Some Day Days Page 8

Last Weekend in September

  I enjoyed my visit to Cambridge. It was overcast, but did not rain, so the bike ride (on a rented bike) and picnic went off without a hitch. It was a much bigger gathering than I had expected. There were a lot of people I didn’t know, and who didn’t know me, but everyone was friendly. We played some football and I helped cook and we returned to Cambridge just ahead of nightfall.

  As promised, most of the Hunt and a few other game players gathered in Moss’s flat to play a series of duels in the Terratana Worlds game. The games we played were essentially capture the flag games between two teams or players involving dogfights between the two sides using a variety of star ship fighters. All the players earned points for their play either in individual matches or on teams and at the end of the night the top scorer was awarded some prize money from the Hunt’s (or Chess Club’s) treasury. The winner this year was the new research student from the States, Edward Simonette. Since we were both more or less outsiders in this group, we’d hung around together at the picnic and I’d gotten to know him somewhat – easy going, a quiet sense of humour, a good sport, who took kidding with easy grace. Though modest, he’s an ace pilot, as I found out playing with him and against him. He ended up with the top score, I ended up near the bottom of the list, as all these guys are really, really, good. The usual champion, Lewis Noste, took giving up his crown to the Yank with rather poorly concealed ill humour, to which Simonette and the rest of us turned a blind eye. Seeing that Noste and Simonette are both working on the same project for Darneby, that might prove rather interesting, since I gather from Moss, that Noste rather put a lot of stock in his skill at flying fighters and has been known to hold grudges. Hopefully Beri will not have too much trouble keeping the boys in line and will not have to break up too many fist fights...

  anyway, for various reasons including not getting up till noon, I wasn’t able to get a coach back to Oxford until 3:45, so my weekend was pretty shot for getting work done. No real surprise.

  Moss and Foster arrived mid-afternoon on the next day. I showed them around my college and the Oxford physics facilities before restoring our tissues that evening with a meal and a night about. The following day I rode with them as far as Shipton under Wychwood where we had lunch and then I reluctantly (and achingly) turned back to Oxford and all the work I needed to complete. With most of the work on the flat done, and free of friends, I managed to buckle down and finish the last of my papers, working in the college Library to avoid further distractions.

  First Weekend in October

  This past weekend, the weekend everyone returned to start the new term, O organized a Saturday picnic on the river for our friends. Fourteen of us signed up for punts, and others said that they’d bike or stop by once we landed for lunch. O and Foggy had some food to buy and errands to run, so I arranged to meet them at the boat station and biked in by myself.

  Parking my bike at my college and shouldering my knapsack, I walked across the way to the river and the boat station by the bridge. It was a bright, mellow early October Saturday morning and the shop was doing brisk business. I scanned the lively crowd for a familiar face and spied Alicia Blyss Charters sitting on a low retaining wall in the shade.

  ‘Grand Morning isn’t it, Ali?’ I said sitting down next to her, breaking her daydreams and giving her a start. She’s always so lost in thought that it’s hard to say anything to her without seeing her jump. ‘It's a marvellous day for a picnic on the river! So how was your vacation?’

  She cast me a guarded glance – funny how all these girls give me such guarded glances. However, in Ali’s case, it was thick lenses with heavy, dyary equipped, frames that guarded her eyes.

  ‘Oh, hello, Giz. Hardly recognized you. You’re not so shaggy anymore. whatever could have brought that about?’ she asked me archly, watching me closely.

  ‘My employers promoted me and I had to look the part of a responsible adult,' I answered, readily enough. 'Pretty horrible all around. Still, I try not to brood on it too much. You on the other hand are looking quite dashing this fine morning...’

  ‘Right. You’re awful cheerful this morning.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t we be on a sunny morning in the full flood of our youth? Speaking of the full flood of youth, you’re so tanned and fit – you must’ve spent the entire long vacation rambling, fishing, farming and what not.’

  I’ve known Ali Charters the whole of my Oxford career. We’d been in the same orientation group, members of the same college, lived on the same stairs, and she's reading physics as well, and probably the most brilliant of our class, despite – or perhaps because – of her air of vagueness. Always lost in thought. Still, she’s a farm girl, the rather late arriving only daughter of a big farmer down Somerset way who’s raised her much like a son. She can fish, hike and drive a tractor with the best, though you’d never know to look at her save for her deep tan.

  She cast me a suspicious glance. ‘Did you have a glass or two of wine with your Wheetabixes this morning?’

  ‘Is this any way to treat an old friend? What’s wrong with being cheerful and complimentary?’

  ‘You’re being sarcastic.’

  ‘Am not! You are looking exceptionally fine this morning.’ I protested. ‘Why you’re even wearing a tailored jacket and I love your dusty fedora. And as I previously mentioned, you’re looking ever so tanned and trim! Dashing I said, and dashing I’ll stand by.’

  She did look rather dashing, for Ali, anyway. She customarily dressed like an old maid of forty from a century ago, in mousey coloured tweeds, bulky sweaters, big thick glasses and hair pulled back into a bun. This morning she was still in tweeds, but of a bright russet colour, with a tailored jacket with a pale yellow blouse, complete with a nicely matching scarf around her neck and the fawn coloured fedora. True, her pleated skirt still went down to mid-calf, but most daring of all, she was wearing light tan shoes without socks!

  I’m sure her tan hid a blush, ‘If you’re going to tease me like this, I’ll go back to my rooms and change right now,’ she said, making to rise.

  ‘Oh, sit down. I won’t say another nice thing to you, and forgive me for being in such a cheerful mood. It’s just that...’

  She cast a quick speculative look my way and waited.

  ‘Well, I was meaning to thank you for talking me up when Selina Beri came around last term...’

  ‘Ahh,’ she said, with a faint smile and a “now we're getting to the point” look. ‘Seeing that you were so gaga over her, I thought I might as well do my part, if only to see what you'd do when the impossible happened.’

  ‘Er...’ I’d mentioned that I thought Beri was a very pretty girl to O, only once, and never said again to anyone else... ‘Well, perhaps, gaga is a bit strong. It was nice of you to be so helpful. And I’ll have you know, everything worked out fine. Thanks...’

  ‘Seeing that you were kissing her on the Broad the very next day, I'd say so. I rather think I'm owed more than a thank you. I should at least get to dine out on the strength of that kiss alone... But you’re welcome.’

  The term’s just started but it seems the kiss is common knowledge in my small circle of friends. I’ll admit, however, that I could do far worse than being famous for have kissed Selina Beri on the Broad. Far worse, indeed. But all things considered, it’s probably fortunate that Beri’s no longer at Oxford. For her, anyway. In any event, I’d my line down pat, ‘Well, to be strictly honest, she was kissing me – and kissing me goodbye at that – no doubt in a moment of girlish excitement after having just completed her last exam and Oxford career and all that. I merely happened to be handy at that moment.’

  She laughed softly. ‘Funny, you being so handy.’ And then with a careless glance my way, ‘Even funnier you should still be handy a month later to spend a weekend with her in Cambridge...’

  Now that staggered me. I stared at her trying to frame a reply. She just watched me from behind her thick glasses that did nothing to hide her amusement. />
  ‘Where did you hear that? Did that rat O squeal? Does he tell you everything?’

  ‘It’s a small world, Giz.’ she said lightly, clearly enjoying my alarm. ‘You really can’t expect to go gallivanting around the countryside with the notorious Selina Beri and not be noticed.’

  ‘I wasn’t gallivanting around any countryside. Selina Beri is just a nice girl. And everything was above board. She asked me, as a friend, to explore Cambridge with her before an interview with a Cambridge fellowship committee there. And that’s exactly what I did, and that’s all. Still, I’ve not told anyone but O about it, so O must have told you.’

  ‘Omar said nothing about it to me.’

  ‘Then how do you know about it?’

  She gave me a sidelong glance, and I think, raised an inquiring eyebrow behind those thick glass frames. ‘You first.’

  I shrugged. No point in keeping it secret, since it wasn’t, apparently, a secret. And I might as well get the real story out and have done with it, before it got distorted by ill-informed gossip, so I told her a barebones account of my friendship with Selina Beri.

  “She called you out of the blue?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She did the eyebrow thing again.

  I shrugged. ‘We got along quite well the evening you sent her my way... Oh, all right, I can’t explain it either. But obviously she called. Give me a break, stranger things have happened...’ That’s just a wild guess.

  I went on all the way to the finish of my story with our decision to cool things for a while to allow her to concentrate on her school work. She studied me for a while and shrugged.

  ‘What was that shrug for?’

  ‘I just decided to bite my tongue.’

  ‘I’m sure I should really appreciate that, but since you’re a friend I respect, speak your mind.’ I was tempting fate, for despite that woolly-head gosh-awful air about her, Ali is a keen and wickedly witty observer of human follies. O’s under the impression that it takes two glasses of wine to bring this trait out, (and it amuses him greatly when he’s able to get her going) but I knew first hand that two glasses of wine weren’t necessary. All you had to do was to say something especially stupid.

  She shook her head no. ‘Oh, no. You’re all grown up, Giz. I have to assume you know what you’re doing...’

  She clearly didn’t, but well, neither did I.

  ‘Yah. Well, it doesn’t matter at the moment, anyway. Now tell me, how’d you find out about Cambridge?’

  ‘Fay Deerridge is my first cousin but we're more like sisters...’ she said watching me.

  Fay Deerridge... Fay... Ah, one of the ‘lads’ I met Saturday night when I went along with Moss to his college for that beer or two. ‘She’s one of Darneby’s students, right?’

  Ali nodded. ‘Fay and I are very close and knowing that Beri came out of Oxford, she was curious to learn what I knew of her, especially since she was offered a Darneby Fellowship more or less out of hand. Fay also mentioned one Hugh Gallagher, a physics undergrad, also of Oxford, had accompanied her. Try as I might, I could come up with only one physics student named Hugh Gallagher. And as Sherlock Holmes pointed out, when you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains however improbable, must be the truth... Improbable rather than impossible only because you’d been seen kissing her on the Broad...’

  ‘Good morning Miss Charters,’ said Foggy Phelps approaching us. “Giz, could you ascertain if Miss Charters is still mad at me for getting her skirt wet last term? You may recall that last spring I slipped on a spot of mud on the river bank while trying to lend a hand to Miss Charters during the process of boarding our punt and fell into the river with a splash and, I fear, inadvertently got her skirt a little wet. She was reluctant to forgive me, last term.'

  She gave him a sharp look, undiluted by the thick lenses it had to pass through.

  Seeing that look, 'Perhaps I'd best sit over here,' he added making a wide circle around Ali and sitting on my far side.

  ‘Hello Phelps. I’m not mad at you...'

  'Excellent. Still, it's not that I don't trust you, my dear, but there's a certain glint in your beautiful eyes that says 'Foggy Beware. There's a river about.'

  Ali shot him another sharp look – I can say that for certain because I heard it whizz by me – with that certain glint. 'You know perfectly well that I wasn't mad at you because you got my skirt wet when you fell into the river. I was – at the time – mad because you tried to drag me into the river with you – presumably as some sort of joke – and in doing so, knocked my slate out of my hand which ended up in the river with you. If Giz hadn’t been able to recover the data, I’d likely still be mad at you, but I’m over it now...’

  ‘You see, Giz, note her tone, note her words. Still mad. No forgiveness in her hard heart. My dear,’ this to Ali as he peered around me. ‘I keep trying to point out to you that you dropped your slate in your haste to escape getting a little wet...’

  ‘You were trying to pull me in with you, Mr Archibald Phelps!’

  ‘That’s absurd, my dear Charters. Why on earth would I even think to pull you into the river? The very idea is absurd. It's not something a gentleman would ever think of doing. As I’ve explained on several previous occasions, I was merely trying to steady myself in that instant when my dry life hung in the balance. In shaking me loose in my time of trial and, indeed, as I remember it, actually pushing me away, you sent me to my watery fate. The fact that you lost your grip on your slate and it fell into the drink was an incidental result of your haste to abandon me to the river. The whole scene is etched in my memory, I assure you,’ replied Foggy.

  The funny thing is that I think he winked at me while he was saying this. I’m getting to know Foggy a lot better now that he’s one of my flat mates and I wonder, just a little, if he really was trying to bring her along with him. He seems to have a very droll sense of humour which, given his rather nondescript character, is not at all obvious until you’re around him awhile. So I couldn’t quite rule out that he actually did intend to pull Ali along with him into the drink.

  ‘Archibald Phelps, the scene is etched in my mind as well, and I saw that very thought cross your face. And I assure you only the sight of my slate landing in the water erased the great pleasure I would have gotten watching the water and weeds close over you. A damp skirt would have been a small price to pay for that pleasure.’

  ‘If I’m found floating face down in the river today, be sure to remember this conversation Giz. And if you could somehow contrive to discover if her socks were wet, it might help see justice be done...’

  ‘I’m not wearing socks,’ Ali replied, lifting a leg and wiggling her foot.

  ‘With malice aforethought...’ muttered Foggy.

  I’d witnessed variations of this scene several times last spring and I doubt there's really any venom in it. Foggy has doggedly wooed Ali since our arrival, with no obvious effect, nor any discernible prospect of success. I think it's just a game they play. Still, I was rather glad to see and call out to some newly arrived friends and shortly afterwards, Omar, who was cheerfully greeting everyone, kissing all the girls, boyfriends present or not, and then bustling about getting our expedition under way.

  I should note in passing that O made every bit as much fuss over Ali as I did and she didn’t accuse him of being sarcastic. I guess I’m just Dr. Frankenstein’s monster...

  Ali ended up in O’s punt. Foggy, Millie Rue, whose boyfriend had gone down to London to work in the city, and my friend from my Chinese philosophy courses, William Liu Yung-ching, made up the passenger list of our punt. Wil took the pole since he was far more adept at punting than either me or (obviously) Foggy and, as he pointed out, all he needed was a cone shaped straw hat to complete the picture. We joined the convoy and proceeded slowly down the river in the shade of the overhanging trees until hunger forced us to land and picnic. Omar posted our location on our social page and other friends joined us throughout the afternoon.

>   With everyone just back from the long vacation, the gang had plenty of news to exchange and gossip to catch up on, so the afternoon fled by too quickly, cider, wine and ale flowing accompanied by a great deal of laughter. Later, the couples in the party borrowed the punts to ‘explore the river more’ while the rest of us lounged in the grass and bid the summer goodbye with talk, wine and dreaming.

  I should note that our “gang” consisted of a loose cloud of perhaps two dozen friends, friends of friends and acquaintances. By “our” I mean essentially Omar's. As I have mentioned, O’s a social creature who moves in many circles from the posh to the artsy, easily making friends and acquaintances in a wide range of social settings. Ali, Foggy and Wil are my good friends in the group, the people I hang out with outside of the group setting. While I always enjoy the company of O’s closer friends, they tend to run a bit posher than I’m comfortable with alone, so I still rarely hang out with them without O.

  As the shortening autumn day began to close in, we gathered our food baskets, bottles, and comrades and loaded them back into the punts for the journey home. I went back with Millie, Dolely and Ali. Ali wanted to pole, and I was content to let her. Millie and Dolely were rather mellow, and while I was quite moderate in my drinking, I was content to enjoy the silence and watch Ali standing in the stern, vaguely lit in the glowing gloom of the fading day, move the punt with great economy of movement and efficiency up the river.

  I’ve always felt a vague guilt whenever I examined my friendship with Alicia Blyss Charters too closely. She’s a good, unselfish and undemanding friend, pleasant, quiet company who is always ready to help with any physics questions that baffled me. However, even overlooking her choice to dress like a middle aged spinster straight out of fiction, there’s always been, a certain air about her, a vagueness and a sort of gosh-awfulness that put me on guard. I suspect she's always thinking about physics, but you never know... So, try as I might, I found myself treating her with a certain tentativeness, afraid that if I should be too nice, too friendly she might misinterpret my feelings. And well, if it ever came to anything, how could I explain to her that I had this imaginary love, Selina Beri, that I preferred to her without hurting her feelings? Not, I must hasten to add, that she ever showed anything more than friendship towards me, nor would she have any reason to – I’m no girl’s idea of a cute boy. (I can only hope Beri sees something she likes in the inner me, because there’s nothing to get excited about on the exterior.) anyway, what I'm trying to say is that as I sat watching Ali slowly pushing us along against the shadows of the overarching trees, I felt that old barrier begin to evaporate. Even if Selina Beri was in Cambridge and we’re not talking to each other, my schoolboy crush has become real enough for both Ali and me that I needn’t fear making a fool of either Ali or me with my daydream romance.

  There was only a ruddy glow in the west when we tied up at the boat station. O reminded everyone that we were holding a flat warming pot luck at our new flat the following Sunday afternoon, everyone invited. O would put up a page on The Social so people could sign up and see who was planning to come and what they were bringing.

  That was the original plan, anyway. Sunday dawned cold and rainy, and by mid-morning O was restless, so he hauled out his watson and called everyone inviting them to come on over now, bring their left overs from the picnic and we’d have the pot luck open house this week instead. And because it was cold and rainy, it seemed like just about everyone decided that it was a pretty good idea so we had an impromptu flat warming party which turned out to be quite a success, plenty of food and a room filled with friends. To be on the safe side and social side, we invited our neighbours from the building, the four girls on the first floor and the two couples on the ground floor to join us as well, and they drifted up and stayed, so everyone was happy. With the term starting the next day, we got everyone out the door by eight, and everything cleaned up by ten.

  The pot luck part worked so well that for the last several days now, we’ve been discussing the possibility of going with a pot luck every week. We’d still prepare a main course, but the additional food and drink our guests brought with them, insuring that no one would go away hungry no matter how many would show up. Realistically, everybody has lots of work, study and things to do during the term so that on most Sunday evenings, I doubt that we’d see any more guests than we would if we actually invited people. The advantage is that we’d not have to choose who to invite (and who not to) each week – they could come (or not) according to their schedule, their connivance or who else is coming. We’re going to try it this week and we’ll see how it works out...

  Well, this is getting too long, and I’ve run out of even boring things to say. And I’ve got a lot of studying to do...

  Chapter 09 – Piece Nine – Ali