I can’t shake off an all-consuming feeling of dread, as if the sky’s going to fall in. My stomach feels bloated, hyperacidic. The last time I felt like this was after I’d lost it on the pier in Newlyn. The next morning I’d found myself phoning Gemma, my nurse friend at the Treliske hospital in Truro, to check if anyone had been admitted overnight with a traumatic brain injury. They hadn’t, but I’ve never forgotten how Gemma read me the riot act, told me that as an aspiring medic I should have made sure the bloke was brought in for a check-up. How a brain injury can manifest slowly, how I should have taken more responsibility. I can hear Gemma’s voice now, her anger and disappointment. Still, I convinced myself that the guy must have been alright. And his friends never reported me for what happened to him – an unspoken trade-off, I guess, in exchange for me not reporting them for what they did to Tom.

  It’s a tragedy that Lecter died, however obnoxious he was, and my thoughts are with his family. Of course they are. I’m sorry for those who saw him jump to his death too. That scene will stay with them forever. But I’m also feeling sorry for myself. I think I might have blown my career in medicine before it’s even started. If you are to succeed as medical students, you must work harder – and behave better – than every other student here at Cambridge…

  What will I say to Mum? It takes all my concentration to be here – socially as well as intellectually – and a small part of me is relieved. I know there’ll always be a place for me in a distant corner of Cornwall where I feel safe and surrounded by old friends. But it’s only a small part. I used to feel trapped in Newlyn too, held back by others whose ambitions didn’t extend beyond the Tamar. I came to Cambridge to succeed, to become a medic, to do right by my parents. To never feel helpless again when someone is sick.

  I had to go to the police station again today to give another, more detailed statement. It was clear that I’d had a lot to drink when I spoke to the officer last night, but I was still surprised to be called in again so soon. I was asked to give more details about the party and in particular the hour leading up to Lecter’s death and my interaction with him. His real name was Brandon, but I’m sticking with Lecter for the time being – his death is somehow easier to deal with if he remains behind a mask.

  ‘How would you characterise your relationship with the deceased?’ the young detective asked. ‘Did you talk to him at the party?’

  I had to think quickly and clearly. How much had others said? The police were taking statements from lots of students – I’d seen some of the arts set waiting outside the station. I decided that it was simplest and best to be honest. Everyone had watched and cheered when I dragged Lecter upstairs to the bathroom, so there was no point in trying to deny what I’d done.

  ‘He was bothering a friend of mine,’ I said.

  A headache was rolling in like a dust storm across the base of my skull and I could feel my pulse beating against my eyelids.

  The detective consulted his notes. ‘Clio?’

  I nodded. What exactly had she told the police? I remembered her note, passed to Ji through the window late last night. Thank you for protecting me tonight. Whatever happens in the coming months, I will always be grateful, as I have just told the police.

  ‘Yeah, Clio,’ I said, trying to sound casual. Innocent.

  ‘And what exactly did you “do” about him?’ the detective asked. ‘Did you try to stop him “bothering” Clio?’

  He knew the answer already. If this was a game, I was going to play it by the rules. ‘I took him upstairs to the bathroom to cool off,’ I said.

  ‘Took him?’

  I closed my eyes, remembering the scene, his flailing arms. Instinctively, I reached up to touch the cut on my lip.

  ‘He was being obnoxious, trying to kiss Clio when she didn’t want to be kissed,’ I said. My leg had started to bounce and I pressed it hard into the concrete floor of the interview room. ‘She asked me to get him off her. “Get this creep off me” I think were her exact words. So I hauled him up the stairs and locked him in the bathroom.’

  I fell silent, wondering how much to say. The detective waited, sensing there was more to come.

  ‘Louis, the host, whose house it was, suggested I put him up there.’

  The detective scribbled something in his notepad.

  Was that OK to say? Had I just landed Louis in it? The police interviewed him last night and would no doubt interview him again today. Would he be honest or say it was my idea to lock him in the bathroom? Last night, we’d agreed not to mention the bathroom stash, but that was all.

  ‘Were there any drugs at the party?’ the detective continued.

  I managed a wry smile. As Ji had said the other day, ‘Do one-legged ducks swim in a circle?’

  ‘It was a student party,’ I said. ‘I stuck to the Beck’s.’

  ‘And you didn’t supply any drugs to the deceased?’

  I shifted in my seat. In my head I went over what happened in the bathroom again, told myself there was an innocent explanation for the missing Ecstasy pill, that I hadn’t given it to Lecter, but the nagging thoughts wouldn’t go away.

  ‘I’m not a dealer,’ I said, beginning to sweat. I used to know a few in Newlyn but always kept my distance. ‘And I’m not a user. I know what these things do to the brain. I’m a medical student. This guy was very intoxicated, as I’m sure the post mortem will reveal. For whatever reason, he jumped out of the window. Some drugs do that to people. Hallucinogens. I was the first on the scene, but there was nothing I could do. He must have died instantly. No vital signs.’

  I began to well up, a response that I didn’t see coming. For the first time, Lecter’s death hit me. I remembered the angle of his neck, the way one arm was slung awkwardly across his body, like an empty sleeve.

  ‘Are you OK?’ the detective asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, trying to keep it together. ‘Will you be contacting my college?’

  ‘They’ve been in touch already.’ He glanced at his notebook. ‘A Professor Andy Beale.’

  I bowed my head in shame. Prof Beale, my director of studies, is one of the nicest people I’ve met this year. An incredible anatomist and a kind, avuncular presence around college and the Medical School. Someone who prefers open-necked shirts and cosy turquoise jumpers to formal jacket and tie. I’m gutted for the damage that might have been done to my medical prospects, but I’m also sad that I’ve let down someone who looks out for his students with such genuine care. He warned us about the dangers and pitfalls of student life. The need to avoid trouble. And I failed to heed his advice.

  32

  May 1998

  The police interview shook me, but in truth my nerves were already shredded. Ji could sense that something was wrong and asked if I wanted to talk about anything, which was unlike him. I’ve always had him down as emotionally repressed, but I realise now that it’s me who’s had the problem, not him. I didn’t want to talk, not yet. Instead, I agreed to play Gran Turismo with him for half an hour, to distract myself.

  I was getting used to the catastrophising thoughts – I could go back to Cornwall and work on the trawlers if the college threw me out – but something else was bothering me and it took a while to work out exactly what it was.

  There had now been two student deaths in as many days – one at Louis’ party, one at King’s College Chapel – but I was the only person who suspected they might be related in some way. Aldous told me to steer clear of Louis because he was ‘evil’. He then took his own life. A day later, at a party hosted by Louis, another student plunged to his death. Odd, by anyone’s standards. My problem now was that I didn’t know what Aldous’s issue was with Louis. Or why Aldous appeared in a video on rotten.com taking drugs and having sex, just a few hours after horrific footage appeared on the same site of him falling to his death.

  I have a couple of medic friends in Queens’, so I decided after lunch to walk over there to see what else I could discover about Aldous. It wasn’t going to be easy as the whole college is of course still in shock. Aldous was a popular guy and his tragic loss is keenly felt. The last thing I wanted to be was disrespectful, but if I could talk to some of his friends, maybe even the woman he’d had the argument with on Mathematical Bridge, I might be able to establish why Aldous thought Louis was evil. And if his suicide was in any way connected.

  An hour later, I felt like a tabloid reporter on a death knock as I wandered around Old Court, looking for the right staircase. I’d got a name for Aldous’s girlfriend – Grace Anderson – and her room number from a Queens’ medic. We’ve already been told that, as doctors, one of the more difficult aspects of our job will be breaking bad news to relatives. Oddly, it’s a side of the role that I feel comfortable with. Maybe because Mum told me so gently when Dad eventually passed away, five years after he was meant to die. ‘He couldn’t keep going any longer,’ she said. ‘His candle finally burnt out.’ The anger and rage that smouldered inside me afterwards was not directed at her or at Dad but at myself, for my powerlessness, my ignorance, my inability to help him.

  ‘Who is it?’ a faint female voice called out when I knocked at what I hoped was Grace’s door.

  Was this a mistake? Grossly insensitive?

  ‘My name’s Adam,’ I said through the door. ‘I met Aldous in the ADC Bar the other night. I’d really appreciate the chance to talk to you for a minute or two… if that’s OK?’

  There was a long pause before the door finally swung open. I recognised her at once as the woman on the bridge. Grace managed a smile, which was impressive, given how much she must have been hurting. Her eyes were red, her face bruised with grief. There was something retro about her appearance, a hint of the 1950s in her vintage cardigan and saddle shoes. She reminded me of a photo of Mum when she first met Dad – small and tidy, tortoiseshell glasses – and I held on to this thought for comfort as she ushered me into her room without a word.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Aldous,’ I said, accepting her invitation to sit down. I perched awkwardly on the edge of an armchair.

  ‘Me too,’ she replied, walking over to her desk. She shuffled some textbooks, her back to me. ‘Did you know him well? I think I might have seen you around.’

  ‘I only met him once,’ I said, worried that I had intruded on Grace’s grief under false pretences. I’d certainly never met Grace before. Her accent was faintly Mancunian.

  ‘He must have made a big impression on you,’ she said.

  I took in the room: a poster of Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, a record player on legs, the rows of books. The space felt old and settled, at peace with itself, as only ancient rooms can. The low afternoon sun slipped in through thick, mullion windows, casting long shadows on the high ceiling. I needed to tread carefully, say nothing that might make things worse for Grace. For all I knew, she was unaware of the video on rotten.com. I decided to focus on my brief exchange with Aldous in the ADC Bar.

  ‘He gave me some advice, actually,’ I said. ‘I’d just done a performance at the ADC – Doctor Faustus.’

  ‘I went to it,’ she said, turning round, the first sign of a smile on her thin lips. ‘That’s where I’ve seen you before. You were Faustus, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, blushing.

  ‘You were great.’ She leant back against the desk, more relaxed now. ‘Seriously, I really enjoyed it.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ I said. ‘Did you see it with Aldous?’

  She nodded. ‘He liked it too.’ It was the first time in our conversation where her voice faltered. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking a tissue from a box on her desk.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘Shall I come back another time?’

  ‘No, please. Stay. It was a great show. Made a big impression on Aldous. On both of us. We talked about it a lot afterwards. What we’re prepared to forfeit to succeed in life, whether it’s ever really worth it. It’s nice that you are here.’

  ‘Did he act?’ I asked.

  ‘He wanted to. Never had the confidence to audition. I told him he should…’

  She started to sob.

  ‘I should go,’ I offered again. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just all such a shock.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Maybe I wasn’t as good in grief’s company as I’d thought.

  ‘What sort of advice did he give you?’ she asked, beginning to laugh through her tears. ‘A bit rich given he never acted himself. Not as far as I know.’

  ‘It wasn’t acting advice. It was about someone I was talking to. In the bar.’

  Her face seemed to darken, as if a cloud had passed over it. Had I said the wrong thing? Did she know Louis?

  ‘I’m sorry, he was a bit of a gossip,’ Grace said. ‘We used to argue about it a lot. He could be quite judgemental about people.’

  Maybe she didn’t know Louis. ‘It was nothing,’ I said, lying for the first time in our conversation. ‘Just a passing remark. We only talked for a few seconds.’

  ‘Why are you here then?’ she asked, her voice suddenly less friendly. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know if it would be fair to say, given what Aldous said about them,’ I said.

  ‘In that case, I’m not sure how I can really help you.’

  She walked over to the window, her back to me. I breathed in deeply – and took a gamble.

  33

  May 1998

  ‘Did Aldous ever have a film made of his life here?’ I asked. Grace was still at the window. ‘As a student?’

  It was the only reason I could think of why Aldous might know Louis. A long shot, but worth a try. Grace turned around, her face full of relief. Mine too.

  ‘He told you about that?’ she asked.

  ‘He didn’t mention it,’ I said, trying to stay calm. It must have been Louis who made the film.

  ‘I’m amazed he didn’t,’ she said. ‘He told everyone – he was so chuffed about it. Highlights of his time here. He did it for his parents, really. Gave me a copy too.’ She started to cry again. ‘I’ve been watching it today, actually.’

  I was desperate to ask her more, whether Louis had made the film, but she was in pieces now, shielding her face from me as she sobbed at the window.

  ‘Here.’ I picked up the box of tissues from the desk and walked over to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking one. ‘I can’t seem to stop crying.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, as she turned and rested her head on my shoulder. I hesitated and then put an arm around her as she began to sob again.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said after a few seconds, her head still on my shoulder.

  There was no awkwardness. Bereavement had taken Grace far beyond the borders of embarrassment. We stood side by side, staring out of the window, watching students crisscross the quad below. I knew what she was thinking. Why did everyday life carry on as normal? That’s what I couldn’t accept when Dad died. The world should have stopped to pay its respects, acknowledge that the sum of humankind was one person fewer. But the Scillonian set sail for the Scillies as usual. The beam from the Lizard lighthouse still swept across the bay. And Cornwall’s seagulls continued to wheel and cry.

  ‘He used to do this funny little sound, just after he’d fallen asleep,’ Grace said, making a pop with her lips. ‘Like he was blowing bubbles in his sleep or something.’ She made the sound again, exhaling softly. ‘I used to watch him do that until it lulled me to sleep.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t sleep at all last night.’

  She turned and walked over to her desk, breaking the spell of our sudden intimacy. I was about to follow when a movement below caught my eye. A fleeting, familiar figure in black, moving through the cloisters. Was it Louis? I looked again, but the person had gone.

  ‘Do you happen to know who made the film?’ I asked, sitting back down in the armchair. I had to hear her say his name, just to be sure.

  ‘A guy called Louis Farr. Bit too where’s-me-baccy-rah for my liking, but Aldous and him got on really well.’

  I closed my eyes. It wasn’t exactly satisfaction that I felt, but pieces were starting to fall into place. And then it occurred to me that Grace hadn’t heard about Louis’ party and the death of another student. She must have been living in her own bubble of grief since Aldous died, unaware of anything outside her college. I wasn’t sure it was my place to pop it.

  ‘I think Louis is going on to bigger and better things, actually,’ she continued. ‘Aldous used to joke that a film of his life had been made by a future Oscar winner.’

  ‘And Aldous was studying law, right?’ I said. Hearing someone else eulogise about Louis made me feel embarrassed by my own eagerness to be a part of his set.

  ‘We both were,’ she said. ‘Well, I still am. Trying to. Third year. Not sure what I’ll do now, to be honest. Maybe take a year out.’

  ‘Can I ask something? And please say no if it’s, you know, inappropriate.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, picking at a speck of dirt on her skirt.

  ‘It’s just that Louis is also making a film of my life here, as a first-year medic.’

  ‘No way,’ she said. ‘That’s amazing. You must be so chuffed.’

  ‘Yes and no. I’m not very good being centre stage.’

  ‘Says Doctor Faustus.’

  She had a point.

  ‘I wondered if I could see the film about Aldous?’ I continued. ‘It would be reassuring to watch someone else’s. To get an idea of how it might look.’

  She thought about it for a second, glancing over to the window as she chewed on a fingernail. ‘OK, I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Please don’t worry if it’s a problem,’ I said, sensing her reluctance. She hadn’t moved from her desk.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ she said, as if she’d suddenly seen the light. She walked over to the corner of the room, knelt down and opened a cupboard. Inside was a small TV set. ‘But I might have to go out for a walk,’ she added, turning on the TV and starting the video player. ‘It will set me off again.’