Free The Lessons by Naomi Alderman

her arms around the pillow, clutching it like a child with a teddy bear.
    Out in the corridor I closed the door and stood for a moment, resting my back on it. It was then that I saw Mark at the other end of the passage. He pushed open the door to Simon’s room, carrying something in his hand. Simon lay sprawled still on the bed, his shirt open to the waist. Mark turned, saw me watching him and winked, then went into Simon’s room and closed the door behind him.
    Upstairs Jess was still asleep, snoring softly. I sat on the sofa and looked out of the window at the dark garden shifting in the wind. I wondered what I would do with this invitation – at once sensible and ludicrous. If I took it, then what? I would have a group of friends ready-made, a way out of the misery of college life. I had longed, since arriving in Oxford, to move away – my whole trajectory seemed to me an attempt to run away from the place, to take up residence somewhere smaller.
    And if I did not take it, then what? Back to college, and to struggle, and to the life I had hated so much last term. And what could I say to Jess to make her understand? ‘I think perhaps he invited us all here, and plied us with alcohol, to give me the chance to sleep with Emmanuella if I wanted’? She would go on with this life and I would have to return to mine. No. It was this that drove me, in the end. Not a running-to, but a running-from. I did not want to end like Kendall, bolting from an exam hall, with nowhere to go.
    I saw Kendall a few days later in Chapel Quad. He was lying on a bench by the ivy-covered wall, his head resting on his rucksack. I thought he was asleep, but as I walked past he lifted his head and called to me.
    ‘Stieff!’ he said. ‘Off to Boycott?’
    ‘Yup,’ I said. It was my ten-minute slot with the tutor to receive the results of my collections. I could not delay.
    ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘Hope it goes well. I suppose …’ He frowned. ‘I might not see you again.’
    I stared at him, puzzled.
    ‘I’m … er, well, I’m leaving Oxford. Talked it through with Boycott. It’s all for the best, probably. It only gets harder from here and, you know, if it hasn’t been good so far …’
    I was aware of the seconds ticking by. Dr Boycott would be caustic if I was late. Nonetheless.
    ‘But where are you going?’
    He wrinkled his nose. ‘Manchester. My UCCA reserve. Jumped to take me when I called.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Um.’ I did not know what to say. It was as if Kendall had told me he had been diagnosed with a chronic and painful disease. I do not defend this; this is how we thought.
    ‘It’ll be good,’ I said at last. ‘Better than here. Big fish, small pond – be nice not to be running to catch up all the time.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Kendall. ‘Not so many bloody tutorials, away from Boycott and all this …’
    He stopped and looked around. The quad was peaceful in its medieval splendour, with ivy-covered walls, clipped grass and stone arches. Beauty is a lie, but it is so hard to spot.
    ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘good to get away from all this. But sorry, I have to run. Good luck with everything!’
    I started to walk away.
    ‘No problem,’ said Kendall. ‘I might catch you later, yeah?’
    ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Sure.’
    ‘I need not tell you, Mr Stieff,’ said Dr Boycott, ‘that these are disappointing results.’
    Dr Strong, sitting by his side, nodded silently.
    My knee ached – I had forced it upstairs at a sprint to reach the office on time. It was displeased with this treatment and produced short, stabbing pains, enough to make me gasp.
    ‘We had such high hopes of you, but you seem to have –’ Dr Boycott paused – ‘fallen far below them this term.’
    ‘I’m sorry Dr Boycott, but I –’
    Dr Boycott interrupted me.
    ‘Nonetheless!’ he flourished the exam paper. ‘Your answer to the question on Lagrangian dynamics was good. Thus, I think we may say,’ and he looked to the right and left,