The Charmed Life Of Danny Murphy - 6. Chapter 6

I woke the next morning with a slightly queasy stomach, probably as a result of the cider I had drunk the night before. Mrs Moseley had decided that, as it was the weekend and therefore we didn't have to be dashing out of the door to get to lectures on time, she would prepare us a cooked breakfast. She bustled in from the kitchen carrying two breakfast plates, which she plonked down in front of us.

"There you go, boys," she said cheerfully. "Tuck in. I'll be back in in a minute with the toast."

I looked at my breakfast and my stomach turned somewhat. The bacon was greasy, the fried eggs soft and runny with uncooked bits of white, while the sausages were almost burnt to a cinder, and the fried bread looked as though it had really only been wiped in the grease left in the frying pan after everything else had been cooked. About the only thing on the plate that looked edible was the baked beans. I picked up my knife and fork, looked at my plate, and sighed.

"Can't face your breakfast?" asked Derek with a sneer. "Too hung over?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, wondering just what was wrong with this guy.

"Just what I said. You came in rolling drunk last night stinking of beer."

Derek was rapidly getting under my skin. I'd hardly had a civil word out of him all week. I'd put that down at first as probably being due to the fact that he'd had the bedroom to himself for Freshers' Week, and just resented having to now share it with someone else. But I'd done my best the whole week to try to be friendly. Indeed this morning was just about the only time he'd actually initiated a conversation. Usually I would try to open up a conversation with him, only to get a series of monosyllables or grunts in reply. Whatever his problem was, I'd had just about enough of him as I could stand. I put my knife and fork back down and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"I would hardly call three pints rolling drunk," I said in a low voice. "And, seeing I had been drinking cider, I fail to see how I could have been stinking of beer."

"So why you looking so bleary eyed and grumpy this morning?"

"Might be something to do with you playing that damn record player till all hours of the night," I replied.

"I had my headphones on."

"Could still hear it though."

"Well it wasn't all night. I did turn it off and go to bed about midnight."

"Was that the time?" I asked sarcastically. "I had actually just about managed to get to sleep by then. Unfortunately your bloody snoring kept waking me up for the rest of the night."

"I do not fucking snore! How many times do I have to tell you?" he replied, his voice starting to rise.

"Keep your voice down, will you. Wouldn't do to have the good landlady hear us arguing," I said.

I picked up my knife and fork again and started eating my breakfast. Mrs Moseley had obviously heard Derek's raised voice. She put her head round the door.

"Everything alright, boys?"

"Yes, thanks, Mrs M.," I replied. "Derek here's just getting a bit excited about who'll win the football match today. Think I'll head into Sheffield once I've finished this wonderful breakfast."

"You're a good lad, Danny," she replied back with a smile. "Just shout if there's anything else you need. The toast will be ready any minute now."

+++

The next few weeks went by quickly enough. I settled into a routine. Two lectures most mornings, one at nine and one at ten. Laboratory sessions from one till four in the afternoon, except Wednesdays and Fridays. Friday we would have two tutorials, one with our Integrated Biology tutor, and one with the tutor from the Botany department. I found out that I was one of six students who had elected to do Botany. That seemed to be a low number, considering the standard of the course that they were offering. But I put that down to the fact that we wouldn't actually start the Botany course proper until year two, the Biology faculty having introduced the so-called Integrated Biology course this year for first year students. And I was coming to think that there wasn't really anything integrated about this new course, either. From what I could make out it was really more like a series of lectures and practical classes for each of the different disciplines.

My circle of friends increased. Most mornings after lectures many of us would be found in the coffee bar in the Students' Union, imbibing far too much caffeine, chatting, and playing cards, chess, or other games. I became quite proficient at Contract Bridge, a game I'd never even heard of before, feeling especially delighted with myself when I could eventually remember just about every card that had been played from each of the four suits, and be able to predict which of the remaining cards were left in which person's hand, simply as a result of the bidding that had taken place when a game had started. The increase in proficiency also came about because many a round would often result in a post mortem that would more than likely last longer than the round itself had actually lasted. Those post mortems certainly proved invaluable to me to begin with, although I did start to find them a bit tedious after a while.

We had also found the snooker and the table tennis rooms in the basement of the Students' Union, which we would tend to frequent many an afternoon or evening for an hour or so after lectures or practicals had finished. The snooker room was very dark, with the walls painted black, and lights suspended over the tables that needed a tanner to give half an hour's light. Usually we would need to feed it another sixpence before the end of the game. I enjoyed the game, but have to admit that I never really got any good at it at all. Table tennis was much more enjoyable, perhaps because I was better at it than I was at snooker, and probably because I enjoyed the more physical aspect to it. We would have to book the table tennis room at the porters' lodge in the entrance to the Union building. Thruppence deposit each and we could borrow two bats and two table tennis balls. If one of the balls got damaged we would be charged tuppence for a replacement. I got quite good at that game.

Myself and Alison seemed to be becoming good friends. Although she wasn't doing the same course as me, so we didn't actually share any lectures, we would often meet up between lectures for coffee. She was certainly fun to be around, but I found myself tongue-tied a lot of the time. I knew that I was really expected to ask her what she thought of me, and whether we might become officially boyfriend and girlfriend, but I could never quite find the courage to actually say the words. I think part of the reason was just the fact that I was so unused to girls. Apart from my four sisters, girls never really figured in my life before, particularly having attended an all boys grammar school. Also I was probably worried that she might say no to the suggestion. But, whatever the reason, I left things as they were for the time being. I was enjoying myself. I had my mind fixed on a female for the first time in my life. I wasn't finding myself looking at the guys for a change. Perhaps I really had been just a late developer, I told myself.

Over the next few weeks I'd spend some time in the union bar most weekday evenings, enjoying a few drinks with the gang I was hanging round with, before heading back to my digs in Stocksbridge. I'd quickly come to the decision that the dry cider wasn't all that good for my stomach, having woken up a number of times with stomach pains. The obvious alternatives were either mild or bitter and, since the word mild suggested that the drink wouldn't be very strong, I had quickly settled on bitter as my drink of choice.

That's not to say that I ever got really drunk. I could remember that my father had had a drink problem. He would often come in late at night and wake the whole house up with the noise he would make. I could still remember the arguments between himself and my mother, which would wake me up late at night when I was small. I was to find out years later that my mother had finally got a court order barring him from the family home. When he had first disappeared, I had assumed he'd just deserted us all.

So I'd have no more than three pints any evening, or maybe four if I got into a round with one of my new friends. On those latter occasions I'd often just have bitter shandy, which was half a pint of bitter and half a pint of lemonade. I worried that alcoholism might be genetic, and I didn't want to finish up like my father. Although I'd sometimes feel slightly merry at the end of a session, I never finished up rolling drunk or anything.

Not that that stopped Derek making snide comments over breakfast in the mornings. I'd taken to putting a text book or a notebook beside my plate and be pretending to be studying rather than try to chat to him. I suppose it might have seemed that I was deliberately ignoring him. And, to be honest, that was quite true. But I felt absolutely no guilt about it. He really was such an obnoxious person that I saw no reason to continue trying to make small talk to him.

It wasn't until about a month into the term that I even thought about rugby. I made some enquiries and found that the teams had all been picked for the year. Apparently that was another result of me having missed Freshers' Week, as most of the trials had taken place during it. I was told that I could go along to training on Tuesday evenings on one of the university's floodlit pitches if I wished, to see if the selectors might think I would be good enough to be considered as a substitute for some of the matches. I decided to give it a miss for this year at least.