Five hours later, the diagnosis confirmed by Dr Tham, as was the treatment (‘Bed rest, eat well, don’t kiss anyone or share utensils so you don’t pass it on.’) and prognosis (‘You should feel much better in a week, but given your history it might take a month or two to get your strength back.’), delight had faded to worry.

She could miss a week of lectures, maybe even two weeks. But Dr Tham was correct: her body was still not conventionally strong. It might well take her a month to get back to uni. A whole month might mean losing a term, which meant losing a year.

There was also the problem of eating, washing, even going to the toilet, which she desperately needed to do. Even if she used her wheelchair, she wasn’t sure her suddenly boneless arms could grab the pulley and lift her from chair to toilet seat.

A knock on the door of the flat, then the sound of the door opening and a deep voice: ‘It’s only me.’

William. She managed to pull up the bedclothes. He couldn’t see her like this! Her hair a mess, no make-up, eyes like a fairy’s after a midsummer debauch. And weak. Ridiculously, stupidly weak. ‘You can’t come in!’ she called. ‘I’m infectious.’

‘I know.’ The thud of a box on the bench, the fridge door opening and shutting, then William in her doorway. ‘Jed called me, then I called Dr McAlpine. He said I probably gave it to you. It’s called the kissing disease. I had it last year and Dr McAlpine says the virus stays dormant once you’ve had it. Sorry about that! Anyway, Blue and Mum gave me some stuff to bring up for you, and I’ve told work I won’t be in for a while, though I can keep drafting the plans anywhere.’

‘Why won’t you be in for a while?’ she croaked.

Totally gorgeous brown eyes looked at her in surprise. ‘Because I’ll be looking after you.’

‘There’s no need to feel guilty about giving me glandular fever. I could have got it from eating at the refectory or sharing someone’s coffee, all kinds of places. There’s no need to look after me either. Someone comes and does the housework, and I get groceries delivered . . .’

Her voice died away as he looked at her patiently. ‘You’ll need more help than that.’

Of course she needed more. But not from William!

‘William . . .’ she said desperately.

‘What?’

All she could think of was the truth. ‘I don’t want you to nurse me. I want to walk with you, swim with you, dance with you . . .’ make love with you ‘. . . I can hire a nurse.’

‘Why?’ he replied gently. How could such a large man sound so gentle? ‘I helped care for Gran, you know. I can even give a bed bath. And I know about bed pans.’