Once the paperwork is completed at the desk, I’m led onto the van. I snatch a glimpse of grey sky and suck in a lungful of air before it is gone. The freshest I may have for a while. Inside the van, I’m locked in a small cubicle which feels like an upright coffin. It’s claustrophobic. The inside like a public toilet, with a seat instead of a pan, but much more confined. There’s barely enough room to move. No gaps beneath the doors either. The familiar smell of urine comforts me like an old friend.

I gaze out of the small tinted window as the engine starts and we bump along the road. Driving past places I recognise. It’s surreal. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth. It’s been constant since my arrest and I have little control over the compulsion. I start again, wringing my hands, unsure what is ahead of me. How will I cope? I’ve heard stories of beatings and abuse in prisons and the unknown makes me feel sick. Tubes constricting, sharp shooting pains in my chest hindering the ability to breathe. I tell myself it’s just another panic attack, but there is no room in my cubicle to lower my head to my knees. I close my eyes to ride it out. My body sways with the motion of the van. The fight has left me. I’ve lost.

Saturday 27 January 2018

‘I’m sorry, I got carried away,’ he said, licking his lips and taking another cigarette out of the packet I was holding. We’d dropped the first ones and they had burnt out at our feet.

We smoked in silence for a minute.

‘Do you want to come back to mine? We can have a drink there?’ he said, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

‘Sure,’ I replied. Relieved that the invitation had been extended and I wouldn’t have to suggest it myself. It came with a plummeting feeling down to my ankles that I had signed my own death warrant.

Back at the table, Ian’s cheese board had arrived, and he took pleasure in feeding me different types as I sipped the Malbec. I was a bit light-headed since we’d returned into the warm. Ian was on his fifth glass and was beginning to slur slightly.

I tried to go halves when Ian asked for the bill, but he would not hear of it.

‘Thank you, it was lovely.’ I leant across the table to give him a quick peck on the lips.

He slid his foot up my calf under the table and winked at me, leaving me cold.

‘You’re welcome.’

I wobbled as I stood from the table, Ian wrapped an arm around my waist to steady me.

‘Ready to stumble home?’