Page 14 of Oar Than Friends

I groaned, because he made it sound so simple when itwas anything but, because from the point in time when I’d watched her walk away, the following twelve hours had gone swiftly south and hadn’t yet stopped.

It began with me waking up at the crack of dawn and desperately needing some sustenance – more than the box of cornflakes Olly’s woefully bare kitchen would provide. I’d jogged to the small supermarket on campus which opened at six a.m. only to be assaulted by a wall of Sunday papers, neatly lined up on shelves welcoming me in.

The sight wasn’t welcome.

My mother’s face stared at me, underneath a headline about how my father had raced around to her house in a jealous rage after he’d discovered she had a new boyfriend. While I had no doubt about my father’s capacity to fly off the handle, I did doubt any story about a new boyfriend, mostly because – on closer inspection of one front page image – the new boyfriend in question looked suspiciously like one of her gardeners, who was sixty-five years old, and gay. Plus, my mother wasn’t in the country.

I’d turned on my heel and walked straight out, shooting off a text message to Olly telling him what had happened, and jumped straight on the train back to Oxford.

All the story did was stoke the fires of hatred I had for my father for putting us all in this position, and serve me the sobering reminder that, outside the cold walls of the university, this was my very shameful and embarrassing life. As soon as Kate Astley saw, she would sprint off in the opposite direction.

‘You’re a decent guy,’ Olly tried again, ‘just text her and put me out of my misery. She’s not going to care about your family, she’s American.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I muttered, grabbing the tub of protein powder and scooping a portion into my shaker.

‘Oz, I have to go. I need to see my professor before term starts. Are you racing this weekend?’

‘Yes, against your lot. Shame you’ll lose.’

‘We’ll see about that. I’m placing a healthy bet that Cambridge will win this year.’

‘Don’t waste your money, Marshy’s back,’ I chuckled, suddenly feeling much cheerier than I had when I’d woken up. Nothing like a bit of friendly competition to get the blood flowing again. ‘Thanks for the talk, Ol. I appreciate it.’

‘Any time. Speak to you later.’

‘Try not to sleep with your tutor this year,’ I shot out, hearing his loud laugh just before the call went dead.

I mixed up the protein shake, drinking it while I waited for my coffee to finish dripping, along with the porridge I had cooking for my first breakfast of the day. At this point, I could almost add eating as a skill on my résumé.

I’d just spooned two portions into to-go bowls when Charlie appeared at the kitchen door, his mouth open in a wide yawn.

‘Morning, sunshine.’

‘Morning,’ he grunted, at least I think that’s what he said. ‘Do you have a coffee for me, please?’

I nodded to the second cup I’d placed under the coffee machine. ‘Yes, that one’s for you.’

‘Thank you.’

It was well known among the rowing crew, plus most of Trinity College, that Charlie shouldn’t be approached in the mornings until he’d had at least one, preferably twocoffees. It was beyond most of us how he’d gotten into rowing, seeing as we were usually on the river by six thirty a.m. every day in the run-up to the big race. As term was yet to begin and we were still eight months out, it was currently a much more reasonable eight a.m., but not for long.

As I’d told Olly, our first race of the year was in four days’ time, where we’d be back at the scene of our weekend’s exploits: Cambridge University.

Charlie grabbed the cup, sighing through his first sip. ‘Much better.’

‘Good.’ I hoisted up my backpack, nodding to the second porridge as I walked out of the kitchen, ‘That’s for you too. Now, come on, we can’t be late for our first meeting.’

‘Do you reckon they’ve discovered their precious oars are no longer where they left them?’ he asked as we stepped out into the cool, fresh morning air.

‘There’s no way they haven’t; we’ll find out soon enough, though. They might be waiting until after the race on Saturday to retaliate.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. That’s what we’d do.’ He took another large sip of his coffee, and looked around the house, ‘Where’s Brooks?’

‘Already left, Marshy’s car broke down so he went to collect them.’

‘Great, that means I ride shotgun.’ He jumped into the passenger seat of my car, and we set off for the Fleming Boathouse, our river training station, sitting on the River Thames a short drive out of Oxford.

I surged up the road while Charlie spent the next three minutes trying to decide what music he wanted to listento. By that point I’d zoned out of whatever he was doing, my mind firmly back in its debate about whether or not to text Kate, so I didn’t see him pick up my phone as it buzzed.

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