Chapter 13

The first Monday back was tiring but Andrew survived. He resolved to try and be more positive, act differently, try something while at Addenbrooke’s. The result? He was asked why he was being so weird by two separate members of the nursing staff. So that worked well! After OTC the week took an interesting turn for the better. When Andrew got back to his room Abi was lying in bed, waiting for him.

He locked the door behind him and stripped off his uniform as quickly as possible before climbing into bed. Now there had been some odd moments in Andrew’s sexual life but that night won the prize so far with Abi’s anger at all men. While Andrew was fucking her. She was slamming her hips in rhythm with him all the while telling him that she hated all men. Andrew was so distracted that it delayed his orgasm, but differential calculus seemed considerably less hostile. When they were finished and he had cleaned up Abi lay on him and Andrew knew that she would want to talk.

“I needed that.”

Let’s get the obvious out of the way first.

“Well I tried my first date at Cambridge on Saturday night. It might be my last unless I can convince you.”

She sat up.

“Am I pretty?”

“Stunning.”

“Do I have a good body?”

Andrew merely ran his hands over her waist and hips down to her arse.

“Exactly. If the fucking Virgin Ice Queen agreed to go on a date with you would you take her out with half the bloody rugby team or would it be somewhere quiet and cosy, better to ply me with booze and sweet talk me into bed?”

Andrew wisely opted for silence.

“I have very questionable taste in men.”

He smiled and was whacked for his trouble.

“Stop looking so smug.”

She lay back on him.

“It was a disaster, in case you hadn’t figured it out. He got drunk and was actually surprised when I didn’t succumb to his invitation to come back to his place. Honestly if you had been here you would have got so lucky on Saturday night.”

She shook her head.

“So you have a type Abi. Tall, sporty types, yes?”

She nodded while looking at Andrew from his chest.

“Cambridge is full of tall, sporty types so pick another one. Sure this one was an idiot, but find one that is not. This is school for you, the pretty girl in 4^th year crushes on the 1^st fifteen winger who turns out to be a doofus. So work your way down the back line. You are an absolute catch and surely someone is going to get their head out of their arse and sweep you off your feet.”

Abi just lay her head back on his chest and Andrew heard her sigh.

“You are right but why does it have to be so hard?”

He sniggered, he couldn’t help himself.

“Arse.”

She didn’t even ask, they both knew that she was going to stay. As Abi fell asleep in his arms Andrew lay there wondering about their relationship. When he woke up it was no clearer.

The absolute highlight of that week and maybe of the whole term was a letter Andrew received from Mhairi regarding the Ferrari. Yes the mythical, stuck in a warehouse somewhere, Ferrari. She had provisionally booked a day for him to drive the Ferrari with someone from DK Engineering as a combination of guide and instructor. And it was at a race course, so even if there were other cars they were all going in the same direction and there were runs offs for any mishaps. The woman was an absolute marvel. The car was stored in northern suburb of London and so was going to be driven up on a transporter, which was going to stop and collect Andrew in Cambridge and drive him out to Snetterton race track, an hour away in the direction of Norwich. It was an open day there, you paid your money and you could use the track. Andrew sat there looking at the letter, rereading it to make sure he had understood it correctly. Sometimes he was a 19-year-old boy and this was definitely one of these occasions. He was finally going to get to drive his car. The car he had only ever seen once, busted up after it’s crash. Andrew wanted to rush and tell everyone but as too often in his life, who was he going to tell and how was he going to explain it? ‘Guess what, I am off in a couple of weeks to drive my 175mph sports car’. But even the realisation that he couldn’t talk about this did not dampen Andrew’s enthusiasm, he was giddy. It was going to be the Saturday between his OTC weekend and the next trip back up to Edinburgh, perfect timing. It was 17 days away and it was if he was eight again and waiting for Christmas.

The Department of Engineering at Cambridge University did not share Andrew’s giddy impatience and was the perfect antidote. The material kept coming at them at the same ferocious pace as at the start of the term. There had been no slowing down. So the two weeks after his return from Edinburgh were filled with maths and engineering, labs, supervisions and lots and lots of studying. Andrew met with Professor Cannon for the mid-term chat that he had insisted on. In and out in less than 10 minutes, maybe less than eight. It was less proforma than 1^st year but it was still pretty perfunctory. Andrew had not slacked off, coasting from his first year. The meetings in third term were going to be key, deciding on his specialisation for his final two years. It had started to be discussed by the four of them at lunchtime. All of them starting to sound each other out, see where their interests lay. Only Matt was sure he was going to do Mechanical. Andrew was sure he was not doing Electrical. He knew he was leaning towards Structural but was trying to be open minded. Looking back he was deluding himself. Nothing ever came close to being as interesting to him as Structural Engineering.

Andrew’s ‘job’ was easy; relentless and hard work, but easy. There was a routine, he knew what he was doing all week to make sure he was putting in the 45 hours needed to stay on top of the work. Life became more complicated, surprisingly enough, because of women. Who would have thought?

Modelling on Thursday evenings was mindless. He turned up, stripped, moved to the pose that they wanted and then tuned the room out as he stood and studied. The giggling at the novelty of Andrew studying had long gone. It was his thing, his quirk, and two students had even incorporated it into their drawings. But Thursdays became tiresome due to the antics of Amy, and to a lesser extent Chelsea. They had utterly different backgrounds, and no one would ever mistake them for Sloane Rangers, but they had the attitude of the two women all those years ago in Chelsea (the place). Over the weeks Andrew had soured on them and their attitude and did not want to go for a drink with them. Clever, articulate, well read, striking rather than beautiful but still attractive, but there was something about their attitude that grated on him. This was not completely it but there was an attitude of ‘you should be grateful to spend time with us, peasant’. Not totally fair but more true than false. Now when you wake up the day before with Abigail Wilson in your arms, you know that you have a lot to be grateful for. This pair of entitled women could take a long walk off a short pier.

Now Andrew had seen Jack, and to a lesser extent Pedro, be squashed by women coldly, or ruthlessly, or even cruelly lots of times. That was not Andrew, he did not think he was better than anyone else so he would say no thank you, but nothing else. Most of the time that was all it took, women don’t like to be rejected at a nightclub any more than men do. Where Andrew always struggled was with the ones who wouldn’t take a hint. Now no one was going to cry him a river over this, women had, and have, a thousand-fold more hassle from guys who won’t take a hint but it was his weakness. It was not within Andrew’s make-up to dismissively crush a woman who asked him for a drink, or a dance, or whatever. It was no thank you, let’s move on.

All background to the fact that Amy would not go quietly into the good night. Whiny, loud, self-absorbed, demanding, demeaning, all of the above, now they could apply to the situation but quiet and discreet with everyone maintaining their dignity, not so much. Andrew found Lily to be fun, a nice person, and was looking forward to going for a drink with her and seeing how the two of them got on. Amy’s tantrum kyboshed these plans and in the end Andrew walked away frustrated at Amy’s attitude. In the grand scheme of things not a big deal. He was explaining all this to Navya knowing he would get bugger all sympathy from her for his predicament. He was spending Saturday afternoon with her, finally. Although Andrew had not been overly pleased with her behaviour towards him either in third term or in the summer he had not tried to avoid her, it was just they had busy lives now, were not in the corridor just to see each other randomly and so they had arranged to spend time together as opposed to letting it happen organically.

“You know you just need to tell them to fuck off, don’t you?”

“Not my strong suit. But I can see the utility of doing that. What I don’t get is how they can think I still like them after they way that they are behaving. Well Chelsea is a silent supporter, she never says anything, it is Amy that thinks she is something special. Hey, listen to me, women keep asking me out and won’t take no for an answer. First world problems.

“How are you doing?”

“Seriously wondering if the offer to come and stay at your flat is still available.”

Andrew looked shocked.

“That bad.”

Navya’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Yes it is. For both of us. Ru never comes home now, until late at least. She goes for dinner in the city and then sits and studies in her office. It is better than listening to Mum. All the hard work, both at school and here, the job with a prestigious firm, being known as someone who has met three law lords, all that means nothing. She is single and this is a scandal, at least to my mother. And because Ru is through university and still single Mum is starting on me earlier. So I am unhappy, honestly worried I am going to go home one weekend or during the holidays and find a man with his parents in my living room. Welcome home Navya, meet your husband.”

She took several deep breaths.

“Okay that is an exaggeration but sadly it is closer to the truth than complete fiction. I am struggling with the demands of my course, you know what this place is like, and dealing with this stupidity every time I call home. And just to complicate things I like a white guy.”

“Can you talk to your dad?”

“I think he is sympathetic but he feels the pressures of the community. In isolation I don’t think he would care, but between Mum, the extended family and the community it is too much. I could probably be okay with it, maybe, but it is the sheer bloody incessant going on about it that is wearing me down. Like I said it would be nice to not have it be the sole topic of conversation for five weeks of holidays.”

“Okay, let’s talk closer to the end of term. I am here for the week after term ends and will be in London the week after that. We’ll figure something out.”

“Thanks Andrew. It is good to know I have an option. Being a good Indian daughter I know I won’t do something as drastic as that but it is a nice safety net. How are you finding this year?”

“Easier than last year I think. More work, more intense but Cambridge and the College are so settled that it is not bothering me as much. I don’t play hockey anymore which frees up Wednesday nights and Saturday morning. The second time through seems easier somehow. Not the work, the surroundings. Does that make sense?”

“Now that I think about it I know what you mean. You know the lecturers, you know where the labs are, you know who to avoid on the course and at the College. It is as if you don’t have to try so hard. I get it.”

“How’s Burrell’s?”

“I hated the idea of it and was not happy when I ended up with a room there but now I really like it. It is better for my labs to be over there, and as Matt always says it is less than five minutes to Hall. I am seriously thinking of staying there next year. Maybe get one of the new rooms with a bathroom. Do you think you will stay over here?”

“Pretty sure. I ran into one of the Senior Scholars from the year above at the Library. Apparently, the north side of Nevile’s is much coveted. Even Fellows angle for spots over there. There are only about 20 student rooms on both sides combined. Probably there, if not I may just stay in New Court, I like it there. It is months away, stop thinking about the bloody ballot.”

“Yeah, alright. How is your stair?”

“Quiet, anonymous, strangers passing in the night, take your pick. The exact opposite of last year. A goth, some Trotskyite, a god-botherer, the American that Nigel knows, a lawyer who I have spoken to once, a doc I have seen but not spoken to, and a mystery welsh person who I have never even seen. I don’t even know if Enfys is man’s name or a woman’s. If they talk to each other, they don’t talk to me. I have breakfast with Matt and Malcolm every day and Abi half the time, even Helena occasionally but never anyone from the stair.”

“I can understand. I have spoken to Trevor, he is a nice guy, is in Footlights with Nigel that is why you see them together. As for Enviss, which is how you properly pronounce ‘Enfys’, she is very definitely a woman.”

“Well that will save me from the embarrassment of blurting out ‘oh, you’re a woman’.”

“You have seen her, if not actually met her though. She rows for the university, about 5’10”, red hair with broad shoulders.”

“Oh yes, I know who you mean. She is always over with the rowers. She is a hard drinker, I have seen her demolish eight pints and still be going strong.”

“Yes, that’s her. Some big talking first years made a stupid bet with her and she drank them under the table, to considerable acclaim from the returning rowers. She is the year ahead of me, a nice person but like David from last year. Only really cares about rowing and has no other chat.”

“If you weren’t talking about rowing David didn’t have much to say, even about his course.”

“I am surprised you haven’t run into her in the morning. They have some crazy training schedule and are up early in the morning all the time.”

The pair of them sat and chatted away, it was good to catch up. Navya seemed to have calmed down and the chat was fun and light and there was no prying. A big group of them went to Formal Hall, for only the second time of the year. Often on a Saturday night there would be students from other Colleges at the Formal dinner. That night Andrew thought of Jack as there was a beautiful older black woman sitting with some of the post grads. He smiled at the thought of her in Cindies on a Tuesday night. And Jack’s reaction.

The term was showing how effortless university could be. If you put the effort in at the start of the course, at the start of the time at the College then upon your return you reap the benefit of those efforts. Andrew wasn’t an island ignoring anyone who wasn’t in his circle of friends, he was friendly but no more. He had 10 or 12 good friends and his time at university was with them. Had the stair been different then perhaps there would have been another circle, but it was not to be. So that term was what in his mind university was about. Lots of dinners, cards, discussions, all the images of what life was like as a student.