“These are for second and third years, and these are only for the next two semesters. You can worry about those later . . .” She doubted Esther had the capacity for worrying about more than one semester’s worth of work. She handed the computer back to Esther and clicked on the first page. “These are the options for this term. I ran a keyword search in your e-mails, and apparently you’re signed on for Biblical Studies and Creative Writing. Have you really not been to any of the lectures or seminars yet?”

“Er . . . some of them. I think.” Esther brightened a little. “Does listening in the bar to other English students grumbling about how everyone in Titus Andronicus gets stabbed count?”

“No, it does not!” Daisy stood to grab a pad and pen from Esther’s desk. “Let’s make a timetable. I’ll read, you write.”

“Technically, this degree is about doing both.”

Esther met Daisy’s eyes and gave her a small yet resolute smile.

5
COMMUNITY-MINDED

Some days, Susan almost liked Sheffield, with its vast parks and tree-lined roads, resplendent in their autumnal livery. She liked the homeliness of the houses and the overabundance of pubs and kebab shops frequented by people who didn’t look quite as haunted and grim as the ones she was used to seeing back home.

And then there were other days. Like this one.

Susan had never experienced rain that was so persistently wet. Curtains of water fell in swaths from great, moody clouds, lashing at her cheeks and chest and thighs as she battled her way down the road, fingertips shriveling in the dank depths of her pockets, the material now soaked too stiff to get them out. It was like walking in clothes made of cardboard.

She had stubbornly walked past the bus stop, pitying those who waited, crammed under the shelter, knowing that even a long walk in torrential rain was preferable to gently steaming among strangers, breathing in the mustiness of over-warm, overcrowded public transport. Besides, with a bus, there was always the risk of running into McGraw.

By the time she reached Catterick Hall, she was too wet to bother going up to her room and made straight for the nearest showers. Shivering and miserable, Susan unearthed her phone from the waterproof pouch in her backpack and dialed Esther. Esther might have developed a new academic zeal over the last couple of days, but she was still an English student. It’s not like they had many lectures.

“Hello. I’m very wet. Please send help in the form of a thousand towels, delivered to the ground-floor showers.”

It was amazing how effective the promise of gossiping through the shower curtain could be. Esther couldn’t have been faster if she’d parachuted directly down the stairwell.

“So, where’ve you been to get so wet?” Esther asked.