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  Things she said and did struck me as increasingly peculiar. Her relationship with the professor, for example.

  Marina’s schtick with the professor struck me as odd in a different way to Henry’s. Theirs was a power game played without any clear rules or intentions. Why had he offered her a scholarship in the first place? Why had he been toying with her? And why had she been so insistent on studying his subject if she hated him so much anyway? Marina was always irritated when I tried to bring this up, brushing off the issue as tedious.

  ‘It’s not something that we have to talk about,’ she said once. ‘I just hate Montgomery, it’s not interesting.’

  But the fact that she disliked him so much was exactly what was interesting to me. It didn’t make sense as to why she was following him around. She hated him – and yet she was making a huge fuss about transferring back to do his course. She’d insisted that we skipped everything except for his seminars. What point had she been trying to prove?

  ‘I wasn’t necessarily trying to prove a point,’ Marina would say. ‘It’s just unacceptable that students should be treated like that.’

  This would stimulate another rant about the structure of university – how the institution was a nepotistic hotbed, etc – and I would tune out, silently reminding myself not to bring it up again. Marina’s complaints about university now came across as spoilt, boring and repetitive. It struck me as embarrassingly lacking in self-awareness to complain about nepotism when she was fighting so hard to maintain a scholarship that her dad had (probably) orchestrated for her. And she didn’t deserve the scholarship anyway – she was so careless with money, so careless about work, so careless about everything.

  ‘Look, it’s a long story, you wouldn’t understand.’

  Then there was the issue of exclusivity. As time wore on, and her excuses became increasingly evasive, I began to suspect that there was another reason that Marina was avoiding this subject with me. It was like she didn’t want to talk about the professor to me because my knowledge would somehow encroach on her home life. This struck me as a class thing – like I couldn’t be trusted with any insider knowledge because I hadn’t grown up riding ponies and quaffing Veuve Cliquot in the Home Counties. Because I took things seriously, like work and money, and so did my family.

  Sure, Marina’s father was a lecturer, but he had a pot of inheritance money which allowed him to make cushy investments. From Marina’s anecdotes it seemed like he hardly did anything at all, excepting a few token lectures. Marina, Henry and the professor had their own community – of leisurely jobs and moneyed ‘mind-improvement’ – and this was not a community to which I was invited. They enjoyed their private political machinations exactly because they were private.

  I resented them for it.

  iv.

  One day, towards the end of November, I was sat in the library working on an essay. There was a deadline at the end of term. I was in the middle of trying to think of a convincing argument – actually, any argument – when I heard Marina speaking.

  ‘Eva.’

  I ignored her.

  ‘Eva,’ she repeated, tapping on the desk. ‘I need your help with something.’

  I looked up at her warily. There was that familiar expression: half mischievous; half angry.

  ‘What is it?’ I said. The words came out dull and flat, ruder than I’d intended.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’ll just cut to it, because I’m not sure if we have much time.’

  She told me, with exactly the level of bluntness that had been promised, that she wanted to break into the professor’s office. He was out meeting Henry at a coffee shop, and she knew that he’d left it unlocked. Wouldn’t it be funny to just go in there for a bit? Wouldn’t it be funny to steal his copy of Doctor Faustus?

  I was unconvinced by the idea that it would be funny at all. I couldn’t even understand where the plan had come from. And I couldn’t understand why – after the whole debacle with her course had been resolved – Marina was still intent on upsetting Montgomery. I opened my mouth and was about to say exactly this, when I caught sight of Marina’s expression. She looked very sad, needy – almost like she was trying to tell me something. I closed my mouth.

  ‘On second thoughts,’ she said, ‘it actually doesn’t matter if you want to come or not. I’m going on my own whatever happens.’

  ‘Er … OK.’

  She made a series of short, frustrated hand gestures to indicate she disapproved of this reaction.

  ‘It’s just such an effort trying to get you to have fun,’ she fumed. ‘This is what first year should be about, Eva – taking risks. That is what you’ll remember in years to come. Not slaving away on an essay which doesn’t have a conclusion. It won’t even contribute to your final grade.’

  There was nothing much I could say to defend myself there.

  ‘Well sure,’ I conceded. ‘It’s not like we’re going to get jobs when we graduate.’

  ‘Exactly. Your degree won’t count for anything in the long or short-term. The only thing you’re paying for – that’s thirty grand by the way – is access to experiences. You’re entitled to have as pointlessly good a time as possible here. And this heist – it will be anecdotal gold.’

  There was truth in what she was saying – and even if her plan was insane, I was flattered by the attention that she was giving to me. I liked listening to her spell out her arguments. I liked watching her having to persuade me. I scrunched my nose, feigning disapproval, then slowly I put my book down.

  ‘Well … maybe,’ I said.

  Marina lit up. She snatched the corner of my notebook then, jolting my hand, so that the pen I was holding skidded and drew a thick black line across the page.

  ‘Not maybe,’ she said. ‘Definitely. I’ll help you pack up your stuff.’

  Once I was packed up, we walked quickly out of the library, out down the stairs and out into the rain. Marina ran a few yards ahead of me, her coat flapping behind her, her hair sprawling out at all angles, and I ran to catch up, pulling the shoulders of my jacket over my head like a hood. We ran across the campus, past the crowds of people, past the umbrellas. I felt the sheets of rain lashing across my face, the puddles splishing under my shoes. It was exciting, an adventure.

  We entered a lecture building through an automatic glass door and, conscious of attracting attention, slowed our pace as we approached his study. Then we stood there for a moment, partly obscured by a little nook: a dipped-in hexagonal section of the wall, in which were hung a series of noticeboards. I looked uncertainly at Marina.

  She was thumbing her chin with one hand, gesturing to the door with the other.

  ‘Ah well – ah, here we are,’ she said, in a perfect impression of the professor. ‘Here we go then.’

  We shook off our coats and folded them, still damp, under our arms. I saw that our rainsoaked feet had left small trails along the floor. Without saying anything, I grabbed Marina by the arm and gestured to them quickly – a panicked flick of the hand.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she murmured, laughing. ‘Just wipe your feet here.’

  She swatted to a piece of rough carpet. I did as she said. Then – without giving me a second to prepare myself – Marina leaned forward, lifted her little hand into a fist and knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer.

  We waited for a second: two, three. She knocked again, harder – still nothing. We waited for a few more seconds, allowing a crowd to pass, then Marina jumped forward, forcefully twisted the knob and pulled us both inside.

  My feet tripped a little over each other. The door clicked shut behind us.

  The professor’s office was empty. The lights were off. The armchair sat slumped in front of the window, the high back casting a shadow over one corner of his desk. I could see that he wasn’t in there, but in this semi-darkness – the main light off, the rain drilling against the window – everything seemed too quiet. I couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t there. Each of our footsteps clacked l
oudly on the floor.

  I immediately regretted my decision to come with her. What point was there to it anyway? Why steal a book, why steal anything? I thought about turning around to leave. But turning to Marina, I saw she was – of course – still smiling and I didn’t want to leave without her. Her pupils were very wide.

  ‘Get the book,’ she whispered, nudging me sideways. ‘It’s on the shelf.’

  There was an edginess in her manner. Something which made me think twice about doing what she said.

  ‘But why?’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean why?’

  ‘I just …’ I thought it was childish.

  ‘Can’t you imagine next time we have a seminar and he can’t dig it out? It will be funny. You do that and I’ll get on his computer.’

  She registered my expression and rolled her eyes. Why were her pupils so wide?

  ‘What’s wrong with you today?’ she said. ‘This is just to fuck with him. Come on, he’s not due back for at least another half hour.’

  Marina went over to his computer and began to tap into his keyboard. It was a loud tapping, obnoxiously loud, so loud that I felt sure you would be able to hear it from outside. My heart beat wildly in my chest.

  ‘Come on Eve.’

  I crept over to the bookshelves, stood there awkwardly. I looked over the dusty tomes, scanning each title for Doctor Faustus. Every time I heard footsteps outside going past, I’d flinch with fear.

  Marina, on the other hand, was unconcerned. She stood behind the computer with square shoulders and a confident, determined posture. Like a warrior going into battle. Every time I turned around to get some reassurance she would be staring straight ahead, ignoring me. Her eyes were transfixed.

  ‘Marina,’ I whispered. She did not respond.

  This was not, I decided, at all fun.

  I turned my eyes back towards the bookshelf, studied each of the spines and it was then – there! – that I saw it. Well thumbed, a fraying cover, Post-its sticking out at all angles. I snatched it off the shelf, pinching the pages between my fingertips, and waved it towards her.

  She was still looking at the screen but she now looked perturbed.

  ‘Marina,’ I said sharply.

  She looked up, saw what I was holding, and smiled. But it was a tight smile, like she was thinking about something else. Then she opened her mouth – as though preparing to say something – and quickly shut it again. Her eyes flicked to the door.

  There were sounds coming from outside: shuffling footsteps and two low distinctive voices. I could tell who they belonged to, even if the words were muffled. One voice, with its careful drawl, a long slow syllable petering out at the end of each sentence, was Henry. And the other, slightly higher, more nervous, more peppy … the other was the professor. And he was getting closer.

  Marina and I stared at each other, our eyes wide and frozen. The doorknob rattled. There was the sound of someone putting a key in a lock. The doorknob twisted again and stuttered. I could still hear the professor’s voice – louder now, more distinctive.

  ‘Oh,’ I heard him say. ‘Hold on, sorry, Henry, I must have forgotten to … lock this bloody thing …’

  My brain said: MOVE – I put the book down and made my way towards a store cupboard. I tried to pull it open, I tried again, but no – it was locked. In my periphery I saw a shape – Marina – slip effortlessly into a cupboard closer to the window.

  The voice was louder now: ‘Right, yes. Thanks very much, I’ll see you on Thursday. Take care.’

  I heard the lock slowly twisting in the other direction. Then it stopped. There was a sigh and I heard him taking the keys out again.

  Light on my feet, I ran to another cupboard and tried it and – yes! This time it flew open. I felt dizzy with relief. Ducking my head down, I crouched inside and pulled the door shut with a careful click, just as the office door creaked open.

  The sound of footsteps first. Then a long, wide shadow spread into the room.

  Through the slats of the cupboard I had quite a clear view of the professor. His silhouette was wide and imposing. I had to stifle a giggle as it passed over the doorway. It slid over the carpet. It slid over my face inside the cupboard and hovered there. I blinked nervously, focusing on the professor’s figure, watching him bend in front of his desk.

  He stood for a long time in front of his computer. His face was lit up by the light of the screen: concerned expression, a lip curling. He looked up and around, slowly, at the objects in the room. Eventually his gaze settled on his desk – on the book. I recognized the copy of Doctor Faustus and felt a chill down my neck as his hand moved towards it. He ran his finger along the spine and picked it up.

  A moment went by. With one hand, he placed his laptop under his arm. With the other, he carried the book towards the shelf. He put it back, then turned as though to leave. I held my breath, sure that he was going to see me through the cupboard grate: sure that I would laugh or sneeze, that I would breathe too loudly, that I would do something to make him pause and wrench the door open.

  But he didn’t. He didn’t see me at all.

  Instead his stooped figure moved towards the door. I heard it open and shut. The key scraped into the lock. Then the clack of footsteps again, all the way down the corridor.

  He was gone.

  A few moments went by and I told myself to breathe. I could hear footsteps of other people outside. I could hear the muffled chatter of people walking past. I could hear the rain, lighter now, still tickling the window pane.

  ‘Marina,’ I whispered.

  There came no reply.

  I edged out of the cupboard, a feeling of dread and paranoia prickling my scalp.

  Tentatively I knocked on Marina’s cupboard. Silence.

  I tried again, my hands shaking.

  Still silence.

  For a terrible second I had the rash thought that she’d somehow abandoned me. I believed that in those moments I’d spent looking away she had somehow found a way to escape …

  But then I knocked a third time, and I heard faint laughing from inside the slats. It became louder and louder. Suddenly Marina burst out.

  ‘That,’ she said, ‘was hilarious.’

  She clutched her chest and laughed harder, tilting her eyes up to the ceiling. Her pupils were really very wide.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said wearily.

  ‘God it was funny. Did you see how confused he was by the book?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Such a fucking dolt.’

  A scatter of footsteps rushed past then, causing me to jump. Marina laughed, falling backwards, pointing towards me, clapping her face with a wild hand.

  That was it – I’d had enough.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said. I looked around. ‘How do we get out?’

  I turned to the door and saw, in the small crack between the door and the wall, the outline of the lock bar. We were stuck.

  I repeated: ‘How the hell do we get out? Fuck!’

  Marina rolled her eyes.

  ‘Calm down dear,’ she said. ‘It’s the ground floor. How do you think we get out?’

  She walked to the window behind the desk, stuck her hands underneath it and began to shunt up the frame. It opened fully and she climbed onto the ledge. I watched her hoist herself up, knees scraping the corner of the ledge, her little figure crouching then squatting, lifting up to balance on her arches. She hesitated for a second. Then she fell – quickly, gracefully – out and down. I didn’t wait to hear her hit the bottom before I followed.

  The fall was not far, but it was far enough to hurt. I tumbled down forwards in what felt like slow motion, my hands stretched out away from me, a scatter of wild fragmentary images flying in front of my eyes: faces and shoes and bricks, windows and grass. I saw the buildings of Northam in the distance – the library, the main hall, Marina’s accommodation block – before landing with a squelchy thud. As I did so my arms skidded out and I felt my palm catch on something sharp
. It dug into the flesh, piercing the skin. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Then I looked up and saw a stream of light. It was coming from an open window above me.

  I whispered: ‘Marina’, but got no response.

  ‘Marina,’ I said again.

  I scrunched my hand into a tight fist to mitigate the pain, and lifted my head up. It took me a second to acclimatize, then I realized that I was alone. I looked at the students walking past, clutching files. None of them could see me, for I was obscured by a hedge. But I could see them, and none of them were her.

  I brought myself to my knees, gathered my bag close to me, and stared out beyond them – out towards the central campus, out towards the lake. I brushed my fringe out of my eyes and focused, looking into the darkening distance.

  It was then that I saw her. I was sure it was her. The slim silhouette running out into the rain, the arms flung open wide. The bag bobbing up and down on her back as her legs moved faster, her arms spread wider, the colours of her hair, clothes, body all blurring into one. She was shrinking, disappearing. And now that I was concentrating, now that I could really see her, I thought I could hear her laugh: a shrill piercing note echoing across the campus.

  The truth of the situation struck me then with a violent force. Marina, I realized, could afford to take risks like this – but I couldn’t. She could afford to be on the professor’s bad side. She could afford to be expelled, just as she could afford to ruin her clothes or ruin hire cars. She could afford to fuck up her education, to view it all as a game. These were things that I could not afford. I wasn’t from the sort of background that could support such cavalier behaviour. I didn’t have money to ruin my clothes and buy replacements. What’s more – I didn’t want to ruin them. I didn’t want disposables. I wanted things that I really wanted, things that I could look after long-term.