‘Looking hot,’ said Stephen Magill, his bow tie askew. I flushed. I felt hot. I felt sexy and popular. I just wished Mike could see me. On and on I drifted, the night air cool and perfumed on my skin. It didn’t feel like England, or the quad we crossed daily with our books tucked into our arms, or the coffee room we sprawled in watching Neighbours at lunchtime. Instead it was transformed into a Moroccan tent, clinking with beads and coloured lights. I paused to pick up a glass of something minty and sweet and boozy. This had been so worth the money. My father was wrong.

I didn’t want to think about my father, how he’d raise his eyebrows at the drunken students snogging on the lawn, the whoops from the dance floor, the melted ice turned dirty by passing feet in heels. Alison Carter’s £100 wrap abandoned on the grass, a fag burn in it. He’d think we were wasteful, spoiled, extravagant. But what else were we meant to be when they’d brought us here and told us the whole world was spread out under our feet, just ready to be walked on? I wished I’d realised this sooner. There was nothing wrong in being elitist. We were the elite, and I’d let my insecurity keep me down for three years. I’d let Mike keep me down. I wasn’t going to do it any more. Stephen Magill had said I was hot tonight, I was bloody well going to go and enjoy myself. There had to be more to my university experience than Mike, even if it was at the very last minute.

Suddenly, he was there. Standing in line at a gin stall. He saw me, and his eyes flicked away, and that told me everything. Still, I went to him. I didn’t have enough self-possession to walk away. ‘Where’ve you been?’ My voice was louder than I meant. ‘I was looking for you.’

‘Jesus, Ali, we’re not joined at the hip.’

‘Who’s that for?’ I pointed at the gin and tonic some poor first year was pouring, her hands red with cold. ‘Your date?’

I was joking, because Mike was supposed to be my boyfriend, but he frowned, and I saw that, suddenly, precariously, all bets were off. ‘What’s going on, Mike? This was meant to be our night.’ I felt tears prick at my eyes and the whole expensive night was threatening to go south.

Mike shrugged, irritated. ‘I just want some space. We’ve been stuck together for three years. This is my last night to hang with people. I just – stop nagging, OK?’