Nicola Rayner - The Girl Before You

Where had Alice been by this stage of the night? She must have been in bed; she’d still been recovering from glandular fever in her first year. She certainly hadn’t made the survivors’ photo. They had never bought one of their own but she’d seen them in the staircases or loos of other people’s houses when they’d all initially made the exodus to London. You didn’t see so many of them now – tasteful black-and-white photos of weddings and children had replaced student snaps.

‘I sometimes think we’re all stuck,’ George says quietly at the other end of the phone.

Alice sits down; this is unusually reflective for George. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.

‘That what happened to Dan stopped us in our tracks somehow. That we’re all still there – stuck at that time at the end of uni.’ He laughs suddenly. ‘Or maybe I’m just talking bollocks. It’s probably the hangover.’

‘No,’ says Alice. ‘I feel the same.’

She wants him to say more, for this version of her husband to stay on the phone, but then he’s making his excuses, signing off, leaving her with the dialling tone ringing in her ears, the framed photograph still in her hand.

The thing is, she thinks, looking down at the photo, the thing she’d been thinking during the call, the thought she couldn’t fight, is that the hair in the photograph is red, bright red. Maybe she is stuck, but maybe it’s to do with this feeling – which she had even back then but was too ashamed to admit – of being left out; of knowing there was something she wasn’t being told.

The next time Kat sees Ruth, she is wearing the same ridiculous Pre-Raphaelite dress again, though – Kat can’t help noticing – it is wringing wet. Ruth’s hair is wet too, plastered to her shoulders. She is not wearing a coat, so she might as well be standing in her underwear for all Kat can see, which is black under her white dress. She is standing outside the porters’ lodge looking at Kat as if waiting for her.

‘Haven’t got my fucking keys, have I?’ she says.

Her voice is soft. There is a Welsh lilt to it. She speaks as if she and Kat already know each other, as if they are in the middle of a conversation. You could see why boys might find it seductive.

‘George suggested we go swimming,’ the girl continues, though Kat hadn’t asked. ‘I think he meant skinny-dipping – thought he might see me with my kit off, but I went in fully dressed.’ She barks a short laugh. ‘And when I came out he’d disappeared.’

‘Right.’ Kat raises an eyebrow but says, in a voice that sounds like her mother’s, ‘That’s actually quite dangerous.’

‘It’s OK.’ The girl smiles quickly. ‘I’m a strong swimmer. I love being in the water – it always clears my head.’

‘Still …’ Kat lets the word hang.

‘Haven’t I seen you before?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Kat. ‘Are you a fresher?’

‘Yeah, Spanish. You?’

‘English.’ Buzzing the front door open and stepping in first, Kat holds its weight for the other girl. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ruth.’ The girl steps after her. ‘Yours?’

‘Kat,’ says Kat. ‘How are you finding it all?’

‘It’s OK.’ Ruth pauses. ‘A bit disappointing.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Kat smiles. ‘No one ever says that, do they?’

Ruth glances at the college clock tower. ‘Do you fancy a drink? I’ve got some Tia Maria.’ She starts to head towards a staircase in the far corner of the quad without waiting for a reply.

Kat finds herself following. ‘I thought first years didn’t get rooms in front quad?’

‘Wait till you see it. It’s tiny.’

Ruth hitches up her dress and starts to climb, her DMs clopping against the wooden stairs, a dripping train in her wake. They climb one flight then another. Kat starts to sweat.

‘Nearly there,’ Ruth gasps as they climb the fifth flight. ‘I start to feel the cigarettes right about now.’

They reach a cramped landing, which can barely fit both of them on it at the same time. The door to the room is small, too. Kat feels like Alice in Wonderland as she stoops. The room is, indeed, tiny with the bed high above on a raised platform, with a wooden ladder cut into it. Ruth has hung red drapes on all the walls and lit the room with fairy lights so that it feels like an enchanted cavern. There are piles of books in every corner and ashtrays balancing on the piles.

‘Come into my lair,’ grins Ruth. ‘Now, I’ve got Tia Maria or … no, actually, just Tia Maria. Will that do?’ She starts sloshing the dark liquid into mugs before Kat has a chance to reply, then flops on a beanbag on the floor, gesturing opposite her for Kat. ‘So,’ she says. ‘Who do you fancy?’

‘Just come out and ask,’ laughs Kat. ‘Don’t hold back.’ But she likes Ruth’s frankness. She takes a sip of Tia Maria and feels the heat of it spread across her chest.

‘I fancy George,’ declares Ruth.

Kat nods, lights a cigarette. ‘He’s got quite the reputation.’

‘Doesn’t he just!’ says Ruth gleefully. ‘How about you?’

Kat thinks of Richard, she thinks of the way he looked at Ruth, and she finds she doesn’t want to draw Ruth’s attention to him.

‘I’m not sure yet.’ She flicks the ash off the end of her cigarette. ‘I got burned by a guy on my gap year,’ she says instead. She glances down at her chipped nail polish. ‘There was this married man. He shagged me, of course, but he wouldn’t leave his wife.’ She laughs. ‘I’m told they never do.’

She’s found that anecdote usually shuts up other freshers. It’s a sort of test. But Ruth looks captivated.

‘Have you slept with many people?’

‘A few.’ Kat takes another sip of Tia Maria. ‘How about you?’

Ruth takes a deep breath. ‘Not one.’ She leans forwards. ‘Do you think it matters? Do you think they mind?’

Kat picks at a bit of grime on her mug. Ruth doesn’t seem to have any sort of filter. ‘God, no,’ she smiles, though in truth the confession was not quite what she was expecting from someone so theatrical. ‘They love it. Being able to show off.’

Ruth adds: ‘I was waiting …’

‘You’re Christian?’ Kat gives her a withering look and then tries to hide it.

‘No, oh God, no.’ Ruth hesitates. ‘I was waiting for my Big Love.’

‘Oh,’ says Kat. It’s not what she was expecting. ‘Your Big Love?’ she repeats. ‘I like that. Me too – I mean, it’s too late to save myself, but I’m waiting for a Big Love, too.’ Maybe she’s found that in Richard. She smiles. ‘You look like Ophelia.’

‘I’m not as mad,’ Ruth grins. ‘Not yet. But if I stay in this bloody freezing dress for much longer, I will be.’

She gets to her feet and starts to pull the dress over her head. Kat, who grew up as an only child in a non-naked house, isn’t used to this sort of stripping. In front of guys, sure, but not like this: staggering around the room with your DMs on. She gets up to help.

‘Are you stuck?’

The dress is made of heavy cheesecloth and it takes an effort to get it off. When it finally gives, Ruth pops out from it like a cork. She flings the offending item down on the floor. Without the armour of clothes, she looks thin and very pale in her black bra and pants.