Such rules, of course, have no currency in student flats, such as that occupied by Pat, even if there be a pecking order. This order – in that flat at least – was based on a combination of who was there first and who was prepared to shoulder the administrative burdens of living in the flat. On both counts, Pat trumped the others. She had been the one to find the flat and sign the lease; she was the one who paid the electricity bills; she was the one who tidied the fridge and apologised to neighbours for the noise after a rowdy party. In return, her right to occupy the circular bedroom and enjoy its superior view was unquestioned.

None of the other occupants of the flat knew one another before they started to share, which was not surprising, as they had very little in common. But random groups of people with little common ground may work very well – and this was the case here. So Pat found herself getting on very well with Anton, a Dutch student of economics; with Tommy, a young man from Dundee who was studying electronic engineering; and with Lizzie, a medical student from Inverness. And they all got on equally well with one another, making for a very contented community.

‘I really like living here,’ Lizzie once remarked to Pat as they sat together in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘I hated my last place. I really did.’

‘I like it too,’ said Pat. ‘The guys are fine, aren’t they?’

Lizzie hesitated. Then she said: ‘Yes, the guys are fine. Most of the time. I like them. Yes …’

Pat had picked up the hesitation. ‘But?’

‘Anton,’ said Lizzie, lowering her voice. ‘Have you noticed something?’

Pat thought for a moment. What had she noticed about Anton? There was nothing unusual about him, was there? He had quite a pleasant face – he was rather good-looking, in fact; he spent a lot of time in the library; he watched European football on a small television set he had in his room. That was about everything, as far as she could make out.

‘I think he’s hiding something,’ said Lizzie.

‘Hiding something? In the flat?’

‘No, I don’t mean that. Hiding something about himself.’

Pat shrugged. Most of us had something that we hid about ourselves. Her father had told her that. ‘Everybody,’ he said. ‘Everybody has a secret, my dear. Even if only one.’

12. The Green Hotel

If Pat’s life was serene, it was possibly because she was currently unaffected by what one of her teachers at Watson’s had once described as boy trouble. Boy trouble for girls started at about the age of fifteen, which was roughly the time that the male equivalent, girl trouble, began for boys. It lasted usually for about six years, when it transformed itself into man trouble, for many women a much more serious and intractable problem.