The night was thick and still as Tristan stole back from town through the side gates of Hasted House. He’d only had a short distance to walk. Some of the school’s buildings were even situated within the town, so Hasted House students, wearing their gray suits and club ties, were a familiar sight as they walked in twos and threes down the cobbled streets. Once Tristan was inside the school grounds though, he felt removed from all that. He stood staring at the lake and the dead-quiet boat sheds, then past them to the dark lawns and the even darker fields further off. He shuddered. Who knew what was lurking out there beyond the trees’ inky contours? At times like this, it felt like there was no barrier between him and infinity.
With his fingertips, Tristan scooped into the pocket of his hoodie for a spliff. He’d meant to smoke it earlier to mellow him out for his meeting with Alice, but he’d been so stressed that he’d forgotten. He lit it now and inhaled, blinking at a halo of light on the rugby field. At the beginning of home matches, that was where he and his team paraded in front of the whole school, with everyone cheering them on. Alice always came to support him for the big games. Last year (his first as team captain) she’d painted a huge banner in his honor, which Tristan still kept rolled up under his bed.
God, Alice had looked so upset in Shock Box just now. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her. He’d never felt like such a shit in his life.
“Hey T,” a voice boomed. It was George Demetrios, with Seb Ogilvy. “Why the fuck are you lurking all the way out here? You look like you’re about to nick someone’s wallet.”
“All right, T,” Seb nodded, giving his standard greeting. His haystack hair and rail-thin frame made him look like a scarecrow next to George’s athletic bulk.
Tristan threw down his joint. “Just getting some air,” he said. “You guys?”
“Same,” George said. “Christ, you’re looking glum.”
“Did you do it?” Seb tossed his lighter up and down in one hand.
Tristan nodded. “Yeah.”
“Yeah what?” George demanded.
“I broke up with Alice.”
“Fuck me. That was quick. Why?”
“It was too heavy, man. I couldn’t deal.” T paused. “She just made me feel guilty all the time.”
“Well, maybe that’s because you had something to feel guilty about!” George punched Tristan’s shoulder and laughed. “Did you? Did you? Eh? Dirty boy.”
“Unbelievable. And you wonder why I never tell you anything.”
“Break it up!” Grinning, Seb flung a skinny arm round each of his friends’ shoulders. “Come on,” he told Tristan. “We’re going to The Oakes to drown your sorrows.”
“At least someone’s being sympathetic,” T grumbled. He’d been planning to go back to his room to play his guitar, maybe work on some of the tortured love ballads he’d written recently for his and Seb’s and Rando’s band—their first gig was just a few weeks away. But when he thought about it, the songs seemed jaded now that his whole life was a tortured love ballad. Far better to go to The Oakes, the elite club founded almost three hundred years ago off in its own corner of the grounds at the same time as Hasted House itself. Officially, The Oakes was an intellectual society where the juniors and seniors who’d been invited read poetry, declaimed about philosophy, and smoked cigars just like their fathers and grandfathers had done before them.
Unofficially, it was a den of vice. All the teachers knew that the boys who belonged smuggled in liquor and worse, but they turned a blind eye. If The Oakes ever got busted, its past members—some of the most powerful men in England—would kick up a fuss like nobody’s business.
Seb gave the secret knock and led them in.
“Oy! Over here,” Jasper called from one of the room’s leather couches. The whole place looked like a shabby gentlemen’s club, with a piano in one corner, a pool table at the back, and several brass lamps casting pools of light onto the worn rugs.
Jasper was sitting with his cousin Rando, from whom he was inseparable these days. “What took you so long?”
“We found T on the way over.”
Jasper inspected Tristan. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear.”
“He just split up with Alice.”
“That’s a shame, mate. Here, have some of this.” Jasper poured some Jameson into Tristan’s glass. “Sort of saw it coming though. She’s a firecracker. Think you two will ever work it out?”
“Don’t know,” Tristan muttered, swirling the tawny liquid. “I really hope we can still be friends.”
“You hope you can still be fuck friends, you mean!” George roared. “Enough of this bullshit. Here’s the question we’ve all been waiting for. Who was the better shag, Dylan or Alice?”
“Shut up!” Seb broke in. “That’s out of order. Why would you objectify people like that?”
“They’re not people. They’re girls!”
“I have a question,” Rando said suddenly. The other four looked at him. “Has anyone ever been out with that Russian bird, Tally? I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Like an angel.”
Jasper laughed. “So do we all. Remember when she first arrived and she wore those thigh-high leather boots around everywhere?”
“Such a prick-tease,” George said.
“We all love Tally,” Seb added, “but she refuses to go out with anyone in our group. Good luck if you like her.”
Rando’s face fell. “I was hoping to ask her out.”
“Don’t give up.” Jasper patted his knee comfortingly. “Remember, we’ve got that dinner at St. Cecilia’s on Thursday night.”
“What dinner?” Tristan grumbled. “I wasn’t invited to any dinner.”
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Rando said. “I saw the invitation but I don’t get it—what’s the deal?”
Jasper rolled his eyes. “Oh, just you wait. This is one of the great ‘privileges’ of the junior class. Every month or so, our tutors arrange these chaperoned do’s for us with girls’ schools. You know, so we’ll be prepared to socialize in the real world when we’re not locked up in an eighteenth-century, all-boys boarding school anymore. The whole thing’s meant to be very civilized—we’re served one minuscule glass of wine each and have to make charming small talk round the table. Come to think of it, that’s probably why they didn’t invite you, T—you’re incapable of charm.”
“Hilarious.”
Jasper turned back to Rando. “Anyway, you’ll see Tally there.”
“Wicked,” Rando said. His usually mischievous eyes had gone dreamy.
“Uh-oh.” Jasper shook his head. “We’ve got a case of lovesickness on our hands.”