Chapter 1

Reginald Robertson, known always as ‘Reg’, was astounded to find that he really was attending his first year at university. These new circumstances, in new surroundings, however brought little practical difference from his former social status in high school in his home town, an English coastal borough.

He was still a loner.

This introvert lifestyle was one brought about by many factors, one being his own determination to study hard and get as much education as possible, to the exclusion of all else, and in particular people.

His peculiar way of living resulted from a background of an only child, in relative poverty, and a family circumstance that did not give him the loving support that was needed to perform well in social circles at school.

Throughout his school years his clothes were either out of date or well-worn and ill-fitting, through mostly being second-hand, bought in charity shops by his widowed mother. They were clean, though. His mother insisted on that minimum standard.

She had her own problems, and didn’t want his on top. He had arrived by accident, for she and her late husband had no desire for children. He was superfluous to her own life. His social ineptitude at school was of little concern to her; she didn’t want to know. She never appeared at school events unless it was a legal requirement, so neither did Reg.

How, then, did he manage to get to university?

The high school possessed a well-financed bursary fund built up by generous donations from local philanthropists for more than a hundred years. It had the specific task of helping children of poor families to better themselves. The existence of the fund was common knowledge, but in modern times there had been a social stigma attached to being a recipient – it labelled your family as poor - so it was seldom applied for. Most of the poorer families ignored the fund, and not just because of their pride in surviving without help. They envisaged facing additional financial costs beyond those covered by the fund, and didn’t want to face that problem.

The lack of demand meant low expenditure, and resulted in more capital to earn income, building the fund up further.

Reg’s family was one of those that did not want to use the fund, but his mother’s reason was different. No-one in their family had ever gone to university, and so why should Reg be any different? He could get a factory job like everyone else in their local community, his mother felt.

Fortunately for the young man, his teachers saw him differently. They viewed his educational potential with interest, and spoke about it to the headmaster. He in turn brought it up with the trustees of that bursary fund; asking their opinion about gifted children in that position. The Trustees enquired which university he might wish to attend, and contacted it, explaining the position.

The university responded sympathetically, and offered finance from their own discretionary funds for a living allowance for the student, assuming the student matched the academic entrance requirements.

The Headmaster was accordingly informed that the high school fund would cover his pupil’s tuition fees at the university, and the latter body would make its own contribution towards accommodation and living costs. This would enable him to survive while he was on his course, provided he got the results required for entry. The operational word was “survive”, as the allowance was not particularly generous. There was always an underlying assumption of a family contribution, whether it existed or not.

The limited finance offered, however, delighted Reg, and allowed his mother to agree to his attendance at the university. That was why he was here; and why he was studying hard. He again had neither the time, nor the free cash, for dalliance with girls.

So he was surprised when a girl with a fairly plain face but with a good-looking body came up to him after one of the English Literature classes they both took.

“Reg? Can I introduce myself? I am Frances LeBrun. You seem to be very au fait with the subject, so I wondered if you would like to come to my house to join us in study sessions? I am hoping you will see this as profitable for everyone.”

He looked at her with more interest. She was very bland in her features, the face a bit flat, but with bright intelligent eyes and a mouth that asked to be kissed. She was definitely not what you would call a ‘looker’, but obviously better off than himself, by the good quality clothes she wore, though the clothes looked not new and not very fashionable either. She was not as tall as himself, but definitely one of the taller girls in their year. One of her words finally struck his mind as unexpected.

“Us? Who is the ‘us’?”

“Oh. Several of us in the same English class. We share other classes, too. I was listening to you in class when the lecturer picked you out. You seem to have a good grasp of the authors we were discussing, and their works.”

“I am a bit puzzled ... Frances.” He had remembered her name. “What would be the point of me joining this study group?”

“Mutual improvement, Reg. We all benefit from each other’s abilities.”

“Hmm ... I seem to be getting on fine on my own, Francis. I am not sure that I would gain much value from participating.”

She looked at him as if he was stupid. “Reg. It is a lot more than simply English. Learning is a lot broader, you know. You are not good at social interaction, are you?”

He stiffened in shock, then hung his head a little, at this recognition of his failure to get along with people. “You may be right, a bit,” he admitted.

“It is a lot more than ‘a bit’, Reg. Your social skills suck, my lad. We can help you with that, while you are helping us with English and other subjects. I have been observing you since the start of term, Reg. You are intellectually clever, but damn backward when it comes to people-to-people skills.”

He cringed at that assessment. “I am not THAT bad!”

“Yes, you are,” Frances challenged him. “Name one friend you have made here in the last month since the term started.”

“hmm ... okay, you have me there, but it was my own choice.”

“Not a single friend, Reg? We need to change that. Our study group is your chance to improve things, my boy. We can work on it in private. Now, are you willing to give it a shot, or are you too afraid?”

“Oh, all right, but on conditions. We must both have an input to the discussions. I am not going to be trained like a dog. However, for the moment you are the boss. Where is your house, and when does the group meet?”

She gave him the address, saying, “We hang out there whenever we have a bunch of spare time; maybe an afternoon free, any evening that suits, or any time at weekends. Just phone and say when you are coming.”

“Uh ... I don’t have a phone, Frances.”

“Don’t tell me: nobody to phone?”

“Yes, and no money for one either.”

“Not even to phone your folks?”

“My mother only. She is not interested in my life at university, or anywhere else, for that matter. She didn’t even want me to go, until we got grant help. That allowed her to get rid of me without it costing her anything, so she finally agreed to it happening.

No-one in my family has ever been to university before. They could never afford it, so it was not on their radar.”

“Ah. That explains a lot. Presumably you don’t have transport, either?”

He said defensively, “I like walking. I always walk anywhere I want to go, except long distance. I use the bus or train, then. I have a bike at home, but didn’t think I would need it at uni. It is ancient, as well; almost an antique. It was my father’s.”

Frances told him, “I finish classes at one tomorrow; short day. Are you the same?”

“I think so. Yes. Why?”

“I can give you a lift. Meet me at the entrance to the refectory car park, and we’ll take it from there.” Frances was marvelling at having got Reg to talk so much about himself, for he was notorious for saying as little as possible, except in class. She was happy to get him to agree to the lift in her car.

Reg followed these instructions, and he was standing there, looking forlorn, when she appeared, breezily walking towards him. “Right, Reg. Let’s find my car, wherever I managed to stick it today. This stupid car park is too bloody small. I can never get the same space two days in succession.”

He went along with her as she searched the rows of cars in the tree-shrouded student car park Eventually she found her vehicle, almost hemmed in by two others that were badly parked. They managed to ease the front doors open and squeeze inside. Now Frances had to run the car forward a few inches at a time, trying to get out of her space without scratching either side of her own car, or that of her neighbours.

Reg was afraid to get out and guide her, as he had no driving skills, so was unable to recognise what directions to signal. He also didn’t want to be crushed between cars if he got in the way.

Frances explained her feelings about the car park as she manoeuvred. “You can see why no-one brings a new car here. Too easily scratched, and then bang goes a K off the value. There; I think that’s us clear of my space.”