He stands there awkwardly for a moment, then does the same, resting his cheek on the top of her head as she stays buried in his chest. Then she pulls away and walks quickly out.

He waits for a second, looking at the closed door. Then he takes a long breath in and follows her out of the room.

68

She’s out of that stinking cell, out of the police station, and home. Last night the only thing Amy had the energy to do was go straight to bed, handful of pills from her emergency supply down her gullet. But this morning she runs a full bubble bath, pours a large glass of wine and slowly lowers herself into the hot water, the scent of lavender filling the steam-filled bathroom.

Her solicitor is right: they have nothing on her. He said Kal had been taken away to the local funny farm, so any testimony he’d given would be subject to doubt. But still, she’s pissed off with herself for relying on a man.

Her whole life she’s known she can only count on one person: herself. Even her own sister showed to be unreliable and useless by the time she was sixteen. Always drunk, always shoving something up her nose or into her arm. No: Amy knows she is alone in this world.

Once, she thought that Jonathan was the exception to that rule. When they first met, she saw something in him. His potential. He was a clever man, with a good job. They would buy a house, a nice new home, and have kids and be a family. But fuck, he never did what he was told.

And then he had the affair. With her. That cop, of all people.

The water’s growing cold, so Amy pulls herself out, wrapping a large fluffy towelling robe around her. She lets the water go, then carries her wine glass down the stairs to the kitchen, pouring another.

Amy got her first job at the age of fifteen. Pot washer in the local pub, but she worked hard and soon she was a waitress, then behind the bar the moment she turned eighteen. She showed some aptitude in the kitchen, and the chef took her under his wing, showing her the basics. More pubs, more restaurants followed; she yearned for the respect, for the kudos of working for the best places in town. She put in the hours, did the graft, but it wasn’t just that: she was prepared to go above and beyond. She would do anything to get the job she wanted. She made that perfectly clear.

And for every restaurant manager, every chef she opened her legs to in a storeroom, there was a wife or girlfriend who couldn’t find out. Favours worked both ways, as Amy would remind the men involved.