The sound of my mobile phone alarm call ejects me out of sleep. I switch it off blearily and rub my eyes, feeling a little dazed. It's 7.15 am and I've just been caught up in a really strange dream.
Surprisingly enjoyable, but weird all the same.
For some reason, I was back at my old secondary school, dressed in grey skinny jeans and and a burgundy 'University of Cambridge' hoodie rather than my school uniform. It was lunchtime and I was sitting on a low stone wall opposite the art block, surrounded by a crowd of people I didn't recognise. As I glanced around at all the unfamiliar faces, I remember feeling inexplicably sad and lonely. Then who should suddenly come along, but Al Potter.
In my high-school.
Which happens to be a girls-only school.
He wasn't wearing school uniform either, which could only be a good thing as our standard school fare of mustard and bottle-green checked tunic, dark green cardigan and mustard blouse really wouldn't have done anything for his figure or complexion. I automatically know this because it didn't do anything for anyone else's either.
Yes, before you ask; our school uniform really was that bad. I still bear the mental scars from wearing it for five long years. And I've been unable to consider dark green or mustard clothes since.
Dream Al saw me sitting on the wall and stopped. He laughed at me in a nice way, said something that I can no longer remember, enveloped me in a hug and then kissed me on the cheek. Instantly, my sadness evaporated and I recall feeling a sense of deep comfort and belonging in the embrace of his arms.
Just as I'm unexpectedly enjoying the sensation of being pressed up close to him and inhaling his intoxicating fragrance, the alarm chirps into life and Al Potter, his lovely aftershave, the school wall, and all the unfamiliar faces instantly vanish.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings and shake off the disorientation of this bizarre little sleep-story, but all through the process of getting dressed, eating breakfast and then biking into town, imaginary Al keeps replaying in my head as though on a loop. Laugh - hug - kiss - mmm, bergamot - repeat. By the time I reach the lecture theatre, my mind is in a state of turmoil with it all.
"Hey Sunny," says Judith cheerfully from her customary seat. She smiles up at me as she twiddles a blue biro between her fingers.
"Hi Jude," I reply, sliding into place next to her and dumping my bag on the table in front of me. I unbuckle it and start to root around for my pencil-case and lecture hand-outs.
At that moment, Al Potter descends the steps of the lecture theatre to occupy the seat next to Yoshi. It seems he too has fallen foul of the natural human desire for consistency and routine and has plumped for the same spot he sat in last time. Ordinarily, I'd remark upon it, but right now I cannot even look at the guy without thinking about this morning's dream and turning a spectacular shade of scarlet in response. For fuck's sake, I'm even doing it without looking at him.
Judith glances at me curiously. "What's up with you?"
"Oh, nothing," I reply, suddenly feigning interest in my notes and dropping my head so that she cannot spot me blushing.
Hell, I hope every day isn't going to be as awkward as this. Fucking stupid dream, messing up my life just as I'm starting to relax and enjoy it for once.
As the lecturer coughs into her microphone and silences the audience, my phone buzzes quietly in my pocket. I extract it and peer at the screen under the desk, curious to see who's disturbing me at this time in the morning.
The correspondence is from Mum; probably to randomly fill me in on some mundane piece of news, just like she did when Mr Anderson's shed burned down, and on the 'memorable' occasion when the local corner shop regretfully announced it would no longer be offering home-baked bread to its customers. Nevertheless, I still decide to open the messaging app and read what she's written.
"Hi darling. I hope you haven't forgotten that we're visiting you this weekend. Your Dad and I plan to arrive in Cambridge train station on Saturday at 11.15am and then we'll go back home on Sunday afternoon. Three train changes each way, can you believe? There's no direct service between Cambridge and Rotherham. I've booked us into a B&B for the night in a district called Chesterton - I think that's near your college, isn't it? See you soon, love Mum x"
Oh bollocks. I had completely forgotten that Mum and Dad were visiting Cambridge this weekend. Mum had insisted upon it last term, because they wouldn't be seeing me for almost the whole of my Christmas vacation. Why organise a journey to depart two days after your daughter finishes Michaelmas term, then? It's not like they couldn't have flown out to India at any other time; planes go there all year round. Parents, honestly.
It's Wednesday today, which gives me just under three days to clean and tidy my room, because I know Mum and Dad will expect to see it whilst touring college, and Mum will undoubtedly have some snide comment to make on its current uninhabitable state.
Although, come to think of it, if I don't tidy it soon anyway, college will probably fine me for neglecting the facilities and not conforming to rules (I distinctly remember ticking a box on the accommodation form to say I'd keep my room to a certain standard of cleanliness). Perhaps my parents' visit is a blessing in disguise.
Or not.
It's late on Saturday morning and I'm standing around on a cold, damp, overcrowded station platform, clutching an empty Costa cup that once contained a cappuccino in my gloved fingers, and waiting for my parents to arrive on the delayed service from Peterborough.
The express train in question eventually pulls slowly into the station and grinds to a halt, emitting what sounds like a lethargic sigh as it does so. Doors spring open and, like a torrent, impatient passengers cascade out of the carriages. There's a fierce jostle as the tide of exiting people crash against a barrier of travellers who are stupidly trying to board the train at the exact same time, whilst a fluorescent-coated official stands haplessly by and does nothing.
"Sunita, hi!" Mum exclaims as she breaks free from the melee and scurries forwards to greet me, her face bright with affection. "Your Dad has just gone to the bathroom."
"Hey Mum," I say, stepping into her open arms and hugging her back.
After a moment, she presses her hands on my shoulders and holds me at arms' length, surveying me from top to toe, and I can see from the change in her expression the appraisal that's about to unfurl in three, two one…
…Yep. Here it comes.
"Your cheeks look a little pinched, like you've lost weight, darling. I hope you've been eating sensible, healthy meals and haven't been relying on snacks all the time?" Mum's brow furrows as she critically examines my face and her finger traces the natural contours of my cheeks.
"Not all the time" I reply guiltily, because snacks do form a significant portion of my diet. Cooking is such a faff, and due to the inconsistency in college food quality (hello; rank cauliflower pizza, anyone?), I don't really eat much in the college refectory either. "Anyway, I don't think I've lost any weight; all my clothes still fit fine."
"That's because you wear these shapeless, hideous outfits," she sighs, looking at my padded coat, faded jeans and slouchy boots in distaste. "You look like you are made of marshmallows. You've got such a nice figure too. Too good to be buried under this…duvet." She gestures up and down with an extended hand.
"Mum, it's winter!" I squeak, offended. "Everyone dresses like this, except you, looking like a Prada advert as always." I rudely wave my hand back at Mum in her neat, tailored outfit and dark woollen overcoat. Even her carefully-wound mauve scarf is cashmere and designer.
"Sunita!" Dad suddenly appears, booming out my name in his enthusiasm. He holds his arms out for a hug and I fall against him, breathing in his familiar scent of sandalwood soap and thinking, with a pang, of home.
Mum then pushes him aside to take a lock of my hair in her fingers. She assesses it, her eyes narrowing in concern. "Your hair's looking a little dull and lacklustre, Sunita. You're definitely lacking vitamins. Perhaps you should get these unhealthy split ends trimmed off. Actually, I think it would suit you better if it was nice and short. It could really accentuate the shape of your face."
"I like it this length," I reply tersely. "And thanks for the assessment, Mum. It's lovely to see you too."
"Darling, it's just because I love you!
I roll my eyes. "Mum, please stop."
"But you need to take proper care of yourself! Your skin, your hair - everything! Otherwise, you'll hit thirty and look like an old woman!"
"Plenty of time to focus on her appearance after her studies," says Dad firmly, bringing an end to my Mum's 'how to improve your daughter' tirade, much to my relief. Which doesn't last long, as Dad soon embarks on a diatribe of his own.
"How is your course going? Have you spoken to your Professor Herrin about doing an internship?" Dad asks, referring to a world-renowned, Nobel prize-winning oncologist based in Cambridge.
Oh for heavens' sake. "Dad, I'm in second year and he's not my Professor Herrin; I don't even know him!"
"Well, get to know him, hah?"
What do you suggest, Dad? Seduce him?
I bite my tongue before replying, because if I say the word "seduce" in front of my father, he'll probably have some sort of myocardial breakdown and I'm not trained to deal with that yet.
"Internships are for clinical students, Dad. I'm still doing the preclinical course."
"You can never ask too early. Get your face seen, hah? It's all about who you know these days."
"Have you any idea how many medical students there are at this university?"
"Well, it will make success all the sweeter when you beat so many to the position, right?"
I don't bother to respond. There's no way I'm going to win this pointless argument. I shrug my shoulders and change the topic swiftly.
"Shall we find somewhere for lunch? What do you fancy - pizza, Indian restaurant, Thai, Chinese, Lebanese?"
"I think pizza would be nice," replies Mum after a moment's consideration. "It's quite early, though; why don't we take a tour of your college first? Mani, what do you think?"
Dad consults his watch and pats his stomach. "It's only 11.45, Jaan. Let us take a walk around Sunita's university and college before lunch."
I dutifully lead the way out of the train station and down the busy streets of Cambridge in the direction of the university and its colleges.
Dad marches through the university site, his posture screaming his pride as he struts around the departmental buildings. He points out various things in a loud voice to Mum, who smiles and nods politely. I know he's just revelling in his daughter studying here, but I wish he wasn't so…embarrassing. It's not like I'm the only person to have ever gained a place at Cambridge university, you know.
Hurriedly, I usher my parents away from the Downing site departments, past Pembroke college and along King's Parade, where they can blend in with other tourists and Dad's oohing will largely go unnoticed.
"Anyone ready for lunch yet?" I enquire, wanting to get this day over and done with. I love my parents, but they can be pretty draining at times too.
"Give it another hour," says Dad, staring in awe at King's College Chapel. He nods in its direction. "Is that part of your college?"
"No, it's King's College Chapel, Dad."
"Oh. Does your college have anything magnificent like that?"
"It has a Bridge of Sighs."
"Only a bridge, hah? When you could have gone to a college as grand as King's, why choose one where the only feature is a bridge?"
I side-glare at him. "It's a very famous bridge, Dad."
"I could do with a coffee," says Mum mildly, butting in. "Let's all get something to drink."
"Good idea. How about here?" I say, stopping at the first coffee-shop I spot, which is pretty in white and sage-green, and has a lovely pastel floral arrangement in the window.
"It looks very nice," Mum says approvingly, as she follows me in. Suddenly, she stops and peers suspiciously towards the rear of the cafe.
"What's up, Mum?"
"Oh. I've changed my mind. I don't like the look of this place at all," she says airily, turning around swiftly and walking straight out of the coffee-shop
Oh here we bloody go. Mum and her 'premonitions' strike again.
Ever since I can remember, my Mum has experienced weird "feelings" about places, and occasionally, she just refuses point blank to go into certain shops or restaurants. Of course I think it's a complete load of bollocks and so does Dad, but it's easier to let her have her own way than to stand arguing in a shop doorway about what exactly it is about that particular establishment she's getting so sensitive over.
As per usual, Dad and I nod and humour her, and we all dutifully troop out of the cafe, just as a waitress is heading towards us with menus in her hand. She simply stares at us in confusion as we carry on along King's Parade. I give her an apologetic little wave as we go.
Fortunately, Cambridge isn't short of coffee-shops, and we soon find one which is more in line with Mum's psychic sensitivities.
It doesn't stop her rabbiting on about rubbish, though.
"You know, I've been keeping a close eye on your horoscope lately, darling," Mum says, idly stirring her Earl Grey tea and scrutinising me with her searching gaze. I take a swift glance at Dad to see him staring stiffly ahead, and smother a smile, before looking away again to prevent myself from accidentally bursting out laughing. "Fortunate times lie ahead for Leos. Why don't you apply for the College University Challenge team? I think you could do well, especially now whilst Jupiter is retrograde in your second house. But you must let me dress you if you do appear on television."
I shudder involuntarily. "No thanks! I would rather scoop my own eyeballs out with a blunt spoon than have to shoulder Jeremy Paxman's biting sarcasm on television in front of a live audience. Anyway, zodiac gurus and their poppycock predictions have no place in the modern world."
"Darling, the stars work in mysterious ways," she says, somewhat darkly. "Don't dismiss what you don't understand."
"I'm pretty sure my fate does not lie in University Challenge."
"You have no way of knowing where it lies, but the celestial bodies do."
I shake my head and laugh condescendingly. Of course Mum knows I think it's all nonsense. I'm a scientist; a medic-in-training, for heavens' sake! I live my life mostly by logic and fact, not airy-fairy rubbish. I've never set any store by astrology (or any of the other voodoo crap that Mum seems to ardently follow). Let's face it, if there was truth in the horoscopic tripe that Mum reads, every single Leo would be having the exact same day as I am right now, wouldn't they?
Utterly impossible. How a grown woman can think this way is beyond me.
I'm sure that deep down, Dad feels the same as I do, but it is testament to his respect for Mum and their relationship, that he never, ever remarks upon the silliness of her obsessions. Right now, he's adopted a faraway expression and is keeping his eyes on his coffee, pretending to ignore his wife and daughter's bickering. I know from experience if this escalates, he'll step in authoritatively and immediately side with Mum, regardless of his personal opinions. As I silently remind myself of this fact, I retract myself from the conversation, which unfortunately lets Mum think she's got the upper hand. It rankles and I want to scowl, but I plaster a 'happy daughter' smile on instead.
It's just for a couple of days. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.
As annoying as it is at times to have parents who automatically side with each other, irrespective of whether I'm wrong or right, I also have to admire the subtle understanding that flows between them. They appear to co-operate in perfect harmony over things that matter, even if this requires a blind eye to be turned to each other's idiosyncrasies. It doesn't stop them disagreeing at times - Mum will frequently berate Dad for his choice of tie, and Dad gets incredibly impatient when Mum wants to do the shopping at a glacial pace - but by and large, they are there for each other, no matter what.
If Saffron was here now, I'd sit her down and proudly show her my parents; a shining example of how successful arranged marriages can be.
The idyllic unity they display doesn't stop them being frustrating parents, though. As much as I dearly love them both, I'll be glad when tomorrow evening arrives and I'm free to do as I please once more.