Impossible to Forget(15)

Well, that wasn’t good enough for Maggie. He was either interested in her or he wasn’t. There were no half measures.

‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘I don’t fancy it.’

This was a lie, but she looked Tiger straight in the eye as she delivered it. She saw the tiniest twist of his mouth, the raise of an eyebrow, but then he set off up the corridor, catching up with Angie in three steps.

‘Sleep tight then, Maggie,’ he called out over his shoulder without turning round. ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

Angie slipped her arm through his as they walked, relaxed, unselfconscious. ‘God, do you remember those bed bugs in Goa . . .’ she began, and then they pushed through the double doors and were gone.

Maggie let herself back into her room, fighting her feelings of disappointment. She’d made the right decision, she told herself. In fact, she had probably just had a narrow escape, not allowing herself to be seduced by a bloke who was basically a dick. Tiger would definitely turn out to be a player. He certainly looked like one. It was a wise move on her part not to get involved. She would save herself some heartache later on.

But as she tucked herself up into her narrow bed and flicked off the light, she thought about his expression when she had turned him down. She was sure she’d seen a trace of regret in his eyes.





9


Maggie hadn’t given much thought to who she might move in with for the second year, but when she overheard some other first years discussing it in the refectory, she realised that she needed to. The idea had popped into her head earlier in the term but then she had got so caught up with her course and thoughts of the coming exams that it had drifted out again. Actually, if she was being completely honest, this wasn’t true. She had pushed the idea out of her mind because it was a problem that she wasn’t entirely sure how to solve.

As the year had worn on, not much had changed with her social life. Whilst Maggie had got to know people on her course a little better, there was no one amongst them that she would feel comfortable approaching about accommodation for the following year. In fact, she thought that she might have missed the boat in any event. Going by the overheard conversation, it appeared that people had already split into groups and were searching for houses accordingly. She would have to live with someone, though. That much was obvious, as she couldn’t afford to rent a place on her own.

Then her mother had raised the subject.

They generally spoke on a Sunday morning after ‘The Archers’ omnibus, her mother ringing the public pay phone in the corridor. Maggie would sit on the floor beneath the handset waiting for it to ring and hoping that no other call came in in the interim.

‘Have you had a productive week?’ was always her mother’s predictable opening gambit, and Maggie would confirm that she had indeed, whether it was true or not. In her carefully curated weekly reports to her mother, she made sure that she never gave any cause for concern. Her mother was likely to panic if she thought anything was not the best it could possibly be, and it was preferable to let her think that. And actually, there was no cause for concern. Maggie’s life at university was progressing as she felt it should. She was getting good marks, and all was on track for her eventual step up to the next stage of her plan.

‘I was talking to Jenny,’ her mother said next.

Maggie’s heart sank. Whenever her mother spoke to the mothers of Maggie’s friends, she always came back with some life detail or other that Maggie was either lacking or failing in.

‘She said that Louise has found a house for next year already. You haven’t told me where you’ll be living in September,’ she said, her voice slightly petulant. ‘It was terribly awkward, Jenny knowing all the details about Louise and me knowing nothing. I just had to bluster and make things up. I think I got away with it. You have got somewhere to live, I assume. And with some nice people.’

She pressed the word ‘nice’ and Maggie understood exactly what her mother meant. ‘Nice’ meant suitable, from good, solid middle-class homes, preferably where the parents still occupied the same house, and who were studying ‘proper’ subjects like her. Maggie could count on the fingers of one hand the people that she knew in York who would fit her mother’s definition and she didn’t like most of them.

‘Oh yes,’ replied Maggie instantly. ‘It’s all organised.’

‘So, tell me,’ her mother insisted. ‘I don’t want to have to be caught on the hop again.’

Well, if you stopped gossiping about me and trying to show off how well I’m doing at every turn, then you wouldn’t get into awkward situations, thought Maggie.

‘There are just one or two details still to iron out,’ she replied vaguely, ‘but as soon as I know everything, I’ll let you know. I have to go now, Mum,’ she lied. ‘There’s a huge queue for the phone. I’ll tell you more next time. Thanks for ringing.’

Maggie put the phone down and looked up and down the empty corridor. This house business needed addressing. And soon.

She retrieved her ten pence pieces from the top of the phone and went to knock on Leon’s door.

‘Come in,’ came Leon’s familiar voice.

Maggie opened the door, bracing herself for the customary chaos. Leon was at his desk, poring over textbooks that were almost as thick as her law ones. His bedding was strewn in a heap that draped across the end of the bed and on to the floor. Maggie suppressed a shudder.