intention of approaching her. First-years had American History in Theatre J that morning, I was told. All I needed was tosee her. Once I had done so, my fear would subside, or if not my fear, at least my curiosity.
The possibility of bumping into David, going from his office to a lecture, had crossed my mind. If I saw him, I would make something up. Part of me wondered what his reaction would be. Students were already streaming out of lecture theatres as I ran up the steps and into the Arts building, the corridors and foyers becoming momentarily clotted with them. When I got to Theatre J and looked around at the empty seats, the vacant space awaiting the next influx, I felt a small stab of disappointment.
What are you doing? I asked myself. Foolish woman.
Outside the lecture hall, students were drifting sluggishly along, like hung-over cows. I felt conspicuous among them, dressed in a black trouser suit and kitten heels, my shoulder-length brown hair flicked out at the ends. I didn’t look like a lecturer, let alone a student. To them, I probably looked like an accountant or a management consultant on campus to give a presentation. I would call on David. Surprise him. Make a serious attempt to bridge the gap we both knew had opened between us since his revelation. Pushing myself away from the wall, I looked towards the stairwell, and it was in the act of turning that I saw her.
Blonde hair, just as he had said, luminous under the fluorescent strip-lighting. Her face small and pale. A skinny girl, and not very tall, but she held herself well, shoulders thrown back, a long, straight neck, her bag slung over one shoulder – a casual, relaxed pose. And the boots he had mentioned lent something firm and inflexible to her otherwise waif-like appearance.
She was standing by a marble and limestone sculpture known to generations of students as the Blob. I had wanted to catch a glimpse of her, nothing more. Well, I had done that, yet still I lingered. She didn’t look remotely like either of my children. The lightness of her hair, the milky-whiteness of her skin were at odds with the darker colouring that unified the four of us. I looked her over and felt doubt trickling in.
She broke away from her friend and walked through the thinning crowd of students towards the exit. I watched her narrow back, her skinny legs, the careful manner of her walk – no slouching or dragging feet with this one. Reason told me to let her go, but impulse led me to follow her, and soon enough I was outside again, feeling the chill of the air, following her up the paved walkway towards the pond by the Engineering building. All the time, I was trying to keep my distance, trying to walk as if I had a purpose other than stalking her.
She took a seat on an empty bench on the deck around the pond. As I neared, the sound of my heels rang out and I slowed my step. She was sitting with her eyes closed, her head tilted to the sky, soaking up what little heat there was. Her pose was perfectly still, like a cat basking in the sun. I stopped, looked down at her, and slowly she opened her eyes. Green eyes, a little widely spaced, short dense lashes. They looked up at me in an assessing way, but she didn’t say anything.
‘You’re Zoë,’ I said.
‘Do I know you?’
Still so composed, so unfazed. A Northern flavour to her voice.
‘I’m Caroline,’ I said. ‘David’s wife.’
Her face cleared in recognition, eyes narrowing a fraction, then a slight flicker as she took me in, her interest piqued. She smiled, a slow, lazy smile and, it seemed to me, a little sly. ‘So he told you.’
A bristle of anger went through me. Of course he told me, I wanted to say. I’m his bloody wife. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’
‘Sure.’
The bench felt cold against the backs of my legs. My gaze followed the curling path of a moorhen, gliding through the reeds. That pond hadn’t been there when I was a student. I could feel Zoë looking at me with that little
The possibility of bumping into David, going from his office to a lecture, had crossed my mind. If I saw him, I would make something up. Part of me wondered what his reaction would be. Students were already streaming out of lecture theatres as I ran up the steps and into the Arts building, the corridors and foyers becoming momentarily clotted with them. When I got to Theatre J and looked around at the empty seats, the vacant space awaiting the next influx, I felt a small stab of disappointment.
What are you doing? I asked myself. Foolish woman.
Outside the lecture hall, students were drifting sluggishly along, like hung-over cows. I felt conspicuous among them, dressed in a black trouser suit and kitten heels, my shoulder-length brown hair flicked out at the ends. I didn’t look like a lecturer, let alone a student. To them, I probably looked like an accountant or a management consultant on campus to give a presentation. I would call on David. Surprise him. Make a serious attempt to bridge the gap we both knew had opened between us since his revelation. Pushing myself away from the wall, I looked towards the stairwell, and it was in the act of turning that I saw her.
Blonde hair, just as he had said, luminous under the fluorescent strip-lighting. Her face small and pale. A skinny girl, and not very tall, but she held herself well, shoulders thrown back, a long, straight neck, her bag slung over one shoulder – a casual, relaxed pose. And the boots he had mentioned lent something firm and inflexible to her otherwise waif-like appearance.
She was standing by a marble and limestone sculpture known to generations of students as the Blob. I had wanted to catch a glimpse of her, nothing more. Well, I had done that, yet still I lingered. She didn’t look remotely like either of my children. The lightness of her hair, the milky-whiteness of her skin were at odds with the darker colouring that unified the four of us. I looked her over and felt doubt trickling in.
She broke away from her friend and walked through the thinning crowd of students towards the exit. I watched her narrow back, her skinny legs, the careful manner of her walk – no slouching or dragging feet with this one. Reason told me to let her go, but impulse led me to follow her, and soon enough I was outside again, feeling the chill of the air, following her up the paved walkway towards the pond by the Engineering building. All the time, I was trying to keep my distance, trying to walk as if I had a purpose other than stalking her.
She took a seat on an empty bench on the deck around the pond. As I neared, the sound of my heels rang out and I slowed my step. She was sitting with her eyes closed, her head tilted to the sky, soaking up what little heat there was. Her pose was perfectly still, like a cat basking in the sun. I stopped, looked down at her, and slowly she opened her eyes. Green eyes, a little widely spaced, short dense lashes. They looked up at me in an assessing way, but she didn’t say anything.
‘You’re Zoë,’ I said.
‘Do I know you?’
Still so composed, so unfazed. A Northern flavour to her voice.
‘I’m Caroline,’ I said. ‘David’s wife.’
Her face cleared in recognition, eyes narrowing a fraction, then a slight flicker as she took me in, her interest piqued. She smiled, a slow, lazy smile and, it seemed to me, a little sly. ‘So he told you.’
A bristle of anger went through me. Of course he told me, I wanted to say. I’m his bloody wife. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’
‘Sure.’
The bench felt cold against the backs of my legs. My gaze followed the curling path of a moorhen, gliding through the reeds. That pond hadn’t been there when I was a student. I could feel Zoë looking at me with that little
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