She takes a mouthful and discovers she hates rum as well as whiskey. She has no idea how the human race found out you could actually drink this stuff. She hopes she doesn’t just hate booze in general. Julia figures she’s ruled out enough vices already; this is one she was planning to enjoy.

‘Good stuff,’ she says, giving it back.

Finn takes a swig and manages to avoid making a face. ‘Better than the punch, anyway.’

‘True. Not saying much, but true.’

There’s a silence, question-marked, but not uncomfortable. The ringing in Julia’s ears is starting to fade. Bats are on the hunt overhead; far away, maybe in the grove, an owl calls.

Finn lies back on the grass, pulling up his hood so he won’t get dew or bird crap in his hair. ‘I heard the grounds are haunted,’ he says.

Julia is not about to snuggle up for protection. ‘Yeah? I heard your mum is haunted.’

He grins. ‘Seriously. You never heard that?’

‘Course I did,’ Julia says. ‘The ghost nun. Is that why you invited me out here? To look after you while you got your booze?’

‘I used to be petrified of her. The older guys made sure we all were, back in first year.’

‘Us too. Sadistic bitches.’

Finn hands her the bottle. ‘They’d come into our dorm last thing before lights-out, right, and tell us the stories? The idea was, if they scared us enough, some poor kid wouldn’t have the guts to go to the jacks and he’d end up wetting his bed.’

‘Ever get you?’

‘No!’ But he’s grinning too. ‘They got plenty, though.’

‘Seriously? What’d they tell you? She came after guys with garden shears?’

‘Nah. They said she . . .’ Finn glances sideways at Julia. ‘I mean, the way I heard it, she was kind of a slut.’

The word comes out practically radioactive with self-consciousness. Julia enquires, ‘Are you trying to see if I’ll get all shocked because you said “slut”?’

Finn’s eyebrows go up and he stares, half shocked himself. She watches him coolly, amused.

‘Well,’ he says, in the end. ‘I guess. Sort of.’

‘Were you hoping I would or I wouldn’t?’

He shakes his head. He’s starting to smile, at himself, snared. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Anything else you want to try shocking me with? You could go for “shit”. Or even “fuck”, if you’re feeling really crazy.’

‘I think I’m done. Thanks, though.’