Green-Eyed Goddess

It was those green eyes that caught my attention the first time I noticed her. They were an incredible shade: almost khaki. Green eyes and long, white-blonde hair. Black jeans so tight they seemed like a second skin, and a loose-fitting black top. Striking – that was how people described her. I thought of her as Ella, my green-eyed goddess, in those first few weeks of dancing on a knife-edge between desire and despair.

              I was nineteen at the time, fumbling my way through the second year of an astronomy degree I was sometimes no longer sure I wanted to do. I must have registered her around the faculty – she was the year below me, studying the same course. In a galaxy of nerds, she stood out like a luminescent nebula. (Her hair could have been the tail of a comet.) The other girls I’d met on the course so far were nothing like her. You knew they were female because they used the women’s toilet on the ground floor of the astronomy building – the other bathrooms were for men only; but apart from that, they adopted the same shaggy hairstyles and shapeless outfits as the rest of us. Astronomy was still a man’s world back then, so is it surprising that we all gawked at Ella and nicknamed her the Green-Eyed Goddess? (I may have suggested the soubriquet, but everyone else ran with it.)

I’d seen her from afar on countless occasions – a beauty as out of reach as the stars we studied – but I was content to worship from afar. None of us had ever had a romantic relationship: the most we could ever hope for was the accidental grazing of a female form as we jostled for drinks in the student bar. Guys like us didn’t have girlfriends: we were wedded to our research. That’s what we told ourselves anyway: it was easier to pretend we were single from choice.

And then Ella exploded into my stratosphere one cold November night, and it was as if the universe I knew had collapsed in on itself and she was the Higgs’ field that sparked a bigger bang than the first one.

I still don’t know why she deigned to talk to me that first time. There was a rota for the telescope and our slots collided like a pair of asteroids. I was leaving as she was arriving. I made some excruciating remark about how cold it was, instantly falling into a black hole of embarrassment; but instead of blanking me, she grinned and commented that it was such a terribly English thing to talk about the weather. Her voice was cultured – light years away from the flat vowels of my native Humberside. Nevertheless, she seemed to enjoy talking to me – asking if I could help her line up the telescope to find the planet she was looking for. Our fingers brushed against each other as I adjusted the focus for her; and then she caught my gaze, smiling a smile that outshone the morning star; and I knew I was lost.

As we orbited each other over the next few weeks, we shared snippets of information. At first, it was the typical ‘Freshers’ stuff: where we were from; what A levels we’d done; what schools we’d been to. I told her about my research – I had an extended paper to write that was worth 30% of my final grade.

‘They’re trying to reduce some of the pressure for Third Year,’ I told her. ‘So we can concentrate on exams without having to do a dissertation as well.’

She nodded. ‘That’s one of the reasons I chose this course. I liked the idea of being assessed over several years instead of it all being down to a set of final exams.’

Her talk of Finals reminded me that I wouldn’t be there when she was taking hers. Even if I got the First I’d need for a post-grad, I’d be foolish to stay here when the opportunities were better in London or Brighton.

‘I’m surprised you’re still turning up here every week,’ I said, attempting to change the subject. ‘I thought you only had to put in five sessions with the telescope in the first term.’

‘Maybe I haven’t found what I’m looking for,’ she said. Her hand rested on mine and she looked directly into my eyes. ‘Yet.’

If she hadn’t kissed me then, I doubt I would have known how to make the first move. My school had been all boys, and even though a few girls from the neighbouring grammar school had been allowed to come to us for A level physics, I still viewed them as an alien species as unfathomable as one of the lesser known galaxies.

It turned out I was a fast learner. Ella captained our initial voyage to the stars, but after that first small step, I found myself capable of taking the lead as we explored each other’s terrain, and I am confident that the stars exploded for her as they did for me.

              My little room with its sad single bed had suddenly become a pleasure planet. My research was forgotten as we lay in each other’s arms.

‘Don’t you have a lecture to go to?’ she asked more than once, tracing my collarbone with her fingers, or running her hands over my quivering body.

I did; but I had already decided not to go. At the back of my mind, a plan was forming. If I failed my second year, I would have to re-sit it – and that would mean that Ella and I would be second year students together. Final year students too. I could retain my green-eyed goddess instead of losing her once I graduated.

Weeks blurred into months. I no longer kept my appointments with the telescope. Why bother hanging around on a chilly terrace when there was a beautiful woman keeping my bed warm? And who would want to gaze at stars when I could append all evening lost in a pair of green eyes and a heavenly body?

              Ella, My Venus. My Morning Star. My Evening Pleasure.

‘What made you choose astronomy?’ I asked her as we dozed in a tangle of limbs.

              ‘I didn’t have the grades for medicine,’ she said. Or, on another occasion, ‘I always wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger.’ Or, ‘I was confused. I thought I’d signed up for a course on astrology.’

I could not ask the real question: ‘What made you choose me?’

Perhaps I was afraid of what her answer would be.

‘I suppose I should start studying for my exams,’ she said as April melted into May.

              ‘Do you have to?’ I held her tight, inhaling the smell of coconut conditioner and post-passion sweat.

              ‘I’m not like you,’ she said. ‘I have to work really hard to pass tests. I only managed to get on the course in the first place because they needed to tick boxes and admit a certain number of girls.’

              I was silent for a moment. Ella had secured her place with embarrassingly low grades. I’d never told her about my own marks (4 A*s); I’d lied and said I had 3 As and a B. That was before she’d mentioned her Cs for maths and business studies and her D for physics. She knew I was brighter than she was, but had no idea that I had come top in my First Year astronomy exams – or that I’d been awarded a substantial bursary for the best A level grades in sixth form.

              ‘I could help you,’ I said, loath to relinquish our heavenly delights. ‘We could study in bed before we…’

              ‘You’d do that for me?’

              She rolled on top of me, kissing me in that way that made my toes tingle.

              I nodded. At that moment, I would have promised anything to keep her body pressed against mine.

And so I began to tutor her, taking care to teach her everything I knew would be on the papers. Unlike Ella, I had attended every single one of the first year lectures – and the tutorials. Box files of notes filled my bookshelf, and every observation she should have done herself was already meticulously recorded in my minuscule handwriting.

              ‘This is better than the lectures,’ she said on more than one occasion. ‘You’ve managed to write down everything Professor Brand said in the first two terms. And you’ve got your own annotations as well.’

              I shrugged. ‘I always read through my notes afterwards and add anything I think of myself if it seems relevant.’

              She kissed the tip of my nose. ‘I bet your extended essay will be amazing. You’re so clever.’

              Ella. My green-eyed goddess. At that moment, I felt the roles were reversed and that she worshipped me. How wrong I was.

‘Can I borrow your notes?’ she asked a week or two later.

              I slowed my rhythm, digesting what she’d said. ‘What’s wrong with reading them here?’

              ‘You know I can’t resist you,’ she said, arching her back so our bodies nestled closer together. ‘If I’m going to revise properly, I’ll have to start spending the night in my own bed.’

              Perhaps she was right. And it was important for her to have a good night’s sleep before an exam. (There was never much sleeping when she stayed over.)

              ‘Look after them,’ I said as I handed over my files. It felt as if I were entrusting her with a part of my soul. Astronomy had been my life before I met Ella, despite the moments of uncertainty.

The next night, I slept alone. Or rather, I tried to sleep. I tossed and turned, resenting the empty space where Ella usually lay. I was an amputee longing for a limb that is no longer there.

              And when I finally succumbed to the arms of Morpheus, my rest was fitful and my dreams disturbing.

Three long weeks I existed without Ella. Since I was attempting to fail my second year, I ignored the messages from my tutor asking why I had not submitted my extended essay. I knew he would not kick me off the course: I was the department’s shining star: the student who had achieved a near-perfect score on every test and exam in the first year. I planned to plead emotional stress when I was reprimanded, as surely I would be, for not meeting the course requirements this year. That excuse should pave the way for me to retake the year, and Ella and I would have two more years ahead of us instead of one.   

              It was the Apollo 1 of best-laid plans for it crashed and burned before going into orbit.

My first inkling that something was wrong was when I was summoned to the Dean’s office. It was a warm June morning in the last fortnight of term, but I could not help a chill creeping over me as I knocked on the polished mahogany door and waited to be admitted.

              Professor Jarvis, my personal tutor, was there – and so was Ella. Confusion whirled in my head. Why was my green-eyed goddess in the Dean’s office?

              ‘Sit down, Mr Steele.’ The Dean’s voice was quiet. Ominous. ‘I’m assuming you know why your presence has been requested?’           

              I replied that I didn’t, trying to catch Ella’s eye, but her gaze was lowered, almost as if she were afraid of something.

              ‘Miss McManus has made some rather disturbing allegations against you.’

              I shot Ella a look, but her eyes remained fixed on the table in front of her.

              I cleared my throat. ‘Am I allowed to know what those allegations are?’

              ‘She was caught cheating in an end of year exam. As you know, First Year students have the option to replace one of their papers with an essay on a piece of research of their own choosing.’

              I nodded. I had taken that option myself. All my notes and my first draft were in the files I had lent Ella. Surely she hadn’t been so foolish as to try to pass my work off as her own?

              It turned out she had. But that was the least of it.

              ‘When asked where she had obtained the material she claimed was her own work, Miss McManus burst into tears and admitted that the notes were yours. She said she had confided in you that she was afraid of failing her first year, so you offered her your notes in return for certain favours.’

              ‘No!’ I protested, outraged. ‘It wasn’t like that. Ella’s my girlfriend. We…’

              ‘Miss McManus has told us a different story.’ I could tell from the tone of his voice that the Dean didn’t believe me.

              ‘But… There must be some mistake…’

              Surely I had not imagined the passion Ella and I had shared. She had always been a willing participant in every encounter; and I had never once suggested that she had to buy my notes with her body.

              ‘Ella,’ I pleaded. ‘Look at me. Tell them it’s not true. Please.’

              She looked up, her green eyes brimming with tears. ‘I asked you for help,’ she said brokenly. ‘I didn’t realise I’d have to sleep with you to get what I wanted.’

              I was vaguely aware of Professor Jarvis talking about possible police involvement, but my mind was spinning out of control as I floundered in the darkness of a nightmare I could not wake from.

              Ella. My green-eyed goddess. Why had she betrayed me?

‘…Definitely some form of counselling,’ the Dean continued. ‘And naturally, you will be required to terminate your degree course with us. The university does not tolerate sexual predators.’

              My academic career exploded into a million tiny pieces – along with my heart.

              Ella. My Venus. My Circe. My green-eyed goddess. My Nemesis. Destroyer of worlds; Destroyer of dreams.