“I know plenty who have.”
Maria was flailing in deep water. There was no light but the white glare of the shelter, and the bus would never come. “Look,” Maria asked, focussing on the ground, “I know I’m ignorant, and some men are definitely bastards, but surely there’s nothing wrong with men as such?”
Ruth’s lips were uneven. “Maybe not, but there’s nothing wrong with women as such either, and that’s all a women’s group is. Christ, with all the hostility we arouse in this campus, you’d think we were terrorists.”
Maria watched the gravel shift under her foot.
“I can tell I’m boring you; if it’s not your scene, just forget it.”
Maria was considering whether, and then how, to say shewas sorry when the bus trundled round the corner. It jogged them home, cold and wordless. In her head, as ever, the words flowed easily:
I
have no wish to hurt you
, and
teach me
, and
the room is warmer when you’re in it
. Covertly, she watched the reflection of Ruth’s dark curls bump against the window beside her. Once their eyes met in the glass, and they almost smiled.
Was that him, slouching out of the photo booth? No plait. Not a bit like him, really.
“Personally speaking,” Yvonne began, “I’m bored out of my tree.”
Maria whipped her eyes back to her polystyrene coffee cup. They were squeezed into a corner of the Students’ Union, their heels up on a table overflowing with empty popcorn bags. “Ah, but you missed this morning’s major excitement,” said Maria, yawning. “The dean of arts called us in to the sports hall and gave us a lecture about the importance of mixing. The usual ‘best years of your lives’ crap, with an extra bit about love, or rather sex, seeing as we’re adults now.”
Yvonne tapped her ash onto the floor. “What did she advise?”
“She said, ‘Please don’t fall in love,’ with this fatuous simper on her face. As if it was just another of those irresponsible things that students get up to, like doodling on sculptures or roller-skating on the wheelchair ramps.”
Maria coughed slightly, and Yvonne moved her cigarette into her left hand and waved away the smoke. “Did she say why?”
“Apparently if we fall in love in first year, we’ll miss our chance to make oh so many new friends.”
“D’you think she was speaking from experience?”
“No doubt.” Maria decided not to chance the dregs of coffee;she balanced the cup delicately on top of the rubbish. “Probably dropped out pregnant in nineteen fifty-nine, had it down the country and put it up for adoption, came back to repeat first year as a model citizen.”
“She’s right, you know,” said Yvonne gloomily. “About the
L
word.”
“What, love? Of course she’s right. But it’s like saying, don’t eat a box of chocolates because it’ll spoil your appetite for dinner. I’d always go for the chocolates.”
“Me too,” said Yvonne lasciviously, folding back a linen cuff.
That simply had to be Damien, his orange sweatshirt just visible behind a pillar. It fascinated Maria, the way his huge hand cupped a thin French cigarette, which he sucked at from time to time in defiance of all the N O S MOKING signs.
“What’s so interesting?”
“Nothing. Just a poster.” Her head spun round. “I don’t know, Yvonne, maybe we’re just not suitable to grace the halls of academe.”
“The halls of what?”
“Here.”
“Oh.” Yvonne took one last drag and stubbed it out on a Coke can. “You’re probably right. I’m just here because everyone else is. I’ve no ambition to be a big success.”
“There’s more than one kind of success. You’ve managed to shift, what, three guys in less than three weeks of term.”
“Four, actually,” she smirked. “Did I not tell you about your man last Friday?”
“Lucky beast.”
The coy tone became serious. “It’s not luck, Maria, its hard work. Anyone can do it. Well, nearly anyone.” She took her feet off the table and
Maria was flailing in deep water. There was no light but the white glare of the shelter, and the bus would never come. “Look,” Maria asked, focussing on the ground, “I know I’m ignorant, and some men are definitely bastards, but surely there’s nothing wrong with men as such?”
Ruth’s lips were uneven. “Maybe not, but there’s nothing wrong with women as such either, and that’s all a women’s group is. Christ, with all the hostility we arouse in this campus, you’d think we were terrorists.”
Maria watched the gravel shift under her foot.
“I can tell I’m boring you; if it’s not your scene, just forget it.”
Maria was considering whether, and then how, to say shewas sorry when the bus trundled round the corner. It jogged them home, cold and wordless. In her head, as ever, the words flowed easily:
I
have no wish to hurt you
, and
teach me
, and
the room is warmer when you’re in it
. Covertly, she watched the reflection of Ruth’s dark curls bump against the window beside her. Once their eyes met in the glass, and they almost smiled.
Was that him, slouching out of the photo booth? No plait. Not a bit like him, really.
“Personally speaking,” Yvonne began, “I’m bored out of my tree.”
Maria whipped her eyes back to her polystyrene coffee cup. They were squeezed into a corner of the Students’ Union, their heels up on a table overflowing with empty popcorn bags. “Ah, but you missed this morning’s major excitement,” said Maria, yawning. “The dean of arts called us in to the sports hall and gave us a lecture about the importance of mixing. The usual ‘best years of your lives’ crap, with an extra bit about love, or rather sex, seeing as we’re adults now.”
Yvonne tapped her ash onto the floor. “What did she advise?”
“She said, ‘Please don’t fall in love,’ with this fatuous simper on her face. As if it was just another of those irresponsible things that students get up to, like doodling on sculptures or roller-skating on the wheelchair ramps.”
Maria coughed slightly, and Yvonne moved her cigarette into her left hand and waved away the smoke. “Did she say why?”
“Apparently if we fall in love in first year, we’ll miss our chance to make oh so many new friends.”
“D’you think she was speaking from experience?”
“No doubt.” Maria decided not to chance the dregs of coffee;she balanced the cup delicately on top of the rubbish. “Probably dropped out pregnant in nineteen fifty-nine, had it down the country and put it up for adoption, came back to repeat first year as a model citizen.”
“She’s right, you know,” said Yvonne gloomily. “About the
L
word.”
“What, love? Of course she’s right. But it’s like saying, don’t eat a box of chocolates because it’ll spoil your appetite for dinner. I’d always go for the chocolates.”
“Me too,” said Yvonne lasciviously, folding back a linen cuff.
That simply had to be Damien, his orange sweatshirt just visible behind a pillar. It fascinated Maria, the way his huge hand cupped a thin French cigarette, which he sucked at from time to time in defiance of all the N O S MOKING signs.
“What’s so interesting?”
“Nothing. Just a poster.” Her head spun round. “I don’t know, Yvonne, maybe we’re just not suitable to grace the halls of academe.”
“The halls of what?”
“Here.”
“Oh.” Yvonne took one last drag and stubbed it out on a Coke can. “You’re probably right. I’m just here because everyone else is. I’ve no ambition to be a big success.”
“There’s more than one kind of success. You’ve managed to shift, what, three guys in less than three weeks of term.”
“Four, actually,” she smirked. “Did I not tell you about your man last Friday?”
“Lucky beast.”
The coy tone became serious. “It’s not luck, Maria, its hard work. Anyone can do it. Well, nearly anyone.” She took her feet off the table and
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