‘It was a mess,’ said Sadie, eyebrows raised, and arms folded. ‘Your scene transitions were questionable at best, and your staging was … very unusual.’
The five of us, who were sitting in a row on the edge of the stage, collectively drooped.
‘But –’ she continued, holding up a finger – ‘I did not dislike it. In fact, I thought it was very creative, and definitely more interesting than if you’d come on and done a very average, abridged version of Romeo and Juliet.’
‘So …’ Rooney spoke up. ‘Was it … are we …’
‘Yes,’ said Sadie, ‘you can keep your Shakespeare Society.’
Pip and Rooney started screaming and hugging each other. Sunil put a hand to his chest and whispered, ‘Thank God,’ while Jason swung his arm round me and grinned, and I realised that I was grinning too. I was happy. I was so, so happy.
After Sadie left, Rooney was the first to hug me. She clambered over the others and just fell on top of me, pushing me down on to the stage and wrapping her arms round me, and I laughed, and she laughed, and we were both just laughing and laughing. Pip joined us next, shouting, ‘I want to be included,’ and leaping on top of us. Sunil rested his head on Rooney’s back, and then Jason wrapped his body round the four of us, and we all just stayed like that for a moment, laughing and babbling and holding each other. At the bottom of the scrum, I was basically being crushed, but it was comforting, in a weird way. The weight of all of them on top of me. Around me. With me.
We didn’t have to say it, but we all knew. We all knew what we’d found here. Or, I did, at least. I knew. I’d found it.
And this time there was no big declaration. No grand gesture.
It was just us, holding each other.
The house was on a street corner. A Victorian terraced building, but not an aesthetically pleasing one, and it had worryingly small windows. The five of us stood outside, staring up at it, nobody speaking. No one wanted to say what we were all thinking: it looked kind of shit.
A month after our play performance, me, Rooney, Pip and Jason realised that we did not have anywhere to live next year. Durham University’s college accommodation was primarily for first-year students and a few third-and fourth-year students – second-years were generally expected to find their own place to live. So most freshers had formed little groups around December and January, gone house hunting, and signed rental agreements.
Due to the drama of this year, we had totally missed the memo. And by the end of April, most of the university-arranged rental accommodation in Durham was already completely taken for the next academic year, which left us having to trawl through dodgy adverts on private landlord websites.
‘I’m sure it’s nicer on the inside,’ said Rooney, stepping forward and knocking on the door.
‘You said that about the last three,’ said Pip, arms folded.
‘And I’ll be right, eventually.’
‘Just to say,’ said Sunil, ‘maybe we should reconsider how bothered we are about having a living room.’
Although Sunil was in his third year, he’d decided at the last minute to return next year to do a master’s degree in music. He still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, which I thought was very relatable and understandable, and he said he loved being at Durham and wanted to stay for a little while longer.
But Jess was leaving at the end of the year. In fact, most of Sunil’s third-year friends were. As soon as we discovered this, we asked him to live with us, and he said yes.
The door opened and a tired student let us in, explaining that everyone was out at lectures except her so we could walk around and look in any of the rooms we wanted. We all headed into the kitchen first, which doubled up as the living room with a sofa on one side and the kitchen counters on the other. It was all very old and well used, but seemed functional and clean, which was all we needed. We were students. We couldn’t be picky.
‘It’s actually not bad,’ said Sunil.
‘See?’ said Rooney, gesturing around. ‘I told you this would be the one.’
Jason folded his arms. ‘It’s quite … small.’ The top of his head was very close to the ceiling.
‘But no black mould,’ Pip pointed out.
‘And there’s enough room to have everyone here,’ I said. By ‘everyone’， I meant the five of us, plus the others who’d been coming along to our rehearsals – well, they weren’t really rehearsals any more. It wasn’t like we had another play to prepare for this year, and we were all getting busy with exams and coursework, so we usually just met up to chat, watch movies, and get takeaway food. Every Friday night in my and Rooney’s room.