Bug

By Judith Wharton

'A moon, a graveyard, a beautiful woman - and a deranged entomologist who watches from his hiding place while a love-sick professor of history is mauled by a drugged badger.' So Professor Bell sums up the first evening of the final term of 1999.
Set in Newburgh, a fictional university in the north of England, this is a story of student pranks, college fights, thwarted love affairs - and sexual harassment and shame (#MeToo1999).
A student support officer discovers that her college principal is a fraud - and dangerous. She has her sights set on the principal of a rival college, but he is infatuated with one of his undergraduates. As the end of the Millennium approaches, the academic anthill threatens to crumble into chaos.

'Full of surprises... hilarious... poignant. Gillian Boughton, University of Durham

'Very good... made me want to turn the pages.' Alan Judd, novelist and columnist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244810283

Book preview

Bug

Bug

Copyright © 2019 by Judith Wharton

The right of Judith Wharton to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First published in Great Britain in 2019

By ER Press

Second Edition

judithwharton.com

Cover image © Dan Potter @danpotterillustration

This novel’s story, characters and setting are fictitious. Certain historical events are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary.

ISBN

978-0-244-81028-3

Dedication

For my father, Philip Blanksby Wharton

List of Characters

St Aelfflaed’s College

Professor Elliot Wharton, Principal

Dr Jenny Bell, Vice Principal

Lizzie Lampton, JCR President

Myrine Hettinger, 3rd year Student Freshers’ Rep

Holly Gainsborough, 2nd Year Student

Harriet, Penny and Fran, 2nd Year Students (Holly’s gang)

Amelia Smyth-Mason, 1st Year Student

Molly, 1st Year Student

St Ethelburga’s College

Professor Victor Crote, Principal

Dr Margery Grant, Vice Principal

Isla Brown, Student Support Officer

Julie, Principal’s Secretary

Tyler, Night Porter /Darren’s friend

Teddy Hogg, JCR President

Susan, Student Welfare Officer

Lucinda Williams, 3rd Year Student

Roberta, 3rd Year Student

Craig Foster, 1st Year Student

Ewan & friends, 1st Year Students

For and elsewhere in the University

Professor Godfrey Claudius, Philosophy Department

Professor Angus Bell, Theology Department

Tom King, Governance

Jim, Security officer

The Town

PC Martin Roberts, Margery’s boyfriend

Helen Foster, Craig’s Mother

Darren Foster, Craig’s twin brother

Sophie, Darren’s girlfriend

Chapter 1

Monday 4th October 1999

There was someone behind her. She tried to walk faster but the wheels of her overnight case had become clogged with fallen leaves. To her right the bank was steep, the matted undergrowth an impenetrable barrier, to her left the river was swollen with recent rain. It was also very dark, except when a hesitant moon threw worrying shadows on the path.

‘Hi, can I help you with that?’ He sounded American.

‘Sorry?’

‘Your case, I’d be very happy to carry it.’ A tall man emerged out of the gloom.

She smiled with relief. ‘Thanks, that’s very kind of you.’

‘It’s Isla Brown isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes, it is, but I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you.’ She wasn’t going to admit she recognised him.

‘Elliot, Elliot Wharton. St Aelfflaed’s College. I’m the Principal there. I was at a meet and greet in the history department, hence the gown. I’m not in the habit of wandering around in this thing.’ He raised his arms so that he looked like a giant bat. ‘Honestly I’m happy to help,’ he added, picking up her bag and nodding for her to walk on.

‘Well if you really don’t mind, just until we reach Beggars Bridge. I can then head on up to Ethelburga’s.’

‘Ethelburga’s - that’s where I’ve seen you.’

Isla half turned her head to reply, failed to notice a low branch and caught her hair on a protruding twig. She reached up, attempting to disentangle herself. ‘Oh shit,’ she said.

‘Here let me.’ Elliot put down the bag and Isla did her best to stand still. His fingers moved across the top of her head feeling for the tangle. The sudden intimacy made her stiffen and she stuffed her hands in her pockets. The sleeves of his gown fell across her face.

‘Sorry, bit of a mop,’ she said sheepishly.

He broke off the twig, pulling it gently out of her hair. ‘You might need to check for the odd leaf. Shall I lead the way?’

‘Thanks, when I got off the train the night seemed so bright, I thought the short cut would be fine.’

‘Well, I guess the place has become overgrown during the summer.’ Elliot ducked under the branch. ‘Couldn’t you get a taxi?’ He asked, striding ahead.

‘No.’ Her voice sounded shrill in the silence. ‘A train came in from London just before mine. Amazing that students can afford taxis, but then I guess it is the beginning of term.’

‘Yep, final term of the millennium,’ she heard him say. ‘When the Cathedral clock strikes midnight on December 31st what will happen? Will the bug chomp its way through the entrails of every computer in the world leaving nothing but an empty shell?’

‘Oh no,’ she laughed. ‘It’ll be business as usual, just you see.’

Ten minutes of walking and then a pool of yellow light played on the water from an iron street lamp. They rounded a bend and reached the stone bridge that in earlier times was the main thoroughfare from east to west through the old city.

Isla stopped. ‘Very kind of you,’ she said.

‘Are you sure you’ll be okay from here? I can easily carry it further.’

‘No, no, I’m fine thanks.’ Something prompted her to offer reassurance. ‘Next time I’m arriving back late, I’ll leave my car at the station.’

Elliot nodded, his thin face and beard sepia coloured in the soft light. ‘I’ve just remembered. I’m a guest at your formal dinner this week. Perhaps I’ll see you then?’

‘I wasn’t thinking of going, but…’

‘Okay, well I’m sure we’ll bump into one another sometime. Glad I could help.’

Isla picked up the case. ‘Thanks again.’

She watched him cross the river and enter the city under the medieval arch. Nice to have a male academic talk to her. Maybe she would go the formal dinner after all.

***

Elliot Wharton walked towards St Aelfflaed’s. He was thinking about the texture of her hair, autumnal hair, and so much of it. He remembered a medieval fresco on the outside of a church in Umbria. The softly coloured image was of a woman, and even after four hundred years of wind and rain the high forehead and unflinching gaze gave the image a clear, calm beauty. A strange comparison, but it was the only way he could describe her to himself. He wondered where she came from.

The clouds had cleared, and the moon hung high over the city, the sky layer upon layer of dark blue gauze. He felt like an actor on a stage with a sublime, melodramatic landscape as backdrop. The black silhouette of the Cathedral seemed unreal and one-dimensional: painted cardboard beneath a star splattered cyclorama. On either side of the cobbled street medieval stone facades shivered in lunar silver. He’d been offered a job back home in Boston but had turned it down.

He didn’t see the body on the ground until he stumbled and lurched sideways to stop himself from standing on whatever it was that had tripped him. He lost his balance, fell awkwardly on one hand and rolled over. Leaning on his elbow he searched in his pocket for his mobile phone. Its dim display shone on a grey and black form with white stripes.

A badger lay stretched out.

Its eyes were glazed, its mouth hung open and a set of sharp teeth glowed green in the gloom. It was huge, bristly and it stank.

His daydreaming had brought a surreal mood to the night, but this was ridiculous. The smell came from the animal’s breath; its snout was so close he could feel it warm on his skin.

‘Damn.’ He got to his feet, aware that the palm of his hand was very sore. He shone his phone again at the heap. Tied round the animal’s neck was a red ribbon with a card attached to it. On the card was written,

WITH LOVE FROM ETHELBURGAS

ETHELBURGA RULES OK

‘Dammit, dammit, dammit’ he muttered. ‘Stupid student rivalry.’

He should phone switchboard and ask to be put through to Isla. As student support officer for Ethelburga’s she needed to know what her students were up to. But then maybe he should go straight to the top and get hold of their principal, Victor Crote. On the other hand, knowing Crote, it was unlikely that he bothered himself with student discipline.

He was about to make the call when he heard the sound of women’s voices coming from the direction of his college. About forty girls appeared. They had stripped the white sheets off their beds in an attempt to turn themselves into toga-wearing Romans. Some of them had also stripped off their clothing, and one or two had given up battling with the flapping sheets and now paraded in tiny pieces of underwear, the sheets dragging on the ground like broken wings. Elliot wasn’t sure he could face so much naked flesh and backed into a doorway out of sight.

Myrine Hettinger brought up the rear. Head and shoulders taller than everyone, she had a natural athleticism that was both graceful and intimidating. Her thick black hair was tied back with a red cord and her multiple ear piercings caught the light from the street lamp. Now in her third year Myrine had agreed to look after the new students during freshers week.

‘The leaping Amazon Myrine’s female vanguard,’ Elliot muttered to himself. ‘Wave on shrieking wave of longhaired Achaeans.’

The longhaired Achaeans saw the badger and stopped.

At the same moment the badger raised its head and staggered to its feet. It rocked and swayed from one side to the other, making a screeching sound that echoed in the narrow street. Myrine pushed her way to the front but it was too late. The badger’s plaintive cry was drowned by screams. Most of the girls turned and ran back the way they had come but two disappeared down a dark alleyway. There were shouts of pain as shins were bumped and knuckles scraped against the twisting turns and sudden slopes of the narrow passage.

The badger dropped to the ground again. With a few cautious steps Myrine moved towards it and Elliot heard her say ‘fuck’ under her breath as she read the message. From the back pocket of her jeans she took out a mobile phone.

‘Jenny. It’s Myrine here. Ethelburga’s have somehow knocked out a badger.’

There was a pause.

Elliot imagined Dr Jenny Bell, his vice-principal, listening to Myrine as if such bizarre incidents happened all the time. One eyebrow would be raised, her voice flat and expressionless.

Myrine said, ‘It’s lying in the middle of the lane, around the corner from college. We’re off to Tiger Lily, but I’ve lost two of them… got scared when the badger got up. The girls not wearing very much either.’

With another screech, the badger staggered to its feet.

Myrine shouted into the phone, ‘I’ve got to go.’ She stepped back as the badger regained its balance and began an uncertain gallop towards the dark alley down which the two girls had disappeared. The passage was a shortcut mostly shunned at night because it was treacherous in the dark and passed an old graveyard.

Elliot ran past Myrine, shouting for her to call university security. There was no point in explaining his sudden appearance. He slipped and slithered down the passage.

He could hear noises in the graveyard and pushing through a hole in the hedge he found himself out on the moonlit grass. The cemetery was no longer in use and much of it was overgrown. The girls were cowering with their backs against a huge stone angel. It was obvious to Elliot that the badger’s only concern was to get to its sett beneath the angel, but the girls’ fluttering sheets were blocking its path.

As it advanced towards them, its teeth making a sort of chattering noise, Elliot pulled off his gown and threw it on the animal, desperate to stop a possible attack. He grappled with it as it kicked and snapped at him, but twenty pounds of angry badger wasn’t easy to tackle. The animal grunted and as he tried to force its mouth shut, he felt teeth ripping into his already damaged hand.

The badger squirmed under him and then someone landed on his back. Hair brushed his face and he smelled perfume. Long arms reached over his head and hands grabbed a corner of the gown, throwing it over the animal’s eyes. At last the shuddering body of the beast went quiet.

For a moment they were still. Elliot was aware that a long muscular thigh was stretched across him, the other leg positioned so that he could feel her groin against his buttock. Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath. He felt extremely weird, aroused by the panting body spread-eagled on his back and disgusted by the body lying under him. The badger farted.

It was Myrine’s voice. ‘Yuk, that’s revolting.’ She removed the parts of her body that were draped across Elliot. They both got to their feet. ‘Rugby practice today, glad I’ve started training for the season. So sorry Professor, I can’t believe they all got so scared.’ She leaned over and examined the badger. ‘Do you think we’ve killed it?’

She seemed totally unembarrassed. She took his bleeding hand, cradling it as if it was a damaged bird, and examined it in the moonlight. ‘I’m sure you should go to A and E. Do you think you can get bovine TB from a badger?’ She took a red spotted bandana out of a pocket and wrapped it round the wound.

‘Only a scratch, I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Elliot said, wondering whether he should be worried.

Myrine laughed. ‘Jenny said that shepherding fifty eighteen-year olds through the most traumatic week of their lives would stand me in good stead when it comes to job hunting. Apparently, it will give evidence of team building so when she writes me a reference she’ll have something specific to say.’ She attempted to tie a knot in the handkerchief.

Elliot was intrigued. He had seen her occasionally since he’d arrived as Principal a year ago, when the JCR exec were invited to join the SCR for drinks in the senior common room, but he’d never actually spoken to her. She finished the knot and raised her head. He was startled by the fearless candour in her eyes; they might have known each other all their lives. He had to pull away and step back.

He bent down and lifted a corner of the gown. The badger was obviously alive but was once again unconscious. He pulled off the ribbon and card, stuffing them in his pocket. He looked up at her. ‘Thanks for the help. Hope it doesn’t die after being squashed, but I guess it’ll recover.’

Elliot turned towards the students. One of them was shaking, her face as white as the sheet pulled around her making her look like a large white grub. The other was very drunk, her arms were spread out and she was spinning in circles, tripping on her sheet and the uneven ground. She collapsed in giggles on a grass hillock with her legs stretched out in front of her.

‘Welcome to university life,’ Elliot said. ‘It isn’t always like this I promise you.’

Myrine grinned. ‘We’ll go and see what’s become of the others. I’d better take you two to the vice principal as proof that you’re still alive.’ She turned back to Elliot. ‘Are you sure your hand is all right?’

All Elliot wanted to do was to sit down. His wrist hurt, and he felt light headed. He sat on a stone slab a short distance from the badger. ‘I’m fine. Get the girls to college and I’ll wait for Jim from security. I’ll not say much. There’s been a report of baiting in the papers.’

Myrine took off her jacket, put it on one girl and placed her arm around the other. She guided them towards the hedge, their voices receding as they climbed back towards the street.

The night was silent again, until an owl hooted from a towering horse-chestnut tree. Elliot stared at the statue of the angel, once so proud, now defaced and mutilated. Even in the dim light he could see that its creator had been no ordinary local stonemason. Captured as if marching forward, folds of stone fabric flowed over her idealized female form. Her right hand was lifted and pointed away into the distance, while her left hand held a palm branch. Her wings were held back and low, ready to lift her into the heavens.

This was not a typical ministering angel silently watching the last resting place until the final trumpet blast heralded the opening of the grave; not Christian iconography, but the Greek goddess Nike. In the moonlight she seemed to be full of life, defiant and resolute, a creature from antiquity. Her presence hinted at ancient beliefs and rituals, yet she was at home amongst the crosses and urns. Lost lives, lost histories, and a piece of land that had meant so much to so many as it turned their loved ones into dust, now neglected and abandoned to a family of badgers and an owl.

Elliot’s mind became fuzzy. He let his head fall forward between his knees and dreamed that the ground was giving way beneath him and he was toppling into the labyrinth of mine tunnels that were just below ground throughout the city. He was facing a snarling wolf. Suddenly a half-naked woman with one breast missing leaped forward, bow raised to defend him.

***

Professor Victor Crote allowed himself half a smile. He’d arrived in the graveyard seconds before he heard the screams and had hidden before the two girls came running. The sight of Elliot throwing himself on top of the animal was almost funny. He’d always thought Elliot naïve and gullible. A professor of history and a college principal, rolling on the ground with a badger as if he was some sort of medieval knight doing battle with a dragon; funny, but also ludicrous. He took out his lip-salve and absent-mindedly rubbed it along his top lip. He was early for his appointment, but he was happy to wait.

There was the flicker of a powerful torch on the other side of the hedge. He heard Elliot say something about the ferocious nature of the local wild life and then there was the sound of people leaving. He left his hiding place and settled to wait by the angel. Five minutes later he saw the glow of a cigarette coming towards him. He took a wad of money out of his pocket and began to peel off some notes.

Chapter 2

Tuesday 5th October, Morning

Isla looked across to the opposite bank where she had struggled with her case. That morning she had found a brown leaf on her pillow. It had crumbled to dust between her fingers.

She checked her watch and sat on a bench. Sunlight filtered through the trees and a pale mist clung to the surface of the water, threading ragged ribbons through trailing willow branches. It was unusually quiet. Even the sound of traffic from the ring road was muffled and distant, as if deadened by the still air, and the rushing water over the weir seemed to be soothed into an unnatural silence. Isla jumped when a heron dropped from the sky, landing clumsily in a reed bed. For one moment it stood motionless and then the long grey neck turned accusingly. She glanced at her watch again.

‘I didn’t have the heart to say no,’ she said out loud. ‘You’d do the same for a friend.’ The heron shrugged its wings and flew off. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, noticing mud on her black court shoes. ‘This is definitely going the extra mile.’

The path continued round a bend where the river turned back on itself until the old part of the city was almost an island. Above her, rocky escarpments rose vertically towards the foundations of ancient buildings, and where the incline was less steep, small birds and mammals rooted amongst shrubs and brambles.

She climbed some wooden steps up the steep bank, the thin soles of her shoes slithering on the damp surface. From the top she could see the housing estate where she had lived when she first moved to work in the university. In the soft light, the tightly packed houses seemed cosy and charming, but many of the homes were suffering from neglect and the leisure centre was boarded up. Twisting round, the roofs of Elthelburga’s rose above the trees, as well as a couple of other colleges occupying the hill to the south of the city. To her left, a street of shops wound its way from the road bridge up onto the peninsula and below her, on the other side of the river, a few students were having coffee on the lawn outside The Old Badger pub.

She continued through a copse of alders and beech, ancient trees now drunk with colour, as if overnight the leaves had soaked up vats of burgundy and barrels of yellow sherry. She thought, it’s when they’re completely intoxicated that they fall. If only they could be more restrained, hold back a bit, not indulge so much, then perhaps ruin wouldn’t come with such a face-forward pitch into oblivion.

Arriving in the Cathedral cloisters she found the room that had once been used as a monks’ dormitory and was now the robing room for university events held in the Cathedral. Under the intricately carved, vaulted ceiling, men and women were gathered in small groups drinking coffee and talking. Gowned, hooded, and some of them bonneted, they were like jackdaws, beaks jerking, folded wings twitching, eyes flitting here and there, as if fearful of missing some choice tit-bit of conversation. On one side of the room, long rails bent under the weight of dozens of academic gowns and hoods, the monotonous black serge occasionally relieved by flashes of brightly coloured silk.

In charge of the gowns was a woman with a tape measure around her neck. She was helping Professor Claudius, head of Philosophy and Principal of St Clements into his Cambridge robe. She was attempting to pin his hood in place, and they were both laughing.

Isla waited until the philosopher was drawn into one of the small groups. She approached the rail.

‘Name?’ The woman asked through a mouthful of pins.

‘Margery Grant,’ Isla said. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on a gilded eagle carved into a corner of the ribbed ceiling and the eagle stared back with disdain in its yellow eye. She frowned at it, holding out her arms for the crimson robe and bending her head for the bonnet. Margery’s wrong, she thought, looking at herself in a long mirror, I look awful in red.

The clerk’s voice sounded loud above the chatter. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you can line up at the door in the order I give you, pairing up into two lines as you do, we can prepare to process. Professor Andrea Arkwright, Dr Fred Duncan, Professor Elliot Wharton, Dr Margery Grant, Professor Godfrey Claudius.’ The list continued.

Well, Isla thought, maybe I’ll forgive Margery for dumping this one on me. She walked as nonchalantly as she could to take her place next to Elliot and he nodded in greeting. She’d forgotten how tall he was. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that his left hand was bandaged, which was curious because she was sure that the night before there’d been no sign of an injury. She tried to think of something to say and wondered why he wasn’t speaking to her; in the dark by the river he’d seemed so friendly. She fingered the small, Celtic cross hanging round her neck. The intricate markings on the old, soft metal felt familiar and safe.

Professor Claudius hobbled to take his place behind her. He winced with every step, as if his knees were hurting. Isla smiled at him sympathetically, wondering if he recognised her. She’d spoken to him on a number of occasions about a particularly difficult plagiarism case, but he had a reputation for being absent minded. She’d heard that he was being head hunted by Channel 4 who were looking for a presenter for a series on the history of philosophy. He would certainly look the part. He had thick, grey, curly hair and wore a red bowtie.

He leaned forward. ‘How do you do?’

Isla said. ‘Um – I’m standing in for Margery, Dr Margery Grant, Vice Principal…’ She paused. ‘St Ethelburga’s College.’

Claudius took her hand. ‘Yes, yes of course, have we met before?’

‘Um, well yes, we have actually.’

Claudius’ smile widened. ‘I’m so sorry my dear, just a bit of red rust collecting in the old brain. It’ll come to me eventually.’

Isla frowned. What she wanted was for Claudius to remember her name and tell her that she was an indispensable member of the university staff. She would have liked him to describe her handling of the plagiarism case as competent and insightful. She would have liked him to reassure her that the student she had ‘rescued’ would one day be a successful philosopher. A familiar knot formed in her stomach.

He is Claudius and I am indistinguishable and dispensable. He has no idea if I’m Rosencrantz or if I’m Guildenstern. All he can see is the red robe. She said out loud, ‘Wheels have been set in motion, and they have their own pace, to which we are condemned.’

Claudius looked mystified. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Heat flushed her cheeks. ‘Sorry, just a favourite quote.’ He was only being polite.

She turned away and the red silk tassel that hung down over her left eye swung across her face. She was determined to speak to Elliot, but it was too late because the procession began to move along the cloisters towards a side door into the Cathedral. She fixed her gaze on the back of Professor Andrea Arkwright and concentrated on tiny spirals of grey and some vicious looking pins that were escaping from the doughnut at the nape of her neck. They reached the door and Elliot motioned for her to go ahead. As he followed her through, she was acutely aware of him behind her. Had he deliberately moved closer in the narrow opening? She considered stopping so that he would bump into her.

As always, the magnificence of the ancient building took her breath away. She loved the vast scale of the pillars, the soaring, dizzying heights, the intimacy of stone softened by the feet of a thousand years of supplicants. Once before she had gone into the Cathedral and when no one was looking had taken off her shoes and walked bare-foot over the flagstones. She remembered another line from Stoppard. ‘We must be born with an intuition of mortality,’ she said out loud as she walked down the nave. She wondered what Elliot Wharton was thinking. Encouraged by her surroundings and the crimson fabric as it swished around her knees she went to take her place.

Isla guessed where the hundred or so from St Ethelburga’s were seated because she could see Teddy Hogg, the JCR president, who had shepherded them to the ceremony. Behind them were three rows of women, presumably Aelfflaed freshers. The speeches began, the shuffling and murmuring quietened and a sudden shaft of October sun lit up the stained glass, the colours streaming down the nave, encircling each student’s head with a halo of light. A thousand angels wearing a thousand brand new gowns. Before long the stiff, shiny fabric would smell of cigarettes, booze, after-shave and curry.

Isla’s mind drifted. After the ceremony she would ask Elliot about his bandaged hand and where he came from in the U.S. She was especially interested in how long he intended to spend in Britain. She was just wondering how she could find out if he had a partner or a girlfriend, when a very tall girl at the far end of the front row of Aelfflaed freshers slipped off her seat, falling on her knees on the hard floor. Isla had once seen her mother do that in this very building, slain by the Holy Spirit.

The girls around the young woman bent over her, and Isla noticed Elliot half rise from his seat. Well, she thought, these are his students, I guess he’s likely to be concerned if one of them is ill. The girl appeared to be too old to be a fresher.

A verger appeared as if out of nowhere, helped the girl to her feet and guided her towards the west end of the Cathedral where a small group of parents had gathered to watch. The girl and the verger disappeared but Isla’s attention was caught by a figure standing amongst the parents. She squinted and blinked. The shadowy silhouette was exactly like Victor Crote, her college principal, but as far as she knew he was travelling back from London on an early morning train. He’d been away giving the keynote speech at a conference on wasps and global warming. A glint of light reflected off