The Trip by Sarah Linley

Author:Sarah Linley [Linley, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-10-21T17:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Kristóf teaches Romantic Poetry at a prestigious university in the Midlands. I call in sick for the first time in my career and set off early the next day. Trevor will think I’m avoiding him, but I don’t care. The roads are quiet as I zip along the country roads with the car lights on full beam. Dawn arrives: a pale peach hue smudged with silky grey clouds and the traffic starts to build as I reach the M65. According to the sat nav I should arrive around 10am, all being well. I hit Manchester at rush hour and swear as the traffic grinds to a halt and then crawls along the M60. I’m used to rural driving, which has its disadvantages, but at least I don’t have to put up with this every morning.

I know that Kristóf is working today. I called yesterday pretending to be a student and checked that his lecture was going ahead. I haven’t spoken to Kristóf for five years. The last time I saw him we were in the middle of the turmoil that followed George’s death. He was calm and authoritative, keeping the whole thing together while Meg and I tried not to fall apart. He was the one who spoke to the Thai police and the Foreign Office, who told us what to say and who made us promise never to reveal what really happened that night. Once we got home, I didn’t want to see him again. I still don’t, but he’s the only one who can help me now.

The journey takes longer than I expected and Kristóf is half-way through his lecture by the time I find the right room. I sneak in the back and sit with the students, watching my former friend deliver his thoughts on Coleridge’s Kubla Khan. Listening to Kristóf talk about the hallucinogenic quality of the poem brings back all our discussions at university. I look around the hall. Some of the students are listening intently; others are playing with their phones underneath the desk. Kristóf seems quite oblivious of his audience. I try to imagine him dealing with students; I can’t picture him taking much of an interest in their welfare. But perhaps I have misjudged him. I’ve grown up, so he must have done too.

He doesn’t look much different; his hair has receded a little and he has put on some weight but otherwise he is the same man I knew at university. He is wearing blue jeans and a cord green blazer. Underneath his jacket, I catch glimpses of a faded black t-shirt which I am sure I recognise from our university days. He is sporting a scruffy black beard and his hair is unruly as ever. I wonder what his students make of him; perhaps some of the girls fancy him.

The lecture finishes and there is a clamour as students gather their possessions and leave the hall. Against the tide, I walk down to the front of the room where Kristóf is talking to a pretty brunette and I hover, waiting to get his attention.

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