A dart of panic scissored my stomach – I still had no idea what I was doing once university ended. Mike and Callum had law training contracts lined up, a houseshare in Clapham, and I’d been waiting to be asked to move in too, but it hadn’t happened and I was too much of a coward to ask. Why hadn’t he asked? Was he just assuming I’d come with him? I knew what Karen would say – For God’s sake, Ali, ask him. He owes you that much at least. We’d been together, more or less, since the very first night of college, almost three years now. I should have been able to ask. But I was afraid. Something told me things were changing, our cosy college world about to end. This ball might be the last time we were all together.

I looked up in the haze of heat to see someone come across the lawn, a bottle in each hand and a stack of plastic cups under one arm. Bill, in his usual jeans and ragged shirt, sleeves pushed up, a rollie hanging from his mouth. I realised I’d sucked in my stomach.

‘Thought we could get started on the Pimm’s,’ he said, flopping down beside us, and Karen sat up, clapping her hands.

‘You’re a genius.’

Jodi was always saying Bill and Karen should get together – neither of them ever dated anyone – but they didn’t seem keen, and it was me he looked at now, holding out the first cup he’d poured of Pimm’s and diet Tesco lemonade.

‘Ali?’

I reached for it, and he smiled at me, and the night ahead spread out below my ribcage, with all the joy and excitement and longing I held inside me. It was going to be good. All my friends together. Mike. Bill.

Now I pushed myself to sit up, dizzy with heat and drink, because suddenly Mike was there too. Finally, having been gone all day, supposedly playing cricket, he was there. He and Callum looked drunk, weaving.

He focused on me. ‘You’re not dressed.’

‘Neither are you.’

‘But you’ll be . . .’ He twirled a hand at his head. ‘Make-up and that. For hours.’

‘Jodi started at dawn,’ said Callum, swigging from the bottle of vodka he carried. It was as if he thought he was starring in a remake of Brideshead Revisited. ‘And it’s not even her final year.’

‘You saying I need hours to make myself pretty?’ I saw Bill look at me, caught the turn of his head at my tone, which had aimed for arch and come out shrill.