“I’ve been fantastic!” Propping an elbow on the bar, Jonathan set down the pile of posters he’d been holding, maintaining a continuous monologue of all the things he’d been up to. “. . . hardly have time for any bloody lectures, what with all the tryouts for the rugby league, corridor parties every night, karaoke in the S.U. You know, the Student Union?” Daisy, being familiar with the concept of abbreviations, was fully aware of what the S.U. was. “. . . Jessamy’s an absolute howler, couldn’t carry a tune if you popped it into a rucksack and tied it on her back.”

“Jessamy?” Daisy craned her neck to see whether the barman had noticed she needed serving yet.

“Jessamy Trinker? Lives in your block. Blond girl, could drink for England, arms like a nutcracker. Big feet—massive feet. Absolute riot. Wouldn’t be a party without her. You know. Jessamy.”

Daisy did not know Jessamy.

“You must know Archie Thomas and Maggie Atherton. They do Classics like you.”

“I do Archaeology.”

“Of course! What a runt I’m being—so you’ll be friends with Navid! Nice chap, some kind of accent. Sounds a little Welsh or a little Indian, something like that.”

Jonathan sounded a little racist. Or something like that.

“Um . . .” Daisy shook her head. If there was a Navid on her course, Daisy had yet to meet him.

“Seriously, Poppy.” Jonathan gave her a pitying look as he casually raised a hand to wave the barman over. “Have you made any friends other than me?”

“I’m friends with Susan Ptolemy and—”

“Never heard of her.”

Daisy pointed to where the two friends who actually knew her name were seated. “Susan’s the scruffy one in the checked shirt. She does Medicine. And there’s Esther?” She looked at Jonathan for some sign of recognition. Everyone knew Esther. She was hard to miss. “Esther de Groot? Usually wears black. Very pretty . . . ?”

“Oh, her—the Vampire Princess! Goodness.” An unreadable look passed across Jonathan’s face before he turned to address the approaching barman. “All right, mate. Andrew from the Union said to leave some of these with you.”

The barman looked at the posters he’d been handed, far from enthused. “I’ll put them up later.”

“Andrew said I had to watch you do it now.”

Daisy followed the conversation somewhat helplessly. She’d been there before Jonathan; couldn’t he at least let her order? But after a silent battle of wills, the man behind the bar sloped off with a grudging “Fine . . .” toward the back wall.

“You and Sophie—”

“Susan.”

“—and Gothy the Hottie. What on Earth do you have in common with people like that?” Jonathan’s voice was loud, and Daisy hoped they were far enough away that “Sophie” and “Gothy the Hottie” couldn’t hear.

“Umm . . . we all live on the same corridor?” Which sounded rather feeble.