The New Boy

For the umpteenth time Gareth checks his teeth, straightens his new tie and fiddles, even though there is no need, with his hair. He rinses and dries his hands, pulls himself up straight (his mum is speaking in his head now) to his full six-feet-and-half-an-inch, before taking a final glance in the mirror. Leaving his bedroom in the five-star hotel that is to be his base for the next two full days and three nights he takes the lift four floors down to the Byron Conference Suite. Despite his procrastination he’s one of the first to arrive. Seeing the five men already there in a comfortable huddle drinking coffee and laughing together the butterflies in his stomach start to dance - more a jive than a waltz – but on spotting him one of the older men in the group smiles and beckons him over. Another pours him a coffee and soon he’s adding his opinion to a debate on who might win the big match tomorrow. Feeling reassured the weekend might not be as trying as he has suspected Gareth begins to relax a little.

An internationally recognised star in his research field and with a knack for administration he’d risen through the ranks of the institution where he competed his post-doctoral studies quickly. Following the backing and encouragement of his mentor he’d applied for, and been appointed, Head of Department, just seven years after joining the university. A few years later he’d become Professor and Dean of Faculty. He’d moved for a Deputy Vice Chancellor position and again, just recently, to be Vice Chancellor. Being the youngest VC in the sector he’s already been interviewed by local media several times and he’s obviously used to public speaking, and mixing with prominent and powerful stakeholders and public servants of various kinds, so his nervousness at attending this, his first North of England University Vice Chancellor’s Autumn Seminar, might be confusing to some. But, although he hides it well, Gareth has always felt some imposter syndrome, having been the first, and only still, member of his extended blue-collar workers family, to attend university. On occasion his accent, which he’s proud of and will never change, has led to some inappropriate and inaccurate assumptions about his status, but he’s always found this amusing rather than offensive. He knows too that he’s a bloody good academic and an efficient, if not particularly people-centred, manager. Yet, annoyingly he remains unable to shake off ‘should I really be here’ thoughts when mixing with peers from backgrounds more traditionally associated with such senior and significant roles. Still, all is well this evening. It seems his reputation has gone before him and he’s happy and relieved to be in the company of others who seems to care more about what, rather than who, he knows and is related too.

Forty minutes or so pass in easy chat. They’ve moved onto work matters now and Gareth is enjoying a discussion about non-traditional student experience. A few more have joined the group and soon it will be time to proceed to the dining room for their evening meal. The door to the suite opens and Gareth sees a woman enter. Fifty-something, plumpish, a greying brunette, she is wearing a smart black suit, a white blouse and court shoes.

‘At last,’ Gareth laughs. ‘I’m parched, how about you guys?’

One of his colleagues extends a hand to stop him, but Gareth is feeling comfortable and confident now, thirsty for something stronger than coffee too, and he’s too quick for his new friend.

She’s hardly in the room before Gareth is at the woman’s side. ‘Mine’s a G and T, a large one,’ he says brusquely. Turning to the other men in the room he is briefly, very briefly, surprised to see their horror stuck faces looking back at him. Mortified on realising his mistake he turns his blushing face back to the woman and opens his mouth to speak again.

Too late.

‘How nice, my favoured tipple is whisky and ginger, with ice, lots of ice. Perhaps you could get me one when you get your drink?.’ The woman smiles, extends her hand and adds, ‘forgive me, I forget my manners, I’m Professor Anne Bylands, you must be Gareth Brownlow. I believe I’m chairing the session you’re presenting in tomorrow’.