At St Luke’s, Tom was sat on his chair staring at the painting on the wall. It wasn’t half as intricate as the Turner landscape he remembered seeing at the Ashmolean that magical day with Clara, but, as he appreciated the canvas print of the university, he admired the way in which the students had been drawn. It made him think of Clara again. What would she be doing now? He knew he couldn’t beg her, but how he wished he had heard from her. He’d pushed her away and he didn’t blame her at all for not coming to see him, but he still couldn’t help wishing things were different. He closed his eyes and remembered how happy he was at the museum, imagining himself holding hands with Clara again. The first time they had touched hands, he thought how soft they were. As he fantasised about Clara, he could almost feel her softness. Then he drifted off for a nap, hoping to dream about her. For now, that was the only possibility he had of seeing her.
* * *
Clara left the museum trying to be positive. She didn’t need a man in her life; she was perfectly fine before she met Tom and would be again. She had simply got used to having him around and it was purely his company she missed. It was a hole in her life that Eleanora and all her friends at church could fill. She’d be fine as long as she didn’t think about him too much. Her mood improved further when she bumped into Charlie.
‘Hello. Where you off to?’
‘Just wondering around aimlessly. Making the most of it here before I have to leave for Cambridge. It’ll come around quickly.’
‘Yeah. I can’t believe you’re leaving. You’re a dark horse. How can you do that to us?’
‘Sorry. I know. It’s as much of a surprise to you as it is to me, believe it or not. Just too good to refuse.’
‘I can’t imagine it here without you though. I mean, you’re like one of the gargoyles.’
‘Gargoyles! Now that’s a new one, cheeky Charlie.’
‘I mean it with the deepest respect. We all know how you’re a much-loved part of this city. You’re practically part of the furniture.’
‘Hmm, is there a compliment in there somewhere, Charlie?’
‘There absolutely is. It won’t be the same without you, but it’s our loss. You so deserve a promotion like this.’
‘Thanks, Charlie. I’ll miss you all terribly.’
‘Ah, well, we’ll make the most of it until you leave, that’s for sure.’
‘Indeed, which reminds me. I’ve started getting rid of some of my stuff. If you know any students looking for a bargain, or anyone in need, do let me know.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind and, on that note, I’d better be off. Got some doors in one of the dorms I need maintenance to look at before term starts.’
‘Of course. I’ll see you soon, Charlie... Gargoyles though, really!’
Charlie and Clara laughed as they bade each other goodbye, and when Clara felt awkward following Charlie in the same direction, she made a slight detour that found her outside Alice’s Shop. She remembered when it was a sweet shop some time ago. She used to pop in from time to time for a packet of bon-bons, but she hadn’t stepped foot in there since it had changed hands. Now, as she saw the city in the eyes of the tourists around her, she decided that it might be nice to take a little trinket to Cambridge with her to remind her of home.
Packed full of Alice in Wonderland souvenirs, Clara enjoyed looking around. Thankfully, unlike in the Alice in Wonderland story, the shop wasn’t manned by a sheep. Instead, a friendly lady said hello as Clara browsed the trinkets. Excitedly, she picked up a bright pink leather-bound copy ofAlice’s Adventures in WonderlandandThrough the Looking-Glass. Leafing through the gold-sprayed-edged pages reminded her of her childhood and being in bed reading under the covers long after she was supposed to be asleep. She simply had to take the book to the till, where she saw a White Rabbit trinket box that she couldn’t resist. She was tempted by the tea towels too, but she felt that was perhaps a little too touristy.
Leaving with her keepsakes felt symbolic as she realised that even if she said goodbye to the city, she would always have a piece of Oxford with her. It would always be in her heart and soul; she was Oxford born and bred, after all.
By the time she arrived back home, she was getting excited for her new adventure. She thought it funny how her forthcoming new career hit her in waves. One minute she was excited for a new start; the next she was petrified at the thought.
Since she had no plans for her day off and she was experiencing a positive moment about the move, she decided there was no time like the present to start having a clear-out. Clara went through drawers that had been untouched for years, sneezing with all the unsettled dust as she did so. Some things she had long forgotten and was thrilled when she found a yellowed newspaper article with news of her appointment at St Peter’s. She thought back to how proud her parents were and how delighted she was. Between the three of them, they must have bought at least five copies of the paper to frame and keep as mementos. It was her dream come true to get a position at St Peter’s, and she’d sworn she would never leave. That was a long time ago now though and everything had changed. She placed the paper to one side; she would definitely be taking that with her. As she looked at it on the floor, she wondered if there would be another article announcing her new position. Most of the local journalists knew her, so there was a fair chance they would print something.
Emptying the drawer further, she was amazed at half the junk she had accumulated over the years. She really didn’t need the instruction manual for the washing machine she’d got rid of eons ago, or the packet of sunflower seeds that she would now never grow in the garden. As she picked up a little ceramic good luck angel that her mum bought her on her eighteenth birthday that she had mislaid, she realised she should have had this clear-out years ago. She held it in her hand as it dawned on her that sometimes you had to clear things out from your life to find what you didn’t realise you were looking for.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Tom wasn’t one to read newspapers. He didn’t wish to read about doom and gloom. He hated all the misery in the world and wanted only happiness for people. He questioned why life was so complicated and why people couldn’t live in harmony when we were all only here for a short time. He was very much a pacifist and hated fighting, wars or conflict of any kind. He wanted people to get on with each other. He hated conflict in his own life too. The irony was that his alcohol dependency had been a source of conflict but, when he drank, this fear of conflict was numbed, even if it wasn’t for others around him.
He was having a bad day at rehab and considering whether it was all worth it. He was missing Clara more than ever before. Tom was becoming more and more devastated that he had lost the woman who made him smile simply by rolling her eyes or flicking her hair, and who made him laugh without even speaking. Clara had represented hope for a happier future and now he didn’t know what he had to look forward to when he came out of rehab. What was the point of it all?
It had been a rollercoaster since he’d arrived. There were days where he felt as though he could win the battle and be cured forever of that voice in his head that said he’d be okay to stop at one drink. Then he had days where he was convinced that he wasn’t strong enough to do any of it. He questioned whether he would ever beat it, or if it was even worth trying to and that was the biggest problem. He didn’t have a motive. On a few occasions, he had been half tempted to check himself out and none more so than right now. He figured he was a grown man; he could do what he wanted. It wasn’t as if he had the love of Clara. He could walk out right now and be free to live as he chose. Nobody cared about him. He had no visitors, apart from Pat who was due to arrive shortly. If it wasn’t for Pat then he probably would have signed his way out of St Luke’s already, but that would mean having to admit to him that he was a complete and utter failure. Every now and then when he was at his lowest, a little voice reminded him that Pat knew what he was going through, having done it himself, and if he could beat it, so could Tom. They weren’t that different but Tom envied Pat for making it look so easy to get – and stay – sober.
Tom was in the communal area waiting for Pat to visit as a daytime show played quietly on the TV in the corner. He couldn’t focus on anything when he was having a day where he so desperately wanted to walk out. He wondered whether he should speak to a member of staff to ask them what he had to do to escape the confines of rehab when he noticed a newspaper laid out on the table beside a patient. Due to his aversion to the news, he would never have normally glanced at the page it was open on, but something made him stop in his tracks. It was the photo covering half the page that got his attention.
‘Clara?’
Paul, one of the fellow patients, who Tom had spoken to a few times, looked up from his chair.
