Nunthorpe was an affable chap with a dry sense of humour, and sarcastic to boot. The first time Eva laid eyes on him, in the Union bar in Newcastle in her first year, she was entranced. He was her kind of guy, the kind that would be in a band, or a writer or an artist. He just had that look. Clothes that were straight from a charity shop (before that kind of thing was the fashion) mixed with band tees and Campus trainers and messy hair.
Of course, he was far too cool for her and was in his second year of his degree (in English and Media studies). But she floated for a year on the edge of his circle, knowing his peripheral friends, and attending the same classes, but never making it obvious she was trying to get to know him. Eventually they became friends, good friends; she was his go to girl when everything seemed doomed and he needed a pick up. He never suspected her feelings, and she never told him. Though they shared a kiss in a telephone booth on his last day in Newcastle, he thought it was just drunken fooling around.
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