But somehow, it was the end. It was like a gateway, and she knew she had only to run through. Though, initially, she did not.

She put herself together as best she could, quietly, while Richard stayed downstairs, drinking whisky he bought for himself and never offered her, because it was bad for a woman to drink alcohol.

In the bathroom she fainted, but only for three or four seconds. She came to sitting on the floor, and something made her laugh at that.

When she was tidied up, she went down. It was best to act as normally as she could after an attack. He would be morose, but no longer violent, and eventually this stage would pass into the next one, of concern and contrition.

"Well, I'm just off," she said. "Don't forget the pie in the oven."

"That will have to do, I suppose."

"It's a nice pie. You'll like it."

"At least you don't try to make your awful travesties of home cooking anymore."

Her eyes were a little blurred, and her left ear kept on buzzing. But she would manage.

She had taken the whole four hundred and fifty-six pounds from the concealed store in her underclothes. She had saved from her wages and her tips, but not often from Richard's housekeeping. It was what she called secretly her emergency fund. Why she took it now she could not have said. Perhaps in case he searched and found it.

"I'll see you later," he said.

When he did so, she felt a hot twisting in her heart.

"Don't be late," he said. "And make sure you tell them this is your last week."

"Yes, Richard."

When she got outside, her legs almost gave way. Mrs. Carey from number seven was going by with some shopping and her nice big dog.

Linda waved jauntily.

She reached the Fox and Glass and Danny looked at her and said, "Christ, Linda." But when she shook her head, "I'm all right," he said only, "Go on, then. But if you want to come off and sit down, just let me know."

She had a gin and pineapple that Mary gave her. Then a high came on her, so that she felt strong, and that nothing could harm her anymore. Nothing. Not even Richard. And in those moments she knew Iain would come in, and she would be able to make it up with him.

Linda was adept and brilliant with the customers that night. She clowned and got them to laugh, so they overlooked her injured face. When they offered her drinks, she kept the money, to put with her four hundred and fifty-six pounds.

By ten, Iain had not come in after all.

Last orders went by, and then the pub started to clear. It drained like a glass of liquor. Only the wreathes of smoke, the empties, the flat packets of crisps. Let down.