If there was any doubt in my mind what the date is today, it is expelled as soon as I leave my room to get breakfast. Our corridor resembles an explosion between a Del Monte factory and The Incredible Hulk. It's a dazzling sea of orange and green, so intense that it's actually making my retinas ache. To protect my remaining visual acuity from further dazzlement, I close my eyes and feel my way along the hallway towards the breakfast room, until I inadvertently stumble into a huge sticky cobweb and have to open them again before screeching.
Breakfast isn't an improvement on the corridor. The kitchen staff seem to have entered into the 'spirit' of the occasion - ha! See what I did there? - and are dishing up boiled eggs which have been painted to look like eyeballs. They have also arranged the bacon rashers in the shape of zombie hands, only they actually look more like a duck's webbed feet.
People at this college have far too much spare time, if you ask me.
I grab an apple and, after a moment's dithering, a slice of white bread so that I can queue up at the toaster, because Jonty Sullivan is there in all his manly glory, looking like an utterly delectable L'Oreal advert.
The toaster visit has been timed to perfection because I get to place my slice of bread in the machine at the same moment that Jonty does, and our pinky fingers briefly touch. He turns and smiles at me, a lopsided goofy grin, which startles my heart into performing some kind of strange interpretive dance in my chest.
I smile back and try not to appear too lovesick. Or just plain sick. Jonty is spooning some marmalade on the side of his plate and I'm suddenly desperate for some too.
"Could you pass me the marmalade when you're done with it, please?" I ask, sounding unnaturally breathless, as though I've just run a marathon or something.
"Yes, of course," he replies pleasantly in his soft, slightly husky voice. He scoops some out of the jar. "Is this enough for you? Where would you like it?"
As much as I'm tempted to reply in a sultry voice with "All over me, and once you've done that, you can lick it all off again, thankyouplease," I refrain, and indicate dumbly to the edge of my plate. He carefully dollops the marmalade as instructed, flashes me another grin, picks up his toast, and departs, leaving me momentarily beaming stupidly at the toaster.
Eventually, when the person behind me taps me on the shoulder because they'd like to toast their bread too, I vaguely come to my senses. I take my toast, marmalade and apple to an empty corner of the breakfast room and replay the scene a thousand times in my head.
It's these little moments that I absolutely live for because, really, what else have I got going on in my life?
*****
I'm still on cloud nine as I stroll into the lecture theatre for neurology, only seven minutes early, which is terrifyingly late for me. It's a testament to how buoyed I'm feeling that I'm not panicking about my lateness at all. As an extra layer of perfection to this most glorious of mornings, I'm ecstatic to note that Judith is sitting in her rightful seat again, and she has saved mine for me.
Could this day get any better?
"Morning, Sunny. Blimey, you're almost late AND in a good mood," says Judith in surprise as I grin inanely at her. I'm not sure what she's surprised about as I'm always a fecking ray of sunshine, but I suppose I've got several things to be extra cheery about today.
"I saw Jonty this morning," I announce happily, as I settle into my familiar seat. "We had a conversation by the toaster and he put some marmalade on my plate."
"I didn't think you liked marmalade," says Judith.
"I don't," I reply. "It's bitter and weird-tasting, but Jonty had the jar in his hand and I couldn't stop myself asking for some."
Judith just laughs, and shakes her head.
"Happy Halloween, girls," says Saffron, sliding into the seat next to mine and dumping her bag loudly on the table.
"Morning," we chorus in return.
"Sunny, I owe you an apology. You were right not to like him," sighs Saffron, shifting around in her seat and trying to get comfortable. "The boy is colder than a dead fish.
She doesn't need to elaborate; I know exactly who she's talking about. Obviously, she's still suffering the effects of Al's rebuff in pathology yesterday. Men generally don't turn Saffron down when she flirts like that, so I can see why she's a little surprised and hurt that he didn't even notice her.
"Actually, he's colder than a live fish too; they're poikilotherms," I reply. "At least, I think they are. I'm sure I've read it somewhere."
"Well, colder than most live fish. The moonfish is warm-blooded," interjects Leonard turning around from the row in front to join our conversation. "Hang on; who is colder than a dead-or-alive fish?"
"Al," Saffron and I say simultaneously.
"Aw, come on - the guy's not that bad!" Leonard replies, a little taken aback at how venomously we both said his name.
"Shift up, Lenbot, there's a whole empty row next to you!" Yoshi says as he descends the stairs on his way past our seats to take up his usual place next to Leonard. "Who's not that bad?"
"Al," replies Leonard, shuffling two places along to make room for Yoshi and his bag.
"Al Potter? He's actually a really nice dude," says Yoshi sincerely, removing his coat and settling down. "He's recommended some really cool books to read, and lent me his own anatomy textbook. It's loads more informative than mine."
"Ugh, does Al read course material for light-hearted entertainment too? What is wrong with you guys?"
"Shh," says Judith suddenly.
"What? Meh," I mutter, as Al walks past our row of seats with a tall blonde-haired girl by his side. I'm fairly sure it's the same girl that was occupying Judith's usual seat when I decided to fling myself down the theatre steps on the second day back. I make a point of not being remotely interested, and concentrate on rearranging my stationery instead.
Leonard gulps, his eyes like saucers. "How have I not noticed her before?"
"Who?"
"That girl, that ethereal vision of beauty who arrived with Al, and is now sitting down next to him, the lucky, lucky devil."
Saffron and I surreptitiously scan the lecture theatre to take a proper look. My gaze lands on the back of Al's head and then moves to the blonde girl on his left, who briefly turns around. I can immediately see why Leonard is drooling; the girl looks like a freaking supermodel.
"Lenny, pick up your jaw and stop staring," I scold him. "She's just a female."
Okay, she's an incredibly stunning female, but hey, she's still just a female.
"Who is she?" Leonard breathes in reverence.
"Orla," replies Yoshi calmly as he extracts an A4 pad and pen from his bag.
"Oh my God, do you know her?" Leonard is practically beside himself with excitement.
"I've met her once. She was with Al when I saw him in the University library yesterday. She seems really nice," says Yoshi as he shrugs and starts flipping through today's neurology lecture notes.
"Oh, Treacle! You MUST introduce me to her!" Leonard begs Yoshi, his eyes shining like sapphires in his babyish pink face.
"Okay," says Yoshi hesitantly, "but don't get too excited, Lenbot. I don't think she's single."
"No," replies Leonard, looking suddenly crestfallen at this news. "I don't suppose she is."
"What about India?" I ask sternly. "Don't tell me you're so fickle you've switched allegiance on the basis of appearance alone? In which case she was right to spurn your advances."
"Cupcake?" Leonard says affectionately, batting his eyelashes for maximum effect. "Of course not! She'll always be my number one. I just wish I was hers." He sighs dramatically.
Leonard's wistful sighs are cut off by the noise of the lecturer clapping at the front of the theatre.
"Right, medics, can I have your attention please? Vets, you can please yourselves for the next five to ten minutes."
There's a low level buzz of noise that greets the lecturer's words, mainly comprising of the vets complaining that they are never included in anything, and a few of us medics grimly wondering how much extra work this means we're getting this term.
"You'll be delighted to hear that we've finally taken on board some of the comments regarding the pre-clinical teaching in previous years, where we've been criticised for not including enough clinical content during this part of the course. In light of this, we've decided to shake things up a bit and include a neurology group presentation session this term, just as you would experience in your final years of study."
This time, it's an audible groan that spreads across the whole lecture theatre. When we filled out feedback forms last year and requested a more integrated course, I think we all had something more heroic in mind, such as getting involved with actual patients and injecting them with stuff. You know, like real Doctors.
The lecturer appears not to notice the collective moaning, and hands out some black and white bags to the students sitting in the front row seats.
"I'd like you all to take one tile from each bag, please. There are letters in the black bags, and numbers in the white bags. Once you've all selected a letter and number each, I'll send a register around and I want you to log your letter and number combination next to your name. This exercise will also act as a spot-check for attendance, so give yourselves a pat on the back for deciding to turn up today."
A ripple of laughter goes around.
"Some of your contemporaries might find themselves in trouble for missing this lecture. If you are feeling particularly kindly towards them, you may, of course, select a letter and number on their behalf and note it on the register by their name. I hope you're all very excited for what's ahead."
"How can we be excited when we don't know what we're supposed to be getting excited about?" I ask.
"Only Cambridge University could possibly market this as something 'exciting'," replies Judith, shaking her head.
"Ooh, the bags are nearly at our bench!" Leonard squeaks enthusiastically as Judith and I exchange an amused glance.
Leonard and Yoshi almost fight in their eagerness to be the first out of the two of them to select a letter-number combination.
"C3," says Yoshi rather breathlessly, holding up both tiles in case we don't believe him.
"Hmm. A2." Leonard inspects his tiles before turning around and passing the bags to our row.
Unlike the ruffian boys, the three of us wait for each other in a civilised manner and extract our tiles calmly without any unnecessary fuss, then Judith hands the bags to the row behind us.
"A7," says Saffron. "I'm happy; I've always liked the number seven."
"9D," says Judith. "I couldn't give a crap either way."
"B and 6." I turn the tiles over in my hand. "Means nothing to me either."
It soon transpires that we're going to have to wait until after the weekend at least to see exactly what excitement is in store for us. I would say I can hardly bear the suspense, but somehow, I don't think B6 is code for a holiday to The Bahamas, or anything else that might actually constitute an exciting occasion, so I probably can.
"Does anyone want to go for a tipple later?"
Leonard's face shines with hopeful optimism as he glances around at us, several hours later. I don't know how he has any enthusiasm left in him. We've just sat through three lectures in a row, and my brain feels like a can of mushy peas with extra mush and not so many peas.
"Sorry, Lenny, no-can-do," says Yoshi, putting his pencil case away. "I've got an orchestra rehearsal this evening."
"Well, why don't you join me for a few drinks straight after orchestra practice?"
"Are you suggesting I bring my violin out to a pub?" Yoshi shrieks, looking horrified at the idea. "It's my pride and joy!"
"You're not as much fun as you used to be, Yoshi Nakamura," says Leonard primly. "I remember the good old days when you would have been out like a shot getting drunk on life and cheap cocktails, with or without your violin."
Yoshi raises his eyebrows at Leonard. "You're perfectly aware about my aldehyde dehydrogenase deficiency and know full-well I can't drink alcohol, so that's absolute bollocks."
"Oh please, Yoshi? You could just sit in the pub with an orange juice and keep me company? I'm desperate for an evening out. I don't have any other friends," whimpers Leonard beseechingly.
Yoshi laughs apologetically. "Sorry, Lenny, I can't. And as much as I'd like to stay and reel off even more excuses, I've got a pharmacology essay to finish for tomorrow morning." He gives us all a little salute. "I'll see you reprobates on Monday. Have a good weekend."
He stands up and waits patiently for a gap before slotting in to the steady stream of students making their way up the lecture theatre steps to the exit.
"Sunny?" Leonard wheedles, looking straight at me and batting his wispy, strawberry-blonde eyelashes. "Please? I'm counting on you."
"I hate to turn you down, but it's Gabriela's birthday today," I reply, referring to one of my college friends whose room is two doors along from mine. "We're having a few drinks at John's bar this evening. Maybe some other time?"
Leonard's lower lip juts out, and his baby-blue eyes look sad and enormous. "This is terrible! Jude? Saff? Surely at least one of you doesn't have a social life either?"
"I can't make it tonight, Lenny. I've got softball practice between seven and nine pm," says Judith, packing her stuff away and putting on her coat.
"Well I'm free," says Saffron, "but if it's just you and me, Lenny, won't that be a bit weird?"
"I can always ask Al to join in?" Leonard muses. "Which obviously means I'll have to ask Orla too." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
"If you ask Al, I'm not coming," says Saffron decidedly.
"Oh come on! He's not that bad," huffs Leonard. "Give the poor guy a chance! I tell you what, Saff; Al or no Al, I'll buy ALL of your drinks for you if you'll come out with me. I just need a few beers and a night off from studying, that's all. Please?"
"Oh my God, Lenny, that's like paying for Saffron to be your escort!" Judith mutters, appalled. "Don't do it, Saff."
Saffron ignores Judith and gives Leonard an appraising look. "Leonard Vincent Denby-Parker, are you aware I can probably drink your wallet dry?"
"Is that a challenge?" Leonard's eyes are bright with amusement as he raises his hand for a high-five.
Saffron considers for a moment before she slaps his palm with hers. "You're on."
I share a glance with Judith as we get up to depart. "This could get messy," I murmur.
"I think it already has," she replies.
*****
"Sunny, you have to dress up as something."
It's just after seven o'clock on Friday evening. A barely-dressed cat, a zombie-vampire hybrid, a tinsel-haired witch, a very bloody Alice in Wonderland, and a Sunita are all sprawled across Gabriela's bed amidst torn wrapping paper, cards, and a few cushions. We're finishing off a bottle of white wine before heading downstairs to the Junior Common Room bar for tonight's Halloween party.
"I am dressed up," I argue. "I'm me. Aren't I scary enough without a costume?"
Gabriela shakes her head in mock disappointment.
"Sunny, it's my birthday, and it's not that hard to make an effort. How about going as a mad Doctor? Put your white coat on and I'll chuck a bit of fake blood onto it."
"Oh, go on, then," I sigh after a moment's pause, taken in by the simplicity of the suggestion and influenced by rather a decent amount of white wine.
In a few minutes, I'm clad in a red-splashed lab-coat. The tinsel-witch girl has taken it upon herself to scribble enormous Frankenstein-esque sutures in black eyeliner all over my face and Alice in Wonderland has drawn a meat cleaver on my back.
"See?" Gabriela says happily. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"
If I could full-name her right now, I would, but Gabriela has about fifteen names in between 'Gabriela' and 'Vasquez', and the chances of me remembering them all in the right order are zero even when sober.
Instead, I give her my best withering look. "Actually yes it is; this basque is excruciating."
In an extreme effort to turn me into a sexy mad Doctor, Gabriela has made me wear her black satin corset-y basque thing under my now very blood-spattered coat. My boobs have been forced upwards and outwards, giving me a cleavage my father would probably have a heart-attack over, and the bones from the corset are digging into my sides. I won't be able to eat or drink a thing wearing this. Or move. Or possibly breathe.
"Stop complaining and fidgeting," she chastises me. "You look seriously hot, Sunny."
"I'm actually going mad from oxygen deprivation. I'm hardly going to look sexy when I'm passed out and blue, am I?"
"Quit complaining, woman. I would kill for your figure. Just look at your cleavage! "
"I can hardly look anywhere else," I grumble. "My boobs are practically in my own face. I'm freaking dying whilst basquing in hotness."
Nobody pays any attention to my genius word-play. Honestly, it's a good job I'm a little bit drunk and don't care right now.
St John's bar is packed with students this evening, most of them decked in something to signify Halloween; white sheets, pointed black hats, and weird outfits with tails or bat-wings. Creatively-carved pumpkins line the tables, ghosts made from tablecloths hang from the ceiling, and someone has gone to the liberty of adding bunches of twigs to all the rowing blades displayed along the walls, turning them into broomsticks.
People at this college REALLY have too much time on their hands.
We make a bee-line for the bar.
"Oh my God, just no! Has someone jizzed in this?!" Zombie-vampire girl picks up her 'Too Ghoul For School' cocktail and stares at it in horror. I can see her point; there's a weird, opaque deposit floating in the glass of almost neat creme de menthe.
"It's just cream," explains the bar-girl in a tired sort of way. "It's supposed to look like a little ghost floating in your drink."
"Hey, Dr Death! What have you got?" Alice in Wonderland asks, eyeing my drink curiously.
"Resting Witch Face," I reply, turning the shot-glass of baileys and blue curaçao around in my hand. The interface between the blue and beige layers begins to curdle in the most disturbing manner. "What's yours?"
"'Lounge Wizard'. Dark rum, amaretto and coke," she says. "What are you drinking, Gabi?"
"Screaming Multiple Ectoplasm," she says with a grin, clinking her glass against mine and then Alice's.
Tinsel-witch joins us, holding up a glass of bright red liquid. "Okay, girls, down in one. Last one to finish has to buy the next round."
"Oh no!" Zombie-vampire girl moans. "You've all got shots and mine is a cocktail!"
I knock back my drink as instructed on the count of three. At first, it tastes as eclectic as it appears, but then the opposing flavours begin to complement each other in the strangest and most irresistible way.
It's funny how that happens sometimes.