Emilia put her hands together, fingers writhing, ecstatic snakes. ‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘how on earth did Jack go out?’ She screwed up her eyes speculatively. ‘Please, Chad,’ she said, ‘you have to tell me now. It wouldn’t be fair to tease me like that.’
‘No way, Em, you know I can’t tell you. But you can go and ask Jack, if you like. Come on, Emilia, whatever gets you in the end is a deeply personal thing.’
‘So you’re saying it was a deeply personal thing then?’ said Emilia, her eyes narrowing further. ‘How titillating. Oh please. I’ll keep it to myself, Chad, promise.’ Emilia moved her hand to her chest. ‘Cross my heart,’ she said.
Chad watched the X being drawn over Emilia’s breast. ‘I wish I could tell you,’ he said. His mouth was dry. ‘But it’s the rules,’ he said, ‘I can’t.’
‘Oh, but Chad, pleeease.’ Emilia ran her fingers up and down Chad’s bare arm. ‘Please, Chad. Please?’ Chad was shaking his head. And then Emilia said, ‘But Chad, I thought you loved me.’
Chad flinched. The snap of his body could have been Jolyon’s gesture, his eyes could have been Jolyon’s eyes. ‘Get the hell off me,’ he said, swatting Emilia’s hand from his arm. ‘Jeez, Emilia, love you? Don’t be dumb. Is there something the hell wrong with you? I was drunk when I said that, I was steaming drunk.’ Although Chad’s resistance was diluted, his rage was distilled. ‘Don’t you remember, Emilia? You were part of the crew pouring whisky down my neck. Love you?’ he snorted. ‘Emilia, I couldn’t love you. Because I don’t even respect you. And you want to know why?’ Chad licked his lips and pinched the bridge of his nose. The words were about to spill out of him just as before, words he had thought but denied. ‘I’ll tell you why I don’t respect you, Emilia. It’s because you’re blah. You’re not one thing or another. You’re so permanently on the fence, you’re just so . . .’ He tried to think of another word and couldn’t. ‘Blah, Emilia, blah blah blah.’
Emilia’s eyes began to fill with tears. She tried to get to her feet but the cast held her down.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Chad, ‘I’m going.’ He stood up and took a swig from his bottle. His words felt harsh now, yet the rush of release remained, a fresh wind that whipped all around.
LIV(vii) Jolyon left Mark leering in the pub, taunting him as he left. ‘One–nil. Fifteen–love. That’s a hundred points above the line, Joe.’
Jolyon longed to be alone in his room. When he got there he curled up on his bed and fell asleep.
He woke to a light knocking sound, turned and wondered if he had locked the door, or if he should have done. The door began to open.
In came Emilia, or the upper half of her body, her shoulders bare but for the lacy straps of her top. She was not crying but it seemed as if she might have been only minutes earlier. ‘Do you mind if I come in, Jolyon?’ she said.
Jolyon wondered briefly if Emilia had come to confront him about Dee. But no, she was blinking and confused. ‘Of course you can come in, Emilia,’ he said. And when she moved into the room on her crutches, he thought about the stairs. ‘My God, Emilia, how did you get up here?’
‘It took a while. But you get used to it,’ she said. ‘My shoulders are going to look amazing by the time the cast’s removed.’
The comment cast an uneasy silence between them. And then Emilia’s body shook with a sudden shiver.
‘What’s wrong? Are you cold?’ said Jolyon. ‘It must be almost seventy today.’
‘No,’ said Emilia. ‘Yes. I don’t know.’
Jolyon jumped off his bed. Emilia was shaking as if sheathed in wet clothes. He took her crutches and led her to his bed, peeled back the duvet and helped her climb in. She crossed her arms and another chill ran through her. ‘What’s wrong, Em?’ he said.
‘Nothing, Jolyon, nothing,’ said Emilia. ‘Probably just the painkillers.’
Jolyon held the back of his hand to Emilia’s forehead. ‘Em, I’m so sorry,’ he said. He felt his face bunching, tears squeezing to the surface. ‘Please, I’m so sorry, I should never . . .’ but the words were silenced as he started to cry.
‘Shh, I believe you, Jolyon,’ said Emilia. ‘It’s all right, really, it’s OK.’ There were tears in her eyes as well. She lifted the covers. ‘I just want you to hold me, that’s all I want. To be held, Jolyon. I promise, nothing more.’
Jolyon got under the covers and Emilia rolled against him, her warm breath pooling in the hollow of his neck. He wrapped his arms around Emilia and held her. Only held her. And then Emilia said, ‘We can be friends again now, can’t we?’
‘Of course we can, Em,’ said Jolyon.
Emilia wriggled against him beneath the covers until more of her was touching more of him. And in a few minutes’ time they were both asleep.
LIV(viii) Chad stumbled around Pitt until he finished the gin. This, he had ordained, was the signal for action, the starter’s gun at a race. He threw the bottle into the bushes at the bottom of staircase six.
He did not knock when he got to Jolyon’s room, he was furious and ready with challenges. And then he stopped and looked at the two figures asleep in the bed. He turned around, he closed the door gently. And then Chad headed for the library.
LIV(ix) ‘I’m seeing him after my tutorial,’ said Dee. ‘What’s so urgent it can’t wait?’
‘I’m not supposed to say,’ said Chad. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I want to read through this essay one last time.’
‘It’s amazing, Dee, it’s bound to be. You’re amazing. Just go now, it’ll only take a few minutes.’ He turned off her reading lamp and closed the three large books on the desk. ‘I’ll return these,’ he said. ‘You just get going.’
Dee sighed, doubtfully, but then packed her things as fast as she could.
There was a spring in her step as she hurried over back quad toward Jolyon’s room. She had been working on a poem for the last three days and now she knew how it would end. There was a wonderful inevitability to everything, if you only had the right light.
LV
LV(i) This is our fourth Christmas-tree meeting and yet the greeting kiss lands on my forehead just as lightly as ever. Perhaps my tactics require adjustment. Maybe the time has come for me to make my move.
Dee appears to be in a jocular mood. She is bouncing above me on the balls of her feet. Come on, Jolyon, she says, let’s do some real training. She makes fists and starts to hum boxing music. Come on. She pulls me to my feet.
I laugh and play along but I can’t seem to work out which foot to lead with. Dee’s music swirls, she opens her fists to offer me two targets weaving sparkler patterns in the dying light. I try to swap my feet, see a flashing white streak and swing. Sights blur and sounds muffle. Feelings slide.
And then I feel such a pain in my nose. Has Dee hit me? Why would she . . . ?
My face is pressed up against something, taste of earth in my mouth. No, it wasn’t Dee who hit me. It was the ground.
I roll onto my back. Dee is brushing my face, wiping the grass from my lips. Oh, Jolyon, what happened? Does anything hurt?
The pain in my nose is immense. I’m fine, I say. I think my foot got caught in a rat hole. Don’t worry, Dee. She looks so hurt for me that it makes my heart leap. Perhaps one day she will kiss all the sore parts of me better.
Dee fusses over me and I push her away, embarrassed. After spitting out more grass, I say to Dee, Maybe we should hold off on the skipping rope for a couple more days.