‘I’m trying to study,’ he said.

‘That won’t help you in life,’ Natasha said, with weary finality. ‘You should stand up, put your pricey jacket on and walk the streets.’

‘I will call the library police.’

Natasha left the library with Abortion, A Love Story tucked under her arm, the sheets ruffling in the wind. She knew she couldn’t perform the play with Lucy. They would be laughing stocks. She thought about the most sensitive way to tell her. She rang the doorbell to Lucy’s student house but there was no answer. She knelt down and called into the letterbox.

‘Lucy.’

She knew Lucy was leaning on the other side of the door.

‘Lucy,’ she said, ‘I’ve just been to the library.’

‘That place is an antique,’ Lucy said, softly.

‘I want to praise your play. I liked its anger. I liked in the second act when the women call the college a prison. I think you’ve done a tremendous job. You said everything you need to say, in language that sometimes makes sense. And the completion of great work is its own reward. You don’t need to take it any further. You came close. It’s enough to know you nearly got there. ‘

Lucy opened the door. Her hair was wild and her face was tear-stained. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not enough. Why isn’t it enough?’

Natasha knew just from looking at her, that this was a woman in the grip of a great dependency. ‘Let’s see what we can do,’ she said.

*

Natasha thought Lucy’s particular urge might be satisfied by acting in a play instead. She went to the computer house and emailed the acting troupe to tell them about Lucy’s tiny feet, shoplifting addiction and periods of mania. They said they were very interested in her coming on board. For two weeks, the girls immersed themselves in plays to find a monologue that Lucy could audition with. It was March and there were no seats in the library. Just looking around gave Natasha palpitations. They took off their jackets and lay on the floor.

In the plays, there were women walking in and out of doors, women calling their husbands for dinner, women staying faithful to their husbands, or being unfaithful and getting severely punished for it; women who lived on islands, lonely women or women who wanted to be left alone, plain women, watchful women and, frequently, dead women. Throughout, Natasha kept Abortion, A Love Story in an envelope beside her. She couldn’t leave it. She thought it might reveal something to her.

‘Here,’ Natasha said, one Wednesday afternoon, sliding a script over to Lucy. ‘I think you should audition with this.’

Lucy read through it. ‘This woman seems delusional and unstable.’

‘She is delusional and unstable,’ Natasha said. ‘It’s perfect.’

Now, Natasha waited in the college coffee shop for Lucy to return from her ill-fated audition. She had the pages of Abortion, A Love Story spread out in front of her. She watched Lucy enter the coffee shop in a huff. She took a fizzy drink from the fridge and slammed the door shut. She pulled out the seat opposite Natasha.