Hilary Term 1979
Helen rushed back to college after her afternoon tutorial had overrun. John was coming over tonight; before he could, she had so much to do to get ready. They had plans to join her friends at a formal in less than two hours—and she still needed to figure out what to wear. Head down against the blustering wind, she half-jogged through college at the highest socially acceptable speed she could muster, clutching her coat closer to her. Helen raced up the ancient stone staircase to her door, fumbling her keys in excitement. Just as she got it in the keyhole, the door opened and she half-screamed before realising it was John.
"John!"
"Hi - I take it Sully kept you late again?"
"Yes... he, err..." Helen was flustered for a second by John's presence. "How the hell did you get inside?! And get past the porters – did you climb through the window?!"
"I did! I mean, you left it cracked open-it was basically begging me to come in. Besides, it was the easiest way to get past Blythe in plodge." He gestured behind him to the sash window, now closed. "His cats again?"
Helen couldn't deny that his unexpected entry methods weren't thrilling, even if the surprise shocked her a little. She dropped her bag and stepped into John's arms. "Yeah. But he shared some wine seeing as it's nearly the end of term, so…"
John chuckled, drawing Helen into his warm, vibrating chest. As she relaxed against him, Helen felt the tension of the past eight weeks melt away, as if they'd never existed.
John spent the last few days of Hilary term with Helen, trailing her around the city as she bounced from lecture to practical to college and back. His whispered commentary in her ear during lectures drew her pointed looks from her classmates, but she didn't much care.
Early on Friday morning, she packed her room up with John 'helping.' In reality, he was being an obstacle at best and a direct hindrance at worst – by the time she'd finished packing, he must've smothered every inch of exposed skin with kisses.
With Helen's belongings shoved into John's car, they set off to Cambridge after a hasty lunch in the buttery. As the crow flies, it was less than seventy miles, but without a direct route across the country, it was at least two and a half hours' drive through the countryside. John left the soft top down to muttered curses as a hastily tied scarf tried in vain to keep Helen's hair from whipping around her face. The car raced past fields of cows and hedgerows, country cottages, and alternating through idyllic villages and the beginnings of sprawling towns. It was an unexpectedly clear, sunny day for mid-March, if a little crisp – the meagre heat from the vents barely kept their feet warm, but hardly noticed. The chill couldn't take away the glow from sun on exposed skin, or the beautiful clear sky stretching out around them.
After parking the car on Park Terrace, next to the sprawling greenery of Parkers' Piece, John spent a few moments checking the map. It was a short walk to Emmanuel College, or 'Emma,' to its students and alumni. As they walked in comfortable silence, each laden with several bags, Helen's mind wandered. How similar, she thought, these ancient British rivals were. So far, Cambridge's ambiance didn't markedly deviate from Oxford's, but it felt much smaller, more compact. They'd gone from countryside to town in a matter of minutes, whereas Oxford had a much larger sprawl. The college buildings were so similar to Oxford, yet the architecture seemed different in ways she couldn't quite put her finger on. It wasn't long before reality intruded on her daydreams. A lanky man leaning up against some iron railings called across the street. "John! You made it!"
He belined across the street to them, narrowly dodging a passing cyclist. John broke away from Helen and grasped the man in a tight embrace. "Ian! This is Helen. Helen, Ian."
"Helen! Lovely to finally meet you after hearing him worrying all Christmas vac." Ian deftly sidestepped the swat before it connected.
"Oh really? It's a pleasure to meet you too."
"Oh yes. But anyway, come on in. I'll show you both around. How was the trip up?" Ian turned and walked through the opening in the railing, past rows of locked bikes, towards the arched entrance to Emmanuel College.
"It was really good-John's car is a lot of fun."
"Even more fun to drive! How's Cambridge?"
Ian waved at the porter who nodded as they walked through the archway into Front Court, before turning left. "It's good. I've been talking to my DoS - sorry, Director of Studies, you guys call it something else - about switching Tripos from maths to foreign languages, though. I just figured that, since I haven't seen a number in months, I might as well go the whole hog and start doing an actual language. And the libraries are well stocked, the food in hall is decent-"
John snorted in amusement and clapped Ian on the back. "Of course you'd talk about the degree before the formals. Come on, brother - you need to have a bit more fun!"
Ian rolled his eyes knowingly and changed the subject away from his brother's familiar ribbing, gesturing around as he spoke. "That was Front Court that we just walked through, this is the hall where we'll have formal at half seven, and this is New Court, although it's over a hundred years old so it's hardly new anymore."
They walked along the diagonal path through New Court, through the archway, and down the dimly lit subway running under Emmanuel St. They emerged in the shadow of an enormous oak tree. Ian's running commentary continued - apparently this was North Court. Q staircase was nestled in the corner, and the plaque on the wall outside listed the occupying students, just like many colleges in Oxford.
6. Ian Rider
"The gyp and bathroom are these doors down here. Mine's at the top, I'm afraid, but the view is worth it. Let me take your bag, Helen."
"Thanks but I'll manage!"
"Here - have mine, then!" With a laugh, John chucked his bag on his younger brother and bounded up the stairs. Ian dropped it like it was a hot iron and chased after him.
"Fat chance, I'll leave it here!" A wry smile crept across Helen's face as John was forced to come back downstairs to collect his duffle. He caught up to her soon enough, and slowed so they could walk together up the twisting staircase. Each floor had a tiny paned window looking out onto the courtyard, and two doors on either side, each numbered. When they reached the third floor, Ian had already unlocked his door and left it open. Inside was a large room with two armchairs, a bookcase and a disused fireplace on one side by the window, and the other side had a single bed against the wall. A modern radiator had been added below the window, looking just as out of place as the sink in the corner. A thin mattress - if it could be called that at all - was folded up on top of one of the chairs.
"I'm not sure where you want to sleep Helen - there aren't any girls in Emma until next year. I could sleep on the floor with John if you'd like my bed?"
"I'm not forcing you out of your bed! Don't be absurd, Ian. I'm sure I'll be fine with John on the floor."
"If you're sure? I've got some extra bedding from housekeeping waiting at plodge, I'll just get that now so we don't forget it later."
"Thank you. That'll be lovely."
After they had gotten the sleeping arrangements settled and taken another trip back to the car for the remaining parts of Helen's belongings and piled it all up in the corner of Ian's room, the three of them set off to explore. Ian happily took the role of tour guide, having clearly absorbed so many facts about the city to recite back to them, including such odd titbits as Lord Byron being rumoured to have a pet bear as dogs were banned, and how the discovery of the structure of DNA was announced in the local pub, The Eagle, at lunchtime. It was here they retreated to when they were caught by a surprise shower on Kings Parade. As John went to buy the drinks, Helen and Ian found a table in a corner of the room.
"What are the signatures on the ceiling?"
"Oh, back in World War II, some servicemen graffitied the bar. Apparently there's a lot more on the walls too but it's been covered up for years."
"I wonder if they can preserve it somehow - that'd be nice." Ian hummed in agreement as he twisted to look at John at the bar, and Helen followed his gaze. John was being served now, and seemed to be jovially chatting to half the customers standing around too. "It's a wonder how he does that, just talk to people like that."
"Oh he's always been like that. Wherever he goes, everyone just likes him. When we were in school, he was about eleven, he stopped two boys fighting by making them both laugh. Oh, and he could always talk himself out of detentions too, except with Mrs Peterson, but then she never had much of a sense of humour to begin with."
"There must be plenty of stories from growing up together. Tell me, where did the lockpicking come from? He told me you both used to do that?"
Ian laughed. "Yeah, that was my fault, actually. I got caught sneaking out one night and our parents added a bolt and padlock to the back door. John had never gotten caught, but that was the only way out as all the upstairs windows didn't open wide enough. This was in the house we lived in for a year or two when I was about twelve, so John was about fifteen then. He learnt to pick the lock in the front door so he could keep going to the pub. We moved every year or two, so he kept learning to pick locks and taught me too, and then it became a bit of a competition between us."
"What's a competition? Here's your cider, Helen, and you've got your piss water." Ian rolled his eyes as John passed their pints over before sitting next to Helen.
"Picking padlocks. I've still got the collection in my room at home! I had to hide it from mum when we moved last year while you were at uni."
"Right, yes." John turned to face Helen, grinning. "We used to challenge each other to find a lock the other one couldn't pick. It's a useful skill every now and then, whenever one gets locked out of their room and doesn't want to pay college for a new key again!"
They all burst out laughing. "I remember hearing about this from someone in college - didn't you go an entire term without a key?"
"Yes, I lost it in a bet. I couldn't leave the door unlocked because someone on my staircase used that as an invitation to 'borrow' things, so I had to learn to lock it as well. Got the key back just in time to hand it in at vacation so it all worked out. That was also how I started climbing, it was much faster to just go through the window than faff about with the picks." Helen couldn't control the laughter through his entire explanation. She could just imagine Blythe's face if he had ever found out…
By the time they'd finished their pints, they had to race against the clock to get back to college and get ready for formal hall. Helen dashed off to the bathroom to change while the brothers used Ian's room.
"So, what do you think?" John asked as they were getting changed.
"Huh? Oh, about Helen?"
"No, the weather." That got him a pair of jeans lobbed at his face. John snatched them out of the air and returned them just as quickly. Ian wasn't nearly as deft, but just about managed to dodge them.
"You're both madly in love, and a good fit together. She's smart, funny, cares about you - and I've never seen you like this before, none of the other girls ever caught your interest like she has."
John shrugged. Although he'd brought up the subject, he was a little uncomfortable now. He pulled on his trousers, lost in his thoughts.
"When are you going to introduce her to Mum and Father?"
"In the summer, probably when I graduate from Sandhurst. I was so disappointed that they couldn't come to my last graduation. I hope Father can get the day off this time."
Ian's turn to shrug. They both knew their father put his work above everything else. It's why they'd moved every few years. Although their family had been in the military for several generations, he was the first officer and took it very seriously. "He probably cares more about Sandhurst than Oxford, so he might do."
Now dressed, John ducked to fix his hair in the mirror above the sink. "Helen didn't understand why Mum couldn't come down on the train on her own."
"Helen's pretty independent, that's why. Mum never was, even before the IRA bombed that coach."
John frowned. He remembered hearing that on the news a few years ago, but it had come up in his training a few weeks ago. The IRA had bombed a coach carrying off-duty soldiers and their families. His mum had refused to go anywhere off-base unless their father ever since.
A knock on the door broke him out of the memories. "John, Ian-are you decent?"
Ian was closest, so he pulled the door open to reveal Helen, in a floor-length blue dress that just hugged her in the right way. John stared for a second, before regaining his faculties. "Wow, Helen. You look-"
Words failed John momentarily, as he struggled to find something to capture the warm feeling in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach. Helen stepped into the room, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself-"
"If you two can stop having sex with your eyes, can we go to dinner? I'm famished." Ian dived through the door before the random book John had grabbed could hit him. Helen turned to follow him but John strode forward and grabbed her wrist before she could leave, tugging her towards him.
"I mean it. You're going to be the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, and I'm the luckiest man."
"It's not too much is it?
"No. It's perfect. Let's go catch up before he comes back and finds us in the middle of something, though."
"John! We can't do that in here!"
The punt retraced its journey at the end of the tour, heading back to where they boarded on the edge of Jesus Green. As they neared the bank a series of loud barks rang out, overlaid by furious shouts of "No! Sit! Bad dog!"
They all turned to watch as a cat scrambled into view – barely more than a kitten, really – on the top of one of the docked punts on the edge of the river, with a bottle-brush tail and its black fur all fluffed up from fear. A big shaggy grey dog – Helen guessed an Irish Wolfhound, it looked exactly like a dog one of her parents friend's had – was barking furiously from the bank, snarling and rearing up onto its hind legs as his owner tried to pull him back by the collar and lead. One of the tour guides was trying to coax the kitten over to the neighbouring punt but it seemed too scared of the dog to budge.
It all happened in an instant. The owner yanked backwards, the dog twisted – and the collar snapped, releasing sixty kilograms of rage to leap onto the chained up punts. The kitten had nowhere to go, except backward, and tumbled into the river – and not a moment too late, with jaws snapping where it had been a second later. The disappearance of its quarry confused the dog and he hesitated, staring at the water.
The kitten resurfaced after a few seconds, already being swept up by the current. Helen gasped. Not only was this section of the river built up to withstand flooding in the centre of the city, with steep man-made sides impossible for a small animal to climb out unaided, but another hundred metres downriver was a lock – and the overflow channel was the width of two thirds of the river. And the kitten was being swept straight for it.
John didn't hesitate. He slipped his jacket off while toeing off his shoes, then stood and launched himself off the punt, making it rock from side to side and gaining shouts from the tour guide and the other occupants.
He didn't care. The river was high after recent rains and the current was fast – a kitten didn't stand much chance in the turbulent water at the bottom of the overflow. John swam with the current, using it to catch up to the kitten, grabbing its scruff with one hand. Helen gasped again as John got ever closer to the edge – he seemed to be struggling now, with one arm busy holding the writhing kitten aloft, who was hadn't realised it was being rescued and was sinking its teeth and claws into John's arm.
Her punt bumped the bank, distracting her for a few seconds as she scrambled off. When she looked again, John was clutching onto the concrete between the lock and the overflow with his free hand. Helen sprinted along the bank and hopped across the lock doors. John was still holding on. When she reached him, he thrust the ball of fury at her and hauled himself out of the river. A cheer broke out from the small crowd of tourists and students who had been watching John's antics.
Helen kept a secure grip on the now-shivering kitten, who seemed to have finally started calming down from its ordeal, as they crossed the locks back to the riverside. A few people wandered up to congratulate him before the onlookers dispersed again, leaving John and Helen looking at each other for a moment before they burst out laughing.
"I can't believe you just jumped in!"
"Just all in a days work, serving Queen and Country… and cats."