Thorn in the Flesh by Anne Brooke

I’m Peter McLeod, my A levels – and I’m dredging my memory here – were Maths, Further Maths, Physics and Chemistry, and I’m in my final year reading Maths at Castle. You?’
    ‘Kate Harris, A levels of French, German and History, all As, and I’m reading Linguistics at St Mary’s.’
    ‘I thought so. You’ve got the look of a Mary’s Girl.’ He laughed.
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘Hey, don’t get in a sweat. I didn’t mean anything horrible. Mary’s Girls are sweet, sassy and sexy. As well as unobtainable, usually.’
    ‘Why are they unobtainable?’
    He shrugged again, ‘Easy. They’re either virgins, prudes or dykes. Which are you, Kate?’
    His eyes pierced into hers and she was sure, for another split second in time, that all her life, both past and present, was utterly open to him. Someone jogged him, and then pushed past her, muttering, but neither lowered their gaze.
    It was she who broke the impasse.
    ‘Why should it be the woman’s fault?’ she asked him. ‘Perhaps the boys they come up against are impotent, crude or homosexual? Anyone of those would make me unobtainable.’
    And, with that, she swung away from him, striding off down the long line of stalls touting their wares. His laughter, as fresh as water, followed her.
    ‘See you around, Kate,’ he called, and it was all she could do not to stop and cry out to him, when?
    That night, Kate’s roommate was out at a departmental party, and Kate took the opportunity to invite Penny back, lock the door, and make love to her for a long and delicious time, without any laughter. But when she shut her eyes, the face she saw was Peter’s.
    For the next three days, she saw him everywhere, even when it was only in her thoughts or dreams. Though sometimes, she knew it for reality and, in the street, in the market place, across the cobbles, near the church, she followed him as if drawn by a call stronger than her own sense. Not once in those times did he acknowledge her though if anyone had asked her, she could have described every inch of his long, haunting face, how his eyes pierced hers, the way one curl of blond hair was not quite in place. She wondered how that would feel if she brushed it back and touched the warmth of his skin with her fingers. She dreamt also of the throatiness of his laugh, the first time she’d dreamt in sounds.
    During that time, she missed two dates with Penny, and felt her explanations float away, guilt being something acknowledged but not truly felt. Then on a Saturday morning bright with frost, as she ambled, not without purpose, through the narrow lane up past the castle, she saw him again.
    He was leaning against one of the walls of the college, head resting on stonework, a cigarette in his right hand. As she watched and shivered, he brought it to his lips in one fluid movement, drew on its muskiness, shut his eyes and exhaled before letting the cigarette drop and crushing it underneath his sneakers. No-one else was around.
    Almost without realising it, she’d moved closer, but not close enough to touch. For a moment he said nothing and then he opened his eyes and looked at her.
    He smiled.
    ‘Kate,’ he said.
    Two minutes later, they were in the narrow corridor outside his room and he was fumbling with his key. At last, he opened the door and stumbled inside. She watched as he gathered up papers on his desk into one corner and then flung the dark blue bedspread over the tumble of sheets and blankets beneath.
    ‘You should come in,’ he said, his voice not quite steady. ‘Please? Seeing as you’ve come this far.’
    She hesitated at the doorway, breathing in the smell of smoke and sweat hanging heavy in his room. Gazing around at the Hitchcock posters, the tennis racquet and the uneaten chips on a plate on the floor, she shrugged.
    ‘Have you got anything to drink?’ she asked him.
    ‘Sure. What do you like? Beer? Wine? It’s white, but it won’t be cold.’
    She hadn’t meant