When she glanced over to where Elise stood at the bottom of the steps, the young woman nodded with encouragement, and without her friends there to stop her, Daisy couldn’t really think of a good reason why she shouldn’t participate. Only she hadn’t brought anything with her . . .

“That’s a very pretty necklace.” Jasper nodded to where Daisy’s hand had automatically gone to the delicate gold bird pendant that Granny had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Reaching up, Daisy undid the clasp and handed over the necklace.

A gift from her old family so that she might join a new one.

There are more dignified ways to travel through Sheffield than with one’s top half wedged in a van, a yoga-suitable bottom sticking out the back door. A situation made all the worse by the fact that there was no way Susan could reach for her phone without risking life and limb as the van swung round one of the city’s many roundabouts. Fingers bloodlessly hooked over the cord, Susan thought of Esther and Daisy waiting for her to join them, assuming that she’d let them down yet again.

Which she had.

Wedged in the back of a van with only her guilt for company was not ideal, and by the time the vehicle pulled up at its destination, Susan’s mood had grown so black that there was no telling exactly what manner of retribution she would inflict upon the driver once she found out who it was.

Futility had that effect on her.

When the engine died, Susan did her best to shuffle out of the van, feet kicking wildly as she tried to find purchase on something—anything—to help extract her shoulders so she could wreak vengeance on the idiot who’d started up the van without checking that the load was secure.

“Do you need a hand?”

The question stilled Susan’s thrashing, her limbs momentarily incapable of activity, as every ounce of energy was required to comprehend what was happening.

That voice belonged to McGraw. But . . . McGraw was supposed to be making his laborious way back to campus via the public transportion network, as was his custom. He wasn’t supposed to have . . . driven here in this van.

“What? No!” Susan yelled. Although whether in rejection of the offer of help or as a simple declaration of horror wasn’t clear.

“If you’re sure . . .”

“Touch me, and I will end you.” Her thrashing resumed, all the more ineffectual for the amount of rage channeled into it. Eventually, Susan’s efforts shifted things so that she was able to slide out, but her top caught on the rough surface of the beams and rolled up. Her skin scraped along the wood, splinters grazing her.

Emerging red-faced and fuming, Susan tugged her top down to face McGraw, sitting patiently on the car park wall by F-block, his mustache impassive, eyes hinting at mirth.