A bright yellow dispenser filled with anti-viral gel stood by the reception desk, along with a sign saying all visitors and residents must use it every time they entered. Charlie had a small cut, which stung as she slathered her hands and inhaled a mixture of eucalyptus and chlorine.

‘You Croker?’ the guy behind the desk asked, his masked face barely moving from the email he was typing. ‘Can you read?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is your envelope. Its contents should answer all questions. If you come back here and ask me a question that is answered on a piece of paper inside this envelope I shall not be happy. Is that clear?’

What a dick.

‘Clear as new-laid snow,’ Charlie said, a set of keys rattling as she grabbed the big envelope.

He searched her face for sarcasm. Then grunted before continuing the spiel.

‘Read the rules and regulations. I didn’t know is never an excuse. Lunch has finished, but there are cookies if you’re hungry. Becky will be back from her break shortly. She’ll get your school electives sorted, answer any questions and hopefully dig something better than that prison issue out of our spare-clothes closet.’

It was school time, so there was peace in the short hallway leading to room 16a. The room’s contents looked newish, with a stack of bedding sealed in polythene and a wardrobe with lockable blue doors. The only sign of the previous resident was remnants of white sticky pads where they’d removed posters.

The bathroom was small, with a powerful UV bulb and a smell of disinfectant. A clear box stood inside the shower tray containing four towels plus a sealed pack of toiletries and a giant yellow bottle of anti-viral gel. The mirror over the sink was half covered with a sticker giving instructions on the proper way to wash your hands after using the toilet.

The disinfectant stuck in Charlie’s throat, but she felt good. It was way nicer than her tiny room in the trailer home, or the cell she’d had to share with another inmate at White Boulder. But while the building had a cosy vibe Charlie reckoned some residents in Independent Living would be light fingered, and dashed to grab her stuff from the lobby.

Charlie took the first two bags together, but the third was heavier. As she got out of reception, the bottom tore out of the black sack and books spewed over the hallway. She was on one knee, piling up some of the larger books, when she sensed movement.

‘Little help?’ a guy asked.

Charlie was startled when she looked behind. She hadn’t been around many men in the past two years, and this one was exceptional. He looked about eighteen and he’d strode from his room in CK briefs that left little to the imagination. He had a square jaw, black hair still damp from a shower, huge hairless chest and biceps like giant mangos.