Page 30 of Almost Ours

“Have I?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Ruby gives a little chuckle. "See?"

We wander further across campus, the music gradually fading until it's replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the occasional burst of laughter. The bridge stretches out in front of us, cutting across the middle of the lake, its surface black beneath the moonlight except where the lamps along the footpath scatter ribbons of gold across it.

A duck somewhere in the reeds lets out an indignant quack, followed by the splash of something disturbing the otherwise still water.

Jess suddenly stops walking. "Bernardo," she whispers, pointing towards the far bank.

I follow her finger until I spot a large white shape gliding effortlessly across the lake, its reflection rippling beneath it as it drifts between the reeds.

"That," I say dryly, "is a swan."

"He's called Bernardo."

My eyebrows climb. "You named a swan?"

Jess shakes her head, looking almost offended by the suggestion. "No. He's the uni's swan. He's called Bernardo."

It's the most she's fucking said in the half an hour I've known her, and it's about a swan. Ruby leans around both of us, squinting towards the water. "The uni has a swan?"

"Shhh," Jess hisses, her eyes never leaving him. "He'll hear you."

“Right,” I nod deciding to humour the drunk, delirious girl. “We’ll keep it down.”

Jess looks pleased, if not a little scared. “He doesn’t like loud people.”

“Who knew,” Ruby murmurs, “I’d find out I have something in common with a swan?”

I almost laugh but I shove it back down, scared I’ll spook Jess. In my experience drunk people are runners, and I’ll never forgive myself if she vanished off into the night and ended up in an unsafe situation.

“You don’t understand,” Jess shakes her head so vigorously I have to hold her tighter. “He’s an evil bastard.”

Jesus, what has she taken? “The swan is?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’ll take my chances,” I find myself puffing my chest out. The fuck am I doing? Am I bolstering myself against a fucking swan?

Ruby claps a hand over her mouth, failing miserably to hide the laugh that’s already escaped and I nearly lose it too.

Fucking hell, she’s pretty when she laughs.

“You’re both laughing,” Jess complains, looking between us. “You’re going to regret it.” I don't know whether it's the drink talking or whether she's genuinely convinced this bird has a personal vendetta against first years, but she looks so serious I almost feel bad for not believing her. "He's looking at us," she whisper-hisses.

I follow her gaze more out of curiosity than concern. The swan is still floating on the lake exactly where it'd been a minute ago, drifting lazily through the water with no interest in the three of us whatsoever.

"Jess," I respond patiently, "I really don't think he cares we're here."

"He does."

"Why?"

"I told you, he hates people."