I’d been accepted at City of London, my university of choice, to study Philosophy, Politics, and Economics, or PPE, the classic slacker trio; we had a place in London, so my accommodation was sorted, and I had my living expenses paid by the trust-fund my grandparents had set-up for me, knowing just how feckless, aimless and irresponsible my parents were, so I was looking forward to a nice, long, peaceful summer that fateful year.
Freddy had eased-off on me, and he’d even stopped creeping me out; now he was just a lurking presence, no longer threatening, just ubiquitous and slightly sad.
I’d worked out a long time ago that he was hoping for a… relationship with me, and the thought disgusted me, ever since Cornelia Sykes had asked me, half in jest, half seriously, and all maliciously, if I was ‘doing it’ with my twin brother; when I replied in the revolted negative, she back-pedalled, going-on about how ‘twincest’ was common, they all did it, why should I be any different, blah, blah, blah. Feeble Freddy, the poison dwarf? Akkk! Someone pass me the bucket…
There was only one thing false about my whole response to her snide little questions; the thought of doing anything even remotely intimate with Freddy gave me a case of the crawling heebies, but, and this is a big but, there was no such feeling when I thought about Andy that way.
As long as I could remember, Andy had always been my protector, my confidante, my mentor in the field of directed violence, and the token adult in my life, even though he was only two years older than I was; he was cool, competent, capable, masculine in a way I couldn’t define but that sent shivers up and down my spine, and I loved him dearly. I’d always adored him, but, as I approached my twenties, I began feeling things for him that were definitely not appropriate, but were nevertheless impossible to ignore, nor did I want to, and that itself gave me pause for thought.
I suppose, looking at him objectively, he was never going to be Jude Law or Brad Pitt; he has a firm chin with a cleft in it that had always fascinated me when I was a little girl, piercing, ice-blue eyes, a forehead that’s going to be craggy one day, just like grandfather Grosvenor-Edgeworth, and a mop of curly black hair that always looks like he’s run his fingers through it instead of combing; he wasn’t a pretty-boy, not like Harry, or Jack, but he was quietly, ruggedly handsome, and self-assured in a way that had girls his own age constantly twittering around him (much more so than Harry, who honestly had no clue just how bloody gorgeous he was.)
What did it for me, though, was the lower 6 feet or so of him; at 250 lbs, Andy was built like the powerhouse rugby player that I always knew he’d become, with massive shoulders, a deep, square chest, and powerful, muscular legs that gave him a 100m time of 10. 5 seconds, Olympic qualifying territory for a man 100 lbs lighter than him; no wonder the British Lions had snapped him up first chance they got. The fact he was sweet, gentle, good-natured, and actually cared about me helped no-end, too.
He was away at medical school now, in his third year at Edinburgh, so his club rugby days were over, apart from the occasional collegiate tournament, but Edinburgh University Medical School were absolutely ecstatic they’d nabbed someone with Andy’s intellect, who also, and entirely coincidentally, had been capped for England a dozen times and had captained the British Lions in two Six-Nations tournaments before his 20th birthday.
The prestige of the university medical school, already one of the highest in the world, took a sharp upward curve by having an England International and captain of the Lions on the student roll. For me, though, watching my big brother lead the British and Irish Lions out against France, Australia, the peerless Springboks, and the mighty New Zealand All-Blacks was a thrill I shall never forget.
Freddy, weasel that he was, had taken a gap year too, then tried to get into City of London, but was unsuccessful; the best he could manage was Aberystwyth, which suited me; the further away he was from me, the better I liked it, and it was sweeter knowing he would be incarcerated in grim, grey Aberystwyth all the way out on the West Wales coast, a storm-lashed place of no interest whatsoever; there were so many stunningly, uinbelievably beautiful places in Wales to site a university, so why pick a place that was almost impossible to get to? Still, it would at least keep my manky brother a long, long way away from me for the next couple of years. All I had to do now was last out my last summer at home and keep Freddy and his creepy-crawly friends at bay for a few short weeks.
Events conspired against me, though; the headmaster at Shrewsbury School was leaving, and a reception and presentation, followed by a finger buffet, was being held to honour him, and as many old boys as possible were invited. Andy called to say he was going, and would I like to tag along? With the prospect of running an eyeball or two over man-candy like Harry Waterfield again, try and stop me!
There was going to be a rugby match too, a testimonial game the following day, but I’d decided I didn’t want to stay over and watch the match, so had bought a day-ticket on the train to go home to Bath after the reception.
I arranged to meet Andy at Shrewsbury station the morning of the reception, but when I arrived he texted me to say he was running late, there was a smash-up on the M6 Toll; he was stuck on the approach to the M54, and it would be another 30 minutes before he got there, so he suggested I should make my way to the school, and he’d meet me there.
The ‘rents of course were nowhere to be seen; probably off trawling for new playmates in the Comoros or somewhere equally far-flung and trendy, (but not together; that would have just cramped their style), but that was nothing new; they’d never once shown up at any of our school functions; half my friends thought I was making them up anyway…
I was just about to climb into a taxi when I heard what I’d secretly been dreading.
“Lin, Lin, Hi, wait up, Lin, it’s me!”
It was Freaky Freddy, looking even more unappetising than usual; a summer spent avoiding him hadn’t improved the way I felt about him. He was still a weedy twerp, and now he was here; a quick, heartfelt prayer for God to drop a bus on him went unanswered, so I gritted my teeth and waited for the usual leering and pathetic attempts to look up my skirt or down my blouse.
Freddy hugged me, which made my skin crawl, and, as expected, he took far too long about it; I had to literally push him off and unlatch his hands from around my waist. People passing on their way out of the station obviously thought we were boyfriend/girlfriend, smiling as they passed, but all I wanted was his clammy hands off me, and, after a struggle, I managed to get him off me. He looked pleased to see me, but that leer was still there in his smile. I didn’t like the look of it at all.
“We can share a taxi, sis!” he proclaimed, dragging me over to the cab I’d hailed; I’d rather have slathered my head in pork fat and stuck my face in the Hyena cage at the zoo, but I had no choice; he had hold of my hand and already had the door of the black cab open, literally pushing me in and tossing my shoulder-bag in after me. He had no luggage, which told me he’d been here a while; he’d probably been holed-up at the school, and the scabrous little reptile had been lurking at the station, waiting for me to show up.
I had no choice but to wait until we arrived at the school; Harry’s sister Sai Fong was waiting for me, and the two of us could give Freddy the slip, or, if it came to it, slap the snot out of him, so I relaxed. After a while, though, I noticed we weren’t anywhere near the school; we were at Claremont Bank, outside The Dingle, the park in the centre of Shrewsbury. Freddy was looking really pleased with himself, so I thought I’d wait and see what verminous little scheme he was working on now.
We jumped out of the cab and I decided that now was the time for answers.
“Okay Freddy, what the hell’s going on, and why are we here?”
He just grinned, trying to look wise, but only succeeding in looking constipated. I went along with him as he led me through the gates of the park, to the bench outside the Gate-Lodge. Once we were seated, I turned to him once again.
“I repeat, just what the hell is going on, Freddy?”
Freddy fidgeted and fumbled for a few seconds, until I lost patience.
“Freddy!”
He started at that, then relaxed.
“Er, look, Lin, it’s… it’s like this; you know I fancy you, have for ages, and I know you don’t like me all that much (no shit, really, Einstein?), but… there’s someone I like and before I y’know… make a proper move on her I just wanted to know; is there any chance we could… you know… just once, even just to know for sure…”