‘What happened, Regi?’ she said softly.
I dropped the sheets in the empty laundry basket and put my hand over my mouth, my other hand on my hip. I breathed through my hand and blew out a long breath. Then I removed my hand and placed it on my cheek. ‘Do you know, it was the weirdest thing. The condensation on the window, it caught me off-guard. I thought it was a face.’
‘Whose face, like Jesus’s? You should have taken a photo and sent it into a magazine – they pay money for that.’ Mini was trying to squeeze through the door and into the small space that was already overcrowded with two bodies.
‘I don’t think she meant that,’ Sophia said sombrely. ‘Did you?’ There was a sense of pleading in her voice. I didn’t want to drag these girls into everything so soon after moving in. They knew I was damaged goods. Did they need to know the rest?
I choked out a laugh. ‘To be honest, it was more like Pope Gregory VII.’
‘Our brains are hardwired to see faces in everything. It was just a hallucination.’ Mini moved a little closer, and I pressed myself against the wall. ‘In fact, everything we see is a hallucination – you’ll never actually see reality because your brain—’
‘Thanks, Mini, for the psychology lesson, which we really appreciate.’ Sophia side-eyed me. ‘I think Regi is perhaps a little overtired and jittery about starting a new course tomorrow.’
Mini threw her hands up in the air. ‘Anytime, there’s more where that came from.’ And she retreated from the room.
Sophia offered me a strained smile. ‘But you’re okay though?’
‘I think you’re right, and I am just nervous about tomorrow,’ I lied.
Sophia’s face loosened. ‘Well, that’s normal. You have been through so much and tomorrow is a big deal. Starting a course later in life can be daunting.’
I thought about the importance of the next day as my first day at uni. But it was a more important day in another way; one I didn’t wish to remember or draw attention to.
‘Thanks, Sophia. I’m not that old.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, I just meant that, you know, the majority of the class will be teenagers and in their early twenties, so that’s all I meant. I’d be nervous.’
I picked up the duvet cover and began to fold it. ‘It’s okay, and I know it will be fine.’ I could feel my heart rate returning to normal.
‘Okay, well, text me if you freak out in the day. I can always dash over from my campus to meet you for a coffee if you feel you need me to.’
I looked at Sophia. ‘Thank you,’ I said. I thought about how in another world, in another time, Sophia and I could have been proper friends, the kind who told each other everything and didn’t hover on the border of the truth. Except I imagined it would be the other way around and I would be the mentor, the stronger of the two, and she would be taking advice from me.
The next morning, I arrived at uni, made my way to the main entrance and navigated to my first class without a hitch. At the door, I squeezed my way past a small crowd of three or four people, who were talking as if they had only just met one another but were going to hang on to one another no matter what. Another intruder at this stage would upset their dynamics, so I skirted past them into the chilly room and found myself a safe space at the back where I noted there was also a fire exit. The notion that I could throw myself through it at any given point was a small comfort, but what I wanted to do right then was open and close it several times before I was able to settle. I had brought along a fiddle toy cube that had six sides with things to touch and move, something to distract myself from the doors and windows. I pulled it out of my bag and began subtly clicking the three sliders back and forth. It didn’t give me the same satisfaction, but it would get me through the first lesson.
A small, round woman of about sixty came into the room and stood at the front.
‘Okay,’ she called loudly. ‘This is your first theory lesson of the week for your introductory textiles course. I’m Denise, this is Room D-12, let’s get started.’
After an hour and a half with only ten minutes’ break, I burst out of the room. I had made it through, but it had been the struggle I knew it would be. I thought about the seminar I had at 2 p.m. – a whole two and half hours away. I navigated my way through seas of ambling bodies, students of all ethnic groups, some huddled together laughing, others were laid about on the grass, just living in the moment. I felt a pang of envy for their simple lives.
I had to remind myself that it was a short course, an easy, introductory level of just a few months to take me through to the summer when I would be free until September when the real work began. But it was still a shock to the system to find myself in alien surroundings amongst hundreds of people, trying to find my way to rooms – I felt as though I was eleven years old again, and it was the first day at secondary school.
I was starting to feel deflated, as though all of this were for what? Who was I doing this for? I had suffered, I was suffering, did I need to prove to myself or anyone else that I could carry on? Was life really worth living when it was only you that you were living it for?
I found my way into the main campus building, rounded a corner and collided with another body. Male and heavy.
‘I’m sorry, are
