B.U.R.S.T

Illustrated by Ella Clayton.

Annie held the bright blue T-shirt out in front of her, admiring its design. The front was proudly adorned with the society logo: a tennis and table tennis racquet arranged in the shape of a cross over the college crest, with a couple of shuttlecocks flying overhead. And beneath, the society initials proudly emblazoned in bold white capitals: B.U.R.S.T.

“This is some truly excellent stash, Josh,” she remarked with a grin. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Gun to my head, it only took half an hour to knock up the design,” Josh confessed. “But thanks! I guess we should get them on and get going, though, if we want to stick to schedule.”

“You’re right.” She slipped on the T-shirt, gesturing for the other two members of the executive committee to join them. “Let’s get up on the table, guys. Turnout’s bigger than I was expecting, and half of these new students won’t have a fucking clue who we are.”

Much to the irritation of the staff behind the counter, the four squeezed onto the tabletop together and looked out over the group of attendees that they’d managed to attract to their long-anticipated social. The modern, expansive bar of Josephine Butler College stretched out before them like an airport lounge, providing the perfect departure point for the turbulent journey that awaited them.

“Listen up, freshers!” Annie shouted, bringing the crowd at their feet to a hush. “And all you other randomers who still think we’re worth hanging out with. Welcome, finally, to our first society bar crawl of the year. I’m Annie, your President. And these—” she slapped the backs of the three dishevelled gentlemen who stood by her side “—are my boys.” She pointed out each of them in turn. “Darren, final year, Treasurer. Josh, second year, Publicity Officer. And Alex, also a second year, Club Secretary and the one you can blame for waiting so long for this social.”

“Sorry. I’m normally a good social sec, I promise,” Alex interrupted, somewhat bashfully.

“As you hopefully all know by now, we are ‘BURST’, the Butler Ultimate Racquet Society and Team,” Annie continued. “And yes, before you ask, we added the ‘Team’ just so we could turn it into an acronym.”

“If you haven’t already done so, come collect one of our fancy new T-shirts!” Josh called out. “And proudly show off your allegiance to the only Durham University society that’s devoted to balls and cocks!”

Josh’s innuendo had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but it was received with a raucous chorus of whoops and jeers. Annie smiled majestically. This was already shaping up to be a good night.

“Tonight, my lovelies, we are taking you on a college bar crawl through the Durham Bubble, finishing at the infamous institution known as Klute,” she announced with glee. “Our first destination is Van Mildert, that horrendous Brutalist eyesore from the 1960s you see at the end of the road that leads up to JoBo. People, we’ve got a lot of bars to cover tonight. So – and listen up, ‘cause I’m going to be saying this a lot – it’s time to down your drinks and move out!”

They spilled outside into the brisk November air. The mound that lay at the centre of the college rose up behind them, forming a rounded silhouette against the darkening sky. Lampposts lined the pavement that led down towards the mini-roundabout at the entrance to the college, a weathered KONY 2012 sticker still plastered across one of them.

They’d already kicked off the customary conversation starters that could be heard on any student social at the beginning of the academic year. Name, year of study, subject, it always went –thankfully, they at least already knew which college they were from. And, among the sizeable cohort of freshers – half of whom would inevitably disappear off the face of the earth after this social and never return – a few that were likely to stick around could already be identified. There was Yasmin, an aspiring engineer. Samir “—but you can call me ‘Sam’—” studying computer science. Rosie, English. Cal, history. Xiaoming, physics. And then there were the veteran members who’d mercifully avoided being coerced into taking up an exec position – people like Sinéad, the second-year modern languages student who actually knew how to fire off a decent serve, or Bradley, the final-year who’d blagged his way through a degree in politics and international relations, and showed up to maybe one table tennis game throughout all of it.

“I’m still not sure I exactly understand the point of this society,” Yasmin piped up as they headed down the road towards Mildert. “I swear I’ve never even seen half the people here pick up a racquet. And what exactly makes a racquet sport ‘ultimate’, anyway?”

“Oh, the fresh. Ever so naïve…” Darren chuckled, cutting in from behind. He caught up to join the conversation, with Josh following his lead. “We’re basically a mix of racquet sport players at Butler that came together to form our own umbrella club. We’ve got tennis players, badminton enthusiasts, a couple of people who play squash. But honestly, most people just turn up for our beer pong socials. Like most other societies here, it’s pretty much another excuse to go out and get drunk.” He let out a laugh. “Just another way to pass time here in the Bubble.”

“The Bubble?” Sam replied with curiosity. “I’ve heard so many people refer to Durham by that name. Where does it come from?”

“It’s just a nickname that it’s acquired over time,” Josh explained. “The university, the city, all of it really. I guess it’s just because Durham’s so small and self-contained. And it’s a bit of an oasis in the North East for students to flock to. Especially posh southerners like Mr ‘My-dad-runs-a-consultancy-firm’ over here.” He gestured over at Darren, who retaliated by nearly shoving him over the fence into the botanic garden.

“Do the students and locals, like, not get on?” Cal asked tentatively.

“Oh yeah, there’s definitely a ‘town vs. gown’ culture in this place,” Darren replied. “Most students here are pretty down to earth, but there’s definitely a load who rub people up the wrong way. The colleges on the Bailey are real hotspot for all the “rah” types. Even in Butler, you’ll find some who have a chip on their shoulder about being ‘exiled’ from colleges like Castle.”

“And some students can be a bit… tactless,” Josh added with a grimace, wiping wet leaves off of his shirt. “I hear there were a bunch of rugby lads running around the hill colleges a couple of weeks ago dressed up as Jimmy Savile.”

“Yeah, people at this uni get up to some really weird stuff,” Darren agreed. “To be honest, I can’t wait to leave this place behind. It’s too small, there’s barely any clubs and there’s nothing to do here. One more year of this maths degree and I’m out of here. But tonight, I don’t give a fuck about the future.” He put his arms around the two freshers walking alongside him, grinning with excitement. “Tonight, my friends, it’s all about living in the moment, and things are about to get messy. Hashtag YOLO!”

***

Hashes. They were called hashes, not hashtags.

He stared at the symbols that filled the cell, wondering who on earth was responsible for designing a spreadsheet with a date column that was too narrow to hold an actual date. And, more to the point, why he was still logging financial data for one of the world’s largest investment banks in Excel.

With a weary sigh, Darren dragged the cursor to expand the column, then leant back in his chair, taking a rare microsecond out of his day to look at something other than his screen.

In some ways, it was good to be back in the office. Working from home had been an “aberration”, after all, as those at the top had called it. And perhaps it was better to be here, in the company of people who he knew kept a close eye on him, scrutinising him for any lapse in his performance. He could do with having something to stay on focused on.

Anything to take his mind off what he’d seen that morning, anyway.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and slipped it out to check the screen. It was a Messenger notification. From a familiar face, one he hadn’t spoken to in years.

Hey Darren :) How are you? It’s been so long! I hope London’s treating you well.

He paused and stared at the three flashing dots, waiting for Annie to finish typing the inevitable next message.

Have you seen the news about Josh?

With trembling hands, he began to type out a reply.

Hi Annie. Yeah, I saw it this morning. I hope he’s o

He stopped typing mid-word, his fingers frozen in mid-air. Josh was anything but okay.

He hit the backspace key and rewrote his response, then sent it off and set down his phone. The interruption had shattered his focus, and the figures in front of him were no longer making sense.

Coffee. He needed coffee. Coffee was his drug of choice during the day, at least when the workload was comparatively light. He saved the pills for the all-nighters. Some people were on them round the clock.

He headed over to the machine and hit the button for an americano, praying that he’d be able to grab the mug and head back to his seat without anyone trying to strike up a conversation. Unfortunately, someone did.

“Hey, Darren! Good to see you this morning,” his colleague chirped in greeting, grabbing a mug for himself off the shelf. His expression changed to one of prying curiosity. “Say, did you see the news this morning?”

“Oh. Um— yeah,” Darren responded, evasively. “I checked the headlines when I got up. Briefly.”

“That guy they’re talking about, the one that’s on the front page of all the papers. They’re saying he’s from your university? Did you… know him at all?”

But Darren had begun walking back to his desk, pretending not to have heard. He couldn’t face the questions. Not today.

Several years of working in investment banking had already left him numb to things that would shock most people. There was the secretary who’d walked into his boss’ office and come out with a black eye. The story about what one of the executives had done to that prostitute. Even the colleague who had mysteriously vanished from his desk one day, his absence marked only by a cryptic memo with strict instructions not to enquire further. 

But nothing had terrified him more than the images of Josh’s battered, bloodied body that had surfaced online in the early hours of that very morning.

***

Darren threw his arm around Josh as the two of them confidently strode through the entrance to Trevelyan College’s honeycomb network of hexagonal buildings.

“Dude, I fucking love these shirts!” he slurred, grasping at the material on Josh’s shoulder. “The logo, I mean, it’s perfect. You should be a designer!”

“Thanks, man,” Josh replied, more than a little tipsy himself. “But I think I’ll stick to journalism. I’m far better with vocadbury— er, vocabubul— with words.”

“What’s up with those two?” Annie asked Alex as she shepherded the increasingly intoxicated group through the corridor towards the bar. “We’ve only been to two colleges and they’re already looking trashed.”

“I dunno, they always get like this after they’ve had a couple of pints,” Alex replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “Those two have a real bromance going on.” He addressed the rest of the flock as they walked into the bar to grab their next round. “Fun fact for you all, by the way: Trev’s was originally founded as an all-female college. They say that all the buildings were designed in the shape of hexagons because they thought that women would be intimidated by square-shaped rooms with right angles.”

“Sexist pigs!” Annie yelled out indignantly. The room fell practically silent as dozens of faces turned and stared in their direction.

“Oops.” She giggled nervously. “Maybe we should just make this one a quick stop. Let’s neck a pint and get out of here.”

As they apologetically approached the bar counter – which was mercifully free of the usual crowds of people waiting to be served – Alex glanced back over at Darren and Josh. He noticed Darren had fallen silent, intently reading something on his phone. Suddenly, he burst into a wild grin, crying out with joy.

“Get in! I fucking did it, I got the internship! London, here I come!”

Basking in the congratulations from his companions, he waved over to the bartender to come and take the order of the century.

“Change of plan, I’m getting shots for everybody,” Darren proclaimed, flashing his wallet. “Actually, make that two shots!”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Alex glanced over at Josh, who was already looking a little off balance. “Mr Lightweight here always seems to run into trouble every time he goes anywhere near a bottle of tequila.”

“He’ll be fiiine.” Darren slapped Josh enthusiastically on the back, almost sending him stumbling to the floor.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Josh affirmed as he stood up straight again, grinning defiantly. “No shot’s gonna kill me.”

“Don’t forget about the freshers, Darren!” Annie glanced over at some of the nearby first-years, who were already splintering off to form their own little group. “Yeah, I see you, Sam! Don’t you go sneaking off over there…”

She beckoned for him to come over, then grabbed the first couple of shots that the bartender had poured and set them down on the counter in front of him. “There’s no escaping this one. Consider this your society initiation.”

“If you say so, Mrs President,” Sam replied with a cheeky grin. With no need for further prompting, he grabbed both shot glasses and necked them back one after the other.

“Woah, that burns,” he remarked, setting the glasses back down on the bar. “Good palate cleanser, though. I’ll start taking these over for the other guys.”

“That’s Ms President, by the way,” Annie called out after him as he headed back over with more shots for his newfound acquaintances. “I’ll make you do laps of the court for that!”

“Annie, Annie…” Darren tutted in mock disapproval. “You know they’re cracking down on initiations now, right? Shouldn’t you be taking care of the freshers, rather than trying to get them plastered before the night’s even properly begun?”

“Oh, relax,” Annie replied dismissively. “Honestly, Sam’s the most coordinated person on this entire social, I’ve seen how he handles a racquet. Heck, he might even be better than Sinéad.” She laughed, raising her shot glass into the air. “And you know what I’m like, Darren. I’ll never be in a fit state to take care of anybody!”

***

The vomit spilled all over her, catching her completely off guard.

“Oh, Ollie. Not again…” 

Annie looked down at the baby in her arms, who was still coughing a little. “It’s okay, my lovely. Deep breaths, now.” 

She patted Ollie gently on the back, making sure he was settled, then set him down on his high chair and went to grab one of the remaining wet wipes from the open pack on the kitchen counter.

As she did her best to clear up the vomit on her top, she saw her phone on the table light up again. Darren had sent through a reply.

Hi Annie. Yeah, I saw it this morning. I can’t imagine what his parents must be going through.

Josh’s parents. God, she hadn’t thought about them. Instinctively, she glanced back at Ollie, who was smiling innocently, completely oblivious to the mess he’d just created.

She was just beginning to compose her response when she heard footsteps coming from the other room.

“I’m just going to head down the shops for lunch,” Sam called out from the doorway. He headed into the kitchen to grab his mask from off the table, noticing the phone in her hand. “Any word from anyone…?”

“I’ve heard back from Darren, I’m replying to him now. I’ve sent messages to Cal and Sinéad too. And Alex, though I don’t think he checks social media that much anymore.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Sam replied, grimacing. “We’re running sentiment analysis on tweets coming out of Mexico. These guys he was investigating, Annie, the stuff they’ve done to people, it… it doesn’t look good for him, anyway.” 

“Jesus,” Annie replied, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I don’t know if I’ll log back into work this afternoon. Like, normally I can detach myself from it all, remind myself it’s just a job. But when it’s about someone you know… or knew. Once.” He stood silently for a moment, lost in reflection. “He was the one who showed me how to maintain the society website when I took over as Publicity Officer. Gave me one hell of an advantage when I was learning how to do all the web scraping stuff.”

“You need to take the afternoon off, Sam. Go out for a walk, clear your head.” She suddenly perked up, remembering what he’d said. “Oh, and if you are heading down the shops—” she gestured at the damp patch on her top “—I could use some more wet wipes.”

 “Oh, Ollie!” Sam broke into an exasperated smile and bent down to tickle his son playfully, causing the baby to erupt in shrieking laughter. “You can’t keep anything down, you!” He stood up, addressing Annie again. “I’ll be back soon. And don’t spend too long trawling the Internet, yeah? That shit’s bad for you.”

“Language!” Annie called out after him, as he headed towards the door. Ollie didn’t seem to have heard, anyway – he was already distracted by the bright chequered pattern on the kitchen table cover.

Annie turned back to her phone, and began writing her reply to Darren, recalling the proud faces of Josh’s parents.

I met them when I helped him move in during freshers week, they seemed really nice. It must be awful for them right now :(

She hesitated, thinking back for a moment, then followed up with another message.

I can’t believe it’s been so long since we were all on the BURST exec. I really wish we could go back and do that all again.

She set down her phone, expecting Darren to take a while to reply. To her surprise, the message came back almost immediately.

I fucking miss it sometimes, Annie. I really do.

She felt a pang of empathy, a choking sensation in her throat. With barely any hesitation, she typed out her response.

Yeah, I know the feeling :( We all do. Sam misses it, too.

***

Sam clutched the edges of the toilet bowl tightly as he wretched his guts out, spewing up the assortment of brightly coloured drinks he’d been treated to at their various stops along the Bailey. Darren stood just outside the stall with a plastic cup of water in his hand, watching the newcomer go through the same ritual that they all seemed to have endured at one time or another. He turned and smiled sweetly in the direction of the burly porter from St Chad’s, who had stepped away from manning the front desk to supervise the latest casualty that had ended up in the gents’ loos.

“Sorry about this. He’s a fresher.”

The porter nodded solemnly, merely grunting in understanding.

Sam raised his head slightly, and gestured for Darren to hand over the cup. He took a small sip of water, as much as he could manage.

“I knew it was a mistake to come out with you guys,” he croaked hoarsely. “Someone up at Butler described your bar crawls as a one-way ticket to hell.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, my friend. Everyone here’s damned in some way,” Darren replied with a maniacal cackle. “Your fate was sealed from the very moment you joined this society.”

Sam felt the acid rising in his throat again, and leant forwards to puke.

Just outside, under the glass roof that adorned the atrium of St Chad’s College, the members of B.U.R.S.T. continued to line their stomachs with alcohol, well past the point of feigning polite conversation.

“I hope Sam’s okay,” Sinéad remarked, shooting a concerned glance in the direction of the door that led to the toilets. “He’s such a wee fresher. They never should have made him down all that rum at Cuth’s.”

“Perhaps he’s had what I’m having,” Rosie added, somewhat repelled by her beverage. “Someone bought this for me and I have no idea what it is. But it tastes a bit like mouthwash and it’s turning my tongue green.”

“Aha, I see you’ve sampled the ‘Goat’,” Alex chimed in, overhearing their conversation. “It’s Chad’s college drink,” he explained. “Trust me, it’s one of the better ones.”

“There are worse college drinks…?” Rosie began, but was interrupted by the sound of two men bursting through a nearby door, one practically held upright by the other.

“He’s okay!” Darren proclaimed, raising Sam’s hand in the air. “And he’s coming to Klute!”

The cheers from their group filled the atrium with noise, irking some members of Chad’s who failed to understand why the rowdy group from Butler couldn’t just head down to the main bar in the basement like everyone else.

“We just need to make it through—” Darren paused, shuddering dramatically for effect “—Hatfield.”  

Many of the attendees joined in the pantomime, jokingly booing and hissing at the mention of the name.

“Hatfield are kind of like the Slytherin of Durham, if you didn’t know already,” Bradley explained to Yasmin. “Everyone pretends to hate them because they’re the ‘money’ college. But if you can get along to one of their balls… it’s pure decadence, believe me.”

“You know what I’m going to say, people!” Annie called out over the hissing. “Down it and move out!”

As the members of the bar crawl saw off their beverages and began staggering towards the main entrance, Annie and Alex came over to take charge of Sam, who was looking only slightly less worse for wear.

“You sure you’re okay, my lovely?” Annie asked, putting a comforting arm around his shoulder. “I’m glad that you came out tonight, truly. But I don’t want you sticking around if you don’t feel up to it.”

“I’m fine,” Sam slurred, swaying a little, before snapping himself back to attention. “No, really, I’m fine. But him…” He pointed towards Darren up ahead. “He’s pure evil. He told me we were all damned while I was throwing up.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t listen to anything that Darren says. He’s full of shit when he gets drunk,” Alex replied disdainfully, as they too started to set off. “Besides, this entire university is cursed, anyway,” he added with a mutter.

“Cursed? What do you mean—?” Annie began to enquire, but was suddenly cut off by shouts from in front of them.

“No way you fucking wrote that!” Darren cried out, punching Josh on the shoulder. “You seriously think that he’d be good for the future of the country?”

“Relax, Darren!” Josh placated his companion with a mischievous grin. “It’s not like the coalition has torn the country apart. If the Tories get in again, what’s the worst that could happen?” He laughed theatrically. “And you know I’m just taking the piss, right? I mean, if you think that’s bad, you should read the latest satirical article I’ve written for Palatinate. I’ve imagined some fantastic scenario where the mysterious forces that run Klute embark on a plot to bring about the collapse of the European Union in revenge for the place being branded Europe’s shittiest nightclub.”

“Christ. Your head is full of crap sometimes, Josh. You can’t seriously believe all this stuff you write.”

“Nah, of course not.” Josh laughed dismissively. “I mean, it’s only student journalism, after all. And it’s not like anything you write has consequences!”

***

The punch landed square across his jaw, sending one of his teeth flying to the ground.

He spat out the blood in his mouth, trying not to lose consciousness. His vision was fuzzy, his ears were ringing, but he could just about make out the figures and voices in front of him.

“¡Me importa una mierda el dinero! Tenemos que enviar un mensaje. ¡No más malditos periodistas!” The cartel boss spat on the ground, shooting an enraged glance in Josh’s direction. “Estoy harto de tipos como él. Bola de pendejos que vienen aquí pensando que saben más que nosotros...”

They’d strung him up by his wrists, left him dangling there as they’d gone at him with fists, knives and all manner of other objects. He could see them looking at him again, regarding him with morbid curiosity.

“Sabe que está muy lejos de casa, jefe,” the henchman replied, watching him drifting around in the air like a fish out of water.

They went back to their heated conversation about what to do with him, leaving him lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

It had been his own stupid fault. He’d been the one who’d proposed the trip, after all. A special feature, an update on the international drugs trade in the wake of the pandemic. It would have made a nice alternative to hanging on SAGE’s every word for a headline, anyway.

But he’d gotten cocky with his investigations, as they’d said he would. No doubt some of his snobbier colleagues at the Grauniad would be privately snickering away at his misfortune, secretly relishing the thought of him being put in his place. They’d looked down on him right from the moment he’d joined the paper as an intern, a fresh graduate from that university where all the Oxbridge “rejects” ended up.

He’d always had a soft spot for Durham, though. It must have been nine— no, ten years now since he’d started there. A whole damn decade since he’d first set foot in that city, since he’d ended up at the college on the hill. And yet, it felt like it was only yesterday that he’d headed down into the city centre with the people from his course and his corridor, walked around that peninsula that played host to the castle and cathedral, been on all those bar crawls with B.U.R.S.T.…

And all of that, and all his journalistic endeavours since then, had brought him right here, to this shitty little garage on the outskirts of Ciudad Juárez.

He felt so far away from it all. And so alone.

He heard the cartel boss’ voice again, finally coming to an agreement. 

“Bien, una foto más. Pero después cárgatelo. Tira el cuerpo al borde del camino cuando acabes.”

The henchman nodded. Then he turned back to Josh, advancing towards him with the knife in his hand.

“Time to make you pretty again for the cameras…”

He swallowed. Perhaps it was better to imagine he was back there, at that university, in the company of his friends. Darren. Alex. Annie. Sam. Maybe they were all out there somewhere, listening to news updates, thinking of him.

But they would never know that he’d been thinking of them. That he thought about them, still.

The henchman was in his face now, grinning from ear to ear.

“Say cheese, gringo.”

***

“Cheese!”

Annie pressed the button on her phone camera as they all did their best to look like they weren’t completely out of it.

They’d gathered together for a selfie on Elvet Bridge before joining the queue for Klute. At the bottom of the steps that led down from the bridge, Europe’s shittiest nightclub awaited them. The distinctive sign with the silhouette of the reclining woman that had long adorned its entrance had been replaced at the start of the year, much to the dismay of many veteran students who had refused to entertain anything less than the “real” Klute. Yet despite the rebrand, the sticky soul of the club had remained well and truly alive, and it continued to pull in drunken revellers in all its garish glory.

“What did you say that app was called again?” Sam enquired, as the party headed towards the stairs. His throat was still a little dry, even after all the water they’d given him at Hatfield. “‘Snap—’ something…?”

“Snapchat,” Annie replied, showing him her phone. “You take a photo and send it to people. They open it, get a few seconds to view it, and then, poof – it’s gone like that, completely.”

“Couldn’t they just take a screenshot of it?” Sam replied with a puzzled expression. “I swear, I’ll never understand social media.”

Annie was about to respond, when she saw that Alex was still standing beside the wall of the bridge, staring out over the river. He noticed them looking in his direction.

“You guys go on ahead, I’ll catch up in a bit. I just need some air.”

“Actually, I’ll join you,” Annie suddenly decided. “Sam, go on ahead and tell the others we’ll see them inside. And make sure you don’t go anywhere,” she added with a mischievous smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ms President,” Sam responded, beginning to regain his chirpiness.

As he scooted off, Annie joined her fellow exec member, leaning up against the wall.

“Everything okay, Alex? I feel like I’ve been left to run this social by myself.”

“Sorry, yeah, I know I should be more on it tonight. Just— things on my mind, that’s all.” He gazed out into the darkness, looking over the stretch of the River Wear that flowed down towards Kingsgate bridge. In the distance, the water began to disappear from sight as it wound its way around the peninsula, forming a natural barrier that enclosed the city’s historical heart.

“That thing you said back in Chad’s, about this uni being cursed,” Annie began. “What did you mean by that?”

“Ah, it’s just something a friend of my brother’s who studied here once said,” Alex explained. “I’m sure he was just being overdramatic. But still, it’s got me thinking.”

“Did he have a bad experience here?” Annie asked tentatively.

“Oh no, he loved it here,” Alex countered. “It was the leaving that was the problem. He had visions of moving to another city, setting down new roots and picking up right where he’d left off. But life after graduation is never that simple. And, as he found out, there’s nowhere quite like Durham.”

“It’s definitely a unique city to study in, I’ll admit,” Annie remarked as she took in their surroundings.

“Yeah, too true. That’s why he says this place is like a curse, the real reason why they call it the Bubble. Not just because it’s so isolated geographically, socially. But it’s also like a bubble in time. You spend part of your life studying here, and the rest of your life tormented by the memories that you made here, playing endlessly back on a loop in your head. And although you can walk these streets again, it’s a place that you can never truly come back to.”

“That’s such a sad way to think of it.”

“Well, I guess he had a point. There’s so much besides the city itself that makes this university what it is. The balls, the bops, the socials, the stash, the fashion shows, the formals…” Alex glanced down towards the establishments that were situated at the other end of the bridge. “Even those simple rituals like post-exam pints in the Swan and Three, or standing around waiting for a pizza in Paddy’s after a night out. It’s those little things that you take for granted. Not to mention all the people you meet, the crazy experiences that you end up having.” He turned to face Annie. “Do you ever think about the things that make this place special for you?”

“Well, there’s B.U.R.S.T., of course,” Annie began. “And I also play badminton with some of the girls from the uni club sometimes. Then there’s the plays I've acted in up at college, and of course I’ve been on the freshers’ rep team these last couple of years…” She hesitated, trying to remember everything she’d been involved in. “Actually, when I think about it, I suppose my entire social life is here.”

“I think that’s what I’m most afraid of,” Alex admitted, looking Annie in the eye. “I don’t want this to be the only time of my life when I can go out and enjoy myself, the only place where I can be the person I want to be.”

“I guess we all need to remind ourselves that there’s life outside the Bubble too, every now and then,” she replied pensively.

“You’re right about that. There’s this martial arts club I found that I train with whenever I’m back home now. It’s something to hold on to, anyway, after we leave this place.” His expression began to brighten up. “They run trips out to Thai boxing camps in Phuket, actually. I joined them out there on one last summer.”

“Sounds lush,” Annie commented. She shivered as her alcohol blanket began to wear off, feeling the November cold. “Better weather than the North, anyway. Would be nice to live somewhere like that for a while.”

“Yeah, that’s my plan. My ‘exit strategy’ for breaking free of the Bubble,” Alex explained with a grin. “I want to get into web design after I graduate, then go freelance after I’ve picked up a few years’ experience. I’ve got a long road ahead of me, but it’ll be worth it in the end. I hope. Though I guess no one can predict the future.” 

Feeling wistful, he found himself gazing longingly down towards the groups of people standing in the tightly packed queue outside the club, who were laughing, singing and hugging one another without reservation.

“Plenty to live for right now, though,” Annie remarked as she slapped him on the back, jolting him back into the present. “Come on, Mr Social Sec. Your society needs you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Smiling again, he set off with Annie to join the queue. “Time to show the freshers that it really is possible to consume four shots of vodka in a single drink.”

***

He set the empty bottle of Singha down on the counter, and waved over to the bartender.

“Another one, Som. Looks like I’ll be here a while.” 

He glanced over to the doorway again. The monsoon rains were coming down thick and fast now, and didn’t show any sign of stopping. He’d been practicing kicks on a punchbag down at the training camp when the heavens had suddenly opened, forcing him to seek refuge in Somchai’s bar.

“Anything for my best customer,” Somchai remarked with a laugh.

“You keep saying that because I’m your only customer,” Alex quipped back, holding out his arms as if to fill the empty space. “Don’t worry, Som. I’ll keep you afloat until all the tourists come back.”

“My friend, you’ll be drinking here for the rest of your days if you want to pay off my debts,” the bartender replied, smiling again through obvious sadness.

“I can think of worse ways to spend the rest of my days, to be honest. I feel like I got off lucky in all this.”

Alex looked on sympathetically at the bartender, who turned back to grab another bottle from the fridge. Yeah, he’d definitely got off lucky. Granted, it had been a struggle to get here. Hours upon hours staring at lines of code on a screen, working in offices so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Horrendous amounts of unpaid overtime. Irate emails from project managers based on the other side of the globe.

But finally, he’d made it. He was freelance, free to carry out his work whenever, wherever and however he pleased. He’d rung in 2020 by booking a plane ticket to Thailand, bracing himself for the excitement and adventure of the digital nomad lifestyle.

And then the world had gone to shit. And now he was stranded out here, in a tropical paradise. With all the time in the world to train, and barely anyone left to train with.

Somchai removed the cap from the bottle and set it down in front of him.

“You play tennis as well, my friend?”

“Huh?”

“Those initials, what do they mean?”

“Oh, you mean my shirt?” He looked down at the faded blue top that he’d been training in before he’d retreated to the bar, its bold white initials still legible in spite of the cracks in the print. “It’s just an old T-shirt I grabbed from the back of my wardrobe before I travelled out here. Must have had it nearly a decade now, I think. I got it at university, from a society I was part of.” He noticed Somchai’s puzzled expression. “Like, a student club. We were technically a sports club, though we didn’t play much sport. I was the club secretary, but I was also in charge of organising socials – nights out, bar crawls, that kind of thing.”

“Aha. So you were the party man!”

“Yeah, sort of. I was a terrible social sec. I ought to have organised more socials.” He glanced around again at the empty tables in Somchai’s bar. “I really, really ought to have organised more socials.” 

He raised his bottle to take a swig, then paused for a moment, thinking.

“At least I actually had a chance at that life, I suppose. Can’t tell you how sorry I am for this latest generation of students who’ve been cheated out of the experience altogether.”

“You still talk to those people, from your club?” Somchai asked with curiosity.

“Not so much these days,” Alex replied, after he’d taken a few gulps. “We managed to keep in touch for a while, but you know how it goes. We inevitably drifted apart.”

He cast his mind back as the bartender turned back to cleaning his glassware. Had it really been so long since they were all together at that university? What were they up to these days, the other members of B.U.R.S.T.?

He reached into his pocket and got out his phone. He’d let his notifications and messages pile up, promising himself that he’d get round to answering them at some point. It was hard to stay engaged with all that was going on these days – especially when you were half the world away from more than half the people you’d connected with.

He sat there a while, scrolling through LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram, all the usual tools. Somchai had stuck on his typical dance-pop playlist despite the lack of clientele, and he heard Aloe Blacc’s voice come on over the speakers as he conducted his search. The song’s gentle, lilting beat seemed more reminiscent of lazing around in Balearic sunshine than the tropical island he’d ended up on, but the lyrics almost seemed to echo his thoughts as he sought to put his mind to rest, trawling through posts and profiles in search of closure.

Rosie had become a teacher, Yasmin was founder and CEO of her own startup. Sinéad had sadly missed out on making the Team GB tennis squad again, but it didn’t seem to stop her from training relentlessly. Xiaoming had gone back to China and got married there, and seemed to be doing fine for himself working in e-commerce. Contrary to expectations, Cal had managed to shed all the weight he’d put on in his final year and even run a marathon. He couldn’t find anything about how Bradley was doing. 

And then there were his fellow exec members, from that year he’d been on committee. Darren was evidently living it up in London, from the occasional picture he posted of him dining at some fancy gastropub in Chelsea. He knew Annie and Sam had eventually got back together, and— oh, they’d had a baby? That was new. They looked so happy together, as a family of three. And, of course, how could he forget—

 He froze. He stared in horror at the hit that had just come up. Almost choked when he saw that the article bore today’s date.

BREAKING: GUARDIAN JOURNALIST TAKEN HOSTAGE IN MEXICO

Updates continue to come in regarding the suspected kidnapping and interrogation of a British reporter in Mexico. Joshua Baxman, 28, had been investigating cartel activity in the state of Chihuahua when he lost contact with colleagues on Tuesday night, prompting a manhunt for the journalist. Images that were circulated online in the early hours of Thursday morning appeared to show Baxman alive, yet suggested he had been tortured and brutally mutilated at the hands of his capt

He stopped reading. Dropped the phone on the bar with a clatter.

“Something wrong, my friend?” Somchai enquired with concern.

“Sorry, Som. I’ve— I’ve got to go.” He got out his wallet and threw down a few hundred baht to cover the drinks, shooting up off the barstool. He picked up his phone, hesitated all of a sudden, then glanced up at the bartender. “I was already terrible at spending time with those people when I took it for granted that I’d see them every single day. But when it comes to staying in touch… I’ve obviously been far worse.”

He turned and rushed out into the downpour. Somchai watched him go as the bittersweet song carried on playing over the speakers, its notes tinged with the sadness of a life that had ended far too soon.

***

The playfully cascading synths died down for a moment, giving way to a loud chorus of cheers and drunken shouts of laughter. Breaking through the lull in the music, Etta James’ vocal sample resonated throughout the levels of the nightclub, invigorating the dancers with a good feeling that many of them had never, never, never, never had before.

They were knee deep in Klute now, rammed up against friends and strangers alike, trying their best to hold the line of their own little dance circle against the pulsating horde that congregated around the DJ’s desk. The soles of their shoes were getting stuck to the floor, their shirts were covered in spilt drinks, they were continually being elbowed in the face by people enthusiastically waving their arms around. But they didn’t care. They were here, happy, dancing, full of life and full of hope for the future.

“I love all you guys!” Annie shouted deliriously, not really caring if anyone could hear. “You’re honorary members of this society forever! All of you! I’m gonna call it now: B.U.R.S.T. reunion, right here, ten years’ time! And I expect to see every single one of you here – especially you.” She moved in closer to Sam, who had found a second wind from somewhere, yet simultaneously lost all of his coordination, if his dance moves were anything to go by.

“Annie’s sharking the freshers again!” Darren cried out from across the circle with childish glee, provoking laughter and jeers from their group. He held up his arms to protect him as the plastic cup came soaring in his direction, mercifully almost empty of liquid. Annie followed up by giving him the finger, then went back to trying to catch Sam’s eye.

High on alcohol and adrenaline, the members of B.U.R.S.T. continued to dance the night away. The flashing strobe lights momentarily captured the expressions on their faces like snapshots, freezing them for a moment in time.

***

Darren shut the door to his flat, threw down his coat and slunk into his armchair. The bottle of vodka was sitting there on the side table, waiting for him as normal.

This was the usual ten minutes of time he got to himself each day, if he was lucky. Sometimes he wouldn’t even have time to fit in a quick nap before heading back to the office, let alone the few hours’ kip that kept him going most days of the week. Even while he hadn’t needed to endure the commute, he’d still found himself tied to his computer, logging in at all hours of the morning.

 He reached over for the bottle and poured a glass to help him drift off, knowing full well that it wouldn’t give him the proper sleep he badly needed. But it helped him think. About something other than work, at least.

He’d thought about his time in Durham a lot over the years, more so than ever during the lockdowns. Ultimately, he’d come to realise that his exchanges and embraces with Josh had meant more to him than he’d first thought. There were plenty of things he missed about that university, as it turned out – but nothing more than that fresher whom he’d taken under his wing as a second-year, the one with the clownish sense of humour and adventurous spark in his eye. Perhaps if he’d spent less time hedging his bets on life after graduation, focused more on what he’d had there and then. Felt less afraid to take risks, make mistakes…

But it was too late for him now. Almost certainly too late for Josh, anyway. Too late for them all.

He tilted his head back and gazed listlessly upwards, losing his mind in the memories that he had been left with to subsist on.

If he stared at the ceiling long enough, he might just be able to go back.

***

Annie climbed into the sheets alongside Sam, who was already fast asleep. She’d managed to put Ollie to bed, and he’d been sleeping well through the night recently. But she knew she had another rough night ahead of her.

There was always something playing on her mind, keeping her lying there awake in that bed. Naturally, all she could think about tonight was Josh, her head full of anguish at his predicament. Otherwise, she would no doubt be plagued by the usual anxieties, definitely not helped by the times she’d found herself endlessly scrolling through Reddit on the dim glow of her phone. Articles about impending climate change, about flagrant government corruption, about how the extortionate rise in house prices had left Sam and her facing the prospect of renting all their lives, even after Sam had sold his soul to scrape people’s innermost thoughts from social media sites. And that was before you’d even begun to consider the current situation… 

Sometimes, it felt like the good times in her life had well and truly passed. But perhaps Ollie had some good memories of his own awaiting him, somewhere in this frightening new world that he was going to inherit. And Ollie was her world now. Even if she felt on the verge of giving up hope, she had to try and keep it together. For his sake.

She thought about Josh again, reminiscing about all the matches they’d played, the study sessions that they’d endured, the nights out that they’d spent together. The nights out that all of them had been on together, back when they were part of that society. Whenever her life seemed cold and empty, the future too bleak, she found herself retreating into the past, to that tiny university town that had been so full of life and laughter.

She closed her eyes, dreaming that she was back.

***

Eventually, they’d gotten tired of using him as a punchbag. So they’d cut him down, and then beaten him some more.

He was on the floor now, drifting in and out of consciousness. He’d lost a lot of blood. There wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t feel like it was numb or broken in some way. And he was choking with every single breath.

But through his blackened, tear-soaked eyes, he could just about see it, hear it, sense it all. The lights, the music, the dance floor. The drinks, the banter, the laughter. The faces of his friends.

He heard the footsteps beside him, the click of a safety catch.

“Se te acabó el tiempo, gringo.”

Slowly, he raised his head up towards the pistol that the henchman had drawn.

His time was up, there was no doubt about that. Maybe it had already ended earlier than he’d thought.

But as he found himself staring down the barrel at the end of his life, he couldn’t help but picture himself back—

***

The crash of thunder rolled out across the ocean, sending tumultuous waves towards the shore. Alex came to a halt and bent down, gasping, staring at the sandy path he’d been running along.

Josh. That joker. The guy he’d called Mr Lightweight. And he’d been out here all this time, pretending like he could take a punch.

He’d got back to his room, kicked off his flip flops, changed into running shoes and immediately set out again into the pouring rain, not heading in any particular direction. 

He’d done the same thing the day he’d learned that the guy he’d sat near in lectures had taken his own life. He remembered sprinting down the hill as fast as he could, playing a song through his headphones at full blast as he ran deeper and deeper into the heart of that all-consuming Bubble.

Durham had always been this safe space in his mind, this microcosm all of its own that had an enveloping, protective aura. So to see the name and face of a fellow alum plastered all over the papers was horrifying enough. But when it was someone you knew, someone you’d chatted away with, shared a drink with, danced with…

Nothing bad ever happened to anyone in the Bubble, or so he’d told himself. But their bubble was gone now – a moment in time that had belonged to them and them alone, one that had now vanished into thin air. And he’d ended up here, running alone on this beach, separated by thousands of miles and countless years from the people who’d once defined that part of his life, people he’d passed idly by on the street.

He gazed up at the sky again. Seeing the darkening clouds on the horizon, he began to set off, bracing himself for the oncoming storm.

Sometimes, there was nothing he wanted more dearly than to have another chance at that life, to be back.

But he knew that if he was ever going to break the curse of the Bubble, he had to keep moving forwards.