I leaned against the sandy walls of the collage, one leg propped up against the wall behind me, hands in the pockets of a pair of blue skinny jeans, and with the sleeves of a new white shirt I’d found in a sale earlier, rolled up. I waited for Hermione. She’d said seven o’clock and it was now five past. I wasn’t one to be particularly on time, but I didn’t want to be late for this. I’d left late from the house and as a consequence power walked down the length of Cowley road as fast as I could, doing my best not to look as though I was actually in a hurry. Sweat had started to pool under my arms and so I’d taken my coat off and laid it on the floor between my legs. I looked up to the evening sky - a deep pink and orange hue brushed the clouds like a blushing cheek - and sighed a long sigh into the cool air.
“Hi,” said a familiar voice somewhere to my left. Hermione was dismounting a pushbike that was still in the process of stopping. Both feet on the left pedal she hopped off and ran a little with the bike as she pulled her weight back to bring it to a complete standstill. “Sorry, I had to have a shower after squash practice and I finished later than I expected.” She panted sporadically throughout the sentence. “Then I decided to take this useless thing, “she said gesturing down at the bike “but I think it takes longer than it would by foot. The things that make it stop, what do you call them?”
“The brakes?” I answered, without much assurance.
“Yes, that’s it. They don’t work. So now my boots are a mess from dragging my shoes along the ground to slow it down.”
I looked down at her boots. They were long and brown, coming up to her knees - maybe that was just because she was so small…that’s how it works right? Above that she wore black tights and a short black dress with a long black coat over the top. She looked as pretty as I remember. Better maybe.
I held out my hand to shake. “Nice to see you again”, I muttered.
She looked at my hand as if I held a rotten piece of fruit in it and said “You English. So strange.”
“What?” I immediately rebutted.
“So cold. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Yes.” I said, suddenly thinking that perhaps it had all been a fantasy.
“Good, well don’t you think this is all a bit formal, let me teach you the Greek way.” She smiled as she said this and leaned up towards my face and kissed me on both cheeks. I turned away, in a sharp embarrassed reflex. Hermione laughed. “Come on vomiting guy, I need to lock my bike somewhere.”
I was inside the college. It was half what I expected. The grandeur was there. The wood panelled walls, leather armchairs and guests drabbed in tuxedos and dresses. But the people were normal. And the party was normal. No, not normal, average. Just a bit crap actually. There were cocktails, but not in elegantly formed glasses, fingers delicately draped around their shafts. None of that. No, the cocktails were premade and in white plastic cups, sitting on the bar on black matt serving trays. If there was alcohol in them, I couldn’t taste it, but I was working my way through a tray of them nevertheless. The music was from a ‘Hits 99’ or perhaps 2000 album, in any case I was hitting double digits when they had been released. Mumbo number 5 had played twice now in the last hour. Everyone bobbed to the rhythm, pushed against the walls, like it was ‘99. The talk was ok. I was currently bullshitting my way through a conversation on Internet law. A subject I had no knowledge about, nor knew existed until five minutes previous.
“…and what it’s created is a proxy, no pun intended…”
No pun understood.
“...whereby international borders no longer hold back consumers as they used to. For I.P, intellectual property that is, this creates a huge dilemma.” He concluded and paused to allow me to comment.
“Well,” I said.
Oh fuck, give me back Becky. I’m a miserable bastard, aren’t I? Why must I criticise them all? It’s not them it’s me, really. Rich, I’m sorry!
“That’s not good,” I finally answered. “I suppose that makes it hard for you as a lawyer then?”
I should be working for ‘The Washington Post’ with insights like that.
“Well, quite.” He replied.
Hermione was over the other side of the bar talking to a group of people on her course. I looked over desperately. I caught her eye and she smiled briefly and mouthed, “OK?” at me.
I smiled back and not so slyly mouthed, “NO” while shaking my head. She gestured with her hand for me to come over.
Right, time for a smooth segue out of here, I thought to myself.
“I’m sorry.” I said, utterly unapologetically. “IP, I need to pee that is. Get it?”
He pulled a face and I turned around and walked over to the other side of the bar, completely in the opposite direction to the toilets.
“Hey, Seb.” Said Hermione. “These are a few of my course mates.” She gestured to the group surrounding her by the bar. “This is Daisy.” A tall girl with knobbly elbows, and almost floor length dress and a huge smile. “Fabian” He had to be French. Striped top, suit jacket and a bored look on his face. “And this is Marnie.” Marnie had tanned skinned, a tight red dress on and eyes that were so wide open I thought they were going to pop out of her sockets.
“We were thinking of going to a club, it’s gotten a bit dry in here” Marnie said, in an American accent that was almost too Hollywood.
"Sounds good to me,” I replied, a bit too hastily.
“You don’t like it Seb?” Hermione asked, a smile creeping across her face.
“It’s not that I don’t like it, I mean it’s a nice venue, and uh, the conversation is interesting, and…” I trailed off, mumbling to myself and then looked up at Hermione. “I could do with a real drink.”
“Typical English,” came the dry commentary from Fabian, who was as I expected, very French.
I laughed. “Coming from the Frenchman in a striped jumper,” I retorted. “Could you be anymore French,” I said, in my best Chandler impression. No one appeared to get it and I immediately looked down at the floor. Perhaps there was more alcohol in those drinks than I’d thought.
Then suddenly Marnie burst out laughing. “Oh my God, so true Chandler.”
The others looked blankly. Hermione raised an eyebrow.
“So funny man, seems you can do more than vomit under the influence of alcohol.” Goaded Hermione.
“I, er, I’m not drunk.” I stuttered, shivering slightly as we queued for a club.
“Relax,” she said, as we got to the bouncers at the door, who looked strangely like the henchmen at the taxi rank that had barred me from riding the previous night I’d met Hermione. Maybe they’re all cloned in a secret lab and shipped out for weekends.
“ID.” Said clone Number 1. I handed over my learner’s license. “You still can’t drive!”
“That’s what all that fancy school is for,” said Number 2, sneering. “How ‘bout you darling, can I see some ID.”
Hermione handed over a card. “I can drive.” She said.
“Ooh, we’ve got a clever one ‘ere,” chortled Number 2.
“All right,” said Number 1. “Go on through, learner. Just remember not to drink and drive.”
I scowled and walked through. “What a dick,” I muttered under my breath. Why didn’t I say something?
I looked back to find Hermione. She was talking to Number 1 as Number 2 was staring on in wonder.
“So where did you go to school?” I heard as I walked back down the hall.
“Er, well Blackbird Leys.” He, answered.
“And what did you study?”523Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMXNI5cI64O
“ Well, not much darling. I didn’t choose to study. I ‘ad to do it. Aren’t allowed to stop before sixteen, are you?”
“So, you think you should be able to make a choice to study?”
“Well, yeah sure.”
“Look love, either you go in, or you leave now.” Interjected Number 2.
“Well then you don’t need to criticise others for choosing not to study something else then, do you?” And with that she walked down the hall towards me.
I looked towards her and then over her head to the bouncers, mouths agape. They caught me staring and I suddenly felt my hand rise, my middle finger outstretched. I twisted my face in a smirk, grabbed Hermione’s arm as she reached me and ran up the stairs with her into the club.
“You really should learn to drive though.” She said dryly, as we reached the top.
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