The Sunday Serial: Episode 5 – Touchy Feely

Archie and Tom had severely underestimated Simon.

He was a good investigative journalist. He had uncovered the story they had directed him towards – Sarah, president of CUSU, has a weekly shagging rota which encompasses Sir Reginald, Master of Rons college.

He had then uncovered the two false stories they had created and left for him to find – CUSU was secretly funding Lizards’events, and the editor of the Tab was refusing to publish stories that painted CUSU in a bad light. Thus far he had fulfilled their expectations.

But it was at this point, when their use for him was complete and he was meant to meekly roll over and take his stories to Varsity, that Simon decided to – off his own bat – escalate matters. He had heard along the journalistic grapevine that the editor of the Daily Mail was in town tonight, dining with his family at the Galleria. And it seemed to Simon that the information he had about Cambridge life was worthy of his attention.

But there was a catch. In light of the Leveson inquiry, trying to get a paper to publish a story obtained by hacking was probably not wise. And so Simon needed to rig the evidence to make it look legit. If he could access this email account of Sarah’s – ‘[email protected]’- then he could forward the email to himself and tell the Mail that she’d CC’d him in accidentally. But to do that he needed to get her laptop. And that was in her room. Simon rose, locked his door and headed across college to where Sarah lived.

Two swans were gliding down river, the elder murmuring, in swanish tones,

“Nice day, innit bruv,”

and the younger responding

“Piss off, twat.”

They dragged themselves up the bank and returned to Robinson, from whence they came, as a pigeon flew overhead crying “’tis summer! ’Tis summer!”

The wind blew these avian notes to the ears of supervisors and students alike, their days having finished and their paths taking a homeward wend. And the beauty of the scene touched them all. Except Sarah. Who, it being a Tuesday and the Master having cancelled their arrangement, was without a date for the night. So she headed down to the bar and ordered a bottle of port and a large glass. She settled down in a corner and downed the first serving. And so the evening began…

****

Simon soon discovered that most students lock their doors. With a heavy heart he returned to his room, disappointed in his breaking-in abilities.

“Coming to the bar, mate?”

His neighbour passed his room.

“Sure.”

Simon picked up his keys and gave up his quest. He’d just send the stories to Varsity in the morning.

****

An hour later, a very pissed Simon and a very pissed Sarah were deep in a feely-touchy kind of conversation in the corner of the bar, both feeling that their objectives for the day were soon to be accomplished. And across the bar a very pissed Archie was wondering what new game Simon was playing.

****

Ten minutes later Simon and Sarah were on their way to Sarah’s room. And Archie realised what was going on. He’d been wondering why Simon hadn’t sent the stories to Varsity yet, and now he knew why – Simon was seducing Sarah, and digging for further evidence. But Archie’s falsehoods wouldn’t stand up to this. As soon as Simon started looking deeper, his involvement would become apparent. And that mustn’t happen. Simon, Archie told himself through his drunken haze, must be dealt with. Permanently.

****

“I love this wine. It’s a great wine. I love wine. It’s great.”

Simon and Sarah were sharing another bottle in her room.

“I know. Wine’s great. Like sugar.”

“Haha!” Simon laughed while swilling. Which, frankly, is an impressive thing to manage. “Wine’s not like sugar.”

“Sophocles said it was.”

“No he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t. I’m pissed.”

“I’m pissed too.”

“I’m not pissed. You’re pissed, but I’m not pissed. Give me the wine.”

Sarah’s hair was down. And Simon’s guard was down.

“You know I write for the Tab?”

“Yeah. I’ve read your stuff. It’s good.”

“Thanks.”

“Not as good as wine. Give me the wine.”

“You’ve got the wine.”

“This isn’t wine.”

“It is.”

“Oh yeah.”

Sarah finished the bottle off and threw it from her window.

“The porters can screw themselves.”

“Screwing’s good.”

“Not as good as wine.”

“What?!”

“Joking.”

“Good. You should know – you do enough of it.”

“What are you saying?”

“One person every day of the week.”

Sarah was drunk. But not drunk enough not to realise what this meant. Simon had been watching her. And he was a Tab journalist. And she was president of CUSU. And she’d been sleeping with the Master. And he probably knew. And he was probably going to leak that to the Tab.

“If you tell anyone I’ll kill you.”

She was angry now. Shit. That was basically a confession, wasn’t it.

“Course I won’t. Is there more wine?”

“Yeah.”

Think fast, Sarah. He’s going to tell people, isn’t he. She’ll have to resign. Unless…Well, she thought. I guess I’ll just have to kill him.