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the idea of adoption. But then why
shouldn’t
he want a child of his own? After all, she did. It was her fault they couldn’t conceive, not poor Theo’s. Suddenly she was seized with panic. What if he left her? What if he left her because she couldn’t have children?
    “Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.”
    I can’t let the fear defeat me. I have to believe. We will have children. Somehow. We will.

    By the time Theresa got to the new English faculty building on West Road she was fifteen minutes late. Running across the car park, she felt sweat trickling down the back of her neck andan unpleasant wetness spreading under her arms and breasts. Panting from the exertion, she pushed open the door of the lecture room.
    “Sorry everyone. Terrible traffic. I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of a disaster with…” She looked up. Three faces looked back at her.
    “Where are the others? Is this it?”
    Mai Lin, a sweet Asian-American girl from Girton, said kindly, “Maybe they got stuck in traffic too?” But all four people in the room knew this was a lie.
    Theresa knew the dropout rate for her seminars was high. Students complained that they were too chaotic, that they strayed too far from the parameters of Part II Shakespeare and the topics that they needed to cover for finals.
    “But there’s more to life than exams!” Theresa pleaded with the head of the faculty. “Where’s their soul? Where’s their passion? How can they possibly expect to cover something as breathtaking as
Macbeth
in two one-hour sessions?”
    “Because if they don’t, my dear, they won’t cover the rest of the tragedies and they’ll fail their degrees. You
must
stick to the syllabus, Theresa.”
    “But I thought teaching was about inspiring people?”
    “Oh, my dear.” The head of English doubled over with laughter. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
    Still
, Theresa thought glumly, looking around the empty room,
I can’t inspire them if they’re not here. If only I had a vocation for teaching, like Theo. His lectures are always packed to bursting.
    Depressed, she opened her notes.
    “Right, well, for those of you who
have
made the effort. Let’s get started, shall we?”

    Sasha’s first week at St. Michael’s went by so fast, and there was so much to take in, it was like being in a particle accelerator. Shewas tiny. Cambridge was huge. And everything was moving at light speed.
    Her room was a bit disappointing. A small, featureless box in the only ugly part of the college, a concrete seventies accommodation block that had apparently won loads of architectural awards despite looking like the multistory car park in Tunbridge Wells, it was hardly the ivory tower of Sasha’s fantasies.
    “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” Georgia, a drop-dead-gorgeous blonde architecture student from across the hall, told Sasha cheerfully, helping herself to the last of the homemade biscuits Sasha’s mum had left. “You’re not going to be spending much time in your room.”
    “I suppose that’s true,” said Sasha, thinking of the physics library and the Cavendish labs.
    “Course it’s true. The dorm bar doesn’t close until midnight, and there’s always a party somewhere afterwards.” Georgia bounced up and down on Sasha’s bed with excitement. “Have you joined any societies yet?”
    “Societies?”
    “Yes, you know. Like the Union or Footlights.”
    “God, no.” Sasha shuddered. The Cambridge Union was a debating society and the Footlights a comedic dramatic club. The very thought of speaking in public under any circumstances made Sasha break out in hives. How anyone could sign up for such a thing
by choice
was incomprehensible.
    “Well what sort of things are you interested in?” asked Georgia.
    “These biscuits are delicious, by the way.”
    “Thanks.” Sasha smiled. “I’m interested in physics. Radiophysics, cryophysics, physics of phase transitions and magnetism.”
    Georgia’s eyes widened.