House of Windows (15 page)

‘Winner is TitHall Men’s Third,’ the guy in charge of the quiz announced into the first true hush of the evening.

Nick flinched as Brent sprang to his feet, bellowing in triumph. He leaned away only to be rocked back into his seat as Brent gripped his shoulders and shook him.

‘Bossy and brainy! TitHall
rules
!’ he yelled. ‘Our cox beats your cox on and off the water!’

The crew struck up a chant of ‘Free round, free round’ and suddenly Nick found a beer in one hand and a shot glass in the other.

‘Why is the St John’s Boat Club called Lady Margaret anyway?’ Nick shouted over the roar of noise.

‘No idea,’ Brent said, clapping him on the back. ‘Bottoms up—’

‘Boat race!’ someone from the other team yelled and
suddenly everyone was standing in a line, tipping back their shots like an alcoholic stadium wave. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nick threw the liquid into his mouth. For a moment, everything was fine, then he was doubled over, coughing and hacking, eyes watering. The others were stomping and dancing around him, jeering at the other quiz team, whose battle cry of ‘Olly, olly, Lady Maggie’ trailed off dismally as they realised they’d already lost.

‘Three NOTHING!’ came the roar from his teammates.

Sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Nick sighed and took a sip of his beer, then another. It soothed the burning in his throat.

‘Ha! We are
unstoppable
!’ Brent cried, throwing himself on to his stool and nearly off the other side. ‘Oops,’ he said, steadying himself by casting an arm over Nick’s shoulders. ‘So, shortstuff, I thought you were a maths genius. Where did all that stuff come from about Shakespeare?
How
do you know about
Jane Austen
?’

Nick shrugged. ‘I like to read.’ He took another sip of his beer. ‘I wanted to do English but they wouldn’t let me. Said you need more “life experience” to be able to truly understand literature.’

Brent pulled a face. ‘What do they know? You were, like, on fire, my man. Gee-Nee-Oous!’

‘I’m not a genius.’

Brent didn’t listen. ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting another shot glass into Nick’s hand. ‘S’only fair you get to enjoy your share of our winnings from LOSERS, LOSERS, TRIPLE LOSERS,’ he yelled at the other team.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut as the shouting started all over again.

‘Come on. Knock that back,’ said Brent. As Nick put the glass tentatively to his lips, Brent tipped it upright for him, then snatched it away, slamming it down on the table and pounding happily on Nick’s back while he coughed and gasped. ‘Here you go,’ he said, passing Nick’s beer back to him.

‘I think I’ve had enough.’ He took a sip of the beer then tried to push the glass away, only for Brent to press it into his hands again.

‘Aw, don’t be a
spoilsport
. Live a little! Come on. Won’t do you any harm. I was getting trashed Friday to Sunday like clockwork at your age. We’re not in College. No one who cares is here to see. Just enjoy it!’

Nick laughed as Brent chinked glasses with him. He took a deeper swallow of his beer, then clattered the glass awkwardly down on to the table. Brent clapped him on the shoulder.

By the time they piled out of the pub, the floor had started rocking gently, as if they’d put out on the river. Although Nick found he could make out barely two words in five amid the roar of voices, everything everyone said had become extremely funny. Once they were all assembled on the pavement, they turned as a pack and staggered back towards College. The others were singing, or at least loudly slurring, a song Nick couldn’t have hoped to recognise. But since none of them seemed all too sure of the words, or the
tune either, Nick just recited the bit of ‘Kubla Khan’ that came to mind and the others seemed content with that as a counterpoint.

‘Boaties rule!’ Brent shouted at the sky. ‘Best days of our lives, lads. Best days.’

‘Best
nights
,’ someone else called.

‘Like you could get it up right now,’ said one of the twins, whom the crew had tacitly given up trying to tell apart.

For a moment all progress ceased as they clung to each other, giggling.

‘Go on. I dare ya,’ Brent said to the other twin.

‘Watch this then!’ shouted the twin and took off running straight at a lamp post. He launched himself into the air and clung on about two metres up, then pulled his scrabbling feet on to the base of the post. With a grunt, he leapt upwards, clinging briefly a half metre higher before he slid slowly back down, legs folding helplessly so that he ended up sitting on the pavement, arms and legs hugging the post.

The others roared with laughter while the twin righted himself with great dignity. ‘Thassh five rounds to you, mate, ’lesh you can get higher.’

‘You said you’d climb it!’

‘You’re too sssshicken to even try. I win ’lesh you try. You’re just sssshicken. Sssshickened out in the pub crawl in Freshersh Week. Got no balls. Got a tiny little dick. Afraid everyonesh gonna see.’

‘Yeah? You think so? Double or nothing. Starkers from here to Trinity Lane and we’ll see who’s got the puny
eppickwument.’ Brent stopped, frowning, then shook his head. ‘Ready?’

‘Ha!’ said the twin. ‘Shteady …’

The ‘race’ started with much hopping and stumbling down the street as they tried to run and pull their trousers off at the same time. A passing biker cursed them individually and collectively as he was pelted with jumpers, T-shirts and a pair of belts.

The others stumbled along after, collecting the discarded clothing as they went.

Nick watched the twin shove Brent into a postbox, then get pitched over a bollard in turn.

‘Ouch. That
had
to hurt,’ someone muttered.

‘Feeling no pain,’ sang one of the others. ‘Hundred proof through my veins and feelin’ no pain …’

‘Captain scores!’ came Brent’s yell from the corner as they staggered around the curve of the road.

‘Freeeessshing my cobblersh off. Wheresssh my kit?’ the twin was moaning. ‘You’re a cheater. Cheating cheat-y cheater.’

‘Hey, ladies. Wanna pick which one of us is the winner in the
big
stakes,’ Brent yelled, making an unpleasant gesture with his hips as a huddle of girls passed on the far side of the street. ‘Come on! Free show! Free … Oh bollocks.’

Nick followed Brent’s suddenly riveted gaze, swerving sideways to hold on to the wall as the street seemed to tip. When his eyes focused, Brent and the naked twin were frantically hunting through the discarded clothes the
others had collected as a pair of uniformed police officers approached.

‘Evening, boys.’

‘Evening, off’cers!’ came the chorus.

‘Getting a bit rowdy, aren’t we? Anyone else want to drop their keks and let it all hang out and freeze off?’

The crew shook their heads, averting their eyes. The naked twin looked between the clothes in his brother’s arms and the police and took off down Trinity Lane, a crumpled T-shirt held protectively to his crotch. Brent groaned and abandoned his jeans to follow in his boxers. ‘CO-O-O-OLD!’ came the receding wail.

The police turned to the rest of them. ‘And which college might you all be from?’

The others fixed their eyes on the ground.

‘We’re going to be following you back somewhere, lads, so those of you who’re still fully clothed might want to be a bit more co-operative and save us the effort. We’ll end up having a much less friendly chat with your porters if you make us go for a midnight jog first.’

‘Trinity Hall,’ the clothed twin said.

‘All of you?’ asked the second police officer. Nick looked up to find that she was staring at him. ‘Aren’t you a bit young for a grad? One of these your brother, then?’

Nick shook his head. ‘Not a grad. Still an unner … under … undergraduate,’ he got out, then had to stop to swallow.

One of the others elbowed him, hissing, ‘Townies call us
all
grads.’

‘And what name should we run by your porters, then?’ the policewoman asked.

‘Nick.’

‘We’ll get back to the last name in a minute. Let’s try for an age now.’

‘Um,’ said Nick.

‘Um!’ said the policewoman. ‘Yeah, you look spot on for “um”. But I always thought students were a bit older than “um”. So let’s try that in normal numbers, shall we? Thirteen maybe?’

‘I’m fifteen!’ retorted Nick indignantly.

‘Ah, a fifteen sort of an um. That makes sense. Well, Nick aged um-slash-fifteen, how come you’re with this lot?’

‘Trinity Hall Men’s Third Boat cox,’ Nick said proudly. ‘I
yell
at them.’

‘He really is a student too. They let him in early,’ Nick heard one of the others say.

‘They let me in early,’ parroted Nick, nodding and then wishing he hadn’t. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then turned and launched himself at the nearest rubbish bin, heaving the evening’s pub quiz ‘winnings’ into the basket.

‘Well, at least he’s neat,’ said the policewoman. ‘Let’s take you back to your room—’

‘Nick lives out,’ one of the others piped up helpfully. ‘His dad’s got digs out by the station.’

‘Right. If you lot can be trusted to get back to College without losing any of
your
clothing, we’ll leave you to it and catch up with your porters later. Not you,
Nick-who-yells-at-them,’ the policewoman said as Nick turned to stagger after the others. ‘I think we’ll let your parents pick you up from the station instead. Have a little heart-to-heart on the way about peer pressure and hanging out with the wrong sort.’

Nick shivered as the doors to the street opened, not bothering to look up. He’d been sitting in the waiting area at the front of the Parker’s Piece police station, under the desk officer’s watchful eye, for over an hour, sipping slowly from a cup of lukewarm water. When the police had called the house, they hadn’t been impressed to find the only responsible adult present was a lodger who had no legal role in Nick’s life. They’d had to get Michael to fax over a note authorising Tim to pick Nick up. Tim had obviously been in no hurry to oblige. The clock above the desk sergeant now read 03.18.

‘Nick.’

He squinted into the glare of the strip lights, wincing against the pain in his head as his eyes watered. ‘Hi,’ he whispered, attempting a smile that Tim did not return.

‘Who do I have to talk to?’ Tim asked.

Nick gestured towards the reception desk, getting slowly to his feet as Tim marched over. He leaned wearily against the counter as Tim talked with the desk officer, showed his passport, signed a form.

‘Come on. We’ve got a taxi waiting outside.’

Nick cringed, hands over his ears, when Tim slammed the car door.

‘Seatbelt,’ he ordered tersely.

Five silent minutes later, they were home. Tim paid the driver, then pushed past Nick to open the front door. ‘Michael says he’ll be home tomorrow afternoon to talk.’

‘Oh joy,’ Nick mumbled, trailing him into the kitchen.

‘Do you want paracetamol?’ Tim didn’t wait for an answer, slamming the packet and a pint glass of water down on the table.

‘I’m sorry to drag you out in the middle of the night,’ Nick said, eyes fixed firmly on his shoes.

‘This is
not
what Professor Gosswin had in mind when she suggested you needed a housemate in case of emergencies. She meant flood, fire and food poisoning, not drunken run-ins with the police.’

Nick hunched his shoulders miserably.

Tim sighed. ‘Drink the water, Nick. I’m tired and I want to go back to sleep while it’s still night-time.’

‘You don’t have to stay up,’ Nick said quietly. ‘I’ve finished doing stupid things for the next few hours.’

Tim leaned back against the counter and scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘Look, it’s nothing I haven’t done myself. But I was older and with friends who didn’t scarper and leave me in the lurch. I just … This is proper
in loco parentis
levels of responsibility. I didn’t sign up for this.’

Nick slouched down even further, applying himself to the water. He pushed the empty glass back on to the table.

Tim took it and refilled it. ‘Drink this in the night and you’ll be just about OK in the morning.’

Nick clutched the glass to his chest. ‘Thanks for coming to get me.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Tim said stiffly. ‘Let’s just go to bed, OK?’

He let Tim steer him through the living room, flicking off lights as they went. They clumped wearily upstairs, Nick turning off to the second flight.

‘I really am … sorry,’ Nick said. The words were lost as Tim’s door snapped closed.