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her on her walk to the bus station. She opened the front door and saw a note from her two daughters, who had cleaned the house. ‘Stuff him, Mum. You’ve still got us.’ Tears flushed her eyes and more were to come when she opened the mail from her GP. It read, ‘The news is not good. Please make an appointment.’ There were no warm wishes from her ex-friends, who treated her like a leper.
    A card was sitting by the doormat. It read, ‘See how the mighty have fallen.’ She washed down a sleeping tablet and went to her bedroom.
    Nightmares followed as she faded into sleep. She was in a maze.A desert appeared before her eyes and the parching air took her breath away. Her sweat mingled with the colourful sand, which stuck to her face making resemble a circus clown. She was given a choice by an unknown deep voice: ‘You have a choice to keep on crossing the desert.’ She thought it said the universe would protect her as it always did. She left the maze and crossed the desert and sighted with sandblasted eyes an oasis ahead with two massive green hedges surrounding a pool of crystal clear water. She ran towards it and drank till she was full. Dates grew nearby and she devoured them. She was in another maze and could not find the exit. Clouds came over and it was soon dark. She sat on her hands and gripped her knees and revisited memories of her childhood. She saw she was the middle child and had to scramble for favours.
    Barbara woke up and knew she had been sent messages. She prayed earnestly for guidance.
    She dressed and was calm. Instead of catching a bus, she walked to the doctor’s surgery. A homeless man came past and asked for a cigarette. She gave him a packet and walked on feeling better.

7
    Smithy
    My relationship with God returned after chats with the priest, but I had concerns about my sins. Would he listen or did I deserve it? I had to find a way back from the mess and sort myself out. I was not interested in speaking to the trick cyclists.
    The imprisonment was not the issue, as I have survived tougher conditions than gaol. The disgrace heaped on my kids was a problem because of my police officer son. For me, it was just a matter of keeping a low profile and meditating. The guards assigned me to a cell with Bill Newman, who had served in Vietnam with his battalion when I was there on my second tour, though I didn’t know him. The buzz was about and he sympathised with the conduct which had led me to prison. He told me a few tricks which were helpful, such as getting to the shower while the hot water was running.
    Two weeks later, after some sleepless nights and chats with Bill, I headed off to the showers. There were obvious signs which I ought to have taken heed of. No guards about. Two naked, huge tattooed bikies already in the block chatting to themselves at the far end. I had heard they were serving long stretches for rape. During the day they strutted about like the Kapos in the concentration camps in World War II. Their arrogant air followed them along with the herd of admirers they had gathered about them.
    My eyes were closed because of the shampoo I was luxuriating in. My focus was on the future and my distraction was obvious and I did not hear their silent approach. It felt like a truck had hitme. Forty combined stones thrust me into the corner. Fat hands held my body tight against the tiles. Soap was flashed on my bum. I felt a sharp pain as an object was rammed in my anus. Grunting sounds, fluid entering and then it was repeated and the pain was indescribable. Blood oozed down my legs and splashed my feet. The agony persisted with each thrust, in and out as fast as a piston. Hands being changed. God, I thought, when will it stop? The yells coming. ‘Yes, yes, yes’ with each ejaculation. I kept in my tears. God was part-time for me now.
    They stopped and I still stood there against the tiles. They hummed and sang a Human Nature song. I glanced at them