Up until her final year at uni, Edith had given everyone the impression her emotional system had been cryogenically frozen. She'd never even once been on a date or shown the slightest indication of being drawn toward a fellow human being. Not sexually drawn, anyway. The idea of her ever having a "love problem" was, quite frankly, absurd. But, early into her final autumn term as an undergraduate, she at last proved she had feelings after all.
Yes, they came flooding out one evening in the Union Bar, big style.
Heather was sitting alone in a quiet corner, drinking Marston's and trying to make sense out of a thick Econometrics textbook when her friend arrived at her table, bearing two new pints. Edith's habitually fretful expression was more intense than usual. She obviously had something on her mind and, over the course of several more beers, Heather got chapter and verse . . . slowly, and very, very painfully.
Good grief, getting confessions out of her was like pulling hens' teeth. Her version of "flooding out" was not a fast one!
After Mary Rose, Edith was easily the cleverest person Heather knew. She was a research chemist ("Great with Stinks" as Mare would have put it) and had become a bit of a star among her peers. She was already inundated with offers to keep on researching when she graduated, no doubt summa cum laude. While not as naturally intelligent as Heather's old school chum, Edith had the gift of only ever needing to hear things once. Her comprehension and retention were first class. So too was her work ethic: she could always be found slogging away in her lab for minimally twelve hours a day and seven days a week. The combination of effort and ability was awesome.
That night Edith was uncharacteristically low. Being Edith, however, she didn't just sit down and spill out her heart. That would have been too much like admitting she had a few unscientific bones in her body. Instead she babbled on about her latest project, probably not realizing that the frown lines in her forehead were etching themselves ever more deeply in place.
Heather wasn't fooled by the babbling but let her go on a while, aware that whatever it was had to be serious. Anything that got Edith out of her lab so early had to be terribly serious. It was best to let her get to it in her own good time.
It can't be work, Heather thought. She knows much more than her tutors. And it can't be her extensive and exciting social life, because she doesn't have one. It must be bad news from home.
Except Edith did have a social life . . . almost. Her one social concession was to go to the chess club with Doug once a week. And occasionally the two of them had been spotted in the refectory together, eating lunch and talking science.
Everyone except the star researcher herself knew she was besotted with her fellow researcher. Even without any of the usual tell-tale signs it was apparent in the way she said his name . . . and, come to that, the frequency with which she said his name.
Doug was nearly as smart as Edith and just as dedicated. On paper they were made for each other; they shared academic interests that baffled ninety-nine point nine per cent of humanity. But in reality they hadn't got beyond the just-good-friends stage. It was as if they were both terminally shy. Heather couldn't understand such reservation between two intelligent people. Even so, she found the ongoing "will-we-won't-we" rather cute. It was like watching that old coffee ad . . . only in super-slow motion.
'What is it, Ede?' she asked eventually. 'What's upset you?'
'It's nothing, nothing at all.'
Heather took the other girl's hand and squeezed it gently. 'Please tell me,' she said.
'It's nothing really; just something silly.'
'Ede . . . will you please tell me, for goodness' sake.'
And that was all it finally took.
It's official.' Edith avoided her eye as she spoke. 'Doug doesn't care for me at all.'
'Nonsense, he does so care. I've seen you together. It's written all over his face.'
'It isn't written all over this though,' Edith said, bursting into tears.
Heather quickly understood what had happened. Her friend had received a "stray" email that included a sequence of replies she'd never been meant to see. From the paper copy (printed off at the cost of half a rainforest) it was evident that good old Doug had got involved in an ongoing exchange; the sort that moved from coursework to sex, then back to coursework.
And that one of his idiot mates had then forgotten about the sex and widened the distribution list.
Oops!
The sex talk wasn't in any way extreme. Heather thought it shouldn't really upset anyone named in it, even if it did seem to implicate everyone who'd ever used a Bunsen burner. Not to mention a fair few who had never set foot in a lab. She was even in there herself, which she found odd. She didn't often sleep with scientists. Sports scientists were a completely different matter, naturally, but out-and-out scientists . . .
Anyway, she wasn't bothered personally once she'd seen her two guys gave glowing references. The only thing that did concern her was an exchange towards the end.
Geordie: "Come on Doug. Confess. Wots Edith like under that baggy sweatshirt?"
Doug: "How should I know?"
Geordie: "Mate, if you don't know, nobody does!!"
Doug: "Then nobody ever will!!"
Heather put her arm around Edith, who was sobbing quietly. 'Blokes,' she said. 'They're so insincere. He's just said that because he thinks it's what his cronies expect to hear.'
'His cronies sound sincere enough about you.' Edith's eyes brimmed again. 'You're "fantastic" and "mega" while I'm just a skinny virgin who nobody will ever touch. I'll probably stay hidden under my baggy sweatshirt forever.'
'Ede, listen to me. You're lovely and slim, not skinny.'
'But I'm still an untouchable virgin. Nobody's ever going to give me a perfect ten.' Edith managed a weepy, snotty sort of laugh. 'In fact nobody's ever going to give me one, full stop. Never mind score me for it.'
That was when Heather decided to get involved. Intellectually Edith was a giant; emotionally she was more like a midget. In her considered opinion it all came down to self-image, and there really was no reason for her friend to sell herself so short. While not absolutely striking, she was tall and pretty and would undoubtedly scrub up well.
If she ever got her nose out of her test-tubes, that was.
'I've got a three-litre box of Merlot at home,' Heather said. 'You are coming to help me drink it. Then I am going to hug you until you say you're happy again. Is that a deal?'
'I don't think I'll ever be happy again,' Edith replied with a pale smile.
'Then I'm going to be hugging you a long time, aren't I? Come on girl, grab your coat.'
*****
For once reticent with the vino, Heather dragged out her first couple of glasses of red. Without saying so out loud, she wanted to let the effects of several pints of beer leave their systems. Confident they'd peed as much as they needed, she then made her move.
'Okay,' she said, snuggling closer to Edith on the leather settee, 'this is where the serious hugging begins.'
Edith stared back at her, almost blankly. It was impossible to judge her mood or expectations.
She has come of her own accord, Heather thought; she's fully aware that "hugging" is on the agenda. And she knows as much about my sexuality as everyone else . . .
