House of Windows (30 page)

In the morning they visited Professor Gosswin. Although it was Nick’s birthday, he took her flowers: a bunch of imperial purple sweet peas. The Professor’s mouth lifted on one side as he put them down on the table by her chair.

‘Sut,’ she slurred, gesturing at the chair opposite. ‘Play. ’N’ ’im.’ She inclined her head in Tim’s direction. ‘Two ugainst one. Beat,’ a breath, ‘you birth,’ she promised.

And promptly did.

When Nick bent to kiss her cheek, she slapped gently at his shoulder then reached up a shaking hand, patted gently at his face. ‘Frst class,’ she said. ‘Always frst class.’ A snort. ‘Nut with chess.’

‘Not with chess,’ Nick agreed, ladling books out of his backpack on to her bed. When he looked up, she was smiling at him. He watched her eyes move to Tim and then back.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve been reading your book. I think maybe I get it now.’

‘Sluw,’ she said.

Nick huffed a laugh. ‘We’ll see you soon.’

When Tim turned back in the doorway to raise his hand in a wave more like a salute, he didn’t recognise the expression on her face.

‘Learnin’,’ she said. ‘Cle-ver boys. Learnin’.’

Though clouds loured over the village as they walked back to the station, the rain held off and by the time they were back in Cambridge, turning down Garret Hostel Lane, the sun had come out.

Ange and Susie were reclining together at the back of one of the College punts, directing Frank’s efforts to load an extraordinarily large wicker hamper.

‘Nick! Tim!’ Ange squealed, springing to her feet and rocking the punt so badly Frank nearly pitched overboard.

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Nick!’ called Susie.

‘Um, happy birthday and all that?’ Tim suggested.

‘What does this look like?’ Susie asked, gesturing at the hamper.

‘Frank trying to butter you up?’ Nick asked.

‘Yeah, well, I’m sharing the bounty,’ Susie said. ‘Though I don’t see why I should, since “Do you fancy punting up to Granchester tomorrow?” does not in any way convey that this is a birthday party. Especially one that involves
Frank
, given that he’s meant to be on a yacht or at the very least the other side of London.’ She pointed an elegant finger at Nick. ‘You—’

‘Oooo, pretty, pretty sparklies!’ Ange cried, seizing Susie’s hand to examine her nails.

‘All accounted for?’ Tim asked as he reached over to unlock the padlock that chained the punt to an iron ring on the College’s lower wall.

‘Cast off, good sir!’ cried Ange. ‘Onwards! Onwards! To victory and … well, not so much “glory of the realm”, but Granchester’s not so bad.’

With the faintest bump against the wall, the punt sailed into open water. A deft thrust saw Tim turn them upriver.

‘Near-perfect technique,’ Susie said. ‘I don’t know you yet, but I like you.’

Tim grinned, doffing an imaginary cap to her, then returning Frank’s glare with a grin. ‘Going to have to work on your punting skills, old chap. But first, to the order of the day: a certain birthday—’

‘Hey, how about a celebratory bridge hop, birthday boy?’ Frank asked. ‘Go on, I dare you.’

‘No!’ said Tim. ‘No way. We’ve already done a hit-and-run and pneumonia this year. We’re not doing head-injury-by-bridge or drowning.’

‘What’s bridge hopping?’ Nick asked.

‘It doesn’t matter because you’re not—’

‘It’s when you climb on to a bridge as the punt passes underneath, run across the top, then jump down into the punt as it passes on the other side,’ Frank said with a wicked grin at Tim.

‘That sounds—’

‘No. No. No. No and
completely not
!’ Tim sighed as Nick’s face closed up. He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘On your eighteenth birthday, when doing stupid things is your prerogative and entirely your own responsibility because you’re officially and legally a grown-up, we will do a bridge-hopping trip up the Granta. This is my only offer.’

He expected Nick to look happy, not equal parts wistful and surprised. ‘My eighteenth?’ he said softly.

‘Provided you don’t die agreeing to Frank’s more idiotic ideas in the meantime,’ Tim said, searching Nick’s face for an explanation for that odd look. ‘You know perfectly well that Bill is going to ask me what we did today and I do
not
want to have to tell him a
humungous
fib about why I’ve delivered you home half-dead instead of in the same state of health as you woke up in.’

‘Champagne!’ Ange crowed as she delved into the hamper.

‘Apparently even you have your moments, Frank,’ Susie said as he popped the cork.

He handed the bottle to Ange, lolling back in his seat as she passed him a glass. ‘I could get used to this,’ he said, trailing his free hand through the water. ‘Champagne in the sunshine and double the usual eye candy.’

‘Aw, Frank. Didn’t realise you’d noticed,’ said Tim, giving him a wink. ‘Back atcha, cutie.’

‘To the birthday boy!’ cried Ange, squirming to her knees so she could reach over to chink glasses with Nick. She started a rousing chorus of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’, which was promptly taken up in six-part harmony by a passing punt.

‘And many more!’ they roared, Ange and Susie craning round to toast their fellow singers.

‘I
love
Cambridge,’ breathed Susie. ‘I am
never
leaving.’

‘Why would you
leave
?’ asked Ange, wide-eyed. ‘Why would
anyone
ever leave?’

Bill was there when they got home. Michael was running late.

In the end, by the time they’d laughed and fought their way through a chaotic attempt to cook Nick’s grandmother’s lemon cake, dealt with the enormous mess that was the kitchen, then taken entirely necessary showers to clean up, it was past nine-thirty and none of them fancied dinner anyway.

‘Dad says he’ll be home in half an hour, so let’s just wait. Then we can all have cake together,’ said Nick.

‘Who knew cooking was such good exercise?’ groaned Tim, resting his head on the table. ‘Hope you’ve got your wish all sorted, ’cos I tell you, if you’re not swift with the candle-extinguishing and cake-cutting I may just fall asleep in my chair and nose-dive into the icing.’

‘You know what I’ve always hated about maths?’

‘What? Who?’ Tim lifted his head, blinking blearily at Nick. ‘I hope that was not
a propros
of your birthday wish, ’cos if it was—’

‘It’s … related,’ Nick said, flushing. ‘Anyway, the thing I hate about maths is that so much of it is just about trying different things and seeing what works. I always thought
when you got to a certain level it would be about logic and knowing what to do, but it’s not like that. It just keeps on being about trial and error. You just have to keep taking your best guess and having a go and seeing what happens until you figure it out.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ Tim said, smothering a yawn. ‘Pretend I’m listening and understanding.’

Nick rolled his eyes.

‘Oh, come on. How is this related to your wish?’

‘I just realised that maybe that’s what it’s like with people too. With relationships. Maybe even if you think other people just know all this stuff you don’t,
they
don’t either: maybe they’ve just been lucky with how things worked out or someone showed them what to do … or maybe they just tried different things until they figured it out.’

‘Ah, so this is about
girls
. I’m liking the direction of this wish.’

Nick shook his head. ‘You’ve just got girls on the brain ’cos you haven’t been out with anyone for three entire weeks. It’s a record, right?’

‘Something like that,’ Tim grumbled.

Nick shot him a suddenly intent look. ‘I wonder what you might get for New Year if you can tell Ange you’ve been at Bill’s for the holidays and you haven’t broken
any
hearts for five entire months.’

‘You— No, I can’t say that on your birthday. Don’t be a smart-arse. At least don’t be a smart-arse out loud.’

Nick propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin
on the heels of his hands so he could grin across the table at Tim.

‘Stop,’ said Tim warningly. ‘Desist. Don’t even
think
it.’

Nick blinked innocently. ‘Who, me? I’m just sitting here—’

‘Being a smart-arse. I know exactly which strange little person you learned that move from.’

Nick laughed and sat back in his chair, swinging his foot.

‘So what’s your wish, then?’ Tim asked.

‘I’m not going to ruin it by telling you! I will say that it’s … similar to last year’s wish. Which came true,’ he said, looking startled. ‘Huh. I hadn’t realised.’

‘What was last year’s wish then?’ Tim asked.

‘To get a First and make some friends. Only …’ He stopped, bit his lip. ‘My new wish is about the stuff I got this year that I didn’t even realise I
could
have.’

‘Anything interesting happen while I was rinsing the cake batter out of my hair?’ Bill asked, strolling back into the kitchen.

‘Nick’s been tormenting me,’ Tim said pitifully.

‘Good, good. Don’t let me interrupt,’ Bill said, opening the cabinet to take down a set of wine glasses.

‘The night’s just got interesting,’ said Tim, brightening.

The sound of a key in the front door echoed from the hall.

‘Of course Michael turns up in time for the alcohol,’ said Bill, rolling his eyes. ‘Off you go, Nick. Say hi to your dad, then stay in the sitting room for a few minutes while we put
the candles in the cake as if it’s a surprise. We’ll give you a yell when we’re ready.’

‘Happy birthday!’ Michael said, stepping forwards when Nick went to greet him but stopping just the wrong distance away for a comfortable hug.

‘Mike! Mike, get in here and help!’ Bill called.

Michael rolled his eyes, but hurried through to the kitchen. ‘What are you bellowing about now, Morrison?’

Smiling, Nick curled up on the window seat with Professor Gosswin’s book, letting his hands warm the leather for a minute. The pages were soft with age and wear. The spine creaked when Nick opened the cover, as if the book were trying to speak.

Cambridge University and Trinity Hall are real institutions. The physical descriptions of the Colleges, Faculties and the town are accurate, as well as details about courses, the admissions process, formal halls, etc. (at least at the time of writing). Although exam results are also posted via the online CamSIS system nowadays, not only does this sometimes go very much awry, collecting results from Senate House remains a popular tradition. I’ve gone with the old-school version for the sake of tradition – and drama. All the characters who people the Cambridge of
House of Windows
are entirely fictional and their actions should not be taken as characteristic of different Colleges, Faculties and so forth. I’m just trying to tell a good story in a real place.

Although Cambridge University does, occasionally, accept very young students, all of the details relating to how the University, and Trinity Hall in particular, deal with Nick’s age are my own creation. As far as I am aware, Trinity Hall
has never accepted a student of Nick’s age. My aim was to make the University and College’s actions logical and believable, while serving the development of the plot. In the real world, from what I’ve read about very young students at Cambridge, there is a great deal of care and oversight. The Cambridge in these pages belongs to the World of the Book, not the real world. Even I’m not confused about that, so no one else should be.

Many thanks and very big hugs to Andy Shepherd from whom I have nicked (with permission) The Amazing Pointy Dance™. Thanks for all the thoughts about things to include, especially in terms of pranks. Who’d’ve thought it of you? You were the first person I met at College who made me feel ‘Yes, I’m going to be all right here. This is going to be a place I can belong.’ I’ll always be grateful for that. And for the super-super cool presents! Big thanks to all my wonderful Cambridge friends. Especial thanks to Naz, who didn’t make me get down on one knee to propose we had College Kids together. James Wildman, adopted ‘College Grandfather’. Neil Rickards, who invited me to my first Formal Swap – among other things. Jens Turowski, a true genius. And all the people I met through Rev, including Guy Brandon, fellow Cambridge writer. And Lizl! You are a wonderful, wonderful friend – thank you for being wonderful to
me
. Hugs to Ian and Phil and Michael Phillips and Ian and Alex and Andrew
and all the Gang, especially those there for The Great Bridge Hopping Expedition. And of course Riki, but there’s another book where I’ll thank you properly.

I owe a debt of gratitude to David Good: you taught me so much more than how to write a dissertation – no little gift in itself. Thank you for backing me to study what I was passionate about, whatever Departments or Faculties that took me to. And to Bobbie Wells, Senior Tutor of Clare Hall, for all the support over the years. Massive thanks to the Trinity Hall porters, who are just brilliant. Thanks to Sam and her colleagues at the English Department for providing reading lists and ancillary information. Also Victoria Mills at Trinity Hall, and many Cambridge staff and porters (especially at King’s and Clare) who let me take millions of photos for research, and a very kind lady whose name I forgot to ask at the Old Halls Reception Desk. Thanks to Adrian May of Essex University for thoughts on the first few pages of a much earlier telling of this story. Big thanks to Graham Howes, my Director of Studies at Trinity Hall, and Dr Arno, my Tutor. A special thank you always goes to Jill Shields who made a huge difference. Also to Jem Rashbas for welcoming me into CARET and giving me one of the most amazing opportunities of my life.

Love and thanks to my father (originator of the Zylonation Test for People Suspected of Talking Bollocks) and the Anglo-Italian hordes, my blood family. And to Riki, Fran, Katja and Alexia; Tony and Aoife; Clare and Jenny; and ‘surrogate grandparents’ Katie and Peter Gray: chosen
family of the highest order. And to Krysia, for being the most lovely sister-friend, with whom time and distance are immaterial. And Zedie, who is a treasure. And Janet and David Watson, who are wonderful. To Fauzia and Stuart for all the laugher. And to Chris and Carmel for sending lovely cards when I’m down. To my extended ‘theatre family’ at the Adelphi, Aldwych and Dominion (extra big thanks and hugs to Fiona, Conia, David, Liz and Caroline), who’ve read and commented and been so lovely: it is very,
very
much appreciated. And to Simon and Sue, and Sharonjit, for between them arranging one of the most magical nights of my life and generally being extraordinarily kind
and
clever: what a combination!

Claire Wilson is a fantastic human being, a superb editor and the most marvellous agent ever – a fact which any and every member of the Coven will attest to. One of these days I’ll find some words that come close to expressing how incredibly grateful I am that you picked me to work with. Big thanks to Lexie Hamblin for contract shepherding – boy, do they go astray! Margaret Halton for being absolutely brilliant: thank you for pushing me and asking All the Hard Questions before I’d cemented anything silly in my head or on the page. It would have been far slower and harder without you. Big hugs to all Claire’s Coven for their friendship and support: how lovely to be surrounded by such fantastic writers in a profession that is famously lonely. Particular hugs to the Coven Members I have had such fun with during the writing of
HoW
: Alice, Cat, Giancarlo, Helen, Jon, Kate,
Kiera, Pearl, Ross, Sally, Sara, Tanya and Tom. Special thanks to Gary Meehan for Maths input and sharing my love of snark, Lauren for listening, and Cerrie for being a darling. And Mel, wonderful Mel, for being absolutely fabulous: I’m so lucky that you’re my friend.

Enormous thanks to Team Faber for all their support and input and for my stunning cover, which I couldn’t love more. Thanks to the hugely talented Helen Crawford-White for her amazing work on both of my books: you made them things of beauty. My editor, Rebecca Lewis-Oakes, bought this book with only a synopsis and a few chapters that were very far from being satisfactory, all on the basis of the promise ‘It’s not right yet, but it’s going to be good, honest!’ Massive thanks to Hannah Love for getting the word out – and all the support and fun at so many events. Big thanks to Lizzie Bishop, Emma Cheshire, Emma Eldridge, Paddy Fox, Grace Gleave, Susan Holmes, Alice Swan, Leah Thaxton, Dave Woodhouse and Clare Yates. And especially to Eleanor Rees: I cannot imagine that there is a better copy-editor out there. Endless thanks for working with me again: it’s been a pleasure and an honour.

Last but by no means least, a massive thank you to the wonderful people who make up the UKYA community. It has been a tremendous joy to meet you on Twitter and in real life – not least at YALC, where we came out in force. Special thanks to Michelle for all the incredible support for
The Bone Dragon
: I am so grateful. And of course to my bookish ‘little sis’, Luna. And to Sophie for my first physical letter
about the Dragon – and for help with slang. And Rhian, who shows me and so many others how it should be done: with excitement, generosity and kindness. And Kelley, for all the talk about cake, books and cats. Jim for all the #QuizYA fun and Lucy for all the #UKYAchats. And the teams at Edinburgh Book Festival and YALC: among the highlights of my life. A special mention here to Tim Bowler: stunningly talented writer and stellar human being. And to fellow Dream-Teamers, Holly Bourne and CJ Daugherty: thank you for all the laughs, support and margaritas. And Sarah, Lucy, Tash, Pip, James, Sally and all the other lovely LCW folks. And Sarah and Marieke for Book Hunting adventures. And Louisa Reid, who made one of those out-of-the-blue and entirely out-of-the-goodness-of-her-heart offers of help that make the hardest writing dilemmas suddenly seem solvable. I am so lucky to have been invited to belong among such brilliant people, who understand the importance of books, tea, chocolate, cake and, most of all, kindness.

Epigraph taken from
Time to Be In Earnest
© PD James, 2010 and reproduced by permission of Greene & Heaton Ltd.