‘Of course, Racine’s not a patch on Euripides,’ Imogen was saying pompously. She was taking Greek and Latin A levels, and planned to read Classics at university. She was turned towards Dermot, away from the door, and wasn’t aware of Shona’s entrance. ‘He tries to write ancient Greek tragedy, but what he actually writes is seventeenth-century French courtly romance. I mean, look at this from the second act - “Je l’ai trop aimé pour ne le point haїr” - it’s just pure romantic cliche, isn’t it, sir?’ Dermot looked confused, and seemed visibly relieved at Shona’s entrance, his eyes eloquently asking for help.

Shona coughed to alert Imogen to her presence, before translating kindly for Dermot. ‘I have loved him too much not to hate him now,’ she said. ‘It may also be considered a universal truth.’

‘Miss, you should have said you were there,’ Imogen said reproachfully, putting down her book.

Shona was going to ask Dermot if he wouldn’t mind taking a seat by the window, away from the table, so that he would be more of an observer than part of the class, but at that moment, two of the other girls rushed in. ‘I told you we were late, Harriet,’ said a worried-looking, pretty girl, with thick, dark hair cut squarely at shoulder-length.

‘We’re not, we’re two minutes early, aren’t we, Miss?’ said a confident, crop-haired blonde, with a pointy nose and a too-short skirt.

‘You are indeed,’ said Shona, checking her watch. ‘As you can see, we’ve got Mr O’Connor joining us for this class. He’s not here to check up on you, he’s just observing how we do things here, so do just be yourselves.’ The other girls joined the class, the last one still in her lacrosse kit and apologizing for being late, and they all squashed themselves up at the centre of the oval table, rather than take a seat next to either Shona at the head of the table, or Dermot at the other end.

‘Trés bien. Bonjour tout le monde, on va commencer,’ said Shona. ‘Imogen here was just telling us how she felt that Racine was romantic rather than tragic. There are certainly complex relationships in Androtnaque, and if you’re not already familiar with the characters from Greek texts, mapping them out can be useful. Who wants to start us off?’ Predictably, Imogen raised her hand quickly and keenly. ‘Thank you, Imogen, let’s start with Oreste …’

Later in the class, Shona had Becky, the pretty, dark-haired girl, reading Oreste and Charlie, the lacrosse player, reading the part of his friend, Pylade.

‘Vous me trompiez, Seigneur,’ Charlie said, attempting to sound righteous and to roll her r’s at the same time.

’Je me trompais moi-meme,’ Becky said mournfully.

‘Thank you,’ Shona said. ‘So what exactly does this exchange mean, in the dynamic of the play? Harriet?’