TPR tugged me across the motorway – straight into the path of four lanes of speeding traffic. We managed to avoid death at the wheels of vehicles driven by angry fist-shaking drivers. Then we heard the police sirens. Were they coming to get us?
We then crossed the field and found VE’s accommodation block at the University of Aberdeen. The peeling tangerine walls of the steep staircase that led to VE’s top floor flat were covered in graffiti. I wondered how she could bear to live here.
When TPR admitted that he had forgotten to pack the books that we were due to return to VE I realised that our whole journey – and the danger to which he had subjected us – was completely pointless.