I set down the paper bags on Davie’s desk. Positioned directly in front of the draughty window, it was the reason for his semi-constant cold. Unlike everybody else on the editorial staff, Davie spent the most time in this room. He was the only one with a key to the building and a permanent desk, the one who spent hours cooking up ideas for new articles and proofreading the layout of the upcoming edition for the twentieth time. Davie insisted there was no editor-in-chief at theBlue News: they aimed to be a democratic, everybody’s equal type of publication. But ever since I’d heard the others calling him ‘Commander’, I hadn’t given that much credence.
‘My hero.’ Davie shut the window and collapsed into his chair.
I sat down on a chair on the other side of the desk. He always put the chairs out when we were meeting for lunch. Over the past few months, it had become one of my favourite rituals.
We had met at the Cambridge v. Oxford Boat Race. One of the biggest events of the year, it took its celebration of the long-standing rivalry between the two elite universities to the point of absurdity. I hadn’t been able to muster up much enthusiasm at the idea of travelling all the way into London for it, but Zoe declared that you couldn’t call yourself a proper Cambridge student until you’d experienced it for yourself.
After two hours spent shivering on the freezing cold banks of the Thames, waiting for the boats to pass by, I still didn’t get it.
‘Does it make me a bad person if I want one of them to fall in?’ someone next to me asked as the long rowing boats finally shot past, to an eruption of cheers and whoops around us.
‘Depends,’ I said, with a glance at the camera he was pointing towards the water. ‘Is that for personal or professional reasons?’
He sighed deeply. ‘Sadly, I don’t think the answer will make me any more endearing.’
He was wrong about that.
‘Where’s Zoe?’ asked Davie now, unwrapping his avocado sandwich from its greaseproof paper.
Immediately my smile faltered. My eyes flitted to the bag containing Zoe’s veggie wrap, which I had reflexively placed in front of the chair next to me. ‘She got held up,’ I said, doing my best to sound guileless. ‘She told me to say hi.’
Feigning guilelessness never worked on Davie. Journalistic instinct, he called it. I called it being an exhaustingly good judge of character. He arched his eyebrows, lowering the sandwich. ‘Did you two fall out?’
I picked some watercress out of my sandwich. ‘No. She just got waylaid by one of those arrogant pricks from Trinity College.’
Davie cradled his chin in his hand, his interest piqued. The sandwich evidently forgotten. Typical Davie: no matter how hungry he was, when he was on the trail of a good story, everything else went by the wayside. ‘And you don’t think much of him?’
‘Dunno really. I haven’t spoken to him much.’ Anything else would be a lie. I couldn’t say what kind of person Ashton was. Lurking underneath that marble façade might be a kind-hearted man of unexpected depth. I wanted to believe that, for Zoe’s sake. But the truth was, I could sense something wasn’t right about him. He put me on edge.
‘Then why are you concerned?’ Davie asked.
I sighed, glancing briefly up at the ceiling. ‘It’s Zoe. She’s so sweet and… good. And that just doesn’t mix well with a hot, self-absorbed guy who thinks the whole world revolves around him.’ I hesitated, picking out more watercress to avoid meeting Davie’s sharp scrutiny. ‘Plus, you know when you just see someone and immediately know they’re bad news?’
‘Sure.’ Davie nodded earnestly. ‘I think they call that being prejudiced.’
I rolled my eyes in mock you-got-me-there exasperation and threw my napkin at him. Davie caught it and tucked it into his shirt pocket before he gave me an encouraging smile.
‘Look, don’t worry about Zoe. Only the other day I saw her tearing a strip off some kid who tried to jump the queue at the coffee cart. That guy will never be the same again, trust me. That woman can take care of herself.’
‘You’re telling me.’ Zoe didn’t need protecting. If she felt like she was being treated unfairly, she was more than capable of standing up for herself. If anybody else had done what Ashton did yesterday, Zoe would already have kicked him to the kerb, but she obviously found something about him so alluring that she couldn’t stay away.
I wrestled my face into a smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant at you.’
Davie waved it off. ‘That’s what friends are for.’ Reaching a hand into his bag, he put a small box on the desk in front of me. ‘And for this, of course.’
I caught a whiff of the sugary smell before I’d even opened the cardboard flaps. Chocolate cake from Bridget’s, the outrageously expensive bakery near St John’s College. The cake for which I’d gladly go hungry for two days, and which I couldn’t really afford. One miniscule slice cost my weekly coffee budget at the dining hall.
‘God, you really are perfect, Davie Waverly!’ I reached for the fork in the box. One bite and my mood lifted, my smile became more genuine. As a general rule I didn’t like gifts that I couldn’t afford myself, but for this I made an exception. The taste was worth swallowing my pride.
Davie watched with satisfaction as I divided the cake into tiny pieces in reverent silence, allowing each bite to slowly dissolve on my tongue.
‘Anyway, let’s talk about something more pleasant. What’s new in the world of Cambridge?’ I put the fork down, leaving half the slice for later.
Davie folded his arms behind his head. ‘Are you sitting down?’ he began in a low, dramatic voice. ‘Because the law-school café is switching to a different catering company.’
I clutched at my heart. ‘Say it ain’t so.’
‘Yep. Apparently some faulty refrigerators resulted in a teensy tiny outbreak of salmonella.’
