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way of wrapping up my relationship with him, which lasted most of the upper sixth, if you don’t count the times when I was trying to dump him. We were together longer than six months, by the way. More like a year.
    We’re down to two balls each when Helen arrives, early. Her interview has gone well. She asks no-brainer questions about the university while I try to beat her boyfriend at pool.
    I answer impatiently. It’s obvious her experience will be different to mine. Look at her, nearly six feet tall with the sort of breasts other women have to pay for. She’s a walking advert for the National Health Service and the wonderbra. Even soberly dressed for interview, she’s a sex-bomb. Also she’s warm and friendly, all the things I’m not. When Helen asks a question, it’s because she’s interested in the answer rather than because she enjoys interrogating people (this isn’t how I feel but it’s the impression I give, according to a carefully balanced selection of my friends and enemies). People will queue up to be Helen’s friend.
    Mark lets me win and goes off to buy another drink, even though I try to insist it’s my round. Helen and I pretend to bond.
    ‘I used to be so jealous of you going out with Mark when I was in the lower sixth,’ Helen says. ‘I don’t think he even noticed me until you left.’
    I don’t know how I appear to react to this, but Helen blunders on. ‘Are you going to be all right with it next year, Mark being in the same city?’
    Has Mark told her who dumped who? He probably said the same to her as I said to Cate, that it was mutual. Technically, though, I dumped him.
    ‘People from the two universities don’t mix much,’ I tell her, wondering if she’ll note the warning. Second years don’t tend to mix much with first years, either, not at first, anyway — unless you count the ones who prey on sweet young virgins, a category Helen definitely doesn’t belong to. ‘It’s really not a problem for me.’
    ‘Great. I hope we can be friends. If I get in here, I mean.’
    ‘We can be friends anyway,’ I assure her.
    She’s waiting for a freely given promise that I don’t want Mark back, but she’s not going to get it, and is too streetwise to ask. In a fair fight, she’ll always win. Helen and Mark live six streets from each other. I’m a hundred and fifty miles away.
    ‘Want another game?’ Helen has already taken a coin out of her purse and released the balls.
    ‘Hey!’ Noises off.
    ‘I think it was their turn to play,’ I point out to her.
    ‘Sorry,’ she turns to them, all charm. ‘Fancy a game of doubles, on me?’
    ‘No, you’re all right,’ says a guy in an oversized woollen jumper.
    ‘Are you sure? We don’t bite, I promise.’
    ‘All right then,’ says his mate, who’s wearing a combat jacket.
    ‘Great,’ Helen says, beaming, then, sotto voce to me. ‘He’s cute.’
    Mark returns with the drinks and watches as the two women he’s trained combine to slaughter the newcomers. The lads try to laugh it off, putting in their money for the next game and insisting on a rematch. But I have to go. As I’m saying goodbye to Mark I see Helen whisper something to combat jacket. He comes over.
    ‘Your friend says it’s OK to ask for your mobile number,’ he says, sheepishly.
    I try not to frown. He is quite cute. ‘What’s your name?’ I say.
    ‘Simon.’
    ‘OK, Simon. I’m Allison.’
    Do I like him? We have discussed nothing other than pool shots and I’m pretty sure he’s a mechanical engineer. I give him my number anyway.
    At the door, Mark kisses me goodbye, on the forehead.
    Helen leans forward to give me a hug.
    ‘I’m going to forgive you for what you and Mark got up to at Christmas,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘Mark says it was a one off.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I was... upset.’
    ‘You don’t have to make excuses,’ Helen tells me. ‘He’s already eaten his humble