The room was high-ceilinged and elegant, despite the cheap student furniture, the two unmade single beds tucked away under the sash windows, the clothes horse full of damp faded washing in the corner, the Morrissey poster pinned up over the mantelpiece. It was as if the size of the room made up for the student chaos it contained, enabled it to rise above it somehow. Sissy had been glad she’d been allocated such great digs in her first year, even if she had had to share them with, amongst others, an acerbically witted, punky-looking girl who’d scared the life out of her at the start, until Sissy had finally tuned into Renée’s sense of humour and realised, thankfully, that she was actually quite nice.
Juliette and Renée were curled up on the couch, watching Blind Date on the crackly portable TV Camilla had brought from home. Siobhan was sat on the floor between them, leaning against the sofa, and every now and again she would roar with laughter at something one of the contestants had said, and bang her head on Juliette’s legs and go, ‘Owww,’ and Juliette would ruffle Siobhan’s bubble-permed hair affectionately, as if she were a dog. Sissy was sat bolt upright in the single easy chair, looking like a twelve-year-old boy, reading yet another book on the Franco-Prussian war, seemingly oblivious to everything, yet every now and again giggling at one of the impersonations Renée would do of the presenter’s accent. As the final ad break finished, Natasha burst through the door, hot and sweaty, Jane Fonda headband luridly pink against her blonde spiky hair, and plonked herself down next to Siobhan to watch the bit where Cilla would say things to the post-date couple like, ‘Oh dear, no need for me to be buying me hat then, chuck,’ to try to add some levity into the air of mutual hatred.
Just then, Camilla bustled into the room, face shiny with steam, hair pushed back by a tortoiseshell Alice band, stripy shirtsleeves rolled up as if she meant business.
‘Supper won’t be long, chaps,’ she said.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Juliette. ‘D’you need any help?’
‘Well, if you could peel the carrots that would be super,’ replied Camilla.
‘Sure,’ said Juliette, and got to her feet, despite this being her favourite part of the show; not that Camilla would have minded doing them herself, she loved cooking for everyone – especially when Blind Date was on, which she thought was dreadful.
As Juliette made her way into the kitchen there was a knock on the main door, and she assumed it was a friend from one of the other floors, come to borrow something, or simply invite themselves in. She was right, it was Alison, one of the swotty physicists from downstairs.
‘Hi, Alison!’ said Juliette. Alison just stood there, staring mutely. Peals of laughter sounded from the other room. Still Alison didn’t speak.
‘Alison, are you OK? What’s happened?’
‘Is Camilla all right?’
‘Yes, come in, she’s cooking as usual.’
‘Doesn’t she know? Hasn’t anyone phoned her?’
‘Know what? We don’t have a phone here.’
‘Oh no, I take it you haven’t seen the news then?’ asked Alison, and she seemed agitated, on edge.
‘No, what news?’
‘Oh God, sorry, just put the news on, will you? I’m so sorry.’ And with that she turned on her heel and walked away, as Juliette stood watching her in bewilderment.