Page 4 of The Mismatch

The sun shone down oppressively onto her dark hair, causing her to perspire under her heavy gown. In pictures the day would look special, glamorous even. But the sound of traffic roaring down New Cross Road, and car horns in the distance, somewhat dampened the effect.

She stood down the side of the building, away from everyone else, by the large rectangular rubbish bins.

She rang her sister Parvin for the third time.

‘Soraya?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’ She forced herself to speak slowly. ‘Where are you guys? The ceremony starts in ten minutes.’

‘We’re nearly there. The traffic has been so bad. Can you believe it’s taken us nearly two hours!’

Count to ten.

At four, she said, ‘I told you it would take that long. I checked Google Maps, remember?’

‘Yeah, well, Amir didn’t want to leave that early. Anyway it’s done now. We’ll be there in five minutes, honestly, just relax. Bye!’

Parvin hung up.

Soraya began to pull at the skin around her nails, only realising what she was doing when she looked down to see her maroon nail varnish was chipped. Her index finger bled. She pressed it against her black gown.

She composed herself and went to rejoin her friends in front of the building.

‘I can smell it on you,’ she heard a male voice saying from around the corner. His Yorkshire accent was deep, elongating the last word. ‘You can’t even walk straight. It’s ten a.m., Dad …’

‘It’s my son’s graduation – can’t a man have a drink on his only son’s graduation day? Jesus Christ!’ another male voice said, though this one sounded older.

‘Paul, I think what Magnus means is, we’re a bit worried about—’

The woman’s voice was cut off.

‘Oh, you’re both too bloody dramatic. Always fucking worrying. Be quiet, the pair of you. I’m off to the gates for a fag, or are you going to tell me off for that too? Maybe I should just go home while I’m at it. Wouldn’t want me to embarrass either of you, would you, eh?’

Before anyone was given the chance to respond there was the sound of retreating steps and then a small sigh.

‘He’d been doing so well,’ the woman said softly.

‘Well, he’s pissed now. What if he does something in the ceremony? In front of everyone I know. God, he’s just …’

‘I’m sorry, love. I’ll go and check he’s OK. See you inside? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he behaves.’

There was a long silence. As Soraya stood away from the wall, Magnus Evans rounded the corner. Without looking at her, perhaps not even realising she was there, he punched the brick building hard.

‘Fuck!’ he said, grasping his hand, as though surprised it would hurt.

Soraya stood very still, wondering,What am I even doing?

‘Are you OK?’ she asked him.

He looked towards her then, his head jerking in surprise. ‘Oh,’ he said.

Magnus’s unkempt curly hair seemed to have lightened in the sun over the summer; it was nearly blond now.

They had been in some seminars and lectures together during their three years at Goldsmiths, but had never spoken directly to each other before. All she really knew of him was that more often than not he was the only person who had read the assigned books in their seminars, and thathe was something of a ladies’ man, even though she hated that expression.

She couldn’t help but notice now how broad his shoulders were under the graduation gown, and wondered, not for the first time, if the way his broken nose had been set bothered him. It bent ever so slightly to the left, and was crooked in a different way from hers. She imagined this quirk only made him more attractive to girls, gave a bit of an edge to his otherwise perfect physique. She was reminded of Angela Carter’s Mr Lyon, how his broken nose was described as akin to that of a handsome retired boxer’s, and thought it an apt description of Magnus, too.

She looked at his hand. ‘You’re bleeding.’