Dean’s eyes narrow, his hands going to his hips. ‘Likewise. I’ve told you why I’m here, but what are you doing here? Were you really sick last night? Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?’

Something inside Oli snaps. ‘I can’t do this right now. I have to go.’

People turn to stare at them, and she knows how it must look: a well-dressed couple arguing like teenagers. They probably think it’s a lover’s tiff, a wife jealous over a crush her husband has on a student. If only they knew the horrible thoughts crawling around in her head.

Dean grabs her arm, pulls her into a doorway.

She jerks out of his grip. ‘Don’t touch me!’

‘Oli, stop! Stop it.’ Dean bares his teeth, his voice rising. ‘Just stop it.’

‘No. I have to go. I don’t want to talk to you right now.’

He deflates. ‘I’m going to be sorting out this mess for the rest of the day. Do you want to talk later tonight when you’ve calmed down? I was planning on driving back, but I can stay.’

‘No.’ She sniffs, feeling like a child. ‘Go back to the twins.’

‘Oli, please.’ His eyes are huge, bewildered. ‘Why are you being like this?’

‘Dean, enough. Just give me some space for a little while.’

She leaves him standing in the middle of the path staring after her, fists curled at his sides.

McCrae’s not in today after all. A tall girl with tinted blue hair sitting up the back of the lecture hall tells Oli he must be sick.

‘Or he might be caught up in some research thing. He’s involved in lots of different studies.’

‘Where’s his office?’ Oli asks.

Repeating the girls’ directions under her breath Oli makes her way to the psychology building. McCrae’s not in his office either. She doubles back the way she came and asks at the reception desk.

‘He might be around here somewhere, but I doubt it.’ A row of hoops line the left earlobe of the young woman behind the desk; a single stud glitters in her right. ‘You can leave him a message, or otherwise he’ll be back on, um,’ she checks a complicated timetable, ‘tomorrow.’

Oli exits the building and walks back along the main path, praying she won’t see Dean. A young man wearing a vest covered in badges is playing a piano in a sheltered area of the quadrangle, and several students are sitting on the concrete in the sun, listening. It’s almost lunchtime, Oli realises, noticing the line of students that snakes out of a cafe. She rounds a corner and almost walks headfirst into Nathan Farrow.

‘Oli?’

‘Nathan, hi.’

He looks distracted but smiles kindly. She’s relieved to see that he has ditched the facial hair. ‘Are you here to see Dean? I’m about to meet with him.’