Chloe stood in the draughty hallway, counting the wooden tiles on the floor and gently banging the toes of her trainers against the wall. There was an exam clock on the wall. She watched the third hand trace each number. How was it possible that she and Zadie could lose hours, sometimes even days, when they were partying but she had been standing here in this wood-panelled purgatory for four minutes and it felt like nine hours?

Eventually, they called her back in.

‘We’ve had a chat, Chloe,’ said the tutor. ‘And we all agree that you’re clearly having a very difficult time. The first year of university can be difficult. There are so many different influences on you, so many choices to make.’

Why was she going on like this? If she was going to say that she was being chucked out, then why couldn’t she hurry up and do it quickly?

‘We are all in agreement that you should be given another chance. So, you will do some additional essays during the holidays, in order to achieve a pass grade for the year. We would ask that, going forward, you try to spend more time in your own halls of residence, and that if you are struggling to keep up academically, you talk to us about it, rather than suffering in silence.’

Zadie hugged her when she recounted the story later and pulled a bottle of champagne from the fridge. Chloe wasn’t sure she should be celebrating, but it felt churlish to refuse.

‘Is that the champagne from the cellar?’ asked Max, striding into the kitchen half an hour later.

Zadie looked at the label. ‘Probably. I found it in the cellar.’

‘It was a present, for winning the finals last year.’

‘You’d better have a glass, then.’ She smiled, clearly refusing to apologize. Max shook his head. ‘Can’t you buy your own booze?’

‘Nope. Astrid and Bob have put me on short rations.’

‘Why?’

‘There was a credit-card bill. It all sounds far worse than it is. Don’t be boring – there’s nothing worse than talking about money. What shall we do tonight?’

‘I’ve got a wild idea,’ said Max. ‘Why don’t we play a game?’

Zadie looked pleased. ‘What kind of game?’

‘It’s called “I’ve got to get up at five tomorrow morning, so why don’t we watch an episode of Midsomer Murders and get an early night?”’

Chloe got to her feet. ‘Actually, I’ve got a lecture first thing, and I don’t think I should push my luck.’

‘See? Chloe feels the same way.’