It was a loud bang that caused me to move from the sitting room—that I had nicknamed the snug—into the kitchen. At points since Christmas, some of my belongings had made their way over to Maxwell’s: a vase that had belonged to my grandmother, an art deco elephant my grandfather had picked up in New York when he was romancing my grandmother, a collection of books that had belonged to Virginia Woolf. The bang was followed by a few curses and I recognised Seph’s voice above all the others.

“There is no logic in keeping chocolate in the fridge,” Seph whined and I saw the hardened shrapnel from an Easter egg across the granite worktops. That had been the smash.

Callum reached over and grabbed a few of the pieces. I didn’t know him as well as the rest of the other siblings; he was a veterinarian at London Zoo, a specialist in big cats, and when he wasn’t on shift he was darting over to Europe or Africa to volunteer. I knew from Max that he had his own issues, predominantly with his father, but we were starting to see more of him, which could only be a good thing.

“Victoria prefers it refrigerated,” Max said, obviously not realising I was standing in the doorway. Poker night was well under way: at least a dozen bottles of Brew Dog had been polished off already and the whisky had been opened, just not poured.

“How does she take care of them then? A special box? Her underwear drawer? Or maybe where she keeps the knives?” Killian said, studying his cards and checking out Jackson’s expression which was unsurprisingly blank.

Max eyed him over his beer. He was out of this round and was lounging on the wingback chair I’d forced him to buy and have re-covered when we’d spotted it at an antiques market we’d happened to find one Sunday afternoon. He moaned and grumbled about it, which was his usual response when it was something he was unsure of, but then he’d given in. It was now his favourite perching spot, unless he was on the sofa curled around me. “I’m assuming you’re stating in a passive way that Victoria has my balls.”

“Of course. You clearly don’t own them anymore.”

“Shall I ask my sister where she keeps yours?”

There was a general laugh and Seph lost a bit of chocolate from his mouth in the process.

“At the moment they’re in her hospital bag.” Killian leaned back, his T-shirt riding up exposing abs that Claire had spent almost the whole of one night obsessing over. “Three more weeks and they’ll be shared between her and the baby.” Killian looked a combination of worried, terrified and excited wrapped together. “I’m never getting them back.”

Seph noticed me where he was still standing at the kitchen island, eating my chocolate. “So Vic, where do you keep Max’s balls?”

“Where they’ll do the most good,” I said, fully entering. “When are you going to replace my chocolate?”

He at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Saturday. I’ll replace it Saturday. In fact, I’ll take you to breakfast and you can take me chocolate shopping.”

I understood this to mean there was an arranged drinking session on Friday and Seph would be using the spare room.

“You’re assuming Vic and I don’t have plans for Saturday morning,” Max said. He’d stood up and moved towards me. I felt his arms pull me into his chest and he stepped us back so I was on his knee as he sat in his chair. “And you’re assuming that you’re staying over, again.”

Seph shrugged. He’d moved into yet another apartment, saying he needed a change but so far he’d spent more time staying with Max, Callum, Payton and Ava than at his new place. It would’ve been cheaper for him to have just rented storage.

“Yeah, well, we’re going to the Baker’s Vaults so this was the closest place.” He sounded down.

“It’s fine Seph. Max can take both of us for breakfast. Then I’m helping Vanessa with last minute wedding prep—I think I’m arranging the favours.” Over the last couple of months, since coming back from my interview at Johns Hopkins, I’d become more involved with Vanessa and Claire in particular. We were of a similar age and all involved with men who could be grumpy and bossy and glarey as well as soft and tender, and when they were, they didn’t know how to handle themselves. I hadn’t heard from Johns Hopkins about the appointment, although Lewis had told me they were making a decision soon. I didn’t know what I would do if I was offered the post; it was what I thought I’d always wanted, but now with Max and his family I had the beginnings of roots.

The beginnings.

We’d never had a conversation about us being anything more than temporary. Although he acted more and more like I was a permanent fixture, he’d never told me he felt any differently about what future we had. So I was aware that the beginnings of the roots were just that and may never grow any further.

“Yeah,” Jackson said, sweeping a pile of cash from the table. “I think I’ll be elsewhere on Saturday. Far too much oestrogen knocking about for my liking.”

“The Bulls are looking for players on Saturday—an alumni team against the current second XI,” Max said, his arms still around my waist. His cock was pressed against my ass and I figured he’d have to get it to calm down before going back to the table for the next round of poker. “Who’s up for kicking some undergrad ass?”

There were several murmurs of agreement along with the sound of beers being opened.

“Shall we stay at Mum and Dad’s?” Seph said. He’d given up with the rest of the Easter egg and had sat back down, leaving the chocolate on the worktop. He still needed house training.

Killian groaned. “I’ll head back here unless I can persuade Claire to come over after the weddingy thing. I know there’s three weeks to go, but every time my phone makes a noise it’s like, fuck, it’s time.”

I pushed myself up off Max’s knee and heard him make a quiet moan. He’d been complaining that everyone was coming round for poker night at least a dozen times this week, at one point listing all the things he would have done to me if we had been on our own. I’d almost cancelled the event myself.

“I’m going back to my work,” I said, eyeing Seph. “Stay away from my chocolate. And if you decide to risk stealing it again, don’t complain about it being in the fridge or just bring your own.”

Seph held his hands up. “I’m more than happy to replace it with interest.”

“I’ll make sure you do. Happy playing.” I left them to it, as the sound of card shuffling and clack of beer bottles on the wooden table top added to the jocular din of the kitchen.

It was early evening and it had only just gone dark outside. I knew we were running short of milk and I felt like stretching my legs before trying to finish off one of the last bits of my thesis. I grabbed my purse and headed out, briefly letting Max know. It was a calm night with spring in full flow and the temperature was mild for April.

The convenience store was only a five-minute walk away so I’d slipped on ballet flats and a light jacket, leaving my phone and headphones at Max’s. A girl on a bicycle whizzed past me and a dog walker ambled by on the opposite side, but other than that it was quiet.

On the way back, I saw nobody and retreated to my own world of military hospitals and dressing stations, the focus of my dissertation. I was almost back at Max’s when I noticed the sound of soft footsteps behind me and the rustle of bushes when there was barely any wind. I stopped, gripping my keys and heard my heart playing drums to a rock song.

Turning around, I caught sight of movement in the shadows and had an inkling as to who my follower was. “Peter?” I said. “If that’s you, you need to come out and say hi.” I was almost at Max’s apartment, the lights flickering out on to the street.

A shadow moved; a shoe scraped.

“Peter?”

“Hi Victoria.” He stood out in the open, looking dishevelled. “Sorry if I scared you. I was just making sure you got home safe. I do that sometimes.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “If you’re out late at night, I make sure you get home safe. Even if you’re with him—Professor Callaghan. That’s my job.”

“Carol spoke to you, didn’t she, about not sending me gifts?” I wasn’t sure how to have this conversation, but telling him to keep the fuck away from me felt like the wrong thing to do.

He looked at me, smiling as if he knew everything, and took a few steps closer. I itched to turn and run to the apartment, but I knew instinctively that he would run after me. I didn’t want to argue with him or antagonise him as at this moment, everything in me was shouting to be careful.

“She said something about that. I thought she was jealous and I didn’t want her to take it out on you. I’ve still been buying you gifts and saving them for you.” He smiled nervously. “I know I need to wait until you’ve finished working at the department though. I won’t make things bad for you.”

“Peter,” I said as kindly as I could muster. “I’m already in a relationship. I’m sorry if you think I’ve led you on, but I’m in… I’m seeing someone.” The confession had nearly been one I hadn’t yet made, even to myself.

“But that’s only a cover. I know you’re interested in me. I could tell how…” His words faltered and I was aware of a door slamming behind me.

“I think we need to talk,” Max said.

I turned around and saw Max. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but his feet were bare. Behind him was Killian, who at least had thought to put something on his feet. Both had crossed their arms over their chests where their T-shirts were tight enough to illustrate the power they had in their muscles.

Peter looked from Max to Killian and back and then to me. “Tell them, Victoria. Tell them about us.”

“There is no ‘us’, Peter. I helped you because it’s my job and I was kind to you because I felt sorry for you, not because I wanted a relationship.” I felt Max’s heat as he stood next to me. His jaw was clenched and his fists tight.

Killian was slightly more relaxed. “Look, we know that you were asked to leave Cambridge because you were accused of stalking two of the women there. Clearly you have a habit. So this is what’s going to happen: you’re going to stay the fuck away from Victoria, Max and her friends. You’re not going to go into the office at the law school unless she’s not there and I suspect most of your essays and shit can be sent electronically. I’m letting the law school know about your past and I’m going to advise them that you are a safety concern. And you’re going to be watched.”

Peter’s eyes fixed on me and stared hard. “You don’t want them to do this and if you say you do, I’ll know it’s because you’re scared, that they’re trying to control you—”

“Peter, I’m going to report you myself and put in a complaint. Something I should’ve done months ago. I also think you need help.” A to do list was forming in my head: report Peter to the police, not that they could do anything apart from be aware; contact Student Services; check out his file with Carol; find out how Killian knew about the previous complaints about stalking because why the fuck hadn’t Max told me?

He shook his head, turned around and started to walk away. I stood with Max’s arm around me and Killian flanking my other side, watching him walk away. “So, gentlemen,” I said. “Explanation?”

The explanation came later; Max had asked Killian to do a bit of PI work and the odd person had been dispatched to check on me when I had been working late as Max had been paranoid that Peter Coffey would try something more hostile—especially since he had form for it from when he’d been at Cambridge University. It was why he’d transferred.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, after everyone had gone, leaving us with a bin full of beer bottles to take out to the recycling and several large pizza boxes.

Max shrugged. “Because I didn’t want to worry you and I also didn’t want your response that I was being paranoid and there was no reason to check.”

I thought for a moment before reacting, something I was working on doing. “You should’ve been honest with me. Yes, we would’ve argued about it because I would’ve thought you were being an overprotective weirdo with stalker tendencies yourself, but then you would’ve done what you were going to do anyway. And when Killian found out about his past in Cambridge I could’ve reported it through to Carol.”

“She knows. I couldn’t keep that information to myself. She spoke with him about it and he assured her he would keep his distance from you.” Max was quiet and still, his hand on my thigh as we lay in bed, me dressed in one of his T-shirts, him in just his boxer briefs.

“Oh.”

“He’s on a warning. Him following you tonight will lead to disciplinary action. I agree with you though, he needs help.”

“I’ll do what I can to help him get it; although it will depend on him as to whether he accepts it,” I said, turning so that both my legs lay over Max’s. “Thank you for trying to look after me.” My eyes felt wet and I did what I could to blink away tears. I was so used to looking after myself and every time he did something—even turning up at my office with lunch or texting me to remind me to eat or get a drink or go for a quick walk if I was swamped in work or my dissertation—I struggled to deal with it. Yet, I returned it without question, knowing that me turning up after work to surprise him would be appreciated or booking tickets to a gig or a performance at the theatre, or being in his bed naked. Max had been a learning curve; one I wasn’t sure I wanted to end.

He laughed quietly, a hand on the small of my back. “The next time you have a stalker I’ll let you know what I’m doing. Then you can shout at me for getting Killian involved and tell me I was right in the end.”

“Is this the end?” I was still worried. There was no guarantee that Peter would leave me alone and I didn’t want to spend the next however long looking over my shoulder.

“I don’t know. I will look after you though.”

Or if I move away. But I didn’t want to say the words aloud.

“We received judgement on my PND case today.” The words were said softly, quietly. I turned around and straddled him, his hands creeping up my T-shirt and touching my skin.

“What was the result?”

It had been a case that had emotionally drained him. Time wise, it hadn’t been a consuming case, but for him, with what had happened to his mother, it had kept him awake at night and woken him up in the early hours, the bad night-fairy.

“His daughter is set for her future; she’ll not accrue any debt if she goes to university and a deposit on a house won’t be an issue for her. The compensation was what we hoped for. He’s making a donation in his wife’s name to a charity that supports women suffering from postnatal Depression too. He’s a good man, Vic, and he tried to do everything he could but he was let down by a system that ultimately failed him, his wife and his daughter.” Max pressed his forehead to mine.

I felt his need, his physical need to be close and I knew tonight I wouldn’t try for dominance; I’d let him take what he needed and in turn he’d look after me.

“You’ve done what you could,” I said. “Are you going to use the case to write an article?”

“Probably. There was no precedent set, but it’s still key and highlights shortcomings in the system.”

His lips found mine and he started to kiss me, hands pushing up my T-shirt before he broke the kiss and pulled it over my head. His eyes looked down at my chest. My breasts were moving with my breath and my nipples were already hard.

“Fucking beautiful,” he said and his hands began to feel, to stroke and to pinch.

My back arched, pushing my breasts towards him. He took the hint well and dropped his head so he could suck one nipple, then the other. My hand went into his hair, gently pulling, my other hand splayed on him, feeling tense, taut muscle under tattooed skin.

“Lose your underwear,” he demanded, releasing my breast from his mouth. I shifted back to give me space and pushed my panties down, leaving me exposed for him. I’d been waxed just a couple of days before and this was the first time he’d seen me properly since. His eyes fixed on my pussy. “Are you wet?”

“Yes.” Wet and so very ready. All I needed was his hands or his mouth on my tits and I was primed and ready to come on his cock or his fingers or his tongue. Or all three.

“Spread your legs for me, I want to see.”

I leaned back, using my hands to keep me upright and parted my legs, cooler air hitting my heat. He moved his hands up my legs towards my centre and licked his lips. I let out a breathy moan in anticipation and he gave me that small, quiet laugh that suggested more was going on in his head than he was letting on.

“Pinch your nipples,” he said, his eyes still on my pussy. I used my stomach muscles to keep me upright so I could watch him and memorise the expression on his face as I did, electricity buzzing between them and my clit.

I expected him to touch me or go down on me, but instead it was a kiss, soft and undemanding. When he broke away he grinned, one hand heading towards my stomach and further south. I moved my hips to encourage him and he laughed, evilly. “Turn over, hands and knees.”

I didn’t argue, switching and spreading my legs so I was exposed to him. I heard his movements and waited for his touch, hands on my hips or a hand in my hair. I wasn’t sure whether he would press his cock straight into me, going from subtle and nothing to hard and untamed or there would be something different.

And then I felt his tongue slide between my cheeks, pushing down to where I ached for him most. One hand grabbed my ass, the other pulled at a nipple and then his tongue dipped into me and his hand left my breast and flicked my clit.

“Max,” I gasped, his fingers working magic. My arms and legs felt wobbly as all my strength went into generating the oncoming force of the orgasm. He didn’t respond, his mouth too busy on my pussy. “Fuck me, please.”

I felt cold as he moved his face, his fingers still rhythmically strumming my clit. “I don’t know if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” I wasn’t sure what he was referring to: his cock or something bigger?

I heard him move and then felt his cock against my ass cheeks, his fingers still rubbing me. The head of his cock pushed against my pussy, my hips automatically moving back to meet him, to make him enter.

“For fuck’s sake, Victoria. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to control myself.”

“I don’t care.”

He pushed in hard, all the way in one go and I heard a scream that I knew was coming from me and then I came, the pinch of pain pushing me over the top of the rollercoaster and I started to contract around his cock, aware I was moving my hips, aware that his fingers had left my clit and his hand was in my hair, pulling my head backwards. I was aware that he was pummelling into me, telling me how tight I was, how wet I was, how hard he was fucking me, how I was his and no one else’s, how hard he was going to come in me.

My head combusted with the sensations; his scent, his voice, the feel of him behind me, the feeling of being possessed so fucking thoroughly. All that there was in the world at this minute was us. Nothing else existed; nothing else was. How could I ever leave?

One orgasm bled into another. He slapped my ass and bit my shoulder, using a hand to pinch my nipples, ordering me to come again. I didn’t need to be ordered. He growled at me, repeated my name and finally started to control my hips so my pussy fucked his cock as he moved deeper, harder, and I could tell he was close. I squeezed his cock with my muscles and heard him cry out as started to spill into me and I didn’t have to squeeze those muscles anymore as they did it for themselves, a final orgasm.

All I could hear was our breathing. The sound of our breath filled the room as both of us tried to understand what had just happened because something had shifted. Max withdrew from inside me, leaving me bereft and, placing his hands on my shoulders, lifted me up. I shifted my legs so they stretched out in front of us and leaned back against his chest, his lips on my neck kissing me, nuzzling.

“I’m leaking,” I said, because after that, stating the obvious was about all I could do. Anything profound was beyond my current capacity.

“I like it,” he said. “I like knowing I’ve left something inside you.” His hands went to my breasts and gently cupped them, his thumbs stroking my tender nipples. One hand left me and he reached for his phone that was on his bedside table. “Can I take a picture?”

We had never stopped with the photos. Even though he saw me naked most days I still sent him the odd tit pic or a mirror selfie so he could see my underwear. I had returns of various muscles, the occasional dick pic which was welcomed, sometimes, with his hand and a message telling me exactly where he wished his cock was.

He held up his phone, trying to get as much of my body in the picture as he could, his free hand still pinching my nipple. “You look amazing freshly fucked,” he said.

And it was at that moment I had a realisation. “Shit,” I said stiffening.

Max put his phone down quickly. “What is it?”

I turned to look at him, wishing I’d kept quiet because I had no idea how he would take the truth behind my sudden realisation. “I’ve forgotten my pill.”

He paled, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he moved me back to his chest and wrapped his hands around me. “Explain the medicine behind it. I’m a little in the dark.”

“I have to take my pill within a twelve-hour window else I’m not protected. I’ve missed this morning’s. It’s unlikely I’ll get pregnant, but there’s more of a chance,” I said. I took the progesterone-only pill, my migraines meaning the combined wasn’t suitable.

“Do you need anything? I’m not sure what, but what can I do? I don’t want you to worry—what’s the worst that can happen?” I could feel his panic, but I didn’t think it was because I had missed a pill, it was because he was worried about me.

“I could be pregnant. And given how deep you were and how much you’ve come…” I gestured down to the wet patch between my legs. At least it was on his side of the bed.

I felt his cock stiffen slightly and looked back over my shoulder at him.

“You being pregnant wouldn’t be a problem,” he said, starting to kiss my neck, one of his hands slipping back down to my clit. “Although showing any kid the picture we took after they were conceived might not be the best idea unless we want a huge counselling bill.”

I pushed his response out of my mind until later when my muscles were sore and well used. The covers had been pushed off us, the room warm and Max acted like a blanket anyway. He curled round me, an arm possessively over me, a hand on my breast, his leg over mine. I’d push his leg away when I wanted to sleep, but for now I needed to think. He’d told me before that he didn’t wanted children because of what happened to his mother, yet his response to me forgetting my pill was completely contradictory to that. And afterwards he’d fucked me again without a condom, coming inside me, knowing full well that I wasn’t properly protected. Part of me understood that what I thought I was seeing in his responses to me was that this between us wasn’t temporary anymore, that he wanted permanence.

But what did I want? Part of me hoped I wouldn’t be offed the job at Johns Hopkins. Then the decision would be made by proxy; I’d be given a bye into the next round with Max. I fell asleep with his leg still over mine, his come still seeping out of me and his hand having slipped down from my breast to my stomach.

Coffee was a necessity after spending too much time last night orgasming instead of sleeping. Despite my pondering, I’d slept well, I just hadn’t had enough of it.

We pottered about the kitchen, Max mixing a protein shake with oats in a blender and me downing coffee like it was my life source and debating whether to attempt to be healthy or not. Our mornings had turned into a pattern; we knew how the other moved around, how they got ready, what space they needed and it worked like a well-choreographed ballet, without the costumes or toe-murdering shoes.

My phoned pinged as it had done at least five times since I got out of the shower. It was a Friday, and Fridays were generally more relaxed with earlier finishes and less queries from students. I was on the verge of finishing my dissertation ahead of schedule and my tutor so far had been approving of it.

I checked my phone, inhaling deeply to prepare myself for what problems could be lining up and blinked at one of the notifications. “I’ve got an email from Johns Hopkins,” I said, seeing the notification on my phone. I glanced up at Max who was now busying himself with the coffee machine. “This could be it.”

I unlocked my screen and opened the email, scanning through the text. My heart pummelled through my rib cage into my mouth and I felt my arms and legs go weak and useless. “I’ve been offered the position. They want me.” I reread the email. “My grandfather would’ve been over the moon right now.”

The coffee machine began to grind, the only noise fracturing a silence that was now frozen. “Max,” I said, looking over to him. “I’ve been offered the position.”

“Congratulations,” he said, barely glancing at me. “You’ve realised your grandfather’s dreams. Have a good day.”

He put a mug of black coffee in front of me and headed to the door, leaving me staring at his back, wondering what the hell had made him so foul tempered after an early morning with glorious, orgasm-ridden sex and good news. I hadn’t had time to spit words at him or question his sudden mood swing, he’d just walked, leaving his bag on the sofa and the protein shake on the side. I wondered if me forgetting my pill was now playing on his mind, whether his reaction last night had been induced by orgasms and now reality had hit. I wondered if it was because of the news from Johns Hopkins—I hadn’t said I was accepting. My mind was more unclear than ever as to whether I actually wanted to move.

I fought tears walking to the law department, blaming my emotional reaction on Peter Coffey and all the sex and me forgetting my pill, not how Max’s sarcastic response had cut deep into me. Pushing thoughts of him away, I focused on my day, what I needed to get done and the conversation with Carol and student services about Peter. Anything but Max.

Two student traumas of not being able to meet deadlines for essays and a mix up on gradings weren’t enough to take my mind of Max’s mood any time before lunch. I hadn’t heard from him, which was unusual in itself, even though I’d sent him a couple of silly texts and a quick picture of the thigh high stockings I was wearing today in the hope I’d initiate a response.

I’d gone through the whole story about Peter Coffey with Carol, who’d then contacted student services. There was nothing that could be done in the meantime, other than getting a restraining order against him, which was unlikely to be granted as he hadn’t been threatening in any way. My mood was turning from elated that I’d been successful at interview to low and frustrated. My phone pinged as I was about to head out to source lunch; I checked it quickly, hoping it was Max.

It wasn’t. Instead it was Seph’s name on the screen.

Silence resumed. No dots. No congratulations. Nothing. Seph was seemingly on mute. One of the professors came in, querying dates and asking for the details of how to log on to a database that he’d already been talked through at least three times.

Seph paced in just as Professor Fossman was collecting his pile of files and searching for his glasses. His tie was askew and hair rumpled. I fought the urge to tidy him up, especially as his expression was seriously not amused.

“So let me get this,” he said, staring at me with eyes resembling pistols. “You tell my brother that you’ve been offered a job fuck knows how far away and you expect him to congratulate you?”

Standing up and folded my arms made me feel less like the target in an approaching verbal onslaught. “Why wouldn’t he? He was adamant that this was a casual thing and our careers were the main priority for both of us. He knows how much this meant to my grandfather and I don’t know—”

“Did your grandfather specify Johns Hopkins?” Seph said, presenting me with the lawyer instead of the little brother. “Or any American university?”

“No, but—”

“So you could stay here? Work at King’s for example?”

I knew this line of questioning; it was one I’d been through myself, with Jacob too. “Yes, I could, but it’s whether there’s an opening.”

Carol chose this moment to appear from her office, the door to which was open and I suspected she’d been listening all along, because that was Carol and how she got her rocks off. “There’s an opening both here and at UCL. I was talking to your tutor this morning at some ridiculous breakfast meeting and he said the Richmonds had both decided to take retirement. He asked if you had heard from Johns Hopkins and was going to speak to you today some time about it. Not wanting to throw any spanners or anything.” She took a handful of the sweets I kept on reception, smiled at me and chucked a sweet at Seph, before exiting stage right.

“Do you know why my brother is in such a horrific mood?” Seph said, putting the sweet on the counter rather than eating it, which emphasised the serious stance he currently had. Seph never passed on sweets.

“I’m thinking I have half an idea,” I said, fighting back the tears that had stupidly filled my eyes, although why Max couldn’t have fucking said I didn’t understand.

“He doesn’t want you to go to America. He wants you to stay here.”

“Then why’s he not said that? I can’t read his fucking mind!” I said, frantically wiping my eyes. In around thirty seconds I’d have mascara all over my face if this continued.

“Because he’s scared. He’s fucking terrified, Vic. Max doesn’t do relationships because he always said he doesn’t want his own family after what his mum did. He’s scared something will happen to the person he’s chosen to love. And he thinks you’d rather move to America than have him because he’s a little bit fucked up, even if he’s decided that you’re worth the risk.” Seph’s expression became that of the little brother I was used to, his blatant and obvious love for his oldest brother illuminated and underlined.

I didn’t bother to wipe away the tears or the mascara. “He’s never said anything, Seph. He needs to give me the words. I have almost nobody except my grandfather’s dream; I can’t throw that away based on Max’s bad mood.”

Seph looked at his feet. “I get that. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. But my brother’s sitting in his office looking like his world’s ending and it isn’t because I haven’t done my time recording for the month. How would you feel if Max was moving away?”

I opened my mouth to speak but no words found their way out.

“Can I ask you one thing?” Seph said once he realised that I didn’t have the capacity to respond.

“Sure,” I managed.

“Before you accept, give him some time to ask you to stay. If he does, you have all the facts with which to make a decision,” Seph said, his voice and demeanour now much calmer. “Especially as you now know there might be an opportunity here.” He gave me a pained glance without an attempt at smile and headed out, his pace slower, shoulders sagging.

“Here.” Carol emerged holding two glasses of wine. “It’s past twelve and it’s the decent stuff. Drink this, clean your face up and go over to the history department because he’s right; before you can make a decision, you need all the information.”

I took the glass and downed half of it in one gulp. “Do you always know everything?”

“Absolutely,” she said, she said with a yawn. “How do you think I was so successful as a lawyer?”

King’s had an opening. I was asked to apply. Asked. That meant there would be a very good chance I’d be offered the position. Bonnie Richmond, who was a piece of history herself, had handed in her resignation on the same day her husband had at University College London, making the decision to go travel the world while they still could. I saw her on my way in and she stepped up her pace to speak to me.

“Victoria! Have you heard? I’m going travelling—no more marking papers! Although I might write a book. They want you, you know.” She gave me a quick, hard hug and tottered out of the building and I just about stopped myself from bursting into tears.

The storage unit I was renting was a forty-five-minute tube ride out of London and I found myself there without really thinking about it. I signed in, producing ID which I thankfully had on me, and headed inside. It was a bit of an Aladdin’s cave; intricately carved furniture and ornaments, some photographs and pictures that I couldn’t bear to get rid of and in one of the drawers of the armoire was an unopened letter than my grandfather had composed a few weeks before he had died.

It was addressed to me, with the instructions to open it after he’d passed away, ‘when I knew it was time’. If I needed his words ever, it was now. I opened the envelope with trembling fingers, thankful he’d chosen soft paper to avoid papercuts, because those hurt like a bitch.

I lost the plot enough and cried loudly enough for one of the workers to bring me a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits before scarpering as if I had truly gone mad. I remembered my grandfather writing the letter and noticed how his handwriting deteriorated towards the end when he must’ve been tired. There was no mention of Johns Hopkins or America or anything specific. Just of my happiness.

I bit back more tears, feeling spent and exhausted, but clearer. I would spend the night with Jacob—I needed to not be on my own tonight—unless I heard from Max, although I think we needed some space. If Seph was right anyway, Max needed to make his own mind up, or maybe, like me, he needed more information. My phone was on low battery and about to die so I typed rapidly.

I pressed send and the screen went dark.