Page 21 of A Smart Girl's Guide to Second Chances
‘I actually think that’s the definition next to the word “innovation” in theOxford English Dictionary,’ I said. I could tell he needed me to make a joke, even if it wasn’t a great one.
‘Do you have time for one more stop?’ he asked as he checked the time on his black Swatch watch. We’d both finished eating and people were hawkishly eyeing our table. I sensed that there was more to his story, but he’d hit his capacity for vulnerability.
‘Sure,’ I said. I had nowhere I needed to be for the next two months. Normally my social battery was quick to run out, but I was as energised and alive as I’d ever been. I wanted to prolong that feeling for as long as possible.
‘Thanks.’ Without telling me where we were going, he led me out of the narrow sandwich shop and across the street.
I assumed he was taking me back to his college. The image of a bed that hadn’t yet been slept in flashed through my mind. Itdissolved as he stopped in front of the Examination Schools, a building on the High Street with an imposing stone facade.
Oxford, as a general rule, liked to come up with a weird and specific name for every part of the university. But this building had a self-explanatory name – it was the place where most of the university exams, as well as lectures, were held.
‘Is this like one of those bad dreams where a test is sprung upon you with no notice?’ I asked. ‘Because that is actually my worst nightmare.’
He smiled but still gave nothing away. Even though I was joking, my heart did begin to race as I climbed up the well-worn steps. One of the fun surprises of Oxford (not advertised on its website) was that the university held exams at the beginning of each term to make sure you’d studied over your holidays. I didn’t have any this term (due to my professors not really caring about visiting students when their actual students were preparing for their super-serious end-of-year exams) but I’d been filled with epic levels of dread the last time I’d entered this building.
I followed Alex across the mosaic-tiled lobby to a small wooden desk. There was a sign hanging above it:Submissions. Alex dumped his backpack on the floor, unzipped it and pulled out three thickly bound documents.
‘I’d like to submit my PhD,’ he said to the lady manning the desk.
‘Fill out this form,’ she said, as if he was collecting a parcel from the post office. I watched Alex fill in his name, student number and what must have been the title of his thesis. She checked his student details, took his trio of documents and then stamped the form with the date and time.
‘Congratulations,’ the lady said in the tone of someone who saw milestone moments all day, every day.
I managed to wait until we were a few metres away from the desk.
‘Did you just... hand in your doctoral thesis?’ I asked.
‘I did,’ he replied. ‘That’s what I’ve been working on around the clock for the last three years. Last night I finished it and had it printed. Hence the no-sleep thing.’
‘That’s huge, congratulations!’ I squealed. ‘Wait, I have to take a photo. This is one of those big moments. You need to record it.’
He smiled, but I saw a flicker of something pass over his face, a shadow.
Before I knew what I was doing I stepped forwards and wrapped my arms around him. I felt him tense up and then after a moment exhale. Then slowly he circled his arms around me.
We were so close that I could feel the beat of his heart. And I’d lost control of mine. I’d experienced a lot of panic attacks and this felt similar, like my body was responding to a crisis. Except the feeling wasn’t really the same at all.
Chapter 10
NOW
I stood in the corner of the Parkrun pavilion staring at the message I’d drafted to Matt.
Hey! On my way to meet you! I bumped into someone on my run. He’s just moved to Melbourne! We knew each other at Oxford. We dated actually haha! Can’t wait to see you!
No, I couldn’t send it. No one sane used that many exclamation marks. But mainly because I couldn’t announce the existence of an ex-boyfriend over a text. Not having the ex chat always seemed like I was taking the high road – very Michelle Obama. It was a massive oversight. I pressed delete.
I was overthinking it. It would be fine. We’d have one coffee together, and Matt would see that Alex and I working together on a case was nothing to worry about. There would be no hiding and no secrets.
I put my phone away.
‘Let’s go!’ I said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Alex replied, and he clicked his heels together.
‘Wow, I’m not old enough to be a ma’am,’ I said.
‘You’re about to be married. And you live in a land filled with nuclear families, wearing pale shades of linen,’ he said. I wanted to take offence, but it wasn’t a totally unfair observation. The area we were walking through, which wasn’t far from our house,was dominated by young couples who all seemed to be out and about, walking their one to two children – dressed in Purebaby or Seed – in American or Danish prams. Matt and I called them the ‘Beautiful Families’, and though it was easy to laugh off the Steiner kinders and the yummiest of mummies, Matt and I hoped that soon we would be their people.
