Catrin nearly screamed. ‘Yes! Yes! That’s him! His dad’s name is Edward!’

‘I’m sorry, but this number is ex-directory.’

She thought she’d misheard. ‘What? WHAT?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t give you the number as they’ve chosen not to be listed.’

‘No … NOOOOOOOOOO!’

‘That’s often the case with doctors,’ the operator said, trying to be helpful. ‘Is there anything else I can assist you with?’

Catrin wanted to say, Yes! Track him down! Tell him I’m an idiot for losing his number! Tell him to phone me! Mend my stupid broken heart!

‘Er, no. That’s fine, thanks.’

And the pips went, and the call ended.

Along with Catrin’s hopes of ever seeing Solomon Blythe again.

13

Lana

Six weeks later

Lana had arranged to meet Judith that first Sunday for lunch. Seeing as central London was less than an hour’s train ride from Guildford, it seemed mad not to get together and offer mutual moral support after their first week of student life. Lana found Judith patiently waiting outside the Hippodrome, absorbed in a textbook about globalization and oblivious to the West End weekend that was going on around her.

‘So sorry I’m late!’ Lana flustered and dived in for a big hug.

‘Only fifteen minutes!’ laughed Judith. ‘That’s pretty good for you. Flippin’ heck, you’ve had your nose pierced?’ Judith stared curiously at the little silver sleeper encircling Lana’s left nostril.

‘Nah, it’s fake, look.’ And she unhooked it to show her friend.

‘Don’t need a demonstration, thanks,’ said Judith, giggling. ‘Come on. I’m starving. I’ve seen this cute place.’

They linked arms and set off in the direction of a tiny basement wine bar on Leicester Square called the Hope and Castle.

‘Oh my God, it is so good to see you,’ said Lana as they settled themselves at a corner table. ‘I’ve got a load of news!’

Judith picked up the menu. ‘Let’s share some garlic prawns, yeah? Cheapest thing on here.’

‘And a large glass of house white for me,’ added Lana.

‘Bloody hell, Larn, drinking at lunchtime?’

‘Well, we’re celebrating, aren’t we? Surviving a whole week …’

‘I’ll stick to ginger beer, yer big soak!’

The waiter came and took their order.

‘Right,’ said Lana, ‘I want to hear everything from your end, but first things first: Catrin Kelly.’ And she took out from her bag a letter addressed to Lana at her Guildford house.

‘Snap!’ said Judith, who produced an identical envelope, addressed to her at the LSE halls. Both of them had been relieved to hear that their friend was in such good spirits, hoping that the excitement of med school would help counteract the heartbreak of losing Sol so quickly after finding him.

Catrin had written pretty much the same thing to both her friends: Freshers had been brilliant – she’d done something called Bavarian Stompers, which ‘basically involved dressing up in Bavarian costume and chucking beer over each other’.

‘Classy,’ laughed Jude and carried on reading. Catrin’s course looked like it was going to be majorly difficult, but she said she was still glad to be doing it. She’d already been thrown in at the deep end with Anatomy and had been allocated a cadaver who she’d named Gwynnie, ‘because she’s so white and because gwyn means white in Welsh’.