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35
The music is pumping and the lights are low. People on the dancefloor throw the most ridiculous moves. A podgy guy in a suit tries to breakdance and fails, to the most delighted cheers of those surrounding him.
I’ve been sticking with Danny, three drinks in and desperate for more, the world a hazy spin of lights, while Rory and Finlay talk quietly together. There’s something calculated about Rory’s expression as his gaze flits around the room, examining all the faces here, and I wonder if we’re here for some bigger purpose thanbecause we have to be.
Every time someone downs a drink in one, they thrust their arm in the air victoriously to wild cheers and wolf whistles, before slamming it down for a waiter to scurry by and collect. I finish my drink and place it next to an elaborate ice sculpture of a rearing horse. The swinging lights glint off its elegant back, and I recognize its rearing pose from the golden statue in the Lochkelvin entrance hall. I gather my arms around me, suddenly feeling cold, and not because of the carved block of ice beside me.
Who knew there’d come a time when ImissedLochkelvin?
A waiter flies past with a tray of drinks. I haven’t had any of these, the blonde flutes of champagne, so I grab a glass to save myself going to the bar.
“Boo,” Finlay says, close to my ear, and I smile. I’ve grown used to this greeting, and I no longer jump three feet into the air. He looks ridiculously handsome tonight, his eyes subtly underlined and his hair arranged into an artful mess that seems, this time at least, to be deliberate. “Ye’re lookin’ fairly morose for a lass on her fourth drink.”
“You’re counting?”
“Someone has tae. You dinnae seem tae be.”
I shrug, watching the bubbles erupt on the surface of my drink. “I just thought… I thought I’d find somewhere Ibelonged. I thought I’d connect instantly to this place, but…” I take a long sip, bubbles rushing up my nose and clouding all my senses until I taste nothing on my tongue but sparks. “It’s somewhere I’d always dreamed of studying. Even back home, you’d hear it spoken about, like it’s the most wonderful place in the world. And — it isn’t. It just isn’t.”
“You sayin’ St. Camford’s a huge fuckin’ let-doon?”
With a regretful nod, I take another sip. I glance at my drink, noting its disappointing smallness, noting I’ve already downed half of it. Half-empty, not half-full. I really need to stop this. With my mother more than happy to send herself comatose on alcohol for days, it’s a matter of urgency to beat whichever of her genes reside in me that gives me an addictive personality.
But then sometimes you just want to reach oblivion. And, stubbornly I think to myself, that should be okay. Everyoneelseis clearly wasted. Alcohol should be a fun indulgence. A social necessity, especially when there are so many loudmouthed, annoying people braying their opinions as facts. But for the rest of my life, I know there’s always going to be that irritating gnaw in the back of my head that says, when I have one drink never mind one drink too many,You’ll end up just like your mother.
Danny arrives from the bar, holding a pint of Guinness with a packet of nuts beneath his arm.
“You hear that speech?” Finlay asks loudly, over the music. “About makin’ a bad impression and havin’ people remember yer name?” He shrugs, downing what looks like a bottle of rum, his throat working, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly. “I dinnae ken about you but infamy suits me just fine.”
Stridently, Danny bursts out with, “Infamy, infamy, they’ve all got it—”
“Danny, shut it, ye’re drunk.”
Danny’s face falls a little. He tears open his packet of nuts and deliberately crunches down hard on them.
“But you’re rich enough to be unthreatenable,” I point out. “Uncancelable. She’s already got my card marked.”
Finlay goggles at me. “Sassenach, yewanttae study here? It’s expected o’ me and evenI’mbackin’ aff. These people are fuckin’ mental, and I say that as someone who used tae be fuckin’ mental himself. I’m already thinkin’ about a’ the rude words I can spell oot wi’ their daft balloons.”
I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re supposed to know which path to take when you’re young and confused, when you’re not ready to move on to another chapter in life. It’s as though I’m lurching from one existential crisis to the next, when truthfully all I want to do in life is live in safety and contentment, curled up comfortably with the chiefs. I don’t think anything will come close to satisfying me like they do, that warming sensation of peace and love. But I know I’m alsosupposedto go onto better things as an individual — as a Lochkelvin student, as my mom has primed me to be for all of my life, to improve myself and my family’s standing — and I’d give anything to know my next move the way someone like Arabella is as familiar with hers as though it’s written like reminders on her skin.
There is a tipping point, I suppose. When you’re standing at the cliff edge and eventually, instinctively, you know you have to jump. And then, and only then, you’ll find you know where to land.
It’s what I’m hoping for, anyway. It’s what I’m counting on.
The answers buried in my subconscious.
The pearl of truth that’s kept locked away.
“So what are you saying?” I ask Finlay, watching him closely. “You’re not going to uni?”
He blows out an unhappy breath. “I couldnae tell ye,” he says honestly. “Let’s put it this way: I’m no’ charmed wi’ the idea. And ohhh, I know the fights that’ll break oot if my mother finds oot I’m no’ goin’ here. I representher, and she’s no’ havin’ a disgrace o’ a son. But I was always telt uni… well, it’s meant tae be a place o’ dissent. Arguin’, debatin’, broadenin’ yer mind, changin’ yer views. Clearly, that’s no’ whit’s happenin’ here. It’s a’ about conformity tae the right answers — like thereareright answers in the first place. Actin’ as though students are this big monolithic group a’ wi’ the same opinions. And if ye dare tae put a toe oot o’ line, that’s it, ye’re fucked and yer right tae speak freely is finished. I cannae study like that. No’ under those circumstances. Have ye heard me? I’m a fuckin’ blabbermouth. I’d be expelled wi’in the day.”
He says all this in one furious rush, his dark brows descended as he scowls at the bottle in his hand.
“I dinnae ken whit tae dae. It’s like I’m stuck in glue. Thinkin’ o’ packin’ the whole thing in and just fuckin’…tourin’. So many expectations they burden us wi’, parents. Dinnae even realize the world’s moved on fae when they were oor age, so it isnae even a level playin’ field any mair.” He sighs, giving me a soft smile. “So ye’re no’ the only one strugglin’ wi’ the future, if that’s whit ye’re over here broodin’ about. At least if we’re fucked, we’re fucked together.”
I nod, casting my gaze around the room. “And Rory?” Finally I spot him. He’s still by the fireplace, this time reclining on the sofa, shadows and colored lights swinging over his body, and — I stare at him with raised eyebrows. There’s a small but enthusiastic group gathered around him, while he lounges on the sofa blowing out smoke rings. “What the hell is he doing?”
