Chapter 13

Oxford University
Autumn 2002

WHAT WOULD MY life have been like if I’d been at Oxford without Allegra? wondered Imogen.

She was sitting on a chair in her friend’s room in the Lincoln College buildings, not the gracious medieval quadrangle but a more modern 1930s house on Turl Street nearby that housed some of the first years, a mug of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other, watching a boy curled on the bed as he flipped through the pages of Country Life and remarked, ‘It’s so funny seeing one’s friends’ houses in here, isn’t it?’

‘If you say so, Roddy,’ Allegra said with a laugh. She was flicking through a gossip magazine while chain-smoking her Marlboro Lights and feeding her hangover with sweet tea and chocolate.

It was a silly question, really, because Imogen could never know it any other way. I’d never get to go to all these glamorous parties if I weren’t with her, she realised. Allegra’s pigeon hole was always stuffed with invitations to all manner of exciting things and they went to everything together – safety in numbers. It meant that Imogen’s social life took place almost entirely outside her own college: she was always in Lincoln with Allegra, or in a cocktail dress in one of the grander colleges, sipping sparkling white wine that aped champagne. The only person she knew in her own college was Nick, her tutorial partner, a soft-voiced, guitar-playing lad from Wales with a Kate Bush fixation. ‘I love hearing all about your high life,’ he’d say when she told him what she’d been up to the previous evening. ‘You really are living the Oxford dream, aren’t you?’

I suppose I must be, she thought. I’ve got a beautiful room in Christ Church overlooking the meadow. I have tutorials in an ancient set of rooms in Tom Quad, where my tutor plies me with sherry and talks about Dickens as though he were still alive. I eat dinner wearing a black academic gown and surrounded by portraits of Tudor monarchs, after listening to a Latin grace. And I spend most of my time gallivanting about in evening dress and hanging out with glamorous girls and Old Etonians. It’s just what they said it would be.

And it was fun, there was no doubt about that. Allegra was her passport into a more rarefied part of Oxford life, a world away from sweaty JCR discos or table football and pints of beer in the bar. And it would be wonderful … if it weren’t for the way Allegra seemed to have changed. Imogen had noticed it at once, from the first day they’d met up in Oxford, when Allegra had knocked on the door of her room in the Meadow Buildings. Imogen had arrived early so she could settle in, but Allegra had been too cool for that: she’d turned up at her college at the last possible minute, and then knew everything and everybody immediately.

She had appeared late on the first afternoon of term, looking even more stunning than usual in tight dark jeans, a long tunic-style top, and with her hair stuffed up under a slouchy purple cap. Her skin was tanned golden, which made her blue eyes seem even more vivid. ‘Let’s go to the pub,’ she’d said, and they’d gone to an ancient low-ceilinged place in a side street behind the college.

Imogen had not been able to put her finger on exactly what was different about her: something a little abrupt, perhaps, and she seemed less ready to smile and giggle the way she once had. Something had come between them, but Imogen didn’t have a clue what it might be. After all, surely the darkest days of two years before were well behind her now …

‘Did you enjoy Paris?’ she asked a little tentatively, as they sipped their pints of lager.

‘What?’ Allegra said sharply.

‘Paris. Didn’t you go and visit Romily?’

‘How did you know about that?’

‘She told me.’

‘When did you talk to her?’ Allegra demanded tetchily.

‘I spoke to her a couple of times over the holidays.’ Imogen frowned in surprise. ‘She called just a few weeks ago and told me you’d been over to stay with her. She was asking after you.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing really – just that you’d been over and you both had a lovely time but that you’d not been terribly well by the time you had to go home. Was that why you weren’t at Foughton over the holidays?’ In fact she’d been mystified by Allegra’s absence. Her phone had gone unanswered for weeks, and texts seemed to vanish into the ether.

Allegra stared into her glass for a while then nodded. ‘Yes, I was ill. It was a shame. It ruined the stay. I went to Cornwall afterwards, to stay with my aunt.’

‘What was Paris like?’ Imogen leaned forward. ‘Does Romily live in unimaginable luxury?’

Allegra fixed her with a strange glance, something like anger sparking in the back of her eyes. Then she gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, yes. It was quite mad. They’re rich as Croesus, they really are. You should ask Rom if you can go and visit. You won’t be able to believe it.’ She paused and then said abruptly, ‘Actually, I think it’s a bloody shame she’s got so much. It means that she’s going to become just another bimbo with too much cash and nothing to occupy her mind. You can see it already – she’s more obsessed with clothes than ever, spending obscene amounts. It’s disgusting.’

Imogen was surprised by her vehemence. Romily’s wealthy background was no surprise to either of them and Allegra hardly came from poverty herself.

‘If you ask me,’ she went on, ‘Romily should get away from there as soon as she can, and do something useful with herself. And there are some horrible people in Paris.’

Did something happen between Allegra and Romily? wondered Imogen, worried. Surely Rom would have said if it had. It must have been her illness that ruined it for them.

She didn’t mention the Paris stay again.

Roddy, one of Allegra’s new Oxford friends, seemed to like Imogen well enough but was always angling to get Allegra on her own, as though he wanted to manoeuvre Imogen away and bag her for himself.

Imogen had quickly learned to recognise Roddy and his ilk: they fluttered around Allegra, attracted by her title and connections. Some were cool, sulky-faced girls with long legs and outrageously posh voices who thought Allegra should be part of their social whirl; some were minor celebrities in their own right, sons and daughters of well-known people. Others were social climbers who had come to Oxford to live out their Brideshead fantasy and wanted to be friends with the daughter of an earl, or perhaps even marry her. Whoever they were, Allegra was always surrounded. At first, Imogen was jealous and possessive, fearing their friendship was going to be broken up, but Allegra soon put her mind at rest, laughing about the climbers but tolerating the ones she found amusing, and making friends with some of the haughty beauties and the society crowd. She insisted on Imogen being included in everything, though, and they went everywhere together, from college to library to pub to party.

‘Oh, God, look,’ Allegra said one day as they stood in Lincoln porter’s lodge. She was holding out a navy blue card printed with a golden crest and Latin motto. ‘It’s the Commandoes. They want me to go to one of their parties. Hmm, not too sure about that.’

‘Why not?’ Imogen peered at the card. It looked very respectable. And it didn’t request the usual payment to get in. In general, even the smartest societies asked for money on the door to cover the cocktails that were then ‘free’ inside.

‘Haven’t you heard of the Commandoes? They’re a terrible bunch whose one aim in life is to get utterly trashed and screw as many girls as possible. A bit like the Bullingdon but less into smashing places up and strippers, more into seducing other students. They go through the matriculations photos from all the colleges and send invitations to the girls they fancy.’ Allegra laughed. ‘Not sure. I’ll think about that. After all, Xander is one. Bit too close for comfort.’

‘Is he?’ Imogen was instantly filled with longing. It had been almost a whole term and she still hadn’t seen Xander, even though she’d been looking out for him wherever they went. But he didn’t live in college any more; as a second year, he now lived in a house with some friends, and when he’d come by to see Allegra, Imogen hadn’t been there. She was beginning to worry that she’d never manage to see him.

‘Yes. He’s a very naughty boy.’ Allegra turned serious for a moment. ‘Maybe I should go to the Commandoes party. I need to keep an eye on him. He’s enjoying partying a bit too much for his own good now he’s living with James Barclay.’

‘His friend from school?’

Allegra nodded. ‘James is a wild one. Loads of money from his family’s bank and he loves parties. There’re four of them in that enormous house in St Margaret’s Road and it’s party central.’

‘Really?’

‘Mmm. A den of vice, my darling. We must be careful.’

But Imogen thought Allegra seemed quite attracted to the notion of a life of vice herself. She seemed keen to try out any new experience, in particular drinking the noxious cocktails that were served at every Freshers party and college bop they went to. Usually after dinner Imogen would make her way to Allegra’s room where they would get ready to go out. Allegra would already know the coolest parties that night, and then off they would go. Wherever it was, Imogen could predict that the night would end in her helping a drunken Allegra back to college, hauling her up the stairs of the building in Turl Street where her bed-study was situated on the second floor, and putting her to bed with a bowl on the floor nearby in case she needed to be sick. Sometimes Imogen slept in the armchair, ready to get up and hold her friend’s hair back from her face while she vomited. It was better than worrying that she would choke while she slept.

‘Are you OK?’ Imogen said one day, when they were recovering from another big night in a café on the High.

‘’Course I am.’ Allegra sipped her latte then poured a pouch full of brown sugar into it. ‘I need to beef this up a bit.’

‘I mean … you’re hitting the parties kind of hard.’

Allegra sent her a withering look. ‘That’s what we’re supposed to do. We’re first years, at Oxford. It’s practically compulsory.’

‘I just wondered … whether anything is bothering you …’ Imogen hesitated over her words. She hated to say anything that might be construed as criticism. Despite the loyalty they had sworn towards each other she felt that strange gulf she’d sensed right from the start of term gradually widening between them. She and Allegra might be physically together almost constantly but she had the feeling that her friend was sliding away somewhere else without her, a darker, more hedonistic place. She was drinking heavily, smoking constantly, and had begun to accept some of the drugs that were offered to her at parties.

‘No, of course not.’ Allegra took another sip of coffee, then fired up a cigarette. Blowing out a stream of smoke, she said, ‘Well … actually I’m in a bit of trouble with my tutor. Missing essays. Stuff like that.’

Imogen had wondered how she was coping with the workload. They were required to write two essays a week, and while Imogen spent the mornings on hers and only just managed to stay on top of things, she knew Allegra slept till well after noon on most days, managing only a few hours in the library a week. As for lectures … she was fairly sure that Allegra had not yet even visited the English Faculty.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll catch up,’ her friend announced. ‘By the way, did I tell you? We’re invited to a party at Xander’s tonight.’

Imogen felt a warm buzz of excitement. ‘Are we?’ She spoke casually but inside she was jubilant. My first chance to see Xander properly! She had managed to turn him into a proper little crush over the last few years. Of course, there had been plenty of other boys she’d liked in the meantime, and she’d even managed several clumsy, drunken snogs and some exploratory activity, but no one else had given her that thrill Xander had when she’d seen him at the wedding in London. She couldn’t help holding on to the dream of seeing him again, perhaps awakening him to her womanly charms, perhaps even kissing him …

‘Yeah. Do you want to go?’

‘Um …’ Imogen took her time. She licked her spoon. I don’t want to seem too eager. The last thing I want is Allegra to think I fancy her brother. She’d die laughing for one thing, and then probably tell him. I couldn’t face the embarrassment. ‘I suppose so. If you think it’ll be fun.’

Allegra leant back in her chair. ‘Fun is one thing those boys definitely know how to have.’

They got ready together after dinner in Allegra’s room, with a bottle of wine open on the table, cigarettes burning in ashtrays and the CD player blaring out while they took turns with the hair dryer and the mirror.

‘How do I look?’ Imogen turned round to show off her outfit.

Allegra scrutinised her. ‘Very nice. Like the black pencil skirt.’

Black was definitely their colour of choice at the moment. Imogen put a tight black cardigan over a vest top to go with her skirt, and pulled her hair back into a pony-tail that she hoped made her look sexy in a mysterious and slightly intellectual way. Like Allegra, she’d rimmed her eyes with lots of dark kohl and mascara, and glossed her lips with a pale pink shimmer.

Allegra was wearing a black strapless dress with a purple velvet Edwardian-style jacket and high lace-up boots, her long hair loose but scrunched on the very top and pierced with a chopstick, a look that she declared to be punky Edwardian geisha.

By the time they were ready it was getting on for ten o’clock and they were already half cut on the white wine they’d been sipping. They decided to walk to north Oxford, going up St Giles and then following the Woodstock Road to St Margaret’s Road.

‘Have you been there already?’ Imogen asked, as they went past Little Clarendon Street.

‘Yeah, it’s bloody amazing compared to the way most students live. But then, James Barclay’s dad is immensely rich. I mean, James is no brain of Britain. Apparently his dad built the college a whole new wing in order to get him in. He’s always hanging around with wasters, so watch out.’

We seem to be wasters ourselves these days, Imogen thought but she didn’t say anything. I’ve got to fit in. I have to seem like this is all completely normal to me.

They walked quietly together through the Oxford darkness, passing the shops and restaurants of St Giles. Then Allegra said suddenly, ‘What about sex? Are you fixed up? Are you on the Pill? Or do you have condoms?’

Imogen shook her head, looking at her friend who stared straight ahead, her jaw firm. ‘No, no … nothing like that. Should I?’

‘You don’t want to be a baby about it,’ snapped Allegra almost crossly. ‘You may have had a couple of snogs at parties but these boys are grown up. They expect more. And once you’re drunk, it’s easy to get carried away. You’re bound to get laid sooner or later. Just make sure you can look after yourself.’

‘Are you on the Pill?’ Imogen ventured. She knew that Allegra had gone pretty far, but she’d thought neither of them had actually had sex yet.

‘Not yet, but I’m getting myself sorted out. You can get them to come on the outside if you haven’t got any protection. Condoms are best anyway, in case of infections.’

Imogen said slowly, ‘So … you’ve had sex?’

‘’Course I have. Everyone has.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re the last virgin in Oxford!’

Imogen was stung. This wasn’t like Allegra; they had always told each other all their secrets and shared every step of the journey on the way to becoming experienced – ‘our sexperiences’, Allegra used to call them. How can she imply that I’m some frumpy old loser because I haven’t got laid? I haven’t got a boyfriend – who am I supposed to have sex with? One of the porters? Imogen was hurt.

‘Who did you go to bed with? Was it Freddie?’ she ventured at last, in a small voice.

‘No. It doesn’t matter who. Just someone.’

‘What was it like?’

Allegra shrugged. ‘No big deal,’ she said. ‘You know. Just sex. Come on, this is St Margaret’s Road.’

The house was a large Victorian pile with Gothic arched windows, the kind of place a prosperous family would live rather than a bunch of dissolute students. The doorbell was answered by a tall boy with dopey eyes and long brown hair.

‘Hiya, ladies. Come on in. Drinks in the kitchen, help yourselves.’ He nodded his head towards the back of the house.

As soon as they were inside, Imogen sensed the dissolute atmosphere; even though the party was still in its early stages, she had the impression that people were determined to let go as soon as they could. She felt wary and inexperienced, as though she needed to be careful. But this is the kind of world I have to be in if I want to see Xander …

They went into the kitchen and poured themselves tumblers full of wine from the open bottles on the counter. They were talking quietly, getting their party bearings, when the door to the garden opened and Xander came through it.

Oh my God, it’s him, thought Imogen, clutching her tumbler with both hands. Seeing him again was like being struck with something. Her knees weakened and she felt dazed and dizzy, her pulse-rate speeding up. He was as gorgeous as she remembered him: long and lean with poetically sunken cheeks and a smattering of brown stubble, looking both boyish and manly at the same time. He was shabbily dressed in battered jeans, an over-large holey jumper and a scarf that looked as though it had come back with him off one of his travels, but he was still ineffably glamorous.

‘Hey, sis!’ he said, brightening up when he saw Allegra. ‘You came!’ He gave her a kiss, then saw Imogen. ‘Hi, Midge. Glad you’re here.’ Before she could say anything, he put his arms around her and pressed a big kiss on her cheek. ‘You’re at Christ Church, aren’t you? Lots of dickheads over that way, but I’ll forgive you. Have you got drinks? Good. Come on, I’ll introduce you to some people.’

Imogen didn’t want to meet anyone else, but she followed after Allegra and Xander, her cheek burning where he’d kissed it. He led them into the sitting room where a couple of boys were squabbling over the CD player and which music they should put on. Then he introduced them to some of the people sitting on the sofa, and left them, wandering off to answer the door and direct people through the house.

Imogen watched him go with yearning. She didn’t care about socialising, she just wanted to talk to Xander – but how on earth was she going to get him on his own? For a while she sat quietly on the edge of things, listening to Allegra chatting and sipping away at her wine until gradually her confidence grew and she began to feel reckless. I’ve made all this effort, and I look good, I know I do. I’m going to find him. She stood up. ‘Just going to the loo,’ she said breezily, grabbed her cigarettes and headed out towards the kitchen.

She found him in the garden, despite the cold night, sitting with a group of people at a table, passing a bong around. She lit a cigarette to give her confidence and wandered over. ‘Hi, Xander. How’re things?’ she said casually, hoping she wasn’t giving away her fluttering insides.

He grinned at her. ‘Midge, sit down.’ There was nowhere to sit, so he pulled her down on to his lap. She felt his hard thighs through her skirt and a thrill of excitement ran through her. ‘So, tell me, are you enjoying Oxford life?’

She tried to look sophisticated and knowing. ‘Oh, you know … it’s great. Loads of people, loads of parties …’

‘Boyfriends?’ he asked teasingly.

She felt her cheeks flush as she said breezily, ‘Oh my God, tons. I’m fighting them off, if you must know.’

Xander grinned at her, his blue eyes mischievous. ‘I bet you are. You’re not the innocent twelve year old I remember any more, are you?’ He raised his eyebrows and looked briefly at her chest, which was almost at his eye level. ‘In fact, I don’t know if it’s quite proper for you to be on my knee now you’re so grown up.’ He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘You’re definitely going to be very sought after. And if any of those Christ Church boys give you a hard time, just send them to me, OK? I’ll sort them out for you.’

She looked at him from under her lashes, trying to be playful and flirtatious. ‘I certainly will. But I’m holding out for someone special.’

‘So you should, young Imogen. Don’t throw your pearls before swine, that’s what I say.’

She wished she could have stayed on his knee all night, soaking up the warmth of his body against the cold autumn night, sipping wine and flirting, but it couldn’t last. He was summoned inside and the moment was gone. She comforted herself by drinking more and more of the bitter red wine until she was woozy and drunk.

Does he see me as a woman now? she wondered, as she stumbled through the house, looking for him. Maybe there’s still a chance that he’ll notice me …

The house was full, the dining room thudding with music and packed with people dancing. Allegra was in there, moving wildly, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, her arms in the air. The party was now a noisy blur of music and faces, the rich aroma of cannabis smoke mixed with the yeasty smell of wine and beer.

Imogen started dancing as well. She had the distinct sense that there was another, more exclusive party going on somewhere else in the house: a room where other, naughtier things were going on. Perhaps that was where Xander was. Then, suddenly, the floor cleared and she saw him.

He was in the middle of the dining room, swaying gently despite the fierce beat of the music. He had his arms wrapped round a beautiful girl, tall, coltish on high heels, a river of dark hair flowing down her back, and he was kissing her passionately. Imogen froze, unable to tear her eyes away from them.

‘There you are!’ It was Allegra, her eyes wide and her pupils dilated. She must have taken something. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘Around,’ Imogen said. ‘Who’s that with Xander?’ She pointed over and Allegra followed with her gaze.

‘Oh, that’s Temple. His girlfriend,’ Allegra said. ‘Shall we go outside and get some air? It’s so stuffy in here.’

Of course he has a girlfriend, Imogen thought dully, as she nodded and followed Allegra out of the dining room. I’m so stupid. Why on earth is he going to fancy me when he can have a girl like that?