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in a small shack at the far end of Hole Street. Several young men lounged around outside, drinking, smoking, gambling. As Maeve and Topley approached, they straightened up, and began to show off their tattoos to one another. They flexed their muscles, and sucked in their stomachs. By the time the girls ducked through the doorway, they ached from laughing.
    The interior was packed with more smoking men. In the far corner, a small curtain half-covered a doorway. They could hear the metallic buzz of the tattoo machine beyond.
    A small woman wearing over-sized glasses emerged from the mass of male bodies. She smiled quickly at Maeve and Topley, before turning her attention back to the crowd of increasing testosterone.
    “Out,” she ordered. For someone so short, she commanded an impressive air of authority. After a second, the men filed out onto the street.
    She turned back to the girls. “They're harmless, but I'm not having them annoy our customers.” She sniffed as she pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Show me, show me.” She held out her hand.
    Topley glanced at Maeve before extending her left arm, to expose her inner wrist.
    The woman examined it, tutted, nodded, and pushed it away. “No problem. He's just finishing off, and he'll be with you in no time at all. Cash or credits?”
    “I have cash,” Topley said.
    “Sit.” The woman gestured to a small bench behind them.
    As they sat down, the uneven legs swayed, and they grabbed each other to stay upright.
    “Is this going to hurt?” asked Topley.
    “Yes. But it's not for long. And while it heals, it itches like crazy.” Maeve instinctively scratched her own tattoo. “But it's bearable.”
    “Why am I doing this then?”
    Maeve slipped her hand into Topley's. “Because it will be fun.”
     
    “I cannot believe you let me get tattooed by a guy with half his fingers missing.” Topley dropped onto her bed and gently blew on her wrist.
    “And half his teeth,” said Maeve.
    “This won't stop bleeding.”
    “It will after a while. Just wash it.”
    “And my skin's bright red. Won't they take one look at it and know what it is?”
    “Well, I'm not planning on getting that close to any officers.” Maeve grinned. “Plus, you're going to have to wear a dress.”
    Topley sighed. “I was afraid you might say that.”
    “When in Rome.”
    “Pick one out for me, I'll be in the bathroom washing this. Or throwing up. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, come and revive me.”
    Maeve pulled Topley's wardrobe open. “You'll live.”
    In one half of the wardrobe hung a line of dresses. They were neatly pressed, and ordered by colour. It was obvious that they'd never been worn. The other half was sectioned into cubbyholes where trousers, jumpers, and t-shirts had been haphazardly stacked. In the bottom of the wardrobe was a pair of trainers, and two pairs of chunky sandals. They would have to suffice.
    Maeve browsed through the dresses, rejecting the floral and frilled ones. She opted for  a plain, teal dress, and a thin, black cardigan.
    When Maeve had first cleared out Lou's storage room, she had discovered a stack of old fashion magazines. The pages had become yellow and brittle, but most of the pictures were still visible. Women in trousers, shorts, tops that showed their stomachs. It had been a long time since women had dressed like that.
    As the female population had diminished, they had turned to the state for protection from a desperate male populace. That protection came with conditions, and as their duties and roles became more rigid, as their freedom became more restricted, so did their behaviour, and their dress code.
    Maeve had hidden the magazines under her bed. Not because she pined for the world as it was, she had never known a world like that. But because she needed to know that maybe, someday, it could be like that again. Topley had fuelled that hope in her, with her cropped hair and jeans. The hope that women could be free to choose.
    Topley