Page 29 of Oar Than Friends

She wasn’t just a girl. She wasthegirl. I’d paid very little attention to what people thought of me in the past, yet for some reason her opinion mattered.

I couldn’t do anything about my position at Oxford, but I could do something about the lies she’d been told.

And try to convince her otherwise.

6. Kate

(Naming a dead guy is harder than it sounds …)

Oz:

Question for a question. Did you know that the Boat Race was started by two friends? One was at Cambridge and the other at Oxford? No enemies in sight … Your turn next

A watched pot never boils, or so the saying goes. Something like that, anyway.

But give me a cell phone you don’t want to buzz, with a message from the one person you don’t want to hear from, and it never goddamn stops.

If three unanswered messages in a row counts as never stops.

I slipped my phone into my backpack, trying not to wonder whether there’d be a fourth, and followed Imogen and Hannah out of the changing rooms, zipping up my puffa jacket on the way and pulling up my hood. The clouds had broken thirty minutes into practice and from the sounds of it crashing against the roof, the rain was still pouring.

‘God, I’m starving,’ Hannah mumbled, stuffing a protein bar into her mouth. ‘If we hurry we’ve got time to grab a breakfast roll to have on the train back.’

‘Good idea,’ I replied, clutching my stomach as it rumbled louder than the thunder.

This morning’s drills had been intense, and I wasn’t one of the crew powering us through the water at whatfelt like a thousand miles an hour. I was the one huddled down in the back directing them where to go. At the end of the corridor members of the team were pushing open the entrance door, standing underneath the sign which read ‘Where We Prepare to Win Boat Races’ for a few seconds before they braved the downpour and ran the distance to the train station. Every time the door opened, a gust of cold air blew in, making me wish I’d worn my thermals.

‘Astley, do you have a minute?’

I spun around in the corridor to find Coach Stephens, the Cambridge women’s rowing chief coach, standing in the doorway of his office.

I glanced back at the girls, whose hunger appeared to have been momentarily forgotten as they stared at me with widening eyes. Beyond our initial meeting, none of us had spoken to Coach Stephens or really been in his presence; we were junior members of the wider training crew and our position was a little too far down the ladder for him to be part of our sessions. So far, our morning training had been run by the assistant coaches, while I also had a separate training session with Coach Godwin, my coxing coach.

A legend in the rowing world, and former Cambridge rowing alumnus and Olympian, Coach Stephens had led the Cambridge women’s team to Boat Race victory six times in the past ten years, as well as claiming multiple wins at the Henley Regatta. With his shock of thick white hair and rounded belly he could be confused with Santa if his beard wasn’t as black as coal, but I’d heard he always dressed up for Christmas to deliver presents to the localchildren’s hospital, before returning in his costume for the Boat Club party.

‘Sure, Coach. What’s up?’ I walked towards him.

‘How are you finding the training?’

I blinked, trying hard not to show too much surprise, ‘Good, thanks. It’s been hard but I like a challenge. I’m glad to be back on the water though, it’s been a few weeks.’

‘It’s always good to be on the water,’ he nodded. ‘How are you enjoying Cambridge?’

‘I’m settling in, thanks. Haven’t had time for a proper tour of the city yet, but soon hopefully.’

He looked down at the clipboard he was holding. ‘You’re studying medicine, right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How are you with balancing your schedule? Medicine is a busy course, lots of work. Intense.’

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