She has pocketed a handful of Pick and Mix and now offers him one, with a cheeky smile.

‘Fuck off,’ he says. ‘No one likes the purple one.’

‘You’re a heathen,’ she says, unwrapping the sweet and putting the whole thing into her mouth so it bulges in her cheek. Liam tries to suppress the twinge of irritation, but she sees it and nudges him hard in the side.

‘Stop being so sensitive,’ she says. He flushes, feeling caught out, as though she can see his thoughts, is laying out his insecurities for all to see. Is it any wonder he feels that way though? Especially after that thing last night.

They’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now, on and off, but it feels as though it is always on her terms. She will suggest he turns up at a party, or a certain pub, and at first he thought it was only about buying product from him, but even if he is being a little used, it’s hard to care.

Then she had allowed him to come back to her college, which she had a stupid name for – Tit Hall, she called it. Liam wasn’t sure why. They had come through an entrance like something out of the Harry Potter movie, past some snotty-faced blokes – porters, she said – who looked at him like he was something on the bottom of their shoes and eventually into her bedroom.

It hadn’t been what Liam was expecting, for a student room. He thought it would be all posters of worthy shit and Che Guevara. But it was just a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. There were some photos above the desk but, when he went to look, Anastasia steered him away.

After they’d gone to bed, they lay there, getting their breath back, skin slicked with sweat. Moonlight poured down on them through the skylight, bathing their limbs in silver.

Anastasia held up one of her long, pale legs and then pressed it next to his.

‘We could be brother and sister, couldn’t we? Or twins,’ she said, not for the first time.

It was one of the things that seemed to delight her when they met, the shared colouring. Both had dark red hair (although hers had a few streaks of blonde she had dyed into it), the same eye colour, and fair skin. She was obsessed with this.

He rolled over and leaned up on one elbow, looking down at her.

‘I’m glad we’re not,’ he said and began to stroke the inside of her thigh.

She gave a dirty laugh.

‘Me too.’