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Chapter six

Metastability (chemistry): An intermediate energy state within a chemical system.

Metastable mixtures may appear stable for long periods of time.

This may change when a catalyst is present.

Example: under normal conditions, the conversion of water and carbon dioxide to bicarbonate is very slow, but is almost instantaneous when the catalyst carbonic anhydrase is added.

T en years ago, in June of Charlie’s third year at the University of Cambridge…

“Right, you’re done! Go get changed, and have a great time - you’ve earned it!”

I’m not particularly sure I’ve earned it, but nevertheless I gladly scurry over to the cloakroom to change.

It’s the end of my third year in university, and this period of the academic year feels no less strange after having experienced it twice before.

May Week is when everyone’s finished their exams but most of us are waiting for our results, so the atmosphere of mixed relief and nerves is…

unusual. Despite its name, it’s also in the middle of June - like many things here in Cambridge, it only makes sense because of tradition.

Tradition is also pretty much why I’m here in Clare College in the middle of the night, doing a quick change from a nondescript black T-shirt and jeans combination to black tie and a simple black domino mask - the cheapest rentals I could find.

Loads of people have told me that I have to experience a May Ball, because, like going punting on the River Cam and grabbing a greasy meal at Gardies after a night out, it’s just something you’ve got to do at least once as a Cambridge student.

And since a ticket to these events just isn’t cheap, I’d decided to take advantage of the ‘half on, half off’ deal that a fair few college May Balls offer, and work for half of it so that I can attend the other half of the event without having to splurge for a ticket.

Clearing drinks for the first half of the night has meant that I’ve missed out on a fair bit of the entertainment, but it does mean I can drink now, which is something, I guess.

As I wander into the crowd and successfully locate a glass of Prosecco, I note to myself that the worry that’s been in my mind since the beginning of the event has been entirely justified.

Like the time I’d nearly stranded my punt in the River Cam by dropping the pole, I’ve done this wrong.

Watching the masked guests talk, laugh and move in groups, I’m reminded that the whole point of these events is to attend them with friends.

And most of mine had other plans this year, apart from a few who’d decided to go to a different May Ball - one that didn’t have the half-work half-play deal.

I look around, but I don’t recognise anyone behind their masquerade masks.

I spend a moment wishing whoever decided the theme of this ball will have a lifetime of soggy chips and stubbed toes.

So I down my Prosecco and get another, and wander.

At least Clare College is pretty - I’ve walked through its gardens on countless occasions because its bridge is one of the more convenient ways to get from the backs of the river into town, and when the weather is good I always tend to linger.

It’s not one of the larger colleges, but I’ve always thought of it as one of the prettiest.

I meander into the sunken garden, a smallish rectangle of ground which is a few inches lower than the surrounding gardens, with a little lily pool in the centre.

It’s pretty dimly lit so the shrubbery around it is swathed in shadow, and I’m not entirely sure that the ball organisers intended for us to be allowed in here, but equally no one’s appeared to tell me to clear off.

I perch on one of the benches and try to decide if I should even bother to tough it out till the Survivors' Photo in the morning.

“Hi.”

The voice, which isn’t far away, makes me startle. A tall guy is standing a few feet away, his face hidden behind an elaborate Venetian mask. I squint into the darkness. “Hi.”

He approaches and sits down next to me. “Great, I did think it was you, Charlie. I hope you don’t mind me joining you.

I spotted you a few times earlier on but you were busy working.

” His voice is deep and warm, but not exactly familiar.

His mask covers the entire top half of his face, swooping up on the left side to curl into two jagged horns.

I can’t make out the colours in the low lighting, but one panel has a series of music notes in it - I highly doubt it’s a cheap rental.

It’s too dark to be sure even of the colour of his hair.

There’s a faint hint of aftershave in the still air - a sort of woodsy scent, with none of the chemical harshness of the cheap stuff I use sparingly.

“No, that’s alright,” I say awkwardly. Help. He clearly knows me, and I don’t have a clue who he is. Maybe I’ll figure it out if he talks some more. “Have you come with anyone else?”

“Just some friends. A few of them have called it a night and a few others are… somewhere.” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the music.

Gah. That doesn’t help me with his identity at all.

“I’ve always liked these gardens, so I thought I’d come see what they looked like in the middle of the night.

” He glances around us. “There’s something quite magical about them in the dark, isn’t there? ”

“Yeah.” The deep shadows wash out the bright colours of the summer blossoms, and imbue the shrubbery with a blend of mystery and sleepy tranquillity. “I’ve always liked it here too.”

He takes a sip of his drink as the conversation stutters to a halt. Then, unexpectedly, “You know, Charlie, I’ve always meant to say this but I’ve never found the right time. I think it’s… it’s brave of you, to be out and proud like you are.”

“Thank you?” My response comes out more like a question.

He huffs out a soft laugh which seems to linger in the still summer air. “I hope that didn’t come across as being too rude. I just think… I mean, I know, it must take a lot of courage to come out. And I admire you for that courage.”

Right. “Thanks,” I say slowly, not sure if I’m reading the situation correctly. “I’ve been lucky so far. And the world’s a different place from how it was even a few years ago.”

“True.” He fiddles with the stem of his glass, and I can see, even in the half-light surrounding us, the tension in the muscles of his back. “I’m not sure I could be that brave.”

It seems like I’m being called upon to prove that courage now, because I have a split-second choice to make.

If I’m wrong, it’s possible that my companion is going to be very upset, and there’s no one else around to help if things take a horrible turn.

But. If I’m interpreting this correctly, this is an implicit request for help.

As I said, I’ve been very lucky with how accepting people have been of me being gay.

And with that comes a duty to pass along some of that acceptance.

I take a single sip of my drink. “If I’m reading this correctly, I think you might be being brave right now.” He glances down at me silently, so I push on. “You already know I’m gay. We’re alone. If there’s something you’d like to get off your chest, I promise I’m not going to judge.”

The line of his throat moves in the dark as he swallows once. “I… Charlie, I think… No, I know… I’m gay too.”

I reach over to clasp his free hand in mine. “Congratulations,” I say softly. “Welcome to the club.”

He laughs, a little wetly. “Thank you. I’ve been too scared - absolutely petrified - for a long, long time to tell anyone.”

“It’s a hard thing to say. But it gets easier.” I can say that much, at least.

He squeezes my hand once before letting go. His palm is a little sweaty, but feels soft and warm. “I guess that makes sense. Again, thank you. I don’t think everyone will be quite this accepting when I tell them that I… that I’m gay.”

“Maybe not everyone. But some will.” He clearly doesn’t need to hear negativity tonight; it sounds like that’s all he’s heard in his own mind for long enough. “And when you’re ready to go searching, there’ll be a whole community out there who are ready to support you.”

He nods. “All I seem to be able to say tonight is thank you. I… I appreciate this.” His voice is steadier than before and the arch of his back less tense.

“It’s no problem at all. I'm honoured that you told me.” I shift awkwardly, still very aware that I don’t know who he is.

If he figures that out, things are going to get super uncomfortable.

So I try to lighten things a little. “So, that’s your first coming out over and done with, but there are a lot more firsts, and they’re going to be a lot more fun. ”

“Are they now?” His voice has gone a little deeper, and I catch a glint of even white teeth as he smiles.

“Shut up.” I nudge him, grinning. “I wasn’t even thinking about that. I meant, like, your first date with a guy.”

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out. “That’s right,” he sighs. “I’ve not allowed myself to think about that just yet. What’s it like?”

I wince. “Maybe I’m not the best person to convince you of the joys of dating guys. I really haven’t had many dates, and honestly, I can’t say any of them have been brilliant.”

“Really?” He cocks his head to one side curiously. “Honestly, that seems like a bit of a shame. What’s not been good about them?”

“Well…” I squirm.

“Charlie. I’ve just told you something really personal.” His tone is now light, and his grip on his glass has relaxed. “Telling me about a couple of dates is nothing compared to that.”

Well, if he puts it that way. “I’m not sure. I think maybe I’m just not good at dates?”

He’s silent for a second. “I think,” he says slowly, “it would be impossible for you to be bad at dating.”