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We will have a handful of meetings, at the end of which I will file a report with the court. Now, I’m the one that writes that report but the content, the conclusion, is down to you. So you can talk to me, and I realise this will not be easy, but you must trust the criminal justice system to be a fair process, and in the end the sentence will be one that helps you.” She pauses, takes a breath. “Or you can refuse to cooperate. That’s your choice. But remember when I come to recommend a sentence you will have forced my hand. And I hate recommending prison, especially for a woman, Alice. I really do.”
Neat anger prickles the back of my neck, and my hands are cold. She is threatening me. I look at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid, Miss Austin, that I’m expecting someone to arrive very shortly. If you’ll excuse me, I need to start getting ready.”
She twists her mouth, and her hands rise to the table, to her pen. She had hoped her little speech would have me opening up like a Russian doll. “This feels like a bad point to stop,” she says, looking down at her jotter and I see a sentence, a question mark at the end. The tip of her biro draws a star next to it.
“What were you going to ask me?”
“I was going to ask about your situation now. If there’s another man in your life?”
I can feel my head start to ache. I stretch my feet into my slippers, and stand. “I think I’ve said enough for our first meeting. I’d like you to leave now.”
She hesitates, and then gathers her things. “Okay, Alice, I’ll go. But I want you to think about what I’ve said. And I’d like to see you tomorrow. I want you to come to the probation office.”
As I show her the door all I can think is that I must avoid prison at any cost.

Six
     
There are things that I will tell only you. You have chosen to listen, and in return I shall be honest. But I won’t tell Cate Austin. If she knew that I have a lover, how could that benefit me? It will be our secret. My body is tourniquet tight, muscles quivering from work, the weight of my recent lover along my thigh and chest. My breath rapid while the evidence of lust spills from me onto the sofa. I luxuriate in the peace delivered only after orgasm. My thoughts, usually scratching tumble-weed, unravel and stretch flat. It’s what sex can give, like no other fix.
     
My lover is not Smith, who arrived on a train. Smith is dead: he died last June. This is another lover, a friend from long ago, someone who has known me since I was a child. Lee always returns. It was a long absence this time, all last year while I was with Smith. But this evening, after Cate Austin had gone, Lee came back to me. A few days ago there was an airmail letter to explain; a holiday, back in the UK, only for a few weeks. I’m always grateful to see Lee. I stroke the shorn head, animal-soft, heavy on my shoulder. Before the heat has cooled between us Lee pulls away, and disappears up the stairs to piss in the toilet upstairs, the noise audible above my head. I remember why Smith came to me. We wanted to avoid this anti-climax and we succeeded. I don’t move, refuse to let the spell be broken. I admire my body, one hand caressing my flat stomach. I’m a released trap, a catch undone. I’m all damp velvet and warm leather.
Then Lee appears, ridiculous in my tiny bathrobe, “Can I get you anything?”
“Water,” I say, licking my dry lips. “And the packet of paracetamol from my bag.” Even though I’ve given up coffee the headaches keep coming.
The pipes sing as the tap is turned and I hear humming from some faraway place. I’m still deep in my void.
Lee brings the water and I spill some on my chest as I take the heavy glass. I see those brown eyes, so recently heavy with lust, scan the discarded newspaper on the floor, wondering where I keep the remote control for the TV. If I were alone I would lie still for a long time, to keep the spell unbroken. There’s only one sure way to hold the