Nursing’s way more all-consuming than law. I can’t help thinking of all the friends who took the piss when I told them I was leaving. They thought I couldn’t hack the pace at work, but the irony is nursing is way more pressurised than anything I experienced in law. If I’m not writing essays or studying for never-ending maths tests for medication dosage formulas, I’m cramming in a couple of agency shifts to get a bit of extra money coming in. Thank God for Becky – if she hadn’t offered me a room in this place, I’d have spent every last penny on rent before I’d reached the end of my first year. As it is, money’s tight. Rob’s promised to give us another lesson in baking our own bread one day this week – he’s got a couple of days off, and nothing to do in them, he says – so perhaps I can save some money by making all my own sandwiches from scratch.

‘Look what I’ve got.’ Becky appears in the kitchen, wearing a fluffy cat onesie. I assume she’s been upstairs to change in record time, rather than going to Costco wearing it.

Jess appears moments after. She looks tired as well – it’s like we’ve all got sleeping sickness. She puts a hand to her mouth, suppressing a massive yawn.

‘Cock Soup?’ I say, peering at the sachet Becky’s holding. She snorts with laughter.

‘It was on special offer. I got loads of noodles, too. We can split the cost.’

‘Soup, made from cocks,’ I say slowly.

Becky starts laughing. ‘I like a nice cock in my soup,’ she manages.

I don’t know why, but for some reason Becky goes into hysterics and it’s contagious. It’s a good five minutes before we stop laughing, and my stomach muscles are killing me.

‘I am not eating that,’ Jess says, wiping her eyes.

‘It’s good for you. Packed with—’ Becky turns the pack over and scans the ingredients ‘—monosodium glutamate and chicken flavouring. Mmm.’

‘I’d rather starve,’ Jess says.

‘You’re going to have to, unless you’ve got any other plans for making the rest of your crappy paycheque stretch.’ Becky throws her a packet.

‘I bet it’s not that bad. Try it. Delicious salty goodness.’

‘Don’t start that again.’

Emma comes in at that point. She’s looking pissed off about something, and she doesn’t stay in the kitchen long before heading upstairs telling us she’s going to have a bath. I hang around, watching as Becky checks the kitchen cupboards for signs of the mouse, even though I know I should go upstairs and get to work on the assignment that’s due next week. In the end, I compromise and get my laptop and my notes and take them into the sitting room where Rob’s watching the Arsenal match.

‘They’re playing like shit, man,’ he says, offering me a beer.

‘I shouldn’t, I’ve got work to do,’ I say, shaking my head, but he gives me a sceptical look and extends his arm a bit further, waggling the bottle under my nose.