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was singing, a maudlin sort of sound that made Rodge grin. The pub was just around the corner and it was probably closing time. He’d noticed the assortment of tables and chairs on the wide pavement as he’d arrived earlier this evening: that would be a good howff for them if he could coax the Swedish bird away from her posh drinks. The other girl looked as if she enjoyed a few beers; Rodge hadn’t missed those swelling breasts under that baggy tunic top. Looked a nice enough lass and he’d laughed at her stories of college when they’d eventually moved into the lounge.
    They’d sat there for ages, Eva topping up their drinks. Thank God she’d produced bottles of Staropramen from one of the fridges! Then she’d lit these big square candles on the hearth and their faces had gleamed in the flickering light, especially Eva’s. Rodge thought about that face now as he looked out at the darkened street. How could he describe her to his mates without sounding like a total prat? How did you talk about a girl who was so bloody perfect? He remembered how her flawless skin seemed to glow in the candlelight, her eyes grave as she listened to them talking, and her hair… Rodge sighed. He’d give anything to run his big hands through that stream of pale golden hair. Ach, who was he kidding? A girl like Eva was way out of his league and he’d do well to remember that and not moon after her. Besides, he told himself, as he closed the window and flopped down on the bed, it didn’t do to have these sorts of relationships with your flatmates if you were to get along happily all year.
     
    ‘It’s me,’ Eva said. She was lying on the bed, mobile phone tucked against her ear. ‘Yeah, they seem okay. How about you?’ She listened as the voice on the other end of the line replied, his familiar tones making her face light up, the smile softening her lovely features. ‘Sounds good. Anyway, when are we going to meet up?’ Eva’s fingers strayed absently to the ends of her hair, twisting the strands as she waited for the reply.
    ‘You’re a sweetheart,’ she said at last, sighing deeply. ‘See you tomorrow, then. Sleep well.’
    The girl clicked the phone shut then clutched it tight as she rolled over onto her side, staring out into the darkness of the Glasgow night.
    ‘Thank God,’ she whispered to herself. ‘There’s one person in my life who understands.’

CHAPTER 7
November
    T he train station at Anniesland was very close by, handy for Kirsty and Eva to get into the city centre and their respective classes. The boys usually took the bus or, if it fitted in with his own timetable, cadged a lift with Gary in his Mini Cooper.
    ‘Phew! Glad we got these seats!’ Kirsty exclaimed, flopping down opposite the Swedish girl. Already she felt hot and uncomfortable after running up the steps to the platform to catch the train but, looking across at her flatmate, she saw that Eva didn’t even seem to have a hair out of place. Sure, there was a faint rosy glow to her cheeks but maybe that was simply the reflection from the pink cashmere scarf that was draped around her neck. The girl sat back against the seat, hands folded on her lap, smiling her usual smile. Kirsty grinned back but for a fleeting moment she experienced a twitch of envy as she regarded her friend. How did she manage to look like a supermodel in that plain grey coat and cream lacy tights? Was it the classy leather boots in that ox-blood colour that matched her satchel? Kirsty let out an involuntary sigh as the train pulled away from the platform. She would never, in a hundred years, manage to look as well groomed as Eva Magnusson. Maybe it was something about being Swedish, she thought, glancing at her reflection in the window. Weren’t they all gorgeous and blonde?
    As the ticket inspector came to check their tickets, Kirsty caught him pausing to smile down at the girl opposite, though he barely gave
her
travel pass a glance. It was as though Eva could cast a