Mabel
‘Wait for me!’
I wrapped my coat around me more tightly as I trotted to keep up with Zoe. Her blonde hair fluttered in her wake, bouncing in time with the glittering silver tulle of her dress. The tip of my nose was stinging in the icy evening air by the time I caught up with my best friend and fell into step with her. ‘This is a really bad fucking idea.’
Zoe sighed and hooked her arm through mine. Her coat was expensive, cut in some velvety fabric, and significantly warmer than mine. My own hole-ridden black jacket was really only meant for spring and autumn, so in winter I combined it with thick woolly jumpers, my sole protection against the cold. It was still only October, but the crisp autumn air was doing a pretty good job of creeping through the material and bringing the gooseflesh out on my skin.
‘All the best stories start with bad ideas.’
Grinning broadly, Zoe handed me the half-empty bottle of wine, and hesitantly I took it. I’d had no time to cook between getting back from the library and when Zoe came striding into the kitchen, reminding me that I’d promised in a moment of weakness to come with her tonight. I’d had nothing but half a bar of chocolate since breakfast, so I knew the wine would go straight to my head. Then again, I’d never get through tonight if I was sober.
Making up my mind, I took a long gulp. ‘Name one,’ I choked, stifling a cough.
Zoe began to chew on her full bottom lip, steering me around a corner. ‘When I was fifteen years old, I had this idea to throw a party at my neighbours’ house while they were on holiday. That night was the first time I kissed the hottest guy in the whole school.’
‘Didn’t that story end with you falling off the balcony, breaking your leg and getting grounded for three months?’
I smiled faintly, my eyes fixed on our shadows darting across the walls next to us. We had reached Trinity College, younger but much bigger than Trinity Hall, where Zoe and I lived and studied. I felt a lot more at home there: the buildings were more compact, the courts ringed by pale stone, and dotted in summer with rose bushes left to run wild. The river Cam flowed just outside the windows of our rooms, and in the evenings, we watched the sun sink slowly into the water. I loved it for its cosiness, the way it had immediately felt like home. Trinity College, only a few minutes away on foot, was larger, more imposing, wealthier.Less charming, I had thought on my first visit to the University of Cambridge. Although it did have a better library.
The Wren Library was closing, the last handful of people leaving the building and scurrying away down the colonnade. In the lamplight they looked like ants, scattering across the college grounds and back to their rooms. Most days, I was one of them. One of the students, startled from their work by the gong, hastily packing up. Slinging book-crammed satchels over stooped shoulders, the bags so heavy it felt at any moment like you might collapse onto the paving. Hair stuffed under the collar of your coat, because you’d forgotten in the morning sun that you might need a scarf once you’d left the library. Just then, I wished I was one of them, instead of hurrying next to Zoe.
‘I was just a kid back then. We’re adults now.’ She clacked her fingernails against the bottle, imperious.
I reluctantly obeyed and took another sip. The wine was too sugary, but that was how Zoe liked it.Semi-sweet. A word that happened to suit Zoe herself. With those big cornflower-blue eyes, long lashes and pale blonde hair, she was femininity incarnate. All her outlines were softly drawn, as if seen through a filter. Her movements were lithe, her laugh never too boisterous, her clothes beautifully fitted and flowing. She was always wearing something with a sparkle. Today it was the oversized hoop earrings, which had snagged several times while she was getting dressed.
‘We’re twenty, Zoe. And last week I saw you trying to melt butter in the microwave with the wrapper still on,’ I reminded her, passing back the bottle.
She rolled her eyes. ‘And did anything bad happen?’
I snorted. ‘No, becauseIunplugged it in time.’
‘There, you see.’ She gave me a wink. ‘And that’s exactly why I asked you to come with me tonight. So, you can pull the plug, if it comes to that. But only if it does–and not before anything’s actually happened.’
She gazed up at me, an eloquent look. Her gold-painted eyelids shimmered as we passed beneath one of the rust-eaten lamps. She had offered to put some on me as well, but I’d declined. The only make-up I owned or ever used was my collection of lipsticks. Whenever I wanted to reward myself, I went to the department store in the town centre and treated myself to one of their overly expensive products. I knew it was unwise to spend so much money on something I could have bought for less, something I barely used day-to-day. Yet I loved everything about them: the innumerable shades, the frivolous names, the extravagantly designed packaging. Most of all, I loved the way it felt to go through the world with their borrowed flush on my lips. I felt beautiful. Beautiful, sensual and strong. Lipsticks were the only luxury I allowed myself. Today I was wearingMona Lisa Smile, a dark matte red that reminded me of the brick buildings in my hometown. A colour for trips to the museum, autumnal walks in the woods, or cosy nights in with a film. Not particularly suitable for an exclusive and highly illicit party in a university building.
I was pretty sure the college administration knew nothing about it. The rules didn’t leave much room for interpretation when it came to what was–and was not–permitted on college grounds. Unlike Zoe, I had read every last paragraph of them, and I’d tried to point out to her that our plan was in direct violation of at least a dozen regulations. Not that it had any effect, of course.
It was less than a week since Zoe had come bursting into my room while I was getting ready for bed. Her hair was tousled, her eyes glassy with alcohol and anticipation.It’s like super secret and exclusive, she had said. She’d seemed nervous, her voice even higher than usual, but this was less about the party and more about the person who’d invited us.
I cleared my throat. ‘Wait, remind me again where you met this guy?’ I was trying to hide it from Zoe, but somehow all my misgivings ended up spilling over into that one teeny little word: guy.
She heard it, of course. And suddenly she sounded annoyed. ‘At that party the other day, the one you wouldn’t come to. And for the last time: Ashton is not a dangerous psychopath!’
I grabbed the bottle and took a swig, trying to wash down all the strings of letters I didn’t want to come blurting out. Zoe wasn’t the most pleasant person to argue with. Even when she didn’t have a leg to stand on, she always managed to get the last word. And usually it was one that bothered me for days. ‘I never said that.’
‘But you were thinking it.’
I rolled my eyes but said nothing. As far as I was concerned, all the guys we met at student parties were potential psychopaths. Or arrogant, self-absorbed arseholes, at the very least.
Our outlines, drained of colour, were reflected in the tall windows as we left the library behind us and turned towards Great Court. The rest of the way we were silent. When Zoe was upset it was best to leave her alone. She wasn’t one to bear a grudge, and I knew she was too excited about the evening ahead to stay angry for very long that I didn’t feel the same way. We’d only been friends for a year, but since we were both studying English, we knew each other pretty well.
The building we arrived at after a few minutes’ walk was not one I knew. Most of the university’s architecture looked more or less the same: Gothic structures that loomed like castles into the sky. Long, stone passages that cast back your footsteps in a never-ending echo. Spiral staircases that coiled vertiginously upwards and twisting corridors that made you feel like you might at any moment stumble onto something hidden.
The ivy-clad façade ahead of us looked like any other in Cambridge, except that a few windows were lit, even though the college had long since gone to sleep. Before we reached the wooden door, Zoe turned to me. She looked me sternly up and down, fiddling with my dark hair and picking some lint off my coat. I was well aware that her fingers were always itching to dress me up in her own clothes when we went out. Not because she was ashamed of me, but because she thought I was ashamed of myself. Except I wasn’t. I made no secret of the fact that I didn’t have much money. Zoe’s parents were rich, mine were dead. That’s just the way it was.
‘Look, try and make an effort, okay?’ she said, putting the empty bottle behind a pillar. ‘Just keep an open mind, don’t start judging them straight off the bat. They’re nice people. Really.’
I didn’t trust my voice, so I went with a dutiful nod. Zoe had only known this guy a couple of weeks, and frankly, there were a lot of people she considered ‘nice’ who I’d have preferred to give a wide berth. Zoe approached everybody with an open mind, unbiased. She could find the good in anyone within minutes. I, on the other hand, had a knack for nosing out the bad. Not that I was especially proud of that. I’d have preferred to be more like my best friend, although at the same time I sometimes wished she was more like me. Then we wouldn’t disagree so much on how to spend our Friday nights.
