‘Because I’m there too?’ Her voice hardens to match his; her arms fold quickly across her chest. William’s shocked at how angry she suddenly is. ‘I came to tell you two things.’ Her voice is loud enough to make William worry that Mr and Mrs Finch will hear. ‘First, I miss talking to you, but you clearly have your reasons for staying away. Second, Ray has asked me to go out with him.’ She’s glaring at him. His eyes keep dropping to the carpet but he forces them back up to her face. ‘Proper, like,’ she says, ‘and I just wanted to see if you had anything to say about that.’

What to say? He stares at her now. What to say? They consider each other in a stony, hard silence and a coldness cascades through his insides, as if Matron is under his skin giving him the dips. But, miraculously, his shoulders rise, as if of their own accord, in a casual shrug.

‘I thought you already were. Do what you like, Gloria.’

Apart from a slight shift in her jaw, Gloria remains motionless, her green eyes boring into him. When she speaks at last, her voice is entirely different; soft and quiet, and not quite hers.

‘Well, at least we both know where we stand.’ She opens the door. ‘Goodnight, William.’ The click of the latch behind her is unhurried and deliberate. He stares at his dressing gown that hangs on the door peg, drab and limp.

Spring is ruined. The white and green of snowdrops, daffodils luminous with sunshine and proud scarlet tulips become one with the sharp discomfort of watching Ray and Gloria.

At dinner, Ray is shameless, his hand at Gloria’s back, creeping under her jumper or up her skirt a little, as their knees touch beneath the teak table. Lying in the same room as him each night, wondering what he and Gloria have got up to, sets William’s insides against themselves. He’s pretty damn sure what his roommate is thinking about as he tosses and turns for the first half-hour after he gets into bed. And when William is woken by the rapid creaking of bedsprings, he’s disgusted. The keenest torment, however, comes from within. It’s himself he loathes. She asked him, asked him if he minded her going out with Ray. If he knew what had stopped him telling her the truth, he might find some peace, some way of coming to terms with it.

By the time the Finches’ garden is a frenzy of rhododendrons, poppies and delphiniums in the crisp May sunlight, William and his cohort are three quarters of the way through their training. Nights are long and mild. William continues to excel and Ray continues to scrape by, but the jokes at his own expense and his generosity at the bar each lunchtime have won Simon and Roger over and Ray is accepted as part of the group.