Summer at the Lake (31 page)

Once more they walked on in silence and when they made it to Magdalen Bridge, the purplish sky lightened and a sense of anticipation went around the gathered crowd, most of whom had probably been up all night partying at the numerous May balls taking place. Last year Floriana and Seb had boycotted the May balls at their respective colleges and opted to do their own thing, which had been to spend the night watching camp horror movies from the sixties and seventies.

The sun had risen now, casting a rosy blush of dawn light over the Great Tower and as the bells rang out and the choristers began singing the Hymnus Eucharisticus, Floriana felt a wave of intense emotion engulf her. She knew it wasn’t the done thing to admit it, but she loved every bit of Oxford’s pomp and ridiculous circumstance. The city was steeped in ceremonial tradition and secretly she loved being a part of it – she particularly loved the idea that in her own small way she was adding her own insignificant footprint into the sands of time.

With nearly everyone now drifting away and following the morris dancers down to Radcliffe Square, Seb migrated towards a quiet spot on the bridge. Resting his elbows on the stone parapet, he leant over as if his eye had been caught by something in the water below. He was leaning so far over Floriana moved in closer and instinctively put a hand out to him.

‘I wonder what would happen to me if I jumped,’ he said morosely.

Unnerved by his tone, she kept a hand on his arm. ‘You’d either die or break your neck,’ she said. ‘You’re not Superman,’ she added more lightly.

‘I’m being serious,’ he said.

‘So am I.’ Over the years there had been too many students either drunk or imagining themselves invincible who had come to grief by hurling themselves into the shallow waters of the Cherwell. The roll-call made for chilling reading.

As if she hadn’t spoken, he said, ‘If I jumped and broke my neck, what would happen to me? Who would care?’

‘I’d care,’ she said fiercely, dispensing with any attempt to lighten the mood, at the same time tugging at his arm to pull him back. ‘I’d care more than words can say.’

‘You’d be the only one,’ he said.

She knew what he was saying, that he had no family to speak of – these days neither his mother nor his father paid him more than a cursory interest. Guilt money, as Seb referred to the monthly payments which arrived in his bank account, was the only point of contact he had with his father. For years there hadn’t even been that, but whether his financial situation had improved or his conscience had got the better of him, the man had a last done one decent thing for his son.

As for Seb’s mother, she only got in touch to whinge tearfully that she was all alone and nobody cared, or to announce that she had just met the love of her life – the see-saw of self-absorption happening with increasing regularity.

‘My parents would care if anything happened to you,’ Floriana said, ‘even my horrible sister Ann would care. God, can you just imagine her visiting you in hospital and you not being able to escape from her? Now that’s what I call a fate worse than death!’

‘Sometimes,’ he said, again as though he was in his own world and hadn’t heard her, ‘I wish the whole thing was over.’

‘What? Oxford?’

‘No. Everything. I wish it was all over.’

He then turned and looked at her. Really looked at her and what she saw made her blood run cold. There was a terrible bleak emptiness to his eyes; the golden flecks of amber were hardly visible his pupils were so large. A stone of dread plunged deep inside her. This was not someone play-acting to get attention, this was real. Very likely Seb was depressed. Oxford did that to some people. It was the pressure. For some it even made them suicidal. Sorrow and fear surged through her. How had he hidden this from her? Why hadn’t she guessed he felt this way? Was it the effect of the pills he’d been taking? Was he taking more than just something to help him meet an essay deadline?

She was about to say something, when he kicked at the stonework of the bridge. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, as though suddenly bored. ‘I could murder some breakfast and a very large Bloody Mary.’

It was while they were tucking into their traditional May Day breakfast specials – eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, beans and tomatoes and two large Bloody Marys – that Seb looked around the café at the other students and shook his head in a display of withering disgust. ‘I don’t fit in here,’ he said, ‘I’m not like these people. I’m an outsider.’

‘That’s how most of us feel,’ she countered, knowing he was referring to the students who came from a very different background to theirs, the ones who had been kitted out at birth at Nobs & Toffs by royal appointment.

‘No it’s not. It’s not how
you
feel, is it? Not really.
You
fit in.’

Feeling as if he was accusing her of something dreadful, she said, ‘So do you. You have lots of friends here. More than me. You’re always out doing stuff. And don’t get me started on your high-speed love life!’

He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled deeply. ‘It’s all one big fake,’ he said. ‘I do what I have to just to keep pace, to look like I fit in. What I hate most is knowing how hard I try to conform; that’s because I have nothing of any originality to offer. Whereas you, Florrie, you’re a one-off, you go your own way because you have the confidence not to care what anyone thinks. You believe in yourself. I’m the same as your sister, Ann-without-an-E, I need to blend in.’

‘Seb,’ she said in stunned disbelief, ‘how can you say that? You’ve never once indicated you felt this way. Where’s this come from?’

He stabbed viciously at the yolk of his egg with a piece of fried bread. ‘Maybe I used to be better at kidding myself. Now I’m facing up to the reality of just how pathetic I am.’

‘There’s nothing remotely pathetic about you,’ she said, anguished. ‘There never has been. And to me you’re more of an original than I am. I’ve always looked up to you and been so proud to be your friend.’

He grimaced. ‘Then you shouldn’t. Trust me, you really shouldn’t.’

She chewed on a piece of bacon, but found herself having to force it down with a large gulp of her Bloody Mary. Discovering how desperately unhappy her best friend was had taken away her appetite. ‘I always thought the reason we get on so well is because we’re two of a kind,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘In some ways, yes, but one big defining difference between us right now is that you’ll be sad to leave this place and I won’t. I can’t wait to leave.’

He was right; she was going to hate the day when she left. Already she had been thinking of ways to stay on in Oxford, but so far nothing had stuck. Typical her, she was putting the future on hold. She wasn’t one of life’s great planners; she just let things fall into her lap. Did that mean she also let things slide? Had she let her friendship slide with Seb and in so doing had she missed how depressed he was?

Looking across the table, she said, ‘When did it change, Seb? When did your world become so black? When did I miss that happening? We used to tell each other everything. Now I feel like I don’t know you.’

Except she didn’t say any of that. She didn’t get the chance. Downing his Bloody Mary and ordering another, Seb insisted that she cheer him up by agreeing to go backpacking round the Greek Islands with him, something they had talked about before but had never got around to doing.

Relieved to see his mood instantly lift, she played along with him, deciding she wouldn’t push him now; it would keep for another time. Why drag him down yet further?

It was later that she realised she had been a coward for not pushing him to open up to her. It was yet another example of her putting something off.

Looking back on it now, it was nothing short of a miracle that Seb not only made it through his finals, but that he didn’t end up dead.

Their faces lit up in the softly glowing lamplight, the party of schoolchildren were spellbound as they sat in the choir stalls in Christ Church Cathedral. They had started out the tour in Radcliffe Square full of high-spirited bravado, some of them giving off a-couldn’t-care-less attitude of
OK then, show us what you’ve got!
She had seen it before and was always confident she could win them round. The highlight of the tour was always Christ Church College. In full Professor McGonagall mode, Floriana had shown them the cloisters and quads that had featured in the Harry Potter films, along with the spot where the Professor had first greeted Harry when he’d entered Hogwarts with the other first-year students. Next she had taken them to see the Great Dining Room that had been replicated in the film studio.

Watching the awed expressions on the faces of the children as they listened to the choir, Floriana thought of Esme and the utter relief she had experienced when the old lady had stirred. Her relief had been so great she had very nearly scooped her up in a big hug, but then that would have necessitated explaining why, and to admit she’d been terrified Esme was dead was perhaps not the most sensitive of things to say.

After the children had climbed aboard their coach with their teachers and she’d waved them goodbye, Floriana went back to the office to deal with some paperwork for Tony and then set off for home.

Once again, as she pedalled her way through the traffic, she remembered she had yet to ring Seb. Knowing she wouldn’t get home for some time yet – she was going to call in on Esme and have an early supper with her – she stopped off on Parks Road, locked her bicycle to the railings and went into the park.

No more procrastinating, she told herself as she followed the path towards the area where she and Seb had often eaten their lunch while throwing chunks of bread to the ducks.

The sadness of remembering Seb’s awful last term here had made her come to an important decision. Twice now she had very nearly lost him, now she had been given another chance to have him back in her life. It might not be how she wanted it to be between them, but having him as a friend again would be better than not at all.

She had promised once that she would never let him down, that she would always be there for him, now she was going to live up to that promise. She would somehow find the money and go to Lake Como and she would watch Seb marry the woman he loved and she would be happy for him. Because what was the alternative?

Settled on the bench where they had sat so many times before, Floriana took out her mobile. Do it now, she told herself. No more putting it off. Say you’ll be there for him.

‘What you need, and I believe this is the correct turn of phrase, is a plus-one. That would make it less of an ordeal for you, wouldn’t it?’

In the week that had passed since Floriana had told Esme and Adam that she had decided to go to Seb’s wedding, it hadn’t crossed her mind to take anyone with her. Who would she take anyway?

In answer to her non-committal response, Esme raised her voice above the high-pitched scream of the hairdryer. ‘You know who would be perfect to go with you, don’t you?’ she said.

Floriana switched off the hairdryer and regarded Esme in the dressing table mirror. ‘Who?’

‘Adam, of course. He’d be the ideal escort for you. Not only would he be a reassuring shoulder on which to lean, should things prove difficult, but he’d be marvellous company. Why don’t you ask him?’

Floriana gave a short laugh. ‘Have those antibiotics gone to your head?’

Esme tutted. ‘Now why would you ask that? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion.’

‘Perfectly reasonable if Adam’s mad enough to go all that way to spend a weekend in Italy with a bunch of people he’s never met before, not to say pretend to be my partner.’

‘Who said anything about him pretending to be your partner? Can’t he be what he is, your friend?’

Glad that Adam was downstairs in the kitchen and there was no danger of him overhearing, Floriana said, ‘But people will assume he’s my partner. He’d hate that. It would be hideously embarrassing.’

‘What tommyrot! He’d be proud to be there with you. What’s more, you could treat it as a little holiday, a mini break. Heaven only knows the two of you could benefit from some fun in your lives. It’s work, work, work with the two of you, you never stop. You need to live a little.’ The old lady paused while she clipped on a pair of pearl earrings. ‘Why don’t you ask him, dear? I’m sure you’d enjoy yourself much more having him at your side. He would be great moral support for you.’

Outside on the landing, the door ajar, Adam waited to hear what Floriana said next. But all he heard was the sound of the hairdryer starting up again.

Thinking they might worry how much he had overheard, he decided not to tell them dinner would soon be ready; he’d come back in a few minutes. With Euridice padding alongside him, he went quietly back downstairs to the kitchen.

Taking the chicken out of the oven to rest, he covered it with foil then put a pan of water on the hob. When it was boiling he added frozen peas, lowered the heat to a gentle simmer, then went to announce that dinner would be served in ten minutes.

In the weeks that Esme had been ill, he had enjoyed the routine he and Floriana had slipped into. Originally the idea had been to share the load and divide the visits between them, but invariably, depending on their work commitments, they had spent many an evening together here at Trinity House. After they’d eaten, and if Esme was up to it, they would play cards or get the Scrabble board out. It went without saying that Scrabble was not his game, he was constantly misspelling words, but having a face made for poker – as Floriana teased him – he was on safer ground there. It was one evening while he was shuffling and dealing the cards for a game of rummy that he remembered that this was the very week when he and Jesse should have been on holiday in St Lucia. The trip had long since been cancelled and as surprising as it was to him, he could honestly say Jesse rarely figured in his thoughts these days. What would she make of his bizarre new social life? he wondered wryly.

It was an annoying expression, but he had actually achieved the inconceivable: he’d moved on. Moving in next door had helped, just as he’d hoped it would. He was happy here in Latimer Street, even if the house was a wreck, and would be so for some months yet. With so much time spent here with Esme and Floriana, he had yet to get stuck into the renovation work he had planned, but no matter, he was in no hurry.