Now, this is a bit more like it.
Grabbing fudge for the third time, Will and I stand together in the sunshine and chew, heads bent over our little treasure map. Every now and then, I glance up to check if there’s any lingering memory of the last two failed date attempts on Will’s face, but there doesn’t seem to be.
I can tell from the fact he still seems to quite like me.
Which is good, because—after my shocking behavior over the last few hours—I’m not sure I do. In ancient Greek theater, the actors all wore thick masks that served a number of purposes. They had different identities, which allowed the actors to switch roles and genders easily, and exaggerated expressions that allowed the audience to clearly see what emotion they were portraying from a distance. The masks also served the incredibly clever purpose of projecting the actor’s voice into the auditorium, thus allowing them to be heard by everyone.
Most of the time, it feels like I’m wearing a mask too.
As if the real Cassandra is hiding underneath, staring through two big eyeholes, wondering which mask she’s supposed to use at any given moment and if she’s managed to pick up the right one. Trapped and unable to breathe. Pretending to be someone else, all the time. Watching from a distance. Terrified of what will happen when the mask falls off and reveals the actor underneath.
Which is pretty depressing, so I try to focus again on my romantic date.
At least this time I’m playing to my strengths. You can say what you like about my character profile—and many people do—but I am at least a woman who knows how to answer questions competitively, tick off boxes and win an arbitrary prize for being right.
“‘Pirates have hidden their loot in a box somewhere in Cambridge,’” Will reads chirpily as I read next to him, my right shoulder zinging against his left. “‘It is your duty as detectives to solve the clues and unearth these buried treasures.’” He chuckles. “They’re clearly not very clever pirates. We’re seriously inland. It’s at least ninety minutes’ drive to the nearest ocean.”
I smile, already engrossed with the first question.
This is going to be a real test of my willpower. It’s extremely tempting to use time travel to find out all the answers and then hop back and solve them all immediately, thus both winning and impressing Will with my cleverness, which is—I’ll be honest—my natural instinct. It would also be cheating and deeply unethical, and I suspect the Laws of Romance forbid it too.
Luckily, I don’t think I’ll need to: I already know the first answer.
THIS MAN HAS BECOME A FABLE
FOR BEING SOLID AND HIGHLY UNSTABLE.
BUT DON’T WORRY, HE’LL NEVER FALL DOWN—
FOR IN HIS HANDS IS...
Will frowns. “Any idea?”
I bite my bottom lip and try to look like I’m actually thinking about it. Of course I have an idea; it’s a riddle for six-year-olds.
“The leg of a table.” I turn sharply and start heading toward the right college. “It’s a statue of Henry VIII, who was the founder of Trinity. Students stole the scepter out of his hand and replaced it with a wooden table leg. It’s still up there.”
“Blimey.” Will hops to catch up with me. “How did you know that?”
“Beginner’s luck,” I say with a small shrug.
Together we reach the statue and stand for a few minutes, marveling at the incredible architecture of the college itself. It really is magnificent—detailed, slightly wizened, like the face of a beautiful old man. My throat is tight again, and a hot flush is climbing my throat. I really, really love that it says Stay Off the Grass, and people actually do as they’re told. This is my kind of place.
“Right.” Will studies the statue for a date and enters that into the app. “We’ve got our next clue.”
THIS ANCIENT HERBIVORE EATS
A MINUTE AT A TIME
AND SO THE WORLD PASSES
I have to at least look like I’m thinking about this one.
“Huh,” I say, scratching my chin. “How very challenging.”
“Wait!” Will bounces up and down, and I can feel his amber excitement in my whole body. “Ancient herbivore! Could it be a grasshopper? They belong to the oldest group of chewing herbivores on the planet. I shot an insect documentary years ago, and I still remember that fact.”
I laugh and turn in the right direction for our next stop. “You’re right. It’s the Corpus Chronophage on Bene’t Street. A gold clock with a grasshopper that bites the time as it goes round, installed by Stephen Hawking.”
“Cassie. Wait.” Will pulls my hand and I stop. “Have you done this treasure hunt before?”
“No,” I say truthfully.
“So...how do you know all the answers already?”
Because I know every single stone and pebble of this city; because Cambridge is engraved inside me, written on the core of who I am like a defaced tree trunk.
“I grew up here,” I say, flushing. “Sorry, I should probably have said.”
“You grew up here?” Will looks amazed. “Why didn’t you mention it?”
“I...” I’m embarrassed now. “I haven’t been back in a really, really long time. A decade, actually. My mum was a professor here. Emmanuel College.”
“Wow.” Will thinks about this. “Was. She’s not anymore?”
“No,” I say simply. “She died in a car crash with my dad ten years ago and I haven’t returned since the funeral.”
My throat is shutting again; my eyes are stinging. Why did I choose to come back today, of all days? Why did I think it would be romantic to add a good dose of grief to my date plans? Why did I think any of my memories would have faded at all, when they never really do? At least it slightly explains my hysterical outbursts: I’m already teetering on the edge of every possible emotion.
It’s been a whole decade, and the grasshopper has eaten no time at all.
“Cassie.” Will holds my other hand. “I am so sorry. When you mentioned her in the pub... I had no idea.”
Before I can reply with an offhand, dismissive comment, he’s wrapped his arms around me and buried me in a hug. I feel myself instinctively resist for a second, then realize it feels lovely and simply breathe out and sink into the rare human contact. I never told Will any of this the first time round. I didn’t tell him about Cambridge; I didn’t tell him about my parents; I didn’t tell him that I ran away and never came back. I didn’t tell him anything at all.
For a full minute, I simply let myself be held.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Will pulls away and holds my face in his hands, like a precious ostrich egg. “I’ve still got both my parents, so I can’t even imagine a life without them. It must be so hard.”
I swallow and the world wobbles, then clears; my cheek is wet.
When was the last time someone asked if I wanted to talk about it? Really talk about it? When did another person notice that I was in pain? I feel a wave of something so intense my brain rotates, but I don’t know quite what it is. Gratitude? Love? It’s so hard to tell the difference: the colors are so similar.
“No,” I say, wiping my face. “I think I’d prefer to do the treasure hunt, if that’s okay. Just don’t be mad if I get all the answers right. My parents were massive dorks and they really loved all this stuff.”
Will laughs and kisses my forehead. “Then I shall follow your lead.”
I feel another wave of love, or something very much like it.
“So...” Focusing, I stare at our next clue. “How quickly do you want me to get them right? I know them immediately, so do you want me to pretend I don’t for a bit to make it more fun?”
TAKE A BEAT TO LOOK AT THE STREET
WHAT A TREAT
TO SEE JUST THE SOLES OF HIS...
Will grins and slips his hand in mine. “Unleash your powers.”
“Feet,” I say as his kindness spreads through my fingers and up my arm, into my chest. “It’s the Antony Gormley statue on the Downing Site. There’s a full cast-iron man statue, buried in the ground so you can only see the bottoms of his feet. It’s fascinating, because you can take your socks off and stand on top of it. You become connected to the statue, somehow. Like you’re joined through the earth.”
“I love it,” Will says, putting his arm around me. “Let’s go see that.”
And I think: I’m pretty sure I love you too.