Chapter Text
Mid-September 2025.
“You know, every time I look at that tree there are more plums on it. I don’t understand how that’s possible.”
Allison sighed and glanced up from the toast she was buttering to see her mother looking out the kitchen window and into the garden.
“It’s a plum tree, Mum. Growing plums is what it does.”
“But Allie, I’ve been plucking it every few days for weeks! I have no idea what to do with more. Auntie Emily has already taken three crates and so has Nana, and the neighbours are actively trying to avoid me now. Amanda has her own tree and Ella and Toby don’t like plums. I suppose I could make more jam - I’d have to buy more jars though...”
Tuning out her mother’s musings Allison opened the fridge, only to discover that there was no more marmalade.
“Now would you look at that!” her father exclaimed, as usual feeling a need to share every thing he read in the paper, but Allison ignored him through long practice.
“Mum- why is there no marmalade?”
Turning away from the window and beginning to sort through the ever-present clutter her mother shook her head. “Well, what with all the plum jam I’ve been making I didn’t think we’d need anything else.”
Knowing a lost cause when she saw it Allison sighed deeply and pulled out a jam jar. Retirement suited her mother entirely too well - she finally had time to indulge in her million and one hobbies, the main one being gardening...
“Harold Saxon’s boy is going to be on your course, Allie!” her father continued, blithely ignoring the jam-discussion as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“Who?” she asked, pouring a cup of tea and making her way to the table where her mother had cleared a corner.
“Harold Saxon! The prime minister! You know the one who-”
“Oh him. He has a son?”
“Good grief Allison, you could at least try to be a little more informed about the world we live in. Anyway, the boy is in the paper today as one of their ‘Young people to watch out for’, and it says he’s going to Cambridge this autumn too, doing your course. Why you might be in the same class!”
“Fascinating,” she said drolly, just as her younger brother came barging in.
“Good morning! Anything happened in your dull lives?”
“Allison is going to be on the same course as Saxon’s son,” her mother said, then frowned.
“What’s the boy’s name again?”
“Alexander,” was the reply, and Jimmy grinned.
“The psychotic prime minister’s kid? Cool. Seriously, can you imagine how brilliant it must have been for him in the playground? ‘My dad can beat up your dad!’ ‘Well my dad can kill your dad!’”
“Jimmy! That’s not funny!” Allison protested around a mouthful of toast, and Jimmy snorted.
“Geez Al, could you be any more uptight?”
She scowled. “Don’t call me Al!”
“Jimmy, really,” her mother weighed in. “It must have been awfully hard on the poor boy growing up. You ought to try to look after him a little Allie, if he seems a bit lost.”
Allison lowered her teacup, shaking her head. “Mum! I’m going to Cambridge to study Astrophysics, not to become a social worker. And I’m sure he’ll be able to look after himself.”
It was just like being back in primary school... Next her mum would start lecturing her about not showing off, but thankfully her father cut in.
“Ah now, Dearest, don’t start re-enforcing stereotypes. How are women going to compete on a level playing field if they simultaneously have to cater for fragile male egos? Allie, your grandmothers didn’t burn their bras for nothing - you go to Cambridge and outdo all the boys, you hear me?”
“Nana and grandma never burnt their bras, Dad, please stop saying that!”
Having a father whose special interest was women’s liberation never stopped being wearying. Looking up she saw that Jimmy had walked around the table, reading over their father’s shoulder.
“Hey, Al! You’re going to have a job outdoing this guy. He makes your grades look kinda lame.”
“Excuse me?” she asked frostily, having earned every one of her A stars (as her parents insisted on calling them), and still getting a happy fuzzy feeling in her stomach every time she thought about them.
“No seriously, he’s got like... a thousand A-levels. Have a look!”
Tearing the paper out of his father’s hands - ignoring the protests - he handed it over, and Allison frowned as she tried to locate the relevant part of the article - and then blinked.
“OK, that’s just ridiculous! It must be like... a misprint or something.”
She handed the paper back and Jimmy snickered.
“See? He’s a total nerd. Bet you anything he brings the professor an apple on the first day, and that he’s all pale and weedy ‘cause he lives in his computer! To be honest you better not try to talk to him, he’ll be all ‘Oh no, not girls, they give you the lurgi!’”
Allison shot her brother a withering glance as he smirked down at her from his six feet, puffing out his rugby-shirt clad chest like some sports-obsessed pigeon.
“Well some people prefer brains to brawn, moron.”
He sneered back. “Yeah, they’re called-”
“Enough!” their mother cut in, impatient. “Can you children never get along? I swear you’ve not changed at all since you were toddlers. And to think I thought it would be quiet once the other three had left...”
She sighed dramatically and changed the subject. “Allison, did you want to go into town today and do some shopping? I could come with you and get some more jam jars at the same time.”
“Sounds great Mum!” she answered, draining her cup, and smacked Jimmy as he said something stupid about women and shopping.
She couldn’t wait to leave.
***
Start of October.
Having waved goodbye to her parents Allison slowly made her way back to her room. There was a big talk in a while for all the new students, but she wanted a few moments peace and quiet first, just to process everything. It still felt unreal, despite the drive down with all her stuff boxed up, and hauling everything up to the 2nd floor, with the help of cheerful second year students, friendly and welcoming to a fault. Her gown was hanging in her wardrobe, her 'college parents' had made sure to check in that she was okay... and yet how could any of this be real? Somehow all the nerves that had not been present before had suddenly shown up now she was alone.
What if she couldn’t do the course? What if she couldn’t make any friends? What if she didn't get on with the other students in the college? She'd been chatting a bit on the group chat, but getting along with people in person was always different.
As she reached her room she hesitated, key in hand, and then took a deep breath and walked along to the next door along and knocked.
“Hi!” she said, smiling nervously, as the door opened. “I'm Allison. I'm next door. Just thought I'd... introduce myself...”
“Hi,” the girl answered. “I'm Muniba. Do you... want to come in? Otherwise I'll have to unpack properly and I'm too weirded out right now. Like - Cambridge. I'm really here, y'know?
Allison chuckled and sat down on Muniba's bed.
“I hear ya. When do you think it'll sink in?"
Muniba seemed to turn this over in her head.
"When we're used to living in a gold fish bowl with three million tourists taking pictures of us through the gates?"
Allison winced.
"Don't remind me: 'Go to Cambridge! Be a tourist attraction!' My little brother kept making fun of me."
Muniba moved a box and sat down on her chair, nodding sagely.
"My brothers were just the same..."
Allison smiled, happy to have found a shared experience.
"You’re doing music, right?” she asked, trying to claw back some information from the group chat, and Muniba nodded.
“Yeah. Both my parents are doctors and they keep trying to change my mind and get me to do something more ‘stable’, but it’s always been music for me.”
“My mum’s a musician,” Allison said. “Well she’s retired now, but she used to teach. Never made much money but she says that’s not what mattered.”
Some of the butterflies calmed as they talked, until Allison realised that she’d not had anything to eat since a chicken wrap at a service station on the way.
Asking Muniba if she’d like to try 'hall' - however that might work - her new friend curbed a smile.
“Do you like curry?”
“Sure,” Allison replied, puzzled, and Muniba opened the box next to her, which appeared to be crammed to overflowing with curry-filled tubs.
“My mother doesn’t think that they’ll feed me properly here, so...”
Muniba made a vaguely apologetic gesture, and Allison laughed.
“Do you like plum jam?”
Muniba looked at her, puzzled.
"That's random - why?"
"Because my mum decided that I needed all the jars she made that she couldn't get the rest of the family to take... I am seriously thinking of taking the whole box and handing them out at the Fresher's Fair."
Muniba laughed, and Allison began to feel that university might turn out OK after all.
***
Late October.
The first few weeks had been ridiculously busy, but Allison was beginning to feel like she had things under control. She was getting the hang of lectures and studying (on her own, in the library) and proper note taking and 'supervisions' (which were just sort of meetings with her tutor to see how she was getting on and to check if she needed any help) and could just about find her way around. Was also getting used to the endless hordes of tourists, which were not just outside her college, but also cluttering up the streets when she was simply trying to get to a meeting with her tutor or getting a few things from the supermarket. She’d also grappled with the new terminology, such as the fact that the cleaners were known as ‘bedders’. (Wrong on infinite levels.)
Her professor was an intimidatingly intelligent, but friendly, middle-aged woman, and the other students a pleasantly mixed bunch - including a gorgeous Chinese student who was forever asking insightful questions, making lessons even more interesting. Allison tried her best not to admire him too openly, and to match him question for question.
She also - with great glee - reported back to Jimmy that Alexander Saxon was as far from an awkward nerd as was possible.
He’d actually fit in quite nicely with her brother’s mates, she thought, watching his lanky form slumped on the topmost bench, as he was lazily note-taking, his blond head resting heavily on his hand. He appeared to live in jeans and T-shirts, and if it wasn’t for the physical similarity she’d never have known that he was a famous politician's son, or that he was supposed to be especially smart. He turned up to every lecture on time, but always left as soon as possible, never appearing interested in asking questions, nor eager to engage in discussions - clearly more concerned with having fun than studying.
His loss, she shrugged at the end of the day’s lecture, as she saw him greet some friends and walk off laughing. ‘Young people to watch out for’ indeed.
The next day, however, gave her a new perspective.
She’d woken up late, her alarm not going off and no family to wake her.
Slinking in ten minutes late, Allison tried her best to mime an apology and tiptoed to the back of the class, sliding in on the bench next to Alexander, sending him a nervous smile.
He nodded back politely and scooted over so she had some room, and she brought out her books, trying her best to work out how much she’d missed.
Pencil poised, she glanced across at his pad, meaning to ask him if maybe she could have a look at his notes, and then completely forgot what she had been thinking about.
As she watched, he with utmost care drew a perfect circle, adding to the half dozen circles already filling the page, some of them intercut with lines or smaller circles, others with chunks cut out - all of them as precise as if on a computer screen. Hand-drawing like that was just impossible, she knew that much.
Her staring obviously caught his attention, and he looked up.
“What is that?” she asked, stupidly, and he smiled.
“I was wondering if Santa Claus was feasible. Logically I mean.”
“...what?”
Mischief in his eyes, he turned the page so he had a blank sheet of paper.
“Well, if we accept that he can somehow stretch time and space so he can travel around the world in one night with all those presents in his sleigh, the problem mostly becomes one of manufacture. Now with the increase in population, if the delivery - in relative time - started to take longer than manufacture, the whole venture would become untenable, so I was trying to knock up some calculations...”
And before her disbelieving eyes he began to jot down numbers, with different projections for mechanical and handmade production, and she was utterly lost in bizarreness when the professor’s voice suddenly cut through.
“Alexander. Allison. Am I boring you?”
Her voice was reproaching, but not unkind, and Allison jolted back into awareness of where she was with painful embarrassment.
Alexander on the other hand sighed deeply.
“Exceedingly,” he said, and Allison’s apology died half-formed as she turned and stared at him.
“I’m sorry?” the professor asked, incredulous, and Alexander briefly buried his head in his hands before looking up.
“I’ve tried to be interested. I really have, honestly, but I could do this in my sleep when I was five and I am so bored I could scream.”
“I... see,” the professor replied, eyes narrowing, and Alexander tilted his head.
“You not going to ask me if I think I could do a better job teaching than yourself?”
A ghost of a smile was the only admittance of humour.
“No, we’d better leave that cliché alone. I would, however, like for you to come and see me as soon as class is finished.”
“Sure,” he said, as unconcerned as could be.
“Also, I would appreciate it if you would not distract the other students.”
Glancing at Allison he suddenly looked apologetic.
“Oh. Sorry about that.”
Not knowing what to say Allison tried to apologise to the professor at the same time as trying to tell Alexander that she wasn’t blaming him - she had asked after all - but he just shook his head, and then retreated to his odd circles once more.
But at the end of the lecture, as they were gathering their books, he stopped her.
“Allison? Would you like to maybe... I don’t know... Go grab a cup of coffee or something?”
“Um,” she said, feeling out-of-sorts and wishing she’d put on some nicer clothes instead of the first thing that had come to hand.
“OK, sure. When?” she finally answered, curiosity winning out.
He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes?”
“But - you’re seeing...” she gestured towards their professor, and he smiled somewhat smugly.
“Won’t take long, trust me.”
“OK then, it’s a date,” she said, belatedly realising that maybe this had not been the best choice of words. But he grinned back, clearly pleased, and asked where she’d like to meet, before running off.
Slowly putting her notes into her bag, she recalled her mother mentioning the way Harold Saxon had mesmerised the whole country, and vaguely wondered if charisma was hereditary.
But surely having a cup of coffee was innocent enough?