I walked up the excessively acoustic staircase to Keble Hall, pushed open the heavy doors, and entered its dim magnificence. The ceiling had been recently cleaned and I peered at the lumpy cherubs through my mask. There was a low buzz of conversation from the people gathering at the tables. No-one was sitting, perhaps because there was no seating plan; instead they milled looking slightly anxious.

I approached the tables, and the doors were thrown open behind me. All faces turned to see who was entering so dramatically, and I saw with a shock that everyone was masked. That explained why the dress looked so like ordinary black tie. Dexter limped briskly past me, scattering people and dropping bits of paper on the way past. It looked like notes for a speech. I followed in his wake.

The crowds parted and assigned themselves to seats, with lots of handwaving from Dexter. I approached him slowly. Would it be the leering Dexter who knew me? Or his doppelganger?

“There’s a space over there, next to the guy in the Fez,” he told me. Fez! I looked where he pointed. The leaf green fez looked strangely familiar, but the guy underneath was deep in conversation and didn’t look up. I made my way round the end of the table. It felt like a mile. I swung my leg over the bench as decorously as possibly and my neighbour turned towards me.

“Kate,” said Rob simply.

During grace and melon we conversed in whispers. Rob didn’t want us to look as if we were talking, and wouldn’t tell me why. He looked nervous, and extremely sheepish. The fez waggled as he talked. “How can you forgive me?” he asked. “I should have told you what was happening long ago.” It was difficult to disagree.

The doors were thrown open behind us. All faces turned to see who was entering so dramatically. Dexter limped briskly past the tables, scattering people and dropping bits of paper on the way past. It looked like notes for a speech. I felt a distinct sense of deja vu.

“Fellow Keblites!” he exclaimed, hoarsely. He had probably been practising his speech in the mirror. “I’m sorry to interrupt this feast, but I need your attention, and your cooperation! There are some among us who do not belong! Some ... from Cambridge!” A hiss and a murmur of “infiltrators!” ran round the room. I felt like an extra in a cheap production of West Side Story.

Someone rose from the table. It was the other Dexter. Now I saw them together there were a few minor differences - an inch in height, a slight difference in hair colour - but the aura of power crackled equally from both of them.

“This man who’s been impersonating me,” said Dexter, turning to the crowd and gesturing to the figure stalking towards him, “is my brother, Sinister!” Someone suppressed a giggle. Sinister glared at Dexter. “Where’s Eleanor?” he demanded. Dexter looked confused, and I tried to make myself invisible.

“Good question! Where is Eleanor, your accomplice?” asked Dexter, addressing his captive audience. I could see he was enjoying this. “My brother and I both went to Trinity: he to Cambridge, and I to Oxford. We both worked hard, got firsts, but he was never content. He studied Chemistry. He worked on a secret formula - a cure for writer’s block.” I gasped. That was Rob’s research topic too!

“Sinister heard someone else was researching that same thing, and that his work was far in advance of Sinister’s own. He couldn’t bear to be beaten and he resolved to steal that work. He set to work on a blackmail scheme, even taking hostages.” Suddenly Dexter seemed serious, and I thought of him living off egg sandwiches in a lonely cell. “And this is why I invited the Junior Dean to this dinner, and some constables for good measure!”
Sinister dashed for the door, but a petite girl stuck out a very pointy shoe, and Sinister went flying with a howl. Two hefty men stepped out of the shadows, and Sinister was taken away, shouting at his brother as he went.

Rob and I made room for Dexter, and handed him a drink. I felt almost well disposed towards him. His comment about blackmail was worrying - I would have to tackle Rob about that later, but for a moment the world seemed easier, and I was just contented to see him. Then I felt Dexter’s hand creeping onto my thigh. Things were clearly back to normal again.

If you would like to contribute an alternative ending, you can email us, or enter it here. Endings should be approx 400 - 600 words, and based in Oxford. Including highlights you think not enough people know about is encouraged. There may or may not be a prize.