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head. “What? I don’t understand.” She took the water and the aspirin and swallowed both. She looked around herself. A frown settled on her face. “Drunk?”
    “Yes. If I were you I’d go clean my teeth, your breath reeks. Use John’s toothbrush, not mine.”
    Amanda’s eyes widened. “You put something in my tea!”
    “You sculled half my vodka of your own free will. It was fun. Here, check out these.” Magda handed her the folder. “I have copies hidden away,” she added. “So many I could paste them all over the church notice board next Sunday if I felt like it.”
    Amanda went white, then bright red. “What is this?”
    Magda leaned over her shoulder to look. “You kissing me. Gosh, that’s a bit gay, isn’t it? You could get in terrible trouble.” She took the photos back. “I bet Preacher would be really mad.”
    "I have to make a full report to your father," Amanda reminded her in a shaky voice.
    Magda tapped her on the nose. "And you will. You'll tell him I've turned my life around. I’ve sworn to God to renounce cigarettes and alcohol with all my heart and I don't need any further counselling. In fact, you’ve never had such a big success as me.”
    Amanda gasped. "You're blackmailing me!"
    “Yes, it’s very exciting, isn’t it?”
    "And you're enjoying it! You really are a daughter of Satan!"
    Magda shrugged. "You'd be surprised how many times I've thought that myself."
    "I'll tell Preacher everything.”
    "I'll tell Preacher you corrupted me with alcohol and lust, and I couldn't do anything but take photos to prove it," Magda shot back. "He'll destroy you and your little quit smoking club like Satan with a bottle of gin in a dormitory full of Catholic schoolgirls." She leaned forward. “He’ll probably want to do an exorcism.”
    Amanda straightened her clothes, picked up her strewn books and folders and headed for the door rather too fast for dignity. "I'm going to pray for you," she said over her shoulder.
    A moment later, tyres squealed and a car sped out of the street.
    Magda took the photos into her bedroom and hid them under a loose floorboard in the bottom of the closet.
    *
    It was midafternoon. Magda expected Preacher and John to turn up any time now; she continued to straighten up the house, and even got food out to cook for dinner later. For the most part, nobody had expected her to cook since she’d blown up potatoes in Preacher’s microwave once, but after having such success with Amanda, she was disposed to pretend to be a good wife. Life went much easier when she was in Preacher’s good books, even if that was rare.
    The knock on the door surprised her. Preacher never knocked, and John, in theory, lived here when he wasn’t away on business. She went and opened the front door a crack. She beamed and opened it all the way. “Adam!”
    “Hello my darling!” Adam leaned against the door frame and grinned. “You forgot something when you ran out on us last night.” He held up his hand; her bag dangled from one finger.
    “You are wonderful.” Magda took the bag. She looked over his shoulder; the street was empty. “But you can’t be seen here,” she hissed.
    Adam raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
    “Preacher would have a fit.”
    “Good. I’d like to see that.” Adam pushed himself off the frame and walked in past her. “Is this your house? It’s atrocious, darling.” He tapped a cross fixed to the wall. “Please tell me this isn’t your decor.”
    “God no.” Magda closed the door after another cautious look up and down the street. “It’s my husbands.”
    “I’d like to meet your husband.” Adam spun around and put a finger under her chin. “I hope I didn’t bring this on you.” He brushed her newest bruise.
    Magda shook her head. “No, it was my fault.”
    “Not your fault, darling. It’s called abuse, didn’t you know? It’s actually illegal for a man to hit his wife.”
    “John never hit me. Ever. It was Preacher.” Magda put her bag