‘Not always.’ She looked serious.
‘Well, let’s see what we can do to avoid it.’ He stood up and picked up his empty pint glass. ‘Have you tried scrumpy yet?’
‘No.’ She looked doubtful.
He bought her half a pint, because grown men had been known to weep after just two pints of this particular brew. They watched the band, a crazy gypsy-punk outfit that sang songs of heartbreak and harvest moons. He bought her another half and watched her smile get lazier and her eyes half close. He wanted nothing more than to tangle his fingers in her pre-Raphaelite curls.
‘Where are you staying tonight?’ he asked, as the band started packing up and tipsy revellers began to make their way out of the pub into the warm night.
She put her arms around his neck and pushed her body hard against his. ‘With you,’ she whispered, and her mouth on his tasted of the last apples of summer.
Later, as they lay holding each other in the remains of the night’s heat, she murmured, ‘You never told me.’
‘What?’
‘Your favourite book.’
‘1984.’
She considered his answer, gave a nod of approval, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
He woke the next morning, pinioned by her lily-white arm. He wondered what time her flight was, how she was getting to the airport, whether she had packed – they hadn’t discussed practicalities the night before. He didn’t want to wake her because he felt safe with her so close. He’d never experienced such a feeling before. A feeling of utter completeness. It made so many of the books he had read start to make perfect sense. He had thought he understood them, on an intellectual level, but now he had a deeper comprehension. He could barely breathe with the awe of it.
If he stayed very still and very quiet, perhaps she wouldn’t wake. Perhaps she would miss her flight. Perhaps he could have another magical twenty-four hours with her.
But Julius was responsible at heart. He didn’t have it in him to be so reckless. So he picked up a tress of her hair and tickled her cheek until she stirred.
‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘You have to go home today.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ Rebecca murmured into his shoulder.
He trailed a hand across her warm, bare skin. ‘You can come back.’
He touched each of her freckles, one by one. There were hundreds. Thousands. He would never have time to touch them all before she left.
‘What time is your flight? How are you getting to the airport?’
She didn’t reply. She picked up his arm and looked at the watch on his wrist.
‘My flight’s at one.’
He sat up in alarm. It was gone ten. ‘Shit. You need to get up. You’ll never make it. I can drive you, but I don’t think you’ll get there in time.’
He was grabbing for his clothes, pulling them on. She didn’t move.
‘I’m not going.’
He was doing up his jeans. He stared at her.
‘What?’
‘I made up my mind. Last night.’ She sat up, and her hair tumbled everywhere. ‘I want to stay here. With you.’
Julius laughed. ‘You can’t.’ He felt slight panic.
She looked up at him from the middle of the bed, wide-eyed.
‘You don’t feel the same as me? As if you’ve met the love of your life?’
‘Well, yes, but …’ It had been an incredible night, he had to admit that. And he was smitten, if that was the right word. But Julius was sensible enough to realise you didn’t make momentous decisions off the back of a one-night stand.
Rebecca, it seemed, thought differently.
‘It makes perfect sense. I want to major in English. I want to do it in the best place in the world. Which is here in Oxford, right?’
‘Well, yes. I suppose so. Or Cambridge.’
‘I’m smart enough. I know I am. If I can get into Brown, I can get into Oxford.’
Julius laughed again. Not at her, but at her confidence. The girls he knew were never as brazen about their abilities. They were brought up to be modest and self-effacing. Rebecca wore her brilliance with pride.
She crossed her arms. ‘Don’t laugh at me.’
‘I’m not. I just think you’re being a bit rash.’ That was an understatement.
‘I’m not getting on that plane.’
Julius gulped. She was serious. Besides, there was no way she was going to get her plane now. And as far as he knew, she had nowhere else to go.
‘What are your parents going to say?’
‘How can they argue?’
‘Easily, I’d have thought. Aren’t you supposed to be going to college?’
‘Yes. But you know what? It never felt right. I was just going because that’s what I was expected to do. But this feels right. I can feel it here.’
She pressed a fist to her heart. Julius looked at her warily, not sure if she was serious. He knew plenty of fanciful girls but they usually had a limit to their capriciousness. He felt anxious: clever, wilful and rich was a deadly combination, and he was pretty sure Rebecca was all of those. He’d got enough insight into her life to know it was very privileged.