Finding Grace(40)
‘You should label all your own food and obviously not use anyone else’s stuff,’ the manager recited from a printed list she held.
The others had already started joking with each other, whispering smart replies to the house manager’s comments. Lucie had quickly gathered, from what people had said while they waited for their tour, that the others didn’t know each other. But light-hearted chat seemed to come naturally to them. They were interacting and behaving like old friends from the off.
There were five boys and three girls on her landing. One of them, a short, thin girl with glasses and shoulder-length mousy hair, had smiled awkwardly at Lucie once or twice, and she’d smiled back. But that had been the extent of their communication. Lucie didn’t want to be friends with someone as shy and inadequate as herself. If possible, she wanted a new set of friends who’d show her how to start enjoying life at last.
Some hope there was of that, she thought glumly as they all trooped after the wittering house manager.
There were still a couple more days until lectures began.
Lucie found it was worryingly easy to sit in her room, draw the thin curtains and turn on the small flat-screen television. Here, she was free to hibernate, away from uncomfortable interactions with others.
The location of her room, right next to the kitchen, was both a blessing and bad fortune. When the boys, who had immediately bonded as firm friends, came home in the early hours, the first place they congregated was the kitchen.
Kebabs were upended on plates extracted noisily from the cupboards. The fridge was raided, crockery dropped, glasses clinked against a backdrop of screeching laughter and yelled conversations.
When they were finally tucked up in bed and snoozing like babies, Lucie would wake and listen, one ear pressed against the wall. Although she was sorely tempted to bang on all their doors to get her own back, she instead capitalised on the good fortune of being able to identify, through the wall, whether anybody was in the kitchen before she ventured in there.
When she was satisfied the coast was clear, she’d dash in and quickly prepare some breakfast. But not before she’d cleared at least some of the detritus left over from the boys’ midnight feast.
She scraped coagulated kebab meat into the bin and often had to wash up a plate and cup for herself before she could begin to prepare her own meal.
One morning, the house manager stuck her head around the door.
‘Everything OK here?’
‘Not really.’ Lucie frowned, nodding to the table, covered in empty beer cans and takeaway pizza boxes. ‘Nobody seems to be taking any notice of the rules, and it’s the second morning someone’s used nearly all my milk.’
‘Annoying, isn’t it?’ The manager rolled her eyes. ‘Boys will be boys, eh?’
‘That’s not really good enough, though, is it? The rules are there for a reason.’
The manager checked her watch. ‘I’ve got to dash now, but don’t feel it’s your job to clean up after the mucky so-and-so’s. Tell them to sort themselves out!’
Lucie was beginning to appreciate the structure she’d enjoyed at home. She’d always taken it for granted, been irritated by her dad’s love of routine at times. But now she could see first-hand the chaos that ensued when it was missing.
One of Pete’s favourite phrases came to mind: ‘Rules are there for a reason: because they work.’
It was a sobering thought for Lucie to realise, in this new oasis of freedom, that he had been right all along.
After a few days had passed surprisingly quickly, she realised she would have to force herself to leave the building.
She had exhausted all the acceptable reasons for staying in, having unpacked most of her stuff, which had arrived on time as planned. She’d texted and called her father regularly, assuring him everything was super and not mentioning any of the stark realities of university life. And most importantly, she’d now run out of food, helped to some extent by the pilfering boys she had the misfortune to share the accommodation with.
She pulled on an old grey sweatshirt over her fashionably ripped jeans and stuck her wallet in her back pocket. Before leaving, she glanced in the mirror at her pale face and took another couple of minutes to brush on a little bronzer, mascara and a slick of pale pink lip gloss.
She tied her dark blonde hair up into a messy topknot and headed outside.
The campus was busy with students walking in different directions, some with books tucked under their arm, some strolling more leisurely, talking on phones or clutching paper coffee cups.
A group of girls sauntered in front of Lucie in a line, arms hooked into each other’s as if they were inseparable friends. Was this yet another case of people playing the role of lifelong buddies in order to cement their place in the social fabric? It seemed so false and, frankly, embarrassing to her.
She slowed down her pace, not wanting to catch up with them and have to overtake their stringy, giggling line, which blocked the whole path leading to the main building. The air was fresh, bordering on chilly, and she wished she’d had the sense to put on her coat instead of just a fleece.
She’d spotted on her tour that there was a small supermarket on site, about a five-minute walk from her room, and that was where she was headed.
She passed the building where her first lecture would take place and felt the warm glow of being prepared. She already had the set texts she’d need for the first year of the course, and half a dozen large lined notepads and a set of coloured pens to boot.