Burchester Tales 8: Professor Watkins

Burchester Tales is back - and Professor Watkins is having a bad day.

Burchester Tales: Episode 8

Professor Watkins by H. Lewis-Foster

Professor Mike Watkins sat in his study, staring at a volume on Anglo-Saxon burial rites and wondering why he’d been such a miserable sod to Gus MacAvenny yesterday. The truth was, he was always mean to Gus, snapping at him in tutorials and marking his essays more harshly than those of his fellow students. Mike tried to justify his severity by telling himself Gus needed more pushing than most, if he was to achieve his academic potential. The reality behind his treatment of Gus, however, was far less altruistic.

Gus was a perfectly pleasant young man, who worked hard and had caused no trouble on campus since the day he arrived in Burchester. Mike had no reason to bear him any ill will, but he could hardly bear to be in the same room as him, dreading the weekly tutorials when he was trapped in his study with Gus and two female students. The day in March when those two students were ill, and Gus had been his only tutee, was one of the most uncomfortable hours of Mike’s life. And the shameful cause of his discomfort was that he, Professor Mike Watkins, respected academic and author, was jealous as hell of Gus MacAvenny.

Mike might have despised himself less for his weakness, if his envy had been intellectual in nature. Gus was bright and capable, but he was no more outstanding in his field than any other undergraduate Mike had taught over the past ten years. Where he differed from all those other students was that Gus was so damned happy, so comfortable in his own skin. At the age of nineteen, most of the young men and women he tutored had a whole range of hang-ups, some more obvious than others, but Gus seemed to have accepted who he was completely. Mike couldn’t understand how Gus could be so at ease at such a young age—especially when he was gay, for goodness’ sake.

If life were fair, Gus would be agonising about his sexuality, dating girls and hating himself for it, lying to his friends and family—just as Mike had done at his age. But life wasn’t fair, and as far as Mike could see, Gus had floated blissfully into his adult life as a gay man. Last year he’d been dating the confident, rich and outrageously handsome Davy Maynard—how could anyone land a first boyfriend like that? And now he appeared to have a new beau, whom he was quite content to flaunt in public, or so it seemed from their amorous encounter in the quad.

Mike gave up on the tome he was wading through and poured himself a mug of coffee. He wasn’t an extravagant man and generally tried to be healthy, but he’d treated himself to a small coffee machine, for those moments when only a strong dose of caffeine would get him through the day. He wandered over to the window to look out over the college gardens, with their exquisite display of roses and begonias, in an attempt to take his mind off Gus and his latest paramour.

It worked for roughly half a minute; then he saw a couple of third-years walking hand in hand through the garden, and his mind instantly reverted to Gus, whose teenage life he would gladly have swapped for his own. Mike cringed to think how terrified he’d been of admitting he was gay, even to his closest friends, the most tragic result of which was that he’d held on to his unwanted virginity until he was twenty-five.

Mike didn’t wish he’d slept around or had innumerable one-night stands, but his abstinence was just so unnecessary. It wasn’t like he grew up in the Victorian age, when he could have been jailed for his so-called vices; Mike completed his degree in 2003, with civil partnerships just around the legal corner. There might have been a few raised eyebrows, the odd disparaging comment, but that was no reason for him not to come out. He simply never had the proverbial balls.

Mike took the lid off the tin of biscuits he kept in case of emergency. Today was definitely one of those days. It was a day to scoff his way through a pack of custard creams or maybe chocolate chip cookies, and not feel in the slightest bit guilty about it. Sadly, all he found were a few broken digestives. As he took a disappointing bite, he knew he couldn’t blame Gus entirely for his irritable mood.

Ben hadn’t come home again last night, and Mike was starting to worry about his behaviour. He always had a plausible excuse—he’d had one drink too many to drive and slept on a friend’s sofa, or he’d gone to visit a relative and felt it would be rude not to stay—but after the third time in as many weeks, Mike’s suspicions seemed increasingly justified. He absently dunked a digestive into his mug—then he started as the mushy biscuit plopped straight into his coffee.

“Bollocks!”

Mike took a tissue from his pocket and wiped at the brown splashes on his white shirt. Then a tentative knock tapped at the door. Mike put down his mug and took a breath, determined to turn his day around. He would be friendly and helpful to whoever had come to call, whether it be a student, colleague or college porter. He opened the door, and his resolution wavered. Then he slapped an affable smile on his face.

“Mr MacAvenny. What a pleasant surprise.”

© H. Lewis-Foster 2015. All rights reserved.