‘Come on, she’s gorgeous,’ she says. ‘That chopped pixie cut, the leather jacket, rock-chick skirt. And what a voice! You couldn’t make it up. If I was a man… I could never pull off a look like that.’

  It’s true. Tania couldn’t be less like Clio. If Clio smoulders, Tania is pure sunshine, a difference heightened by their contrasting physiques. Tania is tall, blonde and athletic, Clio short, dark and petite. It was one reason he fell for Tania. Meeting her was like a release, a chance to break free from the past, from his increasingly delusional memories of university life. Of Clio.

  ‘OK, so I wanted to go out with her, after we’d acted in Doctor Faustus together – it’s the only reason I applied for the part. She just came up to me one day, started to flirt and told me to audition for the play. How could I refuse? But…’ He pauses, long enough for Tania to prompt him with raised eyebrows. Long enough for an unwelcome memory to return. ‘I wasn’t the only one interested in her. And she certainly wasn’t interested in me. Not in that way. We were friends.’

  ‘Did you sleep together?’

  ‘No!’ Adam protests, trying to laugh it off, but he feels better for being honest with her. Christ, it’s not as if he hasn’t wondered what it would be like to sleep with Clio. And the conversation at the station had unnerved him. ‘There was a time when I thought we might, but I was never really in the frame. She had this weird on-off relationship with another bloke. An older man.’ He can’t bring himself to say Louis’ name.

  ‘Nothing wrong with older men.’ She smiles seductively at him. When they first met, at Charing Cross Hospital, she was a junior doctor and he was a registrar, five years her senior. ‘We should hang out with more people like her,’ Tania says. ‘Get out of our comfort zone. We’re in a social rut – it’s not good for us.’

  It’s true, most of their London friends are middle-class south London medics.

  ‘I’m not sure how happy Clio is,’ Adam says. He had the same feeling at uni, that Clio was unfulfilled, dissatisfied, a deep melancholia running like a buried stream beneath the wild, party-girl facade. ‘And I’m amazed she’s still alive, to be honest. Still smoking like a chimney.’

  She used to take a lot of drugs too. He wonders if she still does.

  ‘She seemed fun to me,’ Tania says. ‘Maybe that’s what we need. A bit more fun in our lives. Once I’ve caught up on five years’ sleep.’

  Now seems as good a time as any to mention Clio’s offer.

  ‘She asked if we both wanted to meet for a drink in town tonight,’ he says, focusing a little too hard on loading the dishwasher.

  ‘That’s a shame. I’ve told Mum and Dad I’ll be down there by 5 p.m. – in time for Freddie’s tea.’

  ‘I said that you were going away and’ – Adam swallows, feeling guilty – ‘that I was busy. I don’t even have her number.’

  He detects the faintest hesitation before Tania speaks, her voice artificially upbeat, as if she’s making an effort to be cheerful.

  ‘You should go – have a drink with her,’ she says, straightening a tea towel on the oven rail. She trusts him and in that moment he loves her more than ever. Her openness. There’s never any side to Tania, no hidden agenda. She is what she is and she expects others to be similarly straightforward, which often leads to disappointment. ‘You’re not on call tonight, are you?’ she continues. ‘It’ll be a chance to chat about old times. And she gave me her number.’ She reaches for her phone and shares the contact. Adam’s phone pings accusingly in his pocket. ‘You don’t see anyone from uni these days.’

  And Tania thinks she understands why. Adam has given her the bare bones of what happened towards the end of his first year, but he has never told her why he thinks he’s being watched, filmed. Or the real reason he still has nightmares.

  9

  May 1998

  Louis kept to his word and dropped by my room this morning, asking if I was still up for taking part in his short film. He explained that he often spends up to a week shooting enough material to edit down into someone’s typical day and he wants to get started sooner rather than later. Once again I protested that twenty-four hours of my sad student existence is unlikely to win him any Oscars, even if it is a collection of spliced-together ‘highlights’ from an entire week, but he also came with a card. I recognised Clio’s handwriting on the envelope and put it in my pocket, to be read later, but Louis insisted that I open it there and then.

  Are you free for lunch? I need to debrief about the play and feel we’ve hardly talked. Which is crazy, given the amount of time we’ve spent together in recent weeks. I’ve booked a table at Sweeney Todd’s for 1.30 p.m. tomorrow. On me.

  Clio xx

  P.S. This has nothing to do with Louis and his shitty little ALife in theDay of… If he asks if he can film us, please tell him to fuck off, politely of course.

  ‘Well?’ Louis asked.

  ‘Clio wants to meet for lunch,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow. Did you arrange this? Say something to her?’

  Louis held up his hands in mock protest. ‘Of course not.’ He smiled. ‘You cannot tell Clio what to do. I might have told her she has a new admirer, but that’s all. More importantly, we have our opening scene.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘She asked that I don’t film you?’ he interrupted.

  I nodded, more confused than ever by their relationship, whatever that is. The longer I looked at Louis’ matchstick figure, the more unwell he seemed. Maybe he’d just had a particularly heavy night – he made no secret of his drug taking. His eczema had flared up around his eye sockets like red goggles, which didn’t help, but there was also a miasma of ill health about him that I couldn’t fathom. Whatever Clio’s drawn to, it’s not his wholesomeness.

  ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘Neither of you will know I’m there.’

  ‘I really don’t think she wants to be filmed,’ I said. ‘She was quite… adamant.’

  ‘Let me guess – she told me to fuck off.’ He glanced down as I slid the card into my pocket. ‘It’s OK. She often does that. She won’t know I’m there. Tell her you passed on her message and I went off in a sulk.’

  ‘Will she believe me?’

  ‘Of course. I often sulk. Runs in the family. My brother Gabe is a world-class sulker.’

  I desperately wanted to ask if he and Clio were an item, but I chose not to pry. I was, though, having misgivings about the whole film project, but Louis seemed to anticipate my concerns.

  ‘We can make something special here, I promise you,’ he said.

  ‘Honestly, my days are spent reading, going to lectures. And then more reading.’

  ‘And is that how you want to spend your time at Cambridge?’

  ‘I don’t have a choice.’

  I’ve been playing catch-up from the moment I arrived here, less prepared than other students whose parents are doctors, who’ve been immersed in the medical world since they were kids. And the stakes are high. Medical students are chucked out if we fail our first-year exams. And I really don’t want to be chucked out. Wouldn’t be able to look Mum in the eye or walk the streets of Newlyn. A whole community would be disappointed.

  ‘See this film as wish fulfilment,’ Louis said. ‘A chance to live the life you’d like to lead at Cambridge.’

  ‘You don’t understand. Playing Faustus was a massive gamble, given my workload. I can’t risk doing anything else now apart from studying.’

  ‘I do understand,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘You can work today, but tomorrow we must film. Lunch and then punting.’

  ‘Punting! I don’t have time for bloody punting!’ Louis really had no idea of how much work I had to do. ‘And isn’t that a bit, you know, hackneyed?’

  ‘You sound like the American who complains there are too many clichés in Shakespeare. Punting is Cambridge. And so is getting drunk in Grantchester Meadows. Clio’s always wanted to go there.’

  I’ve heard about the posh drinking societies that gather on the banks of the Cam near Grantchester – members get so inebriated that ambulances have to take them away. It’s the sort of thing I expect Louis to have done, but I was pleased and surprised to learn that Clio hasn’t indulged.

  ‘Are you sure she’s not involved in all this?’ I asked.

  ‘Not unless you want her to be. I’m just saying that if you offered to punt her to Grantchester with a bottle of vodka and some grapefruit juice, she might not say no. Personally, I can’t think of anything worse. The tree pollen at this time of year is unbearable.’

  I glanced at his bloodshot eyes, satisfied by my hay fever diagnosis: seasonal allergic rhinitis. I stood there, torn between my books, spread out on my desk, and the thought of spending the day getting drunk with Clio. Drinking vodka with grapefruit is one of the quickest ways to get alcohol into the human body, short of injecting an eyeball. She’s obviously used to being corralled into Louis’ PhD projects – her defiant response last night to being filmed at the bar has stayed with me – but it sounded like she’d had enough, for now at least. I was beginning to feel the same way.

  ‘I will gladly meet Clio for lunch tomorrow, but I really don’t think you should film us,’ I said. ‘She’s specifically asked that you don’t. And I can’t take the afternoon off to go punting. Jesus, if only you knew.’ I turned to my overflowing desk. ‘By all means film me here and cycling over to the Medical School, but I’ll have to check if you can film inside. I seriously doubt it. Honestly, I won’t be offended if you decide there’s not enough interesting material for your film.’

  But Louis seemed far from troubled. In fact, he wasn’t at all surprised by my increasing reluctance, maybe because he had a plan that I’d find hard to refuse.

  ‘I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘I’m having a party on Wednesday night. At my house. Mortimer Road. The usual suspects, I’m afraid, but you’re very welcome to join us.’ The usual suspects meant all the university’s top actors and directors. The elite arts set. Not the sort of party I’d ever be invited to. And then, almost as an afterthought, he added, ‘Clio will be there, of course. But you might have had enough of her by then.’

  The idea that I might ever have had enough of Clio was too absurd to contemplate.

  ‘If I can get all my work done, I’ll try to come along,’ I said, trying to sound casual. I’d just been invited to Louis’ party, and Clio would be there.

  ‘Please do. It would be great to see you. We can film for the first twenty minutes or so – discreetly, of course – but then we’ll down tools. There are some things that shouldn’t be caught on camera.’

  He gave me a wink and I thought of Clio again, whether we’d hang out at the party, what I’d say to her, but then the words of warning from the student at the ADC Bar came crashing back. He’s not just a bad person. He’s evil.

  I’m generally a good judge of people – at least I think I am – but nothing about my own encounters with Louis so far have rung any alarm bells. Apart from his state of health, but that’s just me being a medic. He’s bumptious and arrogant, of course, in a typically private school sort of way. No idea how the other half live. Not a bloody clue. He’s pushy about the filming too. And if it weren’t for his connection with Clio, the access to her that he might afford, I wouldn’t choose to spend time with him, despite his growing reputation as an auteur. But evil? I can’t see it. Maybe the student was high? He seemed more scared than stoned. Or perhaps he’s just jealous of Louis. A lot of people are.

  10

  Adam reaches across to fasten Freddie into the back of their VW Touran. Tania is already behind the wheel, eager to leave. Tilly is in her baby seat, asleep next to Freddie.

  ‘If she sleeps the whole way, you’re going to be up all—’

  ‘I know that, Adam,’ Tania says, interrupting him. ‘But it’s a deal I’m prepared to sign up for right now. Have you ever tried driving with Tilly crying?’

  He has. How can he ever forget? Six hours of pure hell when they drove down with Tilly to show her to his mum in Cornwall. But it was worth it, just to see the happiness in his mum’s watery eyes. For a while it had been touch and go whether she’d live to see any grandchildren. Adam jumped onto her medical case as soon as he qualified, established that she’d been put on the wrong drugs ‘for her nerves’. The improvement was startling. If only he’d been able to do the same for his dad.

  ‘I can come with you, take the train back,’ he offers again.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Tania says.

  They are both on best behaviour in front of Freddie, who is listening intently to their exchange.

  ‘Please can Daddy come,’ Freddie says, showing the first signs of grouchiness. ‘I don’t want to go to Granny and Gramps’.’

  ‘Oh yes you do,’ Adam says, spinning his head round so his face is upside down in the open window. ‘You’re just being topsy-turvy, like Tilly,’ he says, ‘and speaking in opposites.’

  Tania turns, hushing him as Freddie starts to laugh. Adam leans in to kiss him on the forehead. ‘Better not wake your sister,’ he whispers. ‘Got the Ferrari?’

  Freddie holds up a red model car, grinning from ear to ear. Some children get attached to teddies. Others to comfort blankets. Their son’s fixated with a Ferrari 412 P, made in the 1960s. Admittedly it’s a Scalextric racing car. A real one costs $45 million, but this one was £40 on eBay – worth it alone for the working front and rear lights. Adam’s not really into cars, but he plays along, bought it for Freddie last Christmas. An elaborate Scalextric racing track is ready and waiting in Grandpa’s garage.

  Adam closes the door gently and walks round to the driver’s door.

  ‘Go carefully,’ he says, leaning in to kiss Tania. ‘And please come back,’ he adds, more quietly.

  ‘I think you’re better off without me when I’m in this state,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just finding it all so hard.’

  ‘I know you are. I get that. Send them my love.’

  He waves as they drive off down Maze Hill onto Trafalgar Road, past the camera, and then he disappears back into the house. He wants to go straight up into the attic, but he waits. Despite her awesome powers of organisation, it’s not uncommon for Tania to forget something when she’s tired and drive back to collect it.

  After waiting for fifteen minutes, he rests the loft ladder against the hatch, climbs up and feels for the light switch. Rows of boxes disappear into the darkness, but it’s the one nearest him that he’s most interested in. A memory box from his university days: a diary documenting the whole horrendous drama, graduation photo, college rugby shirt, May Ball ticket, well-thumbed copy of Doctor Faustus with his acting notes. And a video. He lifts the box down, puts it onto the bed and climbs back up into the attic. The old video player should have gone to the dump years ago, but he finds it wedged beneath the eaves in a corner and brings it out, blowing off the dust. He’s about to take it down when something else catches his eye in the memory box. A brown barn owl feather with darker bands. He pulls it out, turning it in his hand before returning it to the box. Clio gave it to him the last time they ever talked to each other at Cambridge, said it was a symbol of protection.

  Two minutes later, he’s on the edge of the bed, watching the TV screen in the corner of their bedroom. It’s an old set, given to them as a wedding present. There he is, sitting on his own at a quiet table in Sweeney Todd’s – the opening shot of Louis’ A Life in the Day of… film. How young he looks, so much thinner around the face. More hair too. And so naive, his innocent eyes full of expectation. Little did his younger self know what lay ahead of him. The film was meant to be a record of one Cambridge student’s gilded life. If only.

  Louis had lied to him. There was meant to be no filming in the restaurant, but somehow he’d managed. Adam watches, transfixed, as Clio appears, joining him at the table. His stomach lurches. It’s years since he’s seen this film. He thought that time might have healed the wounds, but he stops the tape. He can’t bear to watch what happens next.

  11

  May 1998

  ‘Am I late?’ Clio asked, sitting down opposite me in Sweeney Todd’s. She was sporting a strappy red slip dress, white canvas pumps, and a slick of clear lip gloss.

  I glanced around the restaurant, not because I wanted other diners to see that my date had finally showed up and was drop-dead gorgeous – OK, there might have been an element of that – but mainly because I couldn’t quite believe that I was having lunch with Clio. Ever since receiving her unlikely invitation yesterday, I’d been playing out various versions in my head of what might transpire today and kept returning to a no-show. This sort of thing just didn’t happen in my life: the bursary boy from Cornwall didn’t have lunch with people like Clio.

  ‘Not at all, only just got here myself,’ I said, as breezily as possible.

  She glanced at the half-empty jug of drinking water, the remains of a roll on my side plate and smiled. It was so obviously a lie that I blushed.

  ‘Is he here?’ she asked, scanning the restaurant.

  There were a few diners on other tables, including a family of four, and a group of six students in the far corner, beyond the old water wheel – a legacy of when the building was a working mill house. Rowers, I guessed, based on their physique and the size of the pizzas they were consuming.

  ‘Louis?’ I said. ‘Not as far as I know.’

  I’d already had a good look around and decided that he wasn’t there, unless he was hiding in the kitchen. I’d also checked outside. Sweeney Todd’s overlooks a millpond on a tributary of the River Cam that runs through Coe Fen, a peaceful nature reserve. If he was out there somewhere, stalking the riverbank with a zoom lens, I hadn’t seen him.

  ‘I passed on the message – politely but firmly,’ I said.