yet.
LIGHTING UP
The next day with its full schedule of lectures and tours passed without incident, and Saturday evening arrived. Sebastian and Saffron were in her room in St. Mike’s, where they had just made love, and they lay rather self-consciously folded in one another’s arms. They had seen magazine ads, mostly for perfume, of how this pose of sybaritic abandon was supposed to look: glistening, tangled limbs and tousled curls; heads thrown back to gaze into one another’s eyes in spellbound, satiated adoration. But because Sebastian did not adore, only Saffron held her head at this awkward angle. And it was much too cold in her room for abandoned limbs.
“Time to go,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, too quickly. Her voice, which she had tried to train since meeting Sebastian into the self-confident bray of the upper classes, usually betrayed her, this time breaking in the middle of the two short syllables like a schoolboy’s. She cleared her throat and aimed for a lower register.
“I have work to do,” she added firmly but unconvincingly. He was making moves to get out of bed. Think of something to ask, quickly.
“How’s it going with the parents? Have you seen them today?”
“Yes. It was ghastly. Bloody Lexy being here is causing no end of strain. I’ve even wondered …”
“Wondered?” she asked, treading gently, gently. It wasn’t like Seb to “share,” as the American students would say. These few sentences were as gold to her. She didn’t want to rush at him, make him clam up.
“I told you. I’ve wondered if she has some vague hope of getting back together with my stepfather.”
“There’s a cracked idea.” Saffron gave a gentle snort of contempt, to mask her guilty realization of how similar were their situations, hers and Lexy’s. The Americans would probably tell them both it was time to “let go and move on,” and they’d be right. How easy it was to spout brainless platitudes.
“Isn’t it just? I really don’t think James would be that mad, but you never know … he’s such a stick; I never understood what my mother sees in him, really … I wish she’d go away … stay away from them. If anyone hurt India, I swear … ”
Saffron, thrilled at these disjointed disclosures, wisely kept quiet, but she was thinking, not for the first time, that Sebastian could be a bit of a mummy’s boy. He’d do whatever it took to make his mother happy and keep her that way. The thought of James leaving his mother to reunite with the gorgeous Lexy—she could see it made Sebastian livid.
“Maybe you could have a word?” she suggested tentatively.
Sebastian, no longer listening, swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his rucksack. He had brought his kit with him to save time. He always did that. She knew how much rowing meant to him—she was reconciled to the fact he wanted that Blue more than he wanted anything, certainly more than he wanted her—but couldn’t he at least pretend reluctance to leave? Maybe it was time, fretted Saffron, to start a slimming regime. She had put on a couple of pounds lately … The words of a Tracy Chapman song went through her head, as they often did when she thought of Seb:
Maybe if I told you the right words
At the right time you’d be mine.
“Couldn’t you …” she began. Don’t say it.
Sebastian began pulling on his rowing shorts and shirt. He reached for his warm-up top.
“Couldn’t I what?” His back was to her, which made it easier. Whatever you do, Don’t Say It.
“Couldn’t you stay, just a bit? This once?” Oh, fuck. She knew better than this. She had no mind left when it came to Seb. Fuck fuck fuck it. Keep your face still and flat. Don’t let him see.
He turned. He wasn’t angry, as she’d feared. It was worse. From the condescending, pitying smirk on his face, Saffron had her confirmation that those were not the right words. Those were precisely all the wrong words, lined up in the
LIGHTING UP
The next day with its full schedule of lectures and tours passed without incident, and Saturday evening arrived. Sebastian and Saffron were in her room in St. Mike’s, where they had just made love, and they lay rather self-consciously folded in one another’s arms. They had seen magazine ads, mostly for perfume, of how this pose of sybaritic abandon was supposed to look: glistening, tangled limbs and tousled curls; heads thrown back to gaze into one another’s eyes in spellbound, satiated adoration. But because Sebastian did not adore, only Saffron held her head at this awkward angle. And it was much too cold in her room for abandoned limbs.
“Time to go,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, too quickly. Her voice, which she had tried to train since meeting Sebastian into the self-confident bray of the upper classes, usually betrayed her, this time breaking in the middle of the two short syllables like a schoolboy’s. She cleared her throat and aimed for a lower register.
“I have work to do,” she added firmly but unconvincingly. He was making moves to get out of bed. Think of something to ask, quickly.
“How’s it going with the parents? Have you seen them today?”
“Yes. It was ghastly. Bloody Lexy being here is causing no end of strain. I’ve even wondered …”
“Wondered?” she asked, treading gently, gently. It wasn’t like Seb to “share,” as the American students would say. These few sentences were as gold to her. She didn’t want to rush at him, make him clam up.
“I told you. I’ve wondered if she has some vague hope of getting back together with my stepfather.”
“There’s a cracked idea.” Saffron gave a gentle snort of contempt, to mask her guilty realization of how similar were their situations, hers and Lexy’s. The Americans would probably tell them both it was time to “let go and move on,” and they’d be right. How easy it was to spout brainless platitudes.
“Isn’t it just? I really don’t think James would be that mad, but you never know … he’s such a stick; I never understood what my mother sees in him, really … I wish she’d go away … stay away from them. If anyone hurt India, I swear … ”
Saffron, thrilled at these disjointed disclosures, wisely kept quiet, but she was thinking, not for the first time, that Sebastian could be a bit of a mummy’s boy. He’d do whatever it took to make his mother happy and keep her that way. The thought of James leaving his mother to reunite with the gorgeous Lexy—she could see it made Sebastian livid.
“Maybe you could have a word?” she suggested tentatively.
Sebastian, no longer listening, swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his rucksack. He had brought his kit with him to save time. He always did that. She knew how much rowing meant to him—she was reconciled to the fact he wanted that Blue more than he wanted anything, certainly more than he wanted her—but couldn’t he at least pretend reluctance to leave? Maybe it was time, fretted Saffron, to start a slimming regime. She had put on a couple of pounds lately … The words of a Tracy Chapman song went through her head, as they often did when she thought of Seb:
Maybe if I told you the right words
At the right time you’d be mine.
“Couldn’t you …” she began. Don’t say it.
Sebastian began pulling on his rowing shorts and shirt. He reached for his warm-up top.
“Couldn’t I what?” His back was to her, which made it easier. Whatever you do, Don’t Say It.
“Couldn’t you stay, just a bit? This once?” Oh, fuck. She knew better than this. She had no mind left when it came to Seb. Fuck fuck fuck it. Keep your face still and flat. Don’t let him see.
He turned. He wasn’t angry, as she’d feared. It was worse. From the condescending, pitying smirk on his face, Saffron had her confirmation that those were not the right words. Those were precisely all the wrong words, lined up in the
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