holds her head. “I’m going to lie down.”
“Haven’t you got a library induction session?” Phoenix asks. She passed Tegan on her way out, looking fine in designer jeans and another broderie anglaise top. “Tegan mentioned a library talk for Business students.”
“I’m totally dead.” Imo puts down her cup and lurches out of the kitchen.
Tegan
Tegan’s app directs her from her parking space in front of the geography tower to the university library. It looks like a giant greenhouse, several storeys of tinted glass. She makes small talk with other Business students who are waiting for the doors to open. It’s an investment; no time to pitch to them now, but her saleswoman’s instinct tells her to schmooze.
Amber, one of her three blonde flatmates, walks past with a group of weird-looking students – duffle coats, combats, tie-dyed scarves that look as if they’ve been in an autopsy. Tegan waves. It might pay to be neighbourly. But Amber looks away, ignoring her. Bloody cheek. Tegan catches the tail end of a story she’s telling the gaggle around her.
“… Cumberbatch is great to work with.”
Tegan looks at the ground and shakes her head.
After a few minutes, a man in an un-ironed shirt, with a beard to match, appears inside the library entrance and releases the glass doors. He holds up his hands. “If you’re expecting an induction, it’s in Lecture Room 2.”
“Are you sure, mate – library induction?” one of the boys asks.
But the man goes back indoors. No one knows where the lecture room is and they drift off in different directions. Tegan and a few others search but find only Lecture Room 1 in the Business Studies block, with no sign of another lecture theatre.
“Stuff it,” Tegan mutters and returns to her car. She’s not that bothered anyway about using the library. When her business takes off, she’ll pay someone to do her research. She opens the roof of the car and gazes up at the geography tower. All the parking spaces are designated disabled but hers is the only car here. Where to now? The first Business Studies lecture isn’t until tomorrow. There’s time for a drive around the town centre to see if any of the independent shops will stock her jackets.
Her fists clench as a thought makes her shiver. She’ll show him. People make it big in business all the time through hard graft and a good idea. She’ll be a success without her father’s tainted help.
Something glints at a third-floor window. The glare from the sun is too bright for her to see what it is. Maybe someone’s looking out, and so what if they are? They’re hardly going to slap her with a parking fine from up there.
Light glimmers again. It’s bloody binoculars. Some doddery old perv of a geography professor is spying on the campus, gawping at fresher totty from his ivory tower. Her fingers form a V. She points them at the window, making clear she’s eyeballed him. The figure steps out of sight but is too fleet of foot for an ancient academic. Tegan grows cold and notices that her hands are shaking on the steering wheel.
Suddenly her passenger door opens and Amber gets in, disturbing the air with cheap, fruity scent. “Take me to the flat.”
“Try asking nicely before you scare the crap out of me.” Tegan’s heart races, thoughts of the watcher still rattling.
Tears streak Amber’s face and clumps of mascara look set to dive off her lashes. “Social anxiety,” she gasps. “Sometimes crowds get too much for me and my leg’s hurting.” She pants, rhythmically, as if she’s going to hyperventilate.
“That must make it hard during a show.” Tegan’s heartbeat has calmed, and settled on sarcasm.
The panting stops and Amber stares at her. “Show?”
“On stage, with you being a drama student. Acting all the time.” Acting right now, if Tegan’s any judge.
Amber breathes out. “I’m more of a director, behind the scenes. I have to keep my anxieties under control.”
Tegan starts the engine. Cumberbatch my eye.
As she pulls away she glances up at the tower once more. And catches a glimpse of a tall shadow at the window. A face stares down at her. And her hands shake again.
Amber
The fragrance in the car is subtle but expensive. Half like its wearer – Tegan’s definitely on the pricey side but there’s nothing subtle about her silent disapproval. The more Amber sees of her, the more she resembles her sister, Jade. Not only her dark hair and freckles, but also her stance. Straight back, manicured nails on the steering wheel, hard eyes.
No doubt the last thing Tegan wants is Amber occupying her passenger seat, but Amber had no choice. Couldn’t walk another step after the shock she’s just had. It was only the trick of the light, but she had turned and fled, barged people out of her way, panic rising in her throat, stomach crippling in pain.
Why doesn’t she just tell Tegan a version of the truth instead of faking the stuff with her knee? She told Imo when they were drunk – sort of told her – so why not Tegan? Or Phoenix? She seems okay so far, better than expected. Not a deep thinker, into engineering and … Amber leans on the window as she scrolls her memory. What else does Phoenix do? Something sporty if her physique is anything to go by.
Amber bites the inside of her cheek. Maybe she should ask her flatmates questions and listen to the answers, instead of masking her secrets with babble. Instead of play-acting the part of an intellectual liberal so others will feel too intimidated to enquire about her background. A stupid role to pick as she only scraped into this university with a plea of extenuating circumstances. All lies. There were reasons for her poor A level results, but not the ones she gave.
Taking a deep breath, she continues with the disguise she’s been perfecting since she arrived. “Shall we go to the canteen?” she asks enthusiastically. “We can have a proper chat.”
“What, now?” Tegan glances at the clock on her dashboard.
“Early lunch. Please, I’d like to.”
Silence and Amber thinks she sounded too pleading. That’s always been her downfall. Begging gets you nowhere. On her knees, clinging, sobbing, screeching …
“If you’re paying,” Tegan says. She pulls into the kerb and reverses up a side road. They turn around and park in the loading bay behind the kitchens.
“Shouldn’t you …?” Amber starts, but changes her mind. She hates it when people run her life; she won’t tell Tegan where to park.
The canteen queue moves slowly. Students everywhere. Remembering who she thought she saw, her belly tugs, as if she’s being pummelled from the inside, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder. Suddenly she’s back there, in the moment. In the hours. Hurting. As a substitute for doubling over, she rubs her knee. Channels her ache into her leg. No one must see the truth. She straightens up, ignoring the funny look Tegan gives her.
As they wait, most people gaze at the TV monitors around the walls with Lady Gaga videos on repeat. Tegan uses the time to check her sales figures on her phone.
“It’s like Hogwarts.” Amber scans the busy dining hall. Tables the length of railway lines. “Where are we going to sit?”
“With Slytherin,” Tegan sneers.
After they’ve loaded their plates and poured a couple of coffees, Tegan leads the way to the clean end of a table beyond a group of older students gathered round a tablet. Postgrads probably.
Amber