‘Beats strangling poor bloody chickens at Sun Valley.’

‘I suppose.’ Candida’s wealthy farming family probably had major shares in Sun Valley. ‘Welsh, isn’t he, your guy?’

‘Not so’s you’d notice.’ Jane blushed. Then, furious with herself, she went over the top again. ‘I mean, he doesn’t shag any old sheep.’

Candida’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you all right, Jane?’

‘Yeah.’ Jane sighed. ‘Fine.’

Candida patted Jane’s shoulder. ‘See you next term, then. On the A level treadmill.’

‘Sure.’

Jane watched Candida stride confidently across the quad towards the car park, where her mother would be waiting for her in the second-best Range Rover. Jane’s own mum — ancient, clanking Volvo — would be a while yet. She’d had an early funeral to conduct: Alfred Rokes, who’d gone out at a hundred and two, having still been blacksmithing at ninety, so nothing too sorrowful there. And then — a little grief here, maybe — the Bishop was expected to call in.

With a good hour to kill, Jane could have strolled round the back for a cigarette. If she’d been into tobacco. But when your mum smoked like a chimney, what was the point?

Jane’s nails dug into her palms.

An old maid who didn’t even smoke. What kind of life was this?

OK, the problem. The problem was that Eirion was giving every impression of wanting to move them up to the Scott Eagles-Sigourney Jones relationship level.

Jane watched Jones and Eagles heading hand in hand for the students’ car park. Scott had passed his test on his seventeenth birthday; he’d been driving Land Rovers since his feet could reach the pedals, which had probably been around the age of nine, because he was a tall guy, maybe fully grown now. Adult. Experienced.

Also, Eirion, himself — sexy enough, in his stocky, amiable way — had obviously been putting it about for years. Well, you know, I was in this band, he would say. Oh, Eirion had been around, no question.