Emma sighed and told herself that twenty minutes wasn’t long to wait. She caught up with him as he was bending down, left leg out in front of him, like a trained horse attempting a bow. He had both crutches in one hand. The look of comical embarrassment on his face when he saw her made her laugh out loud.
* * *
He told her his name was Andy; he was a fourth-year medical student, and he wanted to specialize in virology. He’d taken a gap year in South America, volunteering on a project to research vaccine strategies to control the Zika virus, then the professor who led the study invited him to work in his lab in Brazil for a year, developing a new vaccine. ‘Which accounts for my extreme old age,’ he said.
She felt her cheeks flush, thinking, God, did I make it that obvious I thought he was old?
He wanted to know about her course and the stem cell lecture and listened closely to her answers, agreeing with her in a way that made her blush again with pleasure.
The hypnotic creak-thud of his crutches now took on a jauntier rhythm and she flattered herself that she was the cause. They walked easily together, despite his injury, their breath steaming before them, mingling with the milky vapour. Emma became less concerned about getting back to halls and was even building up to asking him out for a drink.
She didn’t think to question why he had been walking through the Victoria Building archway when he had just come from the science library. Didn’t think to suggest that a shortcut through the arch of the Industrial Sciences Building back onto Ashton Street would save them five minutes’ walk and an unnecessary detour to reach the car park. She was happy to retrace her steps, taking a long loop past the Foresight Centre and the Old Royal Infirmary, simply glad to be in Andy’s company. She clasped his books to her and thought she would like to be seen with him, so that she could keep her girlfriends agog.
She fell quiet for a moment and sensed him looking down at her. Her heart quickened, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘Isn’t this fabulous?’ he said, and she knew he meant the fog and the night and being young and not knowing what might happen next but knowing — just knowing — that it would be something wonderful.
‘Yes, yes!’ she wanted to exclaim, but felt suddenly shy that he seemed able to read her thoughts and could only nod her agreement.
The car park was almost empty, and she could barely make out the shapes of the few remaining cars.
‘This is me.’ A set of keys appeared in his hand and a car a few feet away gave a flash of indicator lights and a surprised cluck, as if it had been goosed. Emma didn’t know cars, but this one looked expensive even to her undiscerning eye. Big and voracious. The beading of moisture on the paintwork seemed to make it glow with a pearly depth. She couldn’t make out the colour in the Irn Bru orange of the car park lighting.
‘Stick them on the passenger seat,’ he said. ‘Door’s open.’
He shot the crutches into the passenger well and, dismayed, it occurred to her that he would have to drive with a broken leg. Again, he seemed to anticipate her thoughts.
‘It’s automatic,’ he said. ‘I won’t need the left leg.’
He reached down and for a surreal moment she thought he would unstrap the leg like a prosthetic. She covered her gasp of alarm by opening the passenger door and placing his texts on the empty seat.
He lifted his left leg into the seat well and followed after with a groan of pain or relief. ‘Well — come on then.’
She flushed, confused.
‘Get in — I’ll give you a lift.’
‘I’m fine.’ She smiled, feeling herself blush more deeply.
‘It’s the least I can do after you went to all that trouble.’
‘I only carried your books.’
‘And believe me, not many would.’
‘I can catch a bus just across the road.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I rode those buses for a year — it’ll take an hour in this weather. And what if it breaks down? You could end up having to walk those lonely Mossley Hill roads all alone.’ He stopped. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare the whatsit out of you. Curse of a vivid imagination,’ he said, smiling at himself. ‘Let me give you a lift,’ he said. ‘Please?’
Emma bit her lip, and he shoved the books unceremoniously onto the back seat. It would be fun to take him to meet Vinnie and the others. A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth as Vinnie’s voice popped into her head, ‘So, who’s the hamstrung hunk?’ But reason fought with impulse.
You’re mad, she told herself. You’re all alone. You just met the guy and you’re actually getting into his car? She stood uncertainly, holding the door open. The upholstery smelled of new leather; the fog had begun to swirl inside the car, tinted pearl grey by the interior light.
‘Come on then, if you’re coming.’ He looked up at her, an amused expression on his face, and she took her decision.
She swivelled her shoulder bag around and slid into the seat.
‘Seatbelt,’ he said, like it was a rehearsed cockpit routine.
When she was safely harnessed, Andy grinned, slid the key in the ignition and turned.
Nothing happened. He tried again.
Again, nothing.
‘Fuck.’ He squeezed the wheel in both hands then slammed the heel of his right hand into the dashboard. ‘Fuck!’
She flinched. ‘What’s wrong?’
He reached across her and she jerked back involuntarily. He punched the button for the glove compartment and came out with a clean white cloth and a can of WD-40.
‘Piece of shit Japanese fucking garbage,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘That, Emma, is the essence of what’s wrong.’ He pulled a lever near his seat and popped the bonnet, tore one of the crutches from her hand and shouldered the door open.
Emma winced as he put weight on his left leg, but he seemed not to notice.
‘Slide over,’ he said. ‘Try the ignition when I tell you.’
The crutch formed a barrier between the seats and she got out instead, walked around to the driver’s side. ‘I warn you,’ she joked, ‘I don’t have a licence.’ Her voice sounded weak to her.
He didn’t smile.
The first try, it turned over a few times, then cut out.
‘Wait!’ he yelled.
She began to bristle. Then, as if he had sensed her resentment, Andy’s face appeared around the side of the bonnet, looking rueful. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s been a hell of a day.’ He had a smudge of grease at the side of his nose, which made him look boyish and vulnerable. ‘One last try?’ He fluttered his eyelashes and she clenched her jaw against a laugh — she didn’t want him to think she was a pushover. ‘One last try.’ She turned the key, the engine whined, coughed, caught.
‘Yes!’ He lowered the bonnet and she got ready to switch places. Just at the last moment, she glanced up.
There was something in his look that stopped her dead. Triumph, certainly — that was there — but there was something more. Something feral and cold, that made her jump out of the car and take a step back.
‘Hey,’ he said, smiling again. ‘I’m giving you a lift, remember?’
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, trapping her against the side of the car. The wool hat, the crutch under his left arm, the smudge next to his nose now gave him a piratical look, sinister in the swirling mist.