He was watching her in a new way. ‘You’ve had them too?’

She nodded.

‘Well, I’d never had one before. It was all I could do to just stay sitting in my chair, trying to put some kind of answers on the page. It didn’t happen with every exam, but enough to make a difference.’ He shifted on the couch, jutting out his chin pugnaciously, saying: ‘So now everyone thinks I’m either thick or a fruitcake.’

‘I don’t think you’re either of those things.’

‘What about your sister?’ he asked quietly. ‘What does she think?’

‘What do you care what she thinks? Aren’t you with Alicia now?’

He shook his head. ‘We broke up.’ Then his eyes flicked to her. ‘I only went out with Alicia to make Eva jealous.’

‘Why do you like her so much?’

His eyes became glazed with suspicion. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just curious.’

‘Did she send you here?’

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘God, you’re paranoid.’

He looked embarrassed, and then he considered her question. ‘Well, she’s fit – that’s obvious. And I thought we had lots in common, you know? Tennis, but also ambition, drive. It seemed like we were going along the same path but then I crashed and she zoomed on without me.’

‘That’s not what I heard.’

A challenge in her voice. He picked up on it, his cheeks colouring, and he sat up a little.

‘What did you hear?’

‘That it had something to do with a gun?’

Risky saying this out loud, giving away the little snippet of information she had garnered while eavesdropping on one of Eva’s conversations with Alicia. But it moved something in him, an alertness entering his gaze, the way he leaned forward suddenly, his feet on the ground now, the ashtray clattering on to the table, one hand rubbing across the back of his neck. The silence stretched between them, until he collapsed it, turning to her, his face serious, saying:

‘Want to see it?’

The rain had eased now, leaving only the patter of water from the leaves of the tall trees in the garden. From the tiny windows of the cabin, she could see back up the lawn to the house, all lit up from within. But here, within the clapboard walls and the creaking shelves, it was dim and cold.

The gun sat on a square of green leather, illuminated by the desk lamp.

‘Can I hold it?’ she asked.

He gestured to it. ‘Be my guest.’

It was lighter than it looked, the grip smooth against her palm, but she held it with both hands anyway, nervous in case it slipped.