A rugby boy named Will poked his head in, but left with some similarly bronzed and Lacoste-wearing boys he’d found living next door. Mike, a gruff guy from Wigan who looked like he’d be happier covered in grease beneath his car than speaking to us, introduced himself and his dad, grunted that he was doing Computer Science and returned to the kitchen after moving just two boxes of possessions into his room.
The last two to appear were Lizzie and Chrissy, neither of them freshers. Lizzie snuck into the kitchen and sat quietly in the seat nearest to the door with a big smile on her face before I noticed the white stick folded in her lap. Nobody mentioned it, but we all stiffened a little until she giggled nervously and explained that she was starting her second year but was living on campus because she knew her way around and the university had kitted this house out especially for her. After that, we spent a good fifteen minutes playing with the talking microwave and asking her what other gadgets she had. I instantly liked Lizzie and shuffled into the seat next to her when Anna got up to go to the toilet.
Then Chrissy bounced into the kitchen and introduced herself as if she were our tour rep and we were all embarking on a coach trip around Prague. Within half an hour, she was sat on Tim’s lap and telling Dave Two, whose room it turned out was next to hers, that her boyfriend was visiting next weekend and she was sorry, but she liked loud sex. We discovered Chrissy was a third-year with some kind of medical reason to stay on campus for the entirety of her degree. I asked her a few questions, but she always turned her attention back to the boys, so Lizzie and I began chatting about the Freshers’ Week schedule.
After a while, my mum popped in and reluctantly said hello. I followed her up the puce-carpeted stairs to my new bedroom, where she’d been busying herself re-cleaning the bathroom, making the bed and arranging my textbooks on the one shelf.
‘You didn’t have to do all this, Mum.’
‘Oh, I didn’t want to intrude on you downstairs, and I wanted to at least know you had somewhere to sleep.’ She gave a weak, awkward smile.
‘Thanks.’ I gave her a hug, realising she was about to go and suddenly nervous.
‘I think I’ll set off now, leave you to it.’
‘Don’t you want something to eat first? Or a cup of tea?’
‘Oh, Natty, that’s sweet, but I can stop at a service station. I think it’s important I let you get on with it alone. Anyway, I’d like to be back before it’s dark.’
‘Oh.’ I’d forgotten Matthew and wanting a new life and needing to untangle myself from the fishing-net of lies I’d thrown over the whole of Sussex; right now I just wanted my mum – the woman who’d plastered my knees and brought me grapes when I was ill – to stay for ten more minutes.
‘Don’t look so scared,’ she laughed and patted my arm. ‘It’ll be okay.’
‘I know,’ I forced a smile.
‘It really will, love, I promise. I know meeting new people is hard work, but you’re going to have so much fun. You’re starting a whole new part of your life, completely your own.’
‘Ring me to let me know you’re back safe?’
‘Really?’ she grinned. ‘You sound like my mother. But, fine, I will. After that, though, I’ll leave you to telephone me when it’s convenient. I don’t want to intrude on your life. And don’t worry about me. I love you very much, darling.’
‘I love you too.’
I plodded down the stairs behind her, asking again if she wanted me to make her some sandwiches. We walked across the landscaped quadrangle, passing other parent and children couplings in various states of moving-in. I noted the fashionable and the shy, the grungy and the scared, the sporty and the already popular. I hugged my mum a couple more times before she ducked into her Fiesta, and tried not to cry as she reversed out of her space and headed for the exit barrier. I waved at the car a couple of times, then felt self-conscious and fingered my plastic keycard instead. What to do now? I was free. This was what I’d wanted. This was the beginning of the best years of my life, so everyone said. So why couldn’t I bring myself to cross back over the quad and breeze into the kitchen where those whose parents had already left were finishing with tea and bringing out bottles of Bacardi?
Two litres of rum, 500ml of vodka, a 24-pack of Carlsberg and 12 cans of Coke later, my 15 new housemates and I wandered en masse to the Welcome Reception. We were guided by our second-year ‘parent’, who had turned up around five to teach us how to play Ring of Fire and to write the numbers of the best all-night takeaways on our communal whiteboard. His name was Ross, but after this first night, in which he quickly deemed us all ‘unfuckable’, we wouldn’t see him again. Still, for now he directed us perfectly competently to the grand, listed building opposite the cathedral.
Inside, freshers from all the colleges were clumped in groups roughly reflecting their newfound living situations, making nervous small talk and excitedly sipping the complimentary glasses of wine. There were a couple of speeches from heads of years or Provosts or someone, but my predominant memory of that event was the endless repetition of one question:
‘So, where else did you apply? Oxford? Cambridge?’
And the defensive replies that, though they might have applied, they were glad they hadn’t got in because Durham would be way more fun or everyone at Oxbridge had a stick up their arse or their drama society wasn’t as good or it was only their parents that had wanted them to go.
Though the room was full of academic rejects who had dreamt of donning gowns much further south, but finding themselves here in the cold North, they seemed determined to make the most of it. And who was I to break the mould when the final scholar shut up and our now-wobbling ‘daddy’ Ross stood on a table and hollered, ‘After-party in Collingwood?’
So that was how I came to be playing drinking games with a group of strangers on the lawn outside my house.
‘I have never had sex outside.’
A few people sipped their beers and the rest of us looked longingly into our cans wondering why we hadn’t done something so vanilla.
‘I have never played strip poker.’
When this game had started, I’d wondered briefly whether it was such a good idea for me to play – should I admit to the things I’d done but omit the details? Or should I pretend two years of Matthew hadn’t happened, in which case I might have to explain why I’d been living like a nun throughout my teens?
‘I have never kissed someone else’s partner.’
I opted for the former and drank, but silently cursed that, even hundreds of miles away from my old life, I still had to lie. Maybe Matthew was right, maybe I’d never be normal; maybe those two teenage years were utterly formative and I’d now dug myself such a humongous hole I’d never be able to shout to the ground for rescue and I’d just have to keep scratching at the earth hoping to find some other lost individuals for company.
‘It’s your go, uh – Nic?’ said a dark-haired boy opposite me.
‘Nat.’
‘Sorry!’ He smiled embarrassedly.
‘No problem. Oh, um, I have never, um, had sex while watching TV.’
A few people sipped and everyone’s attention turned to the person on my left. The boy who’d got my name wrong held my gaze for a moment and scrunched his nose up disapprovingly as if to say he’d been hoping for a juicier confession.
‘I have never watched a porn film.’
I noticed Tim gulping his Becks three people to my right.
‘I have never made a porn film.’
Everyone laughed and nobody drank.
‘I have never had a cheeky finger shoved up my arse during sex.’
A couple of girls on my left made confused noises and the game paused while the person who had spoken tried to explain what he meant and how it had, in fact, happened to him during a one-night stand.
‘Ew, in keeping with grossness. I have never had an STI test.’
A few people slurped and when someone elbowed one of them, he replied defensively, ‘Having
the test is not the gross part; the gross part is all of you who haven’t been tested wandering around with diseases between your legs.’
There was a pause.
‘Well, that killed the mood a bit. How about a nice simple, I have never been naked in public.’
With relief, we began sipping again.
‘I have never done it doggy-style.’
Most people pressed their cans to their lips.
‘I have never bought a vibrator.’
Sip. A few raised eyebrows, but Chrissy made such a show of downing her drink that I went mostly unnoticed.
‘I have never touched a dildo.’
Sip. All eyes still on Chrissy.
‘I have never swallowed semen.’
Sip.
‘Haha, all you girls are busted.’
‘I have never woken up and not been able to remember the person’s name.’
A couple of guys jostled each other and gulped.
‘I have never broken a bed.’
Sip. At this point I noticed the eyes of the dark-haired boy were on me again and wondered how long he’d been watching my quiet confessional.
‘I have never given a strip tease.’
I blushed as I sipped and looked at his hazel eyes over my drink.
‘I have never kissed a member of the same sex.’
Sip. I took a curious glance around the group.
‘I knew you would have, Chrissy,’ slurred some rugby-looking guy. ‘You dirty lesbian.’
‘Whatever, I’m not gay or anything.’ She batted her mascaraed lashes. ‘It’s just fun to do at clubs – I kiss all my friends.’
‘Well that’s all right, but have any of you noticed how many gays there are around here? It’s a bit weird, like it’s fairy Mecca or something.’ That was Jane, my netball-playing neighbour, and most of the boys in the group belched out loud, manly laughter as she flicked her highlighted hair in distaste.
‘Hey, it’s getting cold, can we go inside?’ asked one of the generic girls on my left and a few people grunted agreement.
As everyone stood up to leave, the dark-haired boy held out his hand to help me from the grass.
‘Hey,’ he smiled.
‘Hey.’
‘Nat, right?’
‘Yep. Sorry, I’ve already forgotten your name.’
‘Rupert.’
‘Hi Rupert.’ I held out my hand and he took it.
‘So, do you want to go inside and play more games with these people?’
‘Not much,’ I grimaced. ‘But they’re heading into my kitchen, so I’m not sure I have much choice.’
‘Uh, you could come to mine if you like. I’m only over there and I think my housemates are at the bar.’
‘Oh, um.’ I wondered what the correct answer was.
‘Hey, don’t worry, this isn’t my sleazy way to pick up girls. I’m just kinda bored of these sports-types and you seem like you don’t belong either. I could make us tea – I even have Hobnobs!’
I laughed and nodded.
We walked in silence to his building, which was newer than my own and had spacious kitchens surrounded by glass on every storey. Rupert let me into his third-floor flat and showed me to a plastic chair, then flicked on the kettle.
‘So, I noticed you didn’t explain any of your drinks,’ he said with his back to me.
My cheeks were growing warm. ‘I was hoping nobody was watching me.’
‘Everyone else was too boring and predictable to be worth watching.’ He pulled two teabags from a box on the counter.
‘I’m not even sure if that’s a compliment or not.’ I smiled in spite of myself.
‘I think it is.’ He handed me a steaming blue mug. ‘Na, but I’m curious about the kissing girls questions.’
‘Why?’ My grin disappeared.
Rupert lowered his long limbs into the chair next to me. ‘Just whether your reasoning is like Chrissy’s or not.’
‘Um, not.’ I shrugged. ‘But it doesn’t really matter because that blonde girl, Jane, lives next to me.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ he frowned.
‘Well,’ I paused, wondering whether to try to explain the tornado of thoughts that had passed through my mind since arriving this afternoon. ‘I’d kind of hoped I’d come to university and everyone would be really liberal and it’d be okay to be bi or whatever, but I’ve been here less than a day and there’s already as much homophobia as in my small little school in the countryside.’
‘Where are you from?’ Rupert looked at me kindly over his mug.
‘Sussex, near Kent,’ I intoned with my poshest English accent. ‘You?’
‘London,’ Rupert laughed. ‘But it’s not much better. My parents are really conservative.’
‘Oh, are you … ?’ I trailed off, embarrassed.
‘No,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘But I went to a boys’ school, so some things are kind of inevitable.’
‘Really? Wow.’ I was impressed by his honesty and unsure what to say next.
‘Anyway, I think you should ignore that Jane girl and anyone else who says anything. It’s perfectly acceptable to be “bi or whatever”,’ he winked as he gestured air quotations, ‘at university.’
‘Thanks.’ I blushed again.
‘Just be for real, won’t you, baby, be for real, oh, baby,’ he sang-whispered.
‘Hey, you like Leonard Cohen?’ my voice brightened.
‘Of course,’ Rupert replied. ‘Do you?’
‘Yeah, a lot.’ I ignored an angry buzz beginning in the back of my mind.
‘I’m thinking of forming a Last Year’s Man society,’ he said seriously.
‘Cool, what’s it going to do?’
‘Oh,’ he shrugged. ‘Sit around drinking whisky and listening to The Man of course.’
‘Of course.’ I returned his grin.
‘What’s your favourite song?’
‘Yikes, I don’t know.’ Matthew’s face flitted through my mind before I could stop it. ‘Maybe “Suzanne”.’
‘Sure, classic,’ Rupert responded in an authoritative tone, ‘but not as poignant as things like “Fingerprints” and “The Partisan”.’
‘I’m not sure I know “The Partisan”,’ I admitted sheepishly.
‘No way! You cannot be a Leonard Cohen fan and not know this song. Come with me.’ He grabbed my hand and dragged me gently to the door, along the corridor to his bedroom, then hesitated. ‘Sorry, there’s no CD player in the kitchen. I’m not being presumptuous.’
‘It’s okay,’ I smiled and stepped into the narrow room.
Rupert hovered over his computer for a moment, then played me ‘The Partisan’ while I perched on his bed. When the song ended, we sang along to ‘Suzanne’, ‘Bird on the Wire’ and ‘Sisters of Mercy’. When ‘I’m Your Man’ came on, Rupert stood up and made a show of miming actions to the lyrics. He knelt before me with his hands on his heart and a grin on his face, punched in the air, placed an imaginary stethoscope on my chest and manoeuvred an invisible steering wheel. I was giggling uncontrollably when he touched his lips gently to mine.
‘Is this okay?’ he whispered with concern.
Still unable to speak through giggles, I kissed him back.
At every stage he asked again if this was okay and I kept saying yes. I wondered about the strangeness of making out with a boy of my own age while listening to the music introduced to me by my sexagenarian ex, but kept kissing Rupert’s elastic skin and running my hands greedily over the muscles on his back.
With precision that belied his sensitive-boy image, he slipped on a condom and eased himself into me. Again asking if it was okay, he picked me up off the bed and held me on his cock, smiling and whispering through butterfly kisses into my neck that he’d always wanted to do this. He rested my back against the wall and I looked down to see my hair falling over my nipples, his taut stomach slamming into my own, the muscles in his slightly bronzed arms and legs straining to hold me up and his
chiselled, stubbly jaw set in excitement and concentration. This is normal, I thought, as my body responded; this is hot, meaningless sex that I wouldn’t mind someone walking in on; this is two attractive people responding to animal desire; and it feels good.
Rupert came and set me on the bed, wrapped the condom in a tissue and threw it in the bin. Shy, I put my underwear back on.
‘Are you going?’ he asked as he emerged naked from the bathroom.
‘No, yes, maybe,’ I stuttered.
‘Stay if you like,’ he smiled and stroked my back.
‘No, I should probably go. It’s like four in the morning and we have to go to that nine-fifteen Introductions thing.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
He wrapped a towel around his waist and saw me to the door, kissing me softly on the mouth.
I walked back across the now-quiet college and slipped into my building. Alone in bed, I wondered what I should be feeling right now. That had been fun, but I sort of wanted to cry. Already I was wondering if Rupert would want to see me again, if I should have stayed, if leaving made me seem easy, if calling him tomorrow would be too needy.
I didn’t call Rupert and Rupert didn’t call me. But on the first day of classes, when our livers waved happy goodbyes to the end of Freshers’ Week and we plodded our way through the ancient buildings looking for the right lecture rooms, Rupert and I saw each other again. We were in the same seminar group. Rupert, me and six other eager little Lit students would be meeting to pick apart the intricacies of Mrs Dalloway, Beowulf, ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ and The Last of the Mohicans twice a week, every week, for the rest of the year.
‘Hey Suzanne,’ Rupert brushed up to me after our first class.
‘Hi,’ I mumbled, no idea how to act.
‘So, I haven’t seen you all week. I guess Freshers’ Week’s been pretty crazy.’
‘Yep, I guess.’
‘I hope this isn’t awkward.’
‘Me too. I mean, it shouldn’t be, right?’
‘No, listen, do you want to get a drink later?’
‘Sure.’ We’d reached the library and I gestured that this was me, so he gave a little wave and strode off after Lucy, another girl from our seminar group.
Sixteen, Sixty-One Page 8
