I felt like retorting that a lack of calculation or intent didn’t make it any less harmful, just more pointless. ‘No big deal,’ I said instead. Not to make Ashton happy, just to step Zoe down from DEFCON 1.
Judging by the look in her eyes, she was still toying with the idea of going after Clementine. Zoe never shied away from confrontation when defending her values and opinions, even at the risk of her own safety. I loved that about her, but often it worried me as well.
Ashton seemed to notice it too. His hand shifted to her throat, and he stroked his thumb across her skin. Within seconds Zoe’s gaze had softened, and the noise she made was suspiciously like a sigh. He responded with a satisfied smirk. ‘What do you reckon, Anima–come for a swim with me?’
I was about to laugh, but Zoe’s arrow-swift, ‘Sure’ held me back. I stared in bewilderment from her to Ashton, who was already unbuttoning his shirt. ‘In the Cam? It’s the end of October, the water’s way too cold for that.’
He grinned. As he undid the last button, my eyes went automatically to his collarbone, where my attention was caught by the mole immediately below it. It was oddly angular, and much darker than the ones a little further to the right. It looked almost like… a tiny puzzle piece.
‘I’ll make sure she doesn’t feel the cold, I promise,’ he said. Zoe’s face reddened again, but I felt myself turn pale. ‘You’re welcome to join us,’ he added. ‘A couple of my friends down there would love to see you again.’ Something about the way he said it made me involuntarily draw my coat more tightly around me.
‘Mabel’s scared of water, especially in the dark,’ Zoe said before I could reply. ‘When she was a child she got pulled downriver in a rowing boat and they didn’t find her until the middle of the night.’
I threw her a warning look, but she missed it: too busy staring at Ashton’s hand in hers. Raptly, as if it didn’t even occur to her she was merrily spilling all my secrets.
Ashton regarded me with interest. ‘Sounds like quite a story.’
‘Just your standard-issue childhood trauma,’ I said dryly, although the mere memory of the day sent a chill down my spine. ‘But no, thanks, I’ll pass.’
Ashton shrugged. ‘Up to you.’
As he made to lead Zoe away, she pulled back from him and came to stand in front of me. ‘Are you going to be all right by yourself?’
The fact that she still had the wherewithal to ask dispelled the last of my exasperation, leaving only concern in its place. I glanced at Ashton, waiting a few feet away. He was still smiling, but with a strange impatience that made me uneasy. ‘Zoe,’ I began uncertainly, not knowing how to stop her. I could see in her eyes how unreservedly she trusted Ashton to keep her safe.
‘You have my permission to give Tangerine or whatever her name is a smack in the mouth if she starts acting like a bitch again.’ She prodded me in the ribs and smiled, so radiantly that the corner of my mouth twitched in return.
‘Look after yourself, okay?’
‘Always do. And have fun, yeah? I’ll be back soon.’ She gave me a hug and let Ashton lead her away.
I stayed by the balustrade, watching them go. Ashton’s shirt dissolved into the night before they’d even left the bridge, but I could see the pale glow of Zoe’s beige skirt until she shimmied out of it on the bank. I watched, unsettled, as Ashton jumped into the water and threw his arms wide to catch her. No sooner were they in the river than the others started stripping down to their underwear too–evidently this was a team effort to catch a cold.
My eyes wandered to Clementine at the other end of the bridge. She was standing in the light of a lamppost, talking to a girl who looked distinctly nervous. Ashton’s friend placed her hand on the other girl’s throat and began to stroke. The longer she let her hand linger, the more I saw the apprehension in the girl’s eyes fade. But not only that. Everything else faded a little, too: the colour in her cheeks, the smile at the corners of her mouth, the tension in her posture.
I frowned and took a step towards them. ‘So wary?’ a voice whispered into my ear.
Whirling around, I bumped straight into someone’s chest. A wide, bare chest, because the person was wearing only boxer shorts. I lifted my gaze to his face, which was very close to mine. Victor placed his hands either side of me on the balustrade, smiling down at me. It took every ounce of willpower not to ram my knee directly between his legs.
‘Something tells me you lot don’t really care what happens to your guests.’
He laughed, his breath hot on my face. It smelt like peppermint toothpaste, but somehow I got the feeling he was drunk. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. We’re meticulous when it comes to our “guests”.’
I hesitated. Victor definitely seemed like he was on something, if not drunk then high. Enough, perhaps, that he’d accidentally let something slip. ‘And who are “you”, anyway? Clearly not your average group of friends.’
Victor blinked, but his face betrayed no emotion. If I caught a glimpse of anything, it was a flicker of curiosity. ‘Oh, yeah? And what makes you say that?’
‘Well, for one thing, you walk around the college grounds like you own the place. Where are the porters when you do stuff like this?’ Victor tilted his head to one side, but said nothing. I decided to take a shot in the dark. ‘As far as I’m aware, you’re all studying at different colleges, but you act like you’ve been inseparable for years. Then there are the tattoos.’
‘Tattoos?’ I didn’t fail to notice the attention creeping into his eyes. His pupils seemed to contract, as if his mind were clearing.
The thought had just popped into my head, but now it was solidifying into certainty. I gestured to the mark just below his collar bone. ‘Ashton’s got the same one. Something tells me you all do. They look like they belong together.’
Victor grinned broadly, although it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re very observant, Anna Karenina.’
I stared at him, exasperated. ‘Stop calling me that.’
‘Would you rather I used Mabel Emilee Golding?’ He rolled every single syllable around in his mouth, leaning in. Instinctively I shrank back, but the balustrade pressed mercilessly into the small of my back. ‘Daughter of Rowan Golding and Simon Lore, both deceased. Born in Bath but resident of Hamsey since the age of fifteen, in the care of her guardian, Clara Golding. Second-year English undergrad on a full bursary at Trinity Hall, currently living in West Court, J2.’
