‘Do you usually lurk in bushes like that? You want to watch out, you know. You frightened the life out of me – I might’ve had a heart condition. I don’t suppose that occurred to you …’ I was teasing, but he looked genuinely mortified.

‘God, I’m sorry. I never thought of that. I’d been waiting for an opportunity to slip away, to be honest. Zakir’s not exactly making people feel welcome. Probably not the best idea, having a houseful when your parents are away – especially when they’ve got a priceless collection of antiques.’ He paused. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you in there – you looked as bored out of your mind as I am.’ His voice was soft but deep, with no discernible accent.

I nodded, suddenly conscious of my own Brummy twang. ‘I’ve had enough. I don’t know why I came, really. I think I may sneak away soon.’

To my surprise, his face lit up. ‘Shall we sneak away together? There’s a great old pub a couple of streets away and they do decent grub. I’m starving – I thought there’d be food laid on. A few crisps and nuts isn’t my idea of a buffet.’

God knows why, I didn’t even hesitate. I wasn’t usually one for jumping head first into things, but instinct told me he wasn’t a weirdo, and I was grateful for the opportunity to escape. Reggie was otherwise engaged, and no one else would miss me.

We walked the couple of hundred yards to the pub, squelching through the slippery leaves that carpeted the pavement. The sky was clear and the moon full. Our breath hung in the still, damp air as we talked. I learned that his name was Jack Mason, and that he was twenty-four, three years older than me. He had recently qualified as a veterinary surgeon in Edinburgh, and had moved back to his native Midlands to look for work.

‘I grew up on a farm, so I’m a country boy, really,’ he explained. ‘My older brother took over the running of the place when Dad hung up his hat, so that ruled that one out. I’ve always loved animals, and training to be a vet seemed like a good idea. I’ve got an interview at a practice near the city centre tomorrow. I want to build up my CV and eventually open my own surgery, if possible.’

I was impressed. Attractive and cerebral, too. I didn’t know too much about medical qualifications but was aware that veterinary degrees were a slog and notoriously difficult to come by. I felt like an airhead by comparison, and my 2:1 BA in English Literature, achieved courtesy of my thesis on the metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century, seemed ridiculously trivial.

‘But I love poetry,’ he had said, earnestly. ‘Where would we be without the lovers and the dreamers!’