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  Colin’s books sat on the table alongside a very full ashtray and a pile of leaflets advertising clubs and societies. Colin, of moderate build and height, kicked the leaflets on the floor to make space for his muddy feet, then lit a cigarette. He didn’t use the ashtray. He couldn’t reach it. His ash fell straight onto the cord carpet. Andrew picked up the leaflets and ate his beans in one of the soft chairs, Tom was also eating and Brian read The Sun in the corner.

  ‘My name is Colin Dean, but you can call me … Colin Dean,’ the newcomer announced to the whole room. ‘Are you all first years?’ Without waiting for an answer, he assumed they were and continued. ‘Shagged anyone yet?’ Again it was rhetorical. ‘Not many girls here. You have to get in quick before they’re snapped up. Most of the good-looking girls are in the languages department, but half of them have boyfriends back home. Mind you, after Christmas is another good time to grab yourself a chick. The ones with boyfriends back home see them at Christmas and dump them. They’ve been saving themselves all term only to go home and find their boyfriends have found someone else. They come back after Christmas desperate to take revenge and jump into bed with the first to take an interest, so don’t miss out there.’

  ‘Are you a second year Colin?’ asked Andrew, who had hung onto his every word, while Brian had continued to read The Sun and Tom had stared out of the window over Colin’s shoulder. Brian wasn’t really interested while Tom didn’t like arrogant people and was going out of his way to show he wasn’t interested.

  Having finished his cup of tea, Andrew sat with his hands in his pockets while Colin told him how to get through the first year without doing any work.

  ‘I’ve met everyone on the floor except the person in room one. What’s he like?’ Colin loudly asked Andrew, or anyone else who was listening.

  Tom and Hugh could add nothing. ‘I’ve not met him either,’ replied Andrew apologetically.

  ‘Me neither,’ added Brian, taking a passing interest, having also met all the boys except for room one.

  Chapter 7

  Silver birch and cherry trees

  A week later: From the university car park, Norman Hill could see down across the whole campus and the town of Southside beyond. It was a red brick university, built in the 1960s, along with many similar institutions across the country. Blocks of lecture halls sat alongside high-rise administration buildings with silver birch and cherry trees lining wide walkways.

  Norman had been dwelling on what to say to Brian and Tom for days, since first making the decision to face his sons. He had been putting off this difficult meeting for seven years but was now determined to take a chance. He left the car park and passed the sports hall. The majority of students were very casual in appearance and even the teaching staff had a relaxed dress code. Norman felt out of place in his smart pin-striped suit, but nobody seemed to even notice him, perhaps making the assumption that anyone who wore such smart clothes must be closely linked to the chancellor’s office or be a manager in a non-academic department.

  He followed a line of apple trees with Bronte Court on his left and Lawrence Court on his right. The wide footpath opened into a small grassed area, the size of a bowling green, with Dickens Court on the far side. There was a row of benches around the outside edge of the lawned section. Norman sat for a moment to gather his thoughts. He was comfortable addressing a crowd in the most hostile of situations and had coped with awkward meetings between individuals. But nothing compared to this. His heart was racing. His mouth was dry.

  After 20 difficult minutes waiting, he saw the Dickens Court main entrance open and two young men walked out together. Across the grass, he saw a tall dark haired boy and a well-built young man, scruffy fair hair, deep in conversation. It was Brian and Tom. They did not see Norman. He should have stood up and gone over to meet them, but he couldn’t. He just followed them with his eyes, which welled with tears of pride.

  They were handsome young men. They laughed and joked. They were happy. They were very happy. He couldn’t spoil that. It could wait. They didn’t need to meet him just yet. Best let them get settled. They turned the corner and were gone.

  Norman felt elation and frustration at the same time. He had seen two young men buzzing with the joys of youth, but he had lacked the courage to make contact, even questioned whether it was the right way forward. But it was. One step at a time. He would come back another time.

  Chapter 8

  Pink Socks

  Another week later: Andrew Leopard sat on the second row in Lecture Hall B between a young Oriental man with round glasses and a heavy looking red-haired girl with freckles and a persistent sniff, so persistent that it happened almost every other breath. She also gave off an unpleasant smell which Andrew thought must be body odour. During his sixth form studies Andrew sat with a boy who considered deodorant to be unnatural. Andrew recognised the same smell from the sniffing girl.

  Andrew had made no new friends yet from his economics group, but didn’t mind too much as Tom Hill was also doing some elements of economics on his course and they had agreed to share text books. It saved money and gave Andrew the chance to spend more time with his new friend from Dickens Court. Andrew believed that the more time he spent with somebody as assured and ‘cool’ as Tom, the greater chance he had of succeeding himself, both academically and socially. Tom had already slept with one girl and had been selected for the football team, along with his brother Brian, who, although more flippant towards Andrew than Tom, at least afforded Andrew a greater status than his own father. Yes, he made fun of him, but as an equal, rather than a costly, time-consuming burden. Brian also shared the cost of, and use of, the economics text books, while all three had been sharing the cost of food and sharing the cooking.

  The lecture hall was packed with around 80 students for an hour of introductory economics. The hall was gently tiered and the desks were narrow, one continuous stretch for each row, fixed to the floor. There was a blackboard, but it was rarely used, the teaching staff preferring felt tip marker pens on a white board or an overhead projector.

  A man in his fifties with a single tuft of grey hair behind each ear and a wispy white beard addressed his attentive audience with a mumbled voice that, even from the second row, Andrew struggled to hear. His first line was something along the lines of ‘can you all hear me at the back?’, Andrew thought, but couldn’t be certain and besides, if he was talking to those at the back, Andrew did not need to respond.

  The words were hard to follow, but Andrew was sure he caught the feeling behind them. The professor would rather be pursuing his research than lecturing a bunch of under-graduates whom he held in contempt as beer drinking time wasters living off the state. It was a general feeling shared by many people, as Andrew was later to discover on nights out away from campus while mixing with the working folk of Southside.

  Professor Mumbles adjusted his multi-coloured sleeveless v-neck jumper, pulled up his dark brown corduroy trousers and continued. ‘Supply, mumble, market forces, mumble, demand?’ he asked. Andrew knew it was a question because the professor raised his eyebrows and looked out at the students expectantly.

  Sniffer raised her hand. Andrew instantly tensed. The whole room faced the girl right next to him to hear her answer. Andrew had a bright red double headed spot just above his left eyebrow. He could feel the 80 pairs of eyes straying from Sniffer to his own eyebrow. They didn’t. But that’s how he felt. ‘Equilibrium, sir,’ Sniffer replied confidently.

  ‘Perhaps, mumble, but then again…’

  Andrew’s concentration was further broken as Sniffer lowered her arm again squeezing out another pulse of ‘natural’ odour. Andrew was now certain that she did not use deodorant. While all the students’ faces had been turned, almost in Andrew’s direction, he had noticed, beyond Sniffer, a more attractive girl. He had seen her a number of times. They only did economics together so Andrew assumed she must be on a similar course with the emphasis on a related but different discipline within the social
sciences.

  He had only caught fleeting glimpses of her before today but could see her more clearly now. Andrew considered her quite stunning. While she was listening to Sniffer’s answer, her gaze had strayed slightly and Andrew made eye contact with her for a fraction of a second. It was the briefest eye contact, but gave Andrew great encouragement. It was a big enough boost to sustain him for a few days. He would need no more than that. He certainly didn’t want to meet her until the spot above his eyebrow had cleared.

  Andrew had excellent A-level grades in economics and much of the degree level first year content repeated the A-level syllabus. As such, he was not too worried about trying to follow Professor Mumbles. Instead his attention switched to the attractive girl in the front row about five seats beyond Sniffer.

  She was either slouching in her seat or very short. She had strawberry blonde shoulder-length hair tied back with an emerald green ribbon. She had a satin black shawl over her shoulders. Andrew could see no more.

  The professor appeared to be winding up with some concluding remarks. He turned off the overhead projector before telling the students which chapter of the set book he would like them to read before the next lecture, gathered his papers and left. A gentle hum of conversation filled the room and the students started shuffling out.

  Andrew stayed seated as the room emptied. He took the opportunity to watch the attractive girl stand up and leave. She was short, possibly around five feet, knee-length linen skirt and black pixie boots. She may have been short but had curves in all the right places. As she walked away, Andrew noticed her striking bright pink socks and shapely bottom, with a wiggle which he would have to tell Tom about as soon as he next saw him.

  She was the kind of girl Andrew had often dreamed of meeting but never thought he would. But she was one of the 80 people in his economics group. Maybe he would get the chance to meet her. He dared to dream. Perhaps Tom could tell him how he could go about meeting her.

  Chapter 9

  A film of ash

  Two weeks later, November 5, 1983: Andrew Leopard prepared lunch for himself, Tom Hill and Brian Hill. Toast with chicken paste followed by toast and marmalade.

  ‘Andrew. There is nothing I can say that I haven’t already said. You have to talk to her,’ Tom was running out of ideas to help Andrew meet Pink Socks. Three weeks had passed since Andrew first saw her across the lecture room and he still didn’t even know her name. The three boys had become so used to calling her Pink Socks that if they ever discovered her real name, she would continue to be known as Pink Socks.

  Andrew had progressed no further than the fleeting eye contact he had enjoyed so briefly and although the large spot he had above his eyebrow on that occasion had gone, another had grown on his chin. He was waiting until he had a clear face, but the stress of possibly meeting his dream girl was giving him more spots.

  The conversation ended as Ian Mellor and Roger Evans entered the kitchen. Ian, from room six, had been nicknamed Wanker by Hugh Grundy and the name had stuck. Unfortunately for Ian, he had forgotten to lock the shower room door during his first week at college and Hugh had barged in on him. Hugh was also responsible for Roger Evans picking up the name Crypt. In his case, this was due to a lack of charisma. Roger wore ‘sensible’ clothes, rarely spoke, had a constant neutral expression on his face and when he came in the kitchen, he prepared his own food, ate it, washed his pots and left. He didn’t trust the other students so he kept his food and pots in his own room.

  Andrew finished preparing lunch but there was no room on the table. Nobody else was using it but it was covered in mess accumulated during the first month of term. Dickens Court, block F, floor three had become more dirty as each day passed. A peppering of cigarette ash covered every surface, gathering like snow-drifts in all the corners.

  A cleaning lady came three times a week but the amount of work was beyond her job description. She did the basics and left the rest for the students. She mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the carpet in the corner of the kitchen and in the boys’ bedrooms before bleaching the toilets and showers. The boys had to empty their own bins, wash their own pots and keep all the surfaces clean and clear, but they didn’t.

  Hugh Grundy and Colin Dean were next to arrive and before Andrew could make space to eat on the table, Hugh ran his arm over the whole surface and swept everything onto the floor near the bin before placing his books in the middle.

  ‘Am I the only one that tidies up in here?’ Hugh barked, spilled tomato sauce dripping down the sleeve of his leather jacket.

  ‘Cheers mate.’ Brian sat down to eat followed by Tom and Andrew.

  Among the rubbish was a sports bag. The unwashed contents had been emptied and nobody had claimed the dirty laundry. It must have been left by one of the floor-mates’ friends, but nobody had been back to look for it. Tomato stains had now been added to a pair of used underpants, which had been on the floor for nearly two weeks.

  ‘Come on Tom. You play football. These must be your knickers.’ Hugh picked them up and dropped them on the table next to Andrew’s plate.

  ‘No. I told you. Too small.’

  ‘Got to be you then Brian. Another footballer.’ Hugh pressed.

  Brian finished his first piece of toast. ‘No.’

  ‘How about you Crypt?’ No response. He didn’t like being called Crypt.

  ‘Wanker?’

  Ian Mellor had given up trying to protest his innocence over the shower incident and did respond to the nickname, although he hated it. At least he was being included. ‘Not me. I don’t do sport.’

  ‘We all know what sport you like,’ Colin Dean joined in, before lighting another cigarette.

  Andrew finished his lunch and sat on one of the soft chairs in the corner next to Colin. Hugh grabbed the dirty underpants and pushed them over Andrew’s head. ‘Well done Leopard. You’ve finally got inside someone’s knickers,’ Hugh taunted.

  Andrew reached up to take the underpants off his head.

  ‘No you don’t Leopard. You can wear them to your lectures,’ Hugh demanded, smiling in Colin’s direction.

  Andrew’s lip quivered a little and he put his hands back in his pockets. Brian finished his lunch, stood up, brushed past Hugh and pulled the knickers off Andrew’s head. ‘Give him a break Hugh.’

  ‘Don’t get heavy. I was only fooling around,’ Hugh shrugged.

  Brian returned to The Sun for another look at the page three girl. All the lecturers on Brian’s course had said reading a daily newspaper would benefit their studies. Brian’s interpretation of their advice had not been what they intended. The breasts were very much to Brian’s taste, not too big, not too small and slightly inward curving above the nipple giving them a profile similar to an Olympic ski jump.

  ‘I do like ski-jumpies,’ Brian told all the floor three boys.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ Colin asked.

  Brian held up the paper and the boys all took a good look.

  ‘Nice,’ Hugh liked them.

  ‘Yes Brian. Ski-jumpies,’ Tom approved.

  Andrew had been looking out of the window hoping nobody would ask his opinion.

  ‘Leopard. Marks out of ten,’ Colin knew he would be embarrassed.

  ‘Err …’ he tried to think of a new subject before he was pushed further. ‘Err … It’s a nice déjà vu from our kitchen … it is.’

  ‘A nice what?’ Colin sneered. This was more fun than he had hoped. Embarrassing Andrew on a sexual matter would have been fun, but his obvious misunderstanding of simple French would be even more entertaining.

  ‘A nice déjà vu,’ Andrew repeated slowly and nervously, sensing he had blundered.

  Tom quickly rescued his friend. ‘Yes Andrew. Lovely view. Who’s coming to the bonfire on Southside Common tonight? There’s a fair as well. Always gets a big crowd.’

  Brian, Andrew, Colin and Hugh were keen to go. Ian Mellor said he had too much work but they all knew what he’d rather be doing. Truth was he didn’t hav
e enough money for the fair. Roger Evans assumed he wasn’t included in the invite, packed his pots in a box and left the room. Tom had invited Colin and Hugh because he didn’t like to leave anybody out and, even though they were sometimes hard work, they added a bit of spice to the conversation.

  Tom grabbed his books and left for his statistics lecture. He took the steps two at a time as he passed between the administration building and the library. The autumn leaves had collected in the gutter. It was a crisp dry sunny day, a welcome change after a few days of rain. His walk took him past the civil engineering block. There was a shorter route but the civil engineering block was made of reflective glass panels on the ground floor. He slowed down for this stage of his journey. Vanity couldn’t be hurried.

  As he strolled past his favourite building with warm sun on the back of his neck, his attention was drawn to the ground. The shadow of a bird danced around his feet. He smiled inwardly and turned to see the bird. There was no bird. He scanned the sky but could not see where it had gone.

  The lecture had already started. Tom found a seat at the back but his late arrival had been spotted by the professor, who paused just long enough for his contempt to be registered by Tom.

  Chapter 10

  Penny for the Guy

  Same day, November 5, 1983: Andrew Leopard looked around at the flickering orange faces of the assembled Southsiders as the Guy sank into the flames. His eyes settled on one face, a very familiar face. It was Pink Socks. He became short of breath and his heart beat fast. Tom had repeatedly told him to just walk up and talk to her. ‘Just take an interest in whatever she has to say. It will flow from there,’ was the standard advice. Tom and Brian Hill both saw Andrew’s discomfort and followed his eyes to Pink Socks, giving him a look that said ‘grasp the nettle’.