‘Oh, I surely do, have them, knickers, but we can buy a pair here in any case, lovely boutique this, but I surely do, was I making a nuisance of myself? I hope not, I like shopping here, and I hope to return. Mother says if I make a nuisance or a pest out of myself, I won’t be allowed, you know, return.’

‘Knickers?’ Molly repeated, distracted.

‘Try da purple bag,’ Margaret Rose said.

After she had searched in the holdall, Molly lifted Jane’s legs by the ankles, like a blacksmith would shoe a mare, and tried to coax each foot into the knickers. Jane stood on her two flat feet with the knickers around her ankles.

And she sang

And she sang

Michal and Molly up a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g

‘Here and there and everywhere, here and there and everywhere,’ to the tune of ‘God Save the Queen’. Jane then leaned in and hugged Molly Zane so ferociously that Jane tumbled forwards up and off her bed, knocking Molly off balance, both of them falling hard onto the windowsill, Molly first, but she held Jane tight like a rugby ball. Wallop. The sheet of glass fell out from its putty and dropped to the ground, smashing and shattering into bright confetti. The two women clung to one another.

Chapter 22

It was pitch dark outside. It took ninety seconds to move everything from the Ward under the big lights. Except Hegs and Jane. He was too unstable to move anywhere, and she was being sedated. There was a hollowing wind coming in through the open pane. The Ward was finally officially deadly dangerous.

I don’t remember who packed my bags. I don’t remember who swarmed in to move us all. I don’t remember if by then, I looked more like the guy from The White Stripes or Patti Smith or still Michael Keaton. I resolved not to look in mirrors any more.

Off in a tiny side room, Alex wasn’t giving up, as he tried to serve out the hot food with a spatula thing and pour red wine into plastic cups. I wasn’t sure of the timing, but it was impulsive and this excited me.

‘Fucking hell, it’s not safe here.’ Alex was flustered, his eyes darting around the tiny room. ‘What the fuck’s a colposcopy?’ he said as he read the health posters and warnings on the wall. His hands were shaking and he drank from the cup.

‘You don’t want to know …’ I muttered.

‘Christ. That window,’ he said, interrupting me. ‘It was so clearly …’ he trailed off, agitated. ‘Rattling,’ he decided on, his eyes fixed on the soap dispenser that was poorly attached to the wall, lopsided, hairy rawlplugs sticking out.

I had escaped a little, just a little.

‘You look lovely,’ he said, suddenly staring at me. ‘Really lovely.’

‘Here, take this off me.’

We unclipped the wires from the telemetry machine they had brought out with me, Big Brother, and freed the little clips from each of the steel nipples.