As it turned out there had been a rapid inflation of trouble over the months since I had seen the others, and the currency of recriminations I had hoarded over the summer were almost worthless in the new climate.

When I unlocked the door to my room and flicked on the lights, I was confronted with the bare bones of my easel crouched in the corner. The sight of it filled me with revulsion, a reaction so strong that it frightened me. I folded it up as quickly as I could and shoved it violently to the back of my closet. I had returned on the train, unable to bear the thought of a silent journey with my father, and so I had been able to bring only the bare minimum, two bags full of clothes and sheets. The room smelt of the girl who had used it over the summer, a faint cosmetic odour like a residue of foundation powder over all the surfaces, and so it no longer felt like my space. I dropped my luggage and climbed out on to the roof, up to the scene of so much happiness over the summer. I smoked a cigarette, and stayed out there for as long as I could. I bathed my face in the late September sunshine.

In order to let the others stand a chance of realizing how angry I was with them, and how much work they would have to do to gain admittance to my goodwill, I decided to pay Francis a brief visit later that evening. I would drop heavy hints, and be elusive when he asked when we could meet for a proper catch-up. I had no idea when he was due to return, but I had come back on the last possible day before the beginning of full term. To come up any later would be to miss the registration date, and it was his policy to minimize confrontation with the college wherever possible. I went to the porters’ lodge to get the address of his new rooms. As a third year with good academic results (thanks to Lisa’s administrative alchemy) he had a great set, a bedroom and living room with en suite situated on one of the staircases under the colonnade of Nevile’s Court. With his change of address, Tudor had absorbed the fake Picasso back into its collection, swallowing it without comment. I walked out under the stone gaze of the saints above the library, and saw that the light was on in his window. As I came to the bottom of the staircase, I was surprised by the sight of Jessica rounding the bend at the top. She was tanned and skinny, and had on ripped jeans, flip-flops and an entirely superfluous set of sunglasses.

I felt cheated of my control of our first meeting. Surprised like this, I was cowed into civility, and my carefully crafted coldness was forgotten. ‘Hey, Jessica.’

‘Oh, James. It’s good to see you.’