Lorna’s chipper mood withered, but she pressed on, determined to coax it back to life. “Did you hear about the paintball? Callum and I are signing up.”
“Yeah, he asked. Paintball’s stupid, though. I don’t want to go. And I have to study anyway. This maths course is killing me.” Maeve chewed on the cuff of her jumper and resumed looking out the window.
“It would be good exercise.”
Maeve winced, and Lorna realized she’d screwed up once again. She’d meant exercise for herself. She used to take Alfie on walks every day but now barely left her room. If she could explain that to Maeve, she could smooth things over, but the words jammed in her throat along-side all the other apologies she felt she needed to make today. She really tried to make those apologies that week, she said, but she could never seem to find the right time.
That particular morning, it was Callum who interrupted.
“Did someone eat your Frosties again?”
Callum sounded genuinely concerned, but his voice reached Maeve as if through a filter. She couldn’t feel the impact of his words as all her attention was fixed outside where she watched Oliver and Ellie play-fighting in the back garden. Oliver held something in his hands that he hugged to keep from Ellie, who kept tugging at his arms and leaping on his back.
“There’s a surprise.” Lorna rolled her eyes, but Maeve coughed and belatedly answered Callum’s question.
“Nope. There they are.”
Callum leaned against the counter and continued trying to talk to her as she got her breakfast, but whatever he said, she was oblivious to it. All she could hear were Ellie’s giggles and Oliver’s laugh.
Maeve knew her schoolgirl crush was stupid. That didn’t stop the fantasies that helped her sleep at night, the dreams of Oliver sneaking up to her bedroom when everyone else was asleep and knocking on her door. They didn’t even do anything but snuggle and talk through the night. She imagined Oliver telling her his opinions on which of the Brontë sisters was the best writer and her contradicting him and him saying, “That’s a good point, actually,” even though she had no idea if he’d ever read anything by the Brontës and this part of the fantasy was a carryover of the nightmares she used to have about her English A-levels.
“Maeve?”
This time she heard Callum.
She had dumped cereal all over the counter. As she brushed the extra flakes into her hand, Oliver and Ellie stumbled through the door. Ellie laughed and poked Oliver in the shoulder with a cassette tape.
“And don’t make fun of my music again!”
“I wasn’t making fun. I swear. Morning, ladies. Gent.”
Lorna grunted. Callum waved a cheerful hello. Maeve’s reply caught in her throat and came out as a cough.
“All right there, love?” Oliver asked.
“Yep,” she managed. “Fine. Morning.”
She avoided eye contact, which prevented her from seeing what he was doing. As she reached into the fridge for the milk, he reached for the juice. Their arms touched.
“Sorry.” She pulled back. “You go ahead.”
He took his orange juice first, then pressed the carton of milk into her hand with a wink. The warmth of his arm on hers lingered long after he’d pulled away. She ran her fingers over the spot, hidden by her sleeve, pretending his hand was still there. Callum handed her a spoon and she took it with two pinched fingers, not wanting to make contact.
Oliver never recalled bumping Maeve at all, and he wouldn’t have cared either way if he did. That morning, he bounced from foot to foot as he unscrewed the cap on the juice carton, waiting to share his news. “I’m glad you’re all here. You’ll never guess what I found out.”
Lorna peeled an orange with the same disregard with which she spoke. “You found out why Hollis was expelled from his last uni.”
Oliver choked on his juice.
“So I was right, then?” She flicked a piece of orange peel out from under her fingernail.
“What do you do all day in your room, lesbo? Spy on us?”
“Hey,” Callum jumped in. “There’s no need for that. Someone’s sexuality is none of your business, and it should never be used as an insult.”
Oliver saw Lorna blushing and wanted to dig the knife in further, but Callum remained firm, and no one else was contradicting his defense. Oliver held up his hands.
“Sorry, Lorna. I apologize.” He overemphasized each word, then plopped himself down in the seat next to Ellie.
“Go on, then,” Ellie said. “Tell us what you found.”
“One of my mates from back home has a mate who has a brother who goes to Exeter.”
“Wow, a reliable source, then,” Lorna said. This time he ignored her.
“He did some asking around and you know what he found out?”
“We would if you’d just tell us.”
“Jesus, Lorna! Fucking eat your bloody orange somewhere else if you don’t care.”
“Language, please,” Ellie whispered.
“Sorry, princess. Anyway, turns out Hollis is a total nutter. A bona fide psychopath!”
“He sleeps in the room next to me,” Ellie gasped.
Callum laughed. “Hollis? Our Hollis? The Hollis that helps every little old lady cross the street?”
“It was one lady, and she wasn’t even that old! Look, Charlie says this comes from multiple sources.” He stared at Lorna. If he could convince her, he could convince them all. “Story goes Hollis took this tame fox one of the biology lecturers kept as a pet, right? And he tortured it. Then when he was done having his fun, he strung it up from a tree by its neck and let it hang there till it died. Rumor is he got off on it, but I’ll admit no one knows for sure what his motive was. The facts, though, were printed in the school paper.”
“Where’s this paper?” Callum asked, not as sure as before.
“Charlie’s getting me a copy. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Why he kept holding his hand over the candle flame at the last party . . .”
“You were all doing it,” Callum said. “You were off your heads.”
“That time we were leaving the Byeways and he threw a rock at the fox rummaging through the bins.”
“It was the paper from his kebab,” Lorna said.
“Whatever. Come to your own conclusions. But word is you go to Exeter University and say ‘Hollis Drummond,’ the first thing they’ll say is ‘the fox fucker.’ I’m telling you, the bloke is mental.”
“Mental, eh?”
Despite the sun streaming through the windows, Hollis cast a shadow over them as he leaned in the kitchen doorway. Lorna stopped fiddling with her orange. Maeve shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. Callum stared at his feet. But Oliver looked at him dead on. Hollis only ever pretended to be intimidating. He was no more than a custard cream donut. A softy. No spine in the middle. All it took was for one person to stand up to him, and Hollis would give in. Crumble.
Gossip generally turned Ellie’s stomach. Over the years, she would become more impervious to it, but that morning, still so young, she felt absolutely awful getting caught out like that. However, if Hollis had done something terrible, didn’t they have a right to know? As an adult, she could’ve posed the question, but back then she didn’t want to get involved, and the long silence stretched between them all. She knew Hollis wanted them to say something, but she had no idea what would remedy this and so waited for someone else to fix it.