Rose felt her stomach drop away. She couldn’t believe he didn’t mean to take her along with him. He ended the meeting quickly, saying, ‘Think on it, then we’ll talk.’

She left dazed, wondering if this was Danny’s ploy to be rid of her. Then, picking up on the chatter in the office, she learned that she was not the only one being cut. All the postdoc researchers had been told they could apply for the new jobs. She felt sorry for them, but not too sorry. A couple of them were dead weight, ineffectual sorts she would be glad to see the back of. There was sense in doing a spill and fill; she simply thought she should be exempt.

Think on it, then we’ll talk, Danny had said. He had to be seen to be impartial, of course. Treat her no differently from the others. That she could understand. Well, she would look at the new roles. Map out her application, get ready to make her case. She wouldn’t curl up like a hedgehog, as much as she might want to.

She gave herself this pep talk as she walked Frank that afternoon, having slipped away from the office early. At the Isis, she was reminded by the number of rowers making a ruckus that it was Torpids week. Supporters had gathered at the boathouse on the southern side of the river. It was the fancy new one, architect-designed, quite minimalist and boxy. She remembered the hoo-ha when it was finished. It was put up to replace the boathouse that had burned down. Someone had died in the fire, a security guard. There was an inquest, a verdict, but no one was ever charged. It hadn’t taken the college long to find some old boy with money to stump up for the new boathouse. An American, apparently. A saviour with deep pockets.

For several long minutes, maybe more, she stared blankly at the boathouse. She only snapped out of this state when she heard Frank give a worried whine. He was picking up her vibes and trying to console her, pushing his warm snout into the palm of her hand. ‘Come on then, you,’ she said. ‘It’s like rush hour here today.’ She wasn’t keen on rowers. They disturbed the tranquillity of the river, especially of a morning when they came shooting out of the mist. The cox was always yelling something nonsensical. ‘Power ten!’ ‘Easy on port!’ ‘Way enough!’ ‘Set it up!’

She passed a gaggle of guys wearing colourful patterned skins, some with shorts over the top for modesty’s sake, some proudly without. Ridiculous, she thought. Put it away, boys.

She caught herself being cross. She was out of sorts after her day, her meeting with Danny.