Chloe tried to push open the door to her bedroom. The carpet seemed to be resisting her. Finally, she won the fight, shoving the door open and realizing that there was a wad of post on the carpet, acting like a sort of doorstop. She hadn’t been back here for a week. Maybe two weeks. She’d taken to sleeping at Zadie’s after they had people over. When Max was away, for whatever rugby-related activity he had gone off on, she would sleep in Zadie’s bed. They’d fallen into a soft, comfortable way of sleeping, each on their own side but facing each other, talking until they fell asleep. Zadie said it made her feel safe – reminded her of school, where she’d slept in a dormitory full of other girls for years. Chloe supposed it probably did something similar for her. Reminded her of a time when she was little, before Greg, when her mother would crawl into her bed, read to her and sing to her until she fell asleep.

Most of the bits of paper weren’t important. There was a letter from the library curtly demanding that some books be returned, a postcard from her mother and Greg, who had gone to the Lake District. But there was also a white envelope with a window that made her stomach twist. Nothing good ever came from an envelope with a window, her mother had always said. She slid her finger under the flap and tried not to throw up when, moments later, the words on the paper started to scream in her mind.

She had missed too many lectures. Too many deadlines. They wanted to see her for a formal meeting, and if she didn’t go, she would be automatically unenrolled. She had, the accusatory piece of paper claimed, ignored their previous attempts at getting in touch. How else would they have tried? When did she last check her university email address? Heart thumping, ocean noises inside her ears, she called Zadie.

‘Zaid,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper, ‘they’re going to kick me out.’

Zadie sounded sleepy, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise. When Chloe had left that morning the house was still full of people and Zadie had been lying perfectly still and entirely asleep.

‘What?’

‘I’ve got a letter. I have to go to a meeting. If I don’t convince them that there are’ – she fumbled with the letter, trying to find the words – ‘“extenuating circumstances”, then I’m going to get chucked out.’

She listened to the rustle of sheets as Zadie sat up. ‘Calm down,’ she said.

‘I can’t, Zadie. If I get kicked out, I don’t know what I would do. I can’t move back home. I won’t be able to get a job. I basically spent my whole life trying to get here.’