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THE FIRST SUMMER – 2011

Sophie stood back, almost tripping over some of her textbooks, and looked at herself, her lips pursed uncertainly. Her reflection in the half-length mirror they’d propped against the wardrobe wobbled uncertainly back at her.

‘You look great,’ Libby said. ‘Very classic.’

‘And classic is…?’

‘Classic is good! We’re talking about a place with hundreds of years of tradition here; classic is the kind of look you should be going for.’

‘I’m not even sure if I should be going,’ she said for the hundredth time.

‘Oh God, not this again.’ Libby stood up and placed a hand on each of Sophie’s shoulders, looking into her eyes, half serious. ‘You, Sophie Baker, are going to the Christ’s College summer ball. And you are going to be fabulous.’

‘Says who?’

‘Me!’ Libby laughed throatily. ‘I’m your fairy godmother.’

Sophie laughed. ‘So when’s the pumpkin arriving?’

‘I think we’d be better off getting a taxi on this one.’

When Tom had asked her to the summer ball as they’d lain in bed together after making their pact, her first instinct had been to say no. But then he’d said it could be as friends, and she’d decided that maybe she could do it this one time. They had a ball at Anglia university too, but she hadn’t been to one of the Cambridge ones and it would certainly be an experience. She’d seen dishevelled revellers making their way home in the early hours after their events last year, and had wondered what all the fuss was about. Now she’d get to see for herself. Besides, she didn’t like the thought of Tom taking anyone else.

She’d chosen a simple, silky white dress with thin straps, paired with silver sandals, had added mousse to her hair for extra volume, and slicked on some red lipstick. Libby was right, she did look pretty good.

Not that it mattered. Because they were just friends, of course.

‘It’s got a theme,’ he’d told her excitedly when he’d asked her.

‘Which is?’

‘ L’Esprit Nouveau . We’re creating Paris in the college grounds.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously. Well, we’re going to give it a good try.’

‘And it’s in June?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But you call it the May ball?’ she’d said, her lips lifting into a smile.

He’d shrugged. ‘Who am I to question tradition?’

‘All right, I’ll come.’ And she’d been rewarded with one of Tom’s dazzling smiles.

Before she could think any more, there was a knock on her bedroom door and Tom stepped in, bearing a bunch of white roses.

She started – embarrassed at the mess of discarded outfits, underwear, her silly photos on the pinboard, the towels on the bed. ‘Oh!’ she said.

‘Sorry.’ His eyes were steady, fixed on her. ‘You look great.’

‘Thank you, friend ,’ she told him, taking the proffered flowers and smelling them, because that’s what people always did on TV when they received flowers, and this was her first bunch.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and watched as she poured some water from a half-consumed bottle into an empty mug and shoved the bouquet into it. ‘Just until we get back,’ she told him. ‘I’ll get them in a proper vase tomorrow.’

It was a lie, and they both realised that. But it seemed wrong to stick the flowers in the little bear mug she’d bought as a lucky mascot from Clinton Cards at the start of her course. Not least because it was stained dark with tea on the inside.

She left her room, gratefully closing the door on the chaos, and made her way along the corridor and down the communal stairs. They emerged into the early evening, the day still bright and summery, the sun warm on her skin. There was a taxi waiting, the driver reading a book and whistling like a caricature of a cabbie.

‘Christ’s, please!’ Tom said in a faux haughty voice as they slipped into the back.

The guy gave him a look that suggested his patience was already wearing thin this evening, put the car into gear and drove the short distance to the front of Christ’s College. As they stepped out, Tom offering her his hand, her accepting it, she could already hear the strains of a string quartet. Other couples and small groups were making their way through the stone archway, and the air was buzzing with excited voices.

‘Here we go,’ he said, nodding at one or two people as they made their way in.

She laughed when she saw the model of the Arc de Triomphe that had been constructed in the ball’s honour. ‘You don’t do things by halves do you, you Cambridge lot?’ she said.

‘But didn’t your ball have decorations?’

‘We had balloons, Tom. Fairy lights. Not a reconstruction of a famous landmark.’

He snorted. ‘In that case, wait until you see the Eiffel Tower.’ He grabbed a glass of Buck’s Fizz from a table and gave it to her. ‘Chin-chin.’

She laughed as she sipped, feeling already quite surreal.

They rounded the corner only to see marquees, a stage, an enormous Ferris wheel. ‘Wow,’ she said.

‘Yeah, fancy a ride?’

Her stomach, empty of anything other than fizz, curdled at the thought. ‘Nah, I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘But you go ahead.’

He nodded and dropped her hand, calling out to a couple of lads in the queue who let him in, and soon he was being strapped into a chair next to a girl she didn’t recognise. He waved like a small child to his mother as the mechanism started to turn, and she lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

‘Hi,’ said a breathy voice at her side. ‘I’m Caitlyn.’

‘Sophie.’

The girl was wearing a black dress in a silky material which flared out at the knee. She had on a pair of flat, strapped shoes which looked both cute and eminently sensible. Sophie was already regretting her sandals, the three-inch heels of which were sinking into the soft turf of the lawn.

‘Which college are you at?’

‘Oh, I’m just at… the other uni. You know?’

‘The poly?’

‘Actually, it’s a uni now.’

‘Right.’ There was something sneery in Caitlyn’s voice, or was she reading too much into it?

Sophie smiled thinly and returned her eyes to the Ferris wheel, willing it to hurry up and finish. Without Tom, she was simply in a place full of hundreds of strangers – there would be nobody she recognised, nobody she could really talk to when he wasn’t at her side.

‘So how do you know Tom?’ Caitlyn persisted.

‘Oh. Well, we used to date.’

‘ Used to?’ Caitlyn arched a pretty eyebrow and looked pointedly up and down Sophie’s body in its flimsy dress.

‘Yeah, we’re just friends.’ It was more complicated than that, but Sophie certainly didn’t feel like explaining herself to the unfriendly Caitlyn.

Caitlyn nodded. ‘But you’re here?’

‘Yes.’ Sophie said bluntly. ‘I’m here.’

The wheel stopped and crowds of students, some already slightly worse for wear, were expelled onto the grass. Tom, laughing with his companion, walked towards them. He slid an arm around Sophie’s back and gave her a squeeze. ‘All right?’ he said. ‘Hey Caitlyn!’ He gave her a nod.

She fixed her eyes on him. ‘I was going to see if you wanted to dance. There’s lessons.’

He crinkled his nose. ‘Maybe later. Not really my thing.’

‘That’s not what you said last year.’

He laughed. ‘It’s amazing what too much punch will have me doing.’

‘Guess I’ll catch you later then.’ Caitlyn shot a look at Sophie, her animosity quite visible, then walked off, raising her hand in an elaborate wave at a group of girls in the distance.

‘She seems nice,’ Sophie said.

Tom looked at her. ‘Caitlyn? Well, she’s…’ He relaxed suddenly. ‘You’re joking,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘I’ve seen friendlier axe murderers.’

‘Ah, she’s all right.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘What now. Want to watch the band? Or apparently there’s a casino somewhere around here?’

‘Could we just get another drink?’

It was around midnight when she lost him altogether. She’d popped to the ladies’ – queueing and pushing past girls who were clustered around the mirrors correcting their make-up – and returned to discover he hadn’t waited for her. She was slightly dizzy and her head ached.

She walked around the grounds, in and out of the marquee, past the buildings, excusing herself as she pushed past raucous groups, exchanging tight smiles with other guests as she made her way. She suddenly felt utterly, utterly ridiculous in her flimsy dress – everyone else seemed to be wearing fitted designs, with thick satin that looked made to measure. Hers looked like a nightdress in comparison.

Laughter filled the air around her and – as she was excluded from all of it – it felt like the loneliest sound she’d ever heard. She’d even dialled Tom’s phone a couple of times but it had gone straight to voicemail.

Tom, she was sure, was somewhere having the time of his life. He seemed to know everyone and people seemed drawn to him like wasps to jam. Groups of lads had passed, asking him along for a beer, girls fawned over him. She’d felt like a spare part even when she was on his arm – and felt, too, that she had no recourse to complain. After all, she was just a friend.

She knew that he wanted to stay until 5.30a.m. when they’d gather together for the ‘survivors’ photo’– a badge of honour for those who made it through the night, but in all honesty, she just wanted to get out of there, get home.

It was dark now and the air had cooled. Other girls had wrapped themselves in pashminas or borrowed their dates’ formal jackets. The queues for all the activities showed no sign of abating, and everyone seemed in high spirits.

She began to push her way through the crowd, the dizziness increasing – made worse by the fact she’d been nervous and hadn’t eaten enough – her heels now hazardous against the uneven stone of the paths and the treacherous kicked-up turf.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, making her way through. ‘Excuse me.’

‘Is it Sophie?’ a voice said. She looked up into the catty eyes of Caitlyn. ‘Are you all right, darling? Have you lost your friend ?’

She ignored her, heading for the gate, wanting more than ever to simply break out into a run and get home as quickly as she could. The voices, the laughter, the music, the joy of other people felt suffocating, and she just wanted to be alone in the cool dark street, away from it all. She never should have come.

As she made it through the final fifty metres, her heel turned and she fell onto her knees, mud staining her dress. ‘Oops,’ she heard a male voice say, ‘someone’s had too many!’ There was laughter but no move to help her to her feet. She got up, her knees stinging with pain, her eyes stinging with tears. ‘Fuck you!’ she wanted to yell at them. But they’d probably just find this funnier than ever.

Someone appeared in front of her as she stood, trying to adjust the strap on her shoe where it had slipped to one side. ‘Sophie?’ a male voice said.

She looked up. It was Will.

‘Oh. Hi,’ she said, suddenly embarrassed, aware that her hair was dishevelled, her mascara smudged. The mud on her dress and the dress itself, so insubstantial and cheap.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. I’m just calling it a night.’

‘Right. Tom not with you?’

She shook her head.

‘Typical Tom.’ Will seemed annoyed. ‘I’ll find him for you if you want.’

‘No! No,’ she said. ‘Please don’t. He’s having a good time. And it’s not as if… We’re not together or anything. I was just…’ She felt her shoulders slump. ‘I just want to get out of here to be honest.’

He laughed. ‘That bad?’

She nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay. Because of course she wanted Tom to be there. Only his friend shouldn’t need to drag him out for her. He should be here anyway. Whether they were together or not.

He looked at her. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘That bad. Come on.’

With Will’s large frame alongside her she was able to make her way more easily through the last of the people and finally burst through the gate onto the lamp-lit street. It wasn’t empty, there were people walking home, taxis making their way to the rank. The club along the street was throbbing with the beat of music. But she was out. In familiar territory.

‘Thanks,’ she said, turning to him.

‘It’s OK. Let me walk you home?’

‘I’m good. Honestly. I…’

‘Soph. I’m walking you home,’ he said firmly.

He was right of course, she thought as she nodded. She liked to think that the streets were hers at night, that the familiarity of them somehow kept her safe. She’d walked them hundreds of times – probably – by now at all times of the day and night. But in that dress, on darkened streets, she wasn’t safe, not really.

She hated that fact, but it was what it was. She was a woman; she had to risk-assess even a walk home.

It wasn’t far. They started out, their footsteps echoing on the pavement. The sound of the ball – its music, its chatter, the busyness of it – faded as they walked and she entertained herself with thoughts of Tom running up after them, full of consternation and apologies. But there was nothing. She felt her shoulders stiffen.

‘So, what’s next for you then?’ Will said. ‘Tom told me you’re doing a course?’

‘Oh, yes. Teaching.’

‘Noble profession, so they say.’

She snorted. ‘Maybe.’

‘Well, look. Good luck. Are you on Facebook?’

‘No.’ She’d resolved never to go Facebook, to make her life public.

‘Well, if you do go on… I’m on there, now. Not posting a lot.’

‘OK.’

‘Or get my email off Tom. Stay in touch,’ he said. ‘It’s weird leaving everything, everyone behind.’

‘It is.’

They fell into companionable silence, their bodies close but not touching as they moved side by side.

‘I’ll tell him,’ Will said as they reached her road at last. ‘Tom. That you’ve gone.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. Although she doubted he’d be bothered either way. ‘And thanks, Will. You really… well, saved me.’

‘Anyone else would have done the same,’ he said.

They stood for a moment looking at each other, both knowing that it wasn’t true. Then she watched him walk away, back to that other world where she’d felt so out of place. Nobody else had seen her at all.