I spend the rest of the day looking at the campus. I get a coffee-to-go, walk across the expansive green spaces and look around the buildings where, according to the study guide, philosophy, political science and economics are taught. It’s exciting to move among all the real students, and at one point I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice how I’m walking straight into a lecture hall with them. No one seems to take notice of me, so I carefully sit down in the last row and listen to a lecture on the work of Immanuel Kant for the next hour and a half.
It’s the best hour and a half of my life.
In the evening, applicants from all Oxford colleges will take a trip to the Turf Tavern, a legendary pub where celebrities such as Oscar Wilde, Thomas Hardy, Elizabeth Taylor, Margaret Thatcher and the cast of Harry Potter have already spent time. I arrive way too early at the meeting point mentioned on my schedule, but I’m not the only one. Some boys and girls I recognize from this morning’s common room are already standing around in small groups, as well as Jude, who greets me with his beaming smile and immediately begins to ask me about my interview. When we are complete, we start walking. The pub is about a mile and a half from St Hilda’s Campus. On the way we have to cross the Magdalen Bridge, under which the River Cherwell glistens in the orange-red light of the setting sun. Afterwards we pass a deer park, where some deer twitch their ears curiously and raise their heads when they hear us. Like most others, I reach out to stroke one of them – but they are probably not that tame. All at once turn around and run away across the meadow.
The rest of the way leads between old buildings over paths that are sometimes so narrow that only two people can walk next to each other. Gradually it gets dark. If I had been alone, I wouldn’t have dared to walk through these alleys, but Jude walks next to me and tells me about his studies, so I’m distracted. I’m literally hanging on his lips. Everything I have seen here today and what he is telling me right now makes my desire to be able to study here even greater. I’ve never wanted anything as much as Oxford in my life. Now that I’m getting a taste, it would crush me if I didn’t make it. Would I be able to cope with that? I don’t know. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have a plan B.
Suddenly the path becomes wider again. Lanterns provide light, and snippets of conversation and music reach my ears. The square, which we come to after a few more minutes, is crowded with people. Most of them look like they’re studying too, and they’re chatting and drinking beer.
With our group we meander between them until we arrive at the Turf Tavern. The building where the pub is located looks old. Dark beams run diagonally along the white plastered front. The roof is a bit crooked and in some places green and overgrown with moss. In front of the pub there are seating sets on which a few people have made themselves comfortable under a parasol. It’s so cold that I can see my misty breath in the air, so it’s understandable that most of them are wrapped in thick coats, hats, and woolen blankets.
Under the lettering of the pub hangs a string of lights with colorful light bulbs, directly below is the entrance. The door is dark green, and the paint is already peeling off in some corners. Jude stops it for me, and I enter the pub.
The atmosphere inside is almost medieval. The ceiling of the Turf Tavern is low, and the walls are made of rough-hewn, coarse stone. Small lanterns hang from them and lamps with plate-shaped shades above the tables. We are led through a narrow corridor into an area that is a little further back and away from the noisy main room.
Jude with what feels like two meters walks in front of me, so I can’t see much except his back.
But then I hear it. A laugh that I know very well.
Jude goes to one of the tables reserved for us and pulls a chair aside. The others also look for a seat one after the other, while I stand there and stare at the group that has besieged the table next to ours. Wren, Alistair, Cyril, Camille, Keshav, Lydia and … James.
James, who wished me good luck this morning and stroked my wrist.
James, who pauses with the beer just in front of his mouth when he spots me, only to turn to Cyril to his right a second later and pretend nothing happened.
I swallow hard.
I don’t know why it hits me so unprepared to see him and his clique here. After all, I knew that they had applied in Oxford and that this evening in the pub was a fixed item on the agenda for everyone who was invited to the interviews. Nevertheless, it puts a damper on my euphoria, and I have to admit that Oxford will not be the complete new beginning that I imagined so beautifully in my mind today. I’ll have to live with seeing some of them again.
Provided, of course, that I am accepted at all.
‘Ruby!’
I drive around and see Lin running towards me with his arms outstretched. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold air outside, and she has wrapped a thick gray scarf around her neck that covers half of her face. The next moment she falls around my neck, and I wrap my arms around her at least as tightly.
‘Tell me everything,’ I say excitedly after we have separated from each other.
‘Sit down,’ Jude interjects, pointing to the bench opposite him. Lin drops down on it first, and I follow her after I slip out of my coat. Somehow I manage not to take another look in James’ direction.
‘It’s cool here,’ says Lin after we have sat down and the drinks and menus are in front of us. ‘Almost as if you had traveled back in time.’
‘Yes, I think you can really tell the pub’s history,’ I agree. ‘But now tell me! Your text message was so cryptic. Did it go well?’
‘You first!’ replies Lin, and I tell her in the short version of my interview in the morning.
‘The two of them had a total poker face – I couldn’t judge at all whether they thought what I was saying was good or bad. They were probably totally confused because I had to grin so much at the first question,’ I say.
‘At least they didn’t look at you angrily. I had a lecturer with a monobrow that he wrinkled so much that I really faltered a few times. I was so glad when it was over.’ She sighs and rests her chin sullenly on one hand. ‘It really wasn’t good.’
‘But you have another interview,’ I say encouragingly, squeezing her arm briefly. ‘You can do it.’
‘I even have two. In my case, the business and philosophy interviews were not merged. You lucky one.’
‘So you’ll have two more chances to prove yourself. That’s good, believe me.’
‘In my interview, I was asked if I could pick up a ballpoint pen that had rolled under the chair,’ Jude abruptly joins our conversation.
‘What?’ asks Lin.
‘I immediately asked myself whether this was already part of the interview, and I began to question the question scientifically and structured my answer accordingly.’ He grins broadly. ‘But in the end, she really just wanted me to pick up the pen.’
Lin and I start laughing.
Then a waiter comes and takes our order. Jude tells us that it’s a must to have a beer at Turf Tavern at least once, so Lin and I both order some, in addition to a bit of finger food. While we wait for dinner, I tell Lin about my afternoon and the lecture I secretly snuck into. We also take the opportunity to ask Jude question after question about his seminars, his lecturers, his fellow students and life in Oxford.
After a while, the waiter brings our drinks. It’s the first time I’ve had a beer in front of me. The only alcohol I ever drank was the sweet stuff Wren gave me at the party. When we toast this time, I know exactly what I’m doing. It’s my decision. I drink voluntarily because it’s part of this experience. It feels grown up and exciting to do something that I have forbidden myself to do for a long time.
I put the glass on and take a first sip. I immediately grimace in disgust. ‘That tastes awful,’ I manage.
Jude and Lin laugh out loud, while I look back and forth between the two with a seriously worried look. ‘Why do you drink it voluntarily?’
‘Is this your first beer?’ asks Jude.
I nod. ‘And definitely my last.’
‘That’s what you’re saying now,’ Jude says with wiggling eyebrows, and Lin nods. ‘It’s like coffee. As a child, you think it’s absolutely disgusting, but the older you get, the better it tastes.’ She points to my mouth. ‘By the way, you have a beer beard.’
Startled, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘I’ve always liked coffee. This is … It tastes good… as if one were licking the bark of a tree.’
Lin and Jude both snort away.
‘I’d rather not know how you know what tree bark tastes like,’ jokes Jude.
I demonstratively push the beer into the middle of the table. ‘Here, help yourselves. I’m going to get a Coke.’
I slide off the bench, squeeze past two tables and walk along the narrow corridor to the bar. It is even more crowded than before, apparently the Turf Tavern is not only for students, but also a tourist attraction. It takes almost ten minutes for the bartender to take my order and finally push the Coke over the counter to me. I thank him with a smile and turn around.
At that moment I discover Lydia. She frantically makes her way through the people towards the toilet and doesn’t seem to see me. Her cheeks are pale, and I notice her hand trembling as she raises it to push a man out of the way in front of her. Confused, I watch her until she disappears behind the toilet door.
She probably drank too much. And it’s not even eight yet. Shaking my head, I go back to my table, where Jude, Lin and a few of the others we have come with are talking animatedly. I join in the conversation and sip my Coke in between. Again and again I glance over at the place where Lydia was sitting earlier, but she still hasn’t come back from the toilet. When I think about it, she really didn’t look good. Rather the opposite.
Cautiously, I watch her friends. James and Wren seem to be discussing something, while Camille almost sits on Keshav’s lap and whispers something in his ear that elicits a smile from him. Opposite the two, Alistair drinks his half-full pint in a single gulp. His gaze is bitter, his brows tightly knit. Although he answers what Wren has just asked him, he does not take his eyes off Camille and Keshav, who are flirting with each other right in front of him. I think it’s bad enough that Keshav hides the affair with Alistair from his friends, but the fact that he now also makes out with a girl in front of him makes his reputation sink to the basement and even deeper in my eyes.
None of the boys seem to notice that Lydia is not coming back. I hesitate for a moment, but then I apologize to Lin and stand up. The alcohol level has risen significantly within the last hour, you can tell from the bar visitors. Their conversations are now so loud that they almost drown out the music, and when I push past them, very few of them voluntarily give way to me. I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally make it to the other end of the room. Carefully, I enter the women’s toilet and look around. There are several small cabins. All doors except one are open.
Behind it, a soft sniffle can be heard. And after that … a loud choking.
Carefully, I knock on the door and realize that it is not locked. It opens a little bit, but I don’t dare to push it all the way open. ‘Lydia?’
‘Please leave me alone,’ she croaks.
I remember the Monday after the party, when she sat down with me during the lunch break and apologized to me. She was nice to me, just like that. Now I have the opportunity to return the favor to her. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ I ask quietly.
Instead of an answer, Lydia has to gag, then I hear an unappetizing splash. I quickly go to the sink, pluck a few wipes from the dispenser and moisten them under the tap. Then I hand it to Lydia with a soft clearing of the throat under the toilet door. ‘Here.’
The scarves disappear from my hand.
I remain in my crouching, unsure of what to do. I don’t want to leave Lydia alone in this state, but I don’t know how I could help her either.
The toilet flushes and shortly afterwards the door opens a crack. I see a small section of Lydia’s face. It’s really unfair: despite her watery eyes and the red spots on her cheeks, she still looks beautiful. I recognize so much of her brother in her face.
But thoughts of James have no place at all in this situation.
‘Shall I bring you a water or something?’
‘No, it’s all right. I just need a few more minutes to get the walls to stop spinning.’ She leans back until the wall supports her back. Then she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back.
‘Did you drink too much?’ I ask.
Lydia shakes her head almost imperceptibly. ‘I didn’t drink anything,’ she whispers.
‘Are you sick?’ I try again. ‘I’m sure there’s an emergency pharmacy somewhere here. If it doesn’t get better.’
Lydia doesn’t answer me.
‘Or…’, I continue hesitantly, ‘… is it nervousness? Are you excited about to-morrow?’
Now Lydia is looking at me again. Her facial expression is a mixture of amused and deathly sad. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m not excited. I both had my interviews today, and they went really well.’
‘That’s great,’ I say cautiously, but Lydia doesn’t look very happy about this fact. On the contrary, new tears suddenly shimmer in her eyes. ‘Why aren’t you happy?’
She shrugs her shoulders and puts a hand on her stomach. ‘It doesn’t matter how my interviews went. I’m not going to study here.’
‘Why not? Don’t you want to go to Oxford?’
Lydia swallows. ‘Yes. Actually, yes.’
‘Then what’s the problem? If the interviews went well, I’m sure you’ll make it.’
‘I don’t mean it that way. I just think I… I can’t study here.’
I don’t understand. ‘Why?’ I ask, confused.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lowers her gaze and looks at the hand on her stomach. She begins to move them slowly over the fabric of her blouse – or rather, over what is underneath: a small bulge.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Every person has one or even more bulges on their abdomen when they sit down. However, most people do not caress this bulge. And they don’t look at her with such a loving expression as is spreading on Lydia’s face right now.
It clicks, and I breathe in sharply. ‘You really didn’t drink anything,’ I whisper.
She slowly shakes her head. A tear rolls down her cheek: ‘Not for months.’
I think of the drink she first asked for from James at Cyril’s party, but then didn’t accept. And of course, I think of the day I caught her and Mr. Sutton. A lump forms in my throat.
‘Is it from—’ I don’t dare to finish the sentence, but I don’t need to. Lydia understands what I’m asking and nods briefly.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I admit.
‘Then you’re like me.’ She runs her fingers over the moist corner of her eye.
‘How far are you?’ I whisper.
Lydia gently strokes her belly. ‘In the twelfth week.’
‘Who knows about it?’ I ask.
‘Nobody.’
‘Not even James?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. And it should stay that way.’
‘Why did you tell me?’
‘Because you didn’t stop asking,’ she says immediately. Then she sighs. ‘Besides, James trusts you. And he trusts no one else.’
I press my lips tightly together, trying not to think about what that means. ‘At some point, in the not too distant future, it won’t be so easy to hide,’ I say, pointing to her belly.
‘I know.’ Her words sound so broken, so sad, that I am gripped by a wave of sympathy.
‘You can talk to me if you like. Also in the coming weeks and months. If you have no one, I mean.’
Lydia looks at me skeptically. ‘Why should I?’
Carefully I pat her arm. ‘I’m really serious, Lydia. That’s a big deal. I can understand if you don’t want to talk to anyone about it, but—’ I look at her belly. ‘You’re expecting a baby.’
She follows my gaze. ‘It’s funny to hear that. I mean, I know, but so far no one has said it out loud. That somehow made it seem a little less true.’
I understand well what she means. Once you have said things, you give them space in which they can unfold and become real.
‘Shall I take you home?’ I ask after a while.
Lydia hesitates and just looks at me silently for a few seconds. Then she nods and gives me a cautious smile – the first of the evening. I don’t know if she really trusts me, but if not, maybe that will change in the future. I know the two biggest secrets in her life, and I intend to keep them to myself. I will not deceive Lydia. On the contrary, I can imagine that she is dependent on a friend in this difficult time.
I get up and hold out my hand to help her up.
‘You know I was throwing up over the toilet bowl a few minutes ago, right?’ she asks.
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Thank you for the reminder,’ I answer, but I don’t withdraw my hand.
Smiling, Lydia strikes in.
