"So how was your holiday, Sunny?"
Judith and I are installed in our favourite lecture theatre seats on the first day of Lent term, sharing a box of maltesers that I unexpectedly found in my bag; a surprise leftover of Christmas just gone. It's been over a month since Judith and I last sat side by side in these seats and I've missed her company.
"It was liberating," I reply, peeling the chocolate carefully from my malteser so I can eat it in a deconstructed fashion. "My parents went to Bengaluru in India to see Dad's family, and I had the house to myself for the holiday. Mum and Dad only got back home last night."
"Don't tell me you were on your own on Christmas Day!" Judith says, sounding scandalised. "I hope one of your neighbours took pity on you and fed you."
"Well, next-door offered, but my Auntie and Uncle persuaded me to stay with them for a few days instead. They wouldn't take No for an answer."
"Hang on - you went all the way to India for just a few days to see your relatives?"
"No, of course not, silly! I've got some family on my Mum's side who live in Suffolk," I reply. "It's strange really; I never worked out why Mum had an arranged marriage to my Dad, but her sister ended up marrying some white bloke."
"Maybe your Aunt rebelled against family tradition and fell madly in love with this guy and ran away to Gretna Green? How exciting and romantic!"
"Highly doubtful. If that was the case, why is my maternal grandfather on speaking terms with my Aunt, but not with my Mum? Shouldn't he be siding with the one that had an arranged marriage rather than the rebel? I've never met my Mum's father and I didn't even realise he was still alive until my Aunt mentioned him in conversation over dinner. I then asked her about him and she got all cagey. Said Mum hadn't spoken to him in years."
"That must have been a bit odd," she says thoughtfully.
"It was. Felt very much an outsider when my cousins started talking about our grandfather and reminiscing about our grandmother, because I'd never known either, but I didn't get much useful information out of them." I pause to pop the malty central bit of my now-bald malteser into my mouth. "Their family is so different to mine. They're unbelievably rich, for starters. Kieren, Josh and Ella - my cousins - went to some exclusive private school, and they live in this enormous old house set in acres of land that's been in Uncle Brendan's family for generations. All secret passages, dark oak panelling and towers; like something out of an Agatha Christie novel. It's beautiful but it gives me the creeps too."
"What does your Mum say about it? Have you tried asking her?"
"What, about my Uncle's house?"
"No, you idiot; about your grandfather."
"She never talks about the past. I get the feeling something terrible happened, but it's impossible to get a word out of her on the matter. Dad won't say anything either. I can't decide whether he's oblivious or is dutifully keeping my Mum's secret."
I bite into a second malteser, not having the patience to dissect it like its predecessor. "Anyway, how was yours?"
"My malteser or my Christmas?"
"Jude, you can do better than that."
She sticks out her tongue, giving me the full benefit of a half-masticated malteser and making me giggle in disgust. "It was just me and my Mum on Christmas Day. We went to Midnight Mass as usual and had a full Christmas dinner with all the trimmings the next day. I don't know why Mum bothers with the whole shebang, because all that food is going to last her months. The amount she's cooked, she'll still be finishing off leftovers by the time I go home for Easter."
"Does turkey even keep for that long?"
"It does if you turn it into other things and freeze it. I think we've still got some of the year before's beef disguised as a stew, but I'm not sure it'll be very edible now."
"Hi," says Yoshi cheerfully, on his way past to sit at the row in front of ours, where Leonard is already seated. "Good holidays? Anyone get any exciting presents?"
"I got a Littmann Cardiology III stethoscope," pipes up Leonard proudly. "It's the one with double tubing for extra precision."
The fact that Leonard has already acquired a specialist stethoscope before even learning how to auscultate a chest does not surprise me in the slightest. He's a bit of a gadget boy.
"Nice," says Yoshi appreciatively, subtly avoiding pointing out that Leonard probably can't even find the heart with a stethoscope, let alone listen to it in a diagnostic fashion. "What did you get, Jude?"
"Cash and running stuff, mainly. A pair of Brooks trainers that I've been lusting after for ages! Some ridiculously bright shorts, and new compression sleeves to replace my old ones," she replies. "What about you, Yoshi?"
"Ah, just a new violin case and some money," he says. "Can't go wrong with money."
"Totally agree," I reply. "I wish someone would tell my parents that. Mum got me a trouser suit for job interviews, of all things. A fricking trouser suit! I'm not planning on being in a job interview for at least four years!"
Judith starts laughing. "At least she's thinking ahead!"
"I'll never wear it," I reply grumpily. "It's some fancy bloody thing made by a company called Balmain. It's not me at all."
"Ball Mane? You mean Balmain," Saffron says, joining in eagerly. I hadn't even noticed her turn up. "You did say you wouldn't wear it, didn't you? Can I have it? I LOVE Balmain."
"Oh, is that how you say it?" I reply with a laugh at my own pronunciation. "Be my guest, Saff; it's all yours. I left it at home - I'll get Mum to post it to you."
"Is that all you got, Treacle - a trouser suit that you hate?" Leonard laughs.
"What do you mean 'is that all'?" Saffron retorts. "Do you even know how expensive designer stuff is, you complete heathen? That suit must have cost Sunny's Mum a fortune."
"Nah. She'll have got it cheap from one of the fashion shows at her hotel," I reply, rolling my eyes.
"Your Mum owns a hotel?"
I laugh. "No, of course not! She's just the manager of a hotel, not the owner, you prat! Anyway, my Aunt and Uncle bought me a gorgeous silver bracelet, so I did get something decent this Christmas. And someone - I don't know who - stuck these maltesers in my bag."
"Gimme. I bloody love maltesers!" Saffron delves into the box and yelps as Leonard's hand collides with hers. She slaps it away. "Oi, you pig! Ladies first!"
"Hey!" I remonstrate, trying and failing to stop several maltesers from bouncing out of the box. The sweets tumble off the desk and drop down into the dark netherworld beneath the lecture theatre seats, from where it is virtually impossible to rescue them. "Don't fucking waste them, you two! Throw your own bloody food away if you must."
"Arguing already?" Al asks pleasantly, casually slipping into the vacant seat next to Yoshi. "Did everyone have a good Christmas?"
"Great, thanks."
"Can I have a malteser please, Sunny?"
"Sure, Yoshi."
"Sunny-sugarplum, could I have one too?"
"Yours is down there," I reply curtly to Leonard, pointing to the gap under his seat and rolling my eyes at his wounded toddler expression. "Oh for fuck's sake, of course you can. Just help yourself. Gently."
"What did you get for Christmas, Al?" Yoshi asks, munching on his malteser.
"Oh, um, just a few bits and pieces," replies Al lightly. "Clothes; that sort of thing."
"Sunita only got clothes too," grins Leonard, poking his tongue out at me as I flip a finger up in retaliation.
"Well you 'only' got a stethoscope," quips Judith, raising an eyebrow.
"Actually, I got a new Canon telephoto lens for my camera as well," says Leonard, puffing out his chest. "I've wanted one for ages!"
"How flash!" I snort, unable to help myself.
"Here we go," sniffs Leonard mock-huffily. "You just can't resist taking a shot, can you?"
"Oh Lenny, there's no need to enlarge the issue," grins Yoshi.
"Now look; you've upset Leonard and made him all snappy, " chimes in Al.
"It's not my fault; he's so negative at times," I retort.
"No I'm not; I'm a veritable Prints Charming," deadpans Leonard, as Yoshi chokes with laughter.
"Is anything going to develop from this line of conversation?" Al asks.
"I doubt it; no-one is in the right frame of mind," I reply.
"I'm losing focus," says Yoshi.
"Cap it," grumbles Judith. "Lecture's about to start."
"I don't think my brain can cope with any more," moans Saffron during our midday break. We've elected to eat lunch in the cafeteria of Trinity Hall college (also known as 'Tit Hall') as it's the closest one out of our three colleges to Downing site, which is where we all have to be this afternoon. Judith and Saffron have a Pharmacology practical session together, but my timetable is slightly different to theirs and I've got an anatomy dissection class scheduled instead.
Tit Hall's refectory has also been selected because there's chocolate sponge with chocolate custard listed on the lunchtime menu, and I have it on good authority from Saffron that Tit Hall's custard-covered chocolate sponge is one of the best puddings ever.
She's not wrong. It's a very good dessert, I'll give it that.
"What do you reckon, Sunny?"
"Mmm. Considering I'm full but I still insisted on eating the whole lot, I'd say that's a big compliment," I reply, dropping my spoon into the empty pudding dish and reclining back in my chair. My hands clasp my rotund stomach and I release a satiated sigh. "Although St John's triple chocolate cheesecake could give it a run for its money."
"Can we not talk about food any more," whimpers Judith. "I'm absolutely stuffed. I'll have to do a marathon this weekend to run this food-baby off."
"Well, can we not talk about running either?" I reply, feeling slightly sick at the thought of exercise on a full stomach.
"Must admit, I could do with a siesta now," says Saffron, rubbing her eyes.
"Same. The morning wiped me out and now I'm in a chocolate coma," I mutter.
"First days back are always h-h-h-h-hard," says Judith yawning. She checks her wrist-watch. "Ugh. It's only half-past one."
"Not quite long enough for a power-nap," Saffron and I say simultaneously, before glancing at each other and shrieking "Snap!"
"Oh! That reminds me!" Judith says suddenly, springing back into life. She reaches into her bag and emerges triumphantly a couple of seconds later, clutching a small plastic box. "Cards!"
"Cards?"
"Well, Top Trumps. This was my Secret Santa present at college last term," she grins. "Forgot about it until now."
"Top Trumps? I haven't played that since primary school!"
"Ooh, which edition is it?"
"Notorious serial killers," says Judith.
"Sounds brilliant!"
Time seems to fly by when The Vampire of Düsseldorf is getting bested by Dr Harold Shipman, and all three of us want to get our hands on Ted Bundy. Before we know it, Saffron has won and lunch-break is over. We walk to the Downing site entrance together, then Judith and Saffron head for Pharmacology and I wander over to the anatomy building.
By the time I arrive in the dissection hall, India, Leonard, Claire, Al and Yoshi are already installed by our table, poring over a piece of paper together. From a short distance, the image looks like a complicated monochrome version of the London Underground map.
I lean over India's shoulder for a better view. "What on earth is that?"
"Brachial plexus diagram. It's a copy of my supervisor's drawing," says Al with a wry smile. "Just trying to decipher it. Do you reckon that's the upper subscapular nerve or the thoracodorsal?"
"Hmm. Is that not the lower subscapular nerve?" Yoshi squints at the diagram.
"No, that's the lower one." Al points to an indistinct squiggle about a millimetre away from the first jumble of lines.
"Oh yeah, so it is," replies Yoshi. "So that one must be the axillary nerve."
I glance at the A4 piece of scrawl and raise my eyebrows. "It looks more like the District line to me."
India lets out a snort.
"What?"
"You really don't know London at all, do you Sunny?" India points at a small blob on the picture. "Look, there's Covent Garden right there! Therefore, it can't be the District line, it's got to be the Piccadilly line instead."
"My little Croque Monsieur's absolutely right about it being the Piccadilly line, because that's definitely King's Cross," says Leonard, tilting his head slightly and gesturing to a jumble of lines on the paper, as Claire nods in agreement.
"That's the lateral root," says Al witheringly, as India and I start to giggle. "It's even labelled."
"Honestly, mate, I wouldn't bother trying to work it out. Not with these complete clowns around," says Yoshi calmly. "Wensing's Neuroanatomy has pretty good basic diagrams of the entire nervous system, and if you want something more comprehensive, Clinical Neuroscience by Brindle and Bostock is a good bet."
"I wasn't that impressed by Brindle and Bostock," muses Al, "but I only skim-read it over the summer. Perhaps I'll take another look. Thanks, Yoshi."
I glance at India and we do a fake sad pout together as Al shakes his head at us reproachfully.
Through the background chatter and clattering of dissection instruments, the course director's microphone crackles into life. Papers rustle, chair legs scrape against the floor, and we all sit down, eager to assimilate information; or at least learn enough to avoid failing.
It feels so good to be back.
Not only has the first day of term gone swimmingly, the evening meal menu at college actually looks quite appetising for once; the chefs haven't gone too avant garde with the vegetarian option like they frequently do. Maybe they've finally learned that sprout and butterbean bake will never be a winner, no matter how many times they try and serve it.
I'm just helping myself to chips at the self-service counter when there's a familiar soft, sexy voice behind me.
"Hi Sunita."
I spin around in surprise as Jonty throws a toned arm over my shoulders and pulls me to his side. I'm so taken aback by the unexpected gesture that I almost drop my dinner tray. Blushing furiously, I juggle my food for a precarious moment before managing to stabilise it against the salad bar.
Jonty is damn lucky he's him right now; I'd have disembowelled anyone else for doing that.
Despite everything that happened last term, I've still thought about Jonty in spasms this Christmas, and time has almost extinguished the pain I felt at seeing him with another girl. In my mind, this misdeed is now reduced to a faint, almost imperceptible blemish and he's completely forgiven. I know, I know; it's a stupid, pointless crush that can never go anywhere, but he's so good-looking and has such a lovely voice that it's incredibly hard to completely erase him from my mind. Maybe, with luck, Jonty will see what a truly fascinating person I am beneath this awkward and plain façade. Then, he'll fall deeply in love with me and we'll live happily ever after, or at least until my Dad chases after me with threats of an enforced medical residency program and Mum tries to exert full control over my wedding plans.
"Hi Jonty," I reply, breathy and a bit flushed, making it seem as though I've exhausted myself by the simple act of lifting up some fries and putting them on my plate. "Did you have a good Christmas?"
He smiles. "Yeah, I did, thanks; how was yours?"
"It was good," I reply in a daze, distracted by his manly jawline and soft lips. I wonder what it would be like to press my mouth against his and slip my tongue in…
Okay, brain; just stop right there. I blink rapidly a few times to expel that delicious thought. "So wh-what did you get up to?"
"Oh, we just had our usual family Christmas get-together in Cornwall. Lots of walking and surfing, you know."
I listen, entranced by his gently-spoken words. It's easy to imagine Jonty in a figure-hugging wetsuit, his dark caramel locks slick with sea-water as he casually balances on the surface of a curving wave.
"Sounds idyllic," I murmur wistfully, picturing those taut abdominals rippling under neoprene.
"Yeah, it's a beautiful part of the country. I miss it a lot," he sighs.
"I've never visited Cornwall."
"You should definitely check the place out some time." Jonty glances at his watch. "Oops, better go. Might see you in the JCR later."
He gives me the full benefit of his hot smile and the hint of a wink before turning around and strolling away, leaving me with the sensation of frogs doing acrobatics in my stomach.
Maybe he does like me after all?
Feeling euphoric, I scurry away with my dinner to a nearby table where Gabriela is sitting. She looks up and smiles as I approach.
"Hey, Sunny!"
"Gabi! How was your first day back?" I place my dinner tray opposite hers and sit down, trying to clear my mind of Jonty's beautiful face and all the romantic avenues down which my febrile imagination is now desperately trying to wander.
She screws up her nose. "A bit intense, but okay."
"Don't tell me; you had one whole hour of lectures, right? How do you cope?"
Gabriela rolls her eyes at the playful taunt, but laughs good-naturedly. "Two lectures, actually. And a supervision."
"How horrific."
"I know, right? I might need a drink later to help me recover. How about we go to the JCR this evening?"
My heart gives a little jolt at the excuse she's unknowingly handed me. "Is Marcus on bar duties again? I give Gabriela a teasing shove with my arm as though she is the only one out of us with a college crush. "Go on, then. I couldn't possibly let my friend down, now, could I?"
Gabriela blushes and grins bashfully. "Thanks, Sunny; you're the best."
"I suppose I should make a start on my essay first, though," I reply, scratching my chin in thought.
The temptation to sit at the bar all evening and hang around in case Jonty shows up is strong, but it's character-building not to give into it, right?
Ha. As if I could resist. No wonder my character's such a short-arse these days.