House of Windows (6 page)

Pushing through the glass-and-wood-slatted door into the corridor that led to the music room, Nick found Susie sitting on one of the padded benches on the right. She looked up with a smile that faltered when she realised who it was. ‘Oh. Hi, Nick.’

Her face brightened when the door opened behind him, knocking into his backpack, and Frank stepped through.

‘Hello, hello, are those my students I hear?’ A door had opened halfway down on the left. ‘I’m Dr Davis. Come in, come in.’

The room was small, cramped, bare: a meeting room rather than an office.

‘Been getting to your lectures OK, then?’ Dr Davis asked.

‘Right at the front,’ said Susie brightly, taking out a smart new notebook and a fountain pen.

Frank coughed and bent to fish in his bag.

‘Well, let’s get started, shall we? Now, obviously we didn’t have a supervision in Week 1 so you’d have time to settle in: get to grips with things, work on that first set of problems I sent over by email. But from now on we’ll meet here at this time every week. We’ll be covering two courses together each term: you’ll have another supervisor, or supervisors, for the other two. Our Michaelmas Term courses will be Differential Equations and Vectors & Matrices; then we’ve got Vector Calculus and Dynamics & Relativity in Lent. Easter Term only has three teaching weeks and they’re dedicated to revision.’

He paused to smile around at them, his face falling when he found Frank playing with his phone, though he perked up when he realised Susie was sitting on the very edge of her seat.

‘Onwards and upwards,’ Dr Davis said. ‘Supervisions in Maths are usually in pairs, but we’ve got an uneven number this year, so the three of you it is. We try to persuade students not to spend supervisions taking notes: most people find they get more out of focusing on understanding instead, though it
is
a good idea to write up some notes directly afterwards. Each supervision I’ll be writing out some proofs and solutions and then giving my notes to one of you to take away and share with the others. So without more ado, let’s start by taking a look at your first piece of marked work.’ He opened a file and passed over their corrected assignments.

‘What does this mean?’ Nick asked, pointing to a Greek letter at the top of his paper.

‘We don’t give grades for supervision homework, just alphas and betas.’

‘So what’s an alpha?’

‘About three-quarters correct, and a beta is the equivalent of half correct.’

‘But how will we know what Tripos grade we’re likely to get from this?’

Frank slumped back in his chair, half-turning to look out of the window.

Dr Davis’s smile became fixed. ‘Let’s not get too caught up in all that right at the start, Nick.’

Nick frowned down at his page. ‘But—’

‘Just try this for a while and if you don’t feel it’s enough information, we can think again, OK?’

Nick blew out a frustrated breath. ‘So how many people in our year got alphas this time?’

Frank shifted in his chair, huffing an irritated sigh and pointedly rolling his eyes, while Susie started popping the top on and off her fountain pen.

Dr Davis darted a quick look at them and smiled even more widely, clearly not realising that this made him look more like a Halloween pumpkin than the picture of reassurance he was obviously striving for. ‘Supervisions are more about learning, Nick, than competing with each other, but I can tell you that you’re doing really well. One of the best answers out of everyone I supervise on this course, so you don’t need to worry: you’re more than showing you deserve to be here. Now, Susie, why don’t we start with you since your
solution was the most … interesting in terms of recapping the key principles.’

By the time they were finally organised around a tiny table barely big enough to fit Susie’s paper and the supervisor’s notebook side by side, Frank had stopped shooting slit-eyed glares in Nick’s direction.

‘I’ll do better next time, I swear I will,’ Susie was saying, almost furiously, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Now that I know what to do it’ll be
fine
. I mean, I’m usually so
organised
. I don’t know what’s
wrong
with me. I don’t think I’ve been managing my time very well,’ she mumbled, fixing her eyes on their supervisor’s pen. ‘It’s not like me. It’s really not.’

Dr Davis smiled kindly. ‘It is always an adjustment from school to university: having to plan everything for yourself, with no one to tell you what to do or when.’

‘I just wasn’t expecting it to be so …’ Susie spread her hands wide. ‘There’s just so much
stuff
going on all the time. People always inviting you somewhere.’

Nick bent to tie his shoelace.
It’s OK for some.

‘That’s absolutely as it should be,’ Dr Davis was enthusing to Susie with a look of quite horrifying avuncular fondness given that they’d only met him ten minutes ago, ‘but of course you need to leave time for your academic studies too.’

‘I think it was just ’cos I got a bit behind in Freshers’ Week. I meant to read all the course notes and stuff then. But I’ll get on top of it,’ she said, brushing her skirt down over her knees so the seams fell straight. ‘So, what’s next?’ She leaned forwards, lip caught between her teeth and hands curled into
fists in her lap as she watched Dr Davis work through the model answer.

‘We’re not meant to be taking our own notes,’ Frank hissed as Nick bent over his knees to scribble in the margins of his assignment.

Nick held the page up to show him. ‘That’s five pencil strokes in total, OK? I’m not writing an essay.’

By the end of the supervision, Frank was looking positively thunderous, Susie strained and unhappy. Both scuttled off in different directions the minute they stepped out into the corridor.

So much for suggesting coffee instead of the pub.

‘Oh, sorry, Nick,’ said Dr Davis, bumping his shoulder as he stepped out into the corridor behind him. ‘Didn’t mean to mow you down. Actually, do you have a minute to walk with me? Now, don’t take this as a criticism,’ he said, as they started down the stairs, ‘just a piece of friendly advice, but, while Cambridge is obviously all about being the best and brightest, sometimes it can be rather … counterproductive to get too caught up in competitiveness. I’m not saying you shouldn’t
feel
competitive inside, because that’s partly what pushes us to do our best, but maybe it’d be better to keep it under wraps a bit more in supervisions. Some people find it a bit, well, intimidating.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Nick replied, trying to keep the temper from his voice.

Dr Davis sighed. ‘You have to remember, Nick, that while everyone here really is superbly intelligent, some people are …
Well, different people have different strengths. There might be a course that’s a bit tougher for you and then maybe you won’t want—’

‘If I don’t know how I measure up, how do I know how much harder I need to work?’

‘It doesn’t always have to be about other people, Nick. If you just do your best—’

‘Well,
obviously
. But it’s
always
possible to do better. At least if I’m at the top of the pack that’s a good place to start from.’

Dr Davis rubbed at his eyes. ‘I don’t want to be discouraging, Nick, but no one’s the best all the time.’

Nick shrugged. ‘But that’s exactly when I need to know, so I can just keep working until I get there. Or as close as I’m capable of getting.’

Dr Davis shook his head. ‘Well, I can’t knock your work ethic. Just try to enjoy it too, OK? It’s about learning, not just marks.’

Nick frowned. ‘Yeah, but it
can
be about both. How do you know you’ve learnt anything otherwise?’

‘Let’s revisit that question at the end of term,’ said Dr Davis. ‘See you next time.’

Nick wandered away, kicking irritably at a loose stone. He stood for a while in Front Court, looking about for inspiration. He peered into the buttery, then the dining hall, but didn’t see anyone he recognised. There were a few faces that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t think of anything to start a conversation.

Just like school, only with more interesting work.

He set off home before he could dwell on it. No point walking endlessly around College, hoping for someone to catch his eye and make an overture of friendship.

As he walked up Senate House Passage, he tried calling Michael, only to get his voicemail. He didn’t bother to leave a message: his father was due home in a few hours anyway to oversee a tree surgeon coming to sort out a dying ash that was threatening the neighbour’s conservatory. But when he let himself in the front door, it was to find the Replacement sprawled across the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table.

‘Did my dad say when he might make it back?’ Nick asked by way of a greeting.

The Replacement pulled a face, turning the TV off and tossing the controls aside. ‘He’s kinda … in New York.’

Nick felt his eyes go wide in horror. ‘How long are you staying?’

The Replacement laughed. ‘Don’t freak out, kid. Your dad’s calling your godfather to stay this weekend. I’ll hang out until after they’re done with the tree, but I’m afraid I can’t stay the night. You’ll be OK, though, right? Got some local friends now to call if you need anything?’

The arrival of the tree surgeon saved them from having to find something to talk about. It was sorted within a few hours and half an hour after that the Replacement made his excuses. As soon as the door closed behind him, Nick started turning on the lights, even though the sun was still gilding the top of the fence. He added the sound of the TV to the
mix before retreating to the window seat to read, curled up on the oversized cushions he’d bought in the market. For a while, he was content, warm in the low-slanting sun.

The landline rang promptly at eleven. ‘Hey, Dad.’

‘I could have been Bill,’ said Michael.

‘It’s eleven here. Bill would expect me to be in bed.’

Michael snorted. ‘That man would have made someone an excellent mother.’

‘Sexist, Dad.’

‘Really? Why is that sexist?’

Nick sighed. So did Michael. ‘I had my first supervision today.’

‘Oh? Already? So what grade did you get for that first assignment?’

‘An alpha.’

‘What the hell is an alpha? When did Cambridge start marking in Greek? We’re usually more about badly conjugated Latin. Don’t they do normal classifications any more?’

‘I think it’s sort of like an A. It’s like seventy-five and a beta is fifty.’

Michael made a noise of disgust. ‘But then everyone’s got one of two grades. How on earth can you tell where you are in the class?’

‘Well, the other two in my supervision got betas so—’

‘Good for you, Nick! See, I told Bill that you’d be fine with the work.’

Nick drew his feet up to poke at a hole in his sock,
rearranging the fraying fabric over his toes. ‘It’s harder than school, but in a fun sort of way – so far, at least. Mostly you just chip away at it: if one approach doesn’t work, you try another. There’s a bit about the underlying theory and that’s pretty tough, but mostly I just need to be able to get the right answer out of an equation.’

‘Well, that sounds promising: exactly what we were hoping for, isn’t it, a bit of complexity? But this alpha/beta stuff is ridiculous. Did you ask what exam grade you would have got?’

‘I tried to, Dad, but my supervisor says I shouldn’t be so competitive.’ He gave up on the sock, tore it off and threw it towards the bin in the corner, watching it crumple to the carpet only a few feet away.

‘More of that touchy-feely mustn’t-let-the-cretins-feel-inadequate bollocks, huh? That attitude won’t get anyone far in the real world. Anyway, have to dash. Just wanted to check in. Bill’s coming down tomorrow.’ A pause. ‘I sort of suggested that I wasn’t flying out until the morning. You know how he worries, so …’

‘Got it, Dad,’ Nick said. ‘Hope the trip goes well.’

‘Just don’t throw any of those rave parties advertised on the internet, OK?’

‘Chance would be a fine thing, right, Dad?’ Nick told the phone as the dial tone blared from the receiver. He sighed.
Why is it never easy for us?

There seemed to be a lot of giggling happening on the other side of the door. Nick took a deep breath, let it out, then knocked. This prompted a fresh wave of giggles from the room beyond. The door opened.

‘Is this the Children’s Book Club Squash?’ he asked before he realised what he was seeing.

The girl who had answered the door was wearing very pink pyjamas, her hair sticking up in a series of little bunches. She had a large sparkly pink teddy bear under one arm.

‘A boy!’ the girl squeaked.

‘A boy!’ came an echo from behind her. The room was full of girls in pyjamas, each with a stuffed animal in her lap.

The girl opened the door wide. ‘Welcome, Boy!’

Nick reached forward and slowly tugged the door closed. He walked quickly to the end of the corridor, aware that the door was opening again behind him, and then pelted down the staircase, not stopping when he reached the bottom. He raced across the grass of the courtyard outside (to much shouting from various porters and fellows) and out through the Corpus p’lodge into the street beyond.