29

385 66 71
                                    

By the time my second year of university kickstarts, summer feels like a blink in time

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

By the time my second year of university kickstarts, summer feels like a blink in time. It's near impossible to believe that a whole year has passed since I stumbled across Margot in Dolly's cafe, and it terrifies me a little, honestly. Is time just going to move increasingly quickly until I'm suddenly eighty years old with a lifetime behind me?

For the first time in a long time, things are good. Really good. I passed first year with an upper second-class, Mum's living her best life now that she's not got the responsibility of Livvy or me living with her full-time, Dad's promise to relax his drinking has stayed firm–he's following advice from his doctor and has even attended some AA meetings–I'm officially second in editorial command at Typewriter Magazine, and I've got a close group of friends who, as far as I'm aware, actually like me.

Better yet, for the four or so years he's been in my life, I don't think I've ever known Preston to be as content as he is right now. He breezed through his second year with a first-class, Anwen and Matty are thriving in Cardiff, he meets up with Rhys at least once a month, he's actively engaging with people and enjoying things, and every now and then, when his guard is down, I catch him talking about the future.

Despite Aiden's reservations, Preston and I are still sleeping together. We're abiding by the same rules–what we're doing isn't permanent, we're making efforts to meet other people, and the moment anything begins feeling remotely precarious between us, we'll stop. And we will. Eventually, we'll stop.

It's the third week of our first semester, and I'm on my way to my Monday lecture when I realise I left the book we're reading for that class at Preston's. I was there on Friday for a film night Margot hosted, and in hindsight, bringing the book was pointless because I didn't read a word of it. I know exactly where it is–on Preston's desk–so I make a quick detour to his house before catching the tube.

It's Joe who answers the door, and despite it being nearly ten-thirty, the way he squints at me, his hair jutting up in all directions, makes it pretty clear he's not been awake longer than five minutes.

'Margot or Preston?' he mumbles, still squinting.

'The latter,' I reply as I fight a laugh.

Joe replies with something totally unintelligible because he's yawning as he speaks, but Margot comes to my rescue as I'm stepping into their hallway.

'I've told him not to answer the door when he's just woken up,' she says with an eye roll as her boyfriend ambles back into the house, then gestures towards the staircase beside us. 'He should be upstairs. Think he's got a guest staying over, though. Some guy I briefly saw last night–kind of cute, actually, so hey, there could be potential there for you.'

I frown. Since when did Preston have guests, let alone guests who stay the night? I thank Margot, then begin my journey up the three sets of stairs leading to Preston's room. I'd usually pause at his closed door, maybe listen out for any music. As I've got a book to grab, a tube to catch, and a lecture to attend, though, I don't.

The Man Who Lived AgainWhere stories live. Discover now