I looked at Mary perplexed: she gave me her thing? Me?

– You can run in it even in winter: it's very warm. – Mary put the hoody next to me on the bed.

– That's a great idea! I'll run in it tomorrow» I smiled, taking the hoody and holding it to my chest.

«Like hell I'm ever going to wear it again!» – I thought, but pretended to be grateful for this unexpected gift.

– This is cool! Maybe tomorrow I'll run with you. – Mary headed for the door. – Okay, see you tonight! I won't be too late. Bye!

– Bye! – I said.

Mary left, and I didn't believe her promise to go jogging with me for a second: she'd promised me a thousand times, but she couldn't bring herself to get out of bed at six in the morning.

Throwing the hoody into my cupboard, I went to the kitchen, drank some blood, then rang my mother and, having told her a stream of lies, I calmly took up Chateaubriand and continued reading. I was already reading the second volume, and the book was given to me unusually hard, but it presented such original ideas and views that I could not abandon it. I needed to learn new things and grow spiritually. Grow morally.

A ringing smartphone tore me away from the interesting Chapter, but I couldn't be angry for long: it was Mariszka calling!

– Hi, Mariszka! – I exclaimed happily, hastily slamming the book shut.

– Hello, darling! Will you be able to come to London tomorrow?

– Yes, of course, why?

– Markus and I are flying in tomorrow: he's meeting his best friend, and while he's with him, you and I will go for a walk and have a chat.

– Cool! What time should I be there? – I got excited. – And where?

– At ten o'clock in the morning we'll meet near Big Ben! – My sister sighed. – I miss you.

– I miss you too! But we'll talk tomorrow: I don't want to spill everything right now.

– Is there something to tell? That's great. – Mariszka's voice suddenly became sad.

– Hey, what's wrong with your voice? – I was worried.

– It's okay, you're imagining things. Okay, see you tomorrow, Misha.

– Bye! See you tomorrow!

The prospect of seeing Mariszka and Markus excited me to no end, and I wanted to know how Cedric was doing.

I jumped out of bed and started rummaging through my wardrobe for something to wear tomorrow, so I picked out black jeans, a long pale blue jumper, and brown boots for my feet. I liked choosing outfits, but I hadn't bought any new clothes when I moved to Oxford: I didn't see any point in it, as I'd never worn half my wardrobe, and I'd only brought a lot of clothes for nothing.

Mary got back around nine o'clock in the evening, and I immediately shared my happy news with her.

– Do you want me to ring Harry? He'll take you to London» Mary offered.

«No way!» – I thought with horror.

– Thanks for the offer, but I want to take the bus» I said, afraid that Harry would start flirting again.

Mary didn't persuade me, but suggested we watch another film, and I agreed, putting off reading Chateaubriand for a day or two. We watched the film until one o'clock in the morning, a snotty melodrama (surprisingly, for all my emotionalism, I didn't like to watch melodramas), and then Mary went to bed. I yawned too, said goodnight, and locked myself in my room, impatient for the morning to come.

The fact that I had to go to London saved me the threat of wearing Mary's pajama and shortened my run by twenty minutes, then I showered, changed, got on my bike and rode to the bus station. My coat, the one Mary had worn yesterday, was hanging at home: I couldn't ride in it because it smelt of her, so I put on a light leather jacket, although I could tell from the hats people were wearing that it was quite cold today. When I got to the bus station and hitched my bike to a post, I bought a ticket to London, got on the bus, and fifteen minutes later I was on my way to meet my sister. I was sitting by the window listening to music, and a schoolboy of about twelve was sitting next to me, looking at me every now and then , and I smiled back at him. Soon the guy fell asleep, snuggled up to me, but that amused me.

The time dragged on slowly, and I was literally glued to the window, looking out at the views: it was a deep English autumn, and in half a month it would be winter. The nature was beautiful: the bare trees that had dropped their leaves like foundlings to the ground were mysterious and frowning, as were the heavy grey clouds in the sky. This dreary grey landscape did not subdue my eyes: its slight sadness only delighted me. It was no longer the beauty I had seen in England at the beginning of October, but neither was it the gloom with which many people associate that prim country.