I soon realised that Lucas was not of that type. After our tutor had prescribed huge swathes of Homer for translation almost overnight, assumed a deep familiarity with authors of whom I had barely heard and alarmingly made a number of jokes in Latin, the five of us repaired to the junior common room for coffee and cigarettes. Lucas, who had hardly spoken in the hour before, turned out to have been to a very low-key private day school in London and lived with his mother, a writer for children, on the borders of West Hampstead. I had watched his long fingers as he rolled an expert cigarette and waited in vain for him to tell me more. He was reserved in a way I hadn't encountered before.
It was Danny who had always had the line in flashy confidence. He was one of those people who seemed to start university knowing everything and everyone already. When the rest of us had herded together for our virgin trip to the college bar, he had only been able to join us for one drink because he was going on to a party at Balliol.
'He was like this at school,' Lucas had said, shredding a beer mat.
'You went to school together?'
He nodded. 'Only for sixth form. And he didn't start until halfway through the second term - got kicked out of somewhere smarter. But he was centre of attention by lunchtime on his first day.'
'Sounds annoying.'
'No, actually he's all right. He's good fun.'
Over the next few weeks I learnt about the friendship between Danny and Lucas. It had an unusual dynamic. If you'd have asked any of us whether we thought that loud, sociable Danny with his wardrobe of cutting-edge urban clothes would have got on so well with quiet, kind Lucas in his jumpers and jeans, we would have laughed. But it became clear that there was a strong symbiosis between them. Lucas appreciated Danny because he took it as read that any friend of his was part of the in-crowd and so Lucas was, right from the start. As I was Lucas's friend, all invitations also extended to me and that was how the two of us, who, left to our own devices, probably would have spent four years flying undetected by the social radar, came to know a lot of the set at Oxford who lived their lives on larger canvases.
My own relationship with Danny was complicated. I think if I hadn't been close to Lucas I would have been beneath his notice. As it was, he was obliged to acknowledge me. Sometimes he and I got on quite well. Other times I knew he saw me as an irritating third wheel in their friendship.
Because it wasn't one-way traffic. Lucas provided Danny with something that he didn't get elsewhere: simple, genuine friendship. At eighteen Danny's self-assurance had alienated those less confident but Lucas had seemed oblivious to it. He also gave him a sort of grounding: he was Danny's earth wire. From the sound of it, Danny had been out of his parents' control - such as it was - for years, but when things got a bit much and he needed perspective it was Lucas he sought out.
Sometimes at university Danny pushed himself too hard. Not academically; there was never any danger of that. Annoyingly, there never needed to be. He'd done English with Rachel and he had the greatest natural academic flair of us all. It was galling, especially when he was the only one to get a first. No, when Danny pushed himself too hard, it was a question of too much drink, too many drugs, too many nights without sleep. When that happened, he went to find Lucas and after being talked down he would go to ground in his room for a few days, swaddled in a dressing gown and piteously downing Lemsip as if the whole thing wasn't self-inflicted. Even in that, he managed to exude glamour.
Martha and I had talked in the past about how Danny was a little bit like one of the really hedonistic rock stars, a Steve Tyler or Anthony Kiedis. Being in his orbit, we did feel as if some of his star quality reflected on us but it wasn't just that. It was enough to know that there was someone out there doing the stuff we talked about. We didn't have to do the drugs because Danny did them; we could talk as if we knew all about it without actually risking it ourselves. Danny made us feel we were like him - rock 'n' roll- when in fact we were nothing of the sort. We liked this version of ourselves, and to some extent I think he liked us because we were the background against which he shone.
Ironically, the only person who could match him in excess was Lucas. He didn't do drugs but he drank more than anyone else I knew. Whenever Danny was in a drinking phase, he could rely on Lucas to be his brother in arms. Lucas was both a steady drinker and a binge drinker, able to keep up on even the most extreme bender. Most of the time at college he had been a fun person to drink with but occasionally, underneath the jolly social-drinking façade, I saw an edge of need that none of the rest of us had, even Danny. I had never mentioned it - it was something I didn't even like to think about - but now and again it had drawn the attention of those in authority. Once in particular I remember waiting outside in the corridor while our tutor had kept Lucas back for a minute. I hadn't deliberately listened but I couldn't avoid catching his final words. 'Just remember the old Greek wisdom, Lucas,' he'd said. 'Mnδεν áyáv.
Nothing in excess.'
In our first term there were several occasions when Lucas and I sat up in the library doing all-nighters when I hoped our growing friendship would shift sideways into something different. We had a surprising amount in common for people from very different backgrounds. We hated sports, especially the team varieties, and loved indie music, which we listened to all the time. We became close quickly. We worked together on essays, sharing notes and breaks in the pub and cooking supper together a couple of times a week to avoid eating in the college dining-hall. There were even a few days in the middle of that term when I began to wonder if my feelings for him were reciprocated.
One night, though, I had been out with Martha, with whom I had also become friends, and decided on my drunken return to college that it would be a good idea to go and see Lucas for a nightcap. Lucas was out but his roommate, an historian from Liverpool, had been in and had a bottle of wine open. He poured me a glass and I talked to him while I waited. Lucas had been over to St John's to see a schoolfriend and didn't get back until gone two, by which time I had been drunk enough to be kissing the historian when he opened the door.
After that, things had subtly changed. There was no longer any doubt. As far as Lucas was concerned, I was his friend and that was as far as it went. Martha tried to cheer me up by saying that he clearly liked me and that I'd dented his confidence, but I couldn't believe that. I was bitterly disappointed and furious with myself about the historian, whose name I now struggled even to remember. I went home for Christmas feeling wretched. I'm not sure how much my family enjoyed having me back that holiday.
Gradually, though, I got used to the idea and soon became aware that lots of people envied me my closeness to Lucas, platonic as it was. Men liked him and so did women. He was good-looking in a moderate way but it was his kindness and lack of interest in fighting for a place in the university pecking order that made him different.
'I'm going to go and wake Michael up,' said Martha. 'He'll miss everything otherwise.'
'OK,' said Lucas, looking away from me. 'He's in the second room along on the left on the first floor. By the painting of the woman with the enormous hat. Great picture - you'll see it properly tomorrow.'
I was looking forward to seeing Michael. He'd been so busy at work that I hadn't seen him at all before Christmas. I missed his dry sense of humour.
'Do you have plans for the weekend, Lucas?' asked Greg. His voice was deep.
'Nothing specific. I thought we'd just relax:, have a few drinks, you know. I'll show you the rest of the house tomorrow and then I thought I'd cook dinner.'
'Lucas is a great cook,' Rachel explained to Greg. 'The best of any of us, by far.'
'Oh, come on,' he said. 'Anyway, about the house. I don't want to set the agenda here. I didn't earn this place: it's mine purely by good luck - or bad. I don't want it to be a big thing; I'd rather we thought of it as belonging to all of us.' He threw the butt of his cigarette into the fire and stood up to pour some more drinks.
I got up, too, and went over to the other chesterfield. I knelt behind it to speak to Rachel, resting my forearms along its studded back. 'You've had your hair cut,' I said. It was short, not more than an inch all over, with a small fringe that stopped precipitately above her high forehead.
'Thank you. It's quite "fashion"; you don't think I look like Joan of Arc?'
I laughed. 'Not at all - far too beautiful.'
'That's bollocks.' Rachel's directness still had the power to surprise me. It had taken me almost a year after we met to realise that she didn't mean to be rude.
The door opened and Martha reappeared with Michael. Even after a nap, he looked exhausted. It was amazing that he could do the hours he did. The only thing I could think was that after several years his body had become accustomed to it and no longer expected reasonable amounts of rest. He had developed a useful type of narcolepsy that allowed him to fall asleep at any point when he wasn't required to be doing something else, no matter how uncomfortable his position at the time. I gave him a hug.
Danny went out to his bag in the hall and returned with a bottle. 'Why did the Mexican push his wife off a cliff?' he asked the room at large.
'Tequila, tequila, tequila.'
'I think Patrick had some shot glasses.' Lucas opened the sideboard and peered in towards the back of the shelf. With a chink, he produced seven tiny glasses. 'I'll go and find some lemon.'
Martha perched on the back of the sofa next to me. She was excited; I could tell from the twinkling in her grey eyes. Her long brown hair was tied up in a sleek arrangement that made her look older and more sophisticated than usual. I felt a rush of affection for her. 'I might have known Danny'd do this,' she said. 'Things are going to get messy now.'
'You know how much I hate tequila.'
Lucas brought salt and a couple of lemons. He took out a penknife and cut one of them into eighths while Michael filled the glasses. I felt my usual literal gut reaction at the prospect as I held my left hand sideways and let him tip salt into the dent that appeared at the base of my thumb.
'The anatomical snuff box,' he said.
'Let's not get medical about this, Michael.' Danny held out his hand.
'He may have to,' I said.
'Everyone ready? OK, go.'
We pressed our tongues to the salt, knocked back the tequila and clamped our mouths over the lemon pieces. I struggled against the impulse to gag. 'Why do we put ourselves through it?'
'Because it's party juice, brings out the South American in you,' said Danny, grinning. It was difficult not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. He had always been a fire-starter, the one of us who could kick off a three-day party by opening a bottle and putting the radio on. Martha looked as if she were about to do the military two-step across the carpet. Tequila seemed to hit her immediately. Her eyes were glistening.
'What time is it?' asked Lucas.
'Eleven.'
'Shall we have some music?' He crouched in front of a powerful-looking stereo, selected a CD from the pile and slid it into the machine.
Danny grinned as he heard the first bars of Shirley Bassey's 'History Repeating'. 'Good choice, man.' The song wrapped its rich, rough sound around us so completely it seemed to be oozing out of the walls. We all danced, even Lucas who usually appointed himself DJ to avoid having to. Danny stood in front of the fire, gyrating his hips so provocatively I felt indecent for seeing it. His jeans, which he always wore at holster-level, looked about to slide off him entirely.
After a few songs, I started to cough. Clearly we had raised old dust. Greg, dancing next to me, touched my arm. 'Are you all right? You're asthmatic.' It wasn't a question and I wondered how he knew.
'Inhaler's in my coat,' I said. 'I'll get it.' My chest was getting tighter. Near my diaphragm, my lungs felt inert; my breath was shallow and ineffectual.
It was colder in the hall again. Quiet, too. Although I knew the music was loud, the drawing-room door was so solid that I could only just hear it. I groped quickly in my coat pocket for the inhaler. People are confused about asthma: they think that you can't breathe in. In fact, what you can't do is breathe out. It's like being buried alive; there's nowhere for the dead air to go.
After a couple of shots of Ventolin, I began to relax. I coughed to clear my chest and the sound echoed through the house. I looked up, seeing the balconied floors tiered above me, unlit. All the doors leading off the hall were closed. There was a passageway opposite, leading darkly away to the back of the house.
I had the sudden sense that there were eyes on me. 'Lucas?' I said, more to puncture the silence than expecting an answer. I knew I was the only person in the house who wasn't in the drawing room. My skin prickled. The sound of my voice played in my ear. I took a breath and forced myself to stand still for a minute and look into the unlit corners away from the lamps and up above my head to the landings. I half expected to see someone there, leaning over the banisters watching me. There was nothing. And yet there was. It seemed to me that there was something lurking, something that was not benevolent. With a sudden swell, the darkness seemed to gather around me. A rushing started in my ears, as if the walls themselves were whispering. I couldn't stand it any longer. I yanked the drawing-room door open and threw myself back into the blaze of light and sound.
'All right?' Lucas was standing just inside.
'Just wheezing a bit. I've had some Ventolin.' I smiled. My fear felt irrational and ridiculous now.
'Good.' He handed me my glass. 'We've finished the champagne I brought up. I'll go and get some more so we're ready for midnight. Back in a minute.'
I sat down on the edge of the fireguard, glad to have the heat on my back. The chill was still on my skin. Michael came to sit next to me and we watched the dancing, Danny with Martha, Greg with Rachel. Rachel stood on tiptoe to whisper something in Greg's ear; he laughed and bent his head to kiss her.