It occurs to Julia that actually she probably should be scared, here on her own with a guy who’s already tried once. It occurs to her that a few months ago, after what happened with James Gillen, she would have been scared; she would have been the one leaving.

She says, ‘As long as you left me the rum.’

Finn pulls himself up off the grass with a sit-up and a jump. He brushes off his jeans and lifts an eyebrow at Julia.

She waves up at him, from her nest. ‘Off you go and find yourself some nice tit. Have fun.’

Finn pretends to start turning away. She laughs at him. After a minute he laughs back and drops down on the grass again.

‘Too scary?’ Julia asks. ‘All that way on your ownio, in the big bad dark?’

‘It’s nine o-fucking-clock. Like you said. If it actually was night, bet you’d be scared.’

‘I’m badass, baby. I can handle ghost nuns.’

Finn lies back and passes Julia the bottle. ‘Right. Let’s see you out here at midnight.’

‘Bring it on.’

‘Yeah. Right.’

That grin, like a dare. Julia’s never been any good at turning down a dare. Thin ice, she feels it, but the rum is dancing in her and what the hell, it’s not like she’s going to tell him anything. She says, ‘When’s the next social?’

‘What?’

‘Come on. March?’

‘Sometime in April. So?’

She points up at the fancy-hands clock on the back of the school. ‘So at the next social, I’ll have a photo of that clock showing midnight.’

‘So you’ve done Photoshop. Fair play.’

Julia shrugs. ‘Trust me or don’t. Yeah, I want to own you, but not that badly. I’ll get the photo straight up.’

Finn turns his head, on the grass. Their faces are inches apart, and Julia thinks Oh God no because him trying to kiss her now would be more kick-in-the-teeth depressing than she wants to admit, but Finn is grinning, a wide-open wicked grin like a kid’s. ‘Bet you a tenner you don’t,’ he says.

Julia grins back, the way she grins at Holly when an idea’s hit them both. ‘Bet you a tenner I do,’ she says.

Their hands come up at the same time, slap together, and they shake. Finn’s hand feels good, strong, an even match to hers.

She picks up the bottle and holds it up above her face, to the stars. ‘Here’s to my tenner,’ she says. ‘I’ll put it towards ghost-hunting equipment.’

In the entrance hall the huge chandelier is off, but the sconce lights on the walls turn the air a warm old-fashioned gold. Above their reach, floors of darkness stretch upwards, untouched, echoing with Chris and Selena’s footsteps.