She sat down and wondered what to do next. Should she get out her notebook? A pen? Should she wait? She tried to see what the woman had done but couldn’t see past her shoulder. Oh God, please don’t let me show myself up, she prayed inwardly, getting a flashback to her nightmare from the previous night where she failed to answer the (very simple) questions the tutor was asking and suffered the scornful stares of the rest of the class.

She wondered what her high-school teachers would say if they could see her now, Caitriona, the disappointment, the girl who threw her life away for a night of foolishness, now sitting here at Croydon College, on the night-school course for Civil Litigation. She imagined a few raised eyebrows, perhaps condescending expressions. She wondered what her mother would say.

Other people started to come in, giving her a nod or smile as they took their seats. All in all, there were about twelve of them, all ages, all colours.

Then a small, bird-like woman entered, walking quickly, precisely, glasses perched on her tightly curled auburn head. She reached the front of the class, pushed the glasses to the top of her nose and examined everybody in front of her.

‘Marvellous. A full house. Let it still be as such by week fifteen.’

The group shuffled. It’s amazing how quickly you can feel you’re a schoolgirl again, thought Kate.

‘Anyone got anything to say about attendance?’ asked the tutor.

Maybe it was the nerves, and the fact she’d almost bolted, but Kate couldn’t help feeling defensive: why had this woman waltzed in without knowing anyone and suddenly assumed they were all going to turn into a bunch of skivers?

‘Better make it interesting then,’ Kate mumbled.

The teacher swivelled. Beady-eyed her.

Oh bollocks, thought Kate. She had not intended to be heard but, cheeks pink, she forced herself to hold the teacher’s gaze.

‘Very good. A challenge. An understanding of what is rightfully yours, what you have paid for, what you expect. And what if it isn’t . . . interesting?’

‘Then I want my money back,’ piped up an old black guy at the back. The class laughed.

‘Excellent! I can see we’re all going to get along famously. I’m Gloria Chapman, your tutor. Solicitor for thirty-five years, now retired. From the back – name; why you’re here.’

The class began to introduce themselves. The old black guy was Clifford. He had a number of properties that he rented out and wanted to be ‘well equipped’ when it came to knowing what he could hold his less-reputable tenants liable for. There was a young mum – a professional – looking to go back to work but with a career change and so considering signing up for a degree; the course was a taster. A couple of solicitors were looking to expand their knowledge base. Then it was Kate’s turn.

‘Hi, I’m Kate Ellis. I signed up to this course because there’s someone I know who I think deserves compensation.’