I didn’t go up to the café. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the exact spot, but I knew he must have followed me, as he came from behind. I sat on a damp bench, close to the entrance, staring into the distance. Hoping he would walk past but I knew my chances were slim.

Almost two hours and five cigarettes later, I was cold and damp from the rain, my backside numb. It was starting to get dark and I was getting jittery, wanting to make sure I was safely back home before the sun set fully. The only people to come past were: a group of three teenagers, a father and his two kids on bikes and two elderly women. What was I doing? What were the chances he’d come back here, return to the scene of the crime? I had this all wrong. I sneezed into my hands, and headed home.

17

SUNDAY 28 JANUARY 2018

The sun streams through the small oblong window near the ceiling, illuminating a rectangle of concrete on the floor as though it is a sign from a higher power. My back creaks as I move to sit, muscles stiff from the bench. Thankfully the headache has gone, but my entire body hurts. I feel sore everywhere after last night’s struggle. I brush my fingers over my eye, feeling the puffy lid and socket. My cheekbone, once prominent, is hidden under swollen tender flesh. I feel like I’ve been run over. I have no idea of the time, but I can hear movement beyond the cell walls. I was hoping to wake in my bed this morning, but that was too optimistic.

The viewing hatch shoots up, the slicing noise making me jump, and a pair of brown eyes encased in pale creased skin stare through.

‘Tea?’ he asks in a cheerful voice and I smile and nod gratefully.

It’s a while before he returns with a polystyrene cup, which I clasp my hands around. He’s in his late fifties and I have a flash of concern that he’s exposed to violent criminals daily down here. He doesn’t look like he’d be too handy. But then, neither do I.

‘Bacon or egg?’ He holds up a cellophane wrapped breakfast roll. I guess I’d be screwed if I was vegan.

‘Bacon please.’

‘I guessed right.’ He passes the roll to me and I tear off the wrapping and bite into it hungrily, disappointed that it’s cold. What did I expect?

‘Could you tell me the time please?’ I say, my hand covering my still full mouth.

‘It’s eight thirty, miss.’ He smiles at me and his eyes carry no judgement. ‘Did you want five minutes in the yard once you’ve had that, to get some fresh air?’

‘Please.’