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spell over anyone she met, Kirsty Wilson thought to herself. Then she gave a mental shrug and pulled out one of her textbooks and rested it on the edge of the table top that separated them both. But try as she might, the words were a blur as her thoughts turned to the students who lived in the Anniesland flat.
    Last night Betty Wilson had phoned and Kirsty had enthused about the flat, trying to show how much fun she’d been having. Since the beginning of the new term they had established a sort of routine, she’d explained to her mother. Didn’t Kirsty mind her role as the flat’s Mummy? Betty had asked, a slightly resentful note in her voice as though these students had been taking advantage of her daughter’s good nature. Oh, no, Kirsty had replied. She enjoyed preparing and cooking for them most nights, and there was always someone to chat to, standing by her side peeling and chopping to her instructions. More often than not it was Colin, whose classes finished early in the day, but she hadn’t mentioned this to her mother for some reason.
    Kirsty had found herself more and more in Colin’s company and at first she had suspected that the lad had only sought her out for the goodies she produced from that wonderful oven, but gradually it had become a habit to sit and chat over endless mugs of coffee, putting the world to rights. There was something relaxing about spending time with Colin: yes, he’d be good boyfriend material but Kirsty preferred his friendship. Perhaps it was the way they always managed to open up to one another, as if they’d been friends for years rather than weeks?
    Funny how they had all got into a routine so quickly, Kirsty mused. It was flattering how the others wanted to come home in time to share whatever she had decided to cook each night, and then they would spend most of their evenings together. After the lads had stacked the dishwasher – strangely it was never Eva who did this – they’d often go round to the pub, strolling back home by ten o’clock to watch the evening news on the television.
    ‘Kirsty, we have arrived at Queen Street,’ Eva said, breaking into her reverie and making her stuff the book hastily back into her bag and join the queue waiting to get off the train.
    The platform was jammed with commuters disembarking, at this time of day mostly students heading for one of the city’s universities. A quick ride in the underground from Buchanan Street would take the Glasgow Uni students to Hillhead or Kelvin Bridge but it was a short walk for both Eva and Kirsty from Queen Street station to their morning classes at Strathclyde and Caledonian universities.
    Kirsty followed her friend to the automatic barrier then slipped her ticket in the slot, watching it being swallowed up. Then they made their way out of the press of people and headed uphill towards Cathedral Street and the spot where their paths diverged.
    ‘Hey, d’you want to meet up for lunch?’ Kirsty suggested. ‘I’ve got a space between twelve and one.’
    Eva’s smile was still in place as she shook her head, Kirsty noted, but there was something different about the girl today; she had hardly said a word since they had left the flat and there was a faraway look in those blue eyes as if she were harbouring a secret that she wanted to hug to herself.
    ‘Okay. See you tonight, then!’ she called out cheerfully and Eva gave her a desultory wave before disappearing among a stream of students heading up Montrose Street.
     
    The Swedish girl glanced at the familiar figure of a tall young man who loped past her, his eyes raking her face for any signs of recognition, but she looked straight ahead again as though completely unaware of his interest, her smile drooping a little lest he think she wanted to engage in conversation. He reminded her a little of Colin, that longing look in his eyes like a spaniel waiting for a titbit from its master. She was used to it now, this attention from young men in her orbit.