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She takes the knife and cuts the muffin into three. ‘Here,’ she says. ‘Let’s share it.’
Ridiculously, she waits until the other two have taken a bite, but by now her stomach has closed with stress. Her throat too feels swollen; she can barely swallow her drink.
‘So you both went to UCL?’ she manages to ask, sliding her folder into her satchel.
Jenny looks at Aisha, something indiscernible in her expression. ‘We met in the pub, didn’t we, Aish?’
Aisha brushes her mouth with her fingers. ‘The Marlborough Arms.’
Samantha feels her neck heat. That’s Peter’s after-work local. But then it used to be hers too. It’s the local for loads of UCL students. It’s where she first noticed Peter, asked Marcia who he was.
So. Hardly a clanging coincidence.
‘I thought you were in different years though?’ she says, nibbling a crumb from the cupcake.
‘We were.’ Again it’s Jenny. ‘Aisha is much, much older than me.’
Aisha laughs. ‘Cheeky bitch. I’m a couple of years older.’
‘Five,’ Jenny coughs into her hand; both of them laugh. They are clearly close; they clearly enjoy one another’s company very much. Samantha feels a pang. She and Marcia had this. In fact, lots of her friends made her laugh easily. She has stopped laughing. She can’t remember when she last got a fit of the giggles.
‘I was back at UCL for my masters,’ Aisha is saying. ‘I was working for this frozen food company – so random – and hating it, so I went back thinking I might go into academia. My boyfriend at the time encouraged me to do it.’ She looks at Jenny. Again, something passes between the friends but Samantha has no idea what. ‘Anyway, Jenny was in her final year, weren’t you?’
‘I was,’ Jenny says once she’s swallowed the last of her blueberry sponge. ‘And now I’m working at Starbucksandthe Prince’s Head – you know, the pub on the green?’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘That’s the kind of career highlight a good honours degree from a top uni will get you. Next time you fancy a drink, go there and I’ll give you a free pint.’
‘Because of course it’s your pub, isn’t it, Jenny?’ Aisha teases and they both snigger.
Samantha giggles too. Her anxiety about the two of them fades a little. Not enough to eat or to want desperately to check the folder, but enough to release the lock in her jaw.
‘I actually went to UCL too.’ It feels like a confession.
Aisha glances at Jenny. Yet again, something is exchanged in the way they look at one another, and Samantha’s unease returns. But it is impossible to remark on it. What the hell could she say without appearing paranoid?
‘Small world or what?’ Aisha says.
‘I’m … I’m actually living with someone who works there …’ Samantha trails off, realising that she doesn’t want to say who. Peter isn’t an English lecturer, there is no reason why they would know him, but he is good friends with the head of the English department, and of course, there are the unsettling poems to consider. Poems that could have been written by either of these women, or both. ‘Speaking of which, I’m going to have to run. My partner’s waiting for me to get home so I can take over with the baby.’
‘Aw, little Emily,’ Jenny says. ‘How old is she now?’
Samantha smiles at them both, a shy heat climbing up her neck. ‘She’s nearly five months.’
‘Five months? How cute,’ Aisha coos. ‘Well, hopefully you can have coffee again next week. We always have a quick one after class, so you can join us any time. We promise we won’t lead you astray.’
‘Unless you want us to.’ Jenny laughs at her own joke; Aisha is not far behind.
‘Listen,’ Aisha says, taking out her phone. ‘Let’s swap numbers then you can always text if you’ve had to dash off or whatever.’
Samantha recites her number, really out of nothing more than politeness because, despite everything, she has been raised not to be rude. Biting her bottom lip with irritating cuteness, Aisha taps the digits into her phone.
‘Great,’ she says. ‘I’ll text you now. There you go. Now you’ve got mine.’
Samantha’s phone buzzes in her pocket. Anxious now, she thanks them for the tea, promises to pay next time, and leaves the two of them chatting in the effortless, good-humoured way that gives her a pain in her heart. She walks quickly, texting Peter as she goes.
Running late be home soon going as fast as I can.
