Oxford, England
November 2012
It's time to lend a hand
I feel like hitting something. Or someone. Preferably with this tome of a textbook that doesn't make a lick of sense.
The only thing that makes even less sense is the assignment I'm trying and failing to do for Prof Schmitt's class. I just about scraped a pass in the first one (the silver lining being that just the third counts towards the final grade) and this second one is… not exactly looking much better. In fact, I'm absolutely sure that I have no hope whatsoever of passing this one. It's all… gibberish.
Of course, this entire situation isn't helped by the fact that my concentration is entirely shot to pieces.
When I arrived home late last night – tired, hungry, rumpled and slightly damp from an unexpected downpour that caught me while I was waiting at an uncovered train station that could absolutely provide the background for one of those World War Two movies the English love so much – Ken wasn't there. There was just Hanson leaning next to the front door, telling me that due to an early appointment in the city, Ken had gone to stay at Kensington Palace for the night and would I permit him, Hanson, to tell him, Ken, that I had arrived home safely? (I did permit it. No need to make this more difficult for poor Hanson.)
I passed a lonely, fitful night with so little sleep that when I got up this morning, I felt even more tired than when I went to bed yesterday. After two nights of too little sleep, my entire body is screaming for rest. My arms are heavy, my head is woozy and my eyes are teary from sheer tiredness. I want nothing more than to curl up somewhere, to sleep and to forget.
But there's nothing to be done. If everything else is going to pieces, the least I can do is try not to fail my course before even reaching the end of the first trimester. Which is why despite the tiredness and everything else going on in my mind, I dragged myself to the Social Sciences Library (which is so generic and un-Oxfordian that it could be anywhere), in the hope of getting some work done at least.
If only it weren't so complicated!
Sighing, I let my head drop forward into my hands. The wetness in my eyes isn't from tiredness alone anymore. I have no idea what this assignments wants me to do, nor what this book is trying to tell me.
"You ok?"
Abruptly, I drop my hands and whip my head around, to face whoever dared approach me.
It's a girl from my course. She's one of the students labelled 'teacher's pets' by Ginny. Her name is…
"I'm Lucy," she states. "And you need help."
That is so utterly true, I can't even argue with it.
"Come on. We're sitting over there." Lucy points to a table that is occupied by two young men who raise their hands when they see me looking. Turning back to my own table, I realise that Lucy is already gathering my stuff into her arms, leaving me with no option but to either go with her or make a scene.
Going with her seems much the preferable thing to do and thus, I find myself trotting after her to the table.
"These are Dev and Josh," introduces Lucy, "and we all know who you are."
I twist my mouth into a sort of nervous smile. "Hello."
"Sit down," invites the man called Dev. "I promise we don't bite. Lucy just likes to collect strays and you look like one. She's been wanting to add you to her collection for a while."
Lucy rolls her eyes at him, but nudges me towards a chair opposite the two men and I carefully sit down.
"Have you had breakfast?" she asks as she plops down in the chair next to mine.
"I… wasn't really hungry this morning." And I truly wasn't. I barely managed to swallow three spoonfuls of cereal before forcing down half a cup of coffee.
"I have chocolate," offers Dev with a winning grin.
"And you can have some of my tea. If you want to, I mean," adds the other one, Josh, smiling shyly and holding up a thermos flask.
Thus, before I even have a chance to protest, I have a cup of steaming tea placed in front of me and a chocolate bar pressed in my hand. My stomach rumbles in appreciation. (My head is wondering whether tea and chocolate are truly allowed in this library, but there's no-one there to tell us off and I am suddenly feeling hungry after all.)
"What are you working on?" asks Lucy, her hands hovering over my notes. When I nod, she pulls them towards herself and starts perusing them.
"We've just finished up this week's essay for Sociological Analysis," Dev informs me, now munching on a large piece of chocolate as well.
(Does it need mentioning that I still have to do that one as well?)
"I'm working on Prof Schmitt's second assignment," I tell him. "It's not going as well as I'd like it to."
"Don't you have someone to do it with?" asks Josh tentatively.
I shake my head. "I was going to do it with some classmates but… that fell through."
"The St. John's Harpies sold her out to the papers," interjects Lucy, still bend over my notes. "Remember?"
Both men nod, looks of sympathy crossing their faces.
"The St. John's Harpies?" I repeat in wonder.
Dev grins. "That nasty Ginny and her cronies. They're at St. John's College, so we call them the St. John's Harpies."
"That is… certainly fitting," I admit slowly. "I still don't know how I could get it so wrong with them."
"That's because you're pretty," blurts out Josh. Seconds later, upon realising what he has said, he turns an interesting shade of red and lowers his head in embarrassment. Next to him, Dev guffaws loudly.
I try to suppress a smile, lest he think I am laughing at him. "That's nice of you to say." (And it is. It's the nicest thing I've heard in a while.)
"What Josh means," chimes in Lucy, "is that you're the type to run with the popular crowd normally. I bet they never picked on you in school, so you never had to develop a radar for their nastier tendencies."
Frowning, I think her words over for a moment. "You know… you might be right there."
Lucy shrugs modestly, as if to say that she usually is. Then, sliding my notes back towards me, she tells me bluntly, "You really need help on this."
I sigh. "I know I do. I just don't get it."
Dev passes over another piece of chocolate and pats my hand in sympathy.
"You have a degree in economics, don't you?" Lucy inquires, looking thoughtful.
I plop the chocolate into my mouth before answering, "Yes. And I was somehow foolish enough to think I could keep up in a sociology course when I know next to nothing about it."
"This isn't sociology. This is statistics," points out Josh, cautiously resurfacing from his moment of embarrassment. His face is very nearly back to its normal colour.
"Even worse," I groan. Dev hands me more chocolate.
Lucy shakes her head, tapping her pen against my textbook. "It isn't. If you managed to get an economics degree, these statistics assignments shouldn't rightfully pose a problem to you."
When that just draws a confused look from me, she elaborates, "There's a lot of maths to this and a lot of logic. It doesn't even have anything to do with sociology per se. People use these statistical methods in a number of fields."
Josh nods to back her up. "It is very basic."
"Very basic," repeats Lucy.
"Think Adam and Eve," adds Dev.
I blink at them. "What do they have to do with it?"
"What Dev is saying is that they started us at the very basics of statistics," explains Lucy. "The very lowest rung of the ladder. You don't need any pre-knowledge to get this. You just need to listen and pay attention."
"I… might not have paid as much attention as I should have," I admit ruefully.
The three exchange a glance, before Dev shoves his entire chocolate stash over to me in one fluid motion, obviously having decided I need it more than he does. He might be right, too.
"We have paid attention," Josh states, his cheeks colouring once more. "We will help you."
The question is past my lips before I have a chance to hold it back. "Why?"
Lucy grabs a piece of chocolate and, chewing, considers me for a moment. "Because someone needs to."
That, too, is an unshakeable truth.
And thus, they all three team up not only to walk me through that recalcitrant assignment but to take me all the way back to the first seminar and explain all the things I should have paid attention to and didn't. They're so nice about it that I find myself wondering several times whether they're just doing that so they can sell The Daily Mail a story about my academic incompetence, but it doesn't feel that way and anyway, what would it even matter at this point?
By midday, Lucy declares us to be done, extracting a promise from me that they be allowed to go through the material of the Qualitative Methods course with me next week, now that they've roughly brought me up to date on Statistical Methods. (I'm not sure I grasp it all yet, but I must concede that Lucy was right. It's a lot of maths and logic.) With no time left for lunch, it's quite convenient that they serve us sandwiches before the weekly departmental seminar, attendance of which is regretfully mandatory.
As with all other seminars, I've sat alone in the departmental one ever since my confrontation with Ginny more than two weeks ago, so it feels very different to be entering it in the company of others. It's a good kind of different though. Josh sits on my left and makes sure I understand what the Very Distinguished Guest Speaker is on about, while Dev, on my right keeps me in a steady supply of gummy bears and amusing commentary.
When I take my leave from them afterwards, I can't help reflecting that if this is what comes out of Lucy picking up strays, I don't mind being one, just this once in my life.
My mood has been lifted to such a degree that, upon cycling home, I have, for the first time in weeks, eyes for my surroundings. For the towers and the spires, the grand buildings and the narrow streets. Even the sun is peaking through a blanket of grey clouds, as if to round out a day that began bleak and now looks more hopeful than any day in recent weeks.
At least it does until I turn into our street, take one look at the number of PPOs present and know for a fact that Ken is home.
Nodding at Butcher in passing, I unlock the front door and cautiously step inside. "Ken?" I call out tentatively.
"Meow."
I stop dead in my tracks.
"Meow."
"Georgie?" I whisper.
And yes. Sitting in the middle of the hall, looking to all the world like he belongs there, is George.
George!
Too stunned to grasp even one coherent thought, I instinctively drop to my knees and hold out my arms to him. He stalks closer, head high and tail lightly swaying from side to side. When he's within reach, I immediately gather him up into my arms and cuddle him close, pressing my face into his fur.
"Meow!" protests George and wriggles to be let go, but I keep him close for a little while longer. There's fur between my lips and fur tickling my nose and possibly even fur in my eyes (when did I start crying?), but I don't care one bit.
George!
"Meow!" insists George, bracing his front paws against my chest and trying to escape my hold. Laughing, I loosen my embrace and allow him to stand on his own four paws again. (He's never been much of a hugger.)
George is decidedly well-pleased with not being crushed anymore and immediately lets me know by climbing to stand on my folded legs and butting his head against my hand. When I comply by giving his ears a good scratch, he closes his eyes in bliss and starts purring delightedly, his entire body vibrating. I don't know whether to laugh or to cry and end up doing both.
A shadow falls over us. George ignores it, but I look up at Ken.
"You did this." It isn't a question.
"Jake and I together," he amends.
"Jakey?" I ask in wonder. My fingers slow in their ministrations for a moment and George presses his head against them, compelling me to continue.
Ken carefully lowers himself to the floor, settling himself just a step or two away from us, without once taking his eyes off me.
"Jake called me a while ago," he explains. "Told me I wasn't keeping my side of the promise. That you were lonely and unhappy. I couldn't even argue with him. You were lonely. Are." He shakes his head slightly.
Leaving George's ears be, I let my hand stroke the length of his back, causing him to angle himself so I can better reach the scratchable spot right in front of his tail. As I scratch him there, I watch Ken from beneath lowered lashes.
"I don't know how to help you make friends here – God knows my attempt last weekend backfired spectacularly – but I thought I could maybe bring a friend to you," Ken continues, looking down at the rug where his hand is absent-mindedly drawing patterns. "I asked Jake to investigate how George was doing without you. I could tell how much you were missing him. Every time you sat on a sofa, you started to stroke a blanket or a cushion without noticing it, like part of you was still expecting him to be there next to you. I… I couldn't imagine him doing much better without you."
"Everett said he was well. I asked him for regular updates," I interject quietly, even as I still try to wrap my head around what he told me about me instinctively expecting George to be there, even when he wasn't. I never noticed!
Ken looks up at me and shakes his head again. "Turns out your old neighbour just didn't want to upset you. George point-blank refused to enter his flat, instead spending half his days on the fire escape in front of your former apartment. The woman renting it now is no friend of cats and apparently tried everything to shoo him away, but he wasn't budging."
Instinctively, I close my arms around George again, my eyes filling with tears. "Sorry, Georgie," I whisper into his fur.
"Meow." George bumps his head against mine.
"Jake got Joy involved and together, they talked to that Everett fellow about bringing George to you," adds Ken. "He had no objections, so they prepared everything George needed to come here. I organised his travel. I know you didn't want to subject him to it, but I promise he got the best treatment money could buy."
(At least her involvement explains the cryptic message I got from Joy during the departmental seminar, asking me if everything had gone well.)
Mulling his words over in my head a little, I realise, "Your appointment this morning. It was to pick him up."
Ken nods. "I wanted it to be a surprise."
And what a surprise it was!
"Thank you." My voice sounds hoarse, though whether from feelings or from the fur I inhaled, I don't know. (Probably both.)
George has taken to grooming whatever part of me he can reach, purring contently as he does so. Right now, his rough tongue is licking the inside of my arm, which is the tiniest bit uncomfortable and more than a bit unhygienic, but who am I do deny this expression of fondness?
Ken is watching us but makes no attempt to scoot closer. Instead, his mouth twists into a mirthless smile and he turns his gaze away again. "It was only when I was on my way back from the airport that I realised you might not even want him here now. That it would make it all that much more complicated for you."
I need several seconds to understand what he's saying – or rather, not saying – but when I do, I extract my arm from George's grooming session and reach out to touch Ken's hand, to make him look at me.
"We fought. That doesn't mean I'm leaving." A beat. "Unless you want me to?"
"No!" The word comes without a moment of hesitation and I breathe a sigh of relief. (George wriggles around so he can now groom my other hand.)
"So we agree on that," I remark when Ken doesn't offer up anything else.
"Yes." He sighs. "I messed up. I'm sorry."
I don't contradict him. He does look very contrite and I am beginning to feel sorry for him, but there's nothing to be gained by me downplaying what happened just so he can feel better.
"If it helps any, I banned Vera and Hilda to Social Siberia. I can send Toppy with them if you want to." He hesitates for a moment. "I'd like to keep Steve around though. We go all the way back to Eton and he… he's a true friend."
Frowning, I consider him. "I never asked you to ban anyone anywhere, much less Social Siberia," I clarify. (George stretches out to sniff my hair, placing both paws against my chest.)
"I know you didn't," agrees Ken. "I decided that on my own. They were trying to belittle you and I don't want them around either of us."
Yeah. Me neither.
"Stephen was friendly," I tell him slowly, reflecting back on the weekend. "A bit clueless maybe – no, not the face, George! – but not unkind either."
George, thwarted in his attempt to take his grooming session to my face, considers me with a look of utter betrayal. Turning, he attempts to escape from my lap, but I hold him back, ignoring his wriggling. I'm not letting go of him this easily, nor this quickly!
"I'm as clueless as Steve is," Ken points out with a wry smile.
I incline my head to nod, but don't rub it in. We did the accusations yesterday and that didn't exactly lead us anywhere. Besides, there are more important things I need to know.
When I loosen my hold on George, he makes no further attempts to escape, instead accepting some more stroking. (His fur, I can't help notice, is coarser than I remember it to be.) Looking down at his content little cat face, I take a deep breath and ask Ken, "Tell me, please. Is your family against meeting me?"
I don't intend look at him, but automatically raise my head when I hear him laugh quietly in response. "I can promise you that is absolutely not the case."
That… does surprise me a little.
"I thought they might be," I admit reluctantly.
"They've been asking to meet you ever since I came back from New York," assures Ken.
I frown, now honestly confused. "Then why…?"
Ken shakes his head, thus silencing me. "Because I was being selfish." He says it frankly, with no pretence or attempt to evade me.
Absent-mindedly splaying out my fingers, I bury them into George's fur. "I don't think I understand," I admit.
"See, the thing is…" He seems to search for words for a moment. "Once I introduce you to my family they will try to absorb you. My father and Persis will, anyway. I didn't want to share you, so I kept you to myself."
Searching his face, I see no dishonesty there, but there are still too many questions not answered. "I… I still don't understand."
Ken nods, pushing his hand though his hair in apparent frustration as he tries to put his thoughts into words. "With you, I never have to be anything but myself. When I come here, I can… shed the public persona. I can never fully do that at the palace. Introducing you to my family will mean that you will become a part of that life as well and I… I tried to preserve our little parallel world for as long as possible. It wasn't fair to you and I realise that now, but it's what happened."
I take a few moments to think his words over, one hand rhythmically stroking the back of a purring George. "It wasn't fair to me," I finally state, looking up to meet Ken's gaze. "But I understand what you're saying."
He takes a deep breath. "Thank you."
"I want to meet them," I add. Not that my heart doesn't flutter nervously at the very thought, but it's time I met them and anyway, I'm many things, but not a coward.
"You will," promises Ken.
Searching his face for a moment, I see a certain apprehension there and need only a moment to understand. "But not at your birthday dinner."
Ken breaks off the eye contact, shaking his head. "I wanted you there. Truly, I did. My father initially agreed but then…"
"Your mother," I finish for him.
"Yeah," he sighs. "She is unwell. It's not an excuse. I'm not making it up. When my father says she isn't up for it I can't disrespect that, much as I want you there with me."
Sensing me tense up, George raises his head questioningly. I bend down to drop a kiss between his eyes, which he reacts to by vigorously rubbing the spot with a paw.
"I can't tell you everything about my mother," Ken continues, still not looking at me. "It isn't my story to tell."
I swallow heavily. He's been so very honest so far and now… now we're back to this.
But he isn't done talking. "I can tell you my part of the story. What it did to me, I mean. Her illness."
Sitting very still, I barely dare to breathe. Even George has stopped moving, his head now settled on his paw and he himself snuggled in my lap.
When Ken speaks again, it's so quiet I almost can't hear him. "When I was a child, away at boarding school… my greatest fear was that I'd one day come home and she wouldn't be there anymore."
In the first instance, I think he's talking about his mother leaving, about a divorce and a broken family… but then he looks up, pure anguish in his eyes, and I know that that's not what he means at all.
"She's… better now," he continues, wetting his lips nervously. "It's never been as bad again as it was then, but… we don't upset her. It's the one rule we all live by. We never, ever do anything that could possibly upset her. Do you understand that?"
His eyes are begging me for understanding and I find myself nodding slowly. "I think I do."
And I mean it.
Ken lets go of a long breath, finally reaching out to claps my hand in one of his. Raising it to his lips, he presses a kiss to my knuckles. "You will get to meet her. All of them," he promises. "And I will do better from now on."
"You brought me George," I remind with a tentative smile, looking down at the now dozing cat in my lap.
"I hope – well, Jake and I hope – that maybe you won't be as lonely with him here. I know it doesn't compensate for what happened last weekend or for what your classmates did, but…" He leaves the sentence hanging.
"But I missed him. I missed him something terrible," I finish.
"And he you," points out Ken, reaching out his free hand to touch the cat's head. George flicks an ear in irritation but keeps his eyes resolutely closed.
We both lapse into a short silence after that, me looking at George and Ken, I notice, looking at me. Finally, he offers, "I might have an idea for my birthday. I still have to make some calls, but we have almost the entire day before I have to show myself at Buck House for that dinner."
"More friends of yours?" I ask, feeling reluctance rising within me at the very thought.
Ken shakes his head. "Not friends, per se. More of a… second family. You'll understand when you meet them."
Hm… now this sounds interesting. But he looks tired by now and I instinctively know he's already told me more in the last few minutes than he has told anyone in a long while, so I don't push the matter.
Instead, I remark casually, "I might have made some potential friends of my own today. Classmates of mine. They helped me with that dratted assignment I didn't understand."
Ken's face visibly brightens at this. "That's great!"
"Uh-huh." I nod. "Of course, they could also just be out to photograph our bedroom for the Mail, given that they didn't get a shot of it last time."
"Could be," concedes Ken, but without appearing to really mean it. "I don't think so though."
"Why not?" I enquire sceptically, inclining my head to the side. "You don't even know them."
He takes a moment to answer, squeezing the hand he still has clasped in his. "I know you. You're easy to love."
That is enough to draw a smile from me. "You would say that," I chide him anyway. "You're biased."
"I am," agrees Ken with a smile of his own. "I do love you, after all." Then he leans forward to give me a kiss of the kind that is short but ever so loving.
(George, thus disturbed in his beauty sleep, mewls in protest.)
His face close to mine, Ken pushes some wayward hair behind my ear, before adding, much quieter, "Thank you for putting up with me."
My smile grows softer as I reach up to cover his hand with my own. "Anytime."
"Meow," agrees George.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'We Are the World' (written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie, released by USA for Africa in 1985).
To Guest:
Hello, hello and thank you for being in touch! :) Very happy to hear you've been following the story and even happier to know that you're enjoying it!
For my part, I truly enjoyed your review. While I was reading it, I was basically nodding along and thinking to myself that "yes, that's very true". Ken was the more obviously clueless of the two of them during that argument and he's utterly bungling this "including Rilla into his life"-thing, but that doesn't mean Rilla is entirely right or justified in her reaction. She's definitely picking a fight, she's showing her own brand of snobbery towards Ken's peers and she's not doing much for a peaceful resolution of their argument. Of course, she has the previous experience of being badly treated by Ken's friends and that influences her behaviour, but she doesn't handle this perfectly at all.
My intent was for both of them to be partly right and partly wrong during that argument, but it's always a bit trickier with a first person narrator. I don't want too go do deep into the writing details of this, but because we're spending our time in Rilla's head, she obviously presents a biased view of what's happening. That's why it's not always easy to show her failings when she doesn't actually acknowledged them (or maybe even tries to hide or misrepresent them), which is why your reading of her behaviour delights me especially. She's a flawed person (just like Ken is, for that matter) and my aim is to show her as such. Therefore, what you wrote about her truly made me glad! In fact, if you'd like to, I'd absolutely love to hear from you again :). Even if not, which is perfectly alright as well, I definitely hope you will continue to enjoy the story!
To Mammu:
So... Ken got George! You called it! ;) Does that make you feel at least a bit inclined to forgive him? Not that he hasn't earned a bit of wrath for his behaviour in the previous two chapters for being unsupportive and unfair and not very willing to see Rilla's side of the story. Like I said in the above reply, I really tried to write their argument in a way that has them both be partly right and partly wrong. However, given what Rilla has been through during that weekend, I'm more inclined to cut her some slack, even though she could also be handling this much better. You're absolutely right that she needed to say what she said for them to have any chance at resolving this and Ken didn't do a stellar job of reacting well to what she told him. I loved what you said about wondering what Ken keeps inside though, because there's obviously a lot there that he isn't sharing yet. He's being a bit more open in this chapter (and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts about it!), but there's more to this entire thing than we know yet and it affects him more than anyone realises - and I'm inclined to say he doesn't wholly realise it himself either.
As wished for, they did make up though, so that's good news, I hope ;). What do you think? Was it convincing? Can they build on that? As always, I'd love your input!
To JoAnna:
Wow, thank you! That's really lovely of you to say and very much appreciated! "Something special" is definitely high praise and I can only hope my stories will continue to live up to it ;).
Shall I tell you a secret about the nicknames beginning with T? When I named Toppy, I didn't immediately realise how similar her nickname was to that of Tatty. By the time I did notice, Toppy and her name were already to ingrained in my head to change anything, so I figured the best course would be to own it and make "ridiculous nicknames beginning with T" a thing. ;) Look out for more on the matter in the next chapter.
Great call about Jake getting involved to help resolve the current problems! Of course, he can only do so much, but he very much did get involved and to send George as an intermediary was a very good idea. (I also imagine that he told Ken a few things about Rilla being unhappy that Ken didn't share just there.) Like you, I'm inclined to lean towards Rilla's side of their argument (even though she most definitely could have reacted better s well!) and Ken definitely needed to hear what she had to say to him during their fight. Given that the actual fight is now resolved - even if not all problems have magically disappeared - I'd be very interested in hearing what you make of it!
