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self-consciously.
    — Yeeww fucking bitch . . . I imitate his whine. — Can you not do a bit better than that?
    Rab starts to say something, but I speak over him, addressing Colin directly again. — You’re simply not elevating the standard of debate? Even at this table? Just go, please.
    — Nikki . . . I . . . he begins placatingly, again looking to see if there are any of his students present, — . . . all I want to do is talk. If it’s over, fine. It’s just that I don’t see the point of leaving things like this.
    — Don’t fucking bleat, replace me with someone else, someone naive enough to be impressed. If you can last through to next freshers’ week. I’m afraid I just don’t hate myself enough to go out with you.
    — Cow, he snaps, then: — Fucking cunt! And he exits with haste. As the door slams heavily behind him, I’m flushing a bit for a second or two, but it soon passes and we’re all having a bit of laugh. The barmaid looks over at me and I shrug.
    — You’re shameless, Nikki, Lauren gasps.
    — You’re right, Lauren, I say looking straight at Rab, — having an affair with lecturers . . . it’s not fun. It’s the second one I’ve had. The first time was with an English literature professor when I was in London. He was a funny sort alright, what might be termed exceptionally weird.
    — Oh, don’t . . . Lauren starts. She’s heard this before.
    But no, I’m telling the Miles story and embarrasing the fuck out of her. — He was a real literary man. Like Bloom in Ulysses , he liked the tang of urine in the kidney. He used to buy fresh kidneys and have me pee into a little bowl. He would then put the kidneys in this bowl of my piss, leaving them to soak overnight in it before cooking them in the morning for his breakfast. He was a very civilised pervert. He used to take me shopping in boutiques. Loved to pick my clothes for me. Especially if there was a young, trendy, female assistant attending to me. He said he liked the idea of one young woman dressing another, but in a commercial environment. His erection was always visible and sometimes he used to come in his pants.
    Lauren looks lovely when she’s angry, rising to a marvellous incandescence, which adds to her. Her face grows slightly ruddy, her eyes glaze. That’s probably why people like to see her angry, it’s the closest they get to seeing what she’d look like getting fucked.
    Rab’s laughing, raising his eyebrows and Lauren’s face is furrowed. — Don’t you think Lauren’s beautiful, Rab? I ask him.
    Lauren is not happy with that. Her face colours a little more and her eyes water slightly. — Fuck off, Nikki, stop messing aboot, she says. — You’re making a fool of yourself. Stop trying to embarrass me and embarrass Rab.
    But Rab isn’t bothered at all, because he then freaks us both out a bit, Lauren evidently so, but me much more than I let on. Putting one arm round Lauren and one round me, he in turn kisses us gently on the side of our faces. I see Lauren stiffen and blush fully-fledged, and I feel a randy flush and an intrusive bracing all at once. — You’re both beautiful, he says with diplomacy, or is it feeling? Whatever it is, it’s unerring, showing me a coolness, depth and power of expression in him I simply hadn’t bargained for. Then it’s gone. As his arms slide away, he adds coolly: — See, if I didnae have the likes of youse here, I’d’ve jacked in this course. We’re talking about fuckin analysing films like bastard critics when we’ve never held a camera in our hands. Nor have any of the cunts that teach us. All we’re being taught is how to whinge at or arselick people who’ve got the bottle to get off their holes and do things. That’s all arts degrees do, turn out another clutch of parasitic drones.
    I feel despondency setting in. Intentionally or not, this boy is a fucking tease. He gave us a glimpse of something beautiful, and now he’s sent us right back to