The Fresher - 1. Chapter 1

The weather had taken a noticeably cooler turn and the leaves were already turning the most spectacular shades of gold and red. I’d always loved this time of year. The days are often crisp, cool and clear, and the sun hangs low in the sky, casting the most beautiful light on everything it touches. But as the rolling English countryside continued to pass by my window in almost a blur, I couldn’t stop my brain from racing and chewed on one of my fingernails absent-mindedly.

I’d spent the summer holidays working as many hours as I could, knowing full well that university would be tough financially and that I’d be up to my eyeballs in debt by the end of it all. I’d never been entirely convinced university was the right choice for me, but all of my friends had sent off their applications, and I just went with the flow. The day of my move was finally here though, and there was no turning back.

Snapping me out of my thoughts, my mum turned around from the passenger seat in front and announced that we were almost there. I’d only visited Bath once before when the university had held an open day. Then, as now, I found myself staring open-mouthed at the sheer beauty of the city. Nestled in a hollow amongst the surrounding hills, it has to be one of the most beautiful places in Britain. The warm, honey-coloured stone of the impressive and imposing Georgian buildings instantly lifted my mood.

We navigated our way through the teeming traffic and headed up the impossibly steep hill out of town towards the university campus, the engine of my parents’ car straining away in second gear. As we rounded a corner near the summit of the hill, the imposing university buildings loomed in front of us. Drawing my eyes skywards, I noticed that storm clouds had appeared out of nowhere and the heavens suddenly opened. A small group of students in high-visibility jackets came into view at the side of the road ahead, all of them rushing to put up their hoods for some protection from the rain as it hammered down in sheets. I opened my window as we pulled up alongside them and one of the hooded figures jogged over towards our car.

Raising his voice to be heard over the din of the rain, he half shouted, “Sorry about the weather, but welcome to Bath University! Which hall of residence have you been assigned to?”

“Uh, it’s a bit embarrassing, but I don’t actually know how to pronounce the name of the hall,” I replied.

I started to rifle through the paperwork on my lap, searching for the unpronounceable name of the dorm I’d been assigned to. My intention was to point at it to avoid embarrassing myself. He walked right up to my door and rested an arm along the top of the car, trying – but failing – to use his body as a shield against the pouring rain. Having no luck whatsoever finding the one piece of paper I needed, I gave up with the jumble of paperwork in my lap and looked back up at him.

“I think it’s pronounced Con…” I started to say, but before I could get the rest of the word out, he started to grin, and I found myself momentarily struck dumb by the warmth of his smile and the way it lit up his face.

“Conygre Terrace, right? I lived there myself last year,” he interrupted in his deep voice. He had a northern accent and – rightly or wrongly – I instantly formed the impression that he was a ‘salt of the earth’ kind of guy. “Don’t worry, I doubt anyone else will know how to pronounce it either!”

With the grin still etched on his face, I noticed the dimples he had on his cheeks and the five o’clock shadow that covered his strong jawline. His eyes were a deep, rich brown colour with flecks of green in them, framed by long, black eyelashes. As I was taking all of this in, his grin grew even wider, and it dawned on me that I had probably been staring at him for far too long. My cheeks started to burn with embarrassment, but I just about managed to pull myself back together.

“Yep! That’s the one. And thanks for stopping me before I completely embarrassed myself there. I definitely wouldn’t have pronounced it the way you just did.” I pointed at all the paperwork in my lap. “They should include an idiot’s guide in the welcome pack for people like me.”

He chuckled. “With all the mistakes I made when I first came here, I could write that guide myself.” He punctuated his joke with a wink and then reeled off the directions to the Accommodation Centre and Conygre Terrace. I hoped my dad was paying attention, because I didn’t stand a chance remembering any of it. “My name’s Jake by the way. Jake Wright. I’m a second-year student helping out today, and I’ll follow you up to your hall and give you a hand unpacking your stuff…” Seeing the look of surprise on my face, he quickly added, “It’s all part of the service! What’s your name, anyway?”

My brain took a second to kick back into gear. “Oh, sorry! Andrew. My name’s Andrew.” I instantly felt like an idiot. It almost sounded like I’d forgotten my own name.

“Well, give me just a few minutes, Andrew, and I’ll meet you up at Conygre Terrace to help you get settled in. What’s your block and room number?”

“Block 5. Room 15. I think.” Rendered incapable of forming complete sentences, he was probably wondering how I’d managed to get myself accepted to study at such a prestigious university.

“Cool! What a coincidence, that was my room last year! Right, get yourselves over to the Accommodation Centre to collect your keys and bedding first, and I’ll meet you at Conygre in a few.”

With his smile still aimed squarely in my direction, he stepped away from the car. My dad pulled away from the kerb, and I shut my eyes and prayed that I hadn’t made a complete fool out of myself. When I opened them again, my dad was looking at me in the rear-view mirror with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.

“He seemed… nice,” he said, giving me his own wink. As an ex-serviceman, I could understand why people might have found my dad intimidating. But appearances could be deceiving, and once you got to know him, there wasn’t anyone with a bigger heart. He was a real softie.

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After picking up my keys and bedding from the Accommodation Centre, we pulled up outside Conygre Terrace just as the storm clouds were disappearing over the horizon. Talk about good timing. Stepping out of the car, I stretched and yawned after the long drive. Taking in the surroundings, I tried to imagine what it was going to be like living here, far away from home and my parents for the very first time in my life.

Just as my dad popped the boot of the car, a familiar voice called out from behind us: “I’m impressed you guys didn’t get lost following my directions!”

Approaching us, Jake started to remove the high-visibility jacket he’d been wearing. As he did so, the material of his dark green Polo shirt stretched tight across his muscular chest, and his arms bulged at the seams of the sleeves. Unbidden, the image of Michelangelo’s David came to mind. I must have spaced out for a minute, because the next thing I knew, Jake was shaking both of my shoulders, bringing me out of my daze.

He looked straight into my eyes with a slight look of concern but also amusement on his face. “Where’d you go there, bud? You looked like you were a million miles away. Come on, let’s get your stuff into your room before the weather changes its mind again!”

My cheeks started to burn, but before I had a chance to say or do anything else, he grabbed one of my boxes from the boot of the car and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. I looked at my parents and they just seemed to be amused by the whole thing. I shrugged my shoulders at them and then we each grabbed a box and followed him up to my room on the third floor without saying another word.

With Jake’s help, we managed to get all of my things unloaded after just a few more trips to the car. It was a bit of a tight squeeze in my shoebox of a room for the four of us, but Jake showed no signs of intending to leave any time soon. He had made himself at home on the chair by the window, his huge feet propped up on my desk and his hands clasped behind his head. He seemed to be looking around the room with fond memories, and something told me I was getting a glimpse of how he used to live in this space last year.

My parents took a seat next to one another on my single bed, which was pushed up against one wall of the room. That left me to sit on the floor amongst all the boxes. Rummaging around in a big tote bag she’d brought with her, my mum started extracting all manner of sandwiches, snacks and drinks from it. It was like watching a magician pull an endless stream of rabbits out of a hat.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Christ, mum! How hungry did you think we’d be?”

“What?” she asked, all innocence. “You know what your dad’s like, and I bet Jake here wouldn’t say no to a couple of sandwiches after lugging all your boxes up three flights of stairs.” Turning to him, she threw down the gauntlet, “Would you Jake?”

He grinned. “I certainly wouldn’t!”

“See! You growing lads need your food.” Handing Jake bits and pieces from everything she’d brought along, she was piling the food up so high that he had to cradle it in his crossed arms. Turning her attention back to me, she said, “I honestly don’t know how you’re going to cope here, Andrew. At least you’ve learnt how to boil pasta, I suppose. And you’ve just about mastered opening a jar of pesto now, haven’t you, dear?” Although she was obviously exaggerating and poking fun at me, my cheeks were burning yet again.

“Hey!” I objected, trying to defend myself. “I’m not that bad!” Okay, so I probably was that bad, but I didn’t need my mum to advertise the fact.

Jake was taking all of this in, watching the banter back and forth between us like a tennis match, grinning and chuckling away over by my desk.

Turning her attention back to him, my mum asked, “Can you cook, Jake?”

“I can now,” he replied, laughing. “But I probably wasn’t much better than Andrew here when I first arrived by the sounds of it. I suppose I’ve sort of learnt out of necessity, but I actually really enjoy cooking now. It’s a great way to unwind after a stressful day of lectures. Cooking for one isn’t much fun though. It’s always more enjoyable when you’re cooking for someone else, I think.” The guy oozed charm and it was completely disarming.

“Well,” my mum said. “You’ll have to try teaching Andrew here, then.”

Jake glanced over in my direction, but before he or I had the chance to say anything, my mum told us all to dig in. The merciless ribbing continued though, and even my dad couldn’t resist joining in. I was grateful at least that my mum hadn’t brought along any baby photos or embarrassing home videos to show all my new housemates – or Jake. Just as my parents were about to recount a particularly embarrassing story about me, I decided I couldn’t take any more of their teasing and did my best to try and convince them to head home. I half expected my mum to refuse and insist on staying until we’d put away every last knife, fork and spoon, but she surprised me.

“That sounds like a great idea,” she said. “Only if you’re absolutely sure you don’t need our help unpacking though?”

“I’ll be fine, mum,” I reassured her, rolling my eyes.

We exchanged hugs in my doorway – my mum insisted on giving me a peck on my cheek – and Jake got up to shake both of their hands.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both, Mr and Mrs…”

“Thompson,” supplied my mum.

“And it was a pleasure to meet you too, Jake,” added my dad, clapping him on the shoulder.

Outside in the hallway, my mum turned round and said, “We probably don’t say it enough, and I really don’t mean to embarrass you, but we love you so very much and couldn’t be more proud of you, dear. We want you to know that we’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Just make sure you take good care of yourself.”

My mum started to choke up with emotion, which brought me close to the brink of tears. Completely caught up in the moment and with a lump in my throat, I’d forgotten that Jake was even there. I was only reminded of his presence when I felt him grab hold of my shoulder and pull me into a sideways hug.

“Don’t worry, Mrs Thompson, I promise I’ll look after him,” he said.

Waving goodbye, my mum and dad started to make their way back down the staircase. I watched my mum dabbing away at her eyes with a tissue before they both disappeared from view. Standing in the doorway to my room with Jake’s arm still wrapped around me, it was only then that I noticed just how tall he was. My nose barely reached the height of his shoulders.

With my own voice a little raw with emotion and without really thinking, I looked up at him. “I hope you don’t make promises you can’t keep.” It was said more as a statement than a question.

“Never,” he replied, squeezing my shoulder just a little bit tighter as if to emphasise the point. Then, looking a little awkward, he cleared his throat nervously and removed his hand from my shoulder before stepping back into my room.