We shook hands with the dean and I politely made my excuses from the suffocating lecture hall, rushing outside for some fresh air.
I burst into the open quad and the winter chill slapped at my face, giving me the awakening jolt that I needed. I tipped my face to the sky, and large, delicate snowflakes kissed my cold skin. It made me feel alive… well, semi-alive.
I was still numb.
I slipped on my black leather gloves and surveyed the empty campus. Crisp white snow capped the tall, intricate spires and roofs of the ancient buildings, casting a Dickensian winter wonderland feel on the prestigious university. I loved Oxford in winter; it was one of the most beautiful places on Earth. It was my Mecca, my Holy Grail, or at least it used to be. Now I just felt like an imposter. A lost drifter, far, far away from her home.
The majority of the students were away for the Christmas break and I’d spent Christmas day alone in my room with a large glass of wine, trying not to think about what it would have been like at Ally’s house in Birmingham, with Romeo… and our baby.
When Suzy and I arrived in Oxford, we were told that our hosts had to delay our lecture for a week, which was fine by me. The archaeological team on campus had found the remains of what they thought could be an ancient royal tomb and initial focus was given to them so they could relay their findings to the press. I, for one, was glad. I needed the time to get my head straight.
I missed Romeo. I missed him so much that at times I actually believed I was dying of a broken heart. A couple weeks had passed since we’d arrived in England, and I’d yet to check my phone or my emails. I loved him so much, but I just couldn’t go back. Everyone would know about my miscarriage and I just couldn’t face being that exposed, people knowing, pitying.
With a calming breath, I set forth to the Radcliffe Camera—the most amazing library storing thousands of books in my specialist field. The pain left me when I studied. I thought less about Romeo when I studied. I could forget.
The snow crunched like crisping leaves under my heavy winter boots, and I wrapped my black padded coat tighter around my chest.
I was almost at the door of the library when I heard, “Molly? Molly Shakespeare? Is that you?”
I turned and was met with the shell-shocked face of Oliver Bartholomew.
I inwardly cringed at the awkwardness of the surprise reunion. “Hey, Olly, long time no see.”
His face broke into a huge grin as he walked towards me and gave me a quick, stiff hug. “Bloody hell, Molly, I almost didn’t recognise you. Where’s your glasses? Your hair… you look completely different… in a good way,” he stuttered nervously while roving my appearance with his bright sapphire-blue eyes.“Thanks. I wear contacts now and my friend from the States did my hair… and everything else.” I gestured down my body.
“Well, she excelled herself. You look beautiful. But then, you’ve always been beautiful.”
I dropped my head with a tight mouth. It only mattered to me when Romeo called me beautiful, when he meant it with all his heart. Floods of memories tried to rise to the surface. I held my breath and pushed them back down.
“Would you like to grab a coffee?” Oliver broke my inner torture, startling me enough to refocus. I looked up at him and his face was so hopeful.
Poor Oliver. The last time he saw me, he’d taken my virginity, and the next morning I was gone, never to return. He hadn’t deserved me treating him like that.
“Molly? Coffee?”
I glanced to the library and back to him. I wanted to say no.
“Just a quick catch-up, I swear.” He nipped the sleeve of my coat in his fingers, head down. “I’ve missed you.”
“Okay.” I relented. Oliver’s face broke into a wide smile and he fell into step beside me as we walked in companionable silence.
Fifteen minutes later and we were sat in the window of the campus coffee house where Oliver ordered an English Breakfast tea for him and cappuccino for me.
As I watched him, I realised that he really was a lovely guy. So kind and unpretentious. I never gave him credit for that in the short time that we dated. If it could even be called dating. He didn’t know me, but that was entirely my fault. I’d never let him in.
Oliver sat before me, his Oxford Rowing Team scarf in a knot around his neck and a red cashmere sweater showing off his slim body and brown hair. “So, Molly, how are the States? Why are you back?”
I fiddled with my coffee cup. “The States are… good… different. I continued assisting Professor Ross with the philosophy paper and we just had the lecture showcasing our argument.”