CalunaLilly

Taking a pragmatic approach, and judging the weather nice enough, she dropped her satchel full of books into the grass and shrugged off her cardigan. Its warm brown colour would be less susceptible to the elements than her cream skirt and would have to be her willing sacrifice. Tugging the sleeves of her blouse down, she simply got on with it and settled on her cardigan, setting herself up in the way she had become accustomed to in her nearly three years of study: her reading materials to her left, a notebook to the right, a sandwich to hand should she want it, and a pencil behind her ear. Leaning back against the garden wall, she relaxed her shoulders and picked up the first book with a contented sigh.

Winter had been long and dark this year, or so it had felt with endless exams and long hours after dusk. Now, as Trinity term was underway and Helen looked towards her thesis, it was as though a shadow was slowly lifting. A smile drew to her lips as she immersed herself in Ovid, the smell of magnolia adding to the oddly timeless words of the poet, and as sunlight fell through the fronds and onto her pages, it occurred to her that life - though predictable - could be far worse than it was in that moment.

And then, in the blink of an eye and with the turn of a page, her life turned upside down.

Helen’s head snapped up to the distinct sound of footsteps pounding into the ground close by, a scampering sound, boots against stone and someone gasping in effort. Suddenly, pink and white petals fell onto her pages, the branches of the tree shook precariously and she looked up just in time to spot a shape above her - a person! - losing their footing on the wall they had scaled. Trying to hold on to the tree but failing. Tumbling. Falling. And a cry of surprise burst from the blonde’s lips as they landed right on top of her.

“Oh my-” she gasped, relieved and surprised to have evaded the worst, as a mop of brown hair fanned across her lap and the body it belonged to rested on the ground beside her. She was greeted by a groan of pain.

Stunned into inaction, Helen could make herself do little other than watch as a small woman, a similar age to her, unfolded herself from the tangled and surely uncomfortable position she had landed in. “A-are you okay?” she stuttered at last, coming back to herself, when the brunette brushed her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes, trying to get her bearings. She appeared unharmed.

“I-” the woman looked up to her, bright blue eyes widening in shock as she seemed to catch up with what had happened. “Oh my God, I’m sorry-” She scrambled upright, leaving Helen with crinkled pages in her book and completely confused. “I didn’t see you there. I didn’t mean to-” She glanced back to the wall, then down around herself as though she was looking for something as she brushed herself down quickly, twigs and leaves remaining in her hair. It was not only endearing but utterly puzzling, and the blonde stared at her in shock.

“What were you doing up there? Why-” she started, watching as the other woman rushed to pick up something a few feet away. Helen couldn’t make out what it was, it appeared to be wrapped in cloth, and the mystery deepend. In a slightly terrifying notion, it occurred to her that she might be a thief. Why else would one be climbing over garden walls and tucking wares under one's arm? Even so, she hardly looked it. With a loose shirt tucked into tapered trousers and braces hanging off her shoulders, she fit in perfectly with the well-to-do academic youth Helen counted herself amongst. The young woman turned around to answer, offering an apologetic and strikingly charming smile, when suddenly voices called across the university green.

“She’s gone that way!”

“Over there!”

“Shoot,” the brunette groaned, “Must run-”

“What?” Helen was utterly bewildered. It seemed as though they were chasing her. Maybe she really was a thief? Or were people after her for a different reason? Usually, these things only happened in books. “Why-” She looked around to see several students emerge from the building to their right, charging towards them.

“Sorry about your book!” the woman apologised in a rush, flashing her another brilliant smile as she burst into a sprint. “Have a nice day!” And she took off towards the gates.

“Wait!” the blonde called after her, though not entirely sure why. She didn’t have reason to keep her, other than her curiosity. As she watched the group of young men rushing after her, she realised one of them to be her younger brother George who slowed as he recognised her. She didn’t have time to search her brain on whether she’d seen the mystery woman around the college before, or to decipher the hint of an accent that she had noticed, which she seemed to have been trying to mask. Those matters were rudely shoved to the back of her mind when her brother demanded her undivided attention.

“Helen!” he snapped at her, visibly annoyed, as he came to a halt in front of her and leaned onto his thighs to catch his breath. “Why didn’t you stop her?” he panted.

“Who was that?” she asked, hoping he could satisfy her curiosity, but he only gave an exasperated groan.

“How did you not realise?!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the gates. His friends hadn’t stopped to wait for him, seemingly continuing their chase as they were long gone.

“I-I don’t even know who that was,” Helen countered, taken aback by his anger. What was she meant to have realised? Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it. “She fell on top of me from the wall- What even-”

“That’s where she disappeared to, crossed across the gardens!” he groaned, running his eyes up the wall and kicking a nearby branch across the way. “Bloody hell!” he voiced frustration, that his sister wasn’t following.

“George!” the blonde admonished, shocked by his outburst. Their father had always been strict about the use of foul language, insisting it spoke of lower social class. Perhaps those rules differed for men… it wouldn’t be the first such rule she had been made to obey while her brothers didn’t.

“The bitch just stole our cup trophy from last year!” George snapped angrily, gesturing off into the distance, and her eyes widened in surprise as the penny dropped at last. This was over a rowing trophy?

“Seriously?” Not wanting to laugh, knowing how seriously some of her fellow students took sporting activities, she feigned surprise. These sorts of things happened all the time between colleges and while Helen was usually not so immediately involved, she thought the concept quite amusing. Credit where it was due, the brunette had done well to smuggle a trophy from their halls!

“Helen, honestly, get your head out of the clouds,” he groaned, moving towards the gate as the first of his team-mates began to return empty handed. “Try and engage with reality for a change. There is a world outside of your books!” He didn’t wait for her to respond, picking up his step to meet his friends and likely make an elaborate scheme to bring their trophy home.

Helen watched him go, finding herself in a strange sort of limbo, suddenly not sure anymore of what she was meant to be doing. She tried to shake her head free, willed her mind to focus on the page in front of her, and tried to smooth it out as best as she could. As silence fell around her once more, sunlight dancing across her book, she struggled to get back into Ovid, despite his lovely way with words.

Absently, she wondered which college the mystery woman belonged to.

—

When Helen returned to student halls that evening, it was with a smile on her face. The nice weather had lasted through the afternoon and done her the world of good. She had made good progress in her reading, in spite of the eventful interruption, but as dusk gathered and temperatures dropped, she’d had to admit defeat and make for her rooms.

With a sigh, the blonde dropped her bag onto the old oak desk under the window, finding herself more tired than she’d expected and longing for the comfort of a woollen jumper. She had left her return rather late and caught a chill. In the well ordered space that was her student accommodation, that was easily to come by.

Soon after, as she tugged a warm turtle neck into place, and she went hunting for matches. It was a well practised and much beloved routine; the light of candles and smell of beeswax somehow just suited the old-worldly surroundings the renowned university offered. As she lit a couple of stump candles on her desk and one on her bedside table, she felt warmer already and couldn’t help remark on how homely it felt alongside the ornate furniture. Helen hoped she would be allowed to keep the room when she went onto her postgraduate, having made firm plans to continue at Oxford already. In the past few years, she had grown more comfortable here than she ever had in her actual childhood home; not that she’d ever spent much time there anyway, boarding school had started at a young age.

Helen went to sit at her desk, pulling a blanket across her legs and she unpinned her bun, letting her hair down in a quite literal sense. As she threaded her fingers through the blonde tresses to untangle them, she started pulling her books from her satchel.

“Now, where were we…” the blonde hummed, flipping open her notebook alongside a well loved Latin dictionary. Her eyes fell to her copy of Ovid, and she couldn’t stop herself from having a peek at the creased pages, briefly returning to the chance encounter. It really had been odd, but no odder than the fact that she found herself thinking back to it. For weeks now she had been extremely focused, following an exact schedule and writing plan she had set herself for her undergraduate thesis. She wasn’t someone who left things late, having had her proposal approved a long time ago and started research long before that. When it came to academic focus, Helen was second to none, and it made her momentary preoccupation all the more difficult to explain.

A knock on her bedroom door startled her from her thoughts.

“Helen?” a familiar, female voice sounded, knocking again and the blonde quickly dropped Ovid back onto the desk, almost as though she had been caught red-handed at something, even though she wasn't sure what.

“Lucie, hello,” she greeted Lucie Miller with a warm smile as she opened the door to her. Her best friend since they had met in freshers week their first year was hardly an unusual visitor.

“So, I hear you had a bit of a run in today,” Lucie grinned as she walked past her, her blonde bob flying behind her as she didn’t wait for an invitation.

“A- a run in?” Helen echoed, not protesting her intrusion as she was far too occupied with trying to suppress her stutter, realising what she was referring to. Word certainly travelled fast around the college. She took her sweet time closing the door behind her, trying to hide the flush of her cheeks. She didn't like the idea of being the topic of conversation. “Oh, you mean-”

“George told me you got jumped upon,” her friend smirked, seemingly endlessly amused as she dropped down on her bed.

“That’s hardly-” Helen scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. Lucie’s forward personality often put people on the backfoot, and while Helen was not immune to it either, she knew how to handle her and quickly launched an offensive of her own. “What did he tell you for?” She frowned. Her brother didn’t usually share her social circles, neither one of them did. Even though they were all members of Trinity College, Harry a couple years ahead of her, George a year below, their paths rarely crossed, and it served them all just fine.

“Well…” Lucie seemed unsure as to how to answer, scratching the back of her neck and Helen took a step towards her.

“Well?” she pressed on, and her friend folded.

“You know we have to get that trophy back, right?” she opened, and Helen raised her eyebrows.

“We?” she echoed. That was not how she saw it, that was for sure.

“It’s a perfect opportunity,” Lucie continued, evidently not dissuaded by her friend’s doubtful expression. “You’re not busy right now, are you?” She cast a glance to the desk and Helen stepped in her way, almost as though she feared she might read something off the crinkled pages of Ovid.

“I was working,” she answered flatly, and Lucie launched into an enthusiastic proposal before she had the chance to stop her.

“Cause George thought you could pretend that you actually got hurt when she fell on you. It would be a perfect excuse to get into Pembroke, and-”

“Pembroke?” Helen interjected and her friend flapped her hand at her.

“That’s where she’s from, did you not know?”

“Well no, not at the time…” Helen admitted, oddly pleased to have the question that had been plaguing her through the afternoon answered unexpectedly. “Do you happen to know her name as well?” The question crossed her lips before she could think better of it and for a moment Lucie scrunched up her brow, uhming thoughtfully.

“Olivia- Livia- Liv-something or other.” She shrugged noncommittally, picking at the wax of the candle in the bedside table. “Foreign last name. Your brother will know.”

“Right…” It was far from the definite answer Helen had hoped for and she would be damned if she asked George about it, so she put the matter off.

“So, are you coming?” Lucie prompted, a grin spreading across her face.

“What, now? No!” It was a knee-jerk reaction, there was little she wanted to do less. Not just because of the increasingly late hour, also because she wouldn’t go pretending something that simply wasn’t true.

“Come on. You won’t have to do much. Just look a little sad and pained - shouldn’t be hard -” her friend teased and Helen shot her a glare.

“Hey!”

“While we talk to someone from the college about the accident, the boys can sneak in and get the trophy back,” Lucie continued, and Helen shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m not getting involved in that,” she countered firmly as she perched on the edge of her desk. She had far better things to do with her time. If she hadn’t been the one to be landed on by ‘Liv-something-or-other’ she would never be asked.

“But-” her friend sought to change her mind, following her with an imploring gaze. “We have to teach them a lesson, they can’t just-” She gestured into the air and Helen shook her head firmly once more.

“Not me, no, this has nothing to do with me.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Besides, she was perfectly lovely actually and apologised, I’m not getting her into trouble for a little mishap.”

“She stole our trophy!” Lucie exclaimed, but Helen wasn’t swayed.

“I’m not getting involved. I’m busy.” She picked up the nearest book for emphasis, Ovid of course, as the fates would have it, and put it down again quickly as though it was a cursed item of some sort. Quickly she folded her arms again and tried to deflect. “Besides, what’s it to you?”

“Well I-” Her counter had the desired effect as it put her friend on the backfoot. Helen’s lips pulled into a grin as she sensed she was onto something. She probed further.

“If you want to ingratiate yourself to my brother, I’m sure he would be partial to taking you out without this song and dance,” she teased, shooting her a knowing look. “Be warned though, he does like the sound of his own voice rather.” That was an understatement, both Harry and George were rather full of themselves, but perhaps they had qualities that she herself couldn’t appreciate as their sister.

“Mind you, worse matches than one of the Sinclairs…” Lucie hummed, giving her friend a playful and exaggerated once-over in response, and Helen laughed.

“No offence, but you’re not for me,” she chuckled, struck for a moment by the realisation of how glad she was to have found friends in this place she could be carefree, honest and herself with. While she didn’t have many, she was all the more grateful for them, and they played no small part in her feeling welcome and wanted here.

“Rude,” Lucie quipped back. “If I liked girls, I bet I could win you around.” She fluttered her eyelashes at her, and Helen nearly choked on laughter.

“Unlikely,” she just about managed, shaking her head at her. “You’re not even remotely my type.”

“What is your type?” Lucie countered, dropping the act in favour of satisfying her curiosity. Even though they had known each other for a long time now, this subject they rarely discussed. Finding herself on the spot, Helen quickly realised today was not the day that she was willing to change that. Perhaps she would have, if she’d had a straightforward answer, but the plain truth was that she lacked the experience to really know.

“None of your business,” she shot back, working hard not to falter under her questioning gaze. These were insecurities she would prefer to keep private.

“Come on, if you told me I could try and play wingwoman for you. If you ever come to a social event, that is,” Lucie complained, revisiting a subject of contention they had been over many times. While she was a social butterfly at these things, with confidence and charisma to boot, it was not something Helen enjoyed. If she was being perfectly honest, she preferred books to people half the time.

“I’m here to study, not to-”

“Yes, but in nearly three years, I haven’t known you to go on a single date! Or even have a misinformed fumble at a party,” her friend continued, rolling her eyes at the excuse she had heard far too many times already.

“I have different priorities at the moment,” Helen quipped. “Have you finished the reading for your thesis yet?”

“Fair enough,” Lucie gave up, evading the pointed question and jumped to her feet. “So I can’t convince you to have a little walk over to Pembroke right now?” she tried once more with a half-smile, and Helen shook her head.

“Not a chance,” she held firm, casting a look out of the window, night was falling fast now, their window of opportunity closing.

“Thought this might be the end of it,” Lucie conceded, following her gaze. “The race is on Sunday anyway, not much point in going after it now.”

“Probably not, no,” Helen agreed, returning her attention to her friend. She had no idea what races took place when but she would take her word for it.

“You will show your face for that though, won’t you?” Lucie asked as she made to leave. “You can’t hide out in your room all hours.”

“Maybe if the weather remains as nice as it was today,” Helen evaded a straight answer as she walked her to the door. She very rarely went to sporting events, usually only when her father was visiting to watch Harry and George and her attendance was expected…

“I’ll hold you to it,” Lucie warned, wagging a finger at her. “Who knows, you might find you enjoy spending time with people.”