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knocked it out of her hand, splashing water all over the carpet, and breaking the glass. She wasn’t sure whether it was deliberate.
    ‘You always were the clumsiest child,’ he hissed. ‘Now you’ve broken my best glass.’
    ‘It’s a garage tumbler, Dad. Not worth anything. Oh, God, don’t put your teeth down in all that mess and broken glass. For Christ’s sake.’
    Gagging at the sight of the teeth, hating the smell of them and of his poor ravaged skin, she felt in her apron pocket for the roll of polythene bags, tore one off, and held it open. Swearing at her, he dropped in the teeth. They snapped together as they fell, as though they had a life of their own. Sickened, she took them at arm’s length to the bathroom, filled another glass with water, dropped in a cleaning tablet and added the teeth, looking away.
    It shouldn’t have taken long to clear up the mess, but there
were bits of glass spread all over the carpet between the bed and the wall. She was on her hands and knees, feeling for more in case he put his bare feet out in the night and cut himself, when the telephone rang.
    He picked it up and said, ‘Hello.’ A moment later his whole voice changed. ‘Cordelia. Darling, how lovely! It’s been a frightful day, and Debbie …’
    She couldn’t bear to listen, so she scrabbled her cloths together and left him to her sister, screwing up the polythene bag and throwing it in her own wastepaper basket.
     
    The officer in charge pressed a buzzer and loudly ordered the inmates back to their cells. Deb stood up, hoping she’d done enough to convince this sharp-eyed laywer. Anna Grayling had said she was one of the best and would do absolutely anything for people she liked. Deb smiled shyly, but Trish was putting away her notes and tape-recorder, so she didn’t see. Her face was unreadable. Deb longed for reassurance. As the lawyer stood up, Deb offered her hand.
    Trish Maguire took it. Their clammy palms slid against each other.
    ‘Thank you for being so frank,’ she said, sounding nearly kind enough. ‘I can’t promise anything, you know, but I will do my best.’
    That sounded so sensible that Deb suddenly said, ‘Could you bear to go and see my daughter, Kate? Or at least telephone her?’
    ‘Why?’ asked Maguire, curious and wary. Oddly enough that made her seem even more trustworthy.
    ‘Anna Grayling has psyched her up to believe I’ll be coming home as soon as the programme’s been made.’
    ‘It doesn’t work like that.’
    ‘I know. But Kate won’t. And I don’t want her having to cope with finding out the hard way on top of everything else.
Her life’s so hard already … Will you see her and explain? Please.’
    ‘I’ll do my best,’ Maguire said again.
    Deb had to trust her. There was no one else.

Chapter 3
    The shabby hospital foyer felt cool and civilised after the prison. Trish paused at the shop on the ground floor to buy grapes to add to the two paperbacks she had with her in case Paddy was well enough to be bored. He had been moved up to an ordinary ward on the eleventh floor. That had none of the professional calm of the intensive care unit, but it was encouraging.
    There were eight bays in the ward and six beds in each bay. Most of the patients had two or three visitors. The place was almost as noisy as the prison, and as hot, but it smelt marginally better. Paddy’s bed was beside the window, which was a mixed blessing. He had more space and a better view, but the sun blazing through the sealed glass battled with the air-conditioning and made it the warmest corner of the room. He didn’t seem to mind, sitting propped up on a mountain of pillows teasing the youngest of the nurses.
    She smiled at Trish, flung a cheery little insult at Paddy over her shoulder and flounced off.
    ‘Now what a saucy little colleen, that is.’
    ‘Don’t you go all Oirish on me, Paddy,’ Trish said, leaning down to kiss him, ‘or I’ll be seeing little green leprechauns all over