I hold my hands up and force a laugh. I’m still finding normal conversation with her too much to handle, to be honest. Plus, I’ve become so keenly aware of my tendency to stare that I’m now doing the exact opposite – making barely any eye contact at all. Which is probably just as weird.

‘I thought you’d headed off,’ I tell her left shoulder.

She shakes her head. ‘No, I was supposed to be meeting some friends off campus, but I brought them back here instead.’

‘Ah, right. Cool.’

Alice is now back at the table, holding a tray loaded with pints of snakebite and black. I see her glance pointedly at Daphne as she slides one towards me and then goes off to find a free chair next to Marek down the other end. I feel a twinge of guilt, as well as something else I can’t quite put my finger on. Regret, maybe? But there’s no time to dwell on it, because Daff is leaning back in.

‘So is this your thing, then?’ she asks. ‘Do you want to be an actor? Because I have to say, I’m not a hundred per cent sure you’re cut out for the hitman business.’

‘You’re right,’ I say, nodding. ‘The best hitmen do traditionally remember to kill their victims.’

‘Well, maybe you could be a sort of pacifist hitman,’ she suggests, her smile widening, ‘who’s trying to bring down the industry from within.’

‘A non-violent hitman. Yeah. I’m into it.’

‘The Gandhi of assassination.’

I snort a laugh at this, and it draws another glance from Alice.

Harv materialises behind us, clutching another fresh crop of sambuca shots. He sinks one himself and then thumps another down in front of me. ‘I didn’t get you one,’ he tells Daphne, ‘because I don’t know who you are.’ He sticks his hand out. ‘Let’s remedy that right now. I’m Harvey.’

‘Daphne,’ she laughs, shaking his hand.

‘OK. Daphne. Now that we’re old mates, I’ll go and get you a shot.’

She’s still shaking his hand and laughing. ‘No, no, honestly, I’m fine. Thanks.’

‘You sure? Final answer? All right. Nice to meet you, anyway. This is the longest handshake ever.’ He breaks off and slumps down into a free seat at the other end of the table.

I really can’t face this latest shot. I’m feeling extremely light-headed as it is, and I suspect that inexplicably travelling into the past is a bit like operating heavy machinery: you probably shouldn’t be pissed when you do it.

‘Do you want this?’ I whisper, nudging the sticky glass towards Daff. ‘Because I definitely don’t.’

She grimaces and slides it back. ‘Ugh. No way. Can’t stand sambuca. It was the first drink I ever got sick on. Bad memories.’