook today: that Trinity boat, remember?’ protested Brent.

  ‘You overtook them because they rammed the bank,’ said the coach.

  ‘It’s still better than last week.’

  ‘When we rammed the bank, you mean?’ Nick said.

  ‘I’m captain, you’re cox: we’re meant to stand up for our boys.’

  The coach shook his head and moved over to talk to the Trinity Hall Men’s First VIII, who were huddled within the open boathouse doors looking disdainful.

  ‘Who’s for a round of coffee after we wash up? Nick, you with us this time?’

  ‘I didn’t even know about last time.’

  Brent rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t get in a huff. Most of the stuff we get up to is just spur of the moment: bumping into each other in the JCR or Hall, seeing who’s up for the pub or a burger run to one of the Vans. If we called you, it’d be over by the time you got down to College, but today you’re here, so … coffee?’

  Nick blew out a breath more like a raspberry than a sigh. ‘Can’t. Have to get home. New lodger arriving today and my dad’s conveniently got a work emergency.’

  ‘Next time, then,’ said Brent, slapping him on the back.

  Yeah, next time, Nick whispered.

  Above him, the lead-light windows had steamed up patchily, speaking of damp rather than warmth inside. Usually so smart in its black-and-white College livery, the boathouse seemed as hunched and miserable as he felt to be saying no the first time anyone spontaneously offered to go for coffee instead of a pint so that they could include him. He turned away to head for the Elizabeth Way bridge. When he looked back, the others were sauntering slowly in the other direction.

  It started raining before he’d even reached the bridge. By the time he got home, he was soaked to the skin, his socks squelching in his shoes.

  He just had time to shower and get the coffee machine on before the doorbell rang. He opened the door holding his ‘Liable to bite’ mug and his most unpleasant glare.

  ‘Now that’s just the sort of welcome I was hoping for,’ Tim said cheerfully.

  Nick gestured him into the hall. ‘If it makes you feel better, you can put it down to Fifth Week Blues. Is the middle of term always so long?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Tim, stepping inside.

  ‘Where’s the rest of your stuff?’ Nick asked, peering out of the door but seeing nothing on the path, no car waiting at the kerb.

  ‘My best friend’s bringing it later. Just so you’re forewarned, Ange is … interesting. She does a lot of bouncing and she’ll almost certainly hug you. Please don’t expect me to do anything about it. She’s one of those people you feel should only exist in a film, but what you see really is what you get. You’ll understand when you meet her.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ Nick drawled. ‘Do you want a coffee while we talk about all … this?’

  Five minutes later, Nick was turning his mug in slow circles while Tim warmed his hands in the steam from his.

  ‘I don’t need a keeper, you know,’ Nick said suddenly. ‘You are not here as a babysitter. I don’t need anyone to look after me. I never have.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to know. I was worried I’d need to provide cuddles and bedtime stories.’ Tim slouched back in his chair. ‘But, seriously, what is your dad expecting from me? Like – and please don’t jump down my throat – do you have some sort of curfew he’ll want me to enforce?’

  Nick looked at him.

  ‘I take it back. Jump down my throat. Just don’t do that glaring thing, OK? So how about things like taking you to the doctor or the dentist?’

  ‘Unless I’m delirious, unconscious or bleeding to death, I’ll handle it myself, thanks.’

  ‘So, no to mopping fevered brows but yes to calling ambulances in case of imminent demise. Are there any other house rules? You know, set times I’m allowed to watch TV or use the kitchen or …’

  Nick shrugged. ‘Help yourself. We don’t have much kitchenware but if there’s anything you want, we can get it – within reason. Dad said to tell you that he’ll cover basic grocery shopping – list’s up on the fridge, just add what you want – but alcohol’s up to you.’

  ‘Covering his bases in case I turn out to be a lush?’

  Nick flushed. ‘No, that’s not what I—’

  ‘Joke, Nick.’

  ‘Failed joke, Tim.’

  Tim grinned, looking about with appreciation. ‘Nice. So, care to show me upstairs?’ They tramped about the house, one floor to the next. In Nick’s room, Tim looked around politely, bent to stare at his grandmother’s photo. Nick’s eyes went to the bookcase and his mother’s picture, safely tucked away between two fat textbooks, the frame dulled accusingly with dust. When he turned back, Tim was reading the postcard above his bed.

  Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

  The courage to change the things I can,

  And the wisdom to know the difference.

  ‘I didn’t know you were religious.’

  ‘I’m not. We’re not.’ Nick shrugged. ‘I saw it in a bookshop and it just … It’s a good thing to remember: to do what you can to make life better, not get stuck looking back. Sometimes, though, I think the wisdom bit is really about knowing how to change things, not whether they can be changed.’ He flushed then, looking away, and silently led the way back downstairs to the middle level. ‘You can take your pick of the guest rooms, but it might be best to have the one at the back, rather than next to Dad. I’ll order an extra bookcase.’ He leaned against the
banister, toeing at the carpet as he waited for Tim to finish looking around.

  ‘You really don’t say much unprompted, do you?’ Tim said as they returned to the kitchen.

  ‘What did you expect me to say? I figured you could recognise a sofa and a toilet for yourself. Though do say if you’re confused.’

  ‘Is the sarcasm included or do I have to contribute towards it? No, don’t consider that a prompt. Why don’t you show me the stopcock and fuse box, then I think we’re done.’

  ‘The fuse box and the what?’

  Half an hour later, they were back at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee. ‘Look, Nick,’ Tim said, ‘I think this could work out but if you really don’t want me here …’

  Nick sighed. ‘I don’t think we’ve got a lot of choice. Though it didn’t seem like you needed much persuading.’

  ‘More like didn’t have any other option,’ Tim snapped. He closed his mouth on a further retort, pressing his palms flat to the table for a moment. ‘I applied well in advance for College accommodation over the summer, so that wasn’t a problem,’ he said more calmly, ‘but I couldn’t put my name down early enough for the academic year; I didn’t know if I had funding for my PhD until it was too late and if it hadn’t come through I’d have been working this year instead to save up. But then I did get the funding, only there was nothing decent that I could afford anywhere near College. Gosswin got me a guest room on an emergency basis but now that term’s started …’ He shrugged. ‘If it makes you any happier, I think she was as interested to find me a roof over my head as someone to keep an eye on you. It could be worse for both of us. Just tell me if there’s stuff that’s likely to bug you or your dad and I’ll try not to go there.’

  Nick looked away. ‘We wouldn’t be getting a lodger if my dad were actually living here. He’s basically in London. But that doesn’t mean I’m in the market for a father figure, OK?’

  Tim held up his hands. ‘Fine with me. I’m not in the market to be a dad yet or have any of the associated responsibilities.’

  Nick nodded once, sharply. ‘Then we’re clear.’ He sat rubbing at a pen mark across the back of his hand. ‘When my dad’s here he spends almost all his time in the study. He isn’t going to care what you do about the house so long as you don’t play loud music when he’s around. As for me,’ he gave a one-shouldered shrug, ‘I’m basically pretty boring. I read a lot, go to lectures and study. I don’t even watch that much TV. I expect we can both just carry on as normal. I doubt I’ll get in your way.’

  ‘And I’ll try not to get in yours,’ Tim said amiably. ‘We’ll manage, right?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t we? I was managing just fine already.’

  Tim rolled his eyes. ‘It’d go easier for both of us if you could try not to interpret everything I say as an insult. Most people find me pretty easy-going company.’

  Nick gave him a look. ‘Yeah, everyone says that about me too.’

  When the bell rang a few hours later, Tim was poking about with the lawnmower the previous owner had left in their dilapidated shed so Nick reluctantly put down his book and went to answer the door. A tiny purple-haired girl was standing on the front-door mat.

  ‘Oh, hi. You must be Nick. I’m Ange,’ she said. ‘I am holding Tim’s stuff to ransom for hugs.’

  ‘Hi.’ It came out more as a squeak than a word.

  ‘Just to get things straight right from the get-go, it is OK if I stop by to see Tim and periodically steal a corner of your sofa, right?’

  Nick nodded slowly.

  Ange grinned. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘You’ve got … um …’

  ‘Beautiful eyes? A knockout figure?’

  ‘Antennae.’

  ‘Oh, these old things?’ Ange asked, batting her eyes and then giving a shout of laughter before suddenly freezing. ‘Oh, no. You’re not one of those people who don’t approve of me, are you?’ She made a face. ‘Please tell me you’re not the sort of person who thinks my antennae are sad and stupid. I’ll have to not come round so I don’t say insulting things if that’s the case, then Tim’ll be lonely. And of course you’ll be missing out too, which would be a pity because, despite the fact that you’re kinda freaking me out with the wide-eyed nodding-like-a-bobble-head-doll thing, from what Tim’s said you’re exactly my sort of crazy …’ She paused for breath, then let it out in a sad sigh. ‘Ah. You’re one of those people who think crazy’s an insult. That is very sad for you, Nick Derran. Can you call Tim to come and get his stuff and I’ll just bounce out here on the pathway? I won’t even set foot inside. Oh, but you’re not talking. Maybe you could take him a note. Do you talk at all? You sort of did a minute ago but then people sometimes go completely mute when I’m around.’

  ‘Mostly because you don’t give them a chance to get a word in edgewise,’ Tim said, nudging Nick out of the doorway. ‘Shall I get rid of her or can you cope?’

  ‘Cope. I can definitely cope,’ Nick said.

  Ange beamed at him. ‘Ha! I knew I liked you.’ She frowned. ‘But do try to talk instead of just nodding, OK? I mean, it’s good when people concede in advance that I’m always right, but still.’

  ‘You’re the flower fairy!’ Nick said suddenly. ‘The flower fairy who was directing traffic when someone pranked the one-way system in Induction Week.’

  ‘I am?’ Ange said, frowning for a moment before her face brightened again. ‘Oh, yes, I am. I mean, I was. I wasn’t being a spoilsport, honest. I just didn’t think it was very sporting and there was this little girl in one car crying about how she’d never get home again and …’ She raised her hands in a helpless gesture.

  ‘Your antennae are awesome,’ Nick told her.

  Ange preened, then shot into the hall to hug his arm.

  ‘Stop playing boa constrictor, Ange,’ said Tim.

  ‘Caffeine-ness, Timothy! Produce it this instant!’ Ange demanded, letting go of Nick long enough to stomp her foot. ‘And do not even think about starting with me about my not needing any encouragement to bounce.’ Ange pointed a finger at him. ‘I am still cross with you. I find it hard to look cross,’ she added to Nick, ‘but really I am Very Cross Indeed.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Nick asked, fascinated.

  ‘He tried to tell me off for telling the latest in a long line of romantic conquests to break up with him. But really it was mean of him to go out with her just to get a Christmas invite, let alone try to stop her breaking up with him just so he could do it after the holidays.’

  ‘But it’s ages until Christmas!’ Nick said.

  ‘Yes, but Christmas turns Timothy into a monster: think werewolf at full moon, only it’s hearts he tears out instead of throats. But maybe it will stop being an issue now he has a home. An actually homey home. Has he been good so far?’

  Nick pulled a face. ‘Awful,’ he said. ‘He was polite the whole afternoon. I thought the body snatchers had arrived.’

  Ange shouted with laughter again and threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, I do like you! I absolutely like you! Tim never said you were so funny.’

  ‘That wasn’t funny. That was mean,’ muttered Tim, leading the way through to the kitchen and putting the kettle on.

  ‘You dish it out plenty, Timothy. Time to get a taste of your own medicine.’ She darted after him and curled up on a chair, feet tucked up under her. When Tim turned, she stuck her tongue out at him.

  Tim reciprocated, to which Ange blew an exceptionally loud raspberry. ‘My friends always raise the tone,’ Tim told Nick.

  ‘Is that your real hair?’ Nick asked Ange, ignoring Tim.

  Ange flipped one long purple curl over her shoulder to peer at it. ‘Well, it’s not the real colour.’

  Tim rolled his eyes at Nick. ‘I think he meant “Is it a wig?” It’s not, by the way. Dyed. She’s actually a blonde.’

  Ange blew another raspberry, slumping over the table. ‘Soooooo boring. Though it is excellent for dyeing all the fun colours. Refreshments!’ she sa
id, bouncing in her seat as Tim put a steaming mug in front of her.

  ‘What is this?’ Nick asked as Tim passed him a second mug.

  Tim opened his mouth to answer just as Ange squealed, leaping to her feet then stopping. She squished her face up and threw herself back into her chair, grabbing her mug to her chest. ‘No! No, I’m not hugging you. Not even for hot chocolate with marshmallows and sherbet.’

  ‘Do I like hot chocolate with sherbet?’ asked Nick, staring dubiously into his cup.

  ‘Of course you do, Nickie.’ Ange looked aghast. ‘Go on.’

  Nick sipped. He tilted his head in consideration. ‘Yes,’ he said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure.

  ‘It’s like me. Fizzy and sweet and sharp and weird all at once.’

  ‘I put in extra weird,’ Tim said. ‘Look, if you’re nice to her she’ll be here the whole time.’

  ‘Yes, I … Oh, no. I won’t.’ Ange pouted. ‘I mean I will in the summer, but right now it’s boring ’cos I’ve got a million hours of PhD reading to do this term, and it’s mostly UL West Room periodicals stuff so I’ll be practically chained to the UL, and then I’ve got a job. We’re only officially allowed eight paid hours a week, so please don’t tell anyone, but Tim’ll vouch for the fact that it’s just not possible to survive on that, even if you work more than full time in all the vacations.’

  ‘Don’t complain. At least your supervisor looks the other way,’ Tim said acidly.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ange whispered. She sidled up to him and rubbed her head against his shoulder like a cat. ‘If I had Dragon Lady Gosswin watching me I wouldn’t get away with it either. But my boss at Clowns says you can have as many hours as you want in the vacs. Now, go get your stuff out of my mum’s car while I’ve got time to drop it back to her and still get the last train home. Come on, you,’ she said, tugging Tim to his feet.