In Halls

Getting Along

Six days into Freshers and I really did not get along with these people.

We'd been out every night so far and I felt perpetually tired and queasy, with a gnawing headache that never fully settled. I was grouchy, and I knew I was grouchy, which didn't help my grouchiness. The kitchen was disgusting. It didn't help my stomach or my stress levels walking into a room piled high with debris from the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that. I didn't understand how six people could make so much mess.

I suspected Ed. You can't cook proper meals without generating a lot of crap, and he was the only one of us bothering to cook yet. I would, once I'd settled in more. I still owed him (and the rest of the flat) that meal I'd promised, so that was one thing I was obliged to cook. But it turned out that Ed was arrogant and antisocial. He'd predrink with us and come out with us, then at a certain point he'd disappear into the night, picking up some random girl or other on his way no doubt. If he was asked about his nocturnal activities, he would only ever smirk and say "No comment." My opinion of him as a dick and a player was only growing more fixed. And someone who was a player wasn't likely to have much time for washing up.

Say what you like, though, he was clearly efficient about it. He was always back at the flat in time for the fire alarm, which went off routinely between 2am and 4am, when any sane human would be in bed. They came on just when I'd got myself settled down to sleep, and every time we would all be standing in the cold for at least an hour waiting for the steward to sort things out. None of them were real fires, of course. There were now posters plastered through the stairwell reading 'Smoking inside your flat WILL set off the fire alarm.' So far, they hadn't made a difference. Our halls were filled with illiterate smokers, apparently. The slight anxiety I'd had during the first couple was already gone, replaced with a profound and bitter hatred of the human being responsible for the 'This is a fire alarm...' announcement voice. The only benefit was that I'd become a dab hand at putting on my shoes and dressing gown without opening my eyes.

And the drama continued. Every night so far, Josh and Tara had ended up in bed with one another, either before or after the fire alarm, and every morning Josh had claimed he had no memory of events. Tara kept saying that nothing was happening, as though she could convince us of that through sheer perseverance in the lie. Meanwhile, Ed and Christopher, who had the rooms either side of Tara's, compared notes on what noises they'd heard in the night. They were not particularly innocent noises.

I was grateful that my neighbour was Elizabeth, but still I could frequently hear her raising her voice on the phone in pleading tones. I had to guess it was her girlfriend she was talking to. Either that or she was rehearsing the role of a distressed Victorian housewife.

It wasn't Tara's fault now at least. Despite her time spent with Josh, she was finding opportunities every night to "accidentally" post pictures and videos of me in the nightclubs. She apologised every morning, saying that she'd been so drunk, she'd forgotten to ask, pointing out how many likes every post got and asking me if I really wanted it deleted. Yeah, it pissed me off. But while she was focused on me, she seemed to be posting less images of Elizabeth, so in a way my intervention had worked. And Tara and Elizabeth seemed to be getting along well.

My other neighbour was the front door, and I was already getting sick of answering the buzzer to all of Christopher's takeaway drivers. Of course, he always apologised with a winning smile and he had been known to give me a slice of pizza or a handful of chips for my trouble, so he was far from my worst flatmate. I'd have to watch myself. I had a teensy bit of a crush on him. Clearly, or I'd have started stealing his takeaways by now. Seriously, how did he have the budget to buy food every night?

All I wanted was a good night's sleep. But every time I mentioned to anyone that I was going to just have a chilled night in, they would tell me that chilled nights in weren't for Freshers Week. And even though I wasn't exactly having the best time ever, we still had a laugh most nights. It seemed like missing out, and becoming the flat hermit, would be worse. Besides, they needed me. None of them knew when to stop. Every single night, they needed me to look after whichever person was most drunk, to book taxis, pick up dropped phones, sort directions. I didn't want anyone to have an accident without me there. They would surely have to settle down soon.

Sophie was busy with her flatmates, who seemed to be getting along just fine, and Jason was already deep in his Masters studies. I tried messaging my work colleagues, but it seemed like they were having a busy time of it. They would send superficial messages like you must be having an amazing time or hope you're getting along with your new housemates! So I vented to my parents on video chat, and they said chirpy things like 'it's early days, El!' or 'you've got to give them the benefit of the doubt, you're all finding your feet!'

I appreciated the conversation, since I wasn't getting much of that otherwise, but the advice didn't exactly help.

Overall I tried to spend as little time as possible in halls. At least my room was right by the door in that sense. I could slip in and out of the flat pretty easily and I hardly ever ran into people. If only I didn't have to go down to the filthy shared kitchen, I could imagine I was living on my own anyway. I'd been to my first few swimming sessions and Ed and I had signed up for BiochemiClub, the society for students on our course. It was run by people who actually seemed to care about learning almost as much as they cared about booze, amazingly. They had pointed me to some pre-reading in the Sciences Library, an ugly building devoted to oversized textbooks and undersized Study Stations. I'd also found my way to the other library, which was far more attractive. It benefitted from a whole section dedicated to works of classic fiction required for the various literature courses.

Between old wooden bookcases, I'd caught a glimpse of Callum with his familiar satchel and glasses on Wednesday afternoon. Like an over-keen puppy, I'd trotted over to him as soon as we made eye contact, greeting him and asking him how he was doing.

"Hi," he'd responded, with a bit of hesitation, and my cheerful approach had crumbled with the realisation that he had no idea who I was. Just a random girl bounding up to him for no reason.

I blamed Ed. His insinuations had made me read too much into my little interaction with Callum at the Freshers Fair.

"Um, sorry, it's Ellen," I faltered. "We met at the Freshers Fair?"

Callum smiled in recognition at last, tapping himself on the head to signal his memory rolling into action.

"Ellen! Of course, Ellen... did I lend you a book?"

I laughed. Of course.

"Yeah, you did. Mansfield Park."

"Mansfield Park, yes, how could I forget? How are you finding it?"

"Oh, I haven't started it yet. Anyway, I, um, I should let you get on with your... things... I'll see you later, I guess."

"Yeah, I'll see you later. Hey, it was nice to meet you again, Ellen. See you at Book Club?"

"Yeah, see you at Book Club."

And he finished off the encounter with a glowing smile.

Book Club, however, was not until next Thursday, and I had yet to finish the book. Much like I had yet to finish unpacking. 

Welcome to Chapter 13, or, Ellen being mopey for 1,300 words straight. I promise she won't always be feeling this bleak!