Freshers

by Tom Ellen

  No wonder I’ve never been in love, I’m too busy daydreaming about it.

  I ate some Minstrels and watched a video of a boy being friends with an elderly otter. And then I got up for the second time, put my flip-flops back on and got my sponge bag. I tiptoed down the corridor, opened the door to the shower and was immediately overwhelmed by how awful it smelt. There was a giant mound of red sick in a solid clump like a cowpat right in the middle of the cubicle. I decided to just shut the door again. I got my Fairy liquid and Cillit Bang and did the washing-up. It felt like time was moving really slowly as I scrubbed each plate. I sent Mum a picture of the gleaming counter: ‘That’s right, I cleaned somethinI got dressed and wandered out into the unknown. I felt like a grown-up; in charge and independently up and off to buy food.

  The whole campus was deserted. I couldn’t see one single person and it was kind of scary, but turning back felt silly and defeatist. I walked along the path, following the signs, trying to work out the way to the shop. It was zombie-movie freaky, being in this concrete jungle, totally alone, but knowing there were actually hundreds of people, sleeping in buildings all around.

  The shop was closed, which felt like an anti-climax. It was cold, even in my new duffle coat. And I was hungry. And then I couldn’t remember which way I had walked. Or where Jutland was. I went back to the lake and tried to decide which way to go.

  And then, out of one of the towering grey walls, a door swung open and a boy walked out.

  So, it was me and this random boy in the post-apocalyptic York Met University. The boy looked back at the doors he had come out of as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was or how he had got there. I realized I was staring at him. And then I realized I recognized him. He was wearing the ‘Queen of Hearts’ T-shirt, but it had various liquid stains and a footprint on it now.

  ‘Phoebe!’ Josh said, and hugged me. ‘You look lost.’

  ‘I am. No one on my corridor is awake and I thought I would come and buy some food.’ I sounded so square. I hadn’t got shitfaced and woken up in an unknown’s bed. I purposely stopped myself looking behind him to the door he had come out of. ‘But the shop is shut and now I have absolutely no idea how I even got here.’

  ‘And just like that your rep appears, like a genie, to save the day.’ He looked like the hero in a Thomas Hardy novel. Tanned and solid and kind of open and honest looking. He had soft blue eyes that seemed out of place under his shaved head. He bowed ever so slightly, ‘You summoned me?’

  ‘Yes. Clearly you are sneaking about campus in last night’s clothes because I summoned you.’

  ‘I’m not sneaking,’ he said. ‘I don’t sneak.’ He laughed like a kid who has done something naughty and then took a deep breath and closed his eyes and groaned. ‘I have to go to work.’

  ‘What? Now? It’s 8.45.’

  ‘Not till eleven, but still.’ He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. ‘I’m starving. Come on, I know where we can buy food.’

  We walked across the bridge I’d sat on with Luke. A duck quacked at Josh and he waddled after it, quacking back. A woman passed, wearing a bright-red suit and matching heels. She smiled. ‘Josh, it’s still late. Today is the last day. Last day.’

  ‘Avril, that’s why I’m up so early. I’m going to the library to do it right now.’

  ‘The library is over there.’ She pointed in the opposite direction.

  ‘I’ve got to eat, Avril. Even boys with late essays have to eat.’

  She shook her head but carried on walking, smiling to herself.

  ‘She’s the lady who works in the English office. She’s like my best mate, Avril. She’s who you have to talk to if you are gonna hand something in late.’

  ‘Sweet talk, you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not even that subtle, I literally bring her cakes from my work and lay them out and am like “Avril, here are some cakes, save me.”’

  ‘Smooooth.’

  ‘Not the only one, am I?’ He put his arm around my shoulder. ‘So, you and Will looked friendly last night.’ His eyes twinkled.

  ‘Yeah, he’s really nice.’ And also really fit. I should have messaged Flora about that, too. The Luke Taylor interlude had knocked it to the back of my brain. Josh carried on smiling at me. ‘Stop. You’re making me embarrassed. He’s really nice.’ I had already said that. Oh god.

  We wandered over another bridge. We were walking right by the side of the lake now. The ground was frosty. ‘Aren’t you freezing?’

  Josh shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m a warrior.’ He jumped up and down on the spot. ‘An extremely cold warrior.’

  ‘Do you want my hat? It’s a bit girly but—’

  ‘Yes, I was wondering when you were going to be chivalrous and offer me one of your many winter garments.’

  He pulled the red bobble hat right down over his ears.

  We came out into a little village square. We went into the shop and Josh picked up a basket. ‘Shall we make breakfast for everyone?’ he said. ‘I feel like that’s what a good rep would do.’

  I nodded. We got hot chocolate and milk and eggs and then Josh put icing sugar and sprinkles into the basket. ‘Are you gonna bake them a cake for breakfast?’ I asked. ‘I thought you had to work . . .’

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I have four younger sisters; I know how to do a good breakfast picnic.’

  D Block was still quiet when we got back. ‘Wow, your kitchen is tidy,’ he laughed. ‘Ours never looked like this last year.’

  ‘I was so bored I cleaned it,’ I snorted.

  He got a bowl and started mixing the icing. ‘Do you think I can use this frying pan?’

  I nodded. ‘It’s mine. What are you making?’

  Connor walked in as Josh cracked an egg. Connor was not concerned about appropriate corridor dress; he was wearing fleece shorts and a T-shirt that said ‘LET’S GET MESSY’. He walked straight into the wall before ricocheting down on a chair.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I asked.

  He laid his head on the table and groaned a kind of yes, then Liberty walked in wearing a silk romper and knee-high woollen socks.

  ‘Are you cooking?’ she said.

  Josh nodded. Connor laughed into the table. ‘The way you say ‘cooking’. Coooo-king.’

  Liberty had the strongest Scouse accent I had ever heard. ‘Coooo-king. Coooo-king.’ She said it loudly in Connor’s ear and sat down next to him.

  I started buttering a big pile of bread. Josh picked up the bowl of icing mixture.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I looked over his shoulder. ‘Are you gonna ice the egg sandwiches?’

  ‘That looks disgusting,’ Liberty said.

  ‘Dis-gus-tin’,’ Connor mimicked, and she kicked him gently.

  ‘When it comes to egg fairy-bread you need to get over what it is in your head and just let your heart lead you.’ Josh shovelled an egg on to a piece of bread and sandwiched it.

  ‘That’s way too deep for me, mate,’ Connor said, and took a sip of tea. ‘Sounds like some Lord of the Rings shit.’

  I peered over the bread as Josh poured the icing on top of it, and then covered it in sprinkles.

  I ran over to my cupboard and took out the cookie cutters I had made my Mum buy even though I have never baked a biscuit before, ever.

  I got a duck one and plunged it into the bread.

  ‘Did you really bring cookie cutters to uni?’ Josh smirked.

  ‘Do you really make egg fairy-bread served with poetic life mantras?’

  Negin and Becky wandered in. They had both got fully dressed.

  ‘None of us died overnight.’ I smiled.

  ‘I almost did,’ Negin said. ‘My room is freezing.’

  Becky lingered by the microwave. It was like she didn’t know if she had permission to sit down.

  ‘Becky –’ Josh pulled a chair away from the table – ‘are you prepared to have your life changed?’

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I smiled as
encouragingly as I could.

  ‘Thanks,’ she almost-whispered, and sat down next to Liberty.

  Josh laid the duck-shaped iced egg sandwich in front of Connor.

  Connor sat up and looked at it, and then shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed and then got up and put his arms around Josh, picked him up and walked him around the kitchen. ‘That is the most beautiful thing I have ever eaten. That is all I am gonna eat for the next three years. I love you.’

  ‘Negin, there is a rocket. It matches the rocket on your name sticker.’ I picked the cookie cutter up, plunged it into the sandwich and handed it across.

  ‘I don’t think we should use plates unless we absolutely have to. Or knives and forks,’ Connor said. ‘If you can eat it with your hands I think you absolutely should. D Block policy.’

  Negin didn’t look convinced by the policy or the iced egg sandwich. She smelt it and then took a tiny bite.

  Josh cut Becky a dinosaur and I took a picture to show my Mum that the cookie cutters had actually been a good investment.

  Then Josh downed the last of his tea and stood up. ‘OK, I have to go to work. And you lot have to go to Freshers’ Fair.’

  ‘Do you wanna borrow my jumper?’ I said, and then looked down. It was white with a purply glitter outline of a rabbit’s face. ‘Or . . . I can lend you another one.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He smiled. ‘I reckon I can pull that off.’

  LUKE

  It looked like a cross between a car boot sale and a circus. Hundreds of tables strewn messily across the huge hall, all surrounded by brightly coloured, hand-drawn posters advertising every kind of sport, hobby or society you could think of, and presided over by wackily dressed, wide-grinning, way-too-hyperactive-for-this-time-of-the-morning people. Everywhere you turned, someone was yelling at you, or waving you over, or shoving a leaflet or a pen or a cookie in your hand.

  Me and Arthur weaved our way through the madness, chain-eating cookies, both still heavy with last night’s hangovers.

  It had been beyond weird to plug in my phone this morning and see no new messages, no missed calls. All summer, I’d thought I’d feel relieved by that sight, but if anything it made me more ill at ease. Like the guilt and the worry had suddenly been amplified.

  I just wanted, so badly, for her to be OK. To be happy again. I’d sat on the edge my bed, trying to actually, properly process what had happened, but then Arthur had pounded my door down, and the idea of missing Freshers’ Fair to sit alone in my room suddenly didn’t seem like an acceptable option.

  Arthur pocketed yet another novelty biro offered by a psychotically jolly random, and glanced around the hall, anxiously. ‘I should be keeping my head down, really,’ he muttered. ‘After last year’s Freshers’ Fair.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘When I turned up, I was still pissed from the night before. I signed up for all sorts of random shit and I haven’t been to a single meeting since.’

  Right on cue, a figure stepped into our path wearing a baggy, full-body white boiler suit, with a black mesh mask totally covering its face. It was carrying a fistful of flyers that proclaimed: ‘YORK MET BEEKEEPING SOCIETY: A GREAT WAY TO MAKE FRIENDS . . . AND HONEY!’

  ‘Hello Arthur,’ said the figure, in a stern northern accent. ‘Haven’t seen you at any of the meetings. You seemed so keen last year.’

  Arthur looked at his feet. ‘Yeah, sorry about that, man. I just, erm . . . I prefer to beekeep by myself, to be honest. Just me and the bees. It’s more of a private, personal thing, for me, beekeeping.’

  The figure didn’t move. ‘You’ve got your own hive, then?’

  Arthur nodded. ‘Yep. Keep it in the bath.’

  The figure flinched. ‘You shouldn’t keep hives in damp places, Arthur!’ it snapped. ‘Bees cannot cope with damp. That’s the first thing we would have taught you at Beekeeping Soc if you’d ever bothered to show up to a meeting.’

  Arthur flapped his hands apologetically. ‘Yeah, no, sorry. What I meant is I keep it in the oven. Or the microwave. I rotate it between the two.’ Then he added, ‘I don’t know why you’re so bothered about me, anyway, Martin. I’m sure you’ve got tons of recruits. Where’s the rest of Beekeeping Soc?’

  ‘He’s over there,’ said the figure.

  ‘Right, well, we should be off,’ Arthur replied, dragging me away by the arm. ‘I’m just showing Luke here around.’

  We moved away, and Arthur shook his head. ‘This is a fucking nightmare,’ he said darkly. ‘The bloke from Fencing Soc will probably stab me in the face if he spots me. Trust me, man, you should only sign up to shit that you’re actually, genuinely interested in. Once they’ve got your email, they own your soul. They’ll never let you go.’ He kicked at a bit of loose carpet. ‘I’ll still be getting the minutes from those fucking beekeeping meetings on my deathbed.’

  Across the hall, we noticed Rosie, Tom, Beth and Nishant from our corridor signing up for ‘Chemistry Soc’.

  ‘They’re already doing Chemistry,’ groaned Arthur. ‘Why the hell do they have to sign up for Chemistry Society as well?’

  A bloke on stilts wobbled by, yelling ‘COME JOIN STILT WALKING SOC!’ and Arthur reached up to fist-bump him. ‘Yes, Danilo!’ He turned to me. ‘That’s Danilo. He’s on my course. He’s bang into stilt walking.’

  And then, from a speaker somewhere in the hall, a girl’s voice boomed out in a low monotone, like an airport announcement: ‘Arthur Watling, report to the Singalong Stand immediately to perform “Some Day My Prince Will Come”. Once again, Arthur Watling, to the Singalong Stand, please.’

  Arthur’s face split into a grin, and he looked around wildly in search of the voice’s owner.

  ‘Arthur Watling, you should be wearing your glasses,’ the voice deadpanned. ‘Arthur Watling, I’m quite clearly in the corner, next to the Warhammer stand.’

  We walked over to the corner, past the shaggy-haired vikings of Warhammer Soc, where a good-looking girl in a red woolly jumper was sat by herself at the Singalong Soc desk. She was waving a glitter-covered microphone at us, which was hooked up to a speaker on a rickety-looking stage.

  ‘Yes, Reets!’ Arthur said. ‘Since when are you bossing the York Met karaoke squad?’

  ‘I’m not,’ said the girl, undoing her top-knot and letting her curly black hair explode out in all directions. ‘Never done karaoke in my life. I’m just minding the table for Liz while she gets some crisps.’ She tied her hair back up again, then waved the mic at us. ‘I’m supposed to be trying to get people to sing.’

  ‘No chance,’ Arthur grimaced. ‘I know people in here.’

  ‘You sang last year,’ said the girl, arching an eyebrow.

  ‘Shit. Did I?’

  The girl laughed. ‘Yeah. “Single Ladies”,’ if I remember rightly. Then you went and signed up for Warhammer.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake. No wonder they all look so pissed off.’

  ‘No, I think that’s just how they look generally.’ She turned to me and smiled. ‘I’m Rita, by the way. Me and Arthur were neighbours in halls last year.’

  ‘I’m his new neighbour, Luke. Nice to meet you.’

  She frowned. ‘Oh dear, poor you. Has he enlightened you on the virtues of sink weeing yet?’

  ‘He’s outlined the basic argument for it, yeah.’

  ‘Yes, I got that spiel on the first day, too. Thing is, weeing in a sink’s not quite as easy when you’re a girl. Oh, thank god, here’s Liz.’

  Liz – who was wearing a bright green SINGALONG SOC hoody – reclaimed her microphone, and Arthur and Rita went off to get a coffee. They didn’t ask if I wanted to come with them, which was a bit gutting, and I didn’t ask if I could, so I ended up wandering round by myself for a bit, feeling my hangover start to dissolve slowly into a ravenous hunger and trying to put off thinking about Abbey.

  I went and signed up for the football team, which was by far the busiest and noisiest stall in the hall. The blokes at the table seemed
to recognize me straight away as one of their own; they all nodded and smiled and one guy called Will shook my hand and said, ‘Nice one, mate, see you at trials, yeah?’

  I suppose I am one of their own, really. Obviously, the whole point of uni is to broaden your mind and try new things, or whatever, but surely there’s no harm in also sticking to what you know. And I know football. It’s the one thing I really like that I’m actually, definitely good at. That’s got to count for something.

  I was starting to feel self-conscious about walking around on my own so I went to join the queue for free chips at the Nando’s stand. But then I finally saw a face I recognized. Across the packed hall, Phoebe was standing at one of the tables, signing a form, while a pig-tailed girl jabbered away excitedly at her.

  Feeling lighter suddenly, I waved and walked over. ‘All right?’

  ‘Hey! Luke. How’s it going?’ Her cheeks flushed a bit. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me. ‘I’ve been on the lookout for our old friend Stephanie Stevens, but no sign of her yet.’

  ‘I know, I feel quite protective of her now. Though she blatantly won’t even remember us. What are you up to, anyway?’

  ‘Just signing up for Feminist Soc.’ She flicked the big bunch of purple balloons that was attached to the table. ‘They’ve got balloons and everything, so they must be legit. Have you put your name down for anything?’

  ‘Erm . . . football, and that’s about it so far.’

  ‘Ah yeah, of course, football.’ She snorted a laugh, and then covered her mouth. ‘Sorry, that’s my main memory of Monday assemblies – Mr Weale’s match reports.’ She adopted a surprisingly convincing Mr Weale voice. ‘“. . . And Luke Taylor scored an exceptional hat-trick on Saturday. Well done, Luke.”’

  ‘Well, I’m going to sign up for other stuff, too,’ I said, probably a bit too defensively. ‘I’m just not sure what yet.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ She nodded.

  ‘So, come on then. What shall we do? We could sign up to something together.’