Honey(21)

“Sure.” She takes the wine.

“Why do you think I took Soc 12?”[*]

“To look impressive.”

“No, to impress you.”

Now she really laughs.

“I know, it was stupid.” He laughs too, taking the wine back.

An unmoored punt floats down the river and a heron—in black outline—lands.

“If you liked me, why didn’t you just say?” Yrsa notices that their shoulders are touching.

“I dunno, you’re kind of scary. And I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?”

“You never replied to my text after we slept together.” He says it quietly.

“I think I did.” It’s more likely she didn’t.

“No.”

“Shall I reply now?” She says it as a joke, going to take out her phone. “Shit, where’s my—” She remembers it’s on the kitchen counter.

“Look it’s fine, whatever. It was Freshers.”

They sit in silence for a moment, his confession flailing between them.

“I always thought you said some pretty stupid things in Soc 12,” Yrsa says, to break the mood.

“Fuck off.” He smiles. “I actually got my highest score on that paper.”

“A 2:2?”

“A First.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Yrsa feels the wind catch her. She thinks back to Hugh in the lectures, always with a point to say and not often a constructive one. “How did you get a First?”

“Don’t look so shocked.” He swigs the wine. “It’s colonialism, not rocket science. Besides, you learn pretty quickly how they want you to answer the questions, the arguments they expect.”

“So you didn’t agree with any of it?”

“No.” He’s smiling. “I didn’t say that. I agreed with a lot of it.”

“But?”

“No buts, I agreed with a lot of it. Learned a lot.” He looks at her plainly, innocently.

“What did you do your coursework on then?” She’s starting to recalibrate her mental image of Hugh White.

“Twelve Years a Slave and sadism.”

The calibration stops. “Come on, you didn’t.”

“I did and I got a 78 on it.” He slaps her leg, leaves his hand there. “I argued that the violence of race and colonialism isn’t something special only to white people; violence, sadism, is inherent to humans. People are just looking for an excuse.”

Yrsa takes the bottle back.

“Don’t be annoyed ’cause you misjudged.” He bumps her, shoulder to shoulder.

“Hugh.” She puts her hand onto the stone.

“You are scared.” And he puts his arm around her.

She lets him keep it there. “I think your essay sounds kind of stupid.”

He laughs, taking the bottle back, drinks.

Looking at him, she says more softly, “It was first week of uni, you know. Who replies to anyone’s texts?”

“Yeah, a lot of stupid shit went down then.” He goes to drink then stops. “Fuck, I’m kind of drunk.”

“You know Yasmin fancied you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“But I told her you’re a Tory.”

“She was cute.”

“Do you like her or me?” Yrsa asks.

“You getting jealous?” He bumps her again. And again she’s quick to steady herself.

“So, if you fancied me all this time, did you lie awake at night thinking about me?” Yrsa presumes that, when it comes to her, a number of men do this.

“I definitely thought about things.” His arm is still around her. His biceps against her back. He’s bigger now than when they first slept together.

Voices carry, students walking below.

“You don’t reckon they can see us?” she asks, thinking about Hugh thinking about her.

“I don’t think so. I like coming up here to spy on people, though.”

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen?”

“A kid, covered in feathers and like, glitter, running into the Cam butt naked.”

“What?”

“Drinking soc.” He nods, passing her the bottle.

“Did you hear about the ones this year?” she asks, drinking.

“Yeah, poor guy. At least the rugby ones never involved fire.”

“What did they involve?”

“I mean…” His eyes trail off to the trees.

“Tell me.” She smiles. She’s close to kissing him.

“I don’t remember it being that bad. Some of the guys had this point-scoring thing going on, but—”

“Point scoring?”

“Yeah, like around women or something.”

Yrsa sits straighter. “What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of a bit—” He takes his arm back, running his hand through his hair. “It was like, different women gained you different points if you slept with them. It was dumb.”

“What do you mean?”

“Things like, if she was an E-cup—five points. Had a double-barreled surname—three points. But some were fucked ’cause it was like, if she’s in a relationship—eighteen points.”