He opened it in his pyjama bottoms, a Nirvana T-shirt on top, and from behind in the dark room I saw the blue glow of a TV and heard recorded gunfire. He was watching something – and how mad it seemed to me that he had his own TV in his room! ‘Oh, hi,’ he said, surprised.

‘Can I come in?’

He blinked, as if seeing me properly. ‘Are you pissed?’

‘No. I was out with my parents.’ I wished I could explain to him how I felt, that I realised now I had to shrug all that off, BHS and road atlases and querying the bill. ‘I think you should let me come in.’ I was trying to be coquettish. I wished I was drunk, in fact. It would have been easier.

He stood back slightly and I went in, throwing myself on his bed. ‘Would you like some tea?’ he said politely. This was going well. If he hadn’t wanted me there I knew he wouldn’t have opened the door to me. Said he had an essay or something.

‘Anything stronger?’ I said. I propped myself up on my elbows like a model, then realised I had my shoes on. And tights. I’d have to pop out to the loo and take them off. My dress rode up around my thighs.

Mike poured us rum into mugs – his had Star Wars on; mine had He-Man – and apologised for the lack of mixers. I swigged mine neat, grimacing, glad that it would wipe out any residual garlic taste in my mouth. My heart was thudding still, loud as a bell tolling the hour. Mike sat down on his desk chair. I realised our moods were out of step. He was tired, bookish, where I was wild and off-kilter. ‘What did you do tonight?’

He stretched. ‘Hung out with Kar a bit. We got a pint in the King’s Arms.’

Jealousy stabbed through me. I’d been trailing my parents round Christ Church, dutifully pointing out the historical bits, while they’d been drinking and hanging out. Kar. I swallowed it down with more rum. I had to find a way to change the trajectory of this. I got up and went to him, leaning over his desk to look at the pictures he’d stuck there. His parents looked distinguished and indulgent, both things I wished for fervently. I wondered if I’d always be jealous of everyone else here. If I’d ever make it mine. Deciding I’d act more drunk than I was, I sat down heavily on Mike’s knee.

‘Oof. Hello.’

‘Hello.’ I ran my fingers through his hair. Shaggy and full back then. ‘You’re nice, aren’t you.’

‘I’m not that nice.’ His gaze wandered but he didn’t push me off. His fingers began to stroke my nylon-clad thigh. I wished I’d taken the tights off.